entrancelogs | [Closed] Gimme All Your Lovin'

After the gross failure that was his favorite holiday, Dean has settled into his rooms like a hermit. In retrospect, he surmises that the whole "being half a shark" thing didn't help with his attempted wooing of various ladies, as they all tended to be either too prudish or too smart. He's well-known here. His reputation is common knowledge, damn them all. No wonder he can't get laid.

It's not a total loss, though. Relegating himself to his and Castiel's shared room has opened up other possible ways to pass the time and, in the process, apologize to Cas for being sort of a douchebag.

Which is why Dean is standing over the stove, wielding a frying pan and a plate of poorly-formed burger patties.

He has absolutely no idea what he's doing.

But he sets about cooking the patties anyway, with iron determination - like any Winchester - his brow creased in concentration. Once the meat starts browning Dean relaxes a little and turns up his all-Classic-Rock-all-the-time radio he got from the mystical closet of holding. "Hell yeah, ZZ Top," He mumbles, singing along as he pulls various ingredients from the motel fridge.

Cheese, lettuce, ketchup, mayonnaise. Mustard and tomato. Bacon.

"Gimme all your lovin', all your hugs and kisses too," Dean follows distractedly, cracking a beer can open and taking a sip before belting, "Gimme all your lovin', don't let up until we're through!" As the meat cooks, he breaks into a positively stunning air-guitar riff.

Which is the exact moment Castiel chooses to wander in, minding his own business, not at all drawn by the small of burgers, nope.

...is Dean performing a ritual? Cas has never seen one that required such enthusiastic and unfettered gestures. Then he notices the lyrics Dean is belting out, just a tiny bit off-key. Ah. Not a ritual then, at least not in the sense he is accustomed to.

"Hello Dean," he remarks during a quieter segment, wherein Dean hums under his breath, eyes closed, fingers picking out delicate fingering on the ...air. Cas is not smiling, you can't prove it.

"Jesus- Cas, way to give a guy some warning," Dean flails a little, falling out of rhythm with his air guitar and abandoning all attempts to follow along with the music. He clears his throat, shoving both hands into his back pockets and rocking on the balls of his feet.

Cas is silently mocking him, he just knows it.

"I, uh. Hey," He manages awkwardly, turning down the radio volume. "I was just, um- Shit, hold on-" The burgers have started smoking, and Dean grapples for the spatula to flip them, letting out a heavy sigh of relief before looking back at the angel.

"...makin'...burgers...for you..."

Cas blinks, headtilting. "I don't understand. Why did you not just get them from the mansion?" Cas has finally caught on to the way things generally work around here, so this breach of custom confuses him.

Great. Now he has to explain himself.

"'Cause...y'know, things are more special when you make 'em yourself," Dean offers weakly, his crooked grin a little less than convincing. Haven't they gone over this before, with the pie? The...pie incident...that shall not be referred to ever again.

"Oh," says Cas. Dean is making an effort for him, doing something he doesn't have to, to show that he cares enough to. To convey... what? Cas wonders.

It's sweet and unexpected, and makes a funny tickly feeling bloom in Cas' stomach. He swallows, tamping down the strange warmth he's been feeling around Dean lately. "Why did you wish them to be special?"

"...yeah," Dean replies quietly, suddenly feeling a lot more on-the-spot than he had previously anticipated. He turns back to the pan, straightening up and poking experimentally at one of the patties, grateful it hadn't burned. "I...um..."

He struggles to find the right term to describe exactly what he feel, but he doesn't really know what he feels, so Dean settles on blurting out his apology.

"I'msorry," He says in a rush, all one word, practically an exhale. "For...the whole hunting thing. For being stupid."

Smooth, Dean. Real smooth.

Cas watches Dean's back, tense and stiff, and hears his apology, rushed and awkward and... sincere. Suddenly Cas feels bad, not for being angry with Dean, but for carrying it like a grudge. It's okay, he almost wants to say, to bring confidence back to those bones. It's not, though. It's really not okay, what Dean did - for Cas or for himself. That's not to say Castiel has no reply for him, however.

Instead, he lays a hand on Dean's shoulder, a little above the place that will bear his mark someday. "I forgive you," he says quietly. It's not the same as saying it's okay. It's better.

Dean twitches a little at the warm contact, swallowing the frog in his throat and trying to stare at the (really awful) burger patties cooking to his right. While he likes to throw around accusatory statements about how angels are obliged to forgive, and that they shouldn't hold grudges in the first place - being heavenly things and all that - Dean bites his tongue and casts a weary smile over his left shoulder at Castiel.

The relief he feels is unbelievable, and Dean is almost surprised by the weight lifted off of him - a heaviness he hadn't known was there until it was gone.

"...thanks," He croaks. "I'm...I'm not so good at this apology thing."

Cas returns Dean's smile with a small one of his own. "You are fine at it," he says. "It's your sincerity that counts."

He looks away and clears his throat, hand sliding from Dean's shoulder to hang loose at his side, awkward himself when it comes down to it. "For my part, I am also...sorry, sorry that I bore a grudge."

Then he meets Dean's eyes and grins, quick and self-deprecating. "I guess I'm not much better at apologies."

"Welcome to the club," Dean mumbles gruffly, "But y'know, I, uh...just wanted the thrill. Like it used to be."

Before I came here.

Waving his hand, he makes a grab for the handle of the cooking pan and tries to hold down his writhing stomach. He's been thinking about...things...for a while now. Weird things. Things that, after the Kurt Hummel Debacle and his fervent denial of any sort of attraction to the same sex, he really ought not be thinking about.

It's a strange attraction.

Dean doesn't know if it really counts as gay, since Castiel is an angel and angels don't have a sex. They're just there. He happens to be in a dude's body, is all. In dire need of a one-night-stand that he was so certain he was going to get on Valentine's Day, the horny anxiety thrumming through him, Dean is almost one-hundred percent certain that whatever closeness he and Cas usually share is the problem. Their proximity is the problem. It makes him miss contact too much.

Dean is realizing that his self-defined sexuality is pretty damn shaky. Gay panic is not an appropriate medium for a man of his history, and yet here it is. His confident straightness is showing cracks.

"...anyway." Ignoring it like he had been for the past couple of weeks was as good as he could do. If he ignored it, it would go away. That was logical. That made sense. Dean makes eye contact again, smiling, and curses himself as he turns around to face the angel.

"The, uh...burgers. They're probably not gonna be all that great, 'cause I don't cook that often, but...yeah."

Edited 2011-02-15 18:47 (UTC)

Cas would ask Dean why he misses hunting, with its danger and uncertainty and complete lack of employment benefits, but he knows it would be hypocritical of him. He misses having a purpose too. Probably why he's gravitated even closer to Dean here than he has in his own reality.

Cas only notices he's staring at Dean when he waves the burgers under his gaze, drawing attention to their existence again. "They smell good to me," he offers, cracking a brief awkward smile again. Granted, he doesn't exactly have a lot of reference for that, but they do, actually. "Thank you for making them," he adds solemnly.

Abruptly needing something to do with his hands, something besides touching Dean, he turns to the small table, littered with empty beer bottles and detritus. "Should I clear this?"

Dean is a man accustomed to routine. Even here, a lot of his habits have persisted and carried over. Wake up around seven or eight, depending, check the salt lines at the window - you can never be too careful - followed by a shower. Brush teeth, pick out a t-shirt and something long-sleeved to go over it. Jeans. Boots. Coffee. Sometimes coffee before the clothes. It's variable.

But without his job, he's practically useless. Dean has little to no real-life experience, not in the corporate world, and not even in something as mundane as retail or food-service; he'd rather slit his own throat than resort to that. Dean is good at a select few things: flirting, cars, and hunting. He has several gold medals in the Flirting Olympics, and he's never been dumb enough to avoid using his own looks to distract whoever needed it. With a mental groan, Dean recalls that that sort of thing had applied to men on an occasion or two.

"Uh...yeah, sure. Thanks," He tripped over his own words, manning his station at the stove again and letting slices of cheese melt on the patties before scraping them off onto buns. Decking out the burgers with the usual (everything on it), Dean grabs two beer bottles from the fridge and sticks them under one arm, balancing a plate in each hand as he settles on one side of the table.

Sliding a beer over to Castiel and placing the plates in front of them, Dean snaps off the cap of his bottle and takes a heavy swig before picking up his burger. He doesn't start eating, though - He waits, almost nervously, for Cas to do so first.

...is there something wrong with the burgers? Cas wonders why Dean isn't already eating; he's usually more enthusiastic about food. Instead, he's looking... nervous?

Cas sniffs his burger as surreptitiously as possible (not very, and it's not as if he could tell the difference between a good and bad burger anyway, but he hopes he could at least sense if the meat were spoiled, highly unlikely as the possibility is), but all seems fine. So he shrugs, and takes a bite. Far from bad, it's actually quite good, and he lets a little noise of pleasure escape him. He closes his eyes for a moment to savor the taste, and then looks up at Dean expectantly, waiting for him to join in.

Castiel is looking at him funny. Why is he looking at him like that? it isn't as though...as though Dean is doing anything weird, right? They're just two regular guys sitting at a table, drinking beers and having burgers. Normal guy stuff. Dean used to do it with Sammy all the time.

Why does it feel so strange now? And Castiel just-

Oh. Right. Eating, yes. That.

Dean takes an unnecessarily large bite, hoping that keeping his mouth full will keep him from saying anything incredibly, utterly stupid. At Castiel's prompting he feels comfortable enough, but the sound that the angel makes knots Dean's stomach and swallowing suddenly becomes a chore. Coughing to clear his windpipe after he forces the food down, Dean engrosses himself in his burger.

Only when he's nearly done with it does he hazard to look up at Cas again and sees...ketchup.

"Um...dude, you got a little...ah..." Dean gestures with his finger to his own cheek.

Cas looks blank for a moment, blinking in incomprehension, then gets an ohh expression on his face. He swipes his tongue around his lips, hoping he's gotten whatever Dean is gesturing about.

Dean's acting strange overall, actually. Distracted and jumpy, and uncharacteristically awkward.

Castiel isn't getting it. This is starting to become frustrating. Grimacing, Dean shakes his head minutely, eyes trained on the spot, unable to look away. Shit, this is...this is really a problem. After grinding his teeth for a moment in consternation, Dean pushes his plate aside and leans further across the table, beckoning Cas to do the same.

"C'mere," He mumbles in slight frustration, warring with himself.

Cas is totally confused. He doesn't understand what the big deal is; and anyway all he needs is a napkin...which seem to be rather missing from the table.

Dean seems really quite concerned though, so when he leans forward and indicates Cas should as well, he does so, leaning forward over his own plate, which is mostly empty. It was a good burger, okay?

Clearing his throat surreptitiously and chewing his lip, Dean reaches out. Come on, man. Keep it tog- Seriously, this isn't that weird. You used to help Sam when he was little. This is the same. Only Sam wasn't an angel and didn't have stupid blue eyes and- Oh, fuck it.

Cupping one side of Cas' jaw with his fingertips, Dean brushes his thumb over the spot quickly. Castiel's stubble scrapes the pad of his finger, and the ketchup is gone.

"...uh. There."

He swallows, staring. "Ketchup," Dean manages quietly by way of explanation.

Cas stills at the sensation of Dean's hands on his face, warm firm and... are they shaking a bit? They're gone again before he can really tell, and instead he's staring at the bit of ketchup clinging to Dean's thumb.

He makes an attempt to consider the ramifications of what he's about to do, but can't let good condiments go to waste, his mind insists, a little stupidly. So before Dean can pull away, Cas grabs his wrist and leans forward the couple of inches necessary to lick the ketchup off his thumb. The line of his nail is a blunt shape in contrast to the soft pad of skin as his tongue grazes over it, gathering the taste of salt and tomato.

Then he releases Dean's wrist and leans back again, not noticing that his tie has trailed through the grease on his plate. He was a little preoccupied, okay.

Holy crap. Holy crap.

Dean just sort of stares at the angel for a moment, still in shock. His thumb is cold now that it's covered in saliva and exposed to the air, and Dean hurriedly wipes it on his jeans.

Castiel can't...he can't do that, and then not expect Dean to be sporting some wood under the table. Cas isn't even saying anything, either. It's like it was nothing. It's like it was normal. A little angry with himself for getting so worked up about a socially-retarded angel licking him, Dean's eyes wander down to Cas' empty plate, and the filthy state of his tie.

"We should, um-" Oh Christ. Is he blushing? Fuck, he's not some schoolgirl. "...your tie. It's dirty."

Dean's breathing has gotten really unsteady. That's... odd. Interesting.

Cas blinks for a moment when Dean speaks to him. He's still thinking about the feel of the pad of Dean's thumb under his tongue, how something intended merely as tidiness - and Cas likes food, okay? - turned startlingly pleasurable. Cas' stomach is unsure what to do with that, fluttering in ticklish ways, and he realizes it's not from licking bad ketchup off Dean's skin. It's from licking Dean's skin.

Then he looks down at his own tie where Dean is indicating. "Oh." Now he feels his own face warm. He gets up from the table, a little over-hasty perhaps, but he finds he suddenly needs distance from Dean, before he does... he doesn't know. He goes to the kitchenette sink and turns the water on, holding the sticky end of his tie under it. Like that'll work.

"Look, just-" Dean groans quietly in frustration as Castiel gets up and plods over to the kitchen sink, holding his tie under the water. Yeah, like that's gonna help. Dean sighs and gets up, moving over to the angel's side and poking him to turn around. Not taking 'no' for an answer, he quietly, methodically, undoes the angel's tie and drops it in the sink, wiping his hands on his jeans.

Dean's hands are sure and warm on Castiel's neck, and once he's removed Cas' tie and dropped it in the sink, Cas realizes he's effectively pinned there, counter behind him, wet shirtfront to Dean. He's not sure why that makes him feel nervous, but he swallows audibly as he forces himself to meet Dean's eyes.

"Thank you."

"...you're welcome."

Dean intones just as quietly, swallowing. Mentally, Dean pauses. He hasn't realized that he's been hoping so desperately for someone to relate to, to over-identify with; that the need exists at all is unsettling. Being accustomed to a lifetime on the outskirts of society is one thing, but that doesn't mean it's not exhausting at times. Maybe Dean is just starting to show his age. He's almost thirty years old, and through with trying to fit in anywhere he doesn’t belong.

Staring at Castiel's mouth distractedly, Dean knows very well that he'd expected this moment to come - he'd felt it the instant he actually considered doing something for Cas, like favors are revelations, or whatever.

Dean licks his lips.

"We'll...get you a, um. Another one."

Cas tracks the progress of Dean's tongue with his eyes, and finds himself abruptly envying those lips the privilege of getting touched by it. It's so strange to be feeling this sensation, so human.

Not many minutes ago, he was still angry with Dean, still liable to snap at him, and now all he wants to do is be close to him, to touch him. He half reaches out, then stops himself, curling his hand stiffly down at his side. Whatever happens... he wants to let Dean take charge. He trusts him, he realizes with a slightly hysterical mental laugh, and fights to keep his countenance calm, even as the ticklish feeling still roils in his stomach.

"Cas..."

If Dean had to choose just one word to describe his relationship with Cas, it would be 'momentum'. The two of them have been pulling each other along since they first met, unable to stop their tumble down the rabbit hole when all they intended was a peek. Castiel isn’t the only one to blame; Dean probably gave the first push. But that can’t stop him from surrendering to the force of the angel’s will, his torque, once he really gets going - like when he's calling out Dean for being an idiot - and so a part of Dean knows all along that he ultimately wouldn’t object to whatever Cas should happen to want.

Like now, for instance. Castiel's hand twitches towards him, ever so slightly. He wants something. He feels. Dean has always been fairly unpredictable when he's emotional. It's why he avoids this sort of confrontation whenever he can help it. He's still unable to admit for how long he’s been thinking about Cas this way. Sometime within the last few weeks he’d realized that Cas wasn’t nearly as cold or robotic as he first seemed, and maybe even before that, Dean had realized how much he wanted to be the one to find out how deep those still waters could run.

"Cas," He says again, quieter this time as he slides his hands up the angel's forearms. The thread holding him back snaps, and Dean rushes forward, covering Castiel's mouth with his own in a hasty, somewhat desperate kiss.

Dean says Cas' name once, then again, slow and somehow hesitant. His fingers brush upward over Castiel's forearms, raising goosebumps that make him shiver a tiny bit. Then, in the space between one blink and the next, Dean's mouth is on Castiel's, warm and soft, pressing a little too firmly.

Castiel's reactions feel slow and clumsy, like walking in water up to his knees. He stills, cataloging the details of Dean's face so close to his own, close enough that his freckles blur, and Cas can see his eyelashes tremble, eyelids tightly closed. Dean's hands are clenching his wrists like he's holding on for dear life. A beat passes, and Cas feels Dean tense and start to pull away.

It's then that he stirs to action himself, pulling an arm out of Dean's grip to bring it up around the back of his neck, fingers carding into short soft bristles of hair, letting his own eyes fall shut as he reins Dean in and kisses him back. He has absolutely no idea what he's doing, but he knows he needs to.

He'd waited the customary moment-for-reciprocation, and after swallowing a heavy feeling of disappointment and embarrassment, Dean was prepared to pull away. But Castiel regains the use of one hand and promptly rests it at the base of Dean's skull, dragging him back in.

The angel's actions aren't met with much resistance.

Feeling a light smile tug on the edges of his lips, Dean presses them back to Cas' with less force than before, fingers relaxing and resting on Castiel's hips. Dudes and chicks are so different physically that Dean should be bothered by the hardness of muscle as opposed to smooth curves, but the unassuming, tentative way that Castiel's mouth is moving under his own is sort of distracting, so he employs the use of his tongue in an attempt to see what angels taste like.

Cas is relieved when Dean sinks against him, his momentary tenseness gone in favor of pressing closer. Dean's hands are tangling softly where Cas' shirt is tucked into his pants, fitting warm over his hips. It's almost enough to distract him from the kiss - but only almost. Dean's lips aren't something anyone could ignore, he thinks, disoriented with the surreality of this situation. Somehow he's gone from tentative, awkward social steps around Dean, not even thinking of the existence of... well, this, to kissing him, breathing his breath, feeling his heat. He can't say he minds.

Then Dean swipes his tongue over the seam of Castiel's lips, and he parts them with a startled gasp, letting Dean in without even quite meaning to. It's strange and makes his stomach flip, and he lets out a noise of confused bliss even as he lets Dean further in, fingers clenching in his hair.

Angel tastes so much better than previously anticipated. He's got that vaguely spicy scent, like incense, along with something sharp and startling, like a quick whiff of ozone. It's somewhat inebriating, as smells go, and Dean groans contently into Cas' mouth, thumbs pressing into the dip of his hips.

Maybe it's been too long since he last got laid. Maybe he's just...really...really desperate for physical contact.

Maybe he actually likes Castiel.

The last one makes sense, taking into account all the awkward squirminess he's felt recently. Dean should have known better. He did know better. He knew the instant he started making those damn burgers that this would happen, and holy fuck, he doesn't even care.

So he backs Castiel up against the nearest counter, kisses growing hungrier by the second, tongue and teeth far too eager to explore something new, consequences be damned.

Hell, he's already damned. There's no problem here.

Dean is growing more urgent, more intense by the second, pinning Cas against the counter, entangling their tongues, overwhelming his mind and body. His kisses feel insistent, almost manic, and Cas mentally pulls up short at that. He really, really doesn't want to ask the question that's forming in his mind, wants nothing more than to sink into Dean, to let this happen. But he suddenly needs to know.

Before he falls farther and harder than he already has.

It's with a great effort that he stills, his lack of response finally stilling Dean with him. He pants a moment, swallows. Wishes he didn't have to say this. "Dean," he forces out, voice gravelly and shot, unable to meet Dean's eyes, "Dean, is this-- Do you really want this?" Then softer but inexorable, "I am not a woman."

Dean whines unhappily, nosing at Cas as the angel stiffens and pulls back, glancing down between them. Is he so starved for contact that he'll just start molesting the first person he gets attached to? Castiel is right. He's not...a woman. He's not what Dean is used to. He's harder and gruffer and makes Dean shiver all the way through, but it's still foreign and too different to transition to so suddenly, when he hasn't done anything but shove his tongue in the poor guy's mouth.

Convenient, then, that now would be the time for gay panic to settle in and dig its claws into Dean like a maddened cat. He takes a careful step away from Castiel, eyes wide.

"I, uh..."

Fuck.

"...I'm sorry," He apologizes quickly, swallowing hard and backing up until he reaches the partition in the room. Starting suddenly, Dean bolts into the bathroom and slams the door shut behind him.

Suddenly Cas understands how Dean may have felt, that night months ago. When Castiel had wings as physically real as the ones always hidden just beyond the visible plane. When the sensation had been too much and Cas had panicked, and found a door between himself and Dean.

Looking back, he understands that better now too, understands that this... whatever this is, has been going on, building inexorably for longer than he's been aware of until now.

"Dean," he says to the closed door, trying not to sound desperate, but also letting some of what he feels through so Dean can hear it. "Dean. I do not mean that it is wrong." He swallows. "Or that I do not want it. You have done nothing I have not... desired. But I would never compel you. If you don't want it too, then..." he trails off, falling silent.

He stands there in front of the door for a full minute, arms dangling idle at his sides. Finally he sighs. "I'll just-- I'll go then," he says, and heads toward the motel room door. He'll walk the halls, or something. Whatever it takes to occupy his restless mind, for as long as Dean doesn't want to see him.

Dean wants to go out and apologize again. He wants to tell Cas that he's sorry, and that he's not really gay but he doesn't know why he's suddenly attracted to a dude. Maybe it's not sudden, though. In fact, Dean knows it's not sudden - he remembers (mostly) the night with the wings and the snuggling and the drinking, back over Christmas.

Staring at the door, perched on the edge of the bathtub, Dean feels his stomach writhing uncomfortably, like there's some kind of chestburster from ALIEN about the tear its way through his ribs. Reaching out, he presses one hand against the rough grain of the wood, taking a deep breath.

His heart hurts, and he knows it wasn't the burgers.

"I'm sorry," Dean mumbles again, hanging his head. It's not that he doesn't want it. It scares him that he does.

Edited 2011-02-26 03:42 (UTC)

Cas hears Dean's muffled I'm sorry, but he's not stupid. It's not a stop or a come back. So Cas does the only thing he can reasonably do: he keeps walking, out the door and into the hall, where he begins a slow wander past doors and the occasional window.

He knows, objectively, that there's not much he can do, and that he's not to blame. But that doesn't stop him from feeling like it. Cas hardly objected, but it was Dean who closed that final distance to bring them together. Dean was the one who kissed Cas, whose taste is still in his mouth, whose scent still lingers on him even from the brief contact.

Casiel shouldn't feel so bereft, but he does. He just hopes this isn't the end of them. Dean's friendship is all he has here.

Hi there. I'm Nanoochka. You might recognize me as the original author of part of what you've got posted here. Since I don't really appreciate having my work - even sections of it - passed off as belonging to another, you'd be doing me a solid if you took it down immediately. I don't care whether that means deleting this whole thread, or changing your original post so that the following paragraph:

If Dean had to choose just one word to describe his relationship with Cas, it would be 'momentum'. The two of them have been pulling each other along since they first met, unable to stop their tumble down the rabbit hole when all they intended was a peek. Castiel isn’t the only one to blame; Dean probably gave the first push. But that can’t stop him from surrendering to the force of the angel’s will, his torque, once he really gets going - like when he's calling out Dean for being an idiot - and so a part of Dean knows all along that he ultimately wouldn’t object to whatever Cas should happen to want.

... no longer appears alongside your writing. Or you could leave a note/apology that credits me for the words, since it's pretty clear from the timestamps on this exchange/the original story who wrote what first. I'd like to say I'm flattered that you liked what I wrote enough originally to want to claim it as your own, but plagiarizing is a shitty, cowardly thing, and suffice to say I'm not impressed. However, I'm pretty happy not to make a stink about this if you get rid of the plagiarized copy immediately. Otherwise I might not be so patient.

Thanks, and have a great day!

[Closed] Gimme All Your Lovin'

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...long tag is long. <_<

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I love this icon

I LOVE IT ALL THE TIME FOREVER

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Hi folks, this is plagiarized!