
It’s nearing midnight and they stop for fuel at some gas station in the middle of nowhere.
Sam has been dozing in the backseat for the last fifteen miles and Cas, sitting shotgun, has started to nod off. Even Dean’s eyes are starting to itch and he knows he’ll have to stop for the night soon if he doesn’t wanna get into an accident.
But first, fuel. Dean inserts the gas pump and considers heading inside to pick up some snack to help keep himself awake for the last stretch of the day’s journey. He’s debating between red vines and mixed nuts when the door on the passenger side opens and Cas exits.
Dean looks him over as he stands and stretches, a familiar warmth blooming underneath his collar. He considers saying something to break the tension probably only he feels but decides against it; the night is too quiet and too lovely to be interrupted like that.
It rained earlier. The ground is still wet, small puddles gathered where the pavement is concave, reflecting the too-bright lights hanging above them. There’s a faint smell of gasoline in the air but also that undefinable scent of the aftermath of rain, fresh and cool.
Cas finishes stretching and now he’s the one looking at Dean, staring unashamedly. Dean stares right back, at Cas’ hair sticking up where his head rested against the window, at the dark bruise forming on his cheek. His eyes have an almost eerie glow to them in this light and he’s so beautiful it makes Dean ache.
Dean should say something. Ask Cas if he wants something from the shop. Tell him they’ll be stopping for the night as soon as they come across a motel. Make small talk about the weather, even.
He doesn’t. He keeps staring and Cas stares back and just when it seems that nothing can end this moment, Cas leans in.
Dean inhales sharply as Cas’ lips touch his, eyes closing on instinct. It’s barely a kiss, just a dry press of lips against lips that lasts for all of two seconds before Cas is pulling away, leaving Dean dizzy and wanting for more. It almost seems like it didn’t happen, the only hint in Cas’ expression the faint, pleased upturn of his lips.
“I’m going inside to buy beef jerky,” he tells Dean.
Dean stares at him.
“Do you want anything?”
Dean wordlessly shakes his head.
“Alright.”
Cas walks off and Dean watches him go, bewildered. He’s still standing in the same spot when Cas returns.
“I got you peanut M&Ms,” he says, handing Dean the bag and climbing back into his seat.
Dean watches him for a beat, the turns back to the pump. It’s stopped, the tank long since full, and Dean puts it away on autopilot before getting in the car. He looks down at the bag of M&Ms in his hand, then at Cas, who looks back at him nonplussed.
“Thanks,” he finally croaks.
“You’re welcome,” Cas says.
Dean goes to turn the engine on. Then, considering, he looks over his shoulder to check on Sam - still out like a light. He turns back to Cas, something surging in his chest, giving him the courage to lean in and give him a quick peck on the cheek. It makes him feel strange and clumsy but Cas just gives him an unbearably gentle smile, eyes alight.
Concept: A reverse-fake-relationship fic where Dean and Cas have to pretend not to be a couple for a case because it takes place on a singles cruise.
Dean has a really hard time with it, because they only just started dating and they’re in that honeymoon phase of always wanting to be around each other and having sex basically every day, and now he has to pretend not to even know Cas or be interested in him.
It’s even worse, because Cas doesn’t seem bothered about it in the least, having no problem with ignoring Dean and letting other people flirt with him.
Only a few days into the cruise, Dean is walking down a corridor when Cas yanks him into a supply closet and fucks him silly, unable to keep his hands to himself anymore. This leads to multiple little rendezvous, in supply closets, empty cabins, even a lifeboat one memorable time.
By the time the case is over, they’re actually kind of bummed about it because now they don’t have an excuse to keep sneaking around anymore.
(ao3)
Dean had vague memories of Castiel Novak. He remembered him being very quiet and kind of weird, but also endlessly fascinating to Dean’s five-year-old self.The only clear memory Dean had of Cas was one that made his stomach twist uncomfortably for several years every time he thought of it. It wasn’t until he turned nineteen and got more comfortable with himself that he was willing to admit to himself that it had really happened.
Dean had gone over to play with him, and Cas had been in the backyard, halfway buried in the flowerbeds with a magnifying glass in hand. He’d liked bugs, and unlike most kids he’d always been gentle with them.
For some reason, at this point everyone in Dean’s kindergarten class had been obsessed with kissing. Mostly it was the girls running around, kissing the boys, and the boys acting disgusted about it while secretly letting the girls catch them.
But Dean hadn’t wanted any of the girls to catch him. He’d wanted to be the one to do the chasing, and he’d only wanted to chase Cas.
It had seemed like a very good idea to him at the time, then, to run up to Cas. To wait until Cas had straightened to say hello and give him a nice, loud kiss on the lips (the girls had always made those loud smacking noises like on TV, so Dean did too).
For all of five seconds, Dean had been ecstatic. He’d done it, he’d kissed Castiel Novak.
Then Cas had pushed him into the flowerbeds and run away.