Picking Stitches
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: R/M
Word Count: almost 2.5k
Category: Slash; Pairing(s): Dean Winchester/Castiel
Characters: Castiel, Dean Winchester
Genre: Fluff, Developing relationship, First Kiss, Kissing fic
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: Don't own anything, don't make money from this, you know the drill.
Summary: Dean likes his women curvy, his men rough and his Cas just the way he is.
Also on AO3.
A/N: Title from Stitches by Young Guns. Set some time during the Apocalypse. Rated M because, although it's just kissing, it's pretty explicit.
Celebrating international kissing day by writing kissing fics, fuck yeah.
Feedback is always appreciated ^^
Picking Stitches
It's not that Dean can't take pain, he can, he has, and he probably will again; it's not that this particular wound is too dangerous or that it's in a particularly bad spot, it's not even about the scar (that will surely be there if Cas doesn't do his hocus-pocus, because Dean's self-stitching skills apparently deteriorate if he's drunk when he's patching himself up), it's just that Dean likes the warm, tingly feeling he gets when Cas heals him, and the way Cas's eyes shine brighter, like there's actual glowing light coming from them, and the way Cas's hands are always unexpectedly smooth and warm and gentle, and the not-really-there smile Cas always saves just for him, and even the fact that Cas will almost definitely reprimand him for going after the werewolf alone, and maybe it's also a little bit because he likes Cas.
And he does like Cas, he likes Cas a lot. He likes the way Cas is always there when Dean calls him, likes the way Cas treats him differently from everyone else, likes that Cas, inexperienced at anything remotely human and socially awkward and confused, loves humanity just that one bit more because of Dean; it makes Dean feel like he finally did something right. So yes, he likes Cas because Cas is awesome, but he also, selfishly, likes Cas because of the way Cas makes him feel, because Cas makes him want to be a good person. So sue him, he's not perfect.
And that's why, when Sam called to check up on him and to report on having caught the rogue banshee in Texas, Dean agreed easily enough to Sam's suggestion to call Cas (I know, Dean, you can handle it on your own, it's just a minor flesh wound, yes, I've heard you before; but if we already have a magical healing force on our speed dial, why not use it, okay?).
Dean's just taken the last sip of his vodka and picked out the last stitch when Cas arrives, within minutes of Dean's call. “Dean,” he says, tilting his head to the side a little. Then he notices what Dean is doing and frowns. “You went after the werewolf on your own,” he states, and it sounds distinctly like a parent chiding their child for breaking a vase or something. Dean laughs at the image of Cas as a father to an insolent 5-year-old. Then again, when he thinks about it, Cas would probably, actually be a good parent.
When he realizes that he's getting a bit side tracked from the conversation they're having, he shakes his head a little, trying to clear it, but alcohol is not as easy to get rid of as a concussion. He searches for a witty remark, but the only thing he comes up with is, “Well, Sam was a bit busy. Apocalypse and all, you know how it is.” Not his best work. Even Cas looks unimpressed. “So. Gonna help me or what?” Dean asks before Cas can reply with something that will probably be too solemn for Dean's inebriated state.
“I assume you want me to heal you?” Cas asks, already approaching the bed Dean is sitting on. Dean grins when Cas sits next to him and nods his head yes (and promptly has to stop himself from puking; he hasn't noticed until now just how drunk he's gotten); Cas looks at him like he's sprouted another head or something (Dean laughs at the mental image), not like he's being pretty damn reasonable for someone who's running on zero sleep and half a bottle of vodka. Come to think of it, Dean's not sure he's actually ever been this drunk in front of Cas. “Did you also hit your head?” Cas asks, cocking his head to the side again, and looking far too concerned.
“Er, no,” Dean answers, as soberly and seriously as he can. “Just... drunk,” he adds gesturing to the empty bottle on the nightstand.
“Ah,” Cas just replies, with that little glint in his eyes that Dean's come to understand as amusement. “I can help with that?” he offers.
Dean considers it for what Sam would probably deem far too long. On one hand, he likes the feeling of slight light-headedness, like he's floating, and he likes being able to blame bad decisions on alcohol (with the way Cas is sitting close enough for their legs to be touching, and the way Dean's hand has already found its way to Cas's knee, he has a feeling there might be bad decisions in his near future). On the other, hangover is a bitch. “Yeah, sure,” he says, nodding for emphasis before remembering that his head is really not in the mood for such vigorous movement.
Cas leans even closer and puts one (always smooth, always warm, always so bloody gentle) hand on Dean's exposed ribs, just above the wound, and Dean feels warmth spread from there, pleasant little needles pinching his skin from the inside, tickling him; but what's overwhelming is Cas's face, so close to his, brow furrowed in concentration, eyes aglow, the fresh minty smell of Cas surrounding him. And Dean can feel that he's already more sober, but not sober enough apparently, because he says, “You smell so good,” breathes it into the rough stubble on Cas's cheek, his nose already pressed against Cas's cheekbone, and when did that happen?
Cas only pulls back enough to give Dean a confused, questioning look, but Dean doesn't have time for answering, because the effects of alcohol are fading fast, and there's only so much soberness he can regain before drunkenness is no longer a viable excuse. So, while he still has a chance, he turns his head to the side, closes his eyes and presses his lips to Cas's.
Cas doesn't make a sound and doesn't attempt to move away at all. His hand stays on Dean's side, and his lips remain connected to Dean's even as the tingling warmth fades and Dean is pretty sure the heady feeling is now not from alcohol but from kissing Cas. It's not even a real kiss yet, because Cas is completely still next to him, but Dean is enjoying it and he knows he should move away, but he doesn't because Cas doesn't, and something about that encourages him. He runs his hand from Cas's knee up his leg, brings his other hand to cup Cas's face and sucks Cas's bottom lip into his mouth.
It's different from kissing a human, Dean finds himself thinking, because Cas is not doing anything. Now, Dean's kissed virgins before, he's kissed boys who have never kissed boys before, he's kissed girls who have never kissed anyone before, but they all knew, at least vaguely, what to do. Hell, Dean remembers being kissed for the first time, and he knows he wasn't perfect back then, but he responded, he did what his instincts told him. Cas either has no such instincts, or, and Dean dreads this option, he doesn't want to kiss back.
Dean waits another few seconds, strokes his thumb over Cas's jaw (might as well seize the opportunity, should it be the only one) as he gathers the courage and willpower to move away. He comforts himself that even if Cas doesn't want him, at least he got one kiss. He's not sure, though, if that one (almost) kiss is gonna be worth the awkwardness that will apparently ensue.
When Dean opens his eyes, Cas is already studying his face. “You're kissing me,” Cas simply says.
“Technically, not anymore,” Dean replies with what he hopes passes for a cheeky tone, attitude back on full force because in Dean's book, smarmy is the best way to go when hiding insecurities.
“Was it because you were drunk?” Cas asks, having, seemingly, learnt about drunken mistakes in record time.
Dean almost says yes. But he's looking Cas straight in the eye, and Cas is stoic and composed and his poker face is on, he looks no different from any other time they've seen each other, but Dean finds that he can't lie to him, not when Cas is sitting so close and his hand is still on Dean's side and his bottom lip is shiny where Dean kissed it.
“I wasn't that drunk,” Dean answers eventually, and literally holds his breath waiting for an answer. It's a surprise when Cas leans to the side and presses their lips together again. Dean breathes out in relief and shock both, but pulls himself together quickly enough and brings his hands to Cas's shoulders. He licks the seam of Cas's lips and strokes circles with his thumbs over the sides Cas's neck and Cas's hand slides from his side to his back and it's still not even a proper kiss, but it's wonderful after such a long wait.
And then Cas moves away. Dean almost whines, like a petulant child.
“I don't know what to do,” Cas simply informs him, his tone flat, but the tips of his fingers press into the naked skin of Dean's back and Cas's eyes are wider than usual; Dean knows he's just made an angel who's faced demons and monsters and armies of Hell nervous. He's inordinately proud of himself.
“I'll show you,” he breathes, voice deeper than usual and a smile on his face that is far more assuring than lewd, which is unexpected to say the least. And that subtle change, that's what brings home to him just how much of an effect Cas has had on him, how much he's changed because of Cas. That earns Cas another quick, chaste peck on the lips, because Dean can't bring himself to say thank you.
He doesn't think much about what he's doing, just climbs onto Cas's lap and settles comfortably, arms around Cas's neck. Cas's hand is still resting on his back, so Dean leans into it. “Hands,” he whispers, lips grazing Cas's ear, “use your hands.”
Cas follows it like a command, his other hand coming up to rest on Dean's chest. He looks up at Dean's face with a sort of deer-in-the-headlights look that Dean solemnly swears to wipe out, and starts doing so with a kiss. Cas is still not quite kissing back, but he's leaning into it and his hands start moving, slowly at first, clumsy and insecure, but he's learning, and quickly; he runs his spread palms over Dean's back and front, arms and stomach, ribs and neck. Dean makes a point of being as responsive as he can (not a trouble), and Cas catches it quickly, easily, finds all the right buttons to push within minutes, then exploits them, like a good student.
Dean is getting pretty turned on and out of breath; it would be embarrassing, if it weren't for Cas's enraptured expression, the way he delights in every little sound Dean makes, the way he looks pleased and proud, how he stares at Dean like Dean is the most fascinating thing. Dean hopes Cas never stops being like that.
“Hey,” Dean says as he turns Cas to face him with a finger on his chin. “I was kissing you, wasn't I? Close your eyes.” Cas obligingly tilts his head and closes his eyes, licks his lips and Dean follows the movement of his tongue with his eyes, then with his lips. “Kissing,” Dean whispers, his lips moving against Cas's chin (he almost shivers at how it feels, and it's been so long since he's had a man with him, and even longer since he's had someone he actually cared for, that, if they actually went any further than kissing, he'd probably come embarrassingly quickly); “is a lot like fighting, there's adrenaline and reaction,” he murmurs, licking Cas's lips (Cas opens his mouth a little, as if unsure if his particular reaction is the right one), “only, you know, everyone enjoys it.”
Cas opens his mouth further, probably to protest that a good fight can be enjoyable, but Dean uses the millisecond window of Cas's lack of focus to seal their mouths together and slide his tongue into Cas's mouth. This time, Cas reacts immediately, sucking Dean's tongue further into his mouth, then tracing the shape of it with the tip of his own. Dean smiles, hoping it will be enough for Cas to get the message, and weaves his fingers through Cas's hair to hold his head in place as he thoroughly explores Cas's mouth. Cas's tongue doesn't stop playing with his, batting it away and guiding it around to the right spots and Dean feels like he could do this forever. The way Cas makes satisfied, purring sounds, the way his fingers twitch against Dean's skin, make Dean wish he'd done this sooner.
It takes a bit for Cas to fully relax, but when he does, he's perfect, shaking under Dean's hands, his own restless and searching Dean's skin like it's a map for some kind of treasure; when Cas starts kissing back full force, Dean gets the urge to push them down onto the bed and let Cas do whatever he wants with him, because Cas is getting bolder and rougher with every second, his teeth sinking into Dean's bottom lip and his nails grazing Dean's nipples and Dean is actually seriously hard now, and it's getting dangerously difficult to breathe, but Cas is not letting him go. In fact, Cas pulls him closer with strong hands on his ass, then shoves his tongue into Dean's mouth and kisses him for all he's worth.
When Cas is done with him, Dean is a mess, dizzy and drunk on pleasure, any coherent thought wiped out of his head. Cas holds him and his face stays close to Dean's, their noses touching, but Cas's eyes are open and he looks a little freaked out. Dean raises an eyebrow because speaking is really low on his to-do list right now.
“Um, was that all right?” Cas asks, voice even scratchier than before and Dean suddenly want to kiss him some more. “You said to... And I... I felt like doing that,” he adds, almost a question. Dean would probably laugh at the wonder in his voice if it were someone other than Cas.
Of course, that is the moment his phone rings, and Dean would ignore it, but he knows it's Sam, so he moves to get up, only waiting long enough to tell Cas, “That was pretty damn amazing.” He's already standing and holding the phone in his hand when Cas gets up too and Dean can clearly see the outline of his hard cock in his thin slacks. He swallows thickly as he feels his blood rushing south. Whatever Sam wants, it had better wait, because, “Hey, Cas. Is there something else I can show you?”
Rating: R/M
Word Count: almost 2.5k
Category: Slash; Pairing(s): Dean Winchester/Castiel
Characters: Castiel, Dean Winchester
Genre: Fluff, Developing relationship, First Kiss, Kissing fic
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: Don't own anything, don't make money from this, you know the drill.
Summary: Dean likes his women curvy, his men rough and his Cas just the way he is.
Also on AO3.
A/N: Title from Stitches by Young Guns. Set some time during the Apocalypse. Rated M because, although it's just kissing, it's pretty explicit.
Celebrating international kissing day by writing kissing fics, fuck yeah.
Feedback is always appreciated ^^
Picking Stitches
It's not that Dean can't take pain, he can, he has, and he probably will again; it's not that this particular wound is too dangerous or that it's in a particularly bad spot, it's not even about the scar (that will surely be there if Cas doesn't do his hocus-pocus, because Dean's self-stitching skills apparently deteriorate if he's drunk when he's patching himself up), it's just that Dean likes the warm, tingly feeling he gets when Cas heals him, and the way Cas's eyes shine brighter, like there's actual glowing light coming from them, and the way Cas's hands are always unexpectedly smooth and warm and gentle, and the not-really-there smile Cas always saves just for him, and even the fact that Cas will almost definitely reprimand him for going after the werewolf alone, and maybe it's also a little bit because he likes Cas.
And he does like Cas, he likes Cas a lot. He likes the way Cas is always there when Dean calls him, likes the way Cas treats him differently from everyone else, likes that Cas, inexperienced at anything remotely human and socially awkward and confused, loves humanity just that one bit more because of Dean; it makes Dean feel like he finally did something right. So yes, he likes Cas because Cas is awesome, but he also, selfishly, likes Cas because of the way Cas makes him feel, because Cas makes him want to be a good person. So sue him, he's not perfect.
And that's why, when Sam called to check up on him and to report on having caught the rogue banshee in Texas, Dean agreed easily enough to Sam's suggestion to call Cas (I know, Dean, you can handle it on your own, it's just a minor flesh wound, yes, I've heard you before; but if we already have a magical healing force on our speed dial, why not use it, okay?).
Dean's just taken the last sip of his vodka and picked out the last stitch when Cas arrives, within minutes of Dean's call. “Dean,” he says, tilting his head to the side a little. Then he notices what Dean is doing and frowns. “You went after the werewolf on your own,” he states, and it sounds distinctly like a parent chiding their child for breaking a vase or something. Dean laughs at the image of Cas as a father to an insolent 5-year-old. Then again, when he thinks about it, Cas would probably, actually be a good parent.
When he realizes that he's getting a bit side tracked from the conversation they're having, he shakes his head a little, trying to clear it, but alcohol is not as easy to get rid of as a concussion. He searches for a witty remark, but the only thing he comes up with is, “Well, Sam was a bit busy. Apocalypse and all, you know how it is.” Not his best work. Even Cas looks unimpressed. “So. Gonna help me or what?” Dean asks before Cas can reply with something that will probably be too solemn for Dean's inebriated state.
“I assume you want me to heal you?” Cas asks, already approaching the bed Dean is sitting on. Dean grins when Cas sits next to him and nods his head yes (and promptly has to stop himself from puking; he hasn't noticed until now just how drunk he's gotten); Cas looks at him like he's sprouted another head or something (Dean laughs at the mental image), not like he's being pretty damn reasonable for someone who's running on zero sleep and half a bottle of vodka. Come to think of it, Dean's not sure he's actually ever been this drunk in front of Cas. “Did you also hit your head?” Cas asks, cocking his head to the side again, and looking far too concerned.
“Er, no,” Dean answers, as soberly and seriously as he can. “Just... drunk,” he adds gesturing to the empty bottle on the nightstand.
“Ah,” Cas just replies, with that little glint in his eyes that Dean's come to understand as amusement. “I can help with that?” he offers.
Dean considers it for what Sam would probably deem far too long. On one hand, he likes the feeling of slight light-headedness, like he's floating, and he likes being able to blame bad decisions on alcohol (with the way Cas is sitting close enough for their legs to be touching, and the way Dean's hand has already found its way to Cas's knee, he has a feeling there might be bad decisions in his near future). On the other, hangover is a bitch. “Yeah, sure,” he says, nodding for emphasis before remembering that his head is really not in the mood for such vigorous movement.
Cas leans even closer and puts one (always smooth, always warm, always so bloody gentle) hand on Dean's exposed ribs, just above the wound, and Dean feels warmth spread from there, pleasant little needles pinching his skin from the inside, tickling him; but what's overwhelming is Cas's face, so close to his, brow furrowed in concentration, eyes aglow, the fresh minty smell of Cas surrounding him. And Dean can feel that he's already more sober, but not sober enough apparently, because he says, “You smell so good,” breathes it into the rough stubble on Cas's cheek, his nose already pressed against Cas's cheekbone, and when did that happen?
Cas only pulls back enough to give Dean a confused, questioning look, but Dean doesn't have time for answering, because the effects of alcohol are fading fast, and there's only so much soberness he can regain before drunkenness is no longer a viable excuse. So, while he still has a chance, he turns his head to the side, closes his eyes and presses his lips to Cas's.
Cas doesn't make a sound and doesn't attempt to move away at all. His hand stays on Dean's side, and his lips remain connected to Dean's even as the tingling warmth fades and Dean is pretty sure the heady feeling is now not from alcohol but from kissing Cas. It's not even a real kiss yet, because Cas is completely still next to him, but Dean is enjoying it and he knows he should move away, but he doesn't because Cas doesn't, and something about that encourages him. He runs his hand from Cas's knee up his leg, brings his other hand to cup Cas's face and sucks Cas's bottom lip into his mouth.
It's different from kissing a human, Dean finds himself thinking, because Cas is not doing anything. Now, Dean's kissed virgins before, he's kissed boys who have never kissed boys before, he's kissed girls who have never kissed anyone before, but they all knew, at least vaguely, what to do. Hell, Dean remembers being kissed for the first time, and he knows he wasn't perfect back then, but he responded, he did what his instincts told him. Cas either has no such instincts, or, and Dean dreads this option, he doesn't want to kiss back.
Dean waits another few seconds, strokes his thumb over Cas's jaw (might as well seize the opportunity, should it be the only one) as he gathers the courage and willpower to move away. He comforts himself that even if Cas doesn't want him, at least he got one kiss. He's not sure, though, if that one (almost) kiss is gonna be worth the awkwardness that will apparently ensue.
When Dean opens his eyes, Cas is already studying his face. “You're kissing me,” Cas simply says.
“Technically, not anymore,” Dean replies with what he hopes passes for a cheeky tone, attitude back on full force because in Dean's book, smarmy is the best way to go when hiding insecurities.
“Was it because you were drunk?” Cas asks, having, seemingly, learnt about drunken mistakes in record time.
Dean almost says yes. But he's looking Cas straight in the eye, and Cas is stoic and composed and his poker face is on, he looks no different from any other time they've seen each other, but Dean finds that he can't lie to him, not when Cas is sitting so close and his hand is still on Dean's side and his bottom lip is shiny where Dean kissed it.
“I wasn't that drunk,” Dean answers eventually, and literally holds his breath waiting for an answer. It's a surprise when Cas leans to the side and presses their lips together again. Dean breathes out in relief and shock both, but pulls himself together quickly enough and brings his hands to Cas's shoulders. He licks the seam of Cas's lips and strokes circles with his thumbs over the sides Cas's neck and Cas's hand slides from his side to his back and it's still not even a proper kiss, but it's wonderful after such a long wait.
And then Cas moves away. Dean almost whines, like a petulant child.
“I don't know what to do,” Cas simply informs him, his tone flat, but the tips of his fingers press into the naked skin of Dean's back and Cas's eyes are wider than usual; Dean knows he's just made an angel who's faced demons and monsters and armies of Hell nervous. He's inordinately proud of himself.
“I'll show you,” he breathes, voice deeper than usual and a smile on his face that is far more assuring than lewd, which is unexpected to say the least. And that subtle change, that's what brings home to him just how much of an effect Cas has had on him, how much he's changed because of Cas. That earns Cas another quick, chaste peck on the lips, because Dean can't bring himself to say thank you.
He doesn't think much about what he's doing, just climbs onto Cas's lap and settles comfortably, arms around Cas's neck. Cas's hand is still resting on his back, so Dean leans into it. “Hands,” he whispers, lips grazing Cas's ear, “use your hands.”
Cas follows it like a command, his other hand coming up to rest on Dean's chest. He looks up at Dean's face with a sort of deer-in-the-headlights look that Dean solemnly swears to wipe out, and starts doing so with a kiss. Cas is still not quite kissing back, but he's leaning into it and his hands start moving, slowly at first, clumsy and insecure, but he's learning, and quickly; he runs his spread palms over Dean's back and front, arms and stomach, ribs and neck. Dean makes a point of being as responsive as he can (not a trouble), and Cas catches it quickly, easily, finds all the right buttons to push within minutes, then exploits them, like a good student.
Dean is getting pretty turned on and out of breath; it would be embarrassing, if it weren't for Cas's enraptured expression, the way he delights in every little sound Dean makes, the way he looks pleased and proud, how he stares at Dean like Dean is the most fascinating thing. Dean hopes Cas never stops being like that.
“Hey,” Dean says as he turns Cas to face him with a finger on his chin. “I was kissing you, wasn't I? Close your eyes.” Cas obligingly tilts his head and closes his eyes, licks his lips and Dean follows the movement of his tongue with his eyes, then with his lips. “Kissing,” Dean whispers, his lips moving against Cas's chin (he almost shivers at how it feels, and it's been so long since he's had a man with him, and even longer since he's had someone he actually cared for, that, if they actually went any further than kissing, he'd probably come embarrassingly quickly); “is a lot like fighting, there's adrenaline and reaction,” he murmurs, licking Cas's lips (Cas opens his mouth a little, as if unsure if his particular reaction is the right one), “only, you know, everyone enjoys it.”
Cas opens his mouth further, probably to protest that a good fight can be enjoyable, but Dean uses the millisecond window of Cas's lack of focus to seal their mouths together and slide his tongue into Cas's mouth. This time, Cas reacts immediately, sucking Dean's tongue further into his mouth, then tracing the shape of it with the tip of his own. Dean smiles, hoping it will be enough for Cas to get the message, and weaves his fingers through Cas's hair to hold his head in place as he thoroughly explores Cas's mouth. Cas's tongue doesn't stop playing with his, batting it away and guiding it around to the right spots and Dean feels like he could do this forever. The way Cas makes satisfied, purring sounds, the way his fingers twitch against Dean's skin, make Dean wish he'd done this sooner.
It takes a bit for Cas to fully relax, but when he does, he's perfect, shaking under Dean's hands, his own restless and searching Dean's skin like it's a map for some kind of treasure; when Cas starts kissing back full force, Dean gets the urge to push them down onto the bed and let Cas do whatever he wants with him, because Cas is getting bolder and rougher with every second, his teeth sinking into Dean's bottom lip and his nails grazing Dean's nipples and Dean is actually seriously hard now, and it's getting dangerously difficult to breathe, but Cas is not letting him go. In fact, Cas pulls him closer with strong hands on his ass, then shoves his tongue into Dean's mouth and kisses him for all he's worth.
When Cas is done with him, Dean is a mess, dizzy and drunk on pleasure, any coherent thought wiped out of his head. Cas holds him and his face stays close to Dean's, their noses touching, but Cas's eyes are open and he looks a little freaked out. Dean raises an eyebrow because speaking is really low on his to-do list right now.
“Um, was that all right?” Cas asks, voice even scratchier than before and Dean suddenly want to kiss him some more. “You said to... And I... I felt like doing that,” he adds, almost a question. Dean would probably laugh at the wonder in his voice if it were someone other than Cas.
Of course, that is the moment his phone rings, and Dean would ignore it, but he knows it's Sam, so he moves to get up, only waiting long enough to tell Cas, “That was pretty damn amazing.” He's already standing and holding the phone in his hand when Cas gets up too and Dean can clearly see the outline of his hard cock in his thin slacks. He swallows thickly as he feels his blood rushing south. Whatever Sam wants, it had better wait, because, “Hey, Cas. Is there something else I can show you?”