inonebasket | (no subject)

"Okay?" He smooths his hands over Cas' neck, having momentarily forgotten about...everything.

Don't worry. He'll remember.

Cas pushes himself up on his knees and turns between Dean's legs. Dean is still shirtless and it seems like a waste not to take advantage of the situation, so as Cas rises he presses a palm to Dean's belly and smooths it up along to his chest.

Right then. Dean remembers! He sucks in a breath, sitting up a little straighter.

"Cas." What. Cas what. Seriously, Dean, what are you planning on saying here? Nothing, that's what.

That doesn't sound like a no, and Cas is pretty turned on right now so he'll just keep going.

He rests a knee on the mattress for balance, lets his hand fall to rest on Dean's thigh and leans in to kiss Dean.

It's impulse that leads Dean to scoot back and pull Cas into his lap. A terrible impulse. An awful impulse. One that should never happen. Oh well, it happened. No taking it back now!

It's also impulse that leads him to reach up and curl his hand around the back of Cas' neck, holding him where he is. What the hell, Dean, where are these impulses coming from?

Welp okay! Cas is perfectly fine with straddling Dean's lap, although he's not quite brave enough to just sit right on his dick there just yet. Because he's more kneeling than he is sitting Cas has a height advantage, Dean's hand on the back of his neck keeping him in place. The kiss becomes a full-blown makeout session, the sounds of panting breaths and the wet suction of lips parting making Cas's stomach pull tight. His hands grip either side of Dean's head, fingertips splayed across his neck, one thumb against his ear, misplaced in his hurry. Absolutely everything is running on automatic.

Good. Automatic is the entire point of a good makeout session. Dean is distantly proud of Cas, he's just also a little busy at the moment.

After a few minutes, though, Dean yanks himself away with a growled out "Crap." He's enjoying this more than he planned on, and that's making him a touch uncomfortable. Not Cas' fault, just Dean being his own problem again.

"What?" Cas is a bit stunned, because he'd been making out and it had been so, so awesome, and now he's not. He's still kneeling over Dean's lap but his hands hover uncertainly in the air as he swallows and tries to catch his breath. "Did I do something unwanted?"

"No--no, Cas, I swear." He takes Cas face in his hands, and yes, that's impulse too. "You're fine. You're...great, actually. This is just. This is all me, getting weird. It's not you, Cas. It's not."

...well that's nice and all that he's not to blame, but what the fuck is he supposed to do about this now? You can't just dangle something like this in front of his face and yank it away. "Is there a way to fix it?"

"Cas, if you can figure out a way to make me stop freaking out about this whole gay things, you're welcome to try it."

"Desensitization by repetition?" God, he doesn't mean to sound so hopeful but making out like that really had been just. Fucking great.

Dean snorts out a laugh, falling back onto the bed.

"Only you, Cas." He sounds fond when he says it.

No but. He'd been serious.

Cas stares down at Dean, utterly lost, but it's starting to sink in that they aren't going to go back to making out so very reluctantly, he climbs off of Dean and sits on the edge of the mattress beside him instead.

Dean doesn't move for a minute, just lying on the bed with his legs dangling over the side. Abruptly, he sits up, grabbing Cas and dragging him in close.

"I'm sorry, Cas, I really am. But I meant it when I said the rules are different with you. I'll keep trying."

"I know." Cas really is doing his level best to be sympathetic and understanding, but everything that humans make a big stinking deal out of is just so damn trivial. And now that big stinking deal is cockblocking him.

Cas sighs, leans against Dean for a moment and then extracts himself, running a hand through his hair. "We still need to eat. I'll get us food." He takes Dean's wallet from the table, there were plenty of diners they passed on the way.

Poor Cas. Dean really does have more complexes than the universe has names for, all compounded by a deep sense of self-hate. He's trying, though, he really is. For Cas' sake, he'll keep trying.

He waits until Cas is gone before getting up and padding into the bathroom. For once, it's Dean's turn to take a cold shower, and that's incredibly weird, but it's a good sign. Right? Probably.

Cas walks down the street, stops at the nearest diner and orders two of the rarest burgers he can for himself and another two for Dean, the way he likes it. Has it all boxed up, remembers Dean's pie and is back at the motel in thirty minutes.

Fixing Dean has never seemed so insurmountably difficult. What can he do? Pretend nothing is wrong? Be supportive? He can't be affectionate, not in the way they used to be and not in the way they are now. Cas doesn't know how he's supposed to prove to Dean that he's worth much more than he believes, because Dean still values his opinion of himself over everyone else's opinions of him. It would be healthy if he didn't despise himself.

Castiel lays out their food and just digs in. Comfort food.

Dean is still in the shower when Cas gets back, though he's finally turned on the hot water, if only to prevent his junk from crawling back into his body. When he finally emerges, he's all smiles and looking relaxed.

"Y'know, I think you got out knots I didn't even know I had."

Good for him.

Cas is starting on his second burger because he's eating his feelings. His eyes flick up to Dean as he emerges and he gestures to the boxes containing Dean's burgers and pie with a twitch of his fingers. "I'm glad."

Oh boy.

Dean settles into his seat, grabbing at the burgers and setting the pie aside for later. He eats with relish, though still more quietly than usual; there's plenty of appreciative moaning, but that's as far as it goes.

"How about you? How's your neck? Could work on it some, if you want."

"I don't think that would be wise." Chew, chew, chew.

"You're as tense as I was, dude. But whatever, we'll find you a massage parlor or something."

"I don't like it when strangers touch me." Especially since he's not capable of breaking their faces six ways to Sunday anymore.

Augh.

Dean fights the urge to bang his head into the table.

"You're not making this easy on me, Cas."