FIC: Tripping (NC-17) Chapter 02/13

Feb 11, 2012 09:00



What do you do when the Universe itself seems to have decided you belong with your very stoic, very angelic, very MALE hunting companion?
Dean's about to find out.



Chapter 02 - The G Word

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It was called The G Word, and it was the bane of Dean’s goddamn existence.

“A blockbuster!” The critics called it. “I real breath of fresh air for todays new age - bringing gay culture out of the shadows and into the mainstream!”

Dean very sorely wanted to kill whoever had come up with the concept for the damn show.

It was everywhere. Showing every time he turned on the TV in their various motel rooms; posters in every shop window. Dean found himself knowing the characters names and motivations despite himself. It was the sparkly friggin' vampires all over again.

Except of course Twilight had never had a character named Dean who friggin' looked like him. It was the worst part of the whole damn mess. A headlining TV drama about gay male relationships Dean could have handled but one of the main characters of it looking like him and prancing around with his name to boot? It was a freakin' nightmare.

Sammy of course was having an absolute ball with it. Dean had lost count of the number of times he’d come into their motel room to find the asshole had purposefully switched over to it on the TV. And the laughing whenever someone stopped them on the street to ask for Dean’s autograph was just plain obnoxious.

“Dude, the universe is totally telling you you’re gay!” Sam had howled the first time it’d happened. It was a comment that had earned the Sasquatch a walk back to the motel as Dean had taken off in the Impala, fuming silently and trying to calm down to the strains of Metallica.

The worst part was, he almost couldn’t help thinking that Sam had a friggin' point. Ever since he’d returned from the future after witnessing…what he’d witnessed, the world seemed to be dropping hints on him with all the subtlety of a freight train. Dean didn’t know if all the homosexual hype was a new thing or if he was just noticing it now after coming face to face with…what he came face to face with in the future, but there was no denying it was freaking him the hell out.

That the universe seemed to have already made up it’s mind about which dude in particular he ought to be making man-love with was just the cherry on the terrible, terrible cake.

Him and Cas in public was becoming a painful affair. The knowing, curious looks from people were enough to turn his stomach but it was far worse when they spoke up. If he had to correct one more waitress when she tried to recommend the couple’s special he was going to go mad.

All in all, when Gabriel trapped them in TV land, Dean should have known from the beginning what was coming.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Play our roles,” Dean groused, wondering through the crowded club. “What the hell type of role is this supposed to be then!” he yelled, knowing the damn trickster was probably listening and laughing his ass off. Around him, various fake people turned to stare at him strangely.

After their last show switch he and Sam had been separated. It wasn’t the first time their entrances had been staggered but this was the longest Dean had gone so far playing it solo in TV land. He also had no idea what he was supposed to do. The faint tug of influence that had guided him and Sam through the motions over the last few hours seemed to be guiding him onwards through the club but nothing around him looked familiar. Up until now he’d at least had an idea of what sort of show he was on but this one was a mystery.

The people around him were dressed trendy, drinking from neon-coloured martini glasses and dancing to a mainstream pop song. Something stupidly high up in the charts right now if he was hearing correctly, something made popular by…

Oh Jesus. Jesus NO.

Dean swung around wildly, taking in the room once more and trying to imagine things from the right angle. That’s of course when he noticed the name of the club in high, metal-wrought lettering above the bar. “The Beat” it proclaimed and Dean swore. Loudly.

“Dean! You made it!” a voice boomed behind him and Dean spun, only to come face to chest with one of the biggest black men he’d ever seen. The name was on his lips before he even registered opening his mouth.

“Ryan,” he said woodenly. Ryan Rosen, his brain supplied helpfully - Dean Parker’s best friend in the hit TV show The G Word. Dean wanted to die. Again. This could not be happening. Moving on auto-pilot he plucked a martini glass off a passing tray and downed it in one.

“The party’s over this way stud,” Ryan said happily, dragging Dean through the crowd with the sort of ease only truly big people can accomplish. Dean supposed others tended to get out of your way if there’s a chance you might not catch sight of them for being up so high.

“You’ll be glad you came out,” Ryan continued, leading them up a flight of stairs to the VIP booths.

“Why’s that?” Dean said, an edge of pain to his voice. The look Ryan shot him over his giant, armani-clad shoulder almost had him turning and running right there.

“Daniel’s here,” the big man said with the air of one revealing a chocolate bar to a starving man.

Dean frowned for a moment before his brain very helpfully supplied the information he so desperately wished he didn’t know. Daniel was Daniel Austin - Dean Parker’s reserved but rebellious boyfriend. And very suddenly Dean knew exactly which episode of The G Word he was in. Sam had played it on repeat for a week when he’d found TI-VO in one of their motel rooms.

Daniel and Dean’s first kiss. Mother of fucking god.

Dean turned to storm away, the trickster and his orders be damned when a voice pulled him up short.

“Dean?”

Dean swung back just as the crowd before one of the booths parted strategically to reveal none other than Cas. The angel had a look of deep seated confusion on his face as he sat stiffly, candy-coloured martini glass in hand. Dean could have wept for joy.

“Cas! Dude, am I glad to see you!” he exclaimed, his voice edging into embarrassingly relieved. He was at the booth within a few steps. “Strap on your angel wings and get us the hell out of here.”

Castiel frowned up at him for a moment before looking down at his hand, still holding the neon drink.

“I - I can’t,” he said gruffly.

“What? What do you mean you can’t?” Dean asked, hardly caring that his tone was nearing hysterical. Then he blinked, remembering the ease with which the trickster had poofed Cas away during the Japanese game show. Dean looked the angel over, taking in his rigid posture. “What did he do to you?”

Castiel seemed unable to tear his gaze away from the glass, glaring at his hand with a deep frown of concentration on his face. “I’m not sure,” the angel said seriously. “But I can not seem to control my body.”

“Dammit,” Dean said emphatically, dropping into the seat next to Cas.

“Ah,” Ryan suddenly interrupted and Dean jumped, having forgotten about the guy. He looked up into the giant’s grinning face. “I see you two found each other.”

“Dean, this is Daniel,” he said, gesturing to Castiel. “Daniel - Dean.”

Dean froze. Oh Jesus Christ no…

He watched in dawning horror as Ryan winked at him. “You kids play nice,” the big man said before moving off.

Dean watched him go before turning his attention back to Castiel…who was apparently playing the role of Daniel Austin in today’s rendition of ‘How to Torture Dean Winchester’. Castiel frowned at him.

“I don’t understand,” the angel said blithely. Dean smacked his head on the table.

“Now now, don’t be like that,” a voice straight out of Dean’s nightmares said suddenly and he whipped his head up to face the grinning countenance of the trickster.

“You son of a bitch!” Dean growled, tipping his chair over in his haste to stand and choke the living daylights out of the bastard responsible for his current position. He barely made it a step before his feet suddenly stuck fast.

“Ah, you ought to know better - Dean Parker’s a pacifist after all,” the trickster taunted.

“What is this?” Dean demanded, gesturing to Cas behind him. “I thought you were trying to make your point with me and Sam!”

The trickster cocked his head merrily, fishing a chocolate bar out of his jacket pocket. “Oh I am,” the annoying prick assured. “You two just don’t happen to be the only ones who need reminding to get into character.” Taking a bite from the bar, the Trickster leaned around Dean to look down at Cas. “Rebelling Castiel? Really?”

Dean followed his gaze to find Cas glaring up at the Trickster, his throat seeming to be trying to work but his lips not cooperating.

“So!” the Trickster announced, drawing Dean’s attention back. “You two are going to partner up and tap-dance through these steps together.”

“Or what?” Dean growled. “Because I’m getting damn sick of playing your little game.”

“Or I send Cas here back to Heaven,” the trickster said, his voice suddenly edged with a very real chill. “Something tells me he won’t be altogether well received, traitor that he is.”

Dean frowned, shooting a look down to Cas who had yet to let up the glare aimed at the Trickster.

“So boys,” the Trickster continued happily, finishing up his chocolate bar and dropping the wrapper carelessly. “Happy dancing.”

And then he was gone. Music swelled back into the scene and everyone around them began to move once more. Dean, finding himself unstuck, took his time turning back to Castiel. The damn song crooned along in the background and Dean swore, because he suddenly remembered why it was so loved by the fans of the damn show.

“Come on, we have to…dance,” Dean said, a sick twisting in his gut accompanying the statement. Cas simply frowned up at him and Dean took in the frustration in his eyes and guessed. “You still can’t talk?”

Cas shook his head.

“Okay,” Dean said, yanking the angel to his feet and dragging him towards the dance floor. Fine, so Cas couldn’t talk. It was probably better all things considered, at least there’d be no awkward explanations of what had to happen - well, not two way ones at any rate.

Coming to a halt in the middle of the dance-floor Dean turned to face Cas and felt his face heat up in preparation. Jesus this was friggin' ridiculous.

“We have to dance and then…then we have to -” Dean stammered, tripping over the words in the face of Castiel’s confused frustration. Sighing, he squeezed his eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Then we have to friggin’ kiss.”

The look on Castiel’s face when he re-opened his eyes would have made Dean laugh if it were any other situation than this one. It was like the poor guy was in the damn brothel all over again.

“I don’t want to do this any more than you do,” Dean said gruffly. “But it’s this or you face the music in Heaven - and I don’t think either of us want that.”

Dean watched as Cas seemed to think it over a moment and let out a short bark of laughter despite himself. That the damn angel was actually considering heavenly reprimand over having to kiss him was a special brand of hilarious. The music swelled around them and taking a deep breath Dean pulled Cas into his arms with a sharp tug. And thus began the torture.

Castiel had always been slightly shorter than him, something Dean hadn’t really taken note of before now. As Cas’s body shifted against his, Dean couldn’t help noticing that with their complimentary heights they fit together rather comfortably. Certainly a lot better than Dean had ever thought two men could. Dean wound one arm around the angel’s shoulders while the other gripped tight to the front lapels of the damn ever-present trench coat. He might have wanted to go through with this like a fish wanted to fly but he’d be damned if he was going to let Cas get away and end up tortured in Heaven.

Despite the tight grip and stupidly awkward stance, Castiel didn’t try to move away. For the first few bars of music, as Dean swayed them slightly, the angel simply held completely rigid in Dean’s arms. Dean couldn’t help but think he would have gotten more cooperation dancing with a statue and he sighed.

Seemingly reading his mind Cas suddenly shifted in his arms and Dean sucked in a breath as the angel adjusted their position, bringing his hands up to hesitantly rest on Dean’s hips. It was better - more comfortable for both of them, at least physically - and yet all Dean could suddenly think about was the image of his future self sliding the belt out of Future Cas’s pants.

God dammit. Dean would have said then that the situation couldn't get any worse except - of course - they still had to make out like a couple of horny teenagers.

He and Sam had learned the hard way in TV land that you didn’t half-ass things. If the script called for you to heartily endorse herpes medication then you friggin’ endorsed the hell out of it. And if it called for you to kiss like you meant it… Dean groaned silently.

Cas, meanwhile seemed to have relaxed a little more, his body not held so entirely solid against Dean's. The fading threat of Cas bolting had seen Dean's death grip on the lapels of his coat relax a little as well, his fist now loosely resting against Cas's chest. Dean was surprised to note he could feel the angel’s heart beat through his layers of clothing.

It had been…a very long time since Dean'd had this sort of contact. His human encounters these days generally consisted of hurried screws in dingy motel rooms or desperate hugs from Sammy, Ellen or Bobby when they found out he was alive. It had been so long since he’d just been close to someone without the need to move away. That this particular contact had been forced by circumstances out of his control didn’t seem to matter to his senses. Dean was…comfortable. A knowledge that snuck up and scared the bejesus out of him when he realised it.

Clearing his throat Dean leaned slightly away from Cas’s warmth, ignoring the traitorous inclination to do the opposite as he turned his face to Castiel’s.

“Okay - that ought to be enough,” he said, his voice blessedly without the shake he knew should have been present. Looking down at Cas, he felt the blush that had subsided slightly return full force. Cas, for his part, watched him with his customary seriousness, his eyes very blue and very disconcerting when aimed from such a close distance.

“Now to the ah - the other thing,” Dean said awkwardly, looking anywhere but in Cas’s eyes. Clearing his throat he took a breath. “Ready?”

Cas’s eyes dipped down to Dean’s mouth for a split second before he nodded and Dean was surprised to note that the simple gesture had his heart suddenly pounding in his chest.

“Okay,” he whispered and then, before he could think too much about it, he shut his eyes and closed the distance between them.

It wasn’t gentle and it wasn’t slow. Dean didn’t let it be. Instead he poured all the anger and frustration at their situation into the kiss and sent his mind somewhere else while it happened. Or at least he tried to. His senses kept piping up to remind him of what was going on with little tidbits of information. Like that Castiel’s lips were surprisingly soft. That the feel of the angel’s stubble on his skin was amazingly not as bad as he’d thought it would be. And that the hands previously resting on his hips had turned into a vice-like grip, tugging him closer...

Dean’s mind spiralled in panic at that and so when Cas’s mouth opened under his he reacted on pure instinct, canting his head and taking deep, possessive control of the situation. The needy sound that was ripped from Cas’s throat at the action was like a bucket of cold water over Dean’s head.

Dean wrenched away, breaking the kiss with a full body pull that had him stumbling back a few feet. Jesus fucking Christ, what the hell had just happened?

Dean lifted disbelieving eyes to Cas's to find his own horrified look mirrored back at him. That probably meant he looked as thoroughly fucking debauched as well. God. That was it, Dean was killing himself. The world be damned.

Clapping sounded in what Dean suddenly realised was a silent room. The crowd around them had paused once more and Dean whipped his head around to pin the trickster with a glare.

“Boys!” the obnoxious bastard enthused. “Wow! Just wow,” he continued with a laugh. “I’m all a-tingle!”

Dean growled as he swiped one hand violently across his mouth - he could still goddamn taste Cas for fuck's sake. “We danced to your tune, now let us out,” he snarled.

“Oh no no - that wasn’t the end game sport, just a little partner switch to spice things up,” the trickster grinned. Dean had never itched for a weapon so hard in his life. “Now, on with our regularly scheduled program!”

Dean swore long and loud as the scene shifted once more. And when Sam asked him a minute later why he looked like he’d just run a marathon he lied. He lied his goddamn ass off.

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