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Dean doesn’t do walks. If he doesn’t have to be moving, he’s usually sat down. Whether it’s at a bar, in the Impala, or watching old movies on crappy motel TVs. Sam’s always telling him it’s an unhealthy habit, but Dean won’t hear it. People who walk just to walk are insane.
Well…he’s been walking for almost 15 minutes now. I guess that makes me a little insane, he sighs and keeps kicking a rock down the road.
He had milled around the dull motel room like a lion in an undersized zoo enclosure until the itching in his bones became unbearable. Normally, Dean would go for a drive, but this town is small, and he doesn’t feel like getting himself, or his baby, ripped apart by a bunch of demons. Instead, he left Sam to his research and started walking with no destination.
It’s a gray, March evening and everything is slick from the recent rainfall. Most of the trees have yet to regrow their leaves and the branches claw towards the sky like desperate fingers. He takes a deep breath, smelling the wet earth, and a hint of sulfur.
It’s weird that he can safely wander the streets when hordes of demons lay just outside the city limits. He doesn’t know what’s going on or what to do. Everything is out of his control, and it’s got him all sorts of messed up.
He’s spiraling. What’s with this town? Why do the demons refuse to enter it, and why are there so many? Why here? Why not lay siege to Chicago or New York where there’s more people, more havoc to wreak?
He’s never seen demons adhere to the boundary of a town like this. It’s like there’s a giant devil’s trap keeping a protective bubble around them. He’s grateful for it, of course, but it’s strange. Town sized devil’s traps aren’t unheard of, like the one Samule Colt made in Wyoming, but there’s nothing to suggest that’s the case here. Theres no train tracks or strait roads and no one would build something that substantial in the middle of bum ass Minnesota.
Maybe it’s got something to do with that prophet girl, Leah Gideon. I bet those demons learned prophets are protected by archangels the hard way. He smirks at the thought.
Speaking of angels. Why do they have humans doing their dirty work if they are so powerful? If we could get a couple angels down here this would be over in a day, but instead, they have 12-year-olds packing salt rounds.
This whole angel business is so much bigger than he is. At least we have Cass, he thinks, the guys kinda weird, but I trust him. Wonder how he’s doing. Dean’s been thinking about Castiel a lot recently.
Cass has, in fact, not been doing very well ever since his plan to find God fell through, and Dean’s worried about the guy. I wish he was here to help with this case; it’s been throwing me and Sammy for a loop, and though he won’t admit it, he also just kind of misses the feathery bastard.
He decides he needs a drink. He’s been walking in the opposite direction of the local bar, but he remembers passing a liquor store on the way into town. He’s surprised to see multiple shops open but supposes not everyone is a part of the Sacrament Lutheran Militia. And, with the demons refusing to step foot in the town, it’s probably pretty safe, right?
Dean makes a few wrong turns and passes a house on 5th Avenue that has definitely taken the party-while-you-still-can approach to the apocalypse. The music is loud enough to thump in his chest, even from across the street. There are people dancing in almost every window, the door is open and groups of friends crowd the lawn.
A friendly group of pretty girls wave him over with a couple shouts of, "Come join us!" and "Yeah! It’ll be fun!" He does consider it; everyone looks like they’re having a great time. On any other day he would, but for some reason, he feels like he should just walk past.
Eventually, he makes it to the store. He abandons the now smooth rock he kicked all the way from the motel in the gutter. The store’s double-sided sign has been flipped to show “Closed, Sorry!”. He checks his phone for the time and compares it to the store hours posted on the glass. It should be open. All the lights are on, and he thinks he can see someone’s dark hair poking above the shelves. He tries the door. It’s unlocked and he steps in.
It smells of alcohol, which is to be expected, but it's very strong. Maybe an employee decided to sneak a few samples, Dean reasons to himself. The wall of whisky to his left peaks his fancy, and he meanders over. After perusing for a bit, he opts for a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, nothing too special.
Bottle in hand, he approaches the empty cashier's stand and pokes the bell on the counter. He bobs his head and taps his foot to the song that’s been stuck in his head all day as he waits.
Getting a little impatient, he leans over the counter looking for a worker when something read catches his eye. There, on the floor, is a young man in a red apron slumped against the counter, limbs bending at slightly uncomfortable angles.
In one clean motion, Dean draws his gun and vaults the counter. He crouches to press two fingers to the kid’s pulse. Good, just knocked out.
Adrenalin pumping, he creeps out from behind the counter, and methodically peers down each aisle. It’s deserted, save for a few empty bottles scattered about. He checks in the back room where boxes of stock are piled high and packing debris litters the floor. Nothing.
He makes his way back to the store front. “Hello?” He calls out, but only the fluorescent lights reply. Am I going crazy? I thought I saw someone in here. He waits a while longer for a response, for any sign of life.
Still nothing. If someone was here, they must be gone now. He sighs and turns to check on the cashier again. He only takes one step before he hears, “Dean?” He whips around and just about shoots Castiel right between the eyes.
“Jesus Christ, Cass! How many times have I told you not to sneak up on me like that?”
“You snuck up on me. I thought you were a demon who had strayed from the horde.”
Dean shakes his head and tucks his gun back into his waist band. “What the hell are you doin’ here, man?”
“I am currently trying to get drunk.”
What?
Dean eyes the almost empty bottle in Cass’s hand, “Uh, yeah…I can see that.” He gestures to the cashier, “but what’s with-”
“He’s just sleeping,” Cass explains. “It’s likely the most sleep he’ll get all week.”
Dean blinks.
“His manager has him working double time despite the state of this town.”
“Ya, well, apparently the apocalypse is good for business.” Dean nods to the bottle in Castiel’s hand and recalls the raging party earlier that was no doubt fueled by booze. Cass squints and tilts his head a bit.
Dean waves a dismissive hand, “That’s beside the point. Why are you here?”
“Sam called and told me about the demons. I didn’t think I would be very helpful, but I wanted to be here in case something went wrong.”
Dean is dumbfounded, “You-what? Somethin’ is wrong, Cass! Theres like a million demons out there and people are getting’ hurt! And what do you mean you’re not helpful?! You’re a freakin’ angel!
“Fallen angel,” Cass corrects.
Dean rolls his eyes, “fallen or not, you’re still the hardest hitter on our team.”
Cass just stares at his shoes.
Dean dips to catch his eye, “Hey, what’s goin’ on, man? Do you actually think you’re not helpful?” He asks earnestly.
“My previous attempts at being helpful have mostly been fruitless.”
“Come on, that’s just not true. For one, you got my ass outa Hell. You helped me out of that ‘angelic waiting’ room Zachariah locked me up in. You helped me n’ Sam when we died and had to avoid Zachariah in heaven. And even without all that, you just bein’ around is helpful. You’re like, part of the team, y’know?”
Cas stays silent.
“It’s nice to have someone other than Sam around, I mean, don’t get me wrong, Sammy’s great n’ all, but the dude can be annoying as hell.” Dean waits for his teasing of Sam to cheer Cass up a little. It doesn’t, and Cass just stands there.
Dean sighs, “Come on man, this isn’t gonna help,” he reasons and reaches for the bottle in Cass’s hand. He steps back before Dean can get a hold of it, much like a toddler being told to share.
Confused, Dean raises placating hands, “look man, I don’t know what happened, but it kinda seems like you’re givin’ up.”
“No,” Cass mutters, still avoiding eye contact, “I am not giving up, I just…I think I’m just tired.”
Dean’s eyebrows furrow. He didn’t notice before, but, despite Castiel’s angelic nature, he looks utterly exhausted.
“I have spent millennia in constant servitude of heaven. Even now, as a fallen angel and my powers diminished, I still seek to aid the very place I can never return to.” Cass mumbles, looking almost sick.
Dean is taken aback by how weary Cass sounds. He half expects Cass to pinch the bridge of his nose to ease a headache he can’t physically have. Dean recognizes Castiel’s hopeless demeanor; the hanging head, the slouched shoulders, the downcast eyes. He saw it this morning in the mirror.
“Oh” is all he can say.
Cass finally looks Dean in the eye, and Dean decides he doesn’t ever want to see the angel wearing this expression again.
Cass sighs - do angels even need to breathe? - “I am not giving up. I’m just…”
“Takin' a day off?” Dean offers.
Cass nods and there’s a slight shift in the angel’s expression. A barely visible easing of tension. “Yes,” he sighs, “thank you for understanding, Dean.”
“Of course man. I mean, it makes sense. No one can run on empty for long,” he nudges Cass’s shoulder, “even angels.”
Castiel glances down and gives that small half smile. He looks so human right now, Dean thinks to himself, almost shy. The corner of his mouth quirks up at Cass’s awkward posture, arms handing limply and unmoving. His cuffs have unrolled and almost hang past his fingers.
Dean realizes he’s been staring with this stupid grin on his face and Cass is now staring back up at him. He takes a step back, ignores the slight studder in his gut, and clears his throat.
“Drinkin’ alone is no fun, believe me, so…care if I join you?” Dean asks pretending he doesn't feel jittery all the sudden.
Cass looks pleasantly surprised but then seems to change his mind. “I wouldn’t want to keep you from your work,” he says with a frown.
“Oh no, no, It’s fine. If I go back, I’d only distract Sam. Plus I’ve been needin’ a day off myself.”
Cass contemplates for a minute, then smiles. “Yes. I would like that.”
Dean returns his smile, “Pass that here.” He takes the bottle from Cass and takes a long drink.
“Woah man, slow down. How am I supposed to keep up? What is that, your fifth bottle or somethin’?”
“Eighth” Cass corrects.
“Eighth?! I know you have to drink more for it to like, actually effect you, but damn!”
“Yes, it’s quite the nuisance.” Cass mumbles and fills Dean’s shot glass.
“So how much more do you need? Like if I take a shot,” Dean pauses to down his glass, “How much would you need to get the same buzz?”
Cass thinks on it for a bit, doing some quick math, “Roughly a gallon so about 85 shots.”
Dean struggles to pick his jaw up off the floor, “A Gallon!”
“Yes, currently I’ve only had the equivalent of about one and a half drinks,” he huffs. “Do you still think you need to ‘keep up’ with me?” Cass cocks his head at Dean, the slightest hint of sarcasm in his voice.
Dean chuckles and shakes his head, “No dude. You need to catch up with me! Here.” Dean hands Cass a brand-new bottle, and he goes to take a sip. “No Cass, down the whole thing! Come on,” Dean claps, a big smile on his face, “right here, right now! Chug!”
After some persuasion, Cass tips the bottle to his lips. The liquid level steadily makes its way down the bottle and then it starts to swirl. Drops spill down Castiel’s face as the alcohol whirlpools down the neck of the container. Dean follows those drops down the Cass's neck and his focus is snagged by the bob of his Adam’s apple. His mouth goes dry.
After what feels like an hour, Cass sets down the empty bottle. He drags his thumb across his lips, and Dean’s eyes linger there too, because damn.
Cass gives a satisfied sigh and huffs a small laugh, “Ninth bottle.”
Dean laughs too; he can’t seem to stop smiling. His insides feel all warm and glowy, but that’s probably just the alcohol, right? Again, he catches himself staring and forces his eyes away Hoping Cass didn’t notice.
I’m just a little tipsy is all. He tries to reason. I should find something to do, something to distract me. What? No. Not distract, that’s a loaded term, just-just something to do. Ok, ok, think. Something to do…something to do. What do people do when they drink? I don’t know, I always drink alone. Okay, okay, drinking in groups, like parties…oh! Drinking games!
“Dean?...Dean!” Castiel is waving his hand in Dean’s face, snapping him from his little internal panic.
“Hu? What?” Dean spudders.
“Are you alright?” Cass is looking at him quizzically, that same head tilt Dean associates with a curious puppy.
“Uh, yeah, sorry, I was just trying to think if I knew any drinkin’ games.” That’s only half true.
“Drinking games?” Cass echoes.
“Ya, ever heard of beer pong?”
“No.”
“You fill cups with beer and try to bounce ping pong balls into the other team’s cups. If you make it in, they have to drink. First one to make all their shots in, wins.”
Cass looks confused, “So humans have invented competitive games with the goal of becoming intoxicated, but the punishment for poor performance is to drink and become intoxicated? How strange…”
Dean laughs, “Well, when you live in a shit hole like this, you do what you can.”
Cass agrees to play. They find a beer pong party kit for sale and set it up on a display table. Dean fills his cups with beer and Castiel’s with hard liquor all the way to the top because “that way its fair.” Once he’s finished, he claps and rubs his hands together; he’s oddly very excited.
“All right! This is almost like an actual party! I wish we had some music though.”
“What kind of music would you like, Dean?”
“We don’t have a way to play anythin’, Cass, unless you’ve got a cassette player up your ass.”
“No, I can tap into the building’s speakers and play any radio station.” Without waiting for Dean’s reply, the overhead speakers flick onto some random radio station playing a best of Led Zeppelin collection.
Again, Dean can’t help but smile. “This is awesome, dude! But how’d you know Led Zeppelin was my favorite?”
“You had mentioned it in the past.”
“And you remembered?”
“Of course I did. Humans can be…confusing, but favorites are fairly uncomplicated. They make people happy, so I thought that information about you would be useful to have.”
Dean stays silent. Cass says it like it’s no big deal, but Dean can’t remember the last time someone, besides Sammy, went out of their way to remember something about him, especially with the intention of making him happy. And for Cass, a higher being, to care about something so trivial simply because it makes Dean happy, is kind of insane. That’s like if Dean took the time to learn and care about what kind of dirt an individual worm preferred to eat.
“You are…surprised I remembered?” Cass asks, eyes squinted.
“I’m more surprised you cared,” he admits.
Cass tilts his head, a confused, and saddened look in his eye. It’s the same look he gave Dean after he was rescued from Hell.
“What’s the matter? You don’t think you deserve to be saved?”
“Of course I care, Dean, you are not just some human, you’re…important to me, and I like to see you happy. I wasn’t permitted to care before I fell, emotions were strictly human, sinful even.”
He looks up and to the side with a fond smile. “I suppose I enjoy caring. Caring about you, about Sam, about everything. I never properly thanked you for teaching me to care.” His intense blue eyes shift to Dean, “So, thank you, Dean.”
The word humanity pops into Dean’s head. That’s what’s been different about Cass, he feels more human. He cares. His expressions are less robotic, too, like his face muscles have almost learned how to function properly (almost). His eyes have a more soulful glint that wasn’t there before, and they squint when he smiles. Oh, and he smiles! He didn’t use to do that. Dean likes it when he smiles.
Dean also can't help but get hung up on Cass's words, and his heart aches in that pleasant, fluttery way. He cares about me, he thinks, he cares...about me.
“I-uh…you’re welcome, Cass.” Dean stammers, those remarkably blue eyes locking him in place. "And thank you, I-I care about you too..." He confesses with descending volume.
Dean steps forward, wanting to get lost in the angel’s eyes, though he already is. He wants to be even closer. Give a hug or get one. He wants to hold and be held, and he thinks that maybe, just maybe, Cass wants that too. The angel is looking at Dean like he's a divine treasure. Fond, captivated eyes soaking up every minute detail.
Cass opens his mouth to say something when the DJ's raspy, unnecessarily loud voice comes over the radio, spewing some nonsense about a giveaway with artificial excitement. The interruption shatters whatever delicate moment had formed, and startles Cass from voicing his thought.
Dean huffs an awkward laugh, trying to pretend he wasn’t just fanaticizing about what Cass’s lips would feel like on his. “Anyway, I think it’s an improvement, this new, uh, humany Cass. You’re not too bad when you’re not such a tight ass.” He jokes and hands Cass a ping pong ball. He tries to ignore when Castiel’s fingers brush against his and gestures to their game. “Why don’t you go first?”
Dean gets absolutely clobbered by the angel and his “superior mathematical understanding of parabolic trajectories.” A bunch of bullshit if you ask Dean. Cass denies having used his powers to float the balls in, but Dean is onto him. Either way, they both end up with all their cups empty because Cass still needed to get properly drunk.
About an hour later Dean is pretty hammered. He’s currently sitting, leaning against the fridge door, where he meant to retrieve a case of beer but ended up on the floor. Castiel had joined him carrying several bottles, and now, they’re just chatting, shooting the breeze.
“So, you’re tellin’ me…that angels have music, but you think that human music is better? What happened to the harps n’ the…the trumpets? Aren’t you guys supposed to be like…the best at everythin'?” Dean’s speech is slow and slightly slurred like he’s got a rubber tongue.
“Well, instruments didn’t exist until humans created them,” Cass takes a big swig from his bottle, “and, typical angels lack the necessary creativity for human art. I believe most of the music we have made is just variations of the waves that stars and planets emit. It severely lacks emotions.”
Dean closes his eyes and tilts his head to rest of the fridge door. “I mean…that sounds freakin’ cool, ‘star music’?”
“Most humans would find the sound of stars unsettling.” Cass says matter-of-factly.
Dean opens his mouth like he’s about to ask if Cass can show him but then decides against it. “So…if there weren’t any instruments, how’d you make sound?”
“It’s not the kind of sound you can hear…” he tails off looking for a way to explain it to Dean’s alcohol addled brain. “It’s akin to radio waves, like angel radio. We can manipulate the frequency and amplitude to achieve the desired tone. That is a gross oversimplification, but I think the concept would overwhelm you in your current state.
“Ya…good call buddy.” Dean sighs and lets himself settle into a comfortable silence with Cass by his side. He keeps thinking about all the little moments He and Cass have been sharing throughout the night. Little glances here, a slight touch there, and how Cass would gaze up at Dean through those long dark eyelashes every time he took a drink.
'I suppose I enjoy caring. Caring about you' keeps playing in Dean's head like a broken record, and it might as well be as intoxicating as the alcohol. It gets him feeling all giddy, and by now, he can't convince himself that this light feeling in his chest is just from the alcohol.
But most of all, Dean keeps returning to what Cass was going to say before the obnoxious DJ's interruption. It looked like it had taken Cass a while to work up his courage, like he was hand picking every word.
Cass stands, pulling Dean back to the present moment. Wait, is he leaving? He grabs at the angel's arm to keep him here, but his fingers just graze fabric. Cass only retrieves another bottle off the shelf, oh, and Dean notices how empty they all are. “I thought you were exaggeratin’ when you said you would probably ‘drink the whole store’, but you were not.”
Cass mumbles an affirmative “mhm” around his new bottle as slides back down next to Dean. His new spot is much closer than it was before, their shoulders and thighs now rubbing up against each other's. The touch sends shocks through Dean, and he subconsciously leans into it.
He leans his head back to rest on the fridge door again. His eye lids feel like lead, and he thinks he can let them rest just for a little. He’s vaguely aware of a sliding sensation as his body slowly inches down the refrigerator door. Unbeknownst to him, his progress is halted as his head lightly catches on Castiel’s shoulder. He takes a deep breath that smells like summer thunderstorms and adjusts his head to a more comfortable position.
It’s silent for some time as Dean just breathes in Cass's aroma. “Well,” he says eyes still closed, “first time gettin’ drunk, how you feelin’? Finaly catch up to me, angel?” Although Castiel is an angel, the word rolls off Dean’s tongue like a pet name. Angel. Dean smiles and rolls the word around in his mind. Angel, angel…my angel.
“Uncoordinated.” Cass answers bluntly.
“Well yeah, but like, how’d'you feel.” Dean repeats with that goofy smile still plastered to his face.
“I feel…” he pauses, looking for the word, “relaxed, contented even,”
Dean gives a small grunt in agreement.
Cass smiles down at Dean resting on his shoulder, “but that may be due to the current company.”
Dean’s silly smile stretches into a full-blown grin, and he chuckles a bit. “You flirtin’ with me angel?” he mumbles, opening one eye to peek up at Cass. He realizes he’s snuggled up on Cass’s shoulder but can’t seem to remember why he shouldn’t be. All he knows is the alcohol has given Cass rosy cheeks, soft sleepy eyes, and that it’s a very cute look on him.
They stare on and Dean’s been ensnared in a sparkling blue web once again. They stay like that for what feels like hours and seconds at the same time. Why didn’t I ever get this close to Cass before. Damned if I had known what I was missing out on.
Cas wets his lips and the movement grabs Dean’s attention. He can’t decide where he wants to look more; Cass’s eyes or his lips. Dean’s eyes ping-pong between them and he thinks his heart must have gotten its hands on a jackhammer.
“Dean?” Cass asks concerned.
Cass is doing that head tilt thing again and Dean thinks he might pounce. Dean answers with a small, unintentional, squeaking sound.
“Your heart rate is alarmingly elevated, are you alright?”
The gravel in Castiel’s voice sends a shiver up Dean’s spine and rattles the butterflies in their cage.
“Y-yes…you’re just…so close”
Cass starts and rushes to pull away, “I apologize, Dean, I didn’t intend to-” he’s cut off by Dean grabbing the lapel of his trench coat and pulling him back in.
“No, s’okay…not a bad thing,” He whispers, breath brushing Cass’s ear.
Cass seems genuinely shocked by this revelation as he peers down at Dean, whose whole body is practically hanging from Cass’s coat.
“I don’t understand. Your vitals indicate that you are frightened.”
“I’m not scared, Cass, I’m nervous.”
"Nervous?"
"Yeah..."
“Why?”
“Cause..." Dean swallows hard, and takes a deep breath, "because, I feel like I wanna kiss you..."
Castiel's eyes widen. Then Dean's mouth is moving without permission, “Can I?” Voice lowering to below a whisper, “…Can I kiss you?”
Silence.
Stupid, stupid! Why did I say that? Of course he doesn’t, he’s an angel! I'm just some guy. Fuck, I really just ruined the only good night I've had in months. Dean lowers his eyes, releasing Cass’s coat and lets his hand fall. It doesn’t get far as Cass catches. Dean’s attention snaps back to Cass, and the angel's eyes seem to sparkle.
“Yes, you may, Dean…I think I would like that very much.”
“You-you would?”
Cass nods.
Dean doesn't seem to believe him, so Cass pulls him by the hand. Closer and closer until Dean can see his reflection in Cass’s eyes and smells that familiar electric scent.
Heart in his throat, Dean leans in and presses a chased kiss to the angel’s lips. He pulls away, lips buzzing and tingling, to observe Cass's reaction. Small slits of dim blue light slip out from Cass's closed eyes. Is that a good thing?
Dean's lungs start to burn, and he has to exhale the breath he didn’t realize he was holding in. Cass opens his still glowing eyes, bathing them both in a soft blue light.
"Was that okay?" Dean whispers.
"Yes." Cass reassures, already leaning back in.
Dean's heart rate spikes, but he meets him in the middle, nevertheless. It’s gentle, maybe even scared, both afraid the other will crumble like sand and slip between their fingers. It’s Cass who works up the courage to reach a hand up to hold Dean’s face. Dean leans into his touch and kisses him deeper.
Eventually, Dean has to pull away to catch his breath. Cass chases after him with his lips and looks disappointed when they miss their mark. Dean huffs a breathless laugh. He feels like he’s made of helium and that he might just float away. They stare into each other’s eyes, that same charged eye contact they frequently share.
With a smirk, Dean swings a leg over Cass and sits in his lap. Surprised, Cass just sits there, eyes wide.
“This ok, angel?” Dean whispers, lips ghosting Cass’s ear.
He nods, brain still short circuited. Dean, then, pulls Cass by the tie and crashes their mouths together.
It jostles Cass out of his daze, and he places his hands along Dean’s spine, pulling him in even closer. Dean's other hand snakes its way into Cass's hair and pulls gently, positioning Cass where he wants him.
Testing the waters, Dean darts his tongue out to trace Cass's lower lip, and if the flash of blue light from the angel's eyes is any indicator, Dean assumes Cass likes that. He does it again and receives a powerful squeeze from Cass's wondering hands.
Dean gasps when Cass's tongue parts his own lips, surprised by the angel's ambition. Cass tastes better than Dean could have ever dreamed. Like godrays piercing through rain clouds. Like the first chill of autumn, and the last bloom of spring. Dean's head swims, and he has to pull away before he passes out.
"Where did you learn to kiss like that?" Dean pants.
"I have been alive long enough to understand the basics." Cass deadpans.
"That was not just ''the basics', Cass, that was...incredible..."
Cass smiles, "I'm glad my first attempt was satisfactory."
"Wait, your first attempt? Cass, am I your first kiss?"
"Yes." He admits a little coy.
That makes Dean inexplicably happy. He can't help but lean in and plant another fond kiss to his angel's lips. He goes to pull away, but Cass's strong hands hold him in place, and Dean practically melts. Dean has to put a finger to Castiel's mouth, so he has room to ask his pressing question.
"What were you gonna say earlier? Before, when the radio program cut you off."
Cass goes stiff, like a deer in headlights.
"Cass?" Dean asks concerned.
"...I was going to say that I missed you..."
That warms Dean's heart a bit, but Cass is a terrible liar. "I missed you too, but is that all you were goanna say?"
"..."
"Cass," Dean urges.
Cass sighs, "I...I also intended to admit using my powers on you."
Deans blood runs cold, "You-what?"
"I am sorry, Dean...I know you don't like it when I-"
"Fuck, Cass! What'd 'you do! Did you-did you force me into-" he gestures wildly between them, "-this?" He's suddenly very aware of his vulnerable position atop Cass's lap.
"No, Dean." Cass asserts, slightly offended. "You instigated this based on your own desires."
Dean's face heats up and he's sure he's beat red. "Well, what then?" He asks less defensive now.
"I knew you were coming, and I knew you would have joined that party on 5th Avenue..." Cass says looking beyond guilty, "but, I suppose I was feeling lonely. Lonely for you. So, I suggested that you keep walking."
"Suggested? So...you didn't actually force me to?"
"No, Dean. I would never intact my will onto yours"
"So, that's it?"
"Yes, I-I thought you would be more upset."
"Well, I'm not thrilled about it, but you didn't actually make me do anythin', right?"
"Correct."
"So, no harm, no foul. Just next time you feel 'lonely for me', just shoot me a text instead." He pauses he likes the way 'next time sounds'. "We can hangout or...do more of this..." Dean whispers as his hand trails down Cass's chest.
Cass nods his head eagerly. "More of this," he echoes and pulls Dean into another deep kiss that leaves Dean lightheaded.
More of this...