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Summary
Dean should’ve realized going to see this art flick was gonna make him feel stupid, and explaining himself makes it worse. The two of them have been not-dating for three weeks now, and Dean’s smitten—not that he’s said so, of course, since he figures it’s only a matter of time before Cas finds someone better, someone more like them. “Like, what the fuck was up with that dance number? Nobody danced like that back then. And the rabbits, I mean, I know they were for her dead kids but that’s fuckin’ weird. The whole thing was pretty fuckin’ weird, that’s my review.”
“Sounds like you understood it just fine to me,” Cas says. They start pulling off their winter layers and raise their eyebrows at Dean until he does the same. There’s no coat rack or anything, so Dean stuffs his gloves in the pockets of his parka and drapes it over the back of the kitchen chair; when he’s down to flannel and henley Cas takes firm hold on his shoulders and steers him back against the kitchen counter, pushing his shirt up and bending down to bite his nipple. Dean yelps at that, and Cas laughs, their eyes bright with lust. “Can I fuck you?” they ask.
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