Lazarus Coming (fic) 3/3
A slice of pie with ice-cream and a walk later, Dean drags Castiel over to the movie theater. “Look, they’re playing Avatar. It’s the 3-D version too. And there’s hardly any queue. What do you say?”
Castiel shrugs. Dean’s beginning to like that. Castiel can be so quiet at times, but it’s a good kind of quiet. Like he cares, really listens and understands. And wants exactly what Dean wants.
“Great. You get the popcorn, I’ll get the tickets.” And with that, he pushes Castiel inside, and gets in line.
The film is all that he expected, and more. Every now and then he nudges Castiel, full of excitement. The special effects are amazing, and the story isn’t bad either. Castiel smiles at him every time Dean does that, and so he continues, throughout the film.
“That was just awesome, wasn’t it?” he says, unable to hold back his enthusiasm as they sit down to share a pizza. Unlike Sammy, Castiel doesn’t say he has a bottomless pit for a stomach, and unlike Cassie, he doesn’t roll his eyes and reaches for his ‘love-handles’ when he orders a double cheese, double bacon, double pepperoni pizza.
“I guess so.”
“What do you mean, ‘you guess so’? This was the best film ever.”
Castiel shrugs.
“And that blue chick? Man, can you imagine sex with her? The things she would do with her tail.”
“A human would be half her size.”
“Your point?”
Castiel frowns, perplexed.
“It would be like…” Dean lowers his voice, just in case. “I watched that film the other day, with a midget and a normal woman. Believe you me, there were no problems there.” He raises his eyebrows a couple of times, and wonders if he should continue when their pizza arrives.
“You watch that stuff?” Castiel asks the moment their waiter is gone.
“You don’t?” If Castiel thinks that his silence is a good answer, then Dean has another think coming for him. “You’re a guy, you must watch porn. You seriously mean that you never? Ever? Man, that’s weird.”
Castiel rubs the back of his neck, uncomfortable and suddenly shy. He refuses to look away from his plate as he pushes the slice Dean put there from one side to the other. “I do, but…”
“But?” God, this really amusing. Castiel is blushing. Actually blushing. He can’t help but tease. “You watch stuff that would make me blush, right? I know, you’re into BDSM.” Castiel raises panicked eyes. “No, I got it. Scat.” Castiel shakes his head. “Rubber? Fucking machines? Watersports?”
“No, no, no. I…” Castiel looks delicious embarrassed. Even more delicious than the pizza in front of Dean. “I have favorite actors. I only watch them.”
Dean laughs. That’s not the weirdest thing he’s ever heard; but it’s oddly innocent. “That’s all? You almost had me there, Cas.” Castiel’s expression, still awkward but now also strangely happy, makes something twist and ache inside him. “How the fuck did you end up here?”
Castiel blinks.
He really put his foot in it, didn’t he? “How do you like the food here?” he asks after a while, when he realises that Castiel won’t answer, and won’t stop looking like he can’t find the words to tell Dean to mind his own business.
“It’s fine.”
“Good. Good.” And since Castiel still looks weird, or maybe a little hurt, Dean starts telling him about the time his dad had rented a room in a motel that proved to be haunted by the funniest ghost ever. “The poor thing just liked to play. Its favorite game was hide and seek.” The more the story progresses, the more Castiel relaxes, and that’s all that matters.
When it’s time to part, Dean pretends that he doesn’t notice that Castiel looks tense, and ready to ask again if Dean will fuck him. He waits until they’ve walked back to his building, and there pushes Castiel inside the entrance, up the darkened stairs, and kisses him until he needs to breathe. He kisses him to reassure him that it’s okay if they don’t have sex right after their first date. That he won’t leave Castiel if Castiel doesn’t put out. That he likes Castiel. He likes him a lot.
When Castiel breaks their kiss - their fifth, their tenth, their twentieth? as if he keeps count - Dean wonders if maybe he should invite Castiel upstairs for a drink, or something. They’re not teenagers any more, and his dick protests that all that humping with no hands touching is just not fair. But Castiel pulls away, reaches for his pocket and takes out his wallet. Then he turns the light on and shows him a picture that is almost as old as Dean’s photograph of his family.
“That’s the only picture of my family I have,” Castiel whispers and lets Dean study it. “That’s Father,” he says reverently, pointing at the middle-aged man in the middle. He has the same jaw and nose as Castiel, and looks full of justified pride surrounded by all his children. They look like a proper family, posing to a professional.
“Mother died when I was born,” Castiel explains in an even softer voice. “That’s Michael,” he says showing Dean the oldest of his brothers, a sixteen-year-old with a steady, calm gaze, looking far too serious for his age. “That’s Luke.” Luke is slightly younger, clearly bored, rolling his eyes upwards as he looks away from the camera. “That’s Raphael,” all legs and arms, awkward like he’s unused to being so tall, fourteen at most. “And that’s Gabriel,” grinning and putting his arms around Castiel, and Dean can easily imagine him bouncing at the balls of his feet, an overactive ten-year-old that doesn’t stop for anyone. And Castiel is perhaps too serious for an eight-year-old, but he smiles nevertheless, and he looks quietly happy.
“Who’s that?” he asks, pointing at the German shepherd next to Castiel. The dog is huge compared to the child Castiel, and the way it reaches up towards him, one massive paw on Castiel’s chest, is proprietary and frightening.
“That was Dog.” Castiel’s voice wavers. “He was put to sleep,” he says after putting the picture back in his wallet. “Because he was disobedient.”
“Oh. I’m sorry,” he says, feeling useless and sad, and not knowing what to say.
“It’s… it was a long time ago.” Castiel doesn’t bother turning the light on when it goes off. Instead he kisses him again, chastely. “Good night, Dean.”
“Good night.” He still doesn’t know what to say, but when Castiel must be by the door, judging by the sound of his footsteps, he finally does. “Tomorrow,” he shouts. “Are you doing anything? Wanna meet up for dinner?”
Castiel doesn’t reply but while Dean climbs the stairs, his phone beeps with a new message. ‘Yes.’ Yes. Yes.
&*&*
By the time Chuck calls Dean asking if he’s free for another little thing, Dean and Castiel have been to one French restaurant (who would have known that duck in chocolate sauce was good?), one Mexican (it turns out Castiel really loves stealing Dean’s nachos), one Italian (pizza never disappoints), and one memorable occasion, have had coffee and cakes in the Zoo café after going there to see the birds (Castiel loves anything feathery, and they in turn love him; in fact, it would be creepy if it weren’t adorable). And they’ve made out. A lot. Dean’s still holding back, answering Castiel’s silent question with kisses, but he knows it won’t be long before they make love. He wonders how it will be. Like the films they’ve made? No, it will be better. It will definitely be better.
“Dean? Dean? My god, what has happened to you? You’re smiling.” Ruby sounds horrified.
“Shut up.”
She flips him the finger. “You shut up. And stop grinning. You’re scaring me.” She shudders for dramatic effect.
“What’s going on?” Chuck stares at him for a while, and then blinks. “You’re smiling.” He takes a quick swig. “I’m not hallucinating this, am I? You look happy.”
“I’m always happy.”
“Not like that you’re not.”
“Oh, come on. I’m….”
Ruby nods. “It’s true. You’re different.” She makes it sound like a curse.
Chuck shakes his head. “Jimmy told me, but I couldn’t believe it,” he mutters.
“So, he’s told you about us?”
“He did.” Chuck jabs his finger on Dean’s chest. “And as I told you before, I don’t want to see either of you get hurt. So, be careful.”
“I am, I am.”
“You’re what, Dean?”
“Jeez.” How Castiel manages to surprise him every time is something Dean hasn’t figured out yet. He gives him a smile that turns into a full-blown grin the moment Castiel smiles back.
Castiel takes a step back, and Dean knows he keeps from touching him. And that’s other thing he hasn’t managed to understand, how Castiel looks lovelier to him each time they meet. This time, Castiel’s wearing a pale blue tee-shirt shirt under a dark blue shirt and an even darker pair of blue jeans, and oh, he looks good enough to eat. Thank god he won’t have to wait too long before he can strip Castiel naked and fuck him to the mattress.
Speaking of which. “Why are we here, Chuck?”
Chuck pretends not to understand. “Making a film, of course.”
“Yeah, but…” He points around at what is clearly a classroom. “Where’s the bed?”
“You didn’t read the script, did you?” Ruby scowls. “All brawn and no brain,” she says mock-whispering.
“Dean has more brains than most people,” Castiel jumps to his defence.
Dean swears his hair has risen at least an inch higher. Like an angry, feathery thing defending its mate. It’s sweet. And unnecessary. “It’s alright, Ca… Jimmy. She’s just jealous because she has neither.”
“Ooh,” Ruby mutters. “Let me tell you,” she starts, when Chuck pushes her away.
“Enough. Dean, why don’t you have a look at the script?”
“Sure.” Though why he does that is beyond him. “It’s all predictable, isn’t it?” he whispers to Castiel, winking.
“Yes.” Castiel looks over his shoulder. “Will you stick to it today?”
“Nah.” A glance around him assures him that no one’s watching them, and so he stealthily pats Castiel’s ass. “I’m going to improvise.”
“Hm.” Castiel moves away, but not before returning the favor. “You really deserve to be punished.”
Dean laughs. “We’ll see.”
&*&*
After reading the script, the choice of location makes sense. Dean tries to look serious and focused for the first scene, where all the crew members that are not busy, have been recruited as Dean’s co-students. It’s not that difficult. Castiel holds all his attention. He hasn’t changed, but he’s now wearing an additional item: the stupidest glasses Dean has ever seen. Horn-rimmed and retro-looking, they are definitely stupid. And make Castiel look like a fetishist’s wet-dream. Forget the sexy librarian look; Castiel rocks the hot teacher look, dressed casually enough to make his students comfortable, and looking serious enough to make them want to jump him, muss his hair and get spanked on top of the desk for their audacity.
“I’d totally hit that,” he whispers.
Ash, occasional gofer and permanent fixture in Chuck’s crew, leers at Castiel. “I bet.”
Castiel is thankfully oblivious, but Dean feels a strange pang in his chest, and a kind of anger he’s never felt on set before. He doesn’t want Ash looking at Cas, undressing him with his eyes. That’s Dean’s job.
“Any questions?” Castiel puts down his notebook, looks around and smiles. “That’s all then. See you next week.” As the others move away, he raises an eyebrow. “Mr Smith, a moment please.”
Dean huffs. He’s not pretending to be annoyed; he is. He hates wanting Castiel all to himself. It’s a first for him, and it’s strange. Castiel is a co-worker first, and his… well, almost-lover second. Dean can’t make any demands on him. But he wants to. How he wants to. “What now?”
“Mr Smith, I understand that coming back to college after so many years is difficult, but that is no excuse for the low quality of your work.”
He snorts.
“Mr Smith,” Castiel says sternly.
Dean doesn’t know if it’s because he’s forgotten his lines, or because Castiel is really impatient. Fuck, he will have to adlib this one, won’t he? “Is there anything I can do to make this up to you?”
“It’s not me you should be ‘making it up to’,” Castiel says patiently, every bit the good teacher.
“Even so, maybe there’s something I can do to get better marks. Some extra-curricular activity, if you catch my drift?”
Castiel frowns. He looks even more confused than usual with the glasses on. Clueless.
Dean sighs as he pushes Castiel against the desk and traces his chest over the thin fabric. That’s not acting. That’s truly Castiel, studying people at restaurants when they do the commonest things, studying Dean as he eats pie, studying everything and everyone like he’s just been let out of a cage, or maybe the world is a big and noisy zoo he finds both fascinating and frightening. He hates that others get to see his Castiel like this and so he moves in front of the camera.
It doesn’t last long, of course. Castiel looks shocked and Chuck orders him to go on, damn it, and so he slides down to his knees, palming Castiel’s dick. “You know,” he says, sounding like the sleaziest sleaze ball ever.
“Mr Smith,” Castiel chastises him but his body moves helplessly towards Dean, hips pushing slightly forward.
“Shhh. You’ll see. This is definitely worth extra credit.”
Castiel falls silent as Dean unbuttons his jeans and lowers the zipper. He snorts for a second on the glimpse of black boxers, shivers when he touches silk, and then, looking up, at Castiel staring at him still shocked and embarrassed, like he really does something he knows is wrong but can’t help himself, tongues Castiel’s cock over the fabric. The silk leaves a strange aftertaste, but Castiel’s dick is already hard and hot and pulsing and the more he licks it delicately, the more Castiel shivers. He likes that.
It doesn’t mean he knows what he’s doing, exactly. This is work, and when Castiel starts moaning like a pro as Dean finally pulls his dick out and takes it in his mouth, Dean can’t help but feel betrayed. He wants to have sex with Castiel, not with his co-worker Jimmy. He wants to do it off-camera, without any lights around them, or others watching. And he wants to be the only one who does this with Castiel.
He looks up, at the long lines of Castiel’s arching body, a bow that flexes as if Castiel’s all light and air beneath that skin of his, and he’s getting bitter and angry. In the past two weeks they’ve been dating, learning each other’s likes and dislikes, and sharing kisses like frustrated teenagers, how many others have seen Castiel like this? This is work, damnit, but this is Castiel.
Dean lets go of Castiel’s dick with a pop. It’s all wet and sticky when he takes it in his hand as he stands up. “I’m gonna fuck you now,” he tells Castiel, stroking him furiously.
“That is enough, Mr Smith,” Castiel says, trying to sound serious but his voice comes out broken, moaned, whispering.
Was that in the script? He doesn’t remember and he doesn’t give a fuck. What’s wrong with him? Work had always been work, but Castiel is different, pulsing against him like a live wire, and Dean can’t stop touching him. His hands will never be free when he has the whole of Castiel to map. Castiel’s eyes finally close and his head falls back, and he allows Dean to push him on the desk and, fuck, this should be a ridiculous thing, only it isn’t. Dean can’t be bothered to take off Castiel’s jeans completely, fumbles with one leg until he removes it and lets the other where it is, and pushes aside the silken boxers until he can see Castiel’s hole. He hopes Castiel is prepared because he can’t wait, can’t stop, can’t hold back. Not with him.
“I’m gonna do it now. Ready?” He doesn’t wait for Castiel’s answer, and pushes inside. Castiel’s impossibly warm around him, slick and tight and Dean slams his hips forward until he’s buried in him completely. Castiel looks beautiful like that, like Dean’s the only thing grounding him, like Dean’s making him feel both pain and ecstasy. “Fuck, you feel so good.”
Castiel frowns, biting his lips. “You. Move. Damn it,” he orders glaring at him.
“Maybe I don’t want to. This feels good.” He rocks slightly and Castiel moans. “So good.” He pulls away and then forces himself inside. The more he thinks of how many others might have fucked Castiel while they have been dating, the more he wants to erase them from Castiel’s memory, and replace them with himself. He wants Castiel to feel this, him, for days. He wants, when the next person fucks him, Castiel to be feeling him instead.
He doesn’t even let Castiel come even though the guy is close. No, he wants Castiel to come when he does, or as close to that as possible. He slows his hand as he slows the movement of his hips and it doesn’t matter that Castiel pleads with him with his beautiful eyes and his sweet mouth and his trembling body. No, they’re doing this at his pace. And he wants it to last.
It’s such a smooth, sweet ride, after all, and the more he moves, tiny, butterfly-like movements that send sparks down his spine and make Castiel shiver and gasp for him, the more he’s convinced that Castiel was made for him. The more he’s certain he must make Castiel realise that, if Castiel doesn’t know that already. The more he wants.
And the more he wants, the angrier he becomes because when the fuck did he start mixing up work with personal life? It’s not Castiel’s fault. No, there must be something wrong with Dean, in Dean, something that can’t see boundaries any more. Something vicious and primal. Something fierce. It’s that, not Dean, that wants to mark Castiel as his. It’s that, not Dean, that suddenly speeds up and tightens his hold on Castiel’s burning dick, his fragile-looking wrist. It’s that, not Dean, that pulls Castiel up, folds him almost in two in his arms as he slams his dick inside Castiel, and makes him dizzy with desire. It’s that, not Dean, that makes him bite Castiel as he cums, flesh soft beneath his teeth, blood rich and heavy on his tongue. It’s all that. Not Dean. That spasms and trembles and doesn’t care if he’s crushing Castiel as long as it finds release. That finds release, white-hot, frightening, tasting of blood, and drowning out any words Castiel is whispering to him.
“That is enough,” Castiel finally shouts and this time Dean hears him, coming out of the haze of his orgasm with a crushing speed that leaves his insides twisted in knots.
He almost drops his partner, and Castiel winces as he pulls out. His neck’s still bleeding where Dean bit him and his glare is genuine.
Of course, Dean turns to Chuck, realizing how everyone looks at him horrified. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I did. Fucking asshole.”
“I’m not done,” Castiel growls. “Start the cameras.”
Dean shivers. “It’s not…”
“Shut up, Mr Smith,” Castiel tells him forbiddingly and it’s like a hand reached inside his throat and snuffed all the words out. “That behaviour was unacceptable. Put your hands on the desk and bend over. Now.”
Dean ignores how Castiel doesn’t look ridiculous half-dressed like that, with semen dripping down his thighs and blood stains on his collar. He looks pissed-off, and Dean deserves whatever he gets. He assumes the position.
“Usually, I am against corporal punishment, but this is an unusual situation.” Dean feels Castiel pull down his jeans and boxers at once. The air that hits his ass makes him shiver, but Castiel runs his hand across his skin next and, even though the touch feels oddly clinical, his fingers are warm. “I want you to count after each strike, and say ‘Thank you, Sir.’ Understood?”
He nods.
“Understood?”
The bastard wants words, but Dean deserves this. “Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good.” There’s a smile in Castiel’s tone, but before Dean can bask in it, Castiel hits him. He doesn’t hold back, and it stings.
It takes him a minute to remember his orders. “One. Thank you, Sir.”
The sting gets worse the second time Castiel hits him, but he remembers immediately this time. “Two. Thank you, Sir.”
It takes him a while to understand that Castiel (Bastard, Total Bastard) has a plan. First one cheek. Then the other. Then up. Then down. Then where he hit him first. And each time, he thinks Castiel hits him harder. His ass moves from stinging to burning to painful to unbearable agony. His voice breaks. “Twenty-five. Thank you, Sir.”
But Castiel is relentless, and Dean’s tears are real too. “Thirty. Thank you, Sir.”
But so is his arousal, because that’s Castiel marking him, and when he puts his clothes back on, he will feel Castiel’s hands. When he sits down to drive, he will feel where Castiel touched him. When he goes home, he will ache. And it will be good. Because it was Castiel who did this to him.
“You’re an animal,” Castiel whispers in his ear and, even though his touch on Dean’s ass is meant to be soothing, it only ignites Dean, and brings him to a shattering orgasm. He collapses on the desk, banging his forehead, but it only adds to the confusion that fills his body. Pain is pleasure, the absence of pain is pleasure, and Castiel is pleasure itself.
“Cut,” Chuck shouts. “What the fuck was that? What the fuck is wrong with you?” He stops so that he can drink. “Not that it wasn’t hot, fuck, I think I came in my pants and that’s NEVER happened to me, but what’s wrong with you?”
“I could ask the same thing,” Castiel asks Dean, staring at his hands with distaste for a moment and then, suddenly aware of his state of half-dress, starts stripping. “You’d better have an answer when I get back from my shower.”
Dean peels himself off the desk, wincing and biting back a whimper. Now that he’s cum, he feels nothing but pain.
“Here,” Ash says, offering him the first-aid kit. “There must be something useful there.”
“Thanks.”
Chuck refuses to look at him. A moment later he goes after Castiel. And Dean must either come clean, or lie, and doesn’t want to do either. Fuck. “I need a shower,” he tells everyone and rushes after Chuck. He’s not a coward; he won’t start being one now.
The showers are in the basement of the college, so it takes him a while to get there, but when he finds them, it’s not the sound of water he hears first. It’s the sound of retching. Shit. But that also means that they can’t hear him as he comes in, and hides in a nearby stall, climbing up the toilet seat so they won’t see him.
“You should have let me stop it,” Chuck reproaches Castiel.
“It wasn’t rape, Chuck. Believe me, I know,” is Castiel’s answer, low and broken and bitter.
“It looked like one.”
“You said it was ‘hot’,” Castiel says quietly.
“Fuck. It’s not… Yeah, it was kinda hot seeing Dean out of control; he’s usually so considerate towards everyone… He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Chuck asks a minute later.
“No. But… I think he was trying to punish me.”
What the fuck?
“Why?”
“Because I’m a tease. We’ve been dating for two weeks and we haven’t had sex yet. I think he’s bored with me.” Castiel makes a strange noise. “But he can’t say it.”
Dean almost falls off the seat when he hears that. Him? Bored? Now that he finally knows how Castiel likes his coffee, that he prefers waffles to pancakes, and that he never eats eggs sunny-side up? Now that he finally has all the ingredients for making Castiel the perfect morning-after breakfast?
“Zachariah was right; I’m only good for fucking.”
That Zachariah? Dean wants to meet him so he can smash his face in.
“Zachariah was a lying bastard. Cas, you have to get over what he did,” Chuck says.
“I tried, Chuck, I tried. Why did you think I asked to punish him? I thought I’d be brave for a change, and confront Dean for hurting me, but… It only made me feel like a bully. I’m good for nothing. Hapless, hopeless. Useless. And these? I always make stupid decisions when I’m taking these. I feel so good, so strong, but I’m nothing. Nothing.”
There’s another sound, something hitting the water, and then flushing, that almost hides Castiel’s moan, and Chuck’s “what are you doing?”
“That’s it. I’m done with these.” Castiel almost sounds brave.
“But you still have to get out of here and confront Dean,” Chuck says reasonably, almost as if he wants to make Castiel regret throwing his source of courage down the drain.
“You think he’ll be there, waiting? This is real life, Chuck, not a film.”
“But what if he is? Castiel, are you sure you want him? He hurt you and, don’t look at me like that, I saw what he did.”
“What I want is unimportant. Dean doesn’t want me. Zachariah was right about that; no one will ever want me after him.”
“Goddamnit, Castiel. Zachariah is…”
“Businessman of the year and a pillar of the community.”
“And a fucking liar and a child-molester. God.” Chuck sounds so exasperated that Dean is certain he’s pulling his hair as he speaks.
“Still…”
“Cas, promise me this. If Dean is out there, you will make him understand that you won’t put up with him hurting you ever again. Even if Dean doesn’t want you, if you can promise me this, I will make sure that Dean will work with you again and until he changes his mind. I will help you, but you must help yourself too. Alright?”
Despite what he did, he has Chuck’s blessing. Chuck is a good friend. He falls off the seat at that. He didn’t expect it. Only he lands on his ass and it fucking hurts. It hurts, damn it, and he howls without shame.
“Dean?” Two stalls away and beneath the partitions, Castiel looks straight at him.
“Erm... Hi,” he manages weakly, despite the pain.
“Oh, fuck,” Chuck mutters as Castiel moves up fast, but not fast enough to prevent Dean from seeing an embarrassed flush spread all over his face. Chuck bends down next, and glares at him. “Have you been here long?”
“No.”
“Right,” Castiel mutters. Seconds later he’s staring, no, he’s glaring at Dean from the top of the door. “Open this now.”
“Must I?”
Castiel kicks it. “Break up with me like a man, you bastard.”
“I don’t want to break up with you.” Dean stands up carefully, and opens the door as Castiel looks at him in full confusion mode. “Of course I don’t wanna break up with you.” Dean glares at Chuck, and Chuck slinks away, cradling his bottle and muttering something or other about going upstairs.
“Then what was that about?” His vague gesture encompasses the technically-rape-but-let’s-all-pretend-it-wasn’t, the possessive bite, the stalking. Everything.
“I got jealous,” he answers truthfully. He can lie to others, but not to Castiel when he looks so lost. This world is definitely a wild and frightening place for Castiel; Dean won’t make things worse for him.
“But…” Castiel sighs. “We really need to talk. Let’s go.”
A relatively long drive later that Dean spends worrying, and trying to ignore how worried he is, Castiel pulls up in front of Ellen’s place. God, things must be serious if Castiel is bringing him to the place of their first date. He really doesn’t want to get out of his car, but then Castiel taps at his window and he has no choice.
Castiel even waits until they’re seated and Ava takes their order before he speaks. “What were you jealous of, Dean?”
“Others.”
“There are no others but you,” Castiel tells him seriously.
“Other actors.” His head falls down as if his neck can’t deal with the weight of his thoughts. “I know, work is work and personal life is personal, but, you were there and I… I couldn’t stand it.”
Castiel blinks.
“The thought of them, fucking you,” he says in a voice that’s low and full of shame. “I couldn’t stand it.”
“You’d want me to stop working?” Castiel asks, curious.
“I dunno. It’s wrong, but yes? Would you want me to?”
“No.” Castiel’s answer is immediate. “I really admire your work. I would hate to be the reason for you to stop acting. You’d be wasting your talent, for what?”
“For you.” It’s easy to reach across the table and take Castiel’s hand in his. “I don’t care what happened to you, although if I ever find that bastard who hurt you, I will kill him. You’re special.”
“Special.” Castiel rolls the word around in his mouth, like it’s something strange and awkward and unexpected.
“Not in general.” Damn, why can’t he say it? Instead he squeezes Castiel’s hand. “You’re not useless, Cas,” he says instead.
Castiel’s eyes shine a little too brightly. He suddenly turns around, and there’s Ava bringing their pies. “We’ll take these to go. Dean?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Whatever Cas wants, he wants.
“Will you come home with me?”
He falls off the seat in his hurry to leave, and Castiel almost laughs.
Castiel’s home is an attic and is smaller than his, the kitchen one with the living room and both sparsely furnished. But there are plants in the bathroom, and a mosaic with pebbles and smoothed pieces of glass on one of its walls. Dean can’t make out its pattern, but it looks painstakingly and carefully made, so he doesn’t say that it’s weird and reminds him of magical symbols and such stuff. Castiel’s bedroom is also small, there’s barely enough room for a single bed and a closet, but when he opens a side-door he finds himself in a wide room with glass on one side, and the most amazing view of the city he’s ever seen from a private house. It’s amazing, as amazing as the rest of the room, where bookcases line the long wall and yet books still spill over and are piled onto the floor. There are DVDs too and CDs and it takes Dean a few minutes of browsing to realise they’re all arranged thematically (and his films have their own section, to his embarrassed astonishment). This is where Castiel really lives, among his books and his music, where he sits, on the floor with the thick red carpet, and the fluffy pillows, where he is himself, with the painting of the Trinity on the wall, and the statue of a radiant Buddha in front of it. It’s all amazing, but nothing is as breathtaking as how Castiel’s hesitant and shy expression turns happy when Dean kisses him and promises to never let him go.
And what would you know? That night they don’t make love either. They huddle under the covers and stay close to each other, silently and quietly, until they fall asleep. But they do the next morning and it’s better than anything they ever did.
This is real life, but it’s better than a film.
The end