Fic: Details
Title: Details
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: In no way mine, or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: In which there are pie metaphors, and Dean's brain is disobedient.
AN: Written for
harem_ent for my icon writing meme
"You can still read my mind right?" Dean asks the angel. Because there are only so many times you can talk about dire portents of destruction, about how the world was going to end in chaos and how God had moved with no forwarding address. Or was possibly just on vacation, depending on your level of blind hope.
"Yes," Castiel says quietly. "That's one of the abilities I still possess."
Dean's sprawled out on the bed, watching the bad reception do its best to ruin every single thing on the television. Castiel is perched on the end, though not in a way that's comfortable. More in a way that suggests he's expecting a fire drill at any moment.
It's a good job Jimmy checked out. No one deserves that rigid attention to good posture.
"Are you reading it right now?"
"No Dean."
Dean squints at him, but he seems to be telling the truth.
"What am I thinking right now?" Dean asks, or rather demands. Because much as he knows Castiel isn't a magic trick to be 'ta da-ed' in front of a live audience, he'd still like to know what exactly he's capable of.
He thinks of something innocuous.
Pie, he think about pie, delicious pie, a selection of some of the best he's ever tasted. Fruit shockingly bright, like someone snagged it off of a magazine page, cream so thick and so furious you lose every word you ever mean to say as soon as it hits your tongue. Layered over the sugared crust in curves and swirls and folds of pale white.
"You're thinking about pie," Castiel tells him, carefully, like he thinks he might get told off for it.
Dean nods, because it's true.
"So you can just see inside my head whenever you like?"
"I try not to observe your thoughts unless the situation calls for it," Castiel says carefully. Which Dean recognises as telling him exactly as much as he needs to know and no more.
"Dude, my idea of the situation calling for it and your idea of it calling for it, probably vastly different."
It occurs to Dean that the angel might not understand exactly how little control he has over his own thoughts.
"You know human beings can't help what they think, right? It's all brain stuff, just lots of random crap that occurs to us, most of which we wouldn't even admit to, right? Sometimes dumb stuff that means nothing, or just distracting stuff."
Like pie, delicious pie, topped with that fierce cream he had in that diner in Maine, that tasted like it had been milked out of fucking unicorns, perfect white curls of perfection-
Smeared all over Castiel's pretty mouth, so Dean can drag it open and dig all the way inside-
...
"You heard that didn't you?" Dean's brain has never done what it's told, why should it start now.
There's a long pause, as if Castiel isn't sure whether he's allowed to admit to it.
Dean watches the bad reception on the TV for a minute and thinks about teaching Castiel the art of 'this never happened and we will never speak of it again.'
"I could acquire you pie, if you like," Castiel says slowly, and there's a careful uncertainty under the words. Like he's not sure if it's the right thing to say, but he's suddenly compelled to say it anyway.
And Dean thinks maybe that's more than just an offer to go and get him pie.
Maybe?
"Are you even allowed pie? Y'know, if I was gonna...share."
Castiel looks at him.
"There are no rules against it," he says quietly, almost hopefully, though there's still that edge to his voice. Something new, something sharp and warm.
Holy shit, Dean thinks helplessly.
"You realise there will be eating of the pie right, if you taste it and you like it-."
Castiel swallows, visibly, and for a long second Dean can't think of anything at all, apart from-
Apart from-
He really hopes Castiel isn't listening any more because that was filthy, he's very nearly almost ashamed of himself.
"You realise we're not really talking about pies any more right?" he says flatly. Because he really doesn't want to be going down this road if Castiel is still one town back reading the map, upside down, in the dark.
"Yes," Castiel says simply.
Dean nods.
"Ok, you can bring me pie if you want."
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: In no way mine, or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: In which there are pie metaphors, and Dean's brain is disobedient.
AN: Written for
harem_ent for my icon writing meme
"You can still read my mind right?" Dean asks the angel. Because there are only so many times you can talk about dire portents of destruction, about how the world was going to end in chaos and how God had moved with no forwarding address. Or was possibly just on vacation, depending on your level of blind hope.
"Yes," Castiel says quietly. "That's one of the abilities I still possess."
Dean's sprawled out on the bed, watching the bad reception do its best to ruin every single thing on the television. Castiel is perched on the end, though not in a way that's comfortable. More in a way that suggests he's expecting a fire drill at any moment.
It's a good job Jimmy checked out. No one deserves that rigid attention to good posture.
"Are you reading it right now?"
"No Dean."
Dean squints at him, but he seems to be telling the truth.
"What am I thinking right now?" Dean asks, or rather demands. Because much as he knows Castiel isn't a magic trick to be 'ta da-ed' in front of a live audience, he'd still like to know what exactly he's capable of.
He thinks of something innocuous.
Pie, he think about pie, delicious pie, a selection of some of the best he's ever tasted. Fruit shockingly bright, like someone snagged it off of a magazine page, cream so thick and so furious you lose every word you ever mean to say as soon as it hits your tongue. Layered over the sugared crust in curves and swirls and folds of pale white.
"You're thinking about pie," Castiel tells him, carefully, like he thinks he might get told off for it.
Dean nods, because it's true.
"So you can just see inside my head whenever you like?"
"I try not to observe your thoughts unless the situation calls for it," Castiel says carefully. Which Dean recognises as telling him exactly as much as he needs to know and no more.
"Dude, my idea of the situation calling for it and your idea of it calling for it, probably vastly different."
It occurs to Dean that the angel might not understand exactly how little control he has over his own thoughts.
"You know human beings can't help what they think, right? It's all brain stuff, just lots of random crap that occurs to us, most of which we wouldn't even admit to, right? Sometimes dumb stuff that means nothing, or just distracting stuff."
Like pie, delicious pie, topped with that fierce cream he had in that diner in Maine, that tasted like it had been milked out of fucking unicorns, perfect white curls of perfection-
Smeared all over Castiel's pretty mouth, so Dean can drag it open and dig all the way inside-
...
"You heard that didn't you?" Dean's brain has never done what it's told, why should it start now.
There's a long pause, as if Castiel isn't sure whether he's allowed to admit to it.
Dean watches the bad reception on the TV for a minute and thinks about teaching Castiel the art of 'this never happened and we will never speak of it again.'
"I could acquire you pie, if you like," Castiel says slowly, and there's a careful uncertainty under the words. Like he's not sure if it's the right thing to say, but he's suddenly compelled to say it anyway.
And Dean thinks maybe that's more than just an offer to go and get him pie.
Maybe?
"Are you even allowed pie? Y'know, if I was gonna...share."
Castiel looks at him.
"There are no rules against it," he says quietly, almost hopefully, though there's still that edge to his voice. Something new, something sharp and warm.
Holy shit, Dean thinks helplessly.
"You realise there will be eating of the pie right, if you taste it and you like it-."
Castiel swallows, visibly, and for a long second Dean can't think of anything at all, apart from-
Apart from-
He really hopes Castiel isn't listening any more because that was filthy, he's very nearly almost ashamed of himself.
"You realise we're not really talking about pies any more right?" he says flatly. Because he really doesn't want to be going down this road if Castiel is still one town back reading the map, upside down, in the dark.
"Yes," Castiel says simply.
Dean nods.
"Ok, you can bring me pie if you want."