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“Hello, Dean.”
The deep voice rumbles from right behind Dean’s shoulder and he jumps as the angel appears in the small motel bathroom. The razor in his hand jerks up, slicing into his cheek before it clatters to the floor.
“Dammit, Cas!” Dean shouts, grabbing for a hand towel to stop the blood beginning to drip down his cheek. “We’ve talked about this!”
Dean had talked to Cas several times trying to enforce the idea of personal space and privacy and more importantly, not popping in when Dean had a blade near his face. For whatever reason though, despite the talks and threats, Cas seemed to always show up every other time Dean was shaving. He’d nicked himself a quite few times now and each time Cas had healed him and apologized profusely.
“Fuck, you really got me this time,” Dean grumbles, examining what is definitely more of a slice than a nick in the mirror.
“I … I’m so sorry, Dean,” Cas says, his voice full of far more emotion than the situation warrants.
“It’s fine, Cas, really,” Dean sighs, all anger crumbling at the forlorn blue eyes staring at his cut in the reflection.
“It's not. I really hurt you this time,” Cas whispers, his body nearing folding in on itself, his brows bunching in concern.
“Honestly, it’s okay, buddy,” Dean turns around and squeezes Cas’ shoulder, forcing him to look up. The cut might sting a bit but seeing Cas sad is far more painful.
“But …” Cas’ eyes bounce between his, searching for something.
“We both know I’ve had closer shaves than this,” Dean teases, throwing in a wink for good measure. “Besides you can always kiss it better.”
The words hang in the air, not quite landing as the joke they were meant to be with Cas standing too close and Dean’s hand lingering on his shoulder.
Cas’ eyes focus on the cut and he leans forward. Dean’s breath hitches, his heart beats off rhythm, and there’s a warm twisting sensation in his gut at the anticipation of Cas’ lips on his cheek.
For as much as he complains, he’s never really that bothered by Cas’ magical appearing act, especially when he’s shaving. If he’s honest with himself, he might even admit that the last few times he’s nicked himself on purpose. A childish excuse to have to feel the angel’s tender hands cup his face and heal him.
I could just ask him, ask him to touch me without the pretense. But what if he’s upset I made him use his grace on me all those times? What if he stops popping up? What if–
“Dean,” Cas whispers, his voice dripping in regret as he stops just short of the injured cheek. Dean barely manages to hold in his groan of frustration and disappointment.
“Sorry, Cas, I … It was just a joke; you don’t have to kiss it if you’re uncomfortable or whatever.” Dean drops his arm and takes a step back to get some space, only to find himself pushed up against the sink. He steadies himself by gipping it behind him (and definitely not to keep him from reaching out for Cas again). “You don’t even have to heal me if you don’t want to, it’s honestly not that bad.”
“That’s not what I– Dean, I need to tell you something because I don’t want you to feel like– I don’t want to take advantage of the situation–“
“Just tell me, Cas. You can tell me anything,” Dean breathes, dreading but needing to know what the angel is struggling to say.
“I– It hasn’t been accidental that I’ve been showing up while you were shaving. Well, the first time, when you cut yourself for the first time, that was accidental. But then you let me put my hand on your cheek to heal you and I … I liked it. I liked the way you smiled at me after I had healed you, the way you lingered before pulling away,” Cas stares at Dean guiltily, a sad smile gracing his lips.
“I know it was selfish now. To keep popping up on the chance that you might injure yourself and I’d be able to heal you again, to touch you again. Each time I told myself it would be the last, but it wasn’t and now you’ve really gotten hurt. I’m truly sorry, I didn’t mean to cause you pain to fulfill my selfish desires. I won’t do it again and I can heal you from here–“
“Cas,” Dean rasps, his voice rough and low. The name rolls off his tongue in the shape of a plea, halting the angel from healing him. “I gotta confess something too. Sometimes, sometimes it was on purpose. Nicking myself with the razor.”
I wanted to be close too. I wanted you too, Dean wants to say, wants to express all the feelings he’s kept guard over for so long, but he can’t. His throat closes up, too used to shutting off at the hint of vulnerability. He squeezes his eyes tight against the tears of frustration.
Gentle hands slide behind his neck, cradling his face and bringing Cas’ body flush to Dean’s. Dean only has enough time to open his eyes before Cas pulls his face close and kisses his cheek. Not just one kiss either, several kisses are peppered tenderly across the cut.
Warmth blooms from the points of contact and Dean isn’t sure if it’s the grace healing his wound or the blush suffusing his face. His hands come off the sink and reach for Cas but he can’t quite make himself hold on to the angel, still not convinced this is actually happening. He settles for clutching at the ridiculous, perfect trench coat, praying that they can stay this way forever.
Cas eventually pulls back, but not away, letting his hands fall to Dean’s shoulders. The angel risks meeting Dean’s eyes and Dean is floored to find Cas as breathless and flushed as he is.
“Better?” Cas murmurs, his breath warm on Dean’s face and the vibrations of the word ricocheting around his ribcage.
“Much,” Dean responds softly, finally daring to reach a hand up and cup the angel’s face, rubbing indulgently against the stubbled jaw.
Cas takes in a sharp breath before relaxing into the touch as if he never expected to be on the receiving end of such affection.
“So uh, do I need to cut my lip or will you kiss me if I ask nicely?” Dean asks, his voice light just in case Cas wants to take it as a joke.
“You don’t have to injure yourself ever again, Dean. However much you want of me, I will gladly give it to you. I’m sorry I didn’t just tell you how I felt. I could have saved you some pain,” Cas’ whispers, one hand sneaking its way back up to play with the hair at the nape of Dean’s neck.
“It’s on me too, Cas. I’m the one that hurt myself, not you. If it makes you feel better, it’s not even in the top five of weirdest ways I’ve tried to flirt with someone.”
Cas rolls his eyes but his lips twitch, fighting a smile. He opens his mouth, whether to argue or admonish, but Dean doesn’t have the patience to find out. He pulls the angel a few inches closer and kisses him.
They make out until Sam bangs against the door, startling them both. Cas steps away and Dean curses his brother’s timing.
“Dude! How long does it take to shave? I’ve been waiting in the Impala for like twenty minutes!”
“Uh, I’ll be right out,” Dean yells, cringing a little when he turns and sees his half-shaved face in the mirror. He turns back and looks over the ground for his forgotten razor.
“Let me. It would be a shame if you cut yourself again,” Cas orders, a teasing twinkle in his blue eyes. He steps back into Dean’s space and gives him another kiss on the cheek before backing away again. Dean’s hand goes up to his jaw, now smooth in a perfect shave.
“Dean, seriously! What could you possibly be doing in there that’s taking this long,” Sam bitches from somewhere inside the motel room.
“I’ll go now so Sam doesn’t–” Cas starts but Dean cuts off the idea with a quick kiss.
He shoves his toiletries bag under one arm and grabs Cas’ hand with the other, opening the door and dragging the angel out before he has time to fly away. He grins stupidly at the way Sam’s mouth drops open, gripping Cas’ fingers tighter in his own as he makes his way to the motel room door.
“C’mon, Sam. Don’t stand there all day. We have to go interview the sheriff, right?”
Sam’s head ping-pongs between Dean, Cas, and their entwined hands. His mouth opens and closes several times before he gives up and just nods.
“Great, let’s get a move on then. Oh and Sam, you’re gonna need to get your own room tonight.”