[FIC] Antibromic
Rating: PG (mild language)
Genre and/or Pairing: fluff, Dean/Castiel
Spoilers: none
Warnings: none (no beta, comma abuse)
Word Count: ~1100
Summary: Schmoopy tie!fic for ladyjaganshi
The air shifts with Castiel's sudden appearance. His nose immediately wrinkles. "What is that smell?" he asks.
Sam is sitting at the table next to a pile of books, and Dean stands beside his brother looking over his shoulder. They look at each other. Bobby walks into the room and grimaces. He flails for a few seconds, waving his hands around in an attempt to clear the air. "Tell me again: what made you idjits think the woman was possessed?" he demands.
Castiel tilts his head. Puzzled, he looks at the brothers. “What woman?”
“The one at the store with the tester bottle.” Sam presses his hands to his eyes and sighs. He looks at Dean. “Dude, seriously. Go take a shower; you're giving me a migraine.”
Dean's hands fly out in protest. “Not my fault here. I've taken three showers! This shit won't come off!” he exclaims. He shifts, straightening his spine before he crosses his arms over his chest defensively.
The angel's brows knit in further confusion. “What, er,” he stumbles over the words before finally inquiring, “-shit?” The cuffs of his trench coat barely hides how his fingers twitch as he profanes.
A gasp escapes from Dean as he presses his right hand to his heart in horror. The light in his eyes gives his response away as bogus. The older hunter is unable to hold his false dismay for long, and he starts laughing.
Sam just rolls his eyes before pressing his lips into a thin line. “Real mature, Dean.” He arches an eyebrow at his brother and adds, “Much like how you threatened to shoot the woman in face with shotgun full of rock salt if she came anywhere near you with that bottle?”
“She sprayed me with it; chased me through the damn store!” Dean says with conviction.
Exasperation causes Sam's eyes to bug out. “Dean! You-”
“Alright! Enough. We all know Dean's scared of the girly perfume,” scoffs Bobby. He holds up a hand when Dean attempts to interrupt him. “What I want to know is why you were in a store that sells the expensive crap in the first place.”
Dean hunches in on himself and looks at the wall. He mutters something unintelligible.
“I'm sorry, I'm getting kind of old here. What was that?” Bobby says as he cups a hand around his ear.
Dean is trying to set the ceiling ablaze with his glare. He drums his fingers in frustration before loudly repeating “I said, I felt bad that Cas lost his tie in the last hunt 'cause of us, and I wanted to get him a new one.”
Castiel's fingers clench into the material of his shirt where the dark blue tie used to hang. “Oh,” he says softly, looking at Dean in surprise.
“Getting a little emotional over a piece of cloth there, aren't you?” Sam says, his voice a little too clinical to be real. He closes the book before him and turns his full attention toward his brother.
By this point, Castiel is smiling - just enough to cause a faint crinkling at the corners of his eyes.
“Yeah, whatever,” says Dean as he grabs a maroon gift-box from the cluttered buffet he is now leaning upon. He tosses it to Castiel. “You looked naked without it.”
Bobby hides his face in his hands, and Sam desperately attempts to smother his own snickering. The noise distracts Castiel from his task of opening the box. When he finally catches on to the tension in the room he glances at Dean. As soon as their eyes meet, Dean's widen and his gaze drops to somewhere just beyond the angel's shoulder.
Mortified, Dean demands, “Y'all know what I mean, and don't pretend you don't!” His cheeks flush hot and pink.
Castiel mulls over the words, contemplates Dean's response for a moment before turning his attention back to the box. He gently removes the lid and unwraps the tissue to find, unsurprisingly by now, a dark blue tie. There, woven into the silk, are long, flowing lines in a shade of blue just different enough they can be seen when they catch the light. Those lines form feathered wings that fade into existence halfway, then continue to stretch down the length of the tie.
Castiel looks up. He can feel the other two men watching him; can feel Sam's eyes flicking back and forth between angel and brother; can see out of the corner of his eye when a knowing smile creeps onto the younger hunter's face. Dean still refuses to make eye contact, and so the angel holds holds the silky material out. “Can you-”
“Oh, for the love of-” Dean breaks in. His eyes focus in on the tie as he strides over and slides it out of Castiel's fingers. “Just watch.” With brusque fingers, Dean closes the top button of his shirt, flips his collar up and slips it around his neck. After a moment of adjusting he says, “Start with the tie like this. Cross the wide end over the narrow end, wrap it around the back, then pull it up.”
A slight dip of Castiel's head proves he understands.
“Next, you pull it through the loop that goes around your neck, then around the front like so. Bring it back behind and up through the loop again. Pull the wide part through the front of the knot and tighten it,” he says as he demonstrates. “There, now you know how to tie a half-windsor knot. Got it?”
Castiel looks up at Dean through his dark lashes, then wraps his hand in the tie and jerks Dean toward him. Dean gasps and flails, momentarily off balance before Castiel places a firm hand at the base of his neck. The angel surges upward to take advantage of Dean's momentary shock - licks at the other man's lips before sealing their mouths together.
A noise escapes from Dean. His hands drop down to Castiel's hips to pull him closer.
Deftly, Castiel unravels the knot with one hand and pulls the tie away. Bobby clears his throat, and Castiel pushes out of the circle of Dean's arms. He quickly ties a knot - perfectly - then glances up into Dean's stunned face. “Yes, I think I've got it,” he says with the hint of laughter gracing his features. He turns to face the others and acknowledges them. “Sam, Bobby.” And then he's gone, replaced with a fluttering breeze.
“I think he liked the tie, Dean,” Sam deadpans and willingly accepts the withering look Dean directs at him.
Genre and/or Pairing: fluff, Dean/Castiel
Spoilers: none
Warnings: none (no beta, comma abuse)
Word Count: ~1100
Summary: Schmoopy tie!fic for ladyjaganshi
The air shifts with Castiel's sudden appearance. His nose immediately wrinkles. "What is that smell?" he asks.
Sam is sitting at the table next to a pile of books, and Dean stands beside his brother looking over his shoulder. They look at each other. Bobby walks into the room and grimaces. He flails for a few seconds, waving his hands around in an attempt to clear the air. "Tell me again: what made you idjits think the woman was possessed?" he demands.
Castiel tilts his head. Puzzled, he looks at the brothers. “What woman?”
“The one at the store with the tester bottle.” Sam presses his hands to his eyes and sighs. He looks at Dean. “Dude, seriously. Go take a shower; you're giving me a migraine.”
Dean's hands fly out in protest. “Not my fault here. I've taken three showers! This shit won't come off!” he exclaims. He shifts, straightening his spine before he crosses his arms over his chest defensively.
The angel's brows knit in further confusion. “What, er,” he stumbles over the words before finally inquiring, “-shit?” The cuffs of his trench coat barely hides how his fingers twitch as he profanes.
A gasp escapes from Dean as he presses his right hand to his heart in horror. The light in his eyes gives his response away as bogus. The older hunter is unable to hold his false dismay for long, and he starts laughing.
Sam just rolls his eyes before pressing his lips into a thin line. “Real mature, Dean.” He arches an eyebrow at his brother and adds, “Much like how you threatened to shoot the woman in face with shotgun full of rock salt if she came anywhere near you with that bottle?”
“She sprayed me with it; chased me through the damn store!” Dean says with conviction.
Exasperation causes Sam's eyes to bug out. “Dean! You-”
“Alright! Enough. We all know Dean's scared of the girly perfume,” scoffs Bobby. He holds up a hand when Dean attempts to interrupt him. “What I want to know is why you were in a store that sells the expensive crap in the first place.”
Dean hunches in on himself and looks at the wall. He mutters something unintelligible.
“I'm sorry, I'm getting kind of old here. What was that?” Bobby says as he cups a hand around his ear.
Dean is trying to set the ceiling ablaze with his glare. He drums his fingers in frustration before loudly repeating “I said, I felt bad that Cas lost his tie in the last hunt 'cause of us, and I wanted to get him a new one.”
Castiel's fingers clench into the material of his shirt where the dark blue tie used to hang. “Oh,” he says softly, looking at Dean in surprise.
“Getting a little emotional over a piece of cloth there, aren't you?” Sam says, his voice a little too clinical to be real. He closes the book before him and turns his full attention toward his brother.
By this point, Castiel is smiling - just enough to cause a faint crinkling at the corners of his eyes.
“Yeah, whatever,” says Dean as he grabs a maroon gift-box from the cluttered buffet he is now leaning upon. He tosses it to Castiel. “You looked naked without it.”
Bobby hides his face in his hands, and Sam desperately attempts to smother his own snickering. The noise distracts Castiel from his task of opening the box. When he finally catches on to the tension in the room he glances at Dean. As soon as their eyes meet, Dean's widen and his gaze drops to somewhere just beyond the angel's shoulder.
Mortified, Dean demands, “Y'all know what I mean, and don't pretend you don't!” His cheeks flush hot and pink.
Castiel mulls over the words, contemplates Dean's response for a moment before turning his attention back to the box. He gently removes the lid and unwraps the tissue to find, unsurprisingly by now, a dark blue tie. There, woven into the silk, are long, flowing lines in a shade of blue just different enough they can be seen when they catch the light. Those lines form feathered wings that fade into existence halfway, then continue to stretch down the length of the tie.
Castiel looks up. He can feel the other two men watching him; can feel Sam's eyes flicking back and forth between angel and brother; can see out of the corner of his eye when a knowing smile creeps onto the younger hunter's face. Dean still refuses to make eye contact, and so the angel holds holds the silky material out. “Can you-”
“Oh, for the love of-” Dean breaks in. His eyes focus in on the tie as he strides over and slides it out of Castiel's fingers. “Just watch.” With brusque fingers, Dean closes the top button of his shirt, flips his collar up and slips it around his neck. After a moment of adjusting he says, “Start with the tie like this. Cross the wide end over the narrow end, wrap it around the back, then pull it up.”
A slight dip of Castiel's head proves he understands.
“Next, you pull it through the loop that goes around your neck, then around the front like so. Bring it back behind and up through the loop again. Pull the wide part through the front of the knot and tighten it,” he says as he demonstrates. “There, now you know how to tie a half-windsor knot. Got it?”
Castiel looks up at Dean through his dark lashes, then wraps his hand in the tie and jerks Dean toward him. Dean gasps and flails, momentarily off balance before Castiel places a firm hand at the base of his neck. The angel surges upward to take advantage of Dean's momentary shock - licks at the other man's lips before sealing their mouths together.
A noise escapes from Dean. His hands drop down to Castiel's hips to pull him closer.
Deftly, Castiel unravels the knot with one hand and pulls the tie away. Bobby clears his throat, and Castiel pushes out of the circle of Dean's arms. He quickly ties a knot - perfectly - then glances up into Dean's stunned face. “Yes, I think I've got it,” he says with the hint of laughter gracing his features. He turns to face the others and acknowledges them. “Sam, Bobby.” And then he's gone, replaced with a fluttering breeze.
“I think he liked the tie, Dean,” Sam deadpans and willingly accepts the withering look Dean directs at him.