If Dean could have chosen a worse time to play houseguest, then he reckoned he was pretty damn correct about his whole above us only sky philosophy.
A brutish rap on wood broke through the slapping of bare feet trudging tiredly down a flight of stairs. A scowl eminent, eyes crinkled- hazed and dusted with a deep sleep Dean pulled the door open, an iron presence in the door way.
The cruel winter breeze wrapped around his bare chest, lapping up the bronzed skin in one quick unforgiving sweep. Dean shivered involuntarily.
"Dean, darling. Long time no chat," The bundle of designer material and sour stench of bourbon breezed, stepping in from the blanketed porch and into the artificial hum of warmth swathing Sam and Jessica's home.
"Crowley," He growled, his voice deep and scratchy with lining of the abruptly ended dream, drawing him back to voluptuous, moist, brunette Carmen.
He slammed the door, folding his arms over his chest and spun to look at the smirking Brit. His scowl deepened further as he noticed the beaded eyes racking along Dean's stomach, leering as though, like always, he knew some deep dark secret.
"As much as I've fantasised about this- it's Jolly Green I've come to speak with," He said, bringing his eyes back up to Dean's.
Dean stared back blankly, refusing to show Crowley how much he weirded him out. Or how much he wanted to knock that smug smirk right off his smug fat face.
"He's not home. Get out,"
"Oh, mate. I own your brother. Don't. Push Me," He said darkly, stepping closer, verging on the boundaries of his precious personal space. Dean stiffened, uncomfortable. "Besides. I'm just here to RSVP," He grinned, stepping back, inexplicably flitting back to the good doctor.
Dean swallowed, rolling out his shoulders. Of course Sam had invited his dickbag of a boss. Of course.
"In person?" He muttered gruffly. Crowley, turned his back to him slipping a stray finger along the banister and collecting the smallest film of dust.
"Sending a card is just so," He brushed his fingers together, turning and casting him an inferior look. Dean rolled his eyes and thanked God that Sam had taken Jessica out for breakfast. He knew enough about the girl that she would possible set on fire with the burn sparking in his cheeks. "Low rent,"
"Nah. Actually I prefer it,"
"You would. Its part of your allure. Nice…," He gestured vaguely to his own neck. Dean's face flushed. "by the way,"
"It's a bruise," He said roughly.
"What, you fell on your neck. Pfft. Chum,"
Dean shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, shooting Crowley a dark look.
"Well, since I doubt your up for a chat and a fag- I'll be going. Just tell you brother, both me and my dear sister will be attending. Cheers. Kisses"
Crowley flitted out as quick he did, leaving Dean just as petulant and slightly anxious. A curling sensation unravelling with an angry velocity at the mention of Crowley half sister. Just as much annoying as her older brother was. Liary, thieving, admittedly hot, conniving little bitch.
Dean racked a callous hand over his face, his palm tugging his lower lip down. Shower time.
Sam and Jessica didn't have a big house. It was both big and small. Spacious and clustered. And every second he stayed in it made him swallow the lumps forming in his throat.
He stepped out of the shower, having beat out some frustration building up and towelling off, wrapping a big white towel around his waist, dropping where the clefts of his hip were beginning to dip too much to be considered decent.
He stopped abruptly walking past the mirror and catching his reflection in the steam ridden glass. He wiped the steam and stared inquisitively at himself. He cocked his head slightly, giving himself a better visual. His fingered the soft hollow of his throat verging to the right and finding the darkening bruise blemishing tanned skin. The only mark tethering him to the reality of last night. His hand dropped limply to his side as it slide over the skin, withdrawing it swiftly as if it burned and in a way it did.
When the hell had he substituted firmer skin under his touch, longer bodies pressing desperately against his. The smell of musk and sweat pushing out the desire of soft shiny flowing hair that smelled of strawberries and blue eyes…
He wondered briefly if Castiel felt the shame blend of guilt and exhilaration he himself did. Frustration. Dean pushed the thought to the back of his mind, shaking his head. He could compartmentalize. He was just….frustrated. He needed to get to a bar and hook up with some busty blonde.
Dean sighed. Sam was going to kill him if he saw his little reminiscent of his bathroom floozy.
He needed to cover it. It was to high to be covered by any shirt and not a notion would he wear any sort of scarf/necktie combo that Sam had taken to wearing until he had taken it off with a flushed face and a one fingered salute towards Dean, who was choking on his laughter around a mouthful of coffee.
He looked around the bathroom and spotted it. Wrath or dignity? Sam would never know. Its not like it would ever have to leave this room, it wasn't like it was on his face. He ran his fingers through his hair, diamonds of water clinging to his lashes and supporting the spiking of his fair hair.
Dean squirted a bit of the thick creaming liquid onto his fingers and rubbed it onto the area and spreading it thin. The door burst open and a head of curls was the first thing he saw.
"Dean, oh my God. I am so sorry," Jessica apologised all red faced and stumbling over her words. Then she spotted him equally pink. "Dean. What are you doing with my foundation,"
Dean tongue slipped out unintentionally and flicked against his lower lip.
Jessica found the area he had used it on, barely noticeable in its effect.
Dean winced, spinning to look at himself in the mirror, now again steamed up and pressed his fingers to the hickey.
"Product, I was testing… It's..um..it's a long story, Jess….Screw it, I'm a painted whore, alright,"
Jessica laughed her tinkling laugh and walked in further, shutting the door.
"You really kinda are," She cocked his head with her hand and took the foundation from him squeezing more out onto two fingers and gingerly rubbing it into his neck, arching away from him at a comfortable distance.
"But Sam will kill you if he sees this, you're my brother in law soon so its in my interest to keep you alive and Sam outta jail and also Sam needs to go to the church and wants you to go with him to ask Castiel about the bachelor party,"
Dean stiffened visibly and Jess stopped, looking at him concernedly through their reflections. Awesome.
"So is it someone special," She smiled reassuring, and Dean breathed again when he saw no disgust or realization blooming. Dean swallowed.
While Sam had his bitch face Dean, admittedly, had be known on occasion to sport his asshole face and right now he was wearing it like a pro.
"Okay man, you've been quiet all the way here and you were doing thirty,"
"Thirty is the speed limit, Dean. What's up?"
Dean thrummed his fingers on the steering wheel of the Impala and looked straight ahead, ignoring the big ass presence of his little brother crushing him under a concerned gaze like a wave.
"Dean," Sam said, a little irked now at being ignored. Dean rolled his eyes and pushed his seatbelt out. He turned in his seat to fix Sam with a faux twitch of the lips.
"Sammy, I'm fine, okay? Let's just get this over with. Might wanna suit up first though, Mr. Travolta, angel boy" He grinned at Sam's harrowing of his brows.
"Comically huge, molting wings. Smells like cookies, despite pack a day smoking habit. He's sounds like your kind of angel, Dean," Dean resists the urge to roll his eyes again at his brother instead likes the top row of his teeth.
"Your right your more like that kid, you know the one with the whole teen angst, pensive eyebrows, oh and lets not forget the overcrowded forehead," Dean smirks, throwing the car door of the Impala back and stepping out, snickering at Sam's incoherent muttering behind him. He shuts the door and locks it before meeting Sam's stride on the pathway up.
"You know he's in some Edward-Cullen-rapey-I-watch-you-sleep role," Sam huffed out a breath and shook his head. Unsure if he even wants to know. The only thing he finds Dean sneaking downstairs to watch is Dr. Sexy and that, in itself, is weird enough.
Sam quickens his pace, eager to see on of his Christian cronies.
Dean is glad.
He doesn't want to go in to the church, because his compartmentalisation is pretty sucky as it turns out and blue eyes and swollen lips and whispered pleas of silence is all he can think about. He knows he has to face this, its for Sammy and as much as he likes to bash the kid there is nothing he won't do for his brother, not like he'd say that out loud.
And hell. Why the hell should he be feeling like he's intruding, like he's sullied. He pushes the guilt down and this he can do. It wasn't him who attacked the Castiel- Fr. Novak, into playing a game of tonsil hockey in the bathroom.
He pushes past the doors after his brother, slammed with reminisces of incense and fragments of scented candles bubbling down to no more than wax and wick. Sam strides up the pews confidently so assured in the place of prayer. Dean trudges behind him, hands in fists in his jean pockets. He stares straight ahead with a glib air, masking discomfort at the thought of seeing his homoerotica moonlighting priest.
"Fr. Fitzpatrick!" Sam said softly, bowing at the alter quickly before facing the smiling older man. Dean walked up wordlessly beside him.
"Padre," He greeted with a half hearted smile. Sam nudged him until he got the idea. He turned quickly to the alter and bowed his head flightily, turning instantly back to the priest and making the same expression he had since he remembered of making an error.
Apparently, curling his ring and small finger into his palm and cocking his two fingers of his temple while his thumb pointing towards the ceiling and making a pffffft sound was not correct manner in a church.
Sam stiffened beside him. Suicide's a sin, you fucking idiot. He could almost hear Sam probing thoughts into his head, angry enough to actually swear.
"Fr. Novak is in the gardens , Dean," Fr. Fitzy said, a little strained but a little amused. Dean scratched the back neck, nodded and bolted aimlessly seeing a door opened to the left of the alter showing the glare of sun on snow.
Castiel wasn't very hard to spot. He was standing rigidly with his back to Dean, having strayed from the path and having found a quiet secluded stretch of garden sheathed by foliage holding snow above and leaving green non affected. Dean never much for symbolism now found it hard not think how very emblematic the whole thing is at that minute.
Blades of grass crunching under the weight of Dean's footfall was the only noise that accompanied his arrival. Castiel never turned, never made even the slightest of twitches to show recognition of his sudden appearance. The closer he gets Dean realizes that the man is chanting, praying profusely and mournfully and Dean does nothing for a minute.
He should say something Dean-ish, make a reference no one knew but him, break the ice pretend there was nothing between both men but foreign nature of two strangers.
"Hey," He says gruffly. He's such a cliché.
The man froze, chanting ceased and shoulders bunched. He turned slowly, like he needs time to map out an escape route but when he's turned he smiles looking at him.
"Mr. Winchester, how can I help you," The smile is tight against the man's ashen face, his eyes the only give away. For what he first assumed was a glimmer of amusement he can now spot as a shine of a tightly controlled panic. He wondered if it was what happened between them or that Dean had found the scars marring his back.
"Mr. Winchester was my father," Dean said, mentally cringing at the easiness of the manor he had brought his father up with. He hadn't thought of John in years and when he did, it wasn't so civilised.
"Apologies, what can I help you with,"
"I just wanted to see you-,"
"Why? What would have we to discuss" Castiel asked tightly, cutting him off. Dean pushed down the swelling sense of annoyance and sighed.
"-about coming to Sam's bachelor party. He wants you to come," Dean wasn't all together sure he didn't want the perplexed man in front of him to come.
"I don't think that would be wise,"
"Oh, c'mon. It would mean a lot to him. Apparently, your not such a stick in the mud for one of the Halo Patrol,"
Castiel blanched, flinching at Dean's words. Dean hadn't meant the words to hurt but hell if he was going to coddle a full grown man, who was blatantly side stepping the major issue of last night.
"Tell Sam I'll try to make it," He said, staring over Dean shoulder and bobbing his head in goodbye before turning back to prayer.
He wasn't sure what was it that set him off but all of a sudden he was seething. Indignation was falling off him in waves, anger crackling the air around him, feeding off of him like electrical volts.
He leaned forward, grabbed Castiel's shoulder and spun him around. The baffled rise of his eyebrows and parting of his lips only infuriated Dean more.
"Dean," Castiel said with a sharp intake of breath and a glance to the open doorway of the church. Dean gritted his teeth.
"So, you do this often then," He growled, the anger getting the best of him. It was just like before- the stint that had his fine ass singing Folsom Prison Blues. Red swept down and he raged at the priest, pushing him backwards.
"Do what?" Castiel asked strained, his jaw flexing but not fighting back against the larger man.
"You know what! So tell me, this a regular thing for you? Sleazy bathroom breaks with strangers. This how you get your kicks? The hell kinda priest are you," He snapped, pushing Castiel against the wall encasing the church grounds.
"No- its... I control it mostly, but sometimes I slip," He said sombrely, disgust and self hatred inflicting his features.
Dean tilted his head, and his tongue flicked over his bottom lip. He didn't miss Castiel's eyes follow the motion, lapping it up to before grimacing.
"A slip? You-,"
"And what about you, you act as if your completely innocent in the matter,"
"I see you, you know. I watch you watch me. You hardly discouraged me, you lust after me. You want me," Castiel whispered, his proximity making Dean uncomfortable just as much as the truth and anger in Castiel's words.
"Fuck you," Dean snarled, ignoring the rolling sensation in his stomach, the hairs standing on the back of his neck.
"No," Castiel snapped, his anger matching Dean's own as he pushed the younger man off of him with a rough shove. The omission rolling from his tongue. Dean growled darkly under his breath before stalking towards him again and pulling and pushing him up roughly against an old oak tree by the lapels of his black jacket.
Castiel lifted his chin defiantly, looking at Dean with a fierce determination not to be bothered by their closeness. Dean swallowed past the lump forming in his throat and loosened his hold- his anger quickly evaporating and being replaced by something else.
The other mans hands came up, slowly disentangling Dean's hands. They drop to his sides, limp.
His jaw flexed, his fingers curled and he shook his head.
"I'm sorry," He grunted, turning away quickly and closing his eyes in frustration. What the hell was he doing. Castiel nodded, pulling away from the tree as slow as a man walking to the chair on death row. Dean ground his teeth down.
He yanks him back, throwing him harshly up against the tree bark. The impact rocks the foliage above them. It droops overhead and snow falls in a massive clump between them, catching on both of them like iron fillings.
He doesn't kiss him, though watching haggard breaths breaking through parted lips he wants to. God, he wants to.
He slides a thigh in-between Castiel's, pushing them apart, relishing the tiny hitch of breath and smirks.
Tiny snowflakes have caught on long dark lashes and he leans in, breathing close to the older mans ear, moving his thigh agonisingly slowly up and down- rubbing off the man's crotch.
"Stop," Castiel growled, angered but exhilarated. "Please," He breathes and thrusts his pelvis up to match every movements of Dean. Castiel moans his hardening length betraying him as it rubs against Dean's.
"Make me," Dean said between his teeth, slamming a hand over Castiel's head for leverage and one over his mouth. "Slip,"
Neither hear the approaching footprints in the blanket of winter.
I'm so sorry about the lack of re-replying to ya'll and the complete suckage of update rates. I've been studying for exams, yes- I know. Well, I'm sort of working in so we should soon be meeting the plot. This is pretty much sexual tension and easing myself into writing for my favourite boys! I will try and update quicker... and reviews tend to get those damned creative juices flowing ;)