Fic: Comment Fic Roundup
So I've decided to do a roundup of all the comment_fic I've done since getting this journal. There are twelve all told (...mostly Dean/Cas), rated from G to R, and ranging from crack to angst (or as close as I get, anyway), and from 47 words to... um, 1775. I've sorted them by pairing (SPN Gen, Dean/Cas, Dean/Cas & Sam/Gabriel, Sam/Gabriel, and The Mentalist Jane/Cho) (What?). Within each pairing stories are sorted lowest to highest rating (within each rating they're just by date written).
I tried to do a schmancy linky menu, but... well. Did you know that if you put bold and italic formatting tags into a word processing document, then paste the text of the document into LJ's HTML editor, it will both preserve the document formatting and add the bold and italics - but that if you have any other HTML tags in the document, the HTML editor will strip all untagged formatting? Because I didn't. So those who want to jump around/to particular pairings will have to settle for CTRL-F, at least for the moment.
I know it might seem kind of self-indulgent to be reposting old comment_fic when I'm hopelessly behind on the comm and haven't written anything new in weeks, but I actually have a good reason for wanting everything I've written to be easily accessible on my journal at the moment.
Usual comment_fic warnings apply: entirely unbeta'd and written very quickly, often at 3am.
Stories:
SPN Gen -
He used to want to be a rock star (G, 3 sentences theme)
Dean/Castiel -
Untitled Dean/Cas, "Texts from Last Night" theme (PG-13)
Wrong Number (PG-13)
Strength (PG-13)
Long Wait (PG-13, 3 sentences theme)
Down Time (R)
Dean/Castiel and Sam/Gabriel -
The More Things Change (PG-13)
The Problem (PG-13)
Sam/Gabriel -
Tradition, Allegedly (PG-13, girl!Sam)
Untitled Sam/Gabriel (PG-13)
The Mentalist, Jane/Cho -
Let Me Out (R)
Pandora's Box (R)
*****
SPN Gen:
He used to want to be a rock star
Rated G.
Prompt by crimson_antics: Supernatural, Dean (/any), He used to want to be a rock star. Theme: 3 sentences.
He used to want to be a rock star.
He used to want to strut his stuff in the spotlight in front of an adoring crowd, knowing he'd get a roaring wall of adulation in return.
He doesn't want anyone to look at him at all anymore.
*****
Dean/Castiel:
Untitled Dean/Cas
Rated PG-13
Prompt by elwing_alcyone: author's choice, author's choice, Their bromance is so intense that they don't even eye-fuck when they see each other....they eye-make-love. Theme: Texts from Last Night.
Sam's not entirely sure how he ended up alone in the motel room. It all happened kind of fast - Dean declared he was going to go grab them take-out, and it sort of went without saying that Cas was going since Dean was going, and then somehow Gabriel invited himself along too on the basis that he wouldn't know what he wanted until he got there, and they'd get his order wrong anyway...
It's been a while since Sam was just... on his own (and not having to deal with some sort of massive internal or external crisis). He's happily considering all the things he can do with a whole quiet half-hour when his phone pings.
He sighs. If he's lucky, it's Dean with some rudely-phrased question about the salad he asked for. If he's unlucky, it's someone with a crisis.
It's neither.
GABRIEL: how do you stand it?
For a moment, Sam contemplates ignoring him - a whole half-hour! All to himself! - but he's pretty sure Gabriel will just keep texting him until he responds. Plus, even against his better judgment, even though he knows it's what Gabriel wants, he kind of has to ask--
SAM: what?
GABRIEL: your love-sick brother. MY love-sick brother. they're making ME sick.
SAM: welcome to my life
GABRIEL: this is unbelievable
GABRIEL: Their bromance is so intense that they don't even eye-fuck when they see each other....they eye-make-love.
SAM: eye-fuck? thanks for that image dude
SAM: that horrifyingly accurate image
GABRIEL: srsly, how do they not just walk into things all the time?
SAM: ikr? if they get any worse, im not letting Dean drive anymore when Cas is in the car
GABRIEL: LOL
GABRIEL: good luck with that
SAM: i could take him
GABRIEL: i'm sure you could, you big strong manly man, but then Cas would smite the crap out of you for beating up his boyfriend
GABRIEL: how have they not progressed to actual fucking yet?
SAM: sure they havent?
GABRIEL: definitely not. i'd know.
SAM: magic angel sense?
GABRIEL: no, Cas just wouldn't have that giant neon LOOK AT ME, I'M A VIRGIN sign painted on his back any more
SAM: LOL
SAM: youre a terrible brother
GABRIEL: i'm an AWESOME brother
GABRIEL: i'm going to get my bro laid. isn't that what awesome brothers do
SAM: wish i was there
GABRIEL: WHY?????
SAM: b/c youre about to say something incredibly inappropriate and i want to see their faces
GABRIEL: aw. for you Sam, i'll wait til we get back
SAM: youre all heart
Sam waits, but Gabriel doesn't respond. Maybe he's distracted by his probably very complicated dinner order, or maybe he's gone back to goggling at Cas and Dean and the rampant sexual tension between them (which Gabriel has apparently just noticed - though to be fair, that still puts him ahead of Dean and Cas).
Sam checks the phone one last time, then tosses it on the bed and looks around the empty room. Suddenly, a half an hour feels like a really long time.
***
Wrong Number
Rated PG-13
Prompt by mariana_oconnor : Supernatural, Author's choice, A lesson I learned in the hospital....when you masturbate while attached to a heart monitor, it scares the nurses a lot. Theme: Texts from Last Night.
Sam's a light sleeper - it's an asset when you're a hunter - so when his phone pings at ass o'clock in the morning, it pulls him right out of dreamland. He's tempted to ignore it, because he knows there's no crisis going on at the moment - okay, yes, Dean's in the hospital, but it's just for observation, he's fine - but twenty-plus years of conditioning won't be denied, and he reluctantly cracks an eye and glares at the text on his cell screen.
It's from Dean.
A lesson I learned in the hospital....when you masturbate while attached to a heart monitor, it scares the nurses a lot.
Sam very nearly throws the phone across the room, because he was SLEEPING here. Instead, he opens his other eye and texts back:
I think you meant to send that to Cas.
Because this is his latest thing: teasing Dean about Cas' crush on him. Which doesn't really exist, of course. Yeah, Cas is kind of obsessed with Dean (which is kind of understandable given their history and Cas' total lack of social skills), but he's an angel, and he's Cas, and yeah, not happening. Doesn't mean it's not funny the way Dean gets pink and pissed off when Sam teases him about it.
Sam's almost drifted back to sleep when his phone pings again.
sorry
Sam stares at the one word for a long time, because--
Okay, sarcasm and snark can be kind of hard to judge in texts, but-
But clearly Dean's just kidding.
Right?
***
Strength
Rated PG-13
Prompt by hugglewolf: SPN: Michael!Dean/Castiel or gen, Dean says yes and the first thing Michael does is to take Castiel to a place of safety (trapping him there genuinely for his own good in a 'green room') and the next thing is to go after Raphael and Gabriel for hurting him.
They should have known, Castiel thinks, as he makes his way towards the building before him. They should have known by the way he was too, too quiet when Sam suggested his plan to trap Lucifer. They should have known that just because he had said No once did not mean this was over. They should never have let him out of the house, out of the room, out of the cuffs.
But they did, and now they are split up, searching, frantic. He slipped out in the middle of the night; he left no note, no word, but there is only one thing he would have gone to do without telling them, without leaving word.
And Castiel is, is about to be, the one to find him. But it doesn't matter. He knows, glass crunching under his feet as he walks towards a building with its windows all blown out, knows with a dull certainty, that it is already too late.
He stays anyway, when he finds the figure curled unconscious on the ground at the centre of the chaos. Because he might as well let Sam and Bobby hope a little longer. Because this is the end of the line. Because there is nothing left to do, nothing left to try. And because whoever is truly here now, the form he kneels beside still looks like Dean.
But the eyes that at last open and stare through him, the deep voice that says "Castiel," those are not Dean's.
"Michael," Castiel says, and he bows his head and waits. He has disobeyed, he has fought with Man against Heaven and Michael and all the angels; he knows what is coming now. He does not even try to move away from the hand that whips out to seize his shoulder in a bruising grip. Because there is nowhere left to go.
The world fades around him - fades and then reforms, and Castiel cannot help raising his head in surprise to see where Michael has taken him. Metal walls, a table, a single metal-frame bed. And something, something in the walls perhaps, on the outside where he cannot see - something that will not let him leave.
"Stay here," Michael says, drawing himself to his feet. "You will be safe here."
And then he is gone.
You will be safe here. Perhaps Michael is mocking him. Michael's sense of humour is not as obtrusive as Gabriel's, but it is just as cruel - crueler - in its way.
Castiel pulls himself off the floor to sit on the bed and await his execution. He looks around at the walls of his cell.
It's... familiar.
For a long moment he doesn't understand. When he was, briefly, confined in Heaven, they did not confine him in physical form, kept him in nothing as mundane as a metal cell. There is no reason his cell should look familiar.
But it does. Because this isn't a cell.
It's a panic room.
It's Bobby's panic room.
For a moment he thinks it might be actually, literally, Robert Singer's panic room. But no. It is a little larger. It is a little darker. Bobby's panic room is not warded to keep angels out. Bobby's panic room is not warded to keep angels in.
Bobby's panic room has a door.
Before he can begin to contemplate what Michael intends in bringing him here of all places, there is a rustling and the archangel is once more standing before him.
His clothes are torn, and there is blood, a great deal of blood, painted across the fabric and across the skin the torn cloth reveals, but Castiel thinks very little of it is his.
The blood on the sword in his hand certainly isn't.
Michael is staring at the bloodied blade, and without thinking Castiel finds he is standing and drifting towards him, his eyes too fixed on the sword.
"It is done then," he says, and his voice sounds strange to his own ears. "Lucifer is dead."
"Lucifer?" Michael says. He sounds... surprised. He blinks and looks away from the blade, looks at Castiel. "No. Raphael."
"Raphael?" Castiel stops in his tracks. He doesn't understand. After a long moment, he asks "Why?" Quiet and careful, but he asks, because he doesn't understand. He wants to understand. Michael is going to execute him anyway. He has nothing to lose.
"He was cruel to you," Michael says, slowly, and he is staring at the blade again. He sounds confused himself. "He was cruel to you. You are my brother." He looks up at Castiel again. "You are my brother," he repeats, and vanishes.
Castiel backs away until the backs of his legs hit the metal cot, then he sits heavily, staring blindly at the walls of Bobby's panic room. He doesn't understand.
He doesn't dare hope he understands.
When Michael appears again, he is ready, ready to look closer, ready to see the look of perplexity on Michael's face as he stares at his own stained sword.
"Lucifer?" Castiel asks, standing.
"No," Michael shakes his head. "No, Gabriel."
Castiel is not prepared to hear that, and it must show in his face as Michael looks up at him, because Michael adds "He is not dead. But he will not do that again. He will not hurt you again."
"Why?" Castiel asks, gentle but insistent. "Why, Michael?"
"Because," Michael says. "Because you are my brother." He sounds confused, endlessly confused - more confused than Castiel, because Castiel understands. Understands that the actions, the cold decisive violence, are Michael's, but the words...
The words are not. Not entirely.
Michael turns back to his sword, and "Yes," Castiel says quickly, before Michael can leave again. "Yes, Michael, I am your brother." He walks towards Michael, deliberately this time, but slowly, as if Michael is a skittish animal he might startle away. "I am your brother. But that does not mean the same thing to angels as it does to men."
Michael looks back up at Castiel then, and it is difficult to hold his gaze and not look away, when Castiel sees in those eyes none of what he wants to, but he does it.
"I am aware, Castiel."
"We are brothers in that we are all children of our Father, but it is different. We are not brothers in flesh, or in blood. It is different. The relationship is different." He is close to Michael now, close enough to reach out and place his two hands on the sides of Michael's face. Michael does not stop him.
No one stops him.
"The relationship can be different," Castiel says, and then he leans in and kisses Michael.
They never did this, he and Dean. He thinks they were headed towards it, thinks they would have, if there had been more time, and less anger. But they never did, and he knows that what he has done will be more shocking to Dean than to Michael.
And perhaps Dean will throw himself away from the contact, will reject the sensation, will burrow deep down, away from it. But Castiel doesn't think so.
He doesn't think so.
And he has nothing to lose.
For one terrible moment, the lips he is kissing stay marble-still. But then suddenly, they are moving, sliding against his, and then with a sigh they part, and Castiel slips his tongue into the warm mouth under his.
He pours everything into this one kiss: the moment he first confessed he doubted to another being, and the moment he broke with Zachariah and with Heaven, and the moment he first slew his brethren for Dean, and the moment after, all the moments after, when he thought Dean was lost to him. He pours it all into this one kiss, into this one last moment, all of it.
When at last he forces himself to pull away, the other angel - the man - the vessel is breathing too quickly, as an archangel should never have to, eyes shut, and there is colour high in his cheeks. "Cas," he says, too soft and choked off for Castiel to be sure, but he is sure anyway, even before he finds himself looking into green eyes that are so familiar. That are oh-so-human.
"Cas," Dean says, quiet and lost, "Cas, what-"
"Dean," Castiel cuts him off, because there is nothing Dean can say now that Castiel is prepared to hear. Castiel realises his hands are still cupping Dean's face and he uses them to make Dean look at him, to make him focus. "Dean, I need you to open the door."
"What-" Dean tries to turn his head, but Castiel holds on. Dean could easily overpower him now - Castiel hopes Dean could easily overpower him now - but he doesn't try, doesn't fight Castiel's hold. "Where- Cas, I don't-"
"Behind you," Castiel tells him. "Don't look," he adds quickly. "Just open it."
"Cas..." Dean stares into his face, confused, as if Castiel's eyes hold the answers. And perhaps they do; Dean's own eyes widen in comprehension then slide away from Castiel's, unfocused, as he concentrates.
And behind Dean, a door abruptly swings wide to let in a bright, warm light. A door where before there was only smooth unbroken wall.
Castiel stares at it for a long moment. "You are much stronger than I thought," he says, and once more his voice sounds far away and not his own. Because it is one thing to overpower a demon, for a mortal mind to wrest back control while hellish power crackles through it. It has been done - rarely, but it has been done. But to overpower an angel. But to overpower an archangel.
"I'm not." There is something broken in Dean's voice, and Castiel turns his gaze back to him to find tears pooling in those human, human eyes. "I'm not, Cas, I'm weak-"
"No."
"I'm not," Dean shakes his head, as much as he can with Castiel's hands still bracketing his face. Castiel realises he is stroking his thumbs along Dean's cheekbones. He makes himself stop. "I said yes, Cas, I'm sorry, I said yes."
"I know," Castiel tells him. "I will be very angry with you later." Because there is going to be a later now, for both of them. "But now, we have to go save the world."
He releases Dean's face and reaches down to take one of Dean's hands in one of his instead. He does it to get Dean to go with him, to pull him through the room and out the door.
But on the other side, he doesn't let go.
***
Long Wait
Rated PG-13
Prompt by crimson_antics: Supernatural, Dean (/any), Flat tire. Theme: 3 sentences.
"The tow truck is gonna take about forty-five minutes, so we'll just have to wait."
"This is why 'Angel Air' is better," Castiel says mulishly, glaring at the flat tire.
Dean comes around the car to pull him close, grinning as he says "No, it isn't," breath warm on the sensitive skin of Castiel's neck, and abruptly Castiel finds, adding up the length of forty-five minutes, that he is forced to agree.
***
Down Time
Rated R
Prompt by hrtslkths: Supernatural, Dean/Castiel, Once devirginized, Castiel is very curious and Dean is very tired.
"Dean."
"No."
"No?"
"No. No, I can't get it up again, no, I won't suck you off, no, you can't do me again until I've had a rest. No."
"Dean-"
"And no, I won't give you a hand job. You've got your own damn hands."
"Dean, I am only trying to ask how long a rest you need."
"...you are such a bad liar."
"Dean."
"An hour, okay? Just give me an hour."
"Very well."
"..."
"..."
"Okay, but a restful hour. Not an hour of you doing that."
"But you said to-"
"I know what I said. Just- just go into the bathroom, okay? Shut the door. Run some water."
"The bathroom?"
"Just give me an hour, Cas, okay? Then we can do whatever you want, I promise, anything you want. Just give me one hour, please."
"All right."
"...and I thought the apocalypse was going to kill me."
"Pardon?"
"Nothing!"
*****
Dean/Castiel & Sam/Gabriel:
The More Things Change
Rated PG-13
Prompt by owleyes_arisen: Supernatural, Sam/Gabriel, Dean/Castiel. Reincarnation - "The more things change, the more they stay the same."
There's four of them - probably the four of them, which means they're still together, which is awesome. And Sam is still the tallest, which is just never going to get old.
He's also kind of a greenish-gray. It's not a great colour, but he can totally live with it, since the last time he was sort of this shimmery, glimmering sort-of colour that Dean kept trying to tell him was pink.
The blue one is Dean. He doesn't know exactly how he can tell which one is Dean, but he always can. Dean looks pretty human, the way Sam remembers they used to look, except for the inky-blue skin and the brilliant green eyes that, as Sam watches, blink sideways.
He doesn't know which one is Gabriel and which one is Cas. He always expects to, but somehow he never does. One of the angels - well, he supposes they're not really angels now, any more than he and Dean are really human, but one of them is purple and lithe and... well, cat-like, the way Sam remembers cats looking, with short fur and pointed ears and big yellow eyes and even a tail - but humanoid, upright on two feet.
The other one is covered in fur too, yellow-brown, tawny, like a lion, and his eyes are lion-like, all brown and gold. But other than that, he looks less like a cat than the other one, looks pretty human, actually - except that he has wings. Great sweeping wings that rise up over his head and reach down almost to his ankles. They've got fur on them, not feathers, but Sam thinks they'll be capable of flying anyway. He hopes they will.
He still can't tell which is which, but then "Dean," the cat-angel says to Dean in a deep, ringing voice, and that has to be Cas, because somehow Cas can always tell too.
"Cas," Dean says back, and then they rush towards each other and press together, body to body, mouth to mouth, and oh look, they both have tongues in this incarnation.
So cat-angel is definitely Cas, which means the winged angel sliding up beside Sam is Gabriel. Sam can feel the heat coming off his body, can feel the vibration in the air as he chuckles, a sound that always seems the same no matter what.
Gabriel shakes his new head. "The more things change, the more they stay the same," he says, arms folded, staring fondly at his brother and Sam's brother exploring each others' tonsils.
Sam rolls his eyes (does he have more of them than before?). "Yeah, no kidding," he says. "I always expect you to be the horny angel, but instead you're always the one who wants to start talk--mmph!"
Turns out Gabriel has a tongue in this incarnation too.
***
The Problem
Rated PG-13
Prompt by sycophantastic: Supernatural, Dean/Castiel + Sam/Gabriel, they confront a creature that destroys all cotton on contact.
Gabriel was wearing jeans and a T-shirt - and cotton underwear, if he was wearing any at all - so he's currently naked except for a pair of rugged leather hiking boots. Sam's pretty sure Gabriel could, at the very least, manage some fresh clothes for himself, but Gabriel's very... if Sam remembers his frosh week orientation correctly, the term is "body confident."
But this thing between Sam and Gabriel would never have gotten as far as it has if Sam weren't rapidly developing the ability to ignore Gabriel when the situation calls for it; Dean, after the obligatory exaggerated shudder of horror, had just turned his back and taken point to lead their little group back down the trail out of the woods to civilization; and Castiel seems oblivious to the naked archangel. So Gabriel, surprisingly, is not the problem.
Sam fared no better than Gabriel. It's warm enough that he'd skipped the flannel in favour of a couple layers of cotton, and he's paying for it now. He'd be as naked as his angel sort-of-boyfriend if it weren't for the fact that, apparently, nothing Castiel is wearing is made of natural fibers. (A fact which had horrified Dean - "Seriously? Dude, that's just messed up."
"I did not select these clothes, Dean."
"Fine, then we're taking you shopping for new clothes."
"Cotton clothes?"
"Shut up.")
Castiel has gallantly given Sam his trenchcoat, since, as Sam made a point of saying to Gabriel, Castiel is the nice angel. The coat is sort of ridiculously small on Sam, but he's managed to get it on and arranged well enough that his modesty is more or less preserved. He feels like a flasher, but he's not actually flashing anyone, so Sam isn't the problem either.
Dean, the lucky bastard, was wearing his leather jacket; now he's wearing nothing but that and his boots. The jacket is just long enough to keep him decent, given that the path is smooth and level and doesn't, thank God, involve any bending or climbing. Sam doesn't exactly love the look, but it's not going to scar him for life. So Dean isn't the problem either.
Castiel is the only one of them fully clothed - although actually, the fact that he's given Sam his coat means that he's the most undressed Sam has ever seen him. Still, he's got a suit jacket, white shirt, suit pants, tie, even his socks - what the hell those are made of, Sam doesn't even want to imagine. And yet, somehow, it's Castiel who's the problem.
The path is too narrow for more than one person at a time. Dean is leading, followed by Castiel, followed by Sam, with Gabriel last (thankfully).
"So, what do you think Cas, is it just cotton, or is it all natural fabrics? Cause I gotta say, I don't really want to try actual hunting in my Fed get-up," Dean says, tossing it back over his shoulder as he keeps his eyes on the trail. "Cas? ...Cas?"
"I'm sorry Dean, what was that?"
"Do you think it's just cotton or all natural fabrics?"
"Your boots are fine."
"Yeah, but I don't really want to try hunting in leather pants either."
Cas stops so suddenly Sam nearly breaks his nose on the back of Cas' head.
"Cas," he says, trying very hard to stay patient. "Cas. Cas!" Behind him, he can hear Gabriel snickering.
He reaches out and shakes Cas' shoulder gently. "Hey, Cas."
"Hmm?" Cas finally turns his head to look at him. His face is slack, eyes glazed, pupils blown - he's been like this ever since they left the clearing (deciding that retreating and coming back fully clothed was really the best option). He has to have his name called multiple times before he responds (and usually then just to say "Hmm? What?"), and he's walked into, Sam is not kidding, four trees.
He can't stop staring at Dean.
Which, since Dean is leading, you would think would keep him on the trail, but he must keep going off into his own internal world, given how many times Sam has had to grab at him to keep him wandering off into the underbrush. Sam doesn't know if it's the jacket, or knowing that Dean is naked underneath it, or hell, maybe it's Dean's legs. All he knows is that (a) if he isn't careful, they're going to have a concussed angel on their hands, and (b) if Dean turns around and pays attention long enough to figure out what's going on, he's going to be insufferable.
"Come on, buddy, forward motion," Sam says, giving Cas' shoulder a gentle push in the right direction.
"Oh. Yes," Cas says, and he turns away from Sam to face forward again. But that leaves him looking at Dean again; Sam has to give him another, less gentle, push before he actually starts moving.
It's possible Gabriel is trying to stifle his snickering, but if so, he sucks at it.
"So what do you think your socks are made out of?" Dean's saying as they catch up. "Can you spin polyester? Or - bamboo, that's a thing now, right?"
He glances back over his shoulder at Cas again as he asks, but this time he stops walking too, and Cas (who Sam is pretty sure is staring at Dean's legs, and seriously?) walks right into him and bounces off.
"Hey, whoa," Dean says, reaching out to grab his angel sort-of-boyfriend by the shoulders before he can end up in the underbrush (again). "Look out there, Cas. Hey," he adds, looking closer, "are you all right?"
"I..." Cas says. "I..."
And oh God, Sam thinks he's actually going to tell Dean what the problem is. There are a number of ways Dean might react. Sam doesn't want to be around for any of them.
Out of options, desperate, Sam turns to Gabriel.
"Can you mojo us straight back to the motel?"
"Why Sam," Gabriel says, reaching out with that familiar two-finger gesture. "I thought you'd never ask."
The lascivious look on his face confirms Sam's fear that he's just made a significant tactical error, but whatever.
Dean was never going to let Gabriel's naked ass in his car anyway.
*****
Sam/Gabriel:
Tradition, Allegedly
Rated PG-13
Prompt by jenab: Supernatural, girl Sam/Gabriel, Mardi Gras.
Sam comes out of the washroom of her gorgeous (no, seriously, gorgeous, five-star gorgeous, perk-of-dating-an-archangel gorgeous) hotel room, still fiddling with the double-tied bow at the back of her neck that's holding up the halter-style bikini top she's wearing under her T-shirt in place of a bra - because she's starting to wonder about the wisdom of heading out into a New Orleans Mardi Gras crowd wearing a bra-substitute that is only held up by a bow at the back of her neck, plans to go swimming after dinner or not - to find Gabriel has let himself in and is lounging on her massive (seriously massive), gorgeous, hotel room bed.
Next to a gigantic box of bead necklaces.
"Seriously?" she says, because she knows exactly what he plans to do with those. She's not jealous; it's just Gabriel being ridiculous and, well, Gabriel. It's not like he'll even leave her side all night; it's certainly not like he's going to go off and screw anybody else. And if he did, well, it's not like she can't find a way to hurt him, archangel or no.
"It's tradition," he tells her, and she snorts.
"It is not. And since when do you care about tradition anyway?" She walks over and lifts out one of the necklaces, examining it up close. The roundness of the little plastic beads is kind of hit and miss, and it looks like they, and the string, have been dipped in some kind of coating to make them shinier. They're just so... "Cheap," she says out loud, letting the necklace drop back into the box. "Girls seriously flash their boobs for these?"
It's Gabriel's turn to snort. "No. Girls flash their boobs because they're having fun, and feeling wild and are probably pretty drunk. The beads are just an excuse." He reaches out and shakes the box, making the giant ball of beads rattle together. "Want some?"
She actually thinks about it for a minute. On the one hand, she isn't sure that walking out of the hotel with a few necklaces won't get her even more catcalls of "Take it off!" or "Lift it up!" or whatever it is people are going to scream (Gabriel, being Gabriel, has landed them smack in the middle of Drunk Touristville) than if she has none at all. On the other hand, it might be worth it for Dean's face if she wears them to dinner. Dean teases her as mercilessly about sex as about everything else, but evidence of any actual real sexual activity on the part of his baby sister turns him kind of pink and helplessly mute.
"Sure, why not?" she says at last, and reaches out a hand towards the box.
Only to have Gabriel snatch it away.
"Ah ah ah," he tuts at her, and for a moment she just blinks at him, not getting it. But then he looks pointedly down at her chest, then back up at her face, and Sam can't help rolling her eyes.
"Seriously? Gabriel, you see my breasts all the time."
"So? I like your breasts."
She's tempted to just roll her eyes again and forget the whole thing, lead the way downstairs to meet Dean and Cas for dinner - they have to be late by now - but...
But, well, it's Mardi Gras, and she's sure as shit not raising her shirt when they're outside surrounded by strangers (even if it would probably give Dean a heart attack), but she does kind of feel like doing something wild, and even if lifting her shirt while she's alone in her own hotel room with her own boyfriend-whatever doesn't really count...
"Fine," she says, and even she's surprised by how low her voice comes out as she reaches down to grab the hem of her shirt.
It's not easy pulling a T-shirt gracefully over her head one-handed while tackling the double-bow at the back of her neck one-handed at the same time but it's hardly the toughest physical challenge ever faced by a Winchester, and it's totally worth it for the look on Gabriel's face when she gets her head free of the shirt, at the same moment she feels the empty cups of the bikini top land against her stomach. Because damn, he really does like her breasts. She grins.
"Oh my god, put those away," Dean yells from off to her right. She turns to the doorway just in time to see the door slam shut; she's pretty sure that if she listens hard enough, she'll hear Dean's footsteps running away down the hall. Because unlike Gabriel, Dean likes all breasts except hers.
Which, now that she thinks about it, is going to make for a hell of an evening.
She sighs. "Remind me why we came to tourist central at Mardi Gras?"
Gabriel grins sunnily at her. "Because I'm the only one who can teleport all four of us without breaking a sweat, so what I say goes?"
She glares at him. "Next time, I get to pick."
"Oh really? And why's that?"
Sam smiles. And then she shows him why.
After she locks the door.
***
Untitled Sam/Gabriel
Rated PG-13
Prompt by dragonbetween : Supernatural; Sam/Gabriel, Dean/Castiel; "How come you get your angel back but I don't?". Theme: Follow up. I recommend reading the original fic first, or the below will make the kind of sense that’s not.
He drove. Not the Impala; he got some crappy second-hand car. He didn't know - didn't care - what it was, only that it was cheap and it ran and it would get him away.
He left a note; he wasn't that much of a jerk, and anyway, it wasn't Dean's fault, not really. It just said that he had to get away for a while. It didn't say why, which would hurt Dean, but not as much as the truth would have. Dean felt guilty about enough things, and this wasn't his fault. Not really.
He drove. Not in any particular direction. It didn't matter what direction: even after the end of the apocalypse, there were still evil things everywhere, just run-of-the-mill bad things that needed to be killed. So Sam killed them. It didn't really make him feel any better. But someone had to do it, and sometimes it stopped him thinking for a little while.
For state after state, he drove and he hunted and he killed and he slept, and then he got up and did it all over again, and he didn't think about the murmured sounds he didn't have to hear through the thin walls any more, and he didn't think about hazel eyes he wasn't ever going to see again.
Until the day there was a knock on his motel door in Branson, Missouri, and he opened it to see those eyes. Gabriel's eyes. And Gabriel.
"You do understand you're difficult to find?" Gabriel said. "Hiding was really not a good idea." He looked... annoyed. Sam couldn't do anything but stare, knocked silent and breathless with shock and sudden hope.
Gabriel rolled his eyes at Sam's lack of response and, probably, stunned look. "You've still got Enochian wards all over you. Do you know how hard it is to track an outdated black rust-bucket that keeps changing plates? Or how annoying it was to realise I could just have popped in to see my baby brother and it would have taken me right to you? Or what I saw when I caught up to them?" He shuddered. "I'm much too young and impressionable to have seen that. Although points to Castiel for flexibility. But really Sam, you could at least have taken a phone with you. They have these little ones that will fit in your pocket now."
At least, that's what Gabriel later claimed he had said. Sam didn't hear a word of it after "Enochian wards all over you," because as Gabriel said it, he reached out and laid his hand against Sam's ribs, a shockingly casual touch, and Sam's whole world narrowed down to the warmth of it, to the weight of it as he breathed in and out, to the solid aliveness of it, until at last it was too much, it overwhelmed his shock, and he reached out, blindly--
"Mmm," Gabriel murmured later - one of a thousand sounds Sam had missed and thought he would never hear again, and was going to get to hear again as often as he could stand it - as he stretched against Sam in the too-small single bed, miles and miles of warm, living skin. "I should die more often."
"No." The too-familiar ache that had finally eased reappeared suddenly, a tight knot in the centre of Sam's chest. It seemed like there was more he should say, like he should joke and tease and push back at Gabriel, but all he could force out was "No."
Gabriel levered himself up on one arm and looked down at him with dark, knowing eyes. "Maybe not," he agreed quietly, and he leaned down to kiss Sam again as Sam, silently, at last, sent up a prayer of thanks.
*****
The Mentalist, Jane/Cho:
Let me out
Rated R
Prompt from enmuse: The Mentalist, Cho/Jane, Let me out
Cho heard Jane coming as soon as he entered the bullpen. The clinking gave him away.
So when Jane pulled a chair up to the far side of Cho's desk, sat down, and laid his handcuff-bound hands on the desktop with a clank, Cho made a point of not even glancing up. He had a casefile open in front of him. He was reading the casefile open in front of him. He was not playing Jane's games.
"Cho."
"Jane."
"Don't you think it's time you took these off?"
"No."
"No?"
"No."
"You could at least tell me where the keys are."
"No."
"No?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"First of all, because thanks to you I'm going to have to do two months of sensitivity training. Second of all, because we both know you're going to get out of those eventually whether I help you or not. I don't see any reason to return your ability to wreak havoc sooner than I have to."
"You don't see any reason to," Jane said. "Hmm."
Cho went back to ignoring Jane. He ignored Jane when he heard the squeak of Jane's chair being pushed back. He ignored Jane when he heard him coming around to his side of the desk. He ignored Jane when Jane perched on the edge of his desk, close enough that his thigh was pressing against Cho's arm. He ignored Jane right up until Jane took Cho's chin in his bound hands and pulled, at which point Cho had no choice but to turn and face him.
(Well, he could have pitted his neck muscles against Jane's arm strength, but that didn't seem like it ended with anybody's dignity intact).
Cho knew what Jane was going to do as soon as he saw him. He knew that look, knew that body language, even if he didn't usually see it in the office, where his boss could walk in at any moment. So he was expecting the kiss, but he was expecting it to be light, teasing; Jane's first kiss always was. After all, Jane was the definition of a tease.
This kiss was not a tease.
This kiss was open-mouthed and deep and hot. This kiss was Jane sliding his tongue into Cho's mouth at the first opportunity, licking in deep, slow and intense and god damn, but Jane had been paying attention to what Cho liked.
And then it was over, and Jane was turning his head and putting his mouth next to Cho's ear to murmur, "If only I had my hands free."
But turning away was a tactical error; it gave Cho the second he needed to pull himself back together, so that when Jane leaned back to get a good look at his face, Cho met him squarely with a deadpan stare.
He kept it up just long enough for a hint of worry to start creeping in at the edges of Jane's smug expression, then he reached for the handcuff key in his pocket.
***
Pandora's Box
Rated R
Prompt from enmuse: The Mentalist, Jane (& team) [or Jane/Cho], Pandora's box
Jane has been attracted to other people since his wife died.
Jane has kissed people since his wife died.
But Jane hasn't kissed anyone he was attracted to since his wife died.
Until now. Now, he's kissed Cho.
It wasn't in a sudden fit of madness. It wasn't part of a grand, romantic declaration. It was to keep him from being recognised on a stakeout, of all the terrible clichés.
The warning from Van Pelt had come much too late, and been much too vague - He's coming your way, and he's got someone with him - and before they could ask for clarification the suspect, Tim, was already rounding the corner and Jake was with him, Jake who had been questioned by Cho not two hours earlier.
Turning fast to push Cho against the wall, saying "Just go with it," and kissing him - it really was the best plan. Jane knew Cho would just go with it - panic, homosexual or otherwise, was not something Jane associated with Kimball Cho - while Tim was, obviously, a rampant homophobe. Tim and Jake would either cross the street to avoid having to pass them on the narrow sidewalk, putting them too far away for Jake to possibly recognise Cho, even if he looked, which was doubtful; or Tim would take great offence to their display, and then they could arrest him for assaulting an agent. Win-win.
He'd told himself it wouldn't be a problem; it was just one little kiss.
Pandora probably told herself it was just one little box.
Because now he can't stop thinking about it. If it were just the memory of how Cho's shoulders had felt under his hands, of how Cho's mouth had felt against his mouth, of the heat he had been able to feel coming off Cho's body--
If it were just that, he might have been able to lock it away. But it wasn't just that.
Cho had liked it.
Not just liked it in that he found it not unpleasant. Not just liked it in that most people enjoy being kissed by someone who knows what he or she is doing.
Cho had been aroused.
When the danger had passed - they did cross the street. So predictable. - and Jane had leaned back and looked at Cho, the arousal had been plain for him to see. More than plain. The signs are difficult to hide from a trained observer, even for someone who's practiced, and why would Cho have practiced? And Cho is usually so tightly controlled - not a difficult read, exactly, but requiring a little more attention, a little more focus. Jane automatically looks a little closer, a little deeper, when he looks at Cho, watching for minute tells.
These tells were not minute.
Dilated pupils; the way he had unconsciously followed when Jane pulled away and hadn't, quite, leaned back; too-rapid breathing that was too loud in Jane's ears. Jane had known that if he slid his hand away from Cho's shoulder, up to the pulse point on his neck, he'd feel the blood going too fast underneath his fingers.
He hadn't. But he hadn't taken his hands off Cho's shoulders either, not for a long moment; he'd simply stared at Cho, and one moment had turned into two, and two moments had turned into three. If Lisbon hadn't called then for an update--
If Lisbon hadn't called then for an update, Jane doesn't know what might have happened. But he can imagine. He can imagine sliding his hands from Cho's shoulders to his neck, his cheek; can imagine stepping forward to weigh Cho against the building with his body; can imagine sliding his leg in between Cho's to feel the beginnings of the erection he knows was there against his thigh; can imagine pressing his mouth back over Cho's, but this time using his tongue, licking, teasing at Cho's lips until he opened and let him in--
Can imagine doing it now; can imagine getting up and walking over to Cho's desk where he's finishing up the paperwork from Tim's arrest and inventing some entirely plausible excuse to get Cho out of the bullpen and into some empty office or supply cupboard or who cares; can imagine pressing him against the wall, or maybe it would be Cho who pressed him up against the wall, Cho who pressed his mouth to Jane's mouth, to Jane's neck, who fumbled with Jane's waistcoat and complained about too many buttons--
Maybe it would, because Cho liked it, Cho liked the kiss, and that's what Jane can't stop thinking about.
He can't stop thinking about it as he lies on his couch, his back to the bullpen, hands folded under his head, and pretends his wedding ring isn't digging into his cheek.
"Jane."
Some childish part of Jane wants to pretend he hasn't heard, but that's hardly a viable long-term strategy. Instead, he turns around and sits up.
It's later than Jane thought; the office is mostly dark. Cho is the only one left. He's standing there looking at Jane, and oh, he's so bad at hiding this. Jane can see--
"Let me take you home," Cho says, and Jane feels a sudden rush of-- of affection, for Cho, and also a sudden urge to laugh, because how like Cho: he's found the perfect thing to say. He's given Jane a choice.
Because Jane can say, "Are you sure? I'm all the way south, it's so far out of your way." To which Cho will say "It's no problem, come on," and drive him to his house, and they will both pretend that Cho was simply offering him a ride home, and by tomorrow everything will be back to normal.
Or Jane can say, "Please," and smile slow and full of promise, and walk too close to Cho on the way out of the building, watch Cho as he drives - hands relaxed and easy on the wheel, or maybe tense, maybe nervous - as he drives them both to the same destination, crowd up behind him, distracting him, as he tries to open the door, because what does Jane care what Cho's neighbours think...
"No," Jane says instead. "No. Not tonight."
He meets Cho's steady gaze, and it's hard to bring the shields down when he's so used to having them up, but he does, just for a moment, and he lets Cho see.
And Cho does see. He looks at Jane for a long moment, and then Jane sees him accept the answer, sees the tension drain out of him. He's not hurt by the response, and Jane's relieved to see he's understood; is relieved, too, that Cho doesn't press, simply says quietly, calmly, "Okay," then turns away to gather his things.
He looks at Jane again before he leaves. "Later," he says, and it's just a casual goodbye, and it's letting Jane off the hook, and it's also a promise.
But Jane can't.
Not because it wouldn't be fair to his wife. Because it wouldn't be fair to Cho.
Because Jane isn't ready for this.
Not tonight...
I tried to do a schmancy linky menu, but... well. Did you know that if you put bold and italic formatting tags into a word processing document, then paste the text of the document into LJ's HTML editor, it will both preserve the document formatting and add the bold and italics - but that if you have any other HTML tags in the document, the HTML editor will strip all untagged formatting? Because I didn't. So those who want to jump around/to particular pairings will have to settle for CTRL-F, at least for the moment.
I know it might seem kind of self-indulgent to be reposting old comment_fic when I'm hopelessly behind on the comm and haven't written anything new in weeks, but I actually have a good reason for wanting everything I've written to be easily accessible on my journal at the moment.
Usual comment_fic warnings apply: entirely unbeta'd and written very quickly, often at 3am.
Stories:
SPN Gen -
He used to want to be a rock star (G, 3 sentences theme)
Dean/Castiel -
Untitled Dean/Cas, "Texts from Last Night" theme (PG-13)
Wrong Number (PG-13)
Strength (PG-13)
Long Wait (PG-13, 3 sentences theme)
Down Time (R)
Dean/Castiel and Sam/Gabriel -
The More Things Change (PG-13)
The Problem (PG-13)
Sam/Gabriel -
Tradition, Allegedly (PG-13, girl!Sam)
Untitled Sam/Gabriel (PG-13)
The Mentalist, Jane/Cho -
Let Me Out (R)
Pandora's Box (R)
*****
SPN Gen:
He used to want to be a rock star
Rated G.
Prompt by crimson_antics: Supernatural, Dean (/any), He used to want to be a rock star. Theme: 3 sentences.
He used to want to be a rock star.
He used to want to strut his stuff in the spotlight in front of an adoring crowd, knowing he'd get a roaring wall of adulation in return.
He doesn't want anyone to look at him at all anymore.
*****
Dean/Castiel:
Untitled Dean/Cas
Rated PG-13
Prompt by elwing_alcyone: author's choice, author's choice, Their bromance is so intense that they don't even eye-fuck when they see each other....they eye-make-love. Theme: Texts from Last Night.
Sam's not entirely sure how he ended up alone in the motel room. It all happened kind of fast - Dean declared he was going to go grab them take-out, and it sort of went without saying that Cas was going since Dean was going, and then somehow Gabriel invited himself along too on the basis that he wouldn't know what he wanted until he got there, and they'd get his order wrong anyway...
It's been a while since Sam was just... on his own (and not having to deal with some sort of massive internal or external crisis). He's happily considering all the things he can do with a whole quiet half-hour when his phone pings.
He sighs. If he's lucky, it's Dean with some rudely-phrased question about the salad he asked for. If he's unlucky, it's someone with a crisis.
It's neither.
GABRIEL: how do you stand it?
For a moment, Sam contemplates ignoring him - a whole half-hour! All to himself! - but he's pretty sure Gabriel will just keep texting him until he responds. Plus, even against his better judgment, even though he knows it's what Gabriel wants, he kind of has to ask--
SAM: what?
GABRIEL: your love-sick brother. MY love-sick brother. they're making ME sick.
SAM: welcome to my life
GABRIEL: this is unbelievable
GABRIEL: Their bromance is so intense that they don't even eye-fuck when they see each other....they eye-make-love.
SAM: eye-fuck? thanks for that image dude
SAM: that horrifyingly accurate image
GABRIEL: srsly, how do they not just walk into things all the time?
SAM: ikr? if they get any worse, im not letting Dean drive anymore when Cas is in the car
GABRIEL: LOL
GABRIEL: good luck with that
SAM: i could take him
GABRIEL: i'm sure you could, you big strong manly man, but then Cas would smite the crap out of you for beating up his boyfriend
GABRIEL: how have they not progressed to actual fucking yet?
SAM: sure they havent?
GABRIEL: definitely not. i'd know.
SAM: magic angel sense?
GABRIEL: no, Cas just wouldn't have that giant neon LOOK AT ME, I'M A VIRGIN sign painted on his back any more
SAM: LOL
SAM: youre a terrible brother
GABRIEL: i'm an AWESOME brother
GABRIEL: i'm going to get my bro laid. isn't that what awesome brothers do
SAM: wish i was there
GABRIEL: WHY?????
SAM: b/c youre about to say something incredibly inappropriate and i want to see their faces
GABRIEL: aw. for you Sam, i'll wait til we get back
SAM: youre all heart
Sam waits, but Gabriel doesn't respond. Maybe he's distracted by his probably very complicated dinner order, or maybe he's gone back to goggling at Cas and Dean and the rampant sexual tension between them (which Gabriel has apparently just noticed - though to be fair, that still puts him ahead of Dean and Cas).
Sam checks the phone one last time, then tosses it on the bed and looks around the empty room. Suddenly, a half an hour feels like a really long time.
***
Wrong Number
Rated PG-13
Prompt by mariana_oconnor : Supernatural, Author's choice, A lesson I learned in the hospital....when you masturbate while attached to a heart monitor, it scares the nurses a lot. Theme: Texts from Last Night.
Sam's a light sleeper - it's an asset when you're a hunter - so when his phone pings at ass o'clock in the morning, it pulls him right out of dreamland. He's tempted to ignore it, because he knows there's no crisis going on at the moment - okay, yes, Dean's in the hospital, but it's just for observation, he's fine - but twenty-plus years of conditioning won't be denied, and he reluctantly cracks an eye and glares at the text on his cell screen.
It's from Dean.
A lesson I learned in the hospital....when you masturbate while attached to a heart monitor, it scares the nurses a lot.
Sam very nearly throws the phone across the room, because he was SLEEPING here. Instead, he opens his other eye and texts back:
I think you meant to send that to Cas.
Because this is his latest thing: teasing Dean about Cas' crush on him. Which doesn't really exist, of course. Yeah, Cas is kind of obsessed with Dean (which is kind of understandable given their history and Cas' total lack of social skills), but he's an angel, and he's Cas, and yeah, not happening. Doesn't mean it's not funny the way Dean gets pink and pissed off when Sam teases him about it.
Sam's almost drifted back to sleep when his phone pings again.
sorry
Sam stares at the one word for a long time, because--
Okay, sarcasm and snark can be kind of hard to judge in texts, but-
But clearly Dean's just kidding.
Right?
***
Strength
Rated PG-13
Prompt by hugglewolf: SPN: Michael!Dean/Castiel or gen, Dean says yes and the first thing Michael does is to take Castiel to a place of safety (trapping him there genuinely for his own good in a 'green room') and the next thing is to go after Raphael and Gabriel for hurting him.
They should have known, Castiel thinks, as he makes his way towards the building before him. They should have known by the way he was too, too quiet when Sam suggested his plan to trap Lucifer. They should have known that just because he had said No once did not mean this was over. They should never have let him out of the house, out of the room, out of the cuffs.
But they did, and now they are split up, searching, frantic. He slipped out in the middle of the night; he left no note, no word, but there is only one thing he would have gone to do without telling them, without leaving word.
And Castiel is, is about to be, the one to find him. But it doesn't matter. He knows, glass crunching under his feet as he walks towards a building with its windows all blown out, knows with a dull certainty, that it is already too late.
He stays anyway, when he finds the figure curled unconscious on the ground at the centre of the chaos. Because he might as well let Sam and Bobby hope a little longer. Because this is the end of the line. Because there is nothing left to do, nothing left to try. And because whoever is truly here now, the form he kneels beside still looks like Dean.
But the eyes that at last open and stare through him, the deep voice that says "Castiel," those are not Dean's.
"Michael," Castiel says, and he bows his head and waits. He has disobeyed, he has fought with Man against Heaven and Michael and all the angels; he knows what is coming now. He does not even try to move away from the hand that whips out to seize his shoulder in a bruising grip. Because there is nowhere left to go.
The world fades around him - fades and then reforms, and Castiel cannot help raising his head in surprise to see where Michael has taken him. Metal walls, a table, a single metal-frame bed. And something, something in the walls perhaps, on the outside where he cannot see - something that will not let him leave.
"Stay here," Michael says, drawing himself to his feet. "You will be safe here."
And then he is gone.
You will be safe here. Perhaps Michael is mocking him. Michael's sense of humour is not as obtrusive as Gabriel's, but it is just as cruel - crueler - in its way.
Castiel pulls himself off the floor to sit on the bed and await his execution. He looks around at the walls of his cell.
It's... familiar.
For a long moment he doesn't understand. When he was, briefly, confined in Heaven, they did not confine him in physical form, kept him in nothing as mundane as a metal cell. There is no reason his cell should look familiar.
But it does. Because this isn't a cell.
It's a panic room.
It's Bobby's panic room.
For a moment he thinks it might be actually, literally, Robert Singer's panic room. But no. It is a little larger. It is a little darker. Bobby's panic room is not warded to keep angels out. Bobby's panic room is not warded to keep angels in.
Bobby's panic room has a door.
Before he can begin to contemplate what Michael intends in bringing him here of all places, there is a rustling and the archangel is once more standing before him.
His clothes are torn, and there is blood, a great deal of blood, painted across the fabric and across the skin the torn cloth reveals, but Castiel thinks very little of it is his.
The blood on the sword in his hand certainly isn't.
Michael is staring at the bloodied blade, and without thinking Castiel finds he is standing and drifting towards him, his eyes too fixed on the sword.
"It is done then," he says, and his voice sounds strange to his own ears. "Lucifer is dead."
"Lucifer?" Michael says. He sounds... surprised. He blinks and looks away from the blade, looks at Castiel. "No. Raphael."
"Raphael?" Castiel stops in his tracks. He doesn't understand. After a long moment, he asks "Why?" Quiet and careful, but he asks, because he doesn't understand. He wants to understand. Michael is going to execute him anyway. He has nothing to lose.
"He was cruel to you," Michael says, slowly, and he is staring at the blade again. He sounds confused himself. "He was cruel to you. You are my brother." He looks up at Castiel again. "You are my brother," he repeats, and vanishes.
Castiel backs away until the backs of his legs hit the metal cot, then he sits heavily, staring blindly at the walls of Bobby's panic room. He doesn't understand.
He doesn't dare hope he understands.
When Michael appears again, he is ready, ready to look closer, ready to see the look of perplexity on Michael's face as he stares at his own stained sword.
"Lucifer?" Castiel asks, standing.
"No," Michael shakes his head. "No, Gabriel."
Castiel is not prepared to hear that, and it must show in his face as Michael looks up at him, because Michael adds "He is not dead. But he will not do that again. He will not hurt you again."
"Why?" Castiel asks, gentle but insistent. "Why, Michael?"
"Because," Michael says. "Because you are my brother." He sounds confused, endlessly confused - more confused than Castiel, because Castiel understands. Understands that the actions, the cold decisive violence, are Michael's, but the words...
The words are not. Not entirely.
Michael turns back to his sword, and "Yes," Castiel says quickly, before Michael can leave again. "Yes, Michael, I am your brother." He walks towards Michael, deliberately this time, but slowly, as if Michael is a skittish animal he might startle away. "I am your brother. But that does not mean the same thing to angels as it does to men."
Michael looks back up at Castiel then, and it is difficult to hold his gaze and not look away, when Castiel sees in those eyes none of what he wants to, but he does it.
"I am aware, Castiel."
"We are brothers in that we are all children of our Father, but it is different. We are not brothers in flesh, or in blood. It is different. The relationship is different." He is close to Michael now, close enough to reach out and place his two hands on the sides of Michael's face. Michael does not stop him.
No one stops him.
"The relationship can be different," Castiel says, and then he leans in and kisses Michael.
They never did this, he and Dean. He thinks they were headed towards it, thinks they would have, if there had been more time, and less anger. But they never did, and he knows that what he has done will be more shocking to Dean than to Michael.
And perhaps Dean will throw himself away from the contact, will reject the sensation, will burrow deep down, away from it. But Castiel doesn't think so.
He doesn't think so.
And he has nothing to lose.
For one terrible moment, the lips he is kissing stay marble-still. But then suddenly, they are moving, sliding against his, and then with a sigh they part, and Castiel slips his tongue into the warm mouth under his.
He pours everything into this one kiss: the moment he first confessed he doubted to another being, and the moment he broke with Zachariah and with Heaven, and the moment he first slew his brethren for Dean, and the moment after, all the moments after, when he thought Dean was lost to him. He pours it all into this one kiss, into this one last moment, all of it.
When at last he forces himself to pull away, the other angel - the man - the vessel is breathing too quickly, as an archangel should never have to, eyes shut, and there is colour high in his cheeks. "Cas," he says, too soft and choked off for Castiel to be sure, but he is sure anyway, even before he finds himself looking into green eyes that are so familiar. That are oh-so-human.
"Cas," Dean says, quiet and lost, "Cas, what-"
"Dean," Castiel cuts him off, because there is nothing Dean can say now that Castiel is prepared to hear. Castiel realises his hands are still cupping Dean's face and he uses them to make Dean look at him, to make him focus. "Dean, I need you to open the door."
"What-" Dean tries to turn his head, but Castiel holds on. Dean could easily overpower him now - Castiel hopes Dean could easily overpower him now - but he doesn't try, doesn't fight Castiel's hold. "Where- Cas, I don't-"
"Behind you," Castiel tells him. "Don't look," he adds quickly. "Just open it."
"Cas..." Dean stares into his face, confused, as if Castiel's eyes hold the answers. And perhaps they do; Dean's own eyes widen in comprehension then slide away from Castiel's, unfocused, as he concentrates.
And behind Dean, a door abruptly swings wide to let in a bright, warm light. A door where before there was only smooth unbroken wall.
Castiel stares at it for a long moment. "You are much stronger than I thought," he says, and once more his voice sounds far away and not his own. Because it is one thing to overpower a demon, for a mortal mind to wrest back control while hellish power crackles through it. It has been done - rarely, but it has been done. But to overpower an angel. But to overpower an archangel.
"I'm not." There is something broken in Dean's voice, and Castiel turns his gaze back to him to find tears pooling in those human, human eyes. "I'm not, Cas, I'm weak-"
"No."
"I'm not," Dean shakes his head, as much as he can with Castiel's hands still bracketing his face. Castiel realises he is stroking his thumbs along Dean's cheekbones. He makes himself stop. "I said yes, Cas, I'm sorry, I said yes."
"I know," Castiel tells him. "I will be very angry with you later." Because there is going to be a later now, for both of them. "But now, we have to go save the world."
He releases Dean's face and reaches down to take one of Dean's hands in one of his instead. He does it to get Dean to go with him, to pull him through the room and out the door.
But on the other side, he doesn't let go.
***
Long Wait
Rated PG-13
Prompt by crimson_antics: Supernatural, Dean (/any), Flat tire. Theme: 3 sentences.
"The tow truck is gonna take about forty-five minutes, so we'll just have to wait."
"This is why 'Angel Air' is better," Castiel says mulishly, glaring at the flat tire.
Dean comes around the car to pull him close, grinning as he says "No, it isn't," breath warm on the sensitive skin of Castiel's neck, and abruptly Castiel finds, adding up the length of forty-five minutes, that he is forced to agree.
***
Down Time
Rated R
Prompt by hrtslkths: Supernatural, Dean/Castiel, Once devirginized, Castiel is very curious and Dean is very tired.
"Dean."
"No."
"No?"
"No. No, I can't get it up again, no, I won't suck you off, no, you can't do me again until I've had a rest. No."
"Dean-"
"And no, I won't give you a hand job. You've got your own damn hands."
"Dean, I am only trying to ask how long a rest you need."
"...you are such a bad liar."
"Dean."
"An hour, okay? Just give me an hour."
"Very well."
"..."
"..."
"Okay, but a restful hour. Not an hour of you doing that."
"But you said to-"
"I know what I said. Just- just go into the bathroom, okay? Shut the door. Run some water."
"The bathroom?"
"Just give me an hour, Cas, okay? Then we can do whatever you want, I promise, anything you want. Just give me one hour, please."
"All right."
"...and I thought the apocalypse was going to kill me."
"Pardon?"
"Nothing!"
*****
Dean/Castiel & Sam/Gabriel:
The More Things Change
Rated PG-13
Prompt by owleyes_arisen: Supernatural, Sam/Gabriel, Dean/Castiel. Reincarnation - "The more things change, the more they stay the same."
There's four of them - probably the four of them, which means they're still together, which is awesome. And Sam is still the tallest, which is just never going to get old.
He's also kind of a greenish-gray. It's not a great colour, but he can totally live with it, since the last time he was sort of this shimmery, glimmering sort-of colour that Dean kept trying to tell him was pink.
The blue one is Dean. He doesn't know exactly how he can tell which one is Dean, but he always can. Dean looks pretty human, the way Sam remembers they used to look, except for the inky-blue skin and the brilliant green eyes that, as Sam watches, blink sideways.
He doesn't know which one is Gabriel and which one is Cas. He always expects to, but somehow he never does. One of the angels - well, he supposes they're not really angels now, any more than he and Dean are really human, but one of them is purple and lithe and... well, cat-like, the way Sam remembers cats looking, with short fur and pointed ears and big yellow eyes and even a tail - but humanoid, upright on two feet.
The other one is covered in fur too, yellow-brown, tawny, like a lion, and his eyes are lion-like, all brown and gold. But other than that, he looks less like a cat than the other one, looks pretty human, actually - except that he has wings. Great sweeping wings that rise up over his head and reach down almost to his ankles. They've got fur on them, not feathers, but Sam thinks they'll be capable of flying anyway. He hopes they will.
He still can't tell which is which, but then "Dean," the cat-angel says to Dean in a deep, ringing voice, and that has to be Cas, because somehow Cas can always tell too.
"Cas," Dean says back, and then they rush towards each other and press together, body to body, mouth to mouth, and oh look, they both have tongues in this incarnation.
So cat-angel is definitely Cas, which means the winged angel sliding up beside Sam is Gabriel. Sam can feel the heat coming off his body, can feel the vibration in the air as he chuckles, a sound that always seems the same no matter what.
Gabriel shakes his new head. "The more things change, the more they stay the same," he says, arms folded, staring fondly at his brother and Sam's brother exploring each others' tonsils.
Sam rolls his eyes (does he have more of them than before?). "Yeah, no kidding," he says. "I always expect you to be the horny angel, but instead you're always the one who wants to start talk--mmph!"
Turns out Gabriel has a tongue in this incarnation too.
***
The Problem
Rated PG-13
Prompt by sycophantastic: Supernatural, Dean/Castiel + Sam/Gabriel, they confront a creature that destroys all cotton on contact.
Gabriel was wearing jeans and a T-shirt - and cotton underwear, if he was wearing any at all - so he's currently naked except for a pair of rugged leather hiking boots. Sam's pretty sure Gabriel could, at the very least, manage some fresh clothes for himself, but Gabriel's very... if Sam remembers his frosh week orientation correctly, the term is "body confident."
But this thing between Sam and Gabriel would never have gotten as far as it has if Sam weren't rapidly developing the ability to ignore Gabriel when the situation calls for it; Dean, after the obligatory exaggerated shudder of horror, had just turned his back and taken point to lead their little group back down the trail out of the woods to civilization; and Castiel seems oblivious to the naked archangel. So Gabriel, surprisingly, is not the problem.
Sam fared no better than Gabriel. It's warm enough that he'd skipped the flannel in favour of a couple layers of cotton, and he's paying for it now. He'd be as naked as his angel sort-of-boyfriend if it weren't for the fact that, apparently, nothing Castiel is wearing is made of natural fibers. (A fact which had horrified Dean - "Seriously? Dude, that's just messed up."
"I did not select these clothes, Dean."
"Fine, then we're taking you shopping for new clothes."
"Cotton clothes?"
"Shut up.")
Castiel has gallantly given Sam his trenchcoat, since, as Sam made a point of saying to Gabriel, Castiel is the nice angel. The coat is sort of ridiculously small on Sam, but he's managed to get it on and arranged well enough that his modesty is more or less preserved. He feels like a flasher, but he's not actually flashing anyone, so Sam isn't the problem either.
Dean, the lucky bastard, was wearing his leather jacket; now he's wearing nothing but that and his boots. The jacket is just long enough to keep him decent, given that the path is smooth and level and doesn't, thank God, involve any bending or climbing. Sam doesn't exactly love the look, but it's not going to scar him for life. So Dean isn't the problem either.
Castiel is the only one of them fully clothed - although actually, the fact that he's given Sam his coat means that he's the most undressed Sam has ever seen him. Still, he's got a suit jacket, white shirt, suit pants, tie, even his socks - what the hell those are made of, Sam doesn't even want to imagine. And yet, somehow, it's Castiel who's the problem.
The path is too narrow for more than one person at a time. Dean is leading, followed by Castiel, followed by Sam, with Gabriel last (thankfully).
"So, what do you think Cas, is it just cotton, or is it all natural fabrics? Cause I gotta say, I don't really want to try actual hunting in my Fed get-up," Dean says, tossing it back over his shoulder as he keeps his eyes on the trail. "Cas? ...Cas?"
"I'm sorry Dean, what was that?"
"Do you think it's just cotton or all natural fabrics?"
"Your boots are fine."
"Yeah, but I don't really want to try hunting in leather pants either."
Cas stops so suddenly Sam nearly breaks his nose on the back of Cas' head.
"Cas," he says, trying very hard to stay patient. "Cas. Cas!" Behind him, he can hear Gabriel snickering.
He reaches out and shakes Cas' shoulder gently. "Hey, Cas."
"Hmm?" Cas finally turns his head to look at him. His face is slack, eyes glazed, pupils blown - he's been like this ever since they left the clearing (deciding that retreating and coming back fully clothed was really the best option). He has to have his name called multiple times before he responds (and usually then just to say "Hmm? What?"), and he's walked into, Sam is not kidding, four trees.
He can't stop staring at Dean.
Which, since Dean is leading, you would think would keep him on the trail, but he must keep going off into his own internal world, given how many times Sam has had to grab at him to keep him wandering off into the underbrush. Sam doesn't know if it's the jacket, or knowing that Dean is naked underneath it, or hell, maybe it's Dean's legs. All he knows is that (a) if he isn't careful, they're going to have a concussed angel on their hands, and (b) if Dean turns around and pays attention long enough to figure out what's going on, he's going to be insufferable.
"Come on, buddy, forward motion," Sam says, giving Cas' shoulder a gentle push in the right direction.
"Oh. Yes," Cas says, and he turns away from Sam to face forward again. But that leaves him looking at Dean again; Sam has to give him another, less gentle, push before he actually starts moving.
It's possible Gabriel is trying to stifle his snickering, but if so, he sucks at it.
"So what do you think your socks are made out of?" Dean's saying as they catch up. "Can you spin polyester? Or - bamboo, that's a thing now, right?"
He glances back over his shoulder at Cas again as he asks, but this time he stops walking too, and Cas (who Sam is pretty sure is staring at Dean's legs, and seriously?) walks right into him and bounces off.
"Hey, whoa," Dean says, reaching out to grab his angel sort-of-boyfriend by the shoulders before he can end up in the underbrush (again). "Look out there, Cas. Hey," he adds, looking closer, "are you all right?"
"I..." Cas says. "I..."
And oh God, Sam thinks he's actually going to tell Dean what the problem is. There are a number of ways Dean might react. Sam doesn't want to be around for any of them.
Out of options, desperate, Sam turns to Gabriel.
"Can you mojo us straight back to the motel?"
"Why Sam," Gabriel says, reaching out with that familiar two-finger gesture. "I thought you'd never ask."
The lascivious look on his face confirms Sam's fear that he's just made a significant tactical error, but whatever.
Dean was never going to let Gabriel's naked ass in his car anyway.
*****
Sam/Gabriel:
Tradition, Allegedly
Rated PG-13
Prompt by jenab: Supernatural, girl Sam/Gabriel, Mardi Gras.
Sam comes out of the washroom of her gorgeous (no, seriously, gorgeous, five-star gorgeous, perk-of-dating-an-archangel gorgeous) hotel room, still fiddling with the double-tied bow at the back of her neck that's holding up the halter-style bikini top she's wearing under her T-shirt in place of a bra - because she's starting to wonder about the wisdom of heading out into a New Orleans Mardi Gras crowd wearing a bra-substitute that is only held up by a bow at the back of her neck, plans to go swimming after dinner or not - to find Gabriel has let himself in and is lounging on her massive (seriously massive), gorgeous, hotel room bed.
Next to a gigantic box of bead necklaces.
"Seriously?" she says, because she knows exactly what he plans to do with those. She's not jealous; it's just Gabriel being ridiculous and, well, Gabriel. It's not like he'll even leave her side all night; it's certainly not like he's going to go off and screw anybody else. And if he did, well, it's not like she can't find a way to hurt him, archangel or no.
"It's tradition," he tells her, and she snorts.
"It is not. And since when do you care about tradition anyway?" She walks over and lifts out one of the necklaces, examining it up close. The roundness of the little plastic beads is kind of hit and miss, and it looks like they, and the string, have been dipped in some kind of coating to make them shinier. They're just so... "Cheap," she says out loud, letting the necklace drop back into the box. "Girls seriously flash their boobs for these?"
It's Gabriel's turn to snort. "No. Girls flash their boobs because they're having fun, and feeling wild and are probably pretty drunk. The beads are just an excuse." He reaches out and shakes the box, making the giant ball of beads rattle together. "Want some?"
She actually thinks about it for a minute. On the one hand, she isn't sure that walking out of the hotel with a few necklaces won't get her even more catcalls of "Take it off!" or "Lift it up!" or whatever it is people are going to scream (Gabriel, being Gabriel, has landed them smack in the middle of Drunk Touristville) than if she has none at all. On the other hand, it might be worth it for Dean's face if she wears them to dinner. Dean teases her as mercilessly about sex as about everything else, but evidence of any actual real sexual activity on the part of his baby sister turns him kind of pink and helplessly mute.
"Sure, why not?" she says at last, and reaches out a hand towards the box.
Only to have Gabriel snatch it away.
"Ah ah ah," he tuts at her, and for a moment she just blinks at him, not getting it. But then he looks pointedly down at her chest, then back up at her face, and Sam can't help rolling her eyes.
"Seriously? Gabriel, you see my breasts all the time."
"So? I like your breasts."
She's tempted to just roll her eyes again and forget the whole thing, lead the way downstairs to meet Dean and Cas for dinner - they have to be late by now - but...
But, well, it's Mardi Gras, and she's sure as shit not raising her shirt when they're outside surrounded by strangers (even if it would probably give Dean a heart attack), but she does kind of feel like doing something wild, and even if lifting her shirt while she's alone in her own hotel room with her own boyfriend-whatever doesn't really count...
"Fine," she says, and even she's surprised by how low her voice comes out as she reaches down to grab the hem of her shirt.
It's not easy pulling a T-shirt gracefully over her head one-handed while tackling the double-bow at the back of her neck one-handed at the same time but it's hardly the toughest physical challenge ever faced by a Winchester, and it's totally worth it for the look on Gabriel's face when she gets her head free of the shirt, at the same moment she feels the empty cups of the bikini top land against her stomach. Because damn, he really does like her breasts. She grins.
"Oh my god, put those away," Dean yells from off to her right. She turns to the doorway just in time to see the door slam shut; she's pretty sure that if she listens hard enough, she'll hear Dean's footsteps running away down the hall. Because unlike Gabriel, Dean likes all breasts except hers.
Which, now that she thinks about it, is going to make for a hell of an evening.
She sighs. "Remind me why we came to tourist central at Mardi Gras?"
Gabriel grins sunnily at her. "Because I'm the only one who can teleport all four of us without breaking a sweat, so what I say goes?"
She glares at him. "Next time, I get to pick."
"Oh really? And why's that?"
Sam smiles. And then she shows him why.
After she locks the door.
***
Untitled Sam/Gabriel
Rated PG-13
Prompt by dragonbetween : Supernatural; Sam/Gabriel, Dean/Castiel; "How come you get your angel back but I don't?". Theme: Follow up. I recommend reading the original fic first, or the below will make the kind of sense that’s not.
He drove. Not the Impala; he got some crappy second-hand car. He didn't know - didn't care - what it was, only that it was cheap and it ran and it would get him away.
He left a note; he wasn't that much of a jerk, and anyway, it wasn't Dean's fault, not really. It just said that he had to get away for a while. It didn't say why, which would hurt Dean, but not as much as the truth would have. Dean felt guilty about enough things, and this wasn't his fault. Not really.
He drove. Not in any particular direction. It didn't matter what direction: even after the end of the apocalypse, there were still evil things everywhere, just run-of-the-mill bad things that needed to be killed. So Sam killed them. It didn't really make him feel any better. But someone had to do it, and sometimes it stopped him thinking for a little while.
For state after state, he drove and he hunted and he killed and he slept, and then he got up and did it all over again, and he didn't think about the murmured sounds he didn't have to hear through the thin walls any more, and he didn't think about hazel eyes he wasn't ever going to see again.
Until the day there was a knock on his motel door in Branson, Missouri, and he opened it to see those eyes. Gabriel's eyes. And Gabriel.
"You do understand you're difficult to find?" Gabriel said. "Hiding was really not a good idea." He looked... annoyed. Sam couldn't do anything but stare, knocked silent and breathless with shock and sudden hope.
Gabriel rolled his eyes at Sam's lack of response and, probably, stunned look. "You've still got Enochian wards all over you. Do you know how hard it is to track an outdated black rust-bucket that keeps changing plates? Or how annoying it was to realise I could just have popped in to see my baby brother and it would have taken me right to you? Or what I saw when I caught up to them?" He shuddered. "I'm much too young and impressionable to have seen that. Although points to Castiel for flexibility. But really Sam, you could at least have taken a phone with you. They have these little ones that will fit in your pocket now."
At least, that's what Gabriel later claimed he had said. Sam didn't hear a word of it after "Enochian wards all over you," because as Gabriel said it, he reached out and laid his hand against Sam's ribs, a shockingly casual touch, and Sam's whole world narrowed down to the warmth of it, to the weight of it as he breathed in and out, to the solid aliveness of it, until at last it was too much, it overwhelmed his shock, and he reached out, blindly--
"Mmm," Gabriel murmured later - one of a thousand sounds Sam had missed and thought he would never hear again, and was going to get to hear again as often as he could stand it - as he stretched against Sam in the too-small single bed, miles and miles of warm, living skin. "I should die more often."
"No." The too-familiar ache that had finally eased reappeared suddenly, a tight knot in the centre of Sam's chest. It seemed like there was more he should say, like he should joke and tease and push back at Gabriel, but all he could force out was "No."
Gabriel levered himself up on one arm and looked down at him with dark, knowing eyes. "Maybe not," he agreed quietly, and he leaned down to kiss Sam again as Sam, silently, at last, sent up a prayer of thanks.
*****
The Mentalist, Jane/Cho:
Let me out
Rated R
Prompt from enmuse: The Mentalist, Cho/Jane, Let me out
Cho heard Jane coming as soon as he entered the bullpen. The clinking gave him away.
So when Jane pulled a chair up to the far side of Cho's desk, sat down, and laid his handcuff-bound hands on the desktop with a clank, Cho made a point of not even glancing up. He had a casefile open in front of him. He was reading the casefile open in front of him. He was not playing Jane's games.
"Cho."
"Jane."
"Don't you think it's time you took these off?"
"No."
"No?"
"No."
"You could at least tell me where the keys are."
"No."
"No?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"First of all, because thanks to you I'm going to have to do two months of sensitivity training. Second of all, because we both know you're going to get out of those eventually whether I help you or not. I don't see any reason to return your ability to wreak havoc sooner than I have to."
"You don't see any reason to," Jane said. "Hmm."
Cho went back to ignoring Jane. He ignored Jane when he heard the squeak of Jane's chair being pushed back. He ignored Jane when he heard him coming around to his side of the desk. He ignored Jane when Jane perched on the edge of his desk, close enough that his thigh was pressing against Cho's arm. He ignored Jane right up until Jane took Cho's chin in his bound hands and pulled, at which point Cho had no choice but to turn and face him.
(Well, he could have pitted his neck muscles against Jane's arm strength, but that didn't seem like it ended with anybody's dignity intact).
Cho knew what Jane was going to do as soon as he saw him. He knew that look, knew that body language, even if he didn't usually see it in the office, where his boss could walk in at any moment. So he was expecting the kiss, but he was expecting it to be light, teasing; Jane's first kiss always was. After all, Jane was the definition of a tease.
This kiss was not a tease.
This kiss was open-mouthed and deep and hot. This kiss was Jane sliding his tongue into Cho's mouth at the first opportunity, licking in deep, slow and intense and god damn, but Jane had been paying attention to what Cho liked.
And then it was over, and Jane was turning his head and putting his mouth next to Cho's ear to murmur, "If only I had my hands free."
But turning away was a tactical error; it gave Cho the second he needed to pull himself back together, so that when Jane leaned back to get a good look at his face, Cho met him squarely with a deadpan stare.
He kept it up just long enough for a hint of worry to start creeping in at the edges of Jane's smug expression, then he reached for the handcuff key in his pocket.
***
Pandora's Box
Rated R
Prompt from enmuse: The Mentalist, Jane (& team) [or Jane/Cho], Pandora's box
Jane has been attracted to other people since his wife died.
Jane has kissed people since his wife died.
But Jane hasn't kissed anyone he was attracted to since his wife died.
Until now. Now, he's kissed Cho.
It wasn't in a sudden fit of madness. It wasn't part of a grand, romantic declaration. It was to keep him from being recognised on a stakeout, of all the terrible clichés.
The warning from Van Pelt had come much too late, and been much too vague - He's coming your way, and he's got someone with him - and before they could ask for clarification the suspect, Tim, was already rounding the corner and Jake was with him, Jake who had been questioned by Cho not two hours earlier.
Turning fast to push Cho against the wall, saying "Just go with it," and kissing him - it really was the best plan. Jane knew Cho would just go with it - panic, homosexual or otherwise, was not something Jane associated with Kimball Cho - while Tim was, obviously, a rampant homophobe. Tim and Jake would either cross the street to avoid having to pass them on the narrow sidewalk, putting them too far away for Jake to possibly recognise Cho, even if he looked, which was doubtful; or Tim would take great offence to their display, and then they could arrest him for assaulting an agent. Win-win.
He'd told himself it wouldn't be a problem; it was just one little kiss.
Pandora probably told herself it was just one little box.
Because now he can't stop thinking about it. If it were just the memory of how Cho's shoulders had felt under his hands, of how Cho's mouth had felt against his mouth, of the heat he had been able to feel coming off Cho's body--
If it were just that, he might have been able to lock it away. But it wasn't just that.
Cho had liked it.
Not just liked it in that he found it not unpleasant. Not just liked it in that most people enjoy being kissed by someone who knows what he or she is doing.
Cho had been aroused.
When the danger had passed - they did cross the street. So predictable. - and Jane had leaned back and looked at Cho, the arousal had been plain for him to see. More than plain. The signs are difficult to hide from a trained observer, even for someone who's practiced, and why would Cho have practiced? And Cho is usually so tightly controlled - not a difficult read, exactly, but requiring a little more attention, a little more focus. Jane automatically looks a little closer, a little deeper, when he looks at Cho, watching for minute tells.
These tells were not minute.
Dilated pupils; the way he had unconsciously followed when Jane pulled away and hadn't, quite, leaned back; too-rapid breathing that was too loud in Jane's ears. Jane had known that if he slid his hand away from Cho's shoulder, up to the pulse point on his neck, he'd feel the blood going too fast underneath his fingers.
He hadn't. But he hadn't taken his hands off Cho's shoulders either, not for a long moment; he'd simply stared at Cho, and one moment had turned into two, and two moments had turned into three. If Lisbon hadn't called then for an update--
If Lisbon hadn't called then for an update, Jane doesn't know what might have happened. But he can imagine. He can imagine sliding his hands from Cho's shoulders to his neck, his cheek; can imagine stepping forward to weigh Cho against the building with his body; can imagine sliding his leg in between Cho's to feel the beginnings of the erection he knows was there against his thigh; can imagine pressing his mouth back over Cho's, but this time using his tongue, licking, teasing at Cho's lips until he opened and let him in--
Can imagine doing it now; can imagine getting up and walking over to Cho's desk where he's finishing up the paperwork from Tim's arrest and inventing some entirely plausible excuse to get Cho out of the bullpen and into some empty office or supply cupboard or who cares; can imagine pressing him against the wall, or maybe it would be Cho who pressed him up against the wall, Cho who pressed his mouth to Jane's mouth, to Jane's neck, who fumbled with Jane's waistcoat and complained about too many buttons--
Maybe it would, because Cho liked it, Cho liked the kiss, and that's what Jane can't stop thinking about.
He can't stop thinking about it as he lies on his couch, his back to the bullpen, hands folded under his head, and pretends his wedding ring isn't digging into his cheek.
"Jane."
Some childish part of Jane wants to pretend he hasn't heard, but that's hardly a viable long-term strategy. Instead, he turns around and sits up.
It's later than Jane thought; the office is mostly dark. Cho is the only one left. He's standing there looking at Jane, and oh, he's so bad at hiding this. Jane can see--
"Let me take you home," Cho says, and Jane feels a sudden rush of-- of affection, for Cho, and also a sudden urge to laugh, because how like Cho: he's found the perfect thing to say. He's given Jane a choice.
Because Jane can say, "Are you sure? I'm all the way south, it's so far out of your way." To which Cho will say "It's no problem, come on," and drive him to his house, and they will both pretend that Cho was simply offering him a ride home, and by tomorrow everything will be back to normal.
Or Jane can say, "Please," and smile slow and full of promise, and walk too close to Cho on the way out of the building, watch Cho as he drives - hands relaxed and easy on the wheel, or maybe tense, maybe nervous - as he drives them both to the same destination, crowd up behind him, distracting him, as he tries to open the door, because what does Jane care what Cho's neighbours think...
"No," Jane says instead. "No. Not tonight."
He meets Cho's steady gaze, and it's hard to bring the shields down when he's so used to having them up, but he does, just for a moment, and he lets Cho see.
And Cho does see. He looks at Jane for a long moment, and then Jane sees him accept the answer, sees the tension drain out of him. He's not hurt by the response, and Jane's relieved to see he's understood; is relieved, too, that Cho doesn't press, simply says quietly, calmly, "Okay," then turns away to gather his things.
He looks at Jane again before he leaves. "Later," he says, and it's just a casual goodbye, and it's letting Jane off the hook, and it's also a promise.
But Jane can't.
Not because it wouldn't be fair to his wife. Because it wouldn't be fair to Cho.
Because Jane isn't ready for this.
Not tonight...