inonebasket | (no subject)

"Understood." Cas picks up another ice cube from the bucket and sucks on it. The motel room's AC unit is busted and it's hot as sin inside. He hesitates before asking, "May I make a move also? Would that be acceptable?"

"As long as you back off if I tell you to, yeah, that's fine."

Thank god. Dean's screwed up a lot of things in his life with his stupidity, but at least it looks like Cas isn't one of them.

The way Cas is eying Dean while sucking on the ice is probably telling as to how badly he'd like to make a move right now.

Still, it doesn't seem appropriate. Dean's obviously upset about Sam leaving, and Cas has made himself too concerned with the Leviathan and giving Dean space to make an attempt at puzzling out all the sources of Dean's depression. He should make more of an effort; ignore the Leviathan problem, at least for now, and try to put Dean at ease.

See, that's where Cas is wrong, because Dean isn't depressed. He can't be depressed, he's got too much to do. Besides, he isn't moping around or crying into his Wheaties every morning, no, he's getting up and going out and getting things done.

See?

Not depressed.

"So we good?"

Dean doesn't even eat Wheaties.

"Yes." Cas hadn't realized they weren't good in the first place. But to seal it, he chews on the last bits of his ice cube as he crosses the room, then leans down and kisses Dean on the mouth. Not a nervous gesture, or one with the intention of pushing into something more, but pure affection. Something casual, like it's normal, like a handshake or a hello.

Exactly. Ergo, he is not crying into them.

Dean blinks in surprise, shaking his head slightly. A second later, the corners of his lips twitch up into a hint of a smile. "Good to know."

"...Dean. What do you do to relax?" Besides drink.

He shrugs. "Sleep. Drink. Shell out for a massage from a hot chick. Preferably naked. Huge bonus for huge..." He gestures at his chest, obviously referring to breasts. "Y'know."

Massage.

Cas doesn't see why a masseuse would need huge breasts. Or would even need to be attractive; the recipient would be laying on his stomach the entire time, so what's the point in having a pretty face? Cas would think that having strong hands and a flawless understanding of the muscles in the human body would be better.

"I can do that." Of course he can do that. He rebuilt Dean's body, for fuck's sake. He knows the exact number of hairs on Dean's head and the freckles on his shoulders when he gets too much sun. Dean doesn't know as much about his body as Cas.

Cas really doesn't understand a lot of things, does he? He obviously doesn't understand happy endings.

"Do what?" Have huge tits? Dean doesn't think so.

Obviously not. "Give you a massage."

"Come on." The tone of his voice makes it pretty clear that Dean doesn't believe that. Really. Angel of the Lord. Soldier. Dean gets those things. But masseur? Hah. Right.

CHALLENGE ACCEPTED.

"Take off your shirt and lay on your stomach." He'll show you.

Dean raises an eyebrow--but y'know what, Cas is actually looking pretty serious about this. He shrugs, pulling his shirt over his head and crawling onto the bed to lie down.

Masseur. Sure, Cas. Let Dean be the judge of that.

See, there's two things that make Cas so confident, even if he's never had or given a massage in his entire life. One: Cas knows the construction of Dean's body down to the last muscle fiber, the last cell and atom. He knows how to pull and push a muscle to make it malleable, how they should feel in his hands when they're new, relaxed, healthy. How they should feel attached to the bone.

Two: Castiel sees all humans as works of art, but Dean's body he worships as both his own work and God's. God may have created Dean first, but Cas restored him, and Dean's body is beautiful because of the sureness of Castiel's hands. He's confident.

Whether or not that confidence is well-founded, he'll see.

He kneels on the bed beside Dean. They don't have lotions or oils but it's not like Cas would have thought to use anything like that anyway, but luckily the room is hot and Dean is just a little bit sweaty so Cas's hands don't scrape over his skin with friction.

Shoulders, upper arms and upper back first. Then the neck, down to the lower back, sides, back to the shoulders and all over again. That he's touching Dean in a way that could be perceived as sexual doesn't even occur to Cas, he's so absorbed in doing this correctly.

Lucky for Cas?

The confidence is very well-founded.

See, Dean is used to massages that mostly involve petting. And then heavy petting. And then a hand job. He's never actually had one where working out knots in his muscles was the point. Even if he had gone to one of those, there's no way the person working on him would have known his body the way Cas does. Whatever reservations Dean might have had about all this vanish quickly. He groans into the pillow, more relaxed than he's been in...well. Ever.

Yes, Cas is doing just fine. In so many ways.

Yeah Cas doesn't even know where to start to play the seductive masseur, so there's really only one way this could have gone.

Cas's fingers work at the back of Dean's neck, thumbs pressing along the cervical curve of his spine and fingers pulling his muscles back, pushing them forward in waves. He works all the way up to the base of Dean's skull, back again and then down to Dean's back again. He'd probably be better at this if he still had his mojo; his eyes would be able to see Dean in other ways, but he makes do with what he has.

Castiel doesn't say a word as he tries to work out every knot and tense band in Dean's torso, shoulders, arms and neck. He smooths his palms down over Dean's skin once his fingers hurt too badly to grip, then begins again after the rest. When Cas finally leans back, crackling his knuckles and shaking out sore hands, it's been nearly thirty minutes since he started.

The silence suits Dean just fine. In fact, he's very quiet when Castiel finally finishes, not even moving. It's several minutes until Dean grunts, pushing himself up onto his elbows. There's a slightly dazed look about him, as if he'd dozed off. ...which he kind of had.

"Thanks. Didn't even know I needed that."

"You're welcome." Funnily enough, Cas feels relaxed too.

He hadn't massaged Dean with the purpose of seduction but, when he sees the muscle swell and flex at the base of Dean's neck he can't help leaning over and pressing his lips to the skin there.

That sends an inexplicable shiver down Dean's spine. He's not sure how to react to that.

"So. Soldier of god and massage therapist. You are one talented son of a bitch."

"I doubt I would be so skilled with someone else. You're special." Cas is tempted to kiss a line down Dean's back but ultimately decides against it, and climbs off of the bed to wash his hands in the bathroom and return to his bucket of melting ice and Bobby's book on the table.

"I'm not special," he mutters. He's an alcoholic with more complexes than he's got names for. Yes, okay, so Heaven needed him as Michael's vessel, but he said no, and all of that's over with anyway, so Dean is back to being...Dean.

You're stupid is what you are.

"I happen to think you are." And Castiel's opinion is more valuable than yours so shut up, Dean. He leans his hip against the table, sucking on a fresh ice cube and turning a page, finger following the script.

Whatever. Dean feels way too good to argue with Cas right now. Time to change the subject.

"You got anything good from those books?"

"No." He'd been hoping there'd be some information on the Leviathan, but despite being chock-full of Purgatory lore there isn't so much as an honorable mention. He flips the book shut with a sigh and rubs at his eyes with a hand.