By Fortune or Design: Part Five and Author's Notes
Masterpost
19. Charging down the maw of the ocean
The car was rife with tension on the way back, of an entirely different sort than the kind which had filled it on the drive to Gabriel’s house. That had been nerves, if not outright fear, this was lingering glances, widened pupils, hitched breaths, hands resting on thighs, unspoken promises.
It was no surprise to either of them when they fell on each other as soon as the door to Castiel’s house was shut. There was no shyness, no holding back, a rough, almost violent clash of lips, teeth, Dean spinning him until he was pinned against the door. He grabbed Dean’s hips, pulled him in, obscenely close, and yes, this was exactly what he had wanted, he thought as he let out a groan.
Dean leaned back with a smirk, but Castiel wasn’t having any of that. A growl in his throat, he grabbed his tie and dragged the man forward again, too roughly, their teeth clacking together, and it hurt, but when Dean’s tongue met his half a moment later, he didn’t care at all. He was a quick study: even with Castiel’s (absurd, really, now that it was actually happening) no intimacy rules, he had managed to figure out what made him tick, what made him writhe and moan.
And, yes, his entire body was pressed against the door, and Dean’s knee was easing his thighs apart, hot and hard against his hip already, and Castiel let out a sound caught between a groan and a sigh, quickly swallowed by Dean’s lips. Castiel’s hands, seeking more friction, slipped from his hips to grip Dean’s ass, which, really, looked fantastic in his suit trousers, but would look and feel about a million times better without them. Dean’s hands tightened in his hair, pulling just enough to feel amazing, and dear god, why had he waited for this?
Their breath was coming more quickly now, skin flushed, and when he pulled back to pant for breath, Dean’s pupils were blown wide, a thin ring of green outlining black.
“Dean, bedroom. Now,” he said, voice low, sandpaper over gravel.
“Yeah, Cas,” Dean said, stepping back, and Castiel burned from the cessation of contact, the cold air rushing into the space between them.
He had a strong feeling that they weren’t going to make it to the bedroom.
It was harder than he remembered, to walk and kiss someone at the same time, eyes closed, legs getting tangled, hands wandering over bodies, occasionally thrown out for support against a wall, or the floor lamp that ended up horizontal moments later. Suit jackets were thrown haphazardly onto the floor, one of Castiel’s buttons popped off and flew across the room. It was a good thing his house was so bare, or more than the lamp would have hit the floor, he thought abstractly, everything but heat and touch seeming fuzzy and distant. When he stepped backwards into the pile of books by his chair, though, sending the books into a scattered heap, and falling over the arm of the chair, he decided to go with it.
Pulling at Dean’s tie again, he managed to situate them so that Dean was over him, straddling his thighs, Castiel’s hand on the back of his neck, mouths clashing, hot, open, fierce. Dean’s palmed Castiel’s erection, and Castiel threw his head back, making it bounce off the chair’s cushioned back, hand slipping from his neck to clutch at his shoulder.
“Oh, Dean,” he whispered, vocal chords unresponsive.
“Cas,” he murmured, lips brushing Castiel’s ear, making him shiver, “Want you to fuck me.”
Castiel opened his eyes then, every cell in his body responding to those words, primal instinct screaming, take, take, mine, mine. Instead, he said, voice unsteady, “You’ve never…”
“I’m aware, believe it or not,” Dean said, leaning back.
“Are you s-“ he began, but Dean cut him off.
“I swear to god, Cas, if you’re about to ask me if I’m sure…” Castiel silenced him with an open-mouthed kiss, newfound urgency in the movement between them.
Reluctantly, he pulled away. “Do you have-“ he started to ask, but Dean nodded his understanding.
“Yeah-in my wallet,” he answered, throwing a glance at where his suit jacket had fallen against the wall.
An insurmountable amount of time passed, though, before he managed to get up, both of their shirts completely undone, Castiel’s tie hanging loose around his neck, Dean’s having fallen over the arm of the chair. It was almost physically painful to stop touching Dean, rubbing, grinding, dirty, and with frantic intent. Castiel wanted to whimper at the loss of contact, when Dean finally pulled off with an unhappy groan, but he bit it back, a part of him grateful. He was closer than he should have been, really, given that his pants were still on, and he was decades past the age where that sort of thing was excusable.
Trying to summon up the least erotic thoughts he could muster, he made his way to the bathroom adjacent to his bedroom. His family’s truly abhorrent behavior at dinner, yes, that was doing the trick. Not bothering to flip the light on, he opened the cabinet under the sink and began rummaging behind the stacks of towels and extra toiletries, searching for-there. It was half-empty and at least a year old, but lube was lube, Castiel supposed.
“Cas?” Dean called a moment later, and he straightened.
“Bedroom,” he replied, closing the door to the bathroom behind him, setting the bottle on the nightstand, and flipping the lamp on as Dean walked in, looking gloriously debauched, shirt gone now, belt and button undone on his trousers.
His entire family could have been in the next room and it wouldn’t have made him want Dean any less, right that second.
Shrugging out of his own button-up, leaving it forgotten on the floor, he stalked up to Dean, and kissed him harshly, wrapping a hand around to the back of his head to hold him in place. Dean put up a cursory resistance to this, placing his hands on Castiel’s chest and fighting for dominance for a moment before dropping the act, opening his mouth to be plundered, and pulling Castiel closer instead.
When Dean’s legs hit the mattress, Castiel pushed gently on his shoulders, but Dean fell backward, seemingly boneless, making the bed bounce invitingly. This submissive side of Dean was unexpected, but something dark and visceral in Castiel responded eagerly to it, covering the man’s body with his own, pressing them together, skin on skin, cloth-covered erections grinding against one another. Soft, panting moans filled the room, and Castiel wasn’t sure who they came from, himself, Dean, both of them. The only thing he knew for certain was that it was high time that pants came off. He wasn’t going to last as it was, any more foreplay and it would hardly be worth the buildup.
Getting up onto his knees he pulled at Dean’s belt loops, and getting the hint, he arched up off the bed so Castiel could pull his trousers and boxers down, swollen cock springing free. Dean kicked his pants the rest of the way off while Castiel began working on his own belt, pausing to bat Dean’s hands away when he tried to help.
When they were fully unclothed in the soft lamplight, he couldn’t help but ask, “Dean, are you sure you want this?”
“Damn it, Cas, what did I say about asking me if I’m sure?” Dean said crankily, and Castiel wasn’t sure if it was at the question or the delay. “Just get inside me already,” he added after a moment, and Castiel decided that the answer was probably both.
“Not quite so fast,” he murmured in reply, reaching for the bottle on the nightstand and wrapping a hand around it to warm it. Despite his words, Dean was a little nervous, Castiel could tell. In all honesty, he was, as well. He truly hadn’t been with anyone in eight years, and even longer since he had been with another man. He definitely didn’t want this to be a bad experience for Dean.
“Cas, you waiting for Christmas?” Dean asked and Castiel snapped out of it, flipping open the bottle of lube.
“No,” he growled, liberally coating his fingers. He replaced the bottle and hooked his free arm around Dean’s leg and hefted it up. His other hand trailed down, over Dean’s cock and balls, experimentally circling his hole without any pressure.
“You’ve got to relax, Dean,” he murmured, leaning down to press his lips to Dean’s, a chaste gesture, completely at odds with everything else.
A moment’s hesitation. “Yeah, Cas,” he replied. Still more nervous than he was admitting. Castiel frowned slightly, pulling back, brows drawn together.
“You can tell me to stop any-“ He began.
“Just go, Cas,” Dean said, impatiently pushing back against his finger. He didn’t respond verbally, instead opening his mouth to Dean’s as he slipped a finger inside him. He tightened, tensing up at the feeling, but Castiel whispered, “Relax,” and kissed him again, and Dean nodded, forcibly easing his body.
After a few minutes of this, Castiel crooked his finger, taking a few tries, but he assumed he had hit the right spot when Dean suddenly leaned up on his elbows and all but shouted, “Jesus fucking Christ!”
Castiel only smiled faintly, and added another finger, slowly scissoring them, stretching as patiently as he could stand, hitting his prostate just often enough to keep Dean panting and moaning, rather than focused on the discomfort.
A third finger, and finally, Dean grabbed onto Castiel’s shoulder and said, “Come on, Cas, I’m ready, and do not ask me if I’m sure.”
Castiel bit back his next words, which were going to be just that, and instead just nodded. He reached for the foil packet Dean had left on the nightstand and tore it open with shaking hands. He rolled it on perfunctorily, not even trying to be sexy about it, anything just to finally get on with it, to feel Dean around him. Dean, meanwhile, grabbed the bottle of lube and poured some into his hand, stroking Castiel’s erection a few times to cover it, making him gasp and shudder at the touch. He wasn’t going to last very long at all.
He lined himself up with Dean’s hole and looked to Dean for confirmation. The impatient expression was all he needed, and he pushed in slowly, muscles straining from resisting the instinct to slide in hard and fast, to take Dean, claim him. There was an intake of breath from Dean when Castiel was in as far as he could go, and he opened his eyes, looking down at Dean, whose face was a bit pinched.
“Dean?” he asked breathlessly, already desperate to move.
“I’m okay, Cas, just give me a minute,” he said.
It couldn’t have been very long, but it seemed an eternity until Dean nodded and murmured something incomprehensible, but definitely containing the word, “move.” Shaking with the strain of not moving, Castiel complied immediately, sliding out almost all the way, and then back in, not as slowly this time. Dean let out a grunt, but not a pained one, and wrapped his legs around Castiel’s waist to give him better access. He set a rhythm, increasing in intensity, a crescendo of bodies entwined, breathing harshly over Dean, occasionally leaning down to press their open mouths together.
He changed the angle of his thrusts and Dean’s eyes flew open. “Oh, god, Cas,” he said in a moan, rocking back to meet him, now, Castiel hitting his prostate nearly every time. He was close. Bracing himself with one arm, he wrapped a hand around Dean’s cock and starting stroking in time with his thrusts.
“Cas,” he said, “I’m gonna-“
“Come for me, Dean,” Castiel said, and Dean immediately arched up off the bed, shooting across his stomach and chest with a low groan, body clenching around Castiel. He stroked Dean through his orgasm, on the brink of his own. With one final push, he thrust into Dean as deep as he could go, body shuddering with waves of pleasure and vision going fuzzy as he came, hard. A few more shallow thrusts, and he pulled out completely, absently tying off the condom and throwing it onto the floor. He slumped, half collapsing to lie half-beside, half-on top of Dean.
“That was-” he began, but Castiel cut him off.
“I love you,” he blurted out, regretting the words as soon as they left his mouth. It was too much, too soon, even though that didn’t make it any less true. But he didn’t apologize, didn’t try to take the words back. They were already there, never to be unsaid.
Dean didn’t reply, instead putting his arms around Castiel and holding him close. It was still more than he expected.
20. Called out in the wake of a lottery
The sound of Castiel’s cell phone woke Dean, the sound coming from somewhere past the foot of the bed. It was definitely fuck-this-shit o’clock, but Cas was nevertheless whining pitifully and rolling out of bed to go see who was calling. With one eye open, Dean watched him check the caller ID, clear his throat, and flip the phone open.
“Hello?” He said, almost sounding like he hadn’t just woken up after a night of really awesome sex. Dean could feel his eyes glazing over with the memory, ghosts of sensation fluttering over his skin.
“Yes, this is Dr. Novak,” Cas said after a moment, and Dean woke up a little further. Hopefully this was a job interview-he knew how hard Cas had been trying, submitting his CV to every university in the country, it seemed. He didn’t want to consider the implications of that, that Cas might have to move away, but he was trying for his dream job, and that was important. He had confessed to Dean, not even a week prior, that he hadn’t really liked counseling, for all that he’d been good at it. That he was glad he’d turned in his license and burned that bridge. He couldn’t take the easy way out and go back to it.
That didn’t stop it from being one more thing Dean felt guilty about, though. And yet, despite everything, Castiel…
There was a flutter in his stomach and a vaguely uncomfortable feeling entirely separate from the vague physical discomfort he was also feeling.
Those three words. He needed to…not think about that. Instead, he focused intently on the side of the conversation he could hear, trying to glean some news. Castiel’s voice was neutral, professional like the man he had known half a year ago, before their relationship became…personal. His face didn’t betray anything either, and the words were equally unhelpful, occasional agreements.
Finally, “Yes, I am available the week of the tenth,” he said, and Dean’s eyebrows raised.
There were a few more pleasantries and thank-you-for-your-times before Castiel hung up.
The first thing Castiel said was, “I never want to have a conversation like that ever again unless I’m wearing clothes.”
Dean couldn’t help but laugh. “Good news?” he asked.
Cas nodded. “I have an interview on the thirteenth of July.”
“That’s great, Cas,” he said sincerely, finally rolling onto his back and sitting up. He was covered in dried spunk, gross. “Where at?”
Cas said the name of the university, and Dean’s eyes widened. Not only was it only about an hour away, it was also the same college that Dean was planning on applying to.
“That’s…” he trailed off, unable to find a suitable adjective for “good,” even with all the new words he’d learned for the SAT.
Cas looked at him for a long while, then smiled, as wide as he’d ever seen. “I know.”
Castiel set his phone down and got back on the bed with Dean, looking happy and absolutely wonderful, hair mussed, a bite faintly purple where his neck met his shoulder. Cas shouldn’t be allowed in public under normal circumstances, Dean thought, but especially not that morning, when every inch of him screamed that he had gotten laid.
Dean was sure he didn’t look any better, though. He turned his head toward Cas, who had the same idea, meeting him halfway in a slow, open-mouthed kiss.
“Do you have to work today?” Castiel asked, pulling back.
“No, it’s my day off,” Dean replied, leaning in to press his lips to Cas’ jaw. “But I agreed to meet Sam for dinner.” A pause. “Would you like to come?”
Cas looked at him seriously. “Do you want me there?” He asked, but Dean saw through the question: would Sam want me there?
“I think it’s high time he met you. You know, officially,” Dean said, nodding. Sam had figured out that Dean had something going on with someone, though he hadn’t gotten any details, no matter how many bitchfaces he put on, or how many passive-aggressive comments he dropped. Dean had to admit that he was kind of enjoying frustrating his baby brother.
Still. If he had met the Novaks (horrible memory, really; he was already actively trying to repress it), he thought it would be fair if Cas met Sam. Well, other than for those few minutes he’d blundered into Castiel’s office that one time.
But first, a shower was in order.
“So, have you heard we’re officially in a drought?” Dean asked casually.
“Yes, Dean, we can shower together,” Castiel replied, seeming to read his mind.
The water was running cold and the drought no doubt exacerbated by the time they finally left the bathroom, Dean heading home after agreeing to call Castiel with dinner plans. He remembered, now, exactly why he loved shower sex. Plus, Castiel’s shower was made for fucking in-there was really no other excuse for its size. He smiled, idly, gripping the wheel of the Impala tighter. It was weird to think that he was at least five-hundred percent gayer than he’d ever intended to be. The idea was unsettling, but he couldn’t say he regretted any of it. The look on Castiel’s face when he came…the sound of his gravelly voice saying Dean’s name… Yeah, any amount of gayness was worth that. And it really wasn’t about the sex, with Cas. It never had been. That was still as weird to him as the gay thing, but, again, good weird, not bad weird. He wondered how Sam would react to him ‘settling down’ with anyone, let alone Castiel.
He was dreading telling him. That was apparent in that, yeah, he’d put it off for literally months, but he wasn’t merely nervous; he knew full well Sam wouldn’t approve. Even if that Ruby bitch had been a bit of a loose-cannon, there hadn’t been anything inherently frowned upon in the nature of their relationship. Not like him and Cas. He had had a dream, a few nights previous, that Castiel was an actual angel, rather than just being named for one, and that he had fallen from grace for Dean, which-utterly ridiculous, yeah-but still not helping his massive guilt complex. He hadn’t mentioned the dream to Cas. He wasn’t feeling up to another lecture about how all the world’s problems weren’t his responsibility, and that he shouldn’t take their weight onto himself. Because this time, it was his fault. He was the one who had pushed things past their breaking point.
It was with mixed feelings that he opened the door to his apartment, guilty about Cas and anxious about Sam, but still with a spring in his step. After all, he had gotten laid the night before, and it had been fucking awesome.
Well, might as well get it out of the way. He unlocked his phone and scrolled down his contacts to Sam’s name, hesitating an embarrassingly long time before finally hitting the call button.
The phone rang for a long time-Dean was half-relieved, thinking it would go to voicemail and he could put this off a while longer, but, no, at the last second, Sam picked up.
“Dean, hi,” he said, sounding vaguely distracted. Dean must have caught him at work.
“Hi, Sam. Sammy. Hi,” Dean replied, mentally kicking himself. That didn’t sound suspicious at all.
“What did you do?” Sam asked, picking up on it immediately.
“Uh, well,” Dean began, wincing. “You know how we’re getting dinner tonight?”
“I do recall those five conversations,” Sam replied nonchalantly, with a weak laugh.
“Uh, yes, well, I was just thinking…you wouldn’t mind if I brought someone along, would you?”
“Tell me you don’t have a long-lost son from one of your one-night stands, please,” Sam said.
“Ah, no,” Dean replied.
“Daughter?”
“No!” He answered, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “I’m seeing someone, okay?”
“Like, more than once?” Sam asked after a long pause. The best word Dean could come up with to describe his tone was ‘flabbergasted.’
“Yes.”
“For how long?!”
“Debatable, but, two months or so.”
“And you didn’t tell me?!”
“With everything going on…”
“And you didn’t tell me?!”
“I-“
“Your only brother!”
“Look, Sam-“
“Who is it? Someone I know?”
“You’ve…met. Briefly,” Dean answered, knowing that Sam wouldn’t need much more information to piece everything together. His brother was a genius, and sometimes it was annoying as hell.
“Oh god. It’s Castiel,” Sam announced flatly, validating Dean’s internal monologue. He winced again and didn’t reply. His silence was more than enough of an answer. “I cannot believe this,” Sam said. “Do you know how wrong it is for you to be dating your therapist?!”
“He’s not,” Dean interjected.
“Since when?”
“Since about two months ago when he turned in his license and gave up his career.” The ‘for me’ was unspoken, but he knew they both heard it.
“That’s…really. Wow. Um. Serious.”
“Yeah. I know.”
There was a long silence on both ends of the line, and Sam was the one to finally break it. “You’ve been different lately. I’d have to be blind not to have noticed.”
When he didn’t go on, Dean prompted him, “Good different or bad different?”
“Good, good,” Sam assured him. “Definitely good. More together, more…you, if that makes any sense. Happier, too. Not as angry. I mean, you’re looking into schools, Dean, and reading something other than Playboy. It’s him-he made the difference, didn’t he?”
He took a deep breath, collecting himself. He knew exactly what Sam meant. When he looked back on himself a year ago, he saw a man who was hollow, a veneer of masks and posturing covering a deep dark emptiness. Or maybe it was more of a black hole, where anything that he might actually feel got crushed and compacted until it might as well be nothing but emptiness, and, wow, seriously, he was studying too much; he was seeing metaphors in everything now. Point was, he was a lot more solid, now. But Sam’s assumption wasn’t quite accurate. “One of the first things Cas managed to get into my head was that the only way I would change was if I wanted to change. So maybe he pushed me in the right direction, yeah, but I wouldn’t put all the credit on him.” He smiled cheekily as he said the last bit. He knew Sam would be able to hear it in his voice, just as he could hear Sam’s eye-roll in the silence that followed.
When he replied, though, his voice was somber. “Yeah, okay. Dean, I won’t deny that I’m still not comfortable with him being your ex-counselor, but it sounds to me like he’s been good for you. So I’ll at least try to get over my reservations.”
Dean let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Thanks, Sammy. And it’s okay if he comes to dinner?”
“Yeah. Of course it is.”
Dean smiled tightly, pretending his eyes weren’t wet, and thanked Sam, before saying goodbye.
A part of him was suspicious, was waiting for the other shoe to drop, but that was a part of him that he’d largely left behind since waking up in the hospital, nearly a year ago. Now, he had a lot of things going for him, and for once, he didn’t feel the need to find fault, to search out cracks where disaster could be waiting to strike. He was completely aware that things weren’t perfect, that sometimes he still woke up in the middle of the night craving a drink, or that he still had plenty of emotional issues to sort through, but that didn’t stop things from being good.
He wondered, vaguely, what his father would think of him, now. And then he realized that for the first time in his life, he simply didn’t care.
Epilogue: Animal Life
“Cas, have you seen my psychology notebook?” Dean called from the living room.
“It’s on the table in here,” Castiel replied more sedately from where he was putting dishes away.
He placed the last few cups in the cabinet and was closing the door when he felt arms wrap around him from behind. With a small smile, he leaned back into the embrace, turning his head to meet Dean’s lips in a quick kiss.
“You know, my psych prof is a real bitch. Too bad I couldn’t take classes from the other professor. I hear he’s awesome, and pretty hot, too.”
Castiel sighed and turned around so they were face-to-face. “You know it would be unethical for me to have you in any of my classes, Dean.”
“I know, I know. I’m just teasing you,” he said with a smile, turning to fetch a can of soda from the refrigerator and sit down where his notebook was lying open. “But, seriously, Doctor Nelson is a bitch, and Jo raves about your class every time I talk to her.”
Castiel smiled again and shrugged, secretly pleased. Teaching classes at a university level had always been his dream, and to hear that his students thought well of him-it actually meant a lot. He had been informed that his ‘career record’ had made them nervous, but the university was desperate for a professor to take over half the introductory psychology lectures, and Castiel was happy to take the job, previous ‘indiscretions’ aside. After his first semester, he thought he had won many of his colleagues over. When Dean began attending the university in the spring semester, they had gotten nervous again, but Dean had been his usual charming self, and had won them over as well.
“Miss Harvelle is an excellent student,” he replied at last, taking the seat across the table from Dean.
“Jo’s great. I’m glad she decided to go back to school, too,” Dean said, popping his drink open and leafing through the book.
“Exam this week?” Castiel asked, figuring as much since he was also giving his midterms that week.
“Yeah, Thursday. Along with bio, and I’ve got chem and philosophy on Friday,” he grumbled, still flipping pages. Castiel grimaced in sympathy. He remembered those years.
“Well, don’t stay up too late, studying. It’s not helpful, in the long run.”
Dean looked up with a smirk. “Sure thing, Doctor Novak.”
“This doctor had a Ph.D. in unhealthy behavior,” Castiel shot back, returning the smile. Dean laughed. His sense of humor was rubbing off on Castiel, even if the myriad pop culture references still flew over his head ninety percent of the time.
He sat at the table another few minutes, watching Dean study and debating whether he ought to get his laptop and finish writing his test now. Finally, he decided to, since his first class to take it would be in two days. Quietly, he got up, walking down the hall to the bedroom, where his laptop was charging on top of the dresser. Next to it was a picture of him and Dean, in a simple black frame. Sam had taken the picture-Castiel was laughing from something he had said, and Dean was looking fondly at him. He and Dean had both been nervous, at first, but he and Sam actually got along so well Dean occasionally got frustrated and left them alone to “get all their geek out before it infected him.” But he knew Dean was pleased. He unplugged his laptop and took the charger from the wall, rolling up the cord and putting it in one of the drawers.
Not so long ago, half of that dresser had been empty, but time had passed and slowly more and more of Dean’s things had migrated to new homes at Castiel’s house. He still kept his apartment, but the only things there anymore (not counting the furniture) were dishes, his books and records, and a few of his least-favorite shirts. He would have to formally ask Dean to move in with him, soon. There was no point to paying rent on a place he never spent any time at.
And besides, his own house seemed much less hollow with Dean there, his casual clutter at odds with Castiel’s Spartan sense of cleanliness. For the first time, his house began to feel like home, and he knew that it had everything to do with the man in the kitchen. He took the laptop back and resumed his place at the table, opening up his half-written test. Dean looked up and graced him with a smile. Castiel returned it.
They both worked in silence, clicking keys and turning pages the only sounds in the room. Castiel was five, maybe six questions from the end of his exam when he heard Dean close his notebook entirely and he looked up to find him raising his arms into the air behind his head, stretching.
“I’m pretty sure I can’t memorize another thing tonight,” he admitted.
“You off to bed?” Castiel asked.
“I think so,” he got out of his char, then paused, “You coming?”
He smiled, considering it, but, his test was so close to being done…it wouldn’t take him more than a few minutes. “In a little bit. I’m almost done writing this,” he said, gesturing at his laptop.
“Okay. Don’t wait until you’re too tired, okay?” Dean said with that look on his face that usually indicated that Castiel was going to have a very good night.
“I won’t,” he promised, body flushing with anticipation.
“Good. ‘Night, Cas. Love you,” Dean said before turning and leaving the kitchen. Castiel stared after him, a huge, giddy smile breaking out on his face, the kind that wrinkled his nose and made his eyes water and he hadn’t experienced in years. That was the first time Dean had admitted that he loved him, slipping out so casually that Castiel knew it had been thought a thousand times. He almost gave up on the test then, to finish it in the morning, but, no, he could write the questions quickly. He thought of Dean, stripping down and crawling under the blankets on his-their-bed and shivered. Very quickly.
But as he stared at the document, he found himself sitting there longer than he intended, just thinking-about was how much things had changed since he had met Dean, over a desk, hostility and billions of layers of emotional issues between them. But the floodwaters had receded, the walls broken down, and what they were building never ceased to amaze him. It was wonderful, flawed, beautiful, and his. Even if his family still ostracized him without ever actually leaving him alone, and they more or less hated Dean, it didn’t matter to him like it had before.
Perfection, after all, wasn’t a prerequisite for happiness, and Castiel could honestly say that he had the latter.
Author's Notes: This was...exhausting and took considerably longer than it should have, given the length. We'll put it down to being my first go at fanfic since I was in middle school. Um, not too much to say other than I absolutely do not, under any circumstances, endorse attempted seduction of a counselor, ever. Ever. Seriously, that's bad mojo.
Also, this fic owes a huge debt to the music of Shearwater. All of the 'scene' titles, minus one, are taken from "Animal Life," and the other one from "An Insular Life." The title is from "A Hush." And I would declare the 'theme song' of this to be "I'm So Glad." So, yes, consider that a playlist if you wish.
Anyway, thank you so much for reading! I'm hoping you enjoyed it.
Part Four
19. Charging down the maw of the ocean
The car was rife with tension on the way back, of an entirely different sort than the kind which had filled it on the drive to Gabriel’s house. That had been nerves, if not outright fear, this was lingering glances, widened pupils, hitched breaths, hands resting on thighs, unspoken promises.
It was no surprise to either of them when they fell on each other as soon as the door to Castiel’s house was shut. There was no shyness, no holding back, a rough, almost violent clash of lips, teeth, Dean spinning him until he was pinned against the door. He grabbed Dean’s hips, pulled him in, obscenely close, and yes, this was exactly what he had wanted, he thought as he let out a groan.
Dean leaned back with a smirk, but Castiel wasn’t having any of that. A growl in his throat, he grabbed his tie and dragged the man forward again, too roughly, their teeth clacking together, and it hurt, but when Dean’s tongue met his half a moment later, he didn’t care at all. He was a quick study: even with Castiel’s (absurd, really, now that it was actually happening) no intimacy rules, he had managed to figure out what made him tick, what made him writhe and moan.
And, yes, his entire body was pressed against the door, and Dean’s knee was easing his thighs apart, hot and hard against his hip already, and Castiel let out a sound caught between a groan and a sigh, quickly swallowed by Dean’s lips. Castiel’s hands, seeking more friction, slipped from his hips to grip Dean’s ass, which, really, looked fantastic in his suit trousers, but would look and feel about a million times better without them. Dean’s hands tightened in his hair, pulling just enough to feel amazing, and dear god, why had he waited for this?
Their breath was coming more quickly now, skin flushed, and when he pulled back to pant for breath, Dean’s pupils were blown wide, a thin ring of green outlining black.
“Dean, bedroom. Now,” he said, voice low, sandpaper over gravel.
“Yeah, Cas,” Dean said, stepping back, and Castiel burned from the cessation of contact, the cold air rushing into the space between them.
He had a strong feeling that they weren’t going to make it to the bedroom.
It was harder than he remembered, to walk and kiss someone at the same time, eyes closed, legs getting tangled, hands wandering over bodies, occasionally thrown out for support against a wall, or the floor lamp that ended up horizontal moments later. Suit jackets were thrown haphazardly onto the floor, one of Castiel’s buttons popped off and flew across the room. It was a good thing his house was so bare, or more than the lamp would have hit the floor, he thought abstractly, everything but heat and touch seeming fuzzy and distant. When he stepped backwards into the pile of books by his chair, though, sending the books into a scattered heap, and falling over the arm of the chair, he decided to go with it.
Pulling at Dean’s tie again, he managed to situate them so that Dean was over him, straddling his thighs, Castiel’s hand on the back of his neck, mouths clashing, hot, open, fierce. Dean’s palmed Castiel’s erection, and Castiel threw his head back, making it bounce off the chair’s cushioned back, hand slipping from his neck to clutch at his shoulder.
“Oh, Dean,” he whispered, vocal chords unresponsive.
“Cas,” he murmured, lips brushing Castiel’s ear, making him shiver, “Want you to fuck me.”
Castiel opened his eyes then, every cell in his body responding to those words, primal instinct screaming, take, take, mine, mine. Instead, he said, voice unsteady, “You’ve never…”
“I’m aware, believe it or not,” Dean said, leaning back.
“Are you s-“ he began, but Dean cut him off.
“I swear to god, Cas, if you’re about to ask me if I’m sure…” Castiel silenced him with an open-mouthed kiss, newfound urgency in the movement between them.
Reluctantly, he pulled away. “Do you have-“ he started to ask, but Dean nodded his understanding.
“Yeah-in my wallet,” he answered, throwing a glance at where his suit jacket had fallen against the wall.
An insurmountable amount of time passed, though, before he managed to get up, both of their shirts completely undone, Castiel’s tie hanging loose around his neck, Dean’s having fallen over the arm of the chair. It was almost physically painful to stop touching Dean, rubbing, grinding, dirty, and with frantic intent. Castiel wanted to whimper at the loss of contact, when Dean finally pulled off with an unhappy groan, but he bit it back, a part of him grateful. He was closer than he should have been, really, given that his pants were still on, and he was decades past the age where that sort of thing was excusable.
Trying to summon up the least erotic thoughts he could muster, he made his way to the bathroom adjacent to his bedroom. His family’s truly abhorrent behavior at dinner, yes, that was doing the trick. Not bothering to flip the light on, he opened the cabinet under the sink and began rummaging behind the stacks of towels and extra toiletries, searching for-there. It was half-empty and at least a year old, but lube was lube, Castiel supposed.
“Cas?” Dean called a moment later, and he straightened.
“Bedroom,” he replied, closing the door to the bathroom behind him, setting the bottle on the nightstand, and flipping the lamp on as Dean walked in, looking gloriously debauched, shirt gone now, belt and button undone on his trousers.
His entire family could have been in the next room and it wouldn’t have made him want Dean any less, right that second.
Shrugging out of his own button-up, leaving it forgotten on the floor, he stalked up to Dean, and kissed him harshly, wrapping a hand around to the back of his head to hold him in place. Dean put up a cursory resistance to this, placing his hands on Castiel’s chest and fighting for dominance for a moment before dropping the act, opening his mouth to be plundered, and pulling Castiel closer instead.
When Dean’s legs hit the mattress, Castiel pushed gently on his shoulders, but Dean fell backward, seemingly boneless, making the bed bounce invitingly. This submissive side of Dean was unexpected, but something dark and visceral in Castiel responded eagerly to it, covering the man’s body with his own, pressing them together, skin on skin, cloth-covered erections grinding against one another. Soft, panting moans filled the room, and Castiel wasn’t sure who they came from, himself, Dean, both of them. The only thing he knew for certain was that it was high time that pants came off. He wasn’t going to last as it was, any more foreplay and it would hardly be worth the buildup.
Getting up onto his knees he pulled at Dean’s belt loops, and getting the hint, he arched up off the bed so Castiel could pull his trousers and boxers down, swollen cock springing free. Dean kicked his pants the rest of the way off while Castiel began working on his own belt, pausing to bat Dean’s hands away when he tried to help.
When they were fully unclothed in the soft lamplight, he couldn’t help but ask, “Dean, are you sure you want this?”
“Damn it, Cas, what did I say about asking me if I’m sure?” Dean said crankily, and Castiel wasn’t sure if it was at the question or the delay. “Just get inside me already,” he added after a moment, and Castiel decided that the answer was probably both.
“Not quite so fast,” he murmured in reply, reaching for the bottle on the nightstand and wrapping a hand around it to warm it. Despite his words, Dean was a little nervous, Castiel could tell. In all honesty, he was, as well. He truly hadn’t been with anyone in eight years, and even longer since he had been with another man. He definitely didn’t want this to be a bad experience for Dean.
“Cas, you waiting for Christmas?” Dean asked and Castiel snapped out of it, flipping open the bottle of lube.
“No,” he growled, liberally coating his fingers. He replaced the bottle and hooked his free arm around Dean’s leg and hefted it up. His other hand trailed down, over Dean’s cock and balls, experimentally circling his hole without any pressure.
“You’ve got to relax, Dean,” he murmured, leaning down to press his lips to Dean’s, a chaste gesture, completely at odds with everything else.
A moment’s hesitation. “Yeah, Cas,” he replied. Still more nervous than he was admitting. Castiel frowned slightly, pulling back, brows drawn together.
“You can tell me to stop any-“ He began.
“Just go, Cas,” Dean said, impatiently pushing back against his finger. He didn’t respond verbally, instead opening his mouth to Dean’s as he slipped a finger inside him. He tightened, tensing up at the feeling, but Castiel whispered, “Relax,” and kissed him again, and Dean nodded, forcibly easing his body.
After a few minutes of this, Castiel crooked his finger, taking a few tries, but he assumed he had hit the right spot when Dean suddenly leaned up on his elbows and all but shouted, “Jesus fucking Christ!”
Castiel only smiled faintly, and added another finger, slowly scissoring them, stretching as patiently as he could stand, hitting his prostate just often enough to keep Dean panting and moaning, rather than focused on the discomfort.
A third finger, and finally, Dean grabbed onto Castiel’s shoulder and said, “Come on, Cas, I’m ready, and do not ask me if I’m sure.”
Castiel bit back his next words, which were going to be just that, and instead just nodded. He reached for the foil packet Dean had left on the nightstand and tore it open with shaking hands. He rolled it on perfunctorily, not even trying to be sexy about it, anything just to finally get on with it, to feel Dean around him. Dean, meanwhile, grabbed the bottle of lube and poured some into his hand, stroking Castiel’s erection a few times to cover it, making him gasp and shudder at the touch. He wasn’t going to last very long at all.
He lined himself up with Dean’s hole and looked to Dean for confirmation. The impatient expression was all he needed, and he pushed in slowly, muscles straining from resisting the instinct to slide in hard and fast, to take Dean, claim him. There was an intake of breath from Dean when Castiel was in as far as he could go, and he opened his eyes, looking down at Dean, whose face was a bit pinched.
“Dean?” he asked breathlessly, already desperate to move.
“I’m okay, Cas, just give me a minute,” he said.
It couldn’t have been very long, but it seemed an eternity until Dean nodded and murmured something incomprehensible, but definitely containing the word, “move.” Shaking with the strain of not moving, Castiel complied immediately, sliding out almost all the way, and then back in, not as slowly this time. Dean let out a grunt, but not a pained one, and wrapped his legs around Castiel’s waist to give him better access. He set a rhythm, increasing in intensity, a crescendo of bodies entwined, breathing harshly over Dean, occasionally leaning down to press their open mouths together.
He changed the angle of his thrusts and Dean’s eyes flew open. “Oh, god, Cas,” he said in a moan, rocking back to meet him, now, Castiel hitting his prostate nearly every time. He was close. Bracing himself with one arm, he wrapped a hand around Dean’s cock and starting stroking in time with his thrusts.
“Cas,” he said, “I’m gonna-“
“Come for me, Dean,” Castiel said, and Dean immediately arched up off the bed, shooting across his stomach and chest with a low groan, body clenching around Castiel. He stroked Dean through his orgasm, on the brink of his own. With one final push, he thrust into Dean as deep as he could go, body shuddering with waves of pleasure and vision going fuzzy as he came, hard. A few more shallow thrusts, and he pulled out completely, absently tying off the condom and throwing it onto the floor. He slumped, half collapsing to lie half-beside, half-on top of Dean.
“That was-” he began, but Castiel cut him off.
“I love you,” he blurted out, regretting the words as soon as they left his mouth. It was too much, too soon, even though that didn’t make it any less true. But he didn’t apologize, didn’t try to take the words back. They were already there, never to be unsaid.
Dean didn’t reply, instead putting his arms around Castiel and holding him close. It was still more than he expected.
20. Called out in the wake of a lottery
The sound of Castiel’s cell phone woke Dean, the sound coming from somewhere past the foot of the bed. It was definitely fuck-this-shit o’clock, but Cas was nevertheless whining pitifully and rolling out of bed to go see who was calling. With one eye open, Dean watched him check the caller ID, clear his throat, and flip the phone open.
“Hello?” He said, almost sounding like he hadn’t just woken up after a night of really awesome sex. Dean could feel his eyes glazing over with the memory, ghosts of sensation fluttering over his skin.
“Yes, this is Dr. Novak,” Cas said after a moment, and Dean woke up a little further. Hopefully this was a job interview-he knew how hard Cas had been trying, submitting his CV to every university in the country, it seemed. He didn’t want to consider the implications of that, that Cas might have to move away, but he was trying for his dream job, and that was important. He had confessed to Dean, not even a week prior, that he hadn’t really liked counseling, for all that he’d been good at it. That he was glad he’d turned in his license and burned that bridge. He couldn’t take the easy way out and go back to it.
That didn’t stop it from being one more thing Dean felt guilty about, though. And yet, despite everything, Castiel…
There was a flutter in his stomach and a vaguely uncomfortable feeling entirely separate from the vague physical discomfort he was also feeling.
Those three words. He needed to…not think about that. Instead, he focused intently on the side of the conversation he could hear, trying to glean some news. Castiel’s voice was neutral, professional like the man he had known half a year ago, before their relationship became…personal. His face didn’t betray anything either, and the words were equally unhelpful, occasional agreements.
Finally, “Yes, I am available the week of the tenth,” he said, and Dean’s eyebrows raised.
There were a few more pleasantries and thank-you-for-your-times before Castiel hung up.
The first thing Castiel said was, “I never want to have a conversation like that ever again unless I’m wearing clothes.”
Dean couldn’t help but laugh. “Good news?” he asked.
Cas nodded. “I have an interview on the thirteenth of July.”
“That’s great, Cas,” he said sincerely, finally rolling onto his back and sitting up. He was covered in dried spunk, gross. “Where at?”
Cas said the name of the university, and Dean’s eyes widened. Not only was it only about an hour away, it was also the same college that Dean was planning on applying to.
“That’s…” he trailed off, unable to find a suitable adjective for “good,” even with all the new words he’d learned for the SAT.
Cas looked at him for a long while, then smiled, as wide as he’d ever seen. “I know.”
Castiel set his phone down and got back on the bed with Dean, looking happy and absolutely wonderful, hair mussed, a bite faintly purple where his neck met his shoulder. Cas shouldn’t be allowed in public under normal circumstances, Dean thought, but especially not that morning, when every inch of him screamed that he had gotten laid.
Dean was sure he didn’t look any better, though. He turned his head toward Cas, who had the same idea, meeting him halfway in a slow, open-mouthed kiss.
“Do you have to work today?” Castiel asked, pulling back.
“No, it’s my day off,” Dean replied, leaning in to press his lips to Cas’ jaw. “But I agreed to meet Sam for dinner.” A pause. “Would you like to come?”
Cas looked at him seriously. “Do you want me there?” He asked, but Dean saw through the question: would Sam want me there?
“I think it’s high time he met you. You know, officially,” Dean said, nodding. Sam had figured out that Dean had something going on with someone, though he hadn’t gotten any details, no matter how many bitchfaces he put on, or how many passive-aggressive comments he dropped. Dean had to admit that he was kind of enjoying frustrating his baby brother.
Still. If he had met the Novaks (horrible memory, really; he was already actively trying to repress it), he thought it would be fair if Cas met Sam. Well, other than for those few minutes he’d blundered into Castiel’s office that one time.
But first, a shower was in order.
“So, have you heard we’re officially in a drought?” Dean asked casually.
“Yes, Dean, we can shower together,” Castiel replied, seeming to read his mind.
The water was running cold and the drought no doubt exacerbated by the time they finally left the bathroom, Dean heading home after agreeing to call Castiel with dinner plans. He remembered, now, exactly why he loved shower sex. Plus, Castiel’s shower was made for fucking in-there was really no other excuse for its size. He smiled, idly, gripping the wheel of the Impala tighter. It was weird to think that he was at least five-hundred percent gayer than he’d ever intended to be. The idea was unsettling, but he couldn’t say he regretted any of it. The look on Castiel’s face when he came…the sound of his gravelly voice saying Dean’s name… Yeah, any amount of gayness was worth that. And it really wasn’t about the sex, with Cas. It never had been. That was still as weird to him as the gay thing, but, again, good weird, not bad weird. He wondered how Sam would react to him ‘settling down’ with anyone, let alone Castiel.
He was dreading telling him. That was apparent in that, yeah, he’d put it off for literally months, but he wasn’t merely nervous; he knew full well Sam wouldn’t approve. Even if that Ruby bitch had been a bit of a loose-cannon, there hadn’t been anything inherently frowned upon in the nature of their relationship. Not like him and Cas. He had had a dream, a few nights previous, that Castiel was an actual angel, rather than just being named for one, and that he had fallen from grace for Dean, which-utterly ridiculous, yeah-but still not helping his massive guilt complex. He hadn’t mentioned the dream to Cas. He wasn’t feeling up to another lecture about how all the world’s problems weren’t his responsibility, and that he shouldn’t take their weight onto himself. Because this time, it was his fault. He was the one who had pushed things past their breaking point.
It was with mixed feelings that he opened the door to his apartment, guilty about Cas and anxious about Sam, but still with a spring in his step. After all, he had gotten laid the night before, and it had been fucking awesome.
Well, might as well get it out of the way. He unlocked his phone and scrolled down his contacts to Sam’s name, hesitating an embarrassingly long time before finally hitting the call button.
The phone rang for a long time-Dean was half-relieved, thinking it would go to voicemail and he could put this off a while longer, but, no, at the last second, Sam picked up.
“Dean, hi,” he said, sounding vaguely distracted. Dean must have caught him at work.
“Hi, Sam. Sammy. Hi,” Dean replied, mentally kicking himself. That didn’t sound suspicious at all.
“What did you do?” Sam asked, picking up on it immediately.
“Uh, well,” Dean began, wincing. “You know how we’re getting dinner tonight?”
“I do recall those five conversations,” Sam replied nonchalantly, with a weak laugh.
“Uh, yes, well, I was just thinking…you wouldn’t mind if I brought someone along, would you?”
“Tell me you don’t have a long-lost son from one of your one-night stands, please,” Sam said.
“Ah, no,” Dean replied.
“Daughter?”
“No!” He answered, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “I’m seeing someone, okay?”
“Like, more than once?” Sam asked after a long pause. The best word Dean could come up with to describe his tone was ‘flabbergasted.’
“Yes.”
“For how long?!”
“Debatable, but, two months or so.”
“And you didn’t tell me?!”
“With everything going on…”
“And you didn’t tell me?!”
“I-“
“Your only brother!”
“Look, Sam-“
“Who is it? Someone I know?”
“You’ve…met. Briefly,” Dean answered, knowing that Sam wouldn’t need much more information to piece everything together. His brother was a genius, and sometimes it was annoying as hell.
“Oh god. It’s Castiel,” Sam announced flatly, validating Dean’s internal monologue. He winced again and didn’t reply. His silence was more than enough of an answer. “I cannot believe this,” Sam said. “Do you know how wrong it is for you to be dating your therapist?!”
“He’s not,” Dean interjected.
“Since when?”
“Since about two months ago when he turned in his license and gave up his career.” The ‘for me’ was unspoken, but he knew they both heard it.
“That’s…really. Wow. Um. Serious.”
“Yeah. I know.”
There was a long silence on both ends of the line, and Sam was the one to finally break it. “You’ve been different lately. I’d have to be blind not to have noticed.”
When he didn’t go on, Dean prompted him, “Good different or bad different?”
“Good, good,” Sam assured him. “Definitely good. More together, more…you, if that makes any sense. Happier, too. Not as angry. I mean, you’re looking into schools, Dean, and reading something other than Playboy. It’s him-he made the difference, didn’t he?”
He took a deep breath, collecting himself. He knew exactly what Sam meant. When he looked back on himself a year ago, he saw a man who was hollow, a veneer of masks and posturing covering a deep dark emptiness. Or maybe it was more of a black hole, where anything that he might actually feel got crushed and compacted until it might as well be nothing but emptiness, and, wow, seriously, he was studying too much; he was seeing metaphors in everything now. Point was, he was a lot more solid, now. But Sam’s assumption wasn’t quite accurate. “One of the first things Cas managed to get into my head was that the only way I would change was if I wanted to change. So maybe he pushed me in the right direction, yeah, but I wouldn’t put all the credit on him.” He smiled cheekily as he said the last bit. He knew Sam would be able to hear it in his voice, just as he could hear Sam’s eye-roll in the silence that followed.
When he replied, though, his voice was somber. “Yeah, okay. Dean, I won’t deny that I’m still not comfortable with him being your ex-counselor, but it sounds to me like he’s been good for you. So I’ll at least try to get over my reservations.”
Dean let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Thanks, Sammy. And it’s okay if he comes to dinner?”
“Yeah. Of course it is.”
Dean smiled tightly, pretending his eyes weren’t wet, and thanked Sam, before saying goodbye.
A part of him was suspicious, was waiting for the other shoe to drop, but that was a part of him that he’d largely left behind since waking up in the hospital, nearly a year ago. Now, he had a lot of things going for him, and for once, he didn’t feel the need to find fault, to search out cracks where disaster could be waiting to strike. He was completely aware that things weren’t perfect, that sometimes he still woke up in the middle of the night craving a drink, or that he still had plenty of emotional issues to sort through, but that didn’t stop things from being good.
He wondered, vaguely, what his father would think of him, now. And then he realized that for the first time in his life, he simply didn’t care.
Epilogue: Animal Life
“Cas, have you seen my psychology notebook?” Dean called from the living room.
“It’s on the table in here,” Castiel replied more sedately from where he was putting dishes away.
He placed the last few cups in the cabinet and was closing the door when he felt arms wrap around him from behind. With a small smile, he leaned back into the embrace, turning his head to meet Dean’s lips in a quick kiss.
“You know, my psych prof is a real bitch. Too bad I couldn’t take classes from the other professor. I hear he’s awesome, and pretty hot, too.”
Castiel sighed and turned around so they were face-to-face. “You know it would be unethical for me to have you in any of my classes, Dean.”
“I know, I know. I’m just teasing you,” he said with a smile, turning to fetch a can of soda from the refrigerator and sit down where his notebook was lying open. “But, seriously, Doctor Nelson is a bitch, and Jo raves about your class every time I talk to her.”
Castiel smiled again and shrugged, secretly pleased. Teaching classes at a university level had always been his dream, and to hear that his students thought well of him-it actually meant a lot. He had been informed that his ‘career record’ had made them nervous, but the university was desperate for a professor to take over half the introductory psychology lectures, and Castiel was happy to take the job, previous ‘indiscretions’ aside. After his first semester, he thought he had won many of his colleagues over. When Dean began attending the university in the spring semester, they had gotten nervous again, but Dean had been his usual charming self, and had won them over as well.
“Miss Harvelle is an excellent student,” he replied at last, taking the seat across the table from Dean.
“Jo’s great. I’m glad she decided to go back to school, too,” Dean said, popping his drink open and leafing through the book.
“Exam this week?” Castiel asked, figuring as much since he was also giving his midterms that week.
“Yeah, Thursday. Along with bio, and I’ve got chem and philosophy on Friday,” he grumbled, still flipping pages. Castiel grimaced in sympathy. He remembered those years.
“Well, don’t stay up too late, studying. It’s not helpful, in the long run.”
Dean looked up with a smirk. “Sure thing, Doctor Novak.”
“This doctor had a Ph.D. in unhealthy behavior,” Castiel shot back, returning the smile. Dean laughed. His sense of humor was rubbing off on Castiel, even if the myriad pop culture references still flew over his head ninety percent of the time.
He sat at the table another few minutes, watching Dean study and debating whether he ought to get his laptop and finish writing his test now. Finally, he decided to, since his first class to take it would be in two days. Quietly, he got up, walking down the hall to the bedroom, where his laptop was charging on top of the dresser. Next to it was a picture of him and Dean, in a simple black frame. Sam had taken the picture-Castiel was laughing from something he had said, and Dean was looking fondly at him. He and Dean had both been nervous, at first, but he and Sam actually got along so well Dean occasionally got frustrated and left them alone to “get all their geek out before it infected him.” But he knew Dean was pleased. He unplugged his laptop and took the charger from the wall, rolling up the cord and putting it in one of the drawers.
Not so long ago, half of that dresser had been empty, but time had passed and slowly more and more of Dean’s things had migrated to new homes at Castiel’s house. He still kept his apartment, but the only things there anymore (not counting the furniture) were dishes, his books and records, and a few of his least-favorite shirts. He would have to formally ask Dean to move in with him, soon. There was no point to paying rent on a place he never spent any time at.
And besides, his own house seemed much less hollow with Dean there, his casual clutter at odds with Castiel’s Spartan sense of cleanliness. For the first time, his house began to feel like home, and he knew that it had everything to do with the man in the kitchen. He took the laptop back and resumed his place at the table, opening up his half-written test. Dean looked up and graced him with a smile. Castiel returned it.
They both worked in silence, clicking keys and turning pages the only sounds in the room. Castiel was five, maybe six questions from the end of his exam when he heard Dean close his notebook entirely and he looked up to find him raising his arms into the air behind his head, stretching.
“I’m pretty sure I can’t memorize another thing tonight,” he admitted.
“You off to bed?” Castiel asked.
“I think so,” he got out of his char, then paused, “You coming?”
He smiled, considering it, but, his test was so close to being done…it wouldn’t take him more than a few minutes. “In a little bit. I’m almost done writing this,” he said, gesturing at his laptop.
“Okay. Don’t wait until you’re too tired, okay?” Dean said with that look on his face that usually indicated that Castiel was going to have a very good night.
“I won’t,” he promised, body flushing with anticipation.
“Good. ‘Night, Cas. Love you,” Dean said before turning and leaving the kitchen. Castiel stared after him, a huge, giddy smile breaking out on his face, the kind that wrinkled his nose and made his eyes water and he hadn’t experienced in years. That was the first time Dean had admitted that he loved him, slipping out so casually that Castiel knew it had been thought a thousand times. He almost gave up on the test then, to finish it in the morning, but, no, he could write the questions quickly. He thought of Dean, stripping down and crawling under the blankets on his-their-bed and shivered. Very quickly.
But as he stared at the document, he found himself sitting there longer than he intended, just thinking-about was how much things had changed since he had met Dean, over a desk, hostility and billions of layers of emotional issues between them. But the floodwaters had receded, the walls broken down, and what they were building never ceased to amaze him. It was wonderful, flawed, beautiful, and his. Even if his family still ostracized him without ever actually leaving him alone, and they more or less hated Dean, it didn’t matter to him like it had before.
Perfection, after all, wasn’t a prerequisite for happiness, and Castiel could honestly say that he had the latter.
Author's Notes: This was...exhausting and took considerably longer than it should have, given the length. We'll put it down to being my first go at fanfic since I was in middle school. Um, not too much to say other than I absolutely do not, under any circumstances, endorse attempted seduction of a counselor, ever. Ever. Seriously, that's bad mojo.
Also, this fic owes a huge debt to the music of Shearwater. All of the 'scene' titles, minus one, are taken from "Animal Life," and the other one from "An Insular Life." The title is from "A Hush." And I would declare the 'theme song' of this to be "I'm So Glad." So, yes, consider that a playlist if you wish.
Anyway, thank you so much for reading! I'm hoping you enjoyed it.
Part Four