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Summary
“Yeah.” Dean leans closer, and the table is abruptly narrow. Dean’s eyes are dark, his eyelashes fanned against the freckled skin of his face. “Look, I wouldn’t normally bring this up, but do you…?”
Oh, Castiel remembers. How Dean’s fingers had laced their way through his, the calluses scraping against the softer skin of Castiel’s palms and knuckles. How Castiel’s heart had thumped so hard in his chest that he had worried he was losing control of the vessel. How Dean’s gaze had caught against Castiel’s mouth, how Dean’s tongue had wet his lips, and how quickly they had parted when they heard Benny rustling his way back through the underbrush. (A 10.19 coda.)
