New fic: Nightswimming, Dean/Castiel, R
Title: Nightswimming
Authors: murron & eretria
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: R
Pairing: Dean/Castiel.
Spoilers: Nothing specific. The current season is fair game, though.
Size: ~ 7270 words
Summary: Of the effects of moonlight, of swimming and tuna pizzas, of endangered cellphones and really unfortunate phone calls.
Disclaimer: No profit gained or wanted.
Notes: Sequel to murron's fantastic "Rules of Engagement". There are references for the story in this one, so you might want to read it first if you don't want to scratch your head and go "huh?" a couple of times.
Beta by auburnnothenna. Thank you! (And ...)
Nightswimming
Dean lay spread-eagled on the motel bed, staring up at the ceiling. If he was very quiet, he could still hear the lake sloshing softly in the evening breeze. He hadn't showered yet and still tasted the lake on his lips.
Even though the sky had grown dark outside, Dean hadn't turned on the lights. When Cas left to get food, Sam had just flopped down on his bed and fallen asleep instantly. 'While Sam was snoring faintly somewhere off to the side, Dean imagined the reflection of the lake rippling up on the ceiling before his mind turned, almost idly, to the picture of Cas loosening his tie.
Damn it, that had been a new sensation. Well, not new-new, but new when it came to someone this close to him. Who could have known that Mr. Angel had taken 9 ½ weeks lessons? Dean had been glad for the lake's cold water when Cas had stripped slowly. Tie, shirt, pants. Revealing slim but strong legs and a narrow back with surprisingly broad shoulders. The damn trenchcoat hid too much. Easy on the eyes? Damn straight. He wondered if Sam had bought it.
A resounding snore from the other bed shook him out of his stupor. His stomach growled insistently and a look at the glowing red numbers from the alarm clock revealed that Cas had already been gone for half an hour.
The pizza parlour was just down the road, what the hell was taking him so long? That was a bad choice of wording because it brought back memories and sudden, clawing concern. It was just pizza, not a four course dinner. What if something - Dean was on his stomach, reaching for his cellphone on the nightstand.
Boy, did it still feel weird to call an angel on a cellphone. Next, he'd have a direct line to God.
It rang. Once. Twice. Four and five times. Every new ring made Dean's skin draw tighter, his heartbeat more erratic.
"Hello, Dean," Castiel's voice came from the phone slightly distorted, but still dark as molasses.
"What's the hold-up?" Dean asked, indignation colouring his words. "Some of us need to eat."
"Eat," Castiel repeated, uncomprehending. Were those crickets in the background? A pause, then: "Oh."
"Oh?" Dean breathed in and out slowly. "Oh? Are you telling me you didn't get pizza?"
On the bed next to him, Sam opened one bleary eye and mumbled: "n'pizza?"
Dean threw a pillow at him. No need to cause tears. "Go on snoring, sleeping beauty."
To his surprise, Sam closed his eye, turned to his side, and resumed snoring.
"Huh." The sound of crickets from his cellphone was definitely audible now. Dean dropped his forehead to the pillow before pulling the phone closer to his mouth and uttering a muffled but no less menacing: "Where the hell are you, Cas?"
There was something decidedly sheepish in Castiel's voice when he answered: "The lake we visited earlier. I meant to repeat the sensations."
Dean's mind flashed to wet boxershorts clinging to slim legs and the words were out before he could stop himself: "Selfish, Cas. Keeping all the fun to yourself?"
"Did you want to join me?" Castiel sounded vaguely horrified for not thinking of that option earlier. "It is still pleasant here."
"I bet..." Dean began but the words barely left his mouth before two hands seemed to yank him bodily off the bed and into thin air. He opened his mouth like a fish out of water before his knees hit silty ground. He caught his fall with his hands, one of them still clutching his cell-phone.
Trying to fight down the assault of nausea, Dean got a lung full of fresh, crisp air. The smell of pine and wet mud filled his nose and he didn't need the water lapping at his fingertips to know where he was. "Damn it Cas," Dean cursed. "You’ve got to stop that! I didn't mean ..." Looking to the left, he swallowed the rest of his sentence.
It was a clear night with a bright moon, leaving the lake and its banks in a deep blue gloom. Cas sat on the lakeshore, not caring if his slacks got dirty or wet. He'd taken off his shoes again and rolled up the hems of his pants, so his pale shins showed. With his coat and jacket and shirt stripped off too, he only wore a white wife-beater that made his skin look darker than it was.
Feet in the water, Cas gathered up a handful of silt and let it run from his closed fist. Speechless, Dean watched him rub fingertips across his sand-crusted palm.
"Everything feels different," Cas said and something twisted painfully in Dean's chest.
The moments when a look of surprise smoothed the years, no, the aeons from Cas’s face always got to Dean. Sometimes he forgot that to Castiel none of the simple things were familiar. He would spend a minute holding his hand under running water, fascinated by the feel of it. With Jimmy gone, Cas had become the new tenant of this body. It made sense he still had to find his feet.
The bad pun broke the spell. Sighing out through his nose, Dean sat down on his ass, running a hand back through his hair and spreading mud. He snorted softly, trying to brush it off before thinking, 'who cared?'
He shot another sidelong look at Cas, taking note of the smooth curve of his bare shoulder. His gaze slid down to Cas' narrow hands and his mind plunged straight to the gutter. Go directly to jail, do not pass go, do not collect 200. He almost laughed out loud.
"Something funny?" Cas wanted to know, looking at him for the first time.
"Not really." Turning away, Dean let his gaze drift over the quiet lake. Somewhere out of sight something dropped into the water, waves sloshing in the reeds. "You like this place, huh?"
"Yes."
Dean chuckled. "Anyone ever tell you you've got a gift with words?"
Cas didn't comment, returning his attention to the lake and the dark forest beyond.
Dean thought about asking Cas to take them back and found he didn't want to.
When he picked himself off the ground, his cramping back made him feel old. He was only thirty-one for god's sake. Prime of his fucking youth. He heeled off his boots and bent low to get his socks. The mud was cold against the soles of his feet and gave a little with every step. Dean walked the short distance to Cas' side and sat down again. When he bowed over his knees to roll up his jeans he could feel Cas' watching him.
Night had sucked the warmth from the lake and Dean winced when his toes touched the water's edge. "Shit," he muttered but immersed his feet anyway. As the lake closed softly over his ankles, Dean felt that same, weird, twisting pull on his heart. Like, for some reason, it was dangerous for him to sit here, coming too close to something he might know for a little while only to lose it again.
Peace, maybe.
He must have let down his guard, showing something on his face that should’ve stayed well hidden. Without a word, Cas leaned over and placed his hand on the nape of Dean's neck, palm warm and rough with sand.
"Don't do that," Dean said softly and Cas let him be, no questions asked.
'Are you insane, Winchester?' Dean asked himself when the cold breeze coming from the lake chilled the place where Cas’ hand had been. While usually very much on board with taking what was offered, he didn't know what to do with this.
A bird chimed into the sound of crickets chirping, a mourning, aching song curling itself around his chest, squeezing tight. Dean stretched his back against it, trying to get air into his lungs. He leaned back on his elbows, moving his feet in lazy circles in the water. The water lapped quietly. From the corner of his eye, he saw Cas watching him, all rapt attention and intense gaze. The moonlight - God, moonlight, could this get any more kitschy? - hit Cas’ face from the side, making it stand out against the silver-blue in sharp relief. What a fucking gorgeous being this was, and holy shit if Dean didn't know better he'd say he'd had too much to drink.
"So," he cleared his throat, readying it for words which didn't want to come. He waved his hand instead.
"Yes, Dean?" Voice calm, gaze curious. Damn the angel for never missing anything, especially not a weakness.
"Why'd you get me here?" Dean wriggled his toes before moving one foot from the water and running it up his bare shin, spreading water which glistened in the moonlight. "I thought we were clear on the whole zapping thing?"
Castiel didn't answer, he was staring at Dean's feet with the exhilarated curiosity of a chemist who'd just found a new element.
"Cas?" Dean tried again before finally deciding that he'd had enough of one-sided conversations. Or monologues, his inner Sam supplied helpfully and he felt inclined to kick the little bastard for intruding. He was moving his foot again, sloshing it through the water enough to shove the water at Cas, sending small glistening waves to soak Cas’ pants.
A sharp intake of breath, then: "Why did you do that?"
"Your eyes were getting stuck."
"I assure you, my eyes do not have any adhesive qualities." Cas ran his hands over the soaked material of his pants, that damn look of surprise firmly on his face again, and Dean just lost it, right there and then. Laughter bubbled up, uncontainable and irresistible. Enough to lift something from his heart for a few moments, making him feel light. "Thank God for that," he replied to Cas' bewildered face before losing his grip on the rock they were sitting on and landing, quite unceremoniously, on his ass in the water with a resounding splash.
Dean sat for a moment, getting control back over the chuckles that kept bubbling up from his chest.
"You know what?" he muttered. "Screw this."
Standing up, he pulled his t-shirt off over his head and tossed it carelessly behind him. He waded deeper into the lake until the water molded his jeans to his legs and then took a flat dive, heart clutching and skin pulling tight with the cold.
When he came back up, he heard an answering splash from the bank and two seconds later, Cas joined him. Wet, his hair stuck up in all directions.
When Cas touched his shoulder this time, Dean didn't tell him to stop, not even when Cas drifted closer.
Warm skin as a counterpoint to the water's cold, and damn, maybe he was drunk. Maybe he didn't care. There was still ground beneath his feet, but only barely. Just one more step and he'd be without support. He reached up, letting his hand move in the direction of Cas’ elbow, fully intent on making the best of this weird scenario. He felt heavy in the water, soaked jeans dragging him deeper.
"Dean?" Cas’ palm rested lightly against his collarbone, long fingers stretching easily to frame his left shoulder.
"Yeah?" Dean answered. He absolutely didn't sound the way he thought he sounded. No way.
"You might want to duck." Before he could dwell on it any further, he felt the strong hand on his shoulder adding pressure and the water closed over his head. 'Son of a bitch,' he thought when he resurfaced again and saw Castiel, Cas, Angel of the Lord, standing in the water of the lake, gilded by moonlight, beautiful, terrifying, Dean knew, damn it, he knew, and grinning like a loon.
Everything feels different.
Grinning. Over his whole face, tripping Dean back to 2014, to another grinning Cas, only this here was weirder, yet infinitely more comforting at the same time. This Cas wasn't fraying at the edges. This Cas' eyes weren't dead when he was laughing. He was just… having a good time for what looked like the first time in his life. Dean would be damned if he didn't play along.
"You are dead," Dean stated, matter-of-factly, getting his legs in order and blinking water out of his eyes. "So very, very dead."
"You do not have the power to kill me with your bare hands," Cas replied, paddling closer to Dean, practically right in his face, the grin just getting wider. "Even weakened, I can still smite you." Damn the guy for the laugh lines where there shouldn't be any, not just in the corners of his eyes, but toward his nose, too. For a moment, Dean couldn't do anything but stare.
He had to shake his head at the pictures flooding his brain, at the white teeth glinting in the moonlight. Shake it against the unbidden image of those teeth digging into Cas’ lower lip that Dean's mind conjured up. Of eyes fluttering shut and butterfly movements of a pulse under Dean's lips. He screwed his eyes shut for a long breath, pretending it was water stinging his eyes. Wet cotton pressed uncomfortably against his groin. 'Get a grip, man.'
"Maybe not," he said. "But I can do this." He tensed his muscles, getting ready for retaliation. The next second, he felt his legs getting bound like a Christmas turkey, his arms neatly at his sides.
"Do what?" Cas asked, innocent like fresh snow on a Christmas morning.
Not fair. Not fucking fair. "Cas?" Dean tried for menacing until he swallowed water, submerged and realised how absolutely ridiculous it was to even pretend to have the upper hand when he was in a water fight with a freaking angel.
"Yes, Dean?" Gentle, low, teasing, right against his ear, Cas’ lips almost touching it when he spoke. Taken by surprise and unable to move arms and legs, Dean flinched and submerged again, only to come up hacking and coughing and spitting obscenities before he realised that he could move again and Cas was next to him with a sheepish look on his face.
"Are you all right?"
"Worry about yourself," Dean answered, used the opening and his hands shot forward, pushing Cas under water.
Splashing, spluttering, diving and jumping, the slick slip-slide of wet skin underwater, fingers tickling and grappling for purchase followed, neither of them giving up. In the end, when Dean could tell they were both running out of energy but neither wanted to admit defeat, Cas body-bound him again, letting Dean drift to the surface of the lake, gliding like a dead man. Cas’ hand was under his shoulderblades, a safe, reassuring touch never once letting Dean go as he floated them back to the shore.
Back in the shallower water, when Dean could already see the tops of the trees, Cas stopped them and released the binding, but Dean didn't move. Just kept floating, enjoying the sensation of being weightless and careless for once. Next to him, he heard a soft gurgle of water, then a hand bumping into his arm as Cas floated next to him with his arms spread wide. Dean turned his head, just watching. Cas’ eyes were open, a look of 'oxymoronic' - Dean's inner Sam cheered and received an immediate mental smack upside the head - relaxed concentration on his face. Small waves lapped over Cas’ chest, the wet undershirt outlining his chest, his ribcage moving on even breaths. He seemed at peace, more relaxed than Dean had ever seen him.
"It feels like the time after my creation," Cas murmured into the night's sounds, his voice almost drowned when an owl sailed over the lake, the sound of its wings reminding Dean of the appearance of angels. It landed in a nearby tree, the wooing sound of its call echoing over the lake. "We saw everything and heard everything, knew everything, but there was only safety. Only warmth. Only conviction." Cas’ voice died down, the low syllables gliding over Dean's skin before submerging in the water.
A conviction Dean had ripped him from. A safety Cas had given up for Sam and him. Dean shivered, suddenly aware of the breeze chilling the parts of his skin that were exposed to the air. "Did they hand out dope as well to make the experience better?" he quipped, falling back to meaningless words when he didn't know what else to say.
Cas didn't answer. A smile crinkled the skin around his eyes that was indulgent, amused, and scarily, incredibly old.
"I was loved."
Past tense. It was a sucker-punch that left Dean unable to breathe for a few moments. He dropped his head back to the water, dipping lower, feeling the water's cool closing over his face. Here, he only heard the blood rushing in his ears, the gentle splashing noises his limbs made on the surface. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Trust Cas to say these things that should be buried deep and never unearthed. Dean had done that for such a long time, never speaking the words that mattered because he would feel foolish and scared. Cas’ easy, out of the blue confessions upset everything he'd convinced himself was true and necessary. It made his carefully erected walls of self protection feel like no more than thin sheets of paper. I was loved and the loss of it hurts more than I can bear.
Dean swung his legs under him and pushed up, gently breaking the water's surface. Cas turned to look at him, waiting. If Dean had thought Cas wasn't aware of everything that was going on between them he'd been an idiot.
"Cas," he said, telling himself his voice was only rough because of the water he'd swallowed. "I can't. Whatever you lost, don't look for it in me."
"I'm looking," Cas replied and that was the last chance Dean had to run, to just turn and wade out of the water, pretend he didn't understand, put a lid on it and keep going.
He didn't.
For the third time that night, Cas moved close, crossing the distance with two slow strokes of his arms. When he was in Dean's space, he leaned in but stopped one inch short of a Dean's face. Back to the watching, the watching that was right in Dean's personal space. His hand was back on the nape of Dean's neck now, wet and smooth this time. Dean felt Cas' warm breath on his lips and remembered how the lake had tasted, wondered if it would taste the same if he licked the water from Cas’ lips.
Up close, Dean could see the moon in Cas' eyes and a different light that didn't reflect from outside at all. A shiver went down his spine just before he reached up. Just behind Cas’ human eyes was something older. Something that could destroy Dean in a heartbeat. Spreading water-drops along Cas’ cheekbone with his thumb, Dean watched Cas close his eyes at the touch. Like a fucking cat, Cas just leaned into the touch, trusting, yet demanding more than Dean was sure he could give.
Something caught in Dean's throat, a sound maybe, that made it hard to swallow. He lifted his other hand, framed Cas’ face in his hands. Breath coming just that little bit faster, Cas carded his fingers up through Dean's hair. Maybe he was waiting for Dean to go the rest of the way, maybe he was just breathing him in, learning the sensation like he'd studied the silt running from his fist...
Dean couldn't tear his gaze away, watching as Cas’ mouth went soft and the line between his brows smoothed when Dean placed his thumb against Cas' lower lip, running it over tender skin that was in constant need of a chapstick.
Cas’ hand moved, cupping the side of Dean's neck and tracing the soft hollow just under Dean's ear in an echo of Dean's movement. Cas’ eyes opened again and the look he gave him undid Dean, flayed him open wide and painful in a fucking beautiful revelation.
Yes and You and Please were the words running through Dean's jumbled thoughts, but he didn't voice any of them. Just reached to the water, dipping his fingertips into it and returning to Cas face to spread a few drops, just a few, over his lips, watching Cas' eyes go unfocused, turbulent. The hand against his skull tightened, moving Dean's head a fraction, strength leashed but present, sending Dean's blood rushing south so fast he felt dizzy.
Dean inclined his head, moved closer, feeling Cas' gaze following his every move, their breath mingling and coming faster by the second. When Dean did kiss him, Cas tasted like nothing he had imagined. After the first initial, almost chaste touches of their lips against each other, Cas breathed in sharp and opened up, surrendering and taking at the same time. He tasted of fire and light and elements, and just a hint of the chocolate Dean had handed him earlier. Damn him. They continued slow, something Dean never did, but this was such new territory he still feared the ground would fall out under his feet at any second. Floating again, or so it seemed, Dean got a little lost in the feel of Cas' tongue sliding over his when a new sound jarred the quiet. Dean's cell-phone, abandoned on the beach, struck up like an angry cicada with an e-guitar.
Dean sighed and broke the kiss reluctantly, his forehead dropping against Cas'. "Just can't catch a break," he said with a weak huff of laughter.
"It's Sam," Cas informed him, still close enough his low voice seemed to resonate along Dean's skin.
"Yeah. I know."
"Perhaps we should continue this another time."
"Sure," Dean snorted. Of course he could wait. He'd just, you know, power down. Blue balls? What blue balls?
Cas watched him with a little smile, then pushed away and started for the shore. Muttering threats to Sam and the world at large, Dean followed. When he trudged out of the shallows, the night air made him very aware of the clammy denim around his legs and other places.
"Yes, sleeping beauty?" he answered the phone, trying for their normal tone.
"Dude, where's the pizza?"
Killing your brother was a bad thing, correct? Dean took a deep, steadying breath. "They were out of cheese for the extra cheesy crust, so we had to wait until they ran to the grocery store to re-stock."
"We?"
Dean opened and closed his mouth, feeling acutely like a fish on dry land. He coughed, turned to the lake. "Yeah, me'n Cas."
"He couldn't find the pizza place alone?"
"He was threatening to smite the owner for being out of extra cheesy crust, when I called," Dean lied, feeling suave. "He knows how much you like it." In front of him, Cas turned around, eyebrow raised. "I had to step in, you know, be the voice of reason." Dean ducked from under the threatening 'Thou shalt not lie' gaze.
"Voice of reason," Sam repeated. "Right."
"They said they'd have it ready in twenty minutes."
Sam's sigh sent a burst of static through the phone. "It's always twenty minutes." Something that sounded like bedsprings creaked and Dean knew that Sam had flopped back on the bed. "All right then." A pause. "Leave me a note next time."
Dean's stomach bottomed out unpleasantly, a flush creeping across his face. "Sam, come on-"
"Dean," Sam interrupted him. "Bring breadsticks, too. Extra garlic." Another pause. "And they'd better be on the house." The line went dead with a muttered, half-amused expletive.
Dean stared at the phone in his hand. "All right."
"Someone's hungry," he stated, turning back to the shore.
"We all are," Cas answered, pulling the wet undershirt over his head and shucking his pants before shaking them both vigorously, trying to get the sand off. He froze when he noticed Dean staring, stopping in mid-movement. Drops of lakewater clung to his hair; one rolled lazily from Cas’ temple down this throat to his chest and Dean swallowed, following it down to a hard nipple.
Dean felt something hot pool in his stomach as he watched the easy display of skin in front of him. Hot and primal and unstoppable. Damn straight he was hungry. His every cell was, finally, finally. He wasn't going to wait this out, wasn't going to wait until another opportunity presented itself when he knew it might not come. He could be dead tomorrow. They all could be. He wasn't going to let this slip through his fingers.
He dropped the phone without regard, crossed the short distance between Cas and him and slapped the clothes out of the angel's hands, pulling his body flush against his own and breathing Cas in, Dean's cock hard and aching when he nipped at Cas jawline, drawing a blend between a growl and a groan from the angel.
Cas’ hands tightened around him, hitting bare skin; he dug his fingers into Dean's back, painful but good, God, good. The kiss was bruising, needy. Lips and teeth and slick tongue, stubble sliding against skin.
Dean reached down, pressed his hand flat against Cas’ cock, only the layer of wet boxer-shorts separating skin from skin. Cas gasped into his mouth, hooked his fingers into the waistband of Dean's jeans and pulled him even closer, trapping Dean's hand between them. Dean had a notion he was wearing way too much but the combined friction of soaked, clingy denim, his own hand and Cas’ bare thigh was frankly quite the turn on. He twisted his hand slowly, curling it against Cas cock, pressing his palm against hard flesh and flexing his fingertips against soft balls, heavy against the wet cotton. Cas gave a whole-body shudder, his hips pushing forward into Dean’s hand. When he groaned, the sound vibrated against Dean’s lips.
Cas had never been patient with anything before, and he wasn’t starting now. He was trying to work open Dean’s fly when his phone rang again, its display flashing blue on the sand.
"Jesus Christ," Dean yelled, frustration exploding in every nerve-ending it seemed. He tried to untangle himself but Cas’ arm was locked tight around his shoulder and this time, he didn't let go. No half-reasonable suggestions of 'maybe another time'. Instead, he kicked Dean's cell-phone into the lake where it splashed and buzzed no more.
They both froze for a second and Dean raised his brows in surprise.
"You mind?" Cas asked, looking serious and mussed up and fucking debauched.
Dean made a sound halfway between a groan and a laugh. "Like hell," he muttered and pulled Cas back in.
* * *
Open-mouthed kisses, hot, bruising. Cas’ lips seared Dean's throat, gliding over jugular and Adam's apple, light and burning. A none-too-gentle nip to his chin had him groaning out loud, clutching Cas closer, hips pushing against him. Dean's cock strained against the jeans toward the feeling of Cas’ own erection through the layers of clothing. Too much between them, not close enough, fuck, he needed more, this wasn't enough, this wasn't anywhere near enough, not when Cas’ breath ghosted hot over his ears and neck, not when Cas’ hand landed squarely on his ass and pushed them together. Delicious friction, strong hands, the smell of lakewater and musk and he needed to touch all that glorious skin that was presented to him, he needed this like he hadn't -
A cellphone chirped.
Cas ignored it, slipped a hand underneath the waistband of Dean's jeans instead, his hand firm on Dean's bare ass.
Again.
A growl rose in Cas’ chest, Dean felt it vibrating against his own. Still he didn't move away, fingers flexing against Dean's ass, sending tendrils of need shooting straight into Dean's cock.
Again.
And again. No one but Dean and Sam had this number.
Dean stiffened. No way. No fucking way, Sammy. If his brother was asking about the pizza now, Dean'd do Michael a favour and kill his brother with his own hands, without Michael wearing Dean to the prom.
He clamped down on the howl of frustration that clambered up in his throat, pushing reluctantly against Cas’ tight hold on him. It might be important. It might be an emergency. If it wasn't, and Sam had just busted Dean's chance of the best orgasm in the history of orgasms, then his dear brother would pay. Dearly. For a long time.
"Go," he said against Cas’ neck, his teeth grazing the skin under Cas’ ear.
Cas shuddered, then walked over to where his phone was lying on the folds of his trenchcoat. A small swell of very human pride hit Dean when he noticed that Cas was walking on rather unsteady legs. The moonlit outline of his erection tenting his wet boxers made Dean's mouth go dry.
"Yes," Cas answered the phone, and if Sam had even an ounce of a spidey sense, he'd drop the phone and start running now.
Cas’ shoulders hunched, his face hidden in darkness, but his voice was gravelly and clipped. "No, we do not."
"Yes." A deep breath. "No." Cas’ fist clenched and unclenched. Dean could have sworn he heard thunder rolling over the lake. "That is inadvisable." Cas shifted from one foot to the other, in a movement that clearly suggested he was realigning himself. Again, Dean's mouth went dry at the thought of Cas touching himself. "You said you didn't like being zapped to other places." Impatience rising. Dean heard his brother's voice through the phone, felt the cackling energy around Cas as the angel grew more and more impatient. "No. No, we don't." Cas bent forward, resting his head against the branch of a nearby tree before huffing: "Yes. Yes." Cas’ head connected with the tree with a small thump. "Yes, Sam." Thump, thump. "In a little while. Yes."
Cas flipped the phone shut, looked at it in his hand for a long minute before dropping it in disgust like a hot potato. It went up in flames, hissing and spitting molten plastic before it hit the ground.
"Not an emergency, then?" Dean asked, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice. Cas had just smitten a cellphone. A sexually frustrated angel had just smitten a fucking cellphone. Dean looked at Cas, all thunderous anger, kiss-swollen lips and tented boxershorts and burst out laughing.
"This is funny?"
"Not really."
"Then why are you laughing?"
"Because I think someone is trying to send a message."
He touched Cas’ shoulder, feeling the skin smooth and warm under his fingers, but the urgency to touch, to devour, was missing. They'd had their moment.
His stomach agreed by growling loudly.
"What say you to pizza, Mr. Sexy?"
*
After he'd smitten the crap out of his cell phone, Cas was stoically silent and Dean didn't even dare to ask why Sam called. He only learned the other half of the conversation when they met up with Sam. Apparently, Dean's genius brother had found a better way to spend the evening than wait twenty minutes for a pizza. An alibi pizza, given, but Sam didn't know that. So he'd called to suggest they meet at a pizza joint instead, one that Cas would zap them to, have a couple of beers to wash down the food and such.
Going from Sam's satisfied smile when they joined him, he thought it had been a stellar idea. For a second, Dean considered taking the beer from Sam's hand and chugging it into his face.
He didn't.
He loved his brother.
Most of the time.
They sat down in a booth, Cas picking the seat next to Sam and for a little while Dean watched them anxiously. Cas was still very quiet and Sam very much oblivious. If this angel of the lord decided to melt Sam like a cellphone, Dean's baby brother would never see it coming.
Nothing happened though and by the time the waiter brought the pizza to their table - many onions, no tuna - Dean relaxed. He got into a discussion over the new Terminator movie with Sam, decimated his pizza and actually began to feel quite satisfied. He was a man who lived in the present, after all, and enjoying his melted cheese now was better than bemoaning the sex he hadn't gotten.
Besides, he could think of worse things than sitting with Sam and Cas without ten kinds of doom hanging over the heads.
Across the table, Cas lifted a slice of pizza from the plate, holding it high as if he wanted to see how far the cheese would stretch. "Hey Cas," Sam asked, "since when do you eat pizza?"
"I like to try new things," Cas answered, voice completely neutral ,and Dean almost choked on an olive.
"Dude, are you all right?" Sam wanted to know.
"Yeah."
Reaching for his beer, Sam shook his head. "I swear, one of these days you gonna bite off more than you can chew."
Dean started counting to ten in his head. He was getting ready for a come back - all witty and below the belt and stuff - when he caught sight of Cas, chewing thoughtfully and swallowing. He placed the slice of pizza back on the plate and considered the fine dust of flour on his hand before licking the grease from his fingertips.
Dean stared, frozen in his place, until Sam announced he had to tap a kidney. Dean jumped, quickly looking anywhere but at Cas or Sam or anyone.
"Back in a minute," Sam said and left, chancing on the first bit of good timing that night.
Dean focused on the bread basket, reminding himself this was a family restaurant. He couldn't help snatching another glimpse at Cas, though. He took in the rumpled coat, the shirt with the top button undone and the curve of collarbone under the neckline and wondered how he would ever be able to look at Cas without
a) searching for a bed in the next breath. Screw that. He'd settle for the table if need be.
b) remembering the lake and the water moving against his bare back
c) seeing a cellphone go up in flames
d) remembering how absolutely surreal it was to want sex with an angel
e) not caring in the least, thus coming back to a)
Things could get complicated this way.
"Are you all right?" Cas asked, looking like he actually had to puzzle it out. "You seem tense."
"Dude," Dean said, voice dropping into the cellar regions. "Are you for real?"
"I believe I am, yes."
Dean opened his mouth, closed it. If Cas didn't know, he sure as hell wouldn't explain. He had a notion it would be interesting to see how far Cas’ self-restraint would stretch. Dean chuckled, abruptly deciding he didn't mind complicated.
Cas searched Dean's face as if he wanted to decipher it, mouth just a little pinched as if it took a lot of concentration.
On an impulse, Dean leaned across the table, suddenly not caring if anyone saw. He used his thumb to wipe the olive-oil from Cas’ mouth, watching Cas’ eyes lose focus and feeling him lean into his touch. Not so stoic, then. Dean smirked.
To his surprise, Cas grinned back.
***
Dean woke shivering, feeling out of place, and really, the light was too bright, had Sam not closed the blinds, and were those… birds?
He cracked one eye open only to be blinded by the sun and closed it again quickly. Lifting his hand, he tried to shield his face but met an obstacle - something covered him. Not a comforter. Something was warm underneath his cheek. Not a pillow. He turned his head a little, stubble rasping against cloth, and breathed deep. Cool morning air, the dew still clinging to it, a vague scent of water and a familiar, warm scent that made the last night come back in vivid pictures.
"Cas?" he asked, voice still uncooperative and raspy with sleep.
"Good morning, Dean." The low voice crept under his skin, settling there and warming him.
Slowly, things started to come together.
"What did we say about zapping, Cas? Especially during the night when I'm asleep?"
"I believe I've never done that before."
"What, pluck me from my bed at night and get me away so you can have your sordid way with me?"
"There's nothing sordid about this," Cas said and the bastard sounded, no, not annoyed, he sounded wounded. Anything else Dean could have lived with, but this tone of voice made him feel about two inches tall.
"Cas, look," he started but felt too tongue-tied to continue.
"I wanted to experience my father's creation with you."
Dean pushed up from the ground, losing the warmth of Cas’ leg against his cheek. He squinted, waited until his eyes got used the sun's glare and looked around him. "That's nice," he answered, feeling lame.
A bird began to sing nearby, its song climbing into the hazy blue of the morning sky.
"You don't see it?" Cas asked, brow furrowed as though trying to make sense of something puzzling.
The curious, confused gaze made Dean feel naked. He shivered again, but resisted pulling the trenchcoat around him.
"Guess I don't," he said. "Don't get me wrong, it's pretty here, but what's the big deal?" He looked around him more closely, saw the lake and the lakeshore, the trees and the mountains behind it - Dean had seen places like this before. It wasn't special, apart from the fact that he had almost fu-
"Let me," Cas interrupted his thoughts, and, without a word of warning put two fingers against Dean's temple, tearing into him through flesh and bone and spirit with a sickening lurch that had Dean screwing his eyes shut even though he knew it wouldn't be of any use.
When the dizziness faded, he opened his eyes.
It might have been for the very first time in his life.
Everything around him was alive. The colours were vibrant, intense enough to taste them on the tip of his tongue. He could smell the birdsong, see the breeze coming off the lake, feel the age of the mountains in the distance that was no distance at all, because he was with them, part of them but separate, as he was with everything around him.
The beauty of it left him gasping, tore a wide gash in his heart and filled it with a wild exhilarating hope and brandished a painful, powerful peace as he watched the pulsing of sap in the trees, the slow dance of flies over the lake's surface, felt the wind caress his face, and the strong, sweet smell of resin and pine needles drifted past him.
"I want to show you," Cas said quietly, as if he needed to explain the decision to himself.
Dean turned his head, searching for Cas, needing to see the familiar face to understand, to share, to articulate - only to realise that he couldn't.
Realisation trickled in that it wasn't his own eyes he was looking out of.
If this was how Cas saw the world, if he saw that much beauty all around him, if he experienced life so acutely and with such painful, frightening openness, then Dean hoped with rising panic that Cas wouldn't look at him now. He didn't need to see this. Didn't want to see himself. He wondered if he would stop seeing with Cas’ eyes if he screwed his eyes shut in his mind.
Another sickening lurch and he was back in his own body, back to feeling cold and hungry and heavy and with his eyes screwed tightly shut.
"Dean." An entreaty. Just one word. Just his name. A warm hand on the side of his face, a thumb brushing at the circles under his eyes.
Dean opened his eyes.
He found Cas smiling. The private smile, the one that Dean doubted anyone but him had ever seen. The one that was just slightly crooked, with one side of Cas’ mouth riding just a little higher than the other, everything in his posture telegraphing a fond: 'You sorry idiot. It's a good thing I've got your six.'
And it was. Dean exhaled, the air trickling from his lungs slowly, haltingly. He leaned his head against Cas’ hand, basking in the feel of warm skin against his own. His heart eased its frantic hammering against his ribcage. Tense muscles relaxed, one by one.
Fighting the urge to bail, he looked at Cas again. The sun rose higher to Cas’ left, gilding his dark hair, his open and sun-kissed face; his eyes were luminous and quietly amused. Dean reached out, unable to stop himself from touching his fingertips against Cas’ lips, watching as the blue of his eyes intensified, his lashes lowering to cover the naked yearning visible there. It was easier than it had been last night. Harder at the same time, because here and now, Dean saw in plain daylight what he was doing. Here there was no alcohol giving him liquid courage. No night kindly hiding his fears and doubts.
Cas’ lips parted, the smile sliding from them, ensnaring Dean's gaze, warm breath touching Dean's middle and index finger. Energy sizzled along his fingertips. Tearing his gaze away from those - damn sexy, damn indecent, damn sinful - lips, he caught Cas looking at him. Dean's heart sped up again. His skin felt too tight, Cas’ gaze was too intrusive, too warm, too open. He laid it all out before Dean, no doubts, just naked need, no, not need, this was more, more than -
Dean closed the remaining distance between them, not wanting to think about what it was Cas was offering, not sure if he could live up to Cas’ picture of him, and not caring, because in this one, glorious moment, all he had to do was feel. Feel the gentle slide of Cas’ lips against his, the stubble rasping under his fingertips as his hand slid from Cas’ face to his chest, feel Cas’ heart beating beneath the thin veil of flesh and blood. He forgot about the sun and the morning chill seeping into his knees, forgot about the lake and the world and just felt. Tasted. Covered the fine sheen of sweat on Cas’ upper lip with his lips, tasted salt and pure light, gently bit and soothed the sting with a more gentle slide of his mouth against Cas’, as their breath mingled, their heart rates picked up -
Dean's phone rang.
They flew apart like a flock of wild birds, Cas’ eyes wide as saucers, his chest heaving. Dean stumbled backward, catching his hand on a rock, feeling a sharp sting when the edge broke his skin of his palm.
Wincing and cursing, he scrambled to reach for the phone. Fuck, hadn't Cas kicked it in the lake last night? The fog around his brain lifted a little and he remembered Sam sticking a new one into the pocket of Dean's jeans, muttering something about Dean being worse than Mulder when it came to phones.
"Samuel Winchester," Dean hissed. Next to him, Cas’ head snapped up at the tone of Dean's voice. "If you called to ask me about breakfast, you are going to die a slow and painful death."
Cas stared at him, his jaw dropping slightly.
"What?" Dean asked.
Sam's answer was drowned in the sound of Cas breaking into a fit of uproarious laughter.
Authors: murron & eretria
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: R
Pairing: Dean/Castiel.
Spoilers: Nothing specific. The current season is fair game, though.
Size: ~ 7270 words
Summary: Of the effects of moonlight, of swimming and tuna pizzas, of endangered cellphones and really unfortunate phone calls.
Disclaimer: No profit gained or wanted.
Notes: Sequel to murron's fantastic "Rules of Engagement". There are references for the story in this one, so you might want to read it first if you don't want to scratch your head and go "huh?" a couple of times.
Beta by auburnnothenna. Thank you! (And ...)
Nightswimming
Dean lay spread-eagled on the motel bed, staring up at the ceiling. If he was very quiet, he could still hear the lake sloshing softly in the evening breeze. He hadn't showered yet and still tasted the lake on his lips.
Even though the sky had grown dark outside, Dean hadn't turned on the lights. When Cas left to get food, Sam had just flopped down on his bed and fallen asleep instantly. 'While Sam was snoring faintly somewhere off to the side, Dean imagined the reflection of the lake rippling up on the ceiling before his mind turned, almost idly, to the picture of Cas loosening his tie.
Damn it, that had been a new sensation. Well, not new-new, but new when it came to someone this close to him. Who could have known that Mr. Angel had taken 9 ½ weeks lessons? Dean had been glad for the lake's cold water when Cas had stripped slowly. Tie, shirt, pants. Revealing slim but strong legs and a narrow back with surprisingly broad shoulders. The damn trenchcoat hid too much. Easy on the eyes? Damn straight. He wondered if Sam had bought it.
A resounding snore from the other bed shook him out of his stupor. His stomach growled insistently and a look at the glowing red numbers from the alarm clock revealed that Cas had already been gone for half an hour.
The pizza parlour was just down the road, what the hell was taking him so long? That was a bad choice of wording because it brought back memories and sudden, clawing concern. It was just pizza, not a four course dinner. What if something - Dean was on his stomach, reaching for his cellphone on the nightstand.
Boy, did it still feel weird to call an angel on a cellphone. Next, he'd have a direct line to God.
It rang. Once. Twice. Four and five times. Every new ring made Dean's skin draw tighter, his heartbeat more erratic.
"Hello, Dean," Castiel's voice came from the phone slightly distorted, but still dark as molasses.
"What's the hold-up?" Dean asked, indignation colouring his words. "Some of us need to eat."
"Eat," Castiel repeated, uncomprehending. Were those crickets in the background? A pause, then: "Oh."
"Oh?" Dean breathed in and out slowly. "Oh? Are you telling me you didn't get pizza?"
On the bed next to him, Sam opened one bleary eye and mumbled: "n'pizza?"
Dean threw a pillow at him. No need to cause tears. "Go on snoring, sleeping beauty."
To his surprise, Sam closed his eye, turned to his side, and resumed snoring.
"Huh." The sound of crickets from his cellphone was definitely audible now. Dean dropped his forehead to the pillow before pulling the phone closer to his mouth and uttering a muffled but no less menacing: "Where the hell are you, Cas?"
There was something decidedly sheepish in Castiel's voice when he answered: "The lake we visited earlier. I meant to repeat the sensations."
Dean's mind flashed to wet boxershorts clinging to slim legs and the words were out before he could stop himself: "Selfish, Cas. Keeping all the fun to yourself?"
"Did you want to join me?" Castiel sounded vaguely horrified for not thinking of that option earlier. "It is still pleasant here."
"I bet..." Dean began but the words barely left his mouth before two hands seemed to yank him bodily off the bed and into thin air. He opened his mouth like a fish out of water before his knees hit silty ground. He caught his fall with his hands, one of them still clutching his cell-phone.
Trying to fight down the assault of nausea, Dean got a lung full of fresh, crisp air. The smell of pine and wet mud filled his nose and he didn't need the water lapping at his fingertips to know where he was. "Damn it Cas," Dean cursed. "You’ve got to stop that! I didn't mean ..." Looking to the left, he swallowed the rest of his sentence.
It was a clear night with a bright moon, leaving the lake and its banks in a deep blue gloom. Cas sat on the lakeshore, not caring if his slacks got dirty or wet. He'd taken off his shoes again and rolled up the hems of his pants, so his pale shins showed. With his coat and jacket and shirt stripped off too, he only wore a white wife-beater that made his skin look darker than it was.
Feet in the water, Cas gathered up a handful of silt and let it run from his closed fist. Speechless, Dean watched him rub fingertips across his sand-crusted palm.
"Everything feels different," Cas said and something twisted painfully in Dean's chest.
The moments when a look of surprise smoothed the years, no, the aeons from Cas’s face always got to Dean. Sometimes he forgot that to Castiel none of the simple things were familiar. He would spend a minute holding his hand under running water, fascinated by the feel of it. With Jimmy gone, Cas had become the new tenant of this body. It made sense he still had to find his feet.
The bad pun broke the spell. Sighing out through his nose, Dean sat down on his ass, running a hand back through his hair and spreading mud. He snorted softly, trying to brush it off before thinking, 'who cared?'
He shot another sidelong look at Cas, taking note of the smooth curve of his bare shoulder. His gaze slid down to Cas' narrow hands and his mind plunged straight to the gutter. Go directly to jail, do not pass go, do not collect 200. He almost laughed out loud.
"Something funny?" Cas wanted to know, looking at him for the first time.
"Not really." Turning away, Dean let his gaze drift over the quiet lake. Somewhere out of sight something dropped into the water, waves sloshing in the reeds. "You like this place, huh?"
"Yes."
Dean chuckled. "Anyone ever tell you you've got a gift with words?"
Cas didn't comment, returning his attention to the lake and the dark forest beyond.
Dean thought about asking Cas to take them back and found he didn't want to.
When he picked himself off the ground, his cramping back made him feel old. He was only thirty-one for god's sake. Prime of his fucking youth. He heeled off his boots and bent low to get his socks. The mud was cold against the soles of his feet and gave a little with every step. Dean walked the short distance to Cas' side and sat down again. When he bowed over his knees to roll up his jeans he could feel Cas' watching him.
Night had sucked the warmth from the lake and Dean winced when his toes touched the water's edge. "Shit," he muttered but immersed his feet anyway. As the lake closed softly over his ankles, Dean felt that same, weird, twisting pull on his heart. Like, for some reason, it was dangerous for him to sit here, coming too close to something he might know for a little while only to lose it again.
Peace, maybe.
He must have let down his guard, showing something on his face that should’ve stayed well hidden. Without a word, Cas leaned over and placed his hand on the nape of Dean's neck, palm warm and rough with sand.
"Don't do that," Dean said softly and Cas let him be, no questions asked.
'Are you insane, Winchester?' Dean asked himself when the cold breeze coming from the lake chilled the place where Cas’ hand had been. While usually very much on board with taking what was offered, he didn't know what to do with this.
A bird chimed into the sound of crickets chirping, a mourning, aching song curling itself around his chest, squeezing tight. Dean stretched his back against it, trying to get air into his lungs. He leaned back on his elbows, moving his feet in lazy circles in the water. The water lapped quietly. From the corner of his eye, he saw Cas watching him, all rapt attention and intense gaze. The moonlight - God, moonlight, could this get any more kitschy? - hit Cas’ face from the side, making it stand out against the silver-blue in sharp relief. What a fucking gorgeous being this was, and holy shit if Dean didn't know better he'd say he'd had too much to drink.
"So," he cleared his throat, readying it for words which didn't want to come. He waved his hand instead.
"Yes, Dean?" Voice calm, gaze curious. Damn the angel for never missing anything, especially not a weakness.
"Why'd you get me here?" Dean wriggled his toes before moving one foot from the water and running it up his bare shin, spreading water which glistened in the moonlight. "I thought we were clear on the whole zapping thing?"
Castiel didn't answer, he was staring at Dean's feet with the exhilarated curiosity of a chemist who'd just found a new element.
"Cas?" Dean tried again before finally deciding that he'd had enough of one-sided conversations. Or monologues, his inner Sam supplied helpfully and he felt inclined to kick the little bastard for intruding. He was moving his foot again, sloshing it through the water enough to shove the water at Cas, sending small glistening waves to soak Cas’ pants.
A sharp intake of breath, then: "Why did you do that?"
"Your eyes were getting stuck."
"I assure you, my eyes do not have any adhesive qualities." Cas ran his hands over the soaked material of his pants, that damn look of surprise firmly on his face again, and Dean just lost it, right there and then. Laughter bubbled up, uncontainable and irresistible. Enough to lift something from his heart for a few moments, making him feel light. "Thank God for that," he replied to Cas' bewildered face before losing his grip on the rock they were sitting on and landing, quite unceremoniously, on his ass in the water with a resounding splash.
Dean sat for a moment, getting control back over the chuckles that kept bubbling up from his chest.
"You know what?" he muttered. "Screw this."
Standing up, he pulled his t-shirt off over his head and tossed it carelessly behind him. He waded deeper into the lake until the water molded his jeans to his legs and then took a flat dive, heart clutching and skin pulling tight with the cold.
When he came back up, he heard an answering splash from the bank and two seconds later, Cas joined him. Wet, his hair stuck up in all directions.
When Cas touched his shoulder this time, Dean didn't tell him to stop, not even when Cas drifted closer.
Warm skin as a counterpoint to the water's cold, and damn, maybe he was drunk. Maybe he didn't care. There was still ground beneath his feet, but only barely. Just one more step and he'd be without support. He reached up, letting his hand move in the direction of Cas’ elbow, fully intent on making the best of this weird scenario. He felt heavy in the water, soaked jeans dragging him deeper.
"Dean?" Cas’ palm rested lightly against his collarbone, long fingers stretching easily to frame his left shoulder.
"Yeah?" Dean answered. He absolutely didn't sound the way he thought he sounded. No way.
"You might want to duck." Before he could dwell on it any further, he felt the strong hand on his shoulder adding pressure and the water closed over his head. 'Son of a bitch,' he thought when he resurfaced again and saw Castiel, Cas, Angel of the Lord, standing in the water of the lake, gilded by moonlight, beautiful, terrifying, Dean knew, damn it, he knew, and grinning like a loon.
Everything feels different.
Grinning. Over his whole face, tripping Dean back to 2014, to another grinning Cas, only this here was weirder, yet infinitely more comforting at the same time. This Cas wasn't fraying at the edges. This Cas' eyes weren't dead when he was laughing. He was just… having a good time for what looked like the first time in his life. Dean would be damned if he didn't play along.
"You are dead," Dean stated, matter-of-factly, getting his legs in order and blinking water out of his eyes. "So very, very dead."
"You do not have the power to kill me with your bare hands," Cas replied, paddling closer to Dean, practically right in his face, the grin just getting wider. "Even weakened, I can still smite you." Damn the guy for the laugh lines where there shouldn't be any, not just in the corners of his eyes, but toward his nose, too. For a moment, Dean couldn't do anything but stare.
He had to shake his head at the pictures flooding his brain, at the white teeth glinting in the moonlight. Shake it against the unbidden image of those teeth digging into Cas’ lower lip that Dean's mind conjured up. Of eyes fluttering shut and butterfly movements of a pulse under Dean's lips. He screwed his eyes shut for a long breath, pretending it was water stinging his eyes. Wet cotton pressed uncomfortably against his groin. 'Get a grip, man.'
"Maybe not," he said. "But I can do this." He tensed his muscles, getting ready for retaliation. The next second, he felt his legs getting bound like a Christmas turkey, his arms neatly at his sides.
"Do what?" Cas asked, innocent like fresh snow on a Christmas morning.
Not fair. Not fucking fair. "Cas?" Dean tried for menacing until he swallowed water, submerged and realised how absolutely ridiculous it was to even pretend to have the upper hand when he was in a water fight with a freaking angel.
"Yes, Dean?" Gentle, low, teasing, right against his ear, Cas’ lips almost touching it when he spoke. Taken by surprise and unable to move arms and legs, Dean flinched and submerged again, only to come up hacking and coughing and spitting obscenities before he realised that he could move again and Cas was next to him with a sheepish look on his face.
"Are you all right?"
"Worry about yourself," Dean answered, used the opening and his hands shot forward, pushing Cas under water.
Splashing, spluttering, diving and jumping, the slick slip-slide of wet skin underwater, fingers tickling and grappling for purchase followed, neither of them giving up. In the end, when Dean could tell they were both running out of energy but neither wanted to admit defeat, Cas body-bound him again, letting Dean drift to the surface of the lake, gliding like a dead man. Cas’ hand was under his shoulderblades, a safe, reassuring touch never once letting Dean go as he floated them back to the shore.
Back in the shallower water, when Dean could already see the tops of the trees, Cas stopped them and released the binding, but Dean didn't move. Just kept floating, enjoying the sensation of being weightless and careless for once. Next to him, he heard a soft gurgle of water, then a hand bumping into his arm as Cas floated next to him with his arms spread wide. Dean turned his head, just watching. Cas’ eyes were open, a look of 'oxymoronic' - Dean's inner Sam cheered and received an immediate mental smack upside the head - relaxed concentration on his face. Small waves lapped over Cas’ chest, the wet undershirt outlining his chest, his ribcage moving on even breaths. He seemed at peace, more relaxed than Dean had ever seen him.
"It feels like the time after my creation," Cas murmured into the night's sounds, his voice almost drowned when an owl sailed over the lake, the sound of its wings reminding Dean of the appearance of angels. It landed in a nearby tree, the wooing sound of its call echoing over the lake. "We saw everything and heard everything, knew everything, but there was only safety. Only warmth. Only conviction." Cas’ voice died down, the low syllables gliding over Dean's skin before submerging in the water.
A conviction Dean had ripped him from. A safety Cas had given up for Sam and him. Dean shivered, suddenly aware of the breeze chilling the parts of his skin that were exposed to the air. "Did they hand out dope as well to make the experience better?" he quipped, falling back to meaningless words when he didn't know what else to say.
Cas didn't answer. A smile crinkled the skin around his eyes that was indulgent, amused, and scarily, incredibly old.
"I was loved."
Past tense. It was a sucker-punch that left Dean unable to breathe for a few moments. He dropped his head back to the water, dipping lower, feeling the water's cool closing over his face. Here, he only heard the blood rushing in his ears, the gentle splashing noises his limbs made on the surface. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Trust Cas to say these things that should be buried deep and never unearthed. Dean had done that for such a long time, never speaking the words that mattered because he would feel foolish and scared. Cas’ easy, out of the blue confessions upset everything he'd convinced himself was true and necessary. It made his carefully erected walls of self protection feel like no more than thin sheets of paper. I was loved and the loss of it hurts more than I can bear.
Dean swung his legs under him and pushed up, gently breaking the water's surface. Cas turned to look at him, waiting. If Dean had thought Cas wasn't aware of everything that was going on between them he'd been an idiot.
"Cas," he said, telling himself his voice was only rough because of the water he'd swallowed. "I can't. Whatever you lost, don't look for it in me."
"I'm looking," Cas replied and that was the last chance Dean had to run, to just turn and wade out of the water, pretend he didn't understand, put a lid on it and keep going.
He didn't.
For the third time that night, Cas moved close, crossing the distance with two slow strokes of his arms. When he was in Dean's space, he leaned in but stopped one inch short of a Dean's face. Back to the watching, the watching that was right in Dean's personal space. His hand was back on the nape of Dean's neck now, wet and smooth this time. Dean felt Cas' warm breath on his lips and remembered how the lake had tasted, wondered if it would taste the same if he licked the water from Cas’ lips.
Up close, Dean could see the moon in Cas' eyes and a different light that didn't reflect from outside at all. A shiver went down his spine just before he reached up. Just behind Cas’ human eyes was something older. Something that could destroy Dean in a heartbeat. Spreading water-drops along Cas’ cheekbone with his thumb, Dean watched Cas close his eyes at the touch. Like a fucking cat, Cas just leaned into the touch, trusting, yet demanding more than Dean was sure he could give.
Something caught in Dean's throat, a sound maybe, that made it hard to swallow. He lifted his other hand, framed Cas’ face in his hands. Breath coming just that little bit faster, Cas carded his fingers up through Dean's hair. Maybe he was waiting for Dean to go the rest of the way, maybe he was just breathing him in, learning the sensation like he'd studied the silt running from his fist...
Dean couldn't tear his gaze away, watching as Cas’ mouth went soft and the line between his brows smoothed when Dean placed his thumb against Cas' lower lip, running it over tender skin that was in constant need of a chapstick.
Cas’ hand moved, cupping the side of Dean's neck and tracing the soft hollow just under Dean's ear in an echo of Dean's movement. Cas’ eyes opened again and the look he gave him undid Dean, flayed him open wide and painful in a fucking beautiful revelation.
Yes and You and Please were the words running through Dean's jumbled thoughts, but he didn't voice any of them. Just reached to the water, dipping his fingertips into it and returning to Cas face to spread a few drops, just a few, over his lips, watching Cas' eyes go unfocused, turbulent. The hand against his skull tightened, moving Dean's head a fraction, strength leashed but present, sending Dean's blood rushing south so fast he felt dizzy.
Dean inclined his head, moved closer, feeling Cas' gaze following his every move, their breath mingling and coming faster by the second. When Dean did kiss him, Cas tasted like nothing he had imagined. After the first initial, almost chaste touches of their lips against each other, Cas breathed in sharp and opened up, surrendering and taking at the same time. He tasted of fire and light and elements, and just a hint of the chocolate Dean had handed him earlier. Damn him. They continued slow, something Dean never did, but this was such new territory he still feared the ground would fall out under his feet at any second. Floating again, or so it seemed, Dean got a little lost in the feel of Cas' tongue sliding over his when a new sound jarred the quiet. Dean's cell-phone, abandoned on the beach, struck up like an angry cicada with an e-guitar.
Dean sighed and broke the kiss reluctantly, his forehead dropping against Cas'. "Just can't catch a break," he said with a weak huff of laughter.
"It's Sam," Cas informed him, still close enough his low voice seemed to resonate along Dean's skin.
"Yeah. I know."
"Perhaps we should continue this another time."
"Sure," Dean snorted. Of course he could wait. He'd just, you know, power down. Blue balls? What blue balls?
Cas watched him with a little smile, then pushed away and started for the shore. Muttering threats to Sam and the world at large, Dean followed. When he trudged out of the shallows, the night air made him very aware of the clammy denim around his legs and other places.
"Yes, sleeping beauty?" he answered the phone, trying for their normal tone.
"Dude, where's the pizza?"
Killing your brother was a bad thing, correct? Dean took a deep, steadying breath. "They were out of cheese for the extra cheesy crust, so we had to wait until they ran to the grocery store to re-stock."
"We?"
Dean opened and closed his mouth, feeling acutely like a fish on dry land. He coughed, turned to the lake. "Yeah, me'n Cas."
"He couldn't find the pizza place alone?"
"He was threatening to smite the owner for being out of extra cheesy crust, when I called," Dean lied, feeling suave. "He knows how much you like it." In front of him, Cas turned around, eyebrow raised. "I had to step in, you know, be the voice of reason." Dean ducked from under the threatening 'Thou shalt not lie' gaze.
"Voice of reason," Sam repeated. "Right."
"They said they'd have it ready in twenty minutes."
Sam's sigh sent a burst of static through the phone. "It's always twenty minutes." Something that sounded like bedsprings creaked and Dean knew that Sam had flopped back on the bed. "All right then." A pause. "Leave me a note next time."
Dean's stomach bottomed out unpleasantly, a flush creeping across his face. "Sam, come on-"
"Dean," Sam interrupted him. "Bring breadsticks, too. Extra garlic." Another pause. "And they'd better be on the house." The line went dead with a muttered, half-amused expletive.
Dean stared at the phone in his hand. "All right."
"Someone's hungry," he stated, turning back to the shore.
"We all are," Cas answered, pulling the wet undershirt over his head and shucking his pants before shaking them both vigorously, trying to get the sand off. He froze when he noticed Dean staring, stopping in mid-movement. Drops of lakewater clung to his hair; one rolled lazily from Cas’ temple down this throat to his chest and Dean swallowed, following it down to a hard nipple.
Dean felt something hot pool in his stomach as he watched the easy display of skin in front of him. Hot and primal and unstoppable. Damn straight he was hungry. His every cell was, finally, finally. He wasn't going to wait this out, wasn't going to wait until another opportunity presented itself when he knew it might not come. He could be dead tomorrow. They all could be. He wasn't going to let this slip through his fingers.
He dropped the phone without regard, crossed the short distance between Cas and him and slapped the clothes out of the angel's hands, pulling his body flush against his own and breathing Cas in, Dean's cock hard and aching when he nipped at Cas jawline, drawing a blend between a growl and a groan from the angel.
Cas’ hands tightened around him, hitting bare skin; he dug his fingers into Dean's back, painful but good, God, good. The kiss was bruising, needy. Lips and teeth and slick tongue, stubble sliding against skin.
Dean reached down, pressed his hand flat against Cas’ cock, only the layer of wet boxer-shorts separating skin from skin. Cas gasped into his mouth, hooked his fingers into the waistband of Dean's jeans and pulled him even closer, trapping Dean's hand between them. Dean had a notion he was wearing way too much but the combined friction of soaked, clingy denim, his own hand and Cas’ bare thigh was frankly quite the turn on. He twisted his hand slowly, curling it against Cas cock, pressing his palm against hard flesh and flexing his fingertips against soft balls, heavy against the wet cotton. Cas gave a whole-body shudder, his hips pushing forward into Dean’s hand. When he groaned, the sound vibrated against Dean’s lips.
Cas had never been patient with anything before, and he wasn’t starting now. He was trying to work open Dean’s fly when his phone rang again, its display flashing blue on the sand.
"Jesus Christ," Dean yelled, frustration exploding in every nerve-ending it seemed. He tried to untangle himself but Cas’ arm was locked tight around his shoulder and this time, he didn't let go. No half-reasonable suggestions of 'maybe another time'. Instead, he kicked Dean's cell-phone into the lake where it splashed and buzzed no more.
They both froze for a second and Dean raised his brows in surprise.
"You mind?" Cas asked, looking serious and mussed up and fucking debauched.
Dean made a sound halfway between a groan and a laugh. "Like hell," he muttered and pulled Cas back in.
* * *
Open-mouthed kisses, hot, bruising. Cas’ lips seared Dean's throat, gliding over jugular and Adam's apple, light and burning. A none-too-gentle nip to his chin had him groaning out loud, clutching Cas closer, hips pushing against him. Dean's cock strained against the jeans toward the feeling of Cas’ own erection through the layers of clothing. Too much between them, not close enough, fuck, he needed more, this wasn't enough, this wasn't anywhere near enough, not when Cas’ breath ghosted hot over his ears and neck, not when Cas’ hand landed squarely on his ass and pushed them together. Delicious friction, strong hands, the smell of lakewater and musk and he needed to touch all that glorious skin that was presented to him, he needed this like he hadn't -
A cellphone chirped.
Cas ignored it, slipped a hand underneath the waistband of Dean's jeans instead, his hand firm on Dean's bare ass.
Again.
A growl rose in Cas’ chest, Dean felt it vibrating against his own. Still he didn't move away, fingers flexing against Dean's ass, sending tendrils of need shooting straight into Dean's cock.
Again.
And again. No one but Dean and Sam had this number.
Dean stiffened. No way. No fucking way, Sammy. If his brother was asking about the pizza now, Dean'd do Michael a favour and kill his brother with his own hands, without Michael wearing Dean to the prom.
He clamped down on the howl of frustration that clambered up in his throat, pushing reluctantly against Cas’ tight hold on him. It might be important. It might be an emergency. If it wasn't, and Sam had just busted Dean's chance of the best orgasm in the history of orgasms, then his dear brother would pay. Dearly. For a long time.
"Go," he said against Cas’ neck, his teeth grazing the skin under Cas’ ear.
Cas shuddered, then walked over to where his phone was lying on the folds of his trenchcoat. A small swell of very human pride hit Dean when he noticed that Cas was walking on rather unsteady legs. The moonlit outline of his erection tenting his wet boxers made Dean's mouth go dry.
"Yes," Cas answered the phone, and if Sam had even an ounce of a spidey sense, he'd drop the phone and start running now.
Cas’ shoulders hunched, his face hidden in darkness, but his voice was gravelly and clipped. "No, we do not."
"Yes." A deep breath. "No." Cas’ fist clenched and unclenched. Dean could have sworn he heard thunder rolling over the lake. "That is inadvisable." Cas shifted from one foot to the other, in a movement that clearly suggested he was realigning himself. Again, Dean's mouth went dry at the thought of Cas touching himself. "You said you didn't like being zapped to other places." Impatience rising. Dean heard his brother's voice through the phone, felt the cackling energy around Cas as the angel grew more and more impatient. "No. No, we don't." Cas bent forward, resting his head against the branch of a nearby tree before huffing: "Yes. Yes." Cas’ head connected with the tree with a small thump. "Yes, Sam." Thump, thump. "In a little while. Yes."
Cas flipped the phone shut, looked at it in his hand for a long minute before dropping it in disgust like a hot potato. It went up in flames, hissing and spitting molten plastic before it hit the ground.
"Not an emergency, then?" Dean asked, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice. Cas had just smitten a cellphone. A sexually frustrated angel had just smitten a fucking cellphone. Dean looked at Cas, all thunderous anger, kiss-swollen lips and tented boxershorts and burst out laughing.
"This is funny?"
"Not really."
"Then why are you laughing?"
"Because I think someone is trying to send a message."
He touched Cas’ shoulder, feeling the skin smooth and warm under his fingers, but the urgency to touch, to devour, was missing. They'd had their moment.
His stomach agreed by growling loudly.
"What say you to pizza, Mr. Sexy?"
*
After he'd smitten the crap out of his cell phone, Cas was stoically silent and Dean didn't even dare to ask why Sam called. He only learned the other half of the conversation when they met up with Sam. Apparently, Dean's genius brother had found a better way to spend the evening than wait twenty minutes for a pizza. An alibi pizza, given, but Sam didn't know that. So he'd called to suggest they meet at a pizza joint instead, one that Cas would zap them to, have a couple of beers to wash down the food and such.
Going from Sam's satisfied smile when they joined him, he thought it had been a stellar idea. For a second, Dean considered taking the beer from Sam's hand and chugging it into his face.
He didn't.
He loved his brother.
Most of the time.
They sat down in a booth, Cas picking the seat next to Sam and for a little while Dean watched them anxiously. Cas was still very quiet and Sam very much oblivious. If this angel of the lord decided to melt Sam like a cellphone, Dean's baby brother would never see it coming.
Nothing happened though and by the time the waiter brought the pizza to their table - many onions, no tuna - Dean relaxed. He got into a discussion over the new Terminator movie with Sam, decimated his pizza and actually began to feel quite satisfied. He was a man who lived in the present, after all, and enjoying his melted cheese now was better than bemoaning the sex he hadn't gotten.
Besides, he could think of worse things than sitting with Sam and Cas without ten kinds of doom hanging over the heads.
Across the table, Cas lifted a slice of pizza from the plate, holding it high as if he wanted to see how far the cheese would stretch. "Hey Cas," Sam asked, "since when do you eat pizza?"
"I like to try new things," Cas answered, voice completely neutral ,and Dean almost choked on an olive.
"Dude, are you all right?" Sam wanted to know.
"Yeah."
Reaching for his beer, Sam shook his head. "I swear, one of these days you gonna bite off more than you can chew."
Dean started counting to ten in his head. He was getting ready for a come back - all witty and below the belt and stuff - when he caught sight of Cas, chewing thoughtfully and swallowing. He placed the slice of pizza back on the plate and considered the fine dust of flour on his hand before licking the grease from his fingertips.
Dean stared, frozen in his place, until Sam announced he had to tap a kidney. Dean jumped, quickly looking anywhere but at Cas or Sam or anyone.
"Back in a minute," Sam said and left, chancing on the first bit of good timing that night.
Dean focused on the bread basket, reminding himself this was a family restaurant. He couldn't help snatching another glimpse at Cas, though. He took in the rumpled coat, the shirt with the top button undone and the curve of collarbone under the neckline and wondered how he would ever be able to look at Cas without
a) searching for a bed in the next breath. Screw that. He'd settle for the table if need be.
b) remembering the lake and the water moving against his bare back
c) seeing a cellphone go up in flames
d) remembering how absolutely surreal it was to want sex with an angel
e) not caring in the least, thus coming back to a)
Things could get complicated this way.
"Are you all right?" Cas asked, looking like he actually had to puzzle it out. "You seem tense."
"Dude," Dean said, voice dropping into the cellar regions. "Are you for real?"
"I believe I am, yes."
Dean opened his mouth, closed it. If Cas didn't know, he sure as hell wouldn't explain. He had a notion it would be interesting to see how far Cas’ self-restraint would stretch. Dean chuckled, abruptly deciding he didn't mind complicated.
Cas searched Dean's face as if he wanted to decipher it, mouth just a little pinched as if it took a lot of concentration.
On an impulse, Dean leaned across the table, suddenly not caring if anyone saw. He used his thumb to wipe the olive-oil from Cas’ mouth, watching Cas’ eyes lose focus and feeling him lean into his touch. Not so stoic, then. Dean smirked.
To his surprise, Cas grinned back.
***
Dean woke shivering, feeling out of place, and really, the light was too bright, had Sam not closed the blinds, and were those… birds?
He cracked one eye open only to be blinded by the sun and closed it again quickly. Lifting his hand, he tried to shield his face but met an obstacle - something covered him. Not a comforter. Something was warm underneath his cheek. Not a pillow. He turned his head a little, stubble rasping against cloth, and breathed deep. Cool morning air, the dew still clinging to it, a vague scent of water and a familiar, warm scent that made the last night come back in vivid pictures.
"Cas?" he asked, voice still uncooperative and raspy with sleep.
"Good morning, Dean." The low voice crept under his skin, settling there and warming him.
Slowly, things started to come together.
"What did we say about zapping, Cas? Especially during the night when I'm asleep?"
"I believe I've never done that before."
"What, pluck me from my bed at night and get me away so you can have your sordid way with me?"
"There's nothing sordid about this," Cas said and the bastard sounded, no, not annoyed, he sounded wounded. Anything else Dean could have lived with, but this tone of voice made him feel about two inches tall.
"Cas, look," he started but felt too tongue-tied to continue.
"I wanted to experience my father's creation with you."
Dean pushed up from the ground, losing the warmth of Cas’ leg against his cheek. He squinted, waited until his eyes got used the sun's glare and looked around him. "That's nice," he answered, feeling lame.
A bird began to sing nearby, its song climbing into the hazy blue of the morning sky.
"You don't see it?" Cas asked, brow furrowed as though trying to make sense of something puzzling.
The curious, confused gaze made Dean feel naked. He shivered again, but resisted pulling the trenchcoat around him.
"Guess I don't," he said. "Don't get me wrong, it's pretty here, but what's the big deal?" He looked around him more closely, saw the lake and the lakeshore, the trees and the mountains behind it - Dean had seen places like this before. It wasn't special, apart from the fact that he had almost fu-
"Let me," Cas interrupted his thoughts, and, without a word of warning put two fingers against Dean's temple, tearing into him through flesh and bone and spirit with a sickening lurch that had Dean screwing his eyes shut even though he knew it wouldn't be of any use.
When the dizziness faded, he opened his eyes.
It might have been for the very first time in his life.
Everything around him was alive. The colours were vibrant, intense enough to taste them on the tip of his tongue. He could smell the birdsong, see the breeze coming off the lake, feel the age of the mountains in the distance that was no distance at all, because he was with them, part of them but separate, as he was with everything around him.
The beauty of it left him gasping, tore a wide gash in his heart and filled it with a wild exhilarating hope and brandished a painful, powerful peace as he watched the pulsing of sap in the trees, the slow dance of flies over the lake's surface, felt the wind caress his face, and the strong, sweet smell of resin and pine needles drifted past him.
"I want to show you," Cas said quietly, as if he needed to explain the decision to himself.
Dean turned his head, searching for Cas, needing to see the familiar face to understand, to share, to articulate - only to realise that he couldn't.
Realisation trickled in that it wasn't his own eyes he was looking out of.
If this was how Cas saw the world, if he saw that much beauty all around him, if he experienced life so acutely and with such painful, frightening openness, then Dean hoped with rising panic that Cas wouldn't look at him now. He didn't need to see this. Didn't want to see himself. He wondered if he would stop seeing with Cas’ eyes if he screwed his eyes shut in his mind.
Another sickening lurch and he was back in his own body, back to feeling cold and hungry and heavy and with his eyes screwed tightly shut.
"Dean." An entreaty. Just one word. Just his name. A warm hand on the side of his face, a thumb brushing at the circles under his eyes.
Dean opened his eyes.
He found Cas smiling. The private smile, the one that Dean doubted anyone but him had ever seen. The one that was just slightly crooked, with one side of Cas’ mouth riding just a little higher than the other, everything in his posture telegraphing a fond: 'You sorry idiot. It's a good thing I've got your six.'
And it was. Dean exhaled, the air trickling from his lungs slowly, haltingly. He leaned his head against Cas’ hand, basking in the feel of warm skin against his own. His heart eased its frantic hammering against his ribcage. Tense muscles relaxed, one by one.
Fighting the urge to bail, he looked at Cas again. The sun rose higher to Cas’ left, gilding his dark hair, his open and sun-kissed face; his eyes were luminous and quietly amused. Dean reached out, unable to stop himself from touching his fingertips against Cas’ lips, watching as the blue of his eyes intensified, his lashes lowering to cover the naked yearning visible there. It was easier than it had been last night. Harder at the same time, because here and now, Dean saw in plain daylight what he was doing. Here there was no alcohol giving him liquid courage. No night kindly hiding his fears and doubts.
Cas’ lips parted, the smile sliding from them, ensnaring Dean's gaze, warm breath touching Dean's middle and index finger. Energy sizzled along his fingertips. Tearing his gaze away from those - damn sexy, damn indecent, damn sinful - lips, he caught Cas looking at him. Dean's heart sped up again. His skin felt too tight, Cas’ gaze was too intrusive, too warm, too open. He laid it all out before Dean, no doubts, just naked need, no, not need, this was more, more than -
Dean closed the remaining distance between them, not wanting to think about what it was Cas was offering, not sure if he could live up to Cas’ picture of him, and not caring, because in this one, glorious moment, all he had to do was feel. Feel the gentle slide of Cas’ lips against his, the stubble rasping under his fingertips as his hand slid from Cas’ face to his chest, feel Cas’ heart beating beneath the thin veil of flesh and blood. He forgot about the sun and the morning chill seeping into his knees, forgot about the lake and the world and just felt. Tasted. Covered the fine sheen of sweat on Cas’ upper lip with his lips, tasted salt and pure light, gently bit and soothed the sting with a more gentle slide of his mouth against Cas’, as their breath mingled, their heart rates picked up -
Dean's phone rang.
They flew apart like a flock of wild birds, Cas’ eyes wide as saucers, his chest heaving. Dean stumbled backward, catching his hand on a rock, feeling a sharp sting when the edge broke his skin of his palm.
Wincing and cursing, he scrambled to reach for the phone. Fuck, hadn't Cas kicked it in the lake last night? The fog around his brain lifted a little and he remembered Sam sticking a new one into the pocket of Dean's jeans, muttering something about Dean being worse than Mulder when it came to phones.
"Samuel Winchester," Dean hissed. Next to him, Cas’ head snapped up at the tone of Dean's voice. "If you called to ask me about breakfast, you are going to die a slow and painful death."
Cas stared at him, his jaw dropping slightly.
"What?" Dean asked.
Sam's answer was drowned in the sound of Cas breaking into a fit of uproarious laughter.