Welcome to the last day of advent fics 2012 – MERRY CHRSTMAS!
For such a bold move, it paid off well, Dean thought, as Castiel didn't shove him off and call him an asshole. Instead he agreeably laid himself out on the floor, and proved himself equal to every move that Dean made in touching, and gradually undressing him.
Clearly Castiel hadn't been with anyone new in a long time, and Dean didn't imagine Raphael as a kind, considerate, or even very thorough partner. That much was clear from the way Castiel gave all of himself in each kiss, each touch, as if he was discovering sex for the first time all over again.
Naked, and unwilling to stop touching each other, they stumbled across the small room, and Castiel dragged the bed down from the wall, jumping back when it hit the floor in a cacophony of springs and metal legs. Dean grabbed him around the waist and tossed him down on the rumpled sheets and too-soft mattress, joining him as the bed complained and Castiel reached out for him and pulled him into his arms again.
It was the best Christmas Eve Dean had ever had, he thought, even as midnight struck somewhere out in the cold, dark night, and Christmas day rolled in around them. Castiel was eager, and when Dean stopped kissing him, knelt over him just so he could stroke his hands down over his slim, heaving torso, he saw that the flat look was gone from Castiel's eyes. Replaced by warmth, and unguarded happiness, and Dean didn't want to do anything to make that look go away, it was just too damn good to look at, and it made him feel warmer than a shot burning in his gut.
Castiel reached up, one hand tracing his face. "I don't usually...I mean, I'm not like this."
"Well, it is the holidays," Dean said.
Castiel laughed, an honest, surprised laugh. "Yeah...time to enjoy ourselves."
"And we so are," Dean leant back over him, mouthing carefully at the spot on Castiel's neck that he'd learnt made the other guy shiver and whimper. "And, you smell like hamburgers, which is doing a lot for me."
Castiel's laugh mingled with a moan, and Dean hadn't heard a better sound in all his years on earth.
Then another sound cut into it, a rattling. Someone trying the lock on the door, and, discovering that the mortise lock on the inside was engaged, thundering against the door with their fist.
Dean had a fairly good idea of who it was.
Castiel clearly thought the same thing, because he sat up, eyes angling down again as his mouth set in a blank line. "Raphael."
"Guess Jo couldn't keep him once he woke up." He muttered, "Cas, you don't have to let him in."
"It's his apartment."
"But he doesn't want it, not really." Dean said.
Castiel looked sadly down at him and sighed. He knew, deep deep down, under his daily, dogged attempts to find work, to find meaning in his boring, pointless little life, that he was not the person that Raphael loved, not anymore. Raphael loved himself too much to ever care what happened to Castiel, who, after all, was just a means to an end, a source book on social care, a secretary, a cleaner, second chair to Raphael's victorious life.
He had warm skin against his, someone who, at least for tonight, was looking into him, instead of through him. For once the apartment wasn't filled with Raphael's blunt, angry voice, complaining about the tiny space, the poor furnishings, Castiel's lack of ambition, Castiel's relative unattractiveness, his bad cooking, his lax approach to housekeeping, his incapability that had lead to his shameful job, how tired Raphael was of being saddled with him.
Castiel didn't want Raphael in the room with him, the idea of it was suddenly so nauseating that he couldn't stand to even imagine what the conversation would be like between them.
Castiel raised his voice against the hammering fists. "Go away Raphael."
A vicious kick landed against the wood. "Castiel this is my apartment. Mine alone after the stunt you pulled at the police station. I'm going to sue you for assault, and I want you and your things out of my apartment in the next twenty minutes."
Castiel rested his forehead against Dean's shoulder. He was very tired all of a sudden.
"If you want I can call it in, report him for disturbing the peace, get Garth or Jo to stick him in a cell and keep him there."
"Castiel!" Raphael shouted, "Is there someone in there with you?"
"The walls are really thin," Castiel muttered, then called out, "Yes."
"That drunk you bailed out?" Raphael laughed, and the sound was like a garbage disposal chewing up turkey leftovers. "Only you could be so pathetic as to bring home a drunk on Christmas eve, to screw you to sleep."
Castiel sat back, eyes closed, shaking his head slowly, once he started he couldn't stop, he didn't want this. He wanted quiet, and peace and a chance to get his head together after a very long, disquieting day.
Dean put an arm around him, coaxed him until they were lying on the bed, spooned together and facing away from the door. Dean kissed the back of his neck, gently making his way to his throat, his cheek. Castiel kept his eyes closed, the soft touch of Dean's mouth and the warmth of his hand gently rubbing circles on his side making his eyes prickled beneath their lids.
Dean tucked the sheets around him, and folded them up so that only Castiel's face was exposed, his ears swaddled in layers of blankets and smooth cotton. Dean gave him a final squeeze, then got out of bed, picked up his pants and slid into them.
Castiel knew this was the moment that Dean would leave him, and Raphael would come in, and it would be ugly, and raw, and horrible, and he'd end up on the street, in the cold, dragging a suitcase of things towards the bus station, trying to remember the names of distant friends from college, and their numbers.
He heard Dean's feet on the floor, the rattle of drawers and tumble of things to the floor, muffled by the sheets that were doing a good job of keeping out Raphael's raging voice.
He turned a little and saw that Dean was emptying the drawers of Raphael's desk into a cardboard box. Then he went to the wardrobe, considered the clothes inside, and pulled out everything that looked like it didn't fit Castiel's slim frame, pairs of highly shined dress shoes, a Gucci belt. Then on into the bathroom, where thumps and bangs indicated that he was divesting the shelves of Raphael's Calvin Klein scents and face washes, leaving behind Castiel's own K-mart shaving foam and shower gel.
With a heaped up box, Dean went to the door, undid the lock, yanked it open and flung the box of wadded up clothes and leaking body wash into Raphael's shocked arms.
"Now, fuck off," Dean advised in a low, angry voice, "because I may be a drunk, but I'm a drunk with a gun, and I'll use it if you even think of touching this door again."
He slammed the door shut, and, after a few seconds, Castiel sat up and heard shuffling footsteps and muffled curses in the stairwell, and then the front door of the building banged shut, and there was silence once again.
"Thank you," Castiel said quietly.
Dean shrugged. "You'd've done the same, if you were in the right mood. Can't blame you for wanting to hide from it."
"I'll move my things out in the morning," Castiel decided, "I can find a place, I have a little bit of money, not much, but, it'll keep me a month or so, until I've found another job."
"I can help you move, if you want," Dean said. "I've got a car, so, that'll make it easy."
"That would be very kind of you."
"And...uh..." Dean shrugged like it was nothing to him, "maybe after we could go and get lunch somewhere? Kind of a Christmas day moving party...date."
Castiel smiled, and Dean was so glad to be the cause of that smile, that he returned it.
"I'd love to," Castiel said.