inonebasket | (no subject)

"Hmm. She wasn't as good as you are, however." Yeah, Cas is apparently a kiss expert now, having locked lips with three different people now.

...Thanks Cas. Thanks so much. Just the thing Dean wanted the people around him to hear. Cas would manage to shout that just as there's a brief lull between the end of one song and the beginning of the next.

Dean hides his face in his hands for a second before he grabs Cas by the arm. Time to go.

Yeah the silence was pretty uncomfortable with more than a couple whispers and stares as they make their departure, and for a moment Cas isn't quite sure what went wrong.

Then it occurs to him, oh right, he's a dude and two dudes making out is apparently not cool with everyone. Which is still just about the dumbest thing Cas has ever heard, because the human soul is all that matters and souls don't have genders anyway but mortals just identify so much with their bodies. They even keep their genders when they go to heaven or hell. So weird.

"My apologies," says Cas once they're back on the street, because it seems like the right thing to do.

Dean rubs his face, massaging his temples. That was great for his ego. Just great. With a little luck, people will just assume Cas was drunk. Hopefully.

"No, Cas, it's...it's fine." Dean just should have known that something would go wrong, that's all. But in the grand scale of things...this is a pretty good thing to go wrong. Better than pretty much all the alternatives. "Why don't we head back, huh? Pick up some beer or something on the way." Because Dean is doing better than he has in weeks, but he's still an alcoholic in training.

"Whatever you'd like." Castiel hands their money back to Dean, slipping a hand into the pocket of his jacket. Vegas is very bright and lively and noisy, and an interesting place to watch people but not really Castiel's scene. He's more of a nature kind of angel-man-hybrid thing.

Dean, on the other hand, loves the bustle. Or he says he loves the bustle. Given that his favorite dream involves fishing on a quiet lake and the happiest he'd been in a long time was raking leaves in Lisa's back yard, it's entirely likely that he's lying. Which he probably is. He lies a lot, after all.

He shoves the money into his pocket and leads Cas to a liquor store, where he buys large quantities of alcohol. In his defense, he was running low. This is just...restocking! And then it's back to their motel in a slightly seedy area of town, where Dean promptly cracks open a can of beer and drinks half of it before doing anything else. Man, he is really on his way to liver failure.

"I mean it, Cas, dancers don't usually do that. You are something special, that's for sure."

If Dean's liver fails, Cas will just fix it for him.

"I'm an angel of the Lord." Like that explains his ability to attract hot chicks. In all likelihood it was probably that hundred he was waving around, and the potential of having more.

"Yeah, well I'm pretty sure most angels of the Lord don't have mouths like yours."

Because come on. Dean's straight, but even he isn't blind enough to miss that.

"I didn't choose Jimmy for his mouth." Cas says this very honestly, like he really does think that Dean believes he chose Jimmy for the attractiveness of his mouth.

Dean chokes on his mouthful of beer.

"Apparently Jimmy is considered attractive. I may have chosen an improper representation for myself." Castiel continues undeterred. "In regards to my true form, I'm considered extremely average amongst the Host. Far from the most beautiful, which of course was Lucifer before he fell."

dammit Cas shut up this is not helping Dean not choke

"Cas--Cas, I don't need to know that. I don't care what your true form looks like, okay?" He doesn't mean that physical attractiveness isn't important to him, but dear god, it'd be easy to take it that way.

"No, I imagine you wouldn't." It's hard to care about what something looks like when just a glimpse of it would burn your eyes out of your skull.

A pause.

"Thank you. For the compliment about my mouth." See, he's learning!

Dean looks momentarily startled, opening his mouth to say something, stopping, shutting it...and looking away.

He'll just...finish his beer now.

Castiel takes another one, cracks it open and sets it down on the table in front of Dean.

Dean appreciates Castiel's devotion to the rapid destruction of Dean's liver.

He chugs that beer, too. And a third.

Actually, by the time he's done, between the whiskey at the club and the beer at the motel, Dean is fast approaching intoxicated. It's not too bad. He could still drive. Maybe. If he had to. But he's definitely approaching the threshold of drunk.

He gestures to Cas, crooking his fingers in a beckoning motion. "C'mere."

Cas thinks he recognizes that tone of voice and tries not to look too eager as he rises and walks around the table. His heart beats just a bit harder in his chest. "Yes?"

Dean fists his hand in Castiel's shirt and pulls him down to eye level.

"I don't care about your true form. I can't see it." Somehow, Dean manages to shrug with his eyebrows. "But sometimes? I wish I could. Because it's probably pretty freaking amazing. Chrysler building. Wings." His eyes slide away from Cas for a second, leaving him staring into space. "We've gotta get your wings back."

It's important, what Dean is saying. Castiel registers that on some level, the same level where his tiny specks of collected Grace hum and yearn to be complete, where memories of flight faster than the human mind can perceive settle and wait to be experienced again. A deep, instinctual part of Cas that will never be different; just as God created humans to be what they are, so did he create angels to fly. Cas wants his wings back too.

But right now, he's still more human than angel, and right now his eyes are focused on Dean's lips as they move. He swallows. Th-thmp th-thmp th-thmp a little faster behind his ribs.

Dean is drunk, Cas, don't listen to the ramblings of a drunk man.

"You're...weedy. I can't picture wings on you--I mean. I mean I've seen silhouettes of 'em, when angels die. Just can't picture it."

But Dean isn't making a move. Cas isn't sure if he's allowed, so he'll just. Continue to stare at Dean's mouth.

"The shadows of my wings you've seen are representations. The size of my true wings cannot be measured by human standards as it varies depending on how I use them."

"So you're a grower, not a shower." Dean snorts. "That figures."

That seems to be all the conversation Dean had in mind because he yanks on Cas' shirt again, sitting up straight to close the distance between them and cover Cas' mouth with his own.

Oh thank fuck.

Cas climbs right onto Dean's lap without any prompting this time, straddling his legs and gripping the back of the chair with one hand, the other arm around Dean's shoulders.

Well. Cas sure has figured out this making out thing real quick, hasn't he? Not that Dean's complaining.

Now that he has a lap full of angel, Dean actually relaxes, resting his hands on Cas' hips. Dean is in a motel room in Vegas, with a damn Angel of the Lord in his lap. A virgin Angel of the Lord. He can't help but feel like he's dirtying Cas up a little bit. It's kind of a nice "fuck you" to upstairs, actually. For many reasons.

Cas is a quick learner.

After a while Cas needs to pull back for some air, and Dean probably needs to breathe as well so it's good for all parties involved when he finally does so. He rests his forehead against Dean's, eyes closed and panting. "I'm not sure what to do next." Like, he's pretty sure they're supposed to do something after open-mouthed kisses, but he's not positive about what exactly that something is.