always_enduphere | (no subject)

(no subject)

Dean feels unaccountably nervous when he walks the few feet to Castiel's door. He's been home a week now, and for the first time, finally feels past the need to sleep all day long. It'd been nice to do nothing but lie there and watch every season of Dr. Sexy from his bed, but Dean's sick of his plain white walls, sick of his sickbed. Sick of endless bowls of soup, too, however hilarious it is to make Cas do airplane over and over. Dean wants to see the sky, wants to eat a real meal again, and he wants to maybe make a few things right between them as he does it.

He shifts from foot to foot outside Castiel's door. His belt is set to a slot it hasn't seen in years, and Dean knows it only makes him look skinnier, but he tucks in his shirt, smoothing his hair for the third time since he combed it over. "Well," he says, "M'not getting any prettier," and knocks.

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Castiel leans over, adding a splash of his own oil and vinegar dressing before sitting back with a satisfied look.

"You are still malnourished," he points out, reaching across the table to gently trace the edge of Dean's cast. "You need a certain amount of greens to regain your strength. I have had a lot of time to come up with several...ideas, but they all require you being just a little healthier."

Dean scowls and lifts a single, oily spinach leaf to his mouth, choking it down only in fear that Castiel will resort to some kind of baby formula if he doesn't make some effort.

"Ideas?" he asks, rewarding himself with a handful of sunflower seeds.

"Largely of a carnal nature," he answers, taking a large bite of his perfectly portioned salad. "If you decide that you are amenable to doing such things with me."

He swallows and offers a polite smile at the wide eyed waitress standing frozen at their table.

"Are you ready to order, Dean?"

Dean looks as stunned as the waitress, but he leans back against the booth, hips shifting idly against the vinyl. "Eight ounce filet," he says, figuring he'll need the extra calories, "Medium rare, and a baked potato with everything on it."

He prompts Castiel's order with a look, eyes sliding down to settle on his mouth.

"I would like the exact same, thank you" he murmurs, trusting that Dean would have ordered something enjoyable.

He hands his menu over to the waitress, staring at her until she blinks and scurries towards the kitchen.

"I'm glad to see you wanting to eat so much," he says, taking another bite of his salad. "I look forward to you being healthy, again. I find myself...anticipating in a positive way for the first time in my existence."

"You never looked forward to anything before?" Dean asks, managing to pull his gaze upward again. He hasn't had much time to get used to the idea of looking at Cas, especially not while on his back, miserable and healing, and Dean gets the feeling that once he starts, he's not going to be able to stop. Better to take it slow, as with everything else in this seemingly endless process of getting well.

"Do you, uh," he says, warming from the tips of his ears downward. "In your reality, did you learn about what all there is to anticipate?"

"Angels follow orders, we exist and we plan for things but..." he trails off, feeling acutely the gap between his present and his past. "We are not supposed to covet or to want or to feel. Some do, of course, rebel but until you I did none of those things. And until now, while my life was changed vastly through my contact with you, there was little time for wanting."

He clears his throat, ears equally red as he straightens his silverware. "While living as a human, I was married. Emmanuel, as I was known, and his wife enjoyed marital benefits. But...it is like with Jimmy. I have memories but the sensations are not present. I have no experience as myself," he admits, raising his eyes to Dean's, hoping the admission will not deter Dean from wanting to try. "But I have imagined things. Many different things. And Neil supplied me with instructional videos. Dean, you make me want."

Edited 2013-05-02 04:01 (UTC)

"Videos from Neil, you - " Dean sits back against the booth, helpless to do anything but laugh, a quiet sound that crinkles his eyes. "This is gonna be a shitshow," he says, but finds Castiel's feet beneath the table, tucking one of his own between them to let Cas know not to take that too badly.

"I haven't wanted anything in a while," he admits. "Not anything good, anyway. And it's been a long time since I've been with a guy, but." Dean shakes his head. "We'll figure it out."

Castiel frowns a little at the 'shitshow' comment, but presses back against Dean's foot, not entirely sure he disagrees. He has no practical knowledge of what is to be done and chooses the inappropriate thing in many of his interactions.

But Dean's quiet confidence heartens him. "I confessed to Neil that I wondered if it would be more appealing to you if I took a female host," he admits. "I am glad to know you feel you could want me like this. I think that the figuring it out process will be very enjoyable. Shitshow or not."

"God, we - " Dean laughs again, blanching when their steaks appear suddenly in front of them. If he were a more refined man, he might question the speed, but he's not, and he's hungry.

"Let's take that as we come to it, huh?" says Dean, leaning over his food to breath it in. He picks up his fork, then frowns, loosing it to pick up his knife instead, but the steak doesn't want to hold still for him to cut it. "Goddamn cast."

Castiel nods and busies himself by neatly and deftly cutting into his steak, lifting the first bite to his mouth and pausing when he sees Dean's struggle.

"Dean," he says quietly, setting down his cutlery. "Perhaps I could resume altered nursemaid duty, just for a moment. You would be doing me a favor. I like feeling useful."

Dean scowls, but he can't deny that he can't do it anymore than he can deny that he's fucking hungry, and slides his plate towards Castiel with a half smile.

"Should've ordered steak tips," he says, helping himself to a forkful of baked potato in the meantime.

"I think the steak was the correct choice, regardless," he says, offering his own smile before cutting Dean's steak into manageable bites. He pushes the plate back, eyes lingering on Dean's face for a moment longer before settling down to his own meal.

Steak was, indeed, a very good choice.

They eat everything set before them, Castiel through honest hunger, and Dean through pure stubbornness. He's full from the fifth forkful in, but he's buying this, and that means he's enjoying it, not least because he wants Castiel to enjoy it, too.

He's nearly alseep by the time he's behind the wheel again, but that's hardly unusual for Dean, and he gets them home without incident, even managing to open Castiel's door before leaning hard against the side of the Impala.

"Here we are," says Dean, showing him a tired smile. "Not a bad night, right?"

"This was a wonderful night," he answers, looking fondly at Dean's exhausted face and understanding that tonight will not be the night for the lubrication still riding along in his pocket.

"Perhaps you would consider reserving next Friday evening for me to take you somewhere. Until then, can I walk you to your door?"

It's the last thing Dean wants - or at least, the last thing Dean nervously planned for - but it's the thing that seems the most feasible when he's half asleep, staring down Castiel's hopeful gaze.

"Yeah," he says, hooking his elbow through Castiel's, "Yeah, that sounds good." He walks up the steps to the door. "What day is it again?"

"Today is Sunday," Castiel murmurs, leaning lightly against Dean's door frame.

"Therefore, I will come and get you in five days. Perhaps, if you eat more between now and then, you'll remain conscious later than eight in the evening and I..." he says, threading his fingers through Dean's good hand, "will endeavor to make it worth your while."

"Sounds so dirty when you say it," says Dean, warming to the roots of his hair, but he's laughing when he falls against his door, good hand fumbling for the key. He has a moment to think, fuck it, then turns himself against the frame, slumped but chin raised towards Castiel. "C'mere."

Castiel leans in immediately, gaze falling to the lush swell of Dean's mouth. He raises a hand to cup Dean's jaw, thumb catching on his lower lip as he leans in, determined to get his kiss goodnight.

Dean's skin tingles as it had before, and it's not like he's never been touched, but always with haste, never like this. Never like he's something precious, and it should probably feel emasculating, but mostly it just feels good. His lips part in surprise, and then Castiel's are there to meet them, warm and dry and just a little bit chapped, and Dean's heart sings in his chest.

"Cas," he breathes against his mouth, pulse pounding for just the simple act of deepening the kiss. He reaches with his free hand, fingers tightening in Castiel's shirt to pull him close.

Castiel groans softly against Dean's mouth, startled as always by having sensations and noises simply pulled from him. Never before has his body echoed so perfectly what his heart has felt and he finds himself relishing that loss of control.

"I should go," he murmurs, even as a hand slides up Dean's warm side. "But next time, I would like to come inside with you. I would like more of this, with you."

Castiel's desire is as earnest as the rest of him, simple pleasure so plainly offered that has Dean's blood racing southward. It makes his head spin, but Castiel's hand is firm against his side, strong enough to hold him even if he falls, and somehow that's enough to keep Dean's feet beneath him.

Exhaustion is on him like a living thing, settled on his shoulders and bearing down, and Dean doesn't want to give in to it, but soon the choice will be removed from him. "Yeah," he says, and can't help the way his body shifts, seeking pressure from Castiel's. The thought is overwhelming, but there's no denying that Dean wants it, every part of him. "Next time."

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