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Day 1
"It's been two weeks, Sammy!"
It’s actually been 10 days since their last hunt, but who’s counting. Dean savors the last bite of his cherry pie while Sam pokes away at the laptop, looking for a case. Sam tells him to enjoy the peace and quiet while they have it, but Dean is feeling restless. He can’t stay cooped up in one place without going berserk…and eating all the pie.
“I think I’m getting fat,” Dean said, as he reached down to unbutton his uncomfortably tight jeans and give himself a pat on the pooch just below his belly button. Sam mumbles something about eating vegetables and working out, so Dean doles out an obligatory eye roll.
“Your workouts are so boring, dude,” he replied. “I prefer to work up a sweat beating up monsters.”
“Yeah, and you see how well that worked out last time,” Sam scoffed.
Rude. During their last hunt, Dean tired out quickly and got his ass kicked before Castiel showed up to save the day, yet again. Dean knows he’s getting older and should probably start working out more, but he’d never admit that to Sam.
“Actually, you know what?” Sam said after a sudden epiphany. “Why don’t you ask Castiel to practice with you in hand-to-hand combat? He’d be the perfect sparring partner – he’s stronger than you and never tires.”
And that is how Dean ends up spending every afternoon in precarious positions, cursing Sam for his stupid ideas and Castiel for his stupid blue eyes and superhuman strength.
Day 2
“Dean, you have to keep your arm bent! You can’t let me straighten it!”
Castiel chastised him, but didn’t let up on his expertly crafted arm bar. His legs were draped across Dean’s chest with Dean’s left arm trapped between them, Cas pulling on his wrist. It might as well have been a ton of bricks on top of him because there was no way he’s getting out of it.
Dean is sweating, red in the face and breathing heavily. “Dammit, Cas, I’m trying!” Dean groans. He’s attempting to keep his shoulder from dislocating while trying not to think about how his hand is right there between Cas’s legs.
Another five minutes of futile struggling and Dean finally taps out. Cas is still wearing his trench coat and didn’t even break a sweat.
Day 4
Dean’s going to pass out. At least, he thinks he is.
Cas is standing directly behind him, every square inch of his front pressed up to Dean’s back. It would have been sexy…if Castiel’s arms weren’t around Dean’s neck, crushing his windpipe.
The first five times Cas had him in a light chokehold, Dean forgot what he was supposed to do because holy shit, this is what Cas’s body feels like. Now, Cas has really got him in a chokehold and he doesn’t know what to do. He goes with his first instinct. His fingers pull at Cas’s forearm, trying to relieve some of the pressure around his neck.
“Good, Dean.” Castiel tells him. “Now, grab my thumb with your left arm and pull down, keeping your elbows tucked in.”
Dean is trying to follow instructions, he really is, but the feel of Cas’s warm breath on his neck is NOT helping. Not to mention the sound of that deep voice issuing commands in his ear. Sweat beads up around his hairline and rolls down his neck. He’s not entirely sure it’s from the workout.
Day 5
Cas has nice hands. Dean never really noticed before, but it’s hard not to when Cas’s long, thin fingers are around his neck…again. This time, he’s backed into a wall and Cas is standing in front of him, those brilliant blue eyes staring him down. He liked it better when he didn’t have to look at the angel’s face.
“Dean,” Castiel said his name like it was a verbal eye roll. “If you can get out of a rear chokehold, you can certainly do it from the front. Think!”
Dean tried pushing up on Cas’s forearms, pulling down on them, prying at his fingers. Nothing worked. He tried to recall the tips Castiel had shared with him over the last few days, coming up with something about using body weight and momentum instead of muscle and force. His eyes flicked to Castiel, who was watching him intently, as if following Dean’s thought process.
Cas narrowed his gaze and the corners of his mouth twitched just a bit, enough that Dean knew he was egging him on. “You won’t know if you don’t try.” So yeah, definitely reading Dean’s mind. Creepy.
Dean raised his arms above his head and clasped his palms together, swinging down and to the left as if using an axe. The shift in body weight produced the intended affect and Castiel’s arms were knocked to the side, freeing Dean from the hold.
He let out a small, surprised chuckle. Dean was amazed his idea actually worked. His widened eyes landed on Castiel’s proud gaze then dropped to his mouth, where a small grin tugged at one side.
“Good job, Dean.”
If Cas was going to smile like that every time he did something right, he’s going to start paying attention.
Day 7
“Cas, how is this relevant?”
Cas was lying on his stomach, his right cheek pressed into the floor and both arms flat on the ground just above his head. Dean is straddling him, practically sitting on Cas’s bum. He is supposed to have one hand on each wrist to pin Cas to the floor, but he’s sitting on his haunches, waiting for an explanation.
“Dean, it is not enough to know how to fend off an attacker,” Cas reasoned. “You might need to subdue a miscreant and maximizing leverage in this position would be your best option.”
“Miscreant,” Dean repeated. “Right. It all makes sense now.”
“Sarcasm will not keep you alive, Dean.”
As if to prove a point, Castiel suddenly shifted his weight and rolled over between Dean’s legs. His hands were up, fists closed, signaling to Dean that he could have already punched him in the face. Dean blinked.
Castiel looked smug. “Rule number 1: use your thighs.”
Dean followed orders and squeezed his thighs in tight against Cas’s ribs and let more of his weight settle on Cas’s body. He looked at Cas expectantly, but received a punch to the gut instead of instruction. It was a light punch, but the air was still forced out of Dean’s mouth with a hard oof.
“Rule number 2: watch the hands.”
Dean recovered and found Castiel smirking at him. Smirking. He growled and in a single, fluid motion, snatched Cas’s wrists and pinned them both up above his head. Dean was leaning over him, his face inches from Castiel’s.
“Why’d you have to hit me?” Dean snarled, though no real malice was behind it. His gaze locked on those stunning blue eyes. The blood rushed to Dean’s cheeks as soon as he took stock of their current position. He could feel Cas, all of Cas, underneath his hips. He could lower his chest just a little and they’d be pressed together. Dean tried not to freak out, but his eyes widened a fraction at the thought of being so close to Cas, being on top of Cas.
“To teach you a lesson,” Castiel deadpanned, not breaking eye contact. Dean snapped back to attention and looked down at Castiel, who was eyeing him with curiosity. That stupid, adorable head tilt be damned.
Dean licked his lips nervously and exhaled slowly. He needed to take a step back before things got hairy, but he just couldn’t bring himself to move.
“Cas,” he breathed.
Castiel doesn’t respond. His eyes flick to Dean’s lips, then darken slightly. That’s all it takes to send Dean over the edge, off the cliff. He surges forward and kisses Cas like his life depends on it. Maybe it does.
Cas’s lips are dry, but full, and moving expertly in time with Dean's. Dean releases Castiel’s wrists so he can cup the angel’s cheek with one hand and run the other through that glorious sex hair Cas is always sporting. He tugs lightly and Cas moans. It makes Dean feel giddy.
Cas wraps his arms around Dean and pulls him closer while his tongue does magical things inside Dean’s mouth.
Both are so wrapped up in each other, in their kiss, that neither of them notices when Sam walks into the room to talk about a potential case. They also don’t notice when he quietly retreats and scurries down the hall, laughing.
Day 8
Dean is pacing in the kitchen. Cas is supposed to be there in 15 minutes for their afternoon workout and Dean still hasn’t reconciled with himself over yesterday’s kiss and his subsequent freak out. He’s tried talking himself out of it, he’s tried talking himself into it. Both are equally terrifying.
Sam enters the kitchen and drops a dirty plate into the sink, eyeing Dean as he nervously gulps down a glass of water.
“You and Cas working out again today?”
Dean nods. He doesn’t trust his voice at the moment.
“How’s the training going?” Sam asks. As an afterthought, he adds, “I hope you’re learning a lot.”
“Yeah it’s good,” Dean replies. “But I think, uh, today will be our last session.”
Sam frowns slightly at that, but before he can reply Dean blurts out, “Are you sure there aren’t any cases we can look into?”
Sam gives Dean a knowing look. He knows Dean would be mortified if he knew Sam saw them kissing, but he can't let his brother freak out and mess things up with Cas either. He knows how much Dean loves Cas (and vice versa).
“Dean,” he begins. “This training has been good for you and it’s obvious you and Cas enjoy spending time together. Why go your separate ways now when you’ve made so much progress working together?”
Dean blanches at that. Sam’s tone and choice of words…Oh shit, does he know? Dean wonders.
“I’m just saying, this could be the start of something good,” Sam says as he backs out of the kitchen. “The best way to make your dreams come true is to wake up.”
Dean stands wordlessly in the kitchen as he wraps his head around Sam’s speech. Dean thinks it’s Sam’s equivalent to “Get your head out of your ass and go for it.”
Ugh.
Day 11
Much to Sam’s amusement, Dean and Cas continued their “training” and, from the shy looks and smiles they’ve been sharing, Sam’s pretty sure Dean got the hint.
He’s one hundred percent sure when he walks by their designated training room and sees Cas and Dean on the floor. Cas is in a modified spooning position with his legs and arms wrapped around Dean's body. Dean is struggling to get free, but it’s obvious he’s enjoying his predicament.
Sam can’t help it and a laugh escapes. Dean freezes and shoots a worried look toward the door, blood draining from his face when he sees Sam standing there.
“It’s not - It's not what it looks like!” Dean stutters.
Sam smiles and shakes his head at Dean’s embarrassment. Sam then looks at Cas, hoping he isn’t as embarrassed as his emotionally constipated brother. Cas, however, is finding it just as entertaining as Sam.
“Dean,” Cas whispers in Dean's ear, though loud enough for Sam to overhear. “This is exactly what it looks like. There’s a reason it's called the rear naked choke.”