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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.

"Wish I could help more. Only thing I know about Leviathans is what I see and what's in the Bible, and I'm pretty sure the Bible was describing a crocodile."

He sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "C'mere. Sit on the floor." Dean's not much for giving massages, but he can at least rub Cas' temples for a while.

Cas does as he's told because yeah, he's a little tired of being stressed out anyway. He leans against the inside of Dean's knee gratefully and closes his eyes, hands resting lazily on his lap.

Dean takes Cas' head in his hands, rubbing Cas' temples with his thumbs. It's a tried and true headache trick, and it always seems to work best when somebody else is doing it.

"Don't worry. We'll figure something out. We always do."

"I want to be able to protect you and Sam," Cas mumbles, pressing his mouth to Dean's knee. "I want to be able to heal you." If he was thinking less selfishly, he'd add that he wants to make right everything he did wrong and save the world again, but he isn't. Right now his focus is narrowed down to two points, Dean and Sam, with an emphasis on Dean. Save Dean. Protect Dean. Care for Dean.

Dean tenses at the mention of Sam, digging his teeth into his lip. He can't help it, but he can help saying anything about it. Anyway, Sam isn't the point right now. Cas is.

"You don't need to heal me, Cas. When I say having you back is the best thing I can think of, I mean it. Healing or no healing." He slides his fingers across Cas' scalp, coming through his hair.

God, that feels good. It's almost enough to chase away the flicker of frustration at Dean saying yet again that something Castiel wants to do isn't necessary.

He'll get it through his thick skull eventually. Cas decides to let that slide for now -because regardless of whether or not Dean thinks he needs it, Cas is going to do it- and reaches down to unlace Dean's boots, pulling them off of his feet to set them aside. He should give Dean a foot and calf massage one day.

"Man, you've got a real what's-her-name thing going on. Mary Magdalen." Or something. Cas certainly seems to have a thing about taking off Dean's boots anyway, god knows why. "Sorry about the smell."

"In the days of Jesus Christ, the Israelites considered the care of feet a sacred practice. They walked long hours over difficult terrain with flimsy shoes, so to bathe and care for each other's feet was seen as an act of profound love."

There, that should scare Dean off. Cas peels off his socks like he doesn't even give a fuck about how Dean's feet smell.

Edited 2011-11-25 21:47 (UTC)

Poor Cas. Dean's feet have been stuffed into those boots for a solid day. They're not pretty.

"In modern times, we'd call that a fetish."