(no subject)
This is for @cloudyjenn’s Twit Fic Exchange.
For @EmilyMax. I have to warn you now, this is my first Supernatural story. Dean/Cas too. (A year and a half in the fandom, and six months in the LJ community, and I still haven’t written anything? Jeez.) Hope it’s okay...
*******
It wasn’t really Castiel’s fault that this all occurred.
After all, it was the Swamp Monster (Dean had pretty much tuned out Sam and Cas’s entire explanation of what the creature was and called - some ancient, foreign word the older hunter had trouble saying, let along remembering - his attention turning back to the preparation of his weapons once he had learned how to kill the sucker.) who had, after being stabbed through the heart - which had been located in its leg, its leg! Only monsters. Only motherfucking monsters. - with a very specific kind of rock (again, Dean didn’t care for the specs, Cas had brought the rock already weapon-shaped and pointy when the two nerds figured out what exactly the creature was), decided its last moment would go off with a bang. Literally. The thing just up and exploded on them in a mishmash of mud and slime as soon as its little heart - it was little, okay? It had to be, considering it was in its leg! - stopped.
It was a mess. A good six foot radius had been covered in the monster’s remains. Dean and Sam had gotten fair amounts of the aftermath, but they have had worse. Much worse. Cas, on the other hand... As closest - he’d been the one to stab the swamp beast with the pointy rock - Castiel had taken the blunt of it all. He was drenched. Drenched. And unfortunately, when they got back to their current motel (Cas still has enough mojo left to zap himself back - saving Dean’s baby from most of the mess the trio would’ve made collectively), it seemed that Sam had neglected his turn to do the laundry. Meaning that, of the few clothes Castiel had - he could no longer just wish away the stains and wears and tears from his clothes now - none were clean. So, as Cas would not fit in the tents Sam passed off as clothes, Dean was forced to share his own with the angel.
All of that, that was the Swamp Monster’s fault. And Sam’s.
What came next, though, that was all Dean’s fault. Okay, that and Jimmy Novak’s genes.
So, there Dean was, sitting in the only chair the shitty motel provided, flipping through static-y channels - still covered in now drying mud and slime as he could hear Cas in the shower. (It was obviously that the angel would get first dibs, considering he looked so pathetic. Drowned rat so did not work on him.) Sam was out. Out doing laundry still in his mud and slime covered clothes. It was his punishment for neglecting his chore duties. Castiel had actually called it divine justice. (Which pretty much ascertained the angel’s level of annoyance, towards his state of cleanliness and especially towards Sam.)
Itching his arm, Dean ignored the dried flakes of mud flicking off his arm and onto the floor, while some of it crawling under his already dirtied fingernails. The hunter could not wait to hop into the shower and get into his second cleanest pair of clothes - the cleanest shirt and pair of pants had gone to Cas. (While Dean would never admit it, but he had totally caved under Castiel’s own impression of the ‘puppy-dog’ expression Sam was so well known for.) Distracted by an actual coherent sound on the television for a moment, Dean did not notice that the shower had stopped until Castiel was already back in the larger part of the motel room.
When he caught the lack of noise the water pounding against tile made, and then a soft plop of cloth of what the hunter assumed was Castiel’s clothes landing onto the floor, then did Dean turn his attention towards the bathroom and where Cas would be.
If Dean had been holding a bottle of beer, it would have fallen out of his slacken grip.
There, standing nonchalant as he dried his hair with a towel, was a half-naked, still wet Castiel, water dripping and rolling down his lean, pale chest in Dean’s slightly bigger jeans, them hanging loose off his jutting hip bones, looking like they’ll slip further down any moment. It was, in a word, Hot.
Dean, who had been completely unprepared for a fantasy of his (he would of course deny that to everyone, including himself that he was having those kind of thoughts about the angel, let alone fantasies about him) to actually happen, all the hunter could do was stare, mouth agape. Sure, Dean had caught glimpses of Cas’s skin every now and then, just peeks of his body under his clothes when he was changing or getting out of the shower. Heck, Dean had seen a far bit of him before once, when Castiel had injured himself so bad they had had to rip his clothes off in order to stop the blood from escaping. (And, yeah, situation aside, it had still been a complete turn on.) But this. This. This is something wholly and utterly unlike anything Dean had seen of the angel outside of what he has imagined.
And Dean had quite the imagination. But, then again, the hunter had so little to go on, even if he had the most creative - and dirtiest - mind possible, there was nothing like reality. Nothing like truly seeing it. For real. Nothing like finding out that even though Jimmy probably worked a nine to five job, there was nothing soft about the man’s chest; the torso was lean and fine, and had just the right amount of muscle that marked him as a whole different kind of handsome - well, compared to Dean anyway. Nothing like the luminescent shade of his skin. Nothing like his dusty coloured nipples. Nothing like that single bead of water Cas seemed to have missed, skimming down the centre of his body, curving around his navel before disappearing beneath the waistline of Dean’s very own jeans.
Nothing like those hips that can only be described as perfect-
“Dean.”
Wha?
“Dean.”
“Cas?” Dean managed to stubble out - mind still caught in a daze. While the view had altered to Castiel’s face with a minuscule amount of concern peeking out instead of his still-naked chest, the proximity of the angel alone was making it hard to think or concentrate. Had Cas always been this warm? Had he always radiated so much heat?
Mind wandering again, Castiel’s gravel of a voice brought Dean back from being totally distracted. “Are you unwell?”
“What? Dude, no. I’m fine.” The hunter said, finally able to force his mind back into control. He didn’t want Cas to get suspicious. Didn’t want the angel to get too inquisitive about this. Whatever Dean had been thinking, and dreaming, and fantasizing about - Cas would not find out. Not ever.
“Dean.” Cas repeated, his voice as even and as neutral as ever. Still, Dean heard the slight inclination that was so easy to miss, but he’d had practise learning how the read the angel, that said that Castiel did not believe him. Which was not good. Not good at all. But that almost paled in comparison to the other problem Dean was having.
Cas had moved closer. Invading Dean’s space was something the angel always did, but now he was passing into the ‘closer than normal’ area of personal space invasion. It was distracting. Cas was too close. Too warm. Thoughts of just tugging the angel even closer and kissing the hell out of him were started to dilute all his other thoughts. The sane, non-molesting thoughts. Castiel needed to back. Off. Now. Or else the angel was going to be in for quite the surprise.
And, just as Dean was going to tell him about those personal space rules he’s had explained with the angel so many time (that Cas just seems to completely ignore the next time around), Castiel decided that moment to do something that chased away all of Dean’s words, as his voice seemed to no longer be working. For whatever the reason, Cas had placed his hand on Dean’s face, his long slender fingers cupping his cheek softly.
Something in Dean broke.
While Castiel tutted on about illness and how Dean was slightly flushed, the hunter grabbed a hold of one of those glorious, jutting hipbones - his other hand sneaking up behind to catch the angel by his neck - pulling Cas into falling on top of Dean’s lap. Before Castiel had even the chance to say the hunter’s name, Dean was pulling the angel’s face closer to his and kissing him.
Fervently, Dean kissed those unresponsive and stiff lips. While his brain was trying to catch up upon what his body had done, Dean registered how soft and chapped those lips were. How much he wanted to moisten them with his own. How warm they felt, just like every other body part the angel’s felt against his own. It was as much as Dean thought he was ever going to get.
And that would be when his mind finally caught up.
Panicking and now fearing for his life (what would Cas do to him now?), Dean suddenly flung the angel off of him, jumping from the bed. Rambling on quickly, Dean snatched his pile of clothes, heading towards the bathroom. “Right, right. I’m gonna head into the shower now...”
“Dean.”
He froze.
Cautiously, and rather slowly, Dean turned back around, pretending he wasn’t scared of the weakening angel. If he was not so used to Cas just suddenly being there, the little jump of surprise when Castiel happened to be right in his personal bubble as soon as he faced the angel would have been a lot larger. And there might have been shrieking involved. Manly shrieking.
Before Dean had time to fumble over a word of defence or explanation, Cas had silence him with his lips. The kiss was soft, and short, and a bit tentative. It was completely chaste, and yet, Dean felt himself become a little weak in the knees. (And when had he become such a girl?)
When they parted, Castiel had one of his rare smiles gracing his face so subtly. Dean returned with one of his own - although his was definitely larger, and probably terribly goofy.
It was only the clothes in his hands that brought Dean’s attention to another problem - as all his discomforts were currently gone. “Yes, right. Shower. I need a shower.” Dean awkwardly stated, pointing to the bathroom. Castiel let him go with a nod, an affectionate look directed towards the hunter. Caught off guard in a good way, Dean raced away, finding himself somehow embarrassed.
Later, as Dean washed himself in the shower, he couldn’t help thinking...
That didn’t turn out so bad.
For @EmilyMax. I have to warn you now, this is my first Supernatural story. Dean/Cas too. (A year and a half in the fandom, and six months in the LJ community, and I still haven’t written anything? Jeez.) Hope it’s okay...
*******
It wasn’t really Castiel’s fault that this all occurred.
After all, it was the Swamp Monster (Dean had pretty much tuned out Sam and Cas’s entire explanation of what the creature was and called - some ancient, foreign word the older hunter had trouble saying, let along remembering - his attention turning back to the preparation of his weapons once he had learned how to kill the sucker.) who had, after being stabbed through the heart - which had been located in its leg, its leg! Only monsters. Only motherfucking monsters. - with a very specific kind of rock (again, Dean didn’t care for the specs, Cas had brought the rock already weapon-shaped and pointy when the two nerds figured out what exactly the creature was), decided its last moment would go off with a bang. Literally. The thing just up and exploded on them in a mishmash of mud and slime as soon as its little heart - it was little, okay? It had to be, considering it was in its leg! - stopped.
It was a mess. A good six foot radius had been covered in the monster’s remains. Dean and Sam had gotten fair amounts of the aftermath, but they have had worse. Much worse. Cas, on the other hand... As closest - he’d been the one to stab the swamp beast with the pointy rock - Castiel had taken the blunt of it all. He was drenched. Drenched. And unfortunately, when they got back to their current motel (Cas still has enough mojo left to zap himself back - saving Dean’s baby from most of the mess the trio would’ve made collectively), it seemed that Sam had neglected his turn to do the laundry. Meaning that, of the few clothes Castiel had - he could no longer just wish away the stains and wears and tears from his clothes now - none were clean. So, as Cas would not fit in the tents Sam passed off as clothes, Dean was forced to share his own with the angel.
All of that, that was the Swamp Monster’s fault. And Sam’s.
What came next, though, that was all Dean’s fault. Okay, that and Jimmy Novak’s genes.
So, there Dean was, sitting in the only chair the shitty motel provided, flipping through static-y channels - still covered in now drying mud and slime as he could hear Cas in the shower. (It was obviously that the angel would get first dibs, considering he looked so pathetic. Drowned rat so did not work on him.) Sam was out. Out doing laundry still in his mud and slime covered clothes. It was his punishment for neglecting his chore duties. Castiel had actually called it divine justice. (Which pretty much ascertained the angel’s level of annoyance, towards his state of cleanliness and especially towards Sam.)
Itching his arm, Dean ignored the dried flakes of mud flicking off his arm and onto the floor, while some of it crawling under his already dirtied fingernails. The hunter could not wait to hop into the shower and get into his second cleanest pair of clothes - the cleanest shirt and pair of pants had gone to Cas. (While Dean would never admit it, but he had totally caved under Castiel’s own impression of the ‘puppy-dog’ expression Sam was so well known for.) Distracted by an actual coherent sound on the television for a moment, Dean did not notice that the shower had stopped until Castiel was already back in the larger part of the motel room.
When he caught the lack of noise the water pounding against tile made, and then a soft plop of cloth of what the hunter assumed was Castiel’s clothes landing onto the floor, then did Dean turn his attention towards the bathroom and where Cas would be.
If Dean had been holding a bottle of beer, it would have fallen out of his slacken grip.
There, standing nonchalant as he dried his hair with a towel, was a half-naked, still wet Castiel, water dripping and rolling down his lean, pale chest in Dean’s slightly bigger jeans, them hanging loose off his jutting hip bones, looking like they’ll slip further down any moment. It was, in a word, Hot.
Dean, who had been completely unprepared for a fantasy of his (he would of course deny that to everyone, including himself that he was having those kind of thoughts about the angel, let alone fantasies about him) to actually happen, all the hunter could do was stare, mouth agape. Sure, Dean had caught glimpses of Cas’s skin every now and then, just peeks of his body under his clothes when he was changing or getting out of the shower. Heck, Dean had seen a far bit of him before once, when Castiel had injured himself so bad they had had to rip his clothes off in order to stop the blood from escaping. (And, yeah, situation aside, it had still been a complete turn on.) But this. This. This is something wholly and utterly unlike anything Dean had seen of the angel outside of what he has imagined.
And Dean had quite the imagination. But, then again, the hunter had so little to go on, even if he had the most creative - and dirtiest - mind possible, there was nothing like reality. Nothing like truly seeing it. For real. Nothing like finding out that even though Jimmy probably worked a nine to five job, there was nothing soft about the man’s chest; the torso was lean and fine, and had just the right amount of muscle that marked him as a whole different kind of handsome - well, compared to Dean anyway. Nothing like the luminescent shade of his skin. Nothing like his dusty coloured nipples. Nothing like that single bead of water Cas seemed to have missed, skimming down the centre of his body, curving around his navel before disappearing beneath the waistline of Dean’s very own jeans.
Nothing like those hips that can only be described as perfect-
“Dean.”
Wha?
“Dean.”
“Cas?” Dean managed to stubble out - mind still caught in a daze. While the view had altered to Castiel’s face with a minuscule amount of concern peeking out instead of his still-naked chest, the proximity of the angel alone was making it hard to think or concentrate. Had Cas always been this warm? Had he always radiated so much heat?
Mind wandering again, Castiel’s gravel of a voice brought Dean back from being totally distracted. “Are you unwell?”
“What? Dude, no. I’m fine.” The hunter said, finally able to force his mind back into control. He didn’t want Cas to get suspicious. Didn’t want the angel to get too inquisitive about this. Whatever Dean had been thinking, and dreaming, and fantasizing about - Cas would not find out. Not ever.
“Dean.” Cas repeated, his voice as even and as neutral as ever. Still, Dean heard the slight inclination that was so easy to miss, but he’d had practise learning how the read the angel, that said that Castiel did not believe him. Which was not good. Not good at all. But that almost paled in comparison to the other problem Dean was having.
Cas had moved closer. Invading Dean’s space was something the angel always did, but now he was passing into the ‘closer than normal’ area of personal space invasion. It was distracting. Cas was too close. Too warm. Thoughts of just tugging the angel even closer and kissing the hell out of him were started to dilute all his other thoughts. The sane, non-molesting thoughts. Castiel needed to back. Off. Now. Or else the angel was going to be in for quite the surprise.
And, just as Dean was going to tell him about those personal space rules he’s had explained with the angel so many time (that Cas just seems to completely ignore the next time around), Castiel decided that moment to do something that chased away all of Dean’s words, as his voice seemed to no longer be working. For whatever the reason, Cas had placed his hand on Dean’s face, his long slender fingers cupping his cheek softly.
Something in Dean broke.
While Castiel tutted on about illness and how Dean was slightly flushed, the hunter grabbed a hold of one of those glorious, jutting hipbones - his other hand sneaking up behind to catch the angel by his neck - pulling Cas into falling on top of Dean’s lap. Before Castiel had even the chance to say the hunter’s name, Dean was pulling the angel’s face closer to his and kissing him.
Fervently, Dean kissed those unresponsive and stiff lips. While his brain was trying to catch up upon what his body had done, Dean registered how soft and chapped those lips were. How much he wanted to moisten them with his own. How warm they felt, just like every other body part the angel’s felt against his own. It was as much as Dean thought he was ever going to get.
And that would be when his mind finally caught up.
Panicking and now fearing for his life (what would Cas do to him now?), Dean suddenly flung the angel off of him, jumping from the bed. Rambling on quickly, Dean snatched his pile of clothes, heading towards the bathroom. “Right, right. I’m gonna head into the shower now...”
“Dean.”
He froze.
Cautiously, and rather slowly, Dean turned back around, pretending he wasn’t scared of the weakening angel. If he was not so used to Cas just suddenly being there, the little jump of surprise when Castiel happened to be right in his personal bubble as soon as he faced the angel would have been a lot larger. And there might have been shrieking involved. Manly shrieking.
Before Dean had time to fumble over a word of defence or explanation, Cas had silence him with his lips. The kiss was soft, and short, and a bit tentative. It was completely chaste, and yet, Dean felt himself become a little weak in the knees. (And when had he become such a girl?)
When they parted, Castiel had one of his rare smiles gracing his face so subtly. Dean returned with one of his own - although his was definitely larger, and probably terribly goofy.
It was only the clothes in his hands that brought Dean’s attention to another problem - as all his discomforts were currently gone. “Yes, right. Shower. I need a shower.” Dean awkwardly stated, pointing to the bathroom. Castiel let him go with a nod, an affectionate look directed towards the hunter. Caught off guard in a good way, Dean raced away, finding himself somehow embarrassed.
Later, as Dean washed himself in the shower, he couldn’t help thinking...
That didn’t turn out so bad.