Work Text:
“Patrick Swayze,” Dean calls out without looking up from the screen of his phone as Cas passes by their bedroom door.
Cas thrusts the upper half of his body into the room. “Patrick Swayze is dead, Dean.” His voice has that exasperated tone that lets him know he’s pushing the limits of his boyfriend’s patience.
“You said anyone,” he says, finally looking up at Cas’ face which is tinged red in frustration. “You never specified they had to be alive.”
“I…how would that even be possible?”
“Like you’re ever going to run into Jensen Ackles,” Dean quips back at him as he leaves the room in a huff. “Besides, even if he is weirdly close to Misha Collins, dude is straight.” He quirks a smile as Cas grumbles under his breath all the way down the hall.
The sound of Cas moving around the kitchen draws Dean from the couch and to the door where he stands, hidden by the fridge and watching as he dances to music only he can hear. The scent of apple and cinnamon fills the space around them as he opens the oven and pulls out a perfectly baked pie, carefully sliding it to the stovetop.
Unable to help himself, Dean sneaks up behind him and slips his arms around his waist, pressing his mouth to his neck, smiling against his skin when Cas hums and tilts his head to give him more access. He tugs him backwards, out of the kitchen and into the living room without letting up, keeping contact between his lips and Cas’ skin until they reach the couch.
He sinks into the plush cushion and Cas turns, straddling his waist. With his fingers sliding under Dean’s shirt, he presses their lips together followed by the barest slip of his tongue into Dean’s mouth, just enough to taste him.
“Daphne...” Dean murmurs against his lips, testing the boundary of Cas’ breaking point.
Cas pulls away. Jerks away might be a more apt description of the brake squealing stop. “What?”
“The next name on my list. Daphne Blake.”
“Who the fuck is Daphne Blake?”
“Why? Are you jealous, Cas?” Dean raises his brow suggestively, already knowing the answer.
Crossing his arms over his chest, Cas sits back and puts some space between them. “No,” he says, his voice possessively deep and gruff. “But I’ve never heard of her.”
“Come on, Cas, we watch her every Saturday morning.”
“Daphne…from Scooby Doo? Dean, she’s a cartoon character.”
“At least she’s not dead.”
“You’re impossible,” he says, getting up and storming back into the kitchen.
Dean catches Cas sneaking an episode of The Boys before he quickly turns the television off as he enters the room. “Okay, Cas, I’ve figured out the last name on my list,” Dean says, slapping and rubbing his hands together like an evil genius.
“First, I have a couple of questions.” He drops the remote onto the coffee table and picks up his coffee mug. “Are they dead?”
“No.”
“Are they a cartoon?” he asks, leaning into the back of the couch and pulling his mug up to his mouth, blowing over the too hot contents.
“No.”
Cas sighs and takes a small sip. “Okay, let’s hear it.”
“Dr. Sexy…”
Cas places the mug onto the coaster. “If you’re not going to take this seriously-”
“I take this very seriously,” Dean says, cutting him off mid-sentence.
“No, you don’t. It’s all just a big joke to you, going out of your way to come up with an impossible list.”
“Why do you think that is?” Dean sinks into the cushion next to Cas and takes his hand.
“I don’t know, Dean. Perhaps because you hate the very idea of someone else wanting me, of me having sex with someone who isn’t you. Even if it is just a fantasy.”
“No, Cas. I hate the idea of me having sex with someone who isn’t you.”
Cas opens his mouth and closes it again, his lips trembling. “You make me crazy sometimes. You know that? And then you go and say things like that…”
Dean moves from the cushion next to Cas, pressing him against the arm of the couch, hovering over his body and wanting. “I love you, Cas. I don’t want anyone else,” he says, the words whispered softly in a hushed breath over his lips.
“Maybe I could get a lab coat and some cowboy boots…”