#Garth Buckles | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cleo-fox · 4 months

Text

Unraveled

Summary: It was all fun and games until Loki started wearing that goddamn sweater.

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, dirty talk, praise kink, teasing, orgasm delay, sex, vaginal fingering, godly refractory periods, kitchen sex, semi public sex, Loki in a sweater.

A/N: My explanation for this one is that I saw too many pictures of Tom Hiddleston in a sweater and it gave me thoughts.

Being an Avenger has made you pretty good at rolling with the punches. After your third or fourth encounter with some alien/wizard/android bullshit, your perspective is fundamentally altered and real life seems manageable in a way that it didn’t before. You have to call your insurance company to dispute a claim? Big deal, you’ve negotiated with terrorists; you can handle Garth from Member Services.

The thing is, having that kind of perspective means that the things that do get to you can rattle you a lot more than they should. Natasha had warned you about that, but you were riding high on the thrill of successfully conquering Blue Cross Blue Shield and you kind of got to thinking she was exaggerating.

And then the seasons started to turn and Loki started wearing that goddamn sweater.

You can recognize when someone is out of your league. When you first moved into the Tower, it had been relatively easy for you to assign Loki to that category: he was a god. He’d been featured in last month’s GQ. You were mortal and your most recent press had been a TMZ story featuring unflattering paparazzi photos of you leaving a bodega in your pajamas at seven o’clock in the morning, a bagel halfway into your mouth. You were clearly not the same.

Up until the sweater, you’d managed to keep your cool around Loki and keep your attraction confined to daydreams and the occasional surreptitious lustful glance. Hell, you’d even had the nerve to be proud of yourself for keeping your shit together in front of him.

The sweater lays waste to all of that.

On the surface, it doesn’t seem like a sweater that is capable of completely destroying your carefully constructed composure. It’s a fairly standard crew neck in a deep green so dark it almost looks black at a first glance. But on Loki it just…does things to you. The fabric is well fitted, clinging to his biceps, pulling taut across his chest, emphasizing the line of his pectorals. It somehow accentuates how muscular he is while also still making him look lean and lithe.

The first time he wears it, you find your eyes just trail to him of their own volition, like an incredibly horny moth to the flame. It’s a day of catching yourself staring, panicking, pretending that you were actually looking at something else, and then repeating the process five minutes later when your gaze inevitably wandered again. It almost would have been funny if it didn’t put your blood pressure into the stratosphere.

To make matters worse, at the end of that day’s debriefing, he rises from his chair and raises his arms to the ceiling in a long stretch. The hem of the sweater creeps up, exposing the firm, flat muscles of his stomach, lightly dusted with a trail of hair that meanders in a tantalizing path down to his belt buckle.

You promptly choke on your own spit. Clint claps you hard on the back and asks if you’re okay, which is a question you don’t know how to answer (ultimately, you stick to a thumbs up and mumble something about dust getting caught in your throat). Loki is too preoccupied complaining about the entire concept of office furniture to notice. Or at least you’re pretty sure he doesn’t notice.

You might have been okay if that had been the only incident, but the sweater makes a repeat appearance on Friday. The following Tuesday features the deadly combination of the sweater with a pair of tight, dark wash jeans that nearly send you into cardiac arrest. Your fantasies suddenly become much more frequent and detailed.

You are not really sure what to do about this—it’s not like you can talk to anyone about it, nor can you ask him to stop wearing it without prompting some very uncomfortable questions. The idea that you’ll get used to it is laughable.

You look at your calendar and note that spring is six months away. At least.

Fucking hell.

It’s a Saturday afternoon and in a strange quirk of scheduling, almost everyone is out of town for a mission or a personal obligation, leaving the Tower unusually quiet. As much as you enjoy the daily clatter and chaos that comes with living here, you find a lot of comfort in these moments of quiet, however infrequent they may be.

You intended to make yourself a late afternoon snack. That was the plan, anyway. But as you’re standing at the kitchen counter and cutting up the fruit you just washed, you realize that you’re not entirely alone. From this vantage point, you can see Loki lounging on the couch in the next room and reading.

He’s wearing the sweater. Of course he’s wearing the sweater. And the so-tight-they-should-be-illegal dark wash jeans.

Goddammit.

You have the sense to set the knife down at least. The last thing you need is a trip to the hospital because you got too distracted by your hot colleague while handling a knife.

You let your gaze travel along the firm muscles of his chest. It’s just a sweater. It shouldn’t look this good. It shouldn’t prompt these kinds of thoughts. And yet…

He shifts on the couch and the hem of the sweater creeps up. His hand drops to his belt buckle. It’s entirely appropriate, but the way his long, long fingers are splayed against his stomach makes your mind drop straight to the gutter and wonder what they’d look like wrapped around his rock hard co—

“You know, it’s rude to stare.”

His voice comes from behind you and adrenaline surges through you like an electric shock. The Loki on the couch looks up at you and smirks before disappearing in a shimmer of green.

You wonder if it’s possible to die of embarrassment and a heart attack all at the same time. It certainly feels like you’re about to.

You take a deep breath and try to collect yourself, which feels largely futile. Come on, get it together. You’ve negotiated with terrorists and insurance companies. Shake it off.

You slowly turn around, cheeks burning. Loki is standing right behind you, arms folded across his chest. You swallow.

“I um. I was—I was just…” Words escape you as your brain fires in every direction except a helpful one.

“You were just what?” His expression is intense, but you’re not sure that he’s angry.

“Spacing out,” you say, trying to infuse your voice with confidence that you absolutely do not feel.

He places his hands on the counter behind you, intentionally caging you in with his body. You are overwhelmed by the scent of him—a masculine, wintery musk that makes you want to bury your face against his chest.

“Try again,” he says. His voice is deep enough to rattle your bones.

You swallow. Everything you could possibly say seems wildly inadequate.

Loki has never been one to be at a loss for words, though, and after a moment of terrified silence from you, he continues speaking.

“I’ve noticed something curious over these past few weeks,” he says. “When I wear this sweater, you can’t seem to take your eyes off of me.”

Your heart is pounding. Fucking hell. Have you really been that obvious?

“Now why is that?” he asks, his voice a low purr.

You briefly consider trying to lie again, but the piercing green of his eyes instantly makes you rethink it. “I um…” You swallow hard. “It’s just…it suits you. You…you look good.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I look good?”

You nod.

“Interesting.” His lips twitch in a slight smirk as he looks you up and down. “And how does that make you feel?”

Your heart thuds in your chest, your stomach contorting with a strange combination of fear and desire. You’re still humiliated, but the sound of his voice and the dark intensity of his gaze is intoxicating and incredibly arousing.

“I don’t—I don’t know how to answer that question.”

“Oh, I think you do.” There’s a rawness in his voice that makes your cunt clench.

You shake your head, eyes wide. You’re pretty sure he’s not really mad, but you also don't know where this is going. Surely he’s not making a pass at you…right?

“How does it make you feel to see me in this sweater?” he continues, his voice a low whisper. He pauses for a moment and when you don’t answer, he continues. “Does it…arouse you, perhaps?”

Holy fuck.

This can’t be happening.

You try to think of something clever or sexy, but the bluntness of the question and the fire in his eyes kills whatever remaining brain cells you have left. Mutely, you nod.

There’s that smirk again as he licks his lips. “Are you wet right now?”

Your cheeks burn. You give the tiniest nod possible.

“Hmm.” His hand alights on the button of your jeans. “I believe you Midgardians have a saying that is appropriate here: trust, but verify.” He slips the button free and your heart pounds like a war drum in your chest.

You cannot believe this is happening.

“You haven’t been entirely truthful in this conversation.” His palm presses flat against your stomach, the tips of his fingers slipping under the waistband of your underwear. “So I’m afraid I’m going to have to see for myself.”

His hand is achingly slow, creeping lower and lower. He watches you intently as his hand cups your sex, seemingly cataloging the way your breath hitches and all the little shivers that run through you.

His middle finger finally slides between your folds and you can’t help but moan.

“Oh, you did lie to me,” he growls, his index finger joining his middle, both sliding up to circle your clit. “You’re not wet, you’re soaked.”

Your legs are already starting to tremble and you grab on to his shoulders to try and steady yourself. The fabric of the sweater is softer than a cloud against your hands.

“Sopping wet,” he continues, trapping your right leg between his thighs and the counter, the heavy weight of his erection pressing eagerly against your hip. “And this is all for me?”

Wordlessly, you nod. There’s no point in denying it—and you don’t think he wants you to, either.

“What am I going to do about this?” he muses. His index and middle fingers lightly circle your clit again and you whimper.

“Don’t stop,” you gasp. “Please don’t stop.”

“Don’t stop?” he says. His tone is one of light curiosity, like you’re just chatting casually about the weather. “But if I continue, you’re almost certainly going to come.”

“Yes,” you gasp. “Please.”

“Oh, you want me to make you come?” You can hear the smirk in his voice. “Right here in the middle of the kitchen?”

You nod.

“Anyone could walk in, though,” he purrs. “Anyone could come in and see me with my fingers buried in your dripping cunt. What would they think if they saw you so utterly debauched and at my mercy, begging for me to make you come?”

“Don’t care…” you gasp. How are you already so close?

He raises an eyebrow. “You don’t care what they’d think if they saw us like this?”

You shake your head.

“Oh, you must be desperate.” He adjusts his hand, his thumb taking up the rhythm on your clit while his index finger sinks into your slick channel, making you gasp.

“Loki, please—”

“Begging already,” he says, not letting up in his rhythm. “Has it been a long time, sweetheart? When did you last feel this good?”

It’s not a question you can answer. You don’t know that anyone ever has made you feel like this. You moan, your hips bucking hard against his hand.

“Poor thing,” he tuts. “You’re clearly desperate for it. What kinds of filthy thoughts have you had about me?” he purrs. “I’ve seen you staring, I’ve heard your breath hitch. Have you touched yourself while thinking of me?”

You manage a nod and his smile turns feral. “When was the last time?”

“Last…last night,” you gasp.

“How many times did you come?”

“F-Four.”

“Filthy girl.” His free hand slides up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as he tips your head back. “Next time, all you have to do is ask.”

His mouth covers yours, his tongue pushing past your lips as he slides a second finger into you. You moan into his mouth as the pressure in your hips increases.

“Oh yes, let me hear all of those pretty noises,” he murmurs. “Are you going to let me fuck you against the counter after I make you come?”

You nod, whimpering.

“Good girl,” he purrs. “I think you need to be fucked properly and hard. Is that what you need?”

“Yes,” you gasp.

“Mmm, that’s what I thought. This cunt is just too wet and needy for any other treatment.” He draws back to look at you more fully, giving you a lazy, hungry smile. “You’re about to lose it all over my fingers, aren’t you?”

Your orgasm is cresting, the tingling pressure in your hips becoming unbearable. You nod, lost for words.

With one more smirk, he curls his fingers inside of you. “Come for me, pretty girl, let me see you.”

Your cunt spasms around his thrusting fingers and your whole body shudders as your orgasm overtakes you, your head tipping back as you cry out.

“Oh, that’s it,” he murmurs, “there’s my good girl.”

A shiver runs through you at his words, your hips still moving against his hand, trying to draw out every last ripple of pleasure.

He kisses you as you come down from your high, and you take the opportunity to run your hands over his chest and tentatively feel the hard planes of muscle that you’ve been staring at these last few weeks. But after a few moments, he takes your hand and guides it to his cock.

His preference for leather pants or those sinfully tight dark wash jeans made you suspect that the size of his ego might actually be proportionate to the size of his cock and your initial assessment seems to confirm that theory. You rub your fingers over the denim that covers his thick shaft, feeling yourself grow even wetter at the low groan he makes in the back of his throat.

“Take my cock out.” His voice is so deep and his eyes are so smoldering, it feels like the command goes straight to your cunt. You are practically trembling with anticipation as your shaking hands make quick work of the button, buckle, and zipper.

You can’t help but suck in a breath when his cock comes into view. He’s long and deliciously thick—big enough to be a little intimidating, but not overwhelmingly so.

He guides your hand to wrap around his shaft. He barely fits in your hand. “Look at what you’ve done to me,” he says, his voice raspy as he guides your hand to stroke his cock. “Feel how hard I am for you, feel how much I want you.”

His cock practically pulses with need, the tip slick with pre-come and you grasp him more firmly, your cunt pulsing as he gives a deeply satisfying groan.

You stroke him from base to tip, squeezing lightly. He groans again. “They told me to stay away from you, you know,” he says.

You aren’t so far gone that you can let this information slip by. “What? Who?”

“Stark. Rogers. Romanoff. My brother.” He reaches behind you and shoves the fruit and cutting board into the side, the knife clattering into the sink. “They saw how I looked at you,” he says. “They saw that I wanted you. They told me you were too good for me. Too sweet.”

You feel your jeans and underwear melt away in a shimmer of green and he lifts you easily onto the counter.

His eyes flash with desire. “I wonder what they’d say if they knew you’d let me fuck you raw in the middle of the kitchen?”

For a brief moment, frustration almost wins out over your lust. “We could have done this sooner?”

His gaze turns serious. “Darling, we could have done this the moment we met, but I’m told a handshake is more appropriate.”

You take a breath, about to embark on a rant about the individuals he’d named and how they hadn’t even asked, they’d just assumed, but Loki puts a hand up against your mouth.

“Don’t make me wait any longer,” he says. There’s a sincerity and a need in his gaze that you’ve never seen before and it’s enough to calm your anger for just a moment.

“Okay,” you say, wrapping your legs around his waist and angling your hips toward his, “but clear your schedule because I’m gonna need you to fuck me a lot to make up for all that time.”

His grin is feral as he pushes into you.

You shiver at the blunt stretch of his cock, your hands gripping his broad shoulders. He indulges in a low groan as his hips press flush against yours.

“If I’d known they were keeping me from this tight cunt, I would’ve done something sooner,” he rasps. “You feel absolutely perfect.”

“Please,” you breathe, “I need—please.”

His hips snap hard against yours and you moan, your head tipping back.

His eyes glitter as he pulls you close, pressing his mouth against your ear. “The next time I have you, I will be sweet and soft.”

“And this time?” you ask, though you think you already know the answer.

“This time—” His mouth presses against the curve of your neck, teeth scraping just this side of too hard against the tender skin. “—I’m going to utterly ruin you.”

His pace is fast and rough—the word possessive comes to mind. You twist the luxurious fabric of his sweater in your hands as his cock hits that sweet, aching spot inside of you, pressing against your sensitive cunt in a way that makes your muscles spasm and clench around him. You moan, a shiver rolling through you as you inch closer to release.

“I’m…fuck, I’m getting close,” you gasp.

His pace abruptly slows and his grin is wide and his eyes are dancing with mirth when he raises his head from your shoulder.

“That was unnecessary,” you say with a scowl.

“Oh, I just want to savor you for a little longer, my love,” he purrs as he settles into an easy and slow pace that still makes your toes curl. “You’re going to take me right over the edge with you and I’ve waited so terribly long to have you.”

“I feel like you’re probably omitting the fact that you like being a tease,” you say.

He grins again, increasing his pace ever so slightly. “Both things can be true.”

He does this a few times—taking up a wicked pace that almost sends you hurtling over the edge, only to slow at the last possible moment, silencing your whimpering protests with a deep and slow kiss that is good enough to make you forgive him until a few minutes later when he does it all over again.

You hold out for as long as you can, but eventually, the ache in your hips overwhelms you.

“Loki,” you breathe when his pace again begins to increase. “Please don’t stop.”

“Don’t stop?” he rasps, somehow finding the concentration to raise an eyebrow. “You’re quite sure?”

You nod.

“You want to come all over my cock?”

Speech is slightly beyond you at this point, but you manage to gasp a desperate plea as you hurtle into the final plateau, right before the fall.

Loki regards you with that same playful look as he fucks you. You wait, unsure of what he’s going to do, your body desperately crying out for your release.

His lips curl into a smile. “Come for me, sweet thing.”

At the sound of his voice, every one of your muscles is tensing and releasing, the slick walls of your cunt clamping down hard on the thick girth of his cock as you shudder and moan.

The remnants of Loki’s composure are fraying, his eyes closed and his jaw slack as he chases his own end. His brow furrows and he throws his head back, letting out a low groan as he comes and you think it might be the best sound you’ve ever heard.

You sag against him as you both come down from your respective highs, his heart beating hard under the soft fabric of his sweater. He reaches for your face, tilting your head back so he can kiss you, impossibly slow and soft.

You’re in the middle of the kitchen. You understand this. In a wholly rational world, you would be quick to hop off the counter, quick to try and negotiate the return of your jeans from whatever pocket dimension he’s sent them to.

Instead, you find yourself wanting to stay in this moment, with his arms wrapped around you, his cock still pulsing inside you as he kisses you breathless.

You count to ten, then twenty. At forty, you draw back slightly, only to have him pull you back into the kiss.

It’s somewhere after one hundred when he trails his lips to your neck and you manage to say what you intended: “We should probably…” you trail off as he sucks at your pulse point, sending a shiver down your spine.

“We should probably what?” he murmurs against your neck, before tracing a lazy figure eight with the tip of his tongue.

It takes you a moment to find that sentence. “Get dressed and such.”

You feel the sharp press of his smile against your skin. “I think not.”

Before you can open your mouth to say anything, the kitchen is fading in a shimmer of green to an unfamiliar bedroom and the two of you tumble into a bed draped in green silk.

“I’d like to stay like this for a while,” he says, a smile playing at his lips as he slowly rolls his hips against you, somehow still impossibly hard. “In fact, I think I need to have you again.”

“I can live with that,” you say. You tug at the fabric of his sweater. “But this is going to have to go.”

His gaze is smoldering and his bare skin is suddenly pressed against yours as the sweater and the rest of your clothes disappear in that familiar shimmer of green.

“Will you like me as much without it?” he asks, rolling his hips against you.

You drag your fingernails up along the firm muscles of his back. “I think I’ll manage.”

“Good,” he says, leaning in to kiss you, “because as I understand it, we have quite a lot of time to make up for.”

#loki smut #loki x reader smut #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson smut #loki x female reader smut #loki x female reader #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki x you smut #loki x yn smut #loki imagine

1K notes · View notes

livesincerely · 5 months

Note

possessive jack in the merlin au in these trying times??? (no pressure though i love your work sm any writing of yours at all is enough fuel for weeks worth of my bedtime stories)

The upcoming tourney means that training has increased tenfold, which means that the amount of time David spends repairing, cleaning, and polishing Jack’s armor and weapons has also increased tenfold.

Granted, it could be worse: David’s managed to pawn off the worst of his duties to poor Garth so that he can focus on tasks too important to leave to others—namely the aforementioned armor and weapons. Which is why he’s sitting on the edge of the training grounds with a pair of pliers and a set of Jack’s chainmail, carefully replacing any rusted or damaged links with fresh ones, a gentle breeze tempering the worst of the afternoon sun.

Jack is properly in his element out here, watching with a keen eye as the knights run through their drills, calling out corrections and critiques in equal turns. Every now and then he demonstrates a particular sequence himself, the edge of his blade glinting majestically as it slices through the air.

David’s attention is so thoroughly split between his work and keeping watch over his Most Royal and Most Exasperating Pain in the Ass that it takes him a moment to realize that the shadow that’s fallen over him isn’t from a cloud, but from someone sidling up beside him.

“Uh, hello?” he says, squinting up at the unexpected company. “Can I help you?”

“I certainly hope so,” the stranger says. He’s dressed in a dark tunic with a sword sheathed across his hip, leather braces strapped around his wrists and a plate buckled across his chest. “Do you know if visiting knights are allowed to train on the grounds or should I find somewhere else to run through some drills.”

“That’s a question quite a bit above my station,” David says, recognizing the crest stamped into his armor as from one of the northern delegations. “Sir Sean or Sir Albert would be the ones to ask, to be sure, but in my experience the answer will likely be no. I think there’s a separate area set up in the East Courtyard.”

“Could I trouble you to show me the way?” the knight asks. “I find myself becoming hopelessly lost when I try to navigate the citadel alone.”

“I’m sure I could slip away for a moment,” David agrees, setting aside his pliers. He glances back across the training yards and Jack seems more than occupied, walking one of the younger knights through a disarming sequence. “I understand more than most how difficult it can be to find your way around the castle.”

“Thank you, kindly.” He offers David a hand up, and once he’s on his feet, he bows low over their clasped hands and presses a kiss to David’s knuckles. “I am Sir Camden of Rhodia, and graciously in your debt.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble, really,” David says, blushing furiously at the gesture. “My name is David.”

“David,” Sir Camden repeats. “A lovely name for an even lovelier creature.”

He offers his arm as David tries not to stanmer, thoroughly flustered in the face of such an unexpected compliment.

“There’s no need for flattery,” David says, hoping he doesn’t sound as ruffled as he feels. “I’ve already agreed to show you the way.”

“There’s always time for flattery,” Sir Camden disagrees lightly, his expression bright with good humor. “Especially for one as clearly deserving of it as you.”

“O-oh, well—“

“David!”

David turns towards the shout to find Jack stalking toward him at a steady clip, jaw clenched and brow furrowed.

“And where do you think you’re going? We’ve still got several more hours of training,” Jack informs him sharply, as if David wasn’t already fully aware.

“Prince Johnathan,” Sir Camden says, sinking into a deep bow at Jack’s approach. “It’s an honor to finally meet you, I am Sir Camden if Rhodia.”

“A pleasure, I’m sure,” Jack says, crisply polite. He’s got his war face on for some inexplicable reason, the look in his eyes as hard as stone. “And why, exactly, are you attempting to abscond with my manservant?”

“My apologies,” Camden says carefully, his eyes flitting uncertainly between David and Jack and back again. “David had just agreed to escort me to the secondary training grounds—I’m afraid I’m still at a loss when it comes to navigating the castle grounds. Perhaps, if he could be spared for a few minutes—“

“He cannot,” Jack cuts in firmly, offering no further explanation. “However, I’m sure Sir Anthony would be more than happy to show you.”

Tony steps forward as if summoned from thin air, face settled in a polite mask. “It’s right this way.”

“Of course,” Sir Camden acquiesces, nodding politely at the clear dismissal. “Thank you, my lord.”

Jack doesn’t respond, returning Camden’s farewell with a curt nod of his own. The moment the two of them are out of earshot, David swats at Jack’s arm.

“What was all that about?” he demands.

“Getting friendly with the visiting nobles, are we?” Jack asks with a scowl. “I thought you were convinced that one of them was some kind of assassin in disguise?”

“I was just being nice! He’s the one that came up to me,” David defends, though he’s not quite sure what it is he’s supposed to be defending. “And it would’ve been a great way to gather information on the delegation from Rhodia if you hadn’t interrupted.”

“Oh, is that what they’re calling it now?” he mutters. “Because Sir Camden,” —Jack spits the man’s name like it’s the vilest of curses— “seemed interested in a lot more than a friendly escort.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” David informs him, rolling his eyes.

“I’m being— I’m being ridiculous?” Jack somehow manages to make sputtering look handsome and regal because he’s an ass that way. “If he’d taken any more liberties he might as well have asked for your favor!”

“Oh, please,” David scoffs. “As if I’d give my favor to anyone but—“

He stops, the rest of the words caught in his throat.

Jack wheels on him like a hunter who’s finally caught wind of his prey. The look in his eyes has shifted somehow, that flinty gaze settling into something softer, but no less intense, his irises glinting like twin flames.

“Anyone but…?” Jack echoes softly.

David takes a deep breath, his heart hammering against his rib cage. “You’re impossible,” he murmurs.

“I could say the same thing about you,” Jack replies, and he reaches up, catching the edge of David’s neckerchief between his thumb and forefinger.

“Jackass.”

“Smartass.”

They share a smile, only for the two of them.

Finally, Jack says, “Back to work, Jacobs. And don’t let me catch you flirting with any more visiting knights.”

“So, the Manhattan knights are fair game?” David jokes.

Jack’s smile sharpens. He tugs at David’s neckerchief: just the once, just enough for the fabric to bite into his skin.

“The Manhattan knights know better,” he corrects.

And with that parting shot, he saunters away.

#newsies #jack kelly #davey jacobs #javid #*editor's note #*the writing desk #*ask #bits & bobs #merlin au #I’m not sure if or how this scene fits into the main merlin au I’m working on #but I can imagine something similar to this working as a sort of cold open #anyway #hope you enjoy!!

45 notes · View notes

mybeingthere · 8 months

Text

22 notes · View notes

mosertone · 1 year

Text

59 notes · View notes

basiccortez · 2 years

Text

Beaches of Cheyenne- R. Abbott

pairing: Rhett Abbott x female!reader word count: 4k (Issa long one) warnings: it's a g Cortez classic angst fic: cursing, mentions of cheating, mentions of sex, mentions of drug and alcohol abuse, death, allusion of suicide. synopsis: based on the song 'Beaches of Cheyenne' by Garth Brooks A/N: I know this is usually a gvf blog but surprise shawty. I'm opening this back up to the multi fandom mess it once was. so why not kick it off with the cowboy who has stolen my heart (sorry Rip Wheeler) and thank you @mayhem24-7forever for reading it over!

Perry stopped at the post office after church to pick up the box. They could feel the sad stares of community members. The news of what had happened had spread across the town like wildfire. The Abbotts did their best to stand strong, and pay attention to the sermon that was given, but the second the priest said something about the two young lovers, Cecilia lost it, and left the church in tears. Royal gave a quiet nod to the church before excusing himself and going after his wife.

“Here ya go,” The office worker said, handing the box to him, “Heavy box.”

“It’s his saddle,” Perry said in a monotone voice as he finished signing for it.

“Sorry about your loss, can’t be easy losing-”

“Thanks,” Perry didn’t want the conversation to go on any longer, as he picked up the box with a grunt and walked out to his truck where Amy was waiting for him.

When he got home, he placed the box on the floor of the living room in front of his parents. He stood off to the side as they opened it, pulling out Rhett’s saddle and his buckles. The tears hadn’t stopped running down Cecilia’s face since she came home, and holding Rhett’s buckle to her chest, she sobbed. Royal held her close and kissed the top of her head. Perry pushed off the wall and walked over to Amy, and finished taking the rest of the items from the box.

None of the Abbotts had flown out to the coast to see how the house was and to clean it out, but from what they had been told by one of their friends, the house was nearly destroyed. Royal had called in a local worksman to fix up the walls and the door. The walls were littered with holes from her fists and the glass was shattered all over the floor. Apparently, Y/N had just gone crazy when she got the call about Rhett.

— — —

When Rhett first laid eyes on Y/N, he knew she was the one for him. He had missed his chance with Maria, holding back on his feelings and letting her walk out of his life. But when he saw her standing on the fence line as he lowered himself onto his bull, he knew that she was going to be his wife. He held on for his life, lasting the whole eight seconds, and impressing her. The boost of confidence from the ride was what he needed to go over and talk to her. Her cheeks turned red as he invited her for a dance, telling him that she can’t dance to save her life, but he assured her that it was okay. He had kissed her that night.

After that night, Y/N basically disappeared. She was nowhere to be found and it seemed like no one really knew who she was. Rhett had asked around town, asking pretty much everyone where the y/h/c girl went and who she was. It had dawned on Rhett, he never got her name. When Rhett was ready to give up, throwing in the towel that she was just a one-night stand sort of girl (even though they didn’t hook up) he had received a call from an unknown number.

“Hello?” He asked, creasing his eyebrows.

“Rhett Abbott,” Her voice was like honey, and Rhett chuckled to himself.

“How did you get my number but I never even got your name?”

“I asked a friend,” She smiled.

“I asked a friend about you, but it seems like you are just some figure of my imagination.”

“I can assure you that I am not.”

They had talked for hours on the phone after Y/N had explained who she was. She was originally from Amelia County, but as soon as she graduated high school, she packed her bags and went to the coast. She would occasionally fly back to Wyoming, the last time she flew back was to watch her little brother ride against Rhett. Neither one had noticed the sunset, and the moon rising in the sky, or the first strands of orange morning sun. Rhett woke up to his alarm clock and looked down at his phone to notice that he was still on the line with her. He smiled to himself and whispered a ‘sweet dreams darlin’’ before hanging up.

And that’s how it went for weeks. He would call Y/N after dinner and they would talk for hours about everything under the sun. He learned that she was studying to be a nurse, in her third year at USC. Y/N learned that Rhett had made it to the finals, and she was already looking at flights to come watch him. Rhett rode one of his best rides when he noticed her smile in the stands during the finals. He focused on her the whole time, and the second he heard that buzzer go off, his mind was locked on finding her. The next morning they found themselves wrapped up in each other's arms.

They continued their relationship long distance for about two years until she graduated college. Rhett had saved up his rodeo money and packed up his truck and headed out west. He stuck out like a sore thumb as he walked around campus in his levis and blue flannel. He was going over in his head what he was going to say to her. The last time he had seen her was over six months ago when she had flown home for thanksgiving. Rhett was going to propose to her, he had already asked her dad for her hand in marriage. He easily found her dorm room, and waited on the bench until she came out.

“Why look at what we have here? You lost Cowboy?” Y/N asked as she walked out the door. Rhett stood up, holding the bouquet of carnations in his hands.

“Slightly,” Rhett said with his usual half smile, “For you,”

“Thank you, love,” Y/N took the flowers, and then placed her hand on his face and brought him in for a kiss.

Their date went off without a hitch, Rhett taking her to a look out spot that he had heard about. He laid some blankets down in the back of his truck and shared the sandwiches and stuff he had prepared. She talked about her final days at university and how she got a good job at the children’s hospital nearby. Rhett told her about how he had finally gotten away from his family, and Y/N was shocked. She never thought she’d see the day where Rhett Abbott left his family’s ranch, but here he was. He took her to the one bedroom apartment he got which was covered in boxes. He tucked his shaking hands in his pockets as Y/N walked around the small place and explored.

“Rhett this place is- what are you doing?”

“I’m proposing,” Rhett said, as he was down on one knee with the ring box in his hand.

“I know, why?”

“Because I love you enough that I want to be with you forever.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really,”

“Yeah, yes! Yes!”

Rhett placed the ring on her finger, and held her tightly in his arms. He made love to her for hours that night, trying to make their bodies as close as possible. They felt as if they had truly become one, their hearts, minds and souls.

Their wedding was small, held back home in Wabang. Perry and Royal had worked hard to clean up one of the barns so they could have a reception out there. It was no secret to Royal that he wasn’t thrilled about the wedding and his youngest son fleaing out west. He had hoped that Rhett would take over the ranch when Royal couldn’t do it anymore. Perry was happy to see his brother finally settle down and had hoped that this would stick. Cecilia was also happy to have another daughter in the family. The two of them seemed very fairy tale-like as Rhett held his new wife close to his chest as they swayed on the dance floor. But the honeymoon feeling came crashing down quickly.

Their first fight had been an ugly one, over Rhett’s drinking. Years of riding bulls and popping pain killers had become a second nature to him, something he quite couldn’t let go of. Rhett had found a farm to work as an extra hand, but it was quite enough for him. He thought when he left Wabang and chased after the woman he loved that it would be enough. Having her be his, his own Mrs. Abbott, would be everything he had ever dreamed, and it was. But he fell back into his old ways. Y/N would get pissed as he’d stumble in at odd hours of night as she was trying to sleep before her early morning shifts. She had finally had enough of it.

“Jesus Christ Rhett,” Y/N cursed under her breath as she looked at the drunk man who had just knocked over something, “Why do you constantly do this shit.”

“Do what? I’m too fucking drunk to do this shit with you right now.” Rhett slurred.

“Well Rhett! The hell do you expect!? This is the fourth night in a row you have come home completely trashed. You keep doing this shit, enough is enough,” Y/N yelled.

“What do you mean?” Rhett sobered up as she climbed out of bed, and grabbed a bag from her closet, “What are you doing?”

“I’m leaving.”

“No, baby please, I’m sorry,” Rhett grabbed her hands to try and stop her, “Please, you can’t leave me,” Rhett’s voice cracked, “You’re all I have. I left everything behind to be with you. I have nothing.”

“I never asked you to do that,” She bit back tears.

“I know, baby, please don’t leave me.”

And she didn’t. She stayed by his side, even when he told her that he was going back to riding. She was actually proud of him for getting back on the bull. He had done his best to stay away from the temptation of the old life; the booze, the pills, the pussy. But old habits die hard. His body was older now, taking rougher beatings when he would get bucked off. He would have a simple celebratory drink with the guys after the rodeos. Rhett found himself out later at night, coming home to a quiet house with his wife at work. Their schedules hardly ever matched up. He got bored of using his hand in the shower, and he could hardly remember the last time he and his wife made love.

He didn’t fuck them at first. He’d only let them suck him off before a ride, releasing the tension. But that only did so much. The rodeo hands seemed to look the other way when it came to his infidelity. He’d fuck the no name buckle bunny before the ride, not bothering to learn their names or even show them the ounce of respect. He saw them as playthings to fill the void he was missing from his wife. He thought he was good at hiding it, but Y/N had always been smart.

She knew that he was hiding something from him. She could tell in the way he wouldn’t touch her, his kisses were just pecks, he avoided looking in her eyes. Y/N had even seen it with her own eyes at one of his rides. She had gotten the night off of work last minute and decided to surprise him. The whole crew seemed to act weird and barely pay her mind as she walked through the trailers to find him. The smile ran away from her face the second she saw him walk out of his trailer, fixing his belt and a bombshell walking out behind him. Y/N felt her heart break as she leaned against the side of the trailer away from his eyes.

Y/N felt bile rising in her throat as she emptied the contents of her stomach. Rhett heard the sounds of someone retching and walked around the side to see his wife. His eyes widened as he ran over to her, and moved her hair back.

“No!” Y/N cried and pushed his hands off of her.

“Baby, you’re sick, let me-”

“Get the fuck away from me!” She yelled and Rhett stepped back in shock, “Fuck you, Rhett! I saw you! How could you?”

“Babe I’m-”

“Your shit will be in the driveway.”

Rhett had come home that night to exactly what she said, his stuff in the driveway, but he wasn’t ready to throw in the towel just yet. So he sat outside the front door and waited for her. Y/N felt bad when she saw him in the morning and let him in. She ignored him the best she possibly could, but it was hard to do. Rhett could hear her break down while she was in the bathroom and it made him shed a tear himself. He sat on their bed and waited for her to come out of the shower, he could see the dried tear stains on her cheeks.

“I promise you, I’ll never ride again. I never wanted to hurt you.”

And he had stayed true to his word. He had told his dad over the phone that he had officially given up riding. That he and Y/N had decided to start trying for a family. Rhett didn’t want to spend his time away from his family or worse, like some of the legends in Bull riding, dead or gravely injured. Rhett had stayed away from the rodeo life for about six months. And in those six months, Y/N and his marriage was completely worked on. They went to therapy, talking out their transgression and disagreements. They got back to the basics, bringing back romance into their lives; going on dates and trips. They had some of the best sex they had in years. They had both seemed to forget what had happened six months ago, until he got that call from Royal.

“I told her I wasn’t going to ride,” Rhett whispered as he stood in the kitchen. He was making breakfast for Y/N, after a busy night of love making.

“We’re in danger of going bankrupt, we need this,” Royal said, “We can’t lose the farm.”

“There’s nothing you can do?” Rhett ran a hand down his face.

“You know I wouldn’t have asked you to do this if there was,”

“Fine,” Rhett said, “When is the ride?”

“Three days.”

“Three fucking days?! That’s our anniversary.”

“I’m sorry Rhett.”

“I gotta go, she’ll be up soon.”

Rhett had gone to the rodeo by himself, it didn’t bother him, he was used to going by himself. It did make him a little upset that she didn’t even bother to come with him. He stood in the waiting area as he waited for the name of the bull he would be riding. The second he was given the bull, he knew it was a lost cause. The bull was impossible, no one had been successful in completing a ride. His team gave him a pat on the back and Rhett gave them a shy smile. The first person he had called was her.

“Is there anything you can do?” Y/N asked. She was sitting on the back porch of their house, looking out at the waves as they crashed on the sand.

“You know how these things go,” Rhett said as he leaned up against the side of his trailer.

“I don’t like this Rhett,” She said honestly. Silent tears were running down her face.

Rhett could hear the sadness in her voice, and could only picture the tears running down her face as she looked out at the setting sun, “I know you don’t. But I promise, I’ll come home to you.”

“You fucking better Mr. Abbott,” She sniffed and wiped her tears away.

“I will, Mrs. Abbott,” He smiled back, “I gotta go okay, I promise I’ll call you right after.”

“I love you Rhett.”

“I love you Y/N.”

She had watched the clock, as she settled down in a chair in front of the fireplace. The class of whisky was cold in her hands as she counted down the seconds until Rhett’s ride. Rhett said a small prayer as he walked up the metal steps towards the bullpen. The crowd was going wild as he waved his hand and greeted his team. They helped him down on the bull, and it already was bucking the second Rhett put his weight on the animal. Once it settled, Rhett tied the rope around his hand, making sure he had a tight grip on it. He closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath, seeing glimpses of his future life with Y/N, a few kids and a beautiful house back home on the Abbott Ranch. Rhett opened his eyes the second they opened the gate. It didn’t last long until a consuming darkness filled his eyes once again.

Time seemed to tick on slowly, and her eyes never left the clock as she waited for the call from Rhett. Assuming from the time it had taken from the ride until now, that it hadn’t gone well. Everyone in the community knew that the bull Rhett had was a troublesome one. It was known for bucking off its riders in the first couple seconds. The second her phone rang, she picked it up. His name hadn’t even slipped past her lips when his team manager told her what had happened. Her heart was shattered in her chest as she dropped the phone on the carpet. Her knees shook as she collapsed to the ground screaming out his name.

Her eyes were blurred with tears and her head was spinning as she pushed herself up from the carpet. Her phone was still on the line and they could hear her screaming for him. She walked out into the sand, her chest felt on fire as she let out loud sobs. She didn’t stop as her feet hit the wet sand from the waves. The further she walked into the water, her clothing felt heavier and heavier. The waves would crash and pull her underwater. She fought to keep herself above the surface, keeping her lungs inflated with air. The saltiness of water strung her eyes as the waves hit her. She looked up at the sky, looking at the stars and feeling the heaviness in her heart. She felt her feet leave the ground and she took a deep breath, as she felt a wave pull her completely under.

In the black abyss she had fallen into, she could see the man she had always wanted. Rhett stood there waiting for her, his hand outstretched. She smiled at him as she placed her hand in his. He placed a hand on her cheek, brushing the tear from her cheek. He leaned in and placed a soft kiss on her lips.

“I told you I would come home,” Rhett said.

“I know you did,” She spoke to him.

— — —

They had sent someone over to see if she was doing okay, but there was not a single sign of her. The back porch door was wide open. They looked over the house, trying to call for her but they got nothing in response. The only thing they found was her diary which was open by the bed. They didn’t even bother reading it, just closed it and put it in the box with Rhett’s buckles and hats. Perry had seen the green notebook with her handwriting across it and picked it up. He opened the page that was dogeared and read it to himself.

The pages were detailed on what had happened the night Rhett left for Wyoming. She explained that they had a fight about Rhett going to ride again. She was angry that he had been talked into riding for the sake of his family’s ranch. Royal had gotten them into financial trouble again, and Rhett knew that he could help them out with this ride. Y/N had given Rhett an ultimatum about it. She was worried about him riding after what had happened the last time he had ridden. The images of the night had filled her head over and over. She tried to push them away but she couldn’t. No matter how many times she had said it, Y/N had never really forgiven Rhett Abbott. Y/N had gone in on him, yelling that he had broken his promise to never ride again, the fear of past mistakes seeping through the harsh words she spat at him. Y/N saw her whole life with him, she wanted their future to be long lasting and full of love.

Rhett told her that he was going to ride with or without her approval. Y/N looked him in the eye and told him that she didn’t give a damn if he ever came back from Cheyenne.

The next couple lines were scribbled and had tear stains on them. It was full of regret from what she had said and didn’t know that their last conversation was going to be an argument about him riding. She had told him that she loved him, but she didn’t know if he forgave her. She wrote about how she was going to fly in the next day and surprise him back in Wabang, as he was going to stop there after Cheyenne. The writing ended abruptly with her saying: ‘I can't live in a world where Rhett Abbott doesn’t exist.’

It was late, the night was illuminated by the bright moon up in the sky. Perry was standing in the kitchen looking out the window, sipping on a glass of whisky. He turned over his shoulder to see his dad walking into the room. Royal gave him a nod and walked over to the cabinet, getting a glass and pouring himself a drink as well. They stood in silence for a moment before Royal spoke up.

“They never found her body. No body can explain it,” Royal said, looking down at his sock covered feet, “Some say she just disappeared, and others say she’s still alive. I just don’t-”

“She said she couldn’t live without him,” Perry said, running a hand over his face, “No body, no note, just footprints in the sand. Some people say they’ve seen her since that night.”

“She’s just gone, like a ghost, like she never ever existed. Like neither one existed.” Royal turned to look out at his land. Perry placed a hand on his father’s shoulder and then walked out of the kitchen back up to his room with Amy. Royal finished his drink and placed the empty glass in the sink before going back to his wife.

The beach was always the same, the setting sun warmed the sand and the breeze rolled in off the ocean. She would come to the beach night after night, and would sit and wait for him to show up. Her footprints would lead from the house like a trail as she walked towards the water. She would stand in the water up to her ankles as she wrapped his blue flannel around herself. It was like clockwork when he would show up, standing next to her with his hat on. She looked up at him with a smile and he looked down at her with the same expression. He’d take the hat off his head and place it on hers, and would kiss her. His lips were soft and he smelled the same of tobacco and Armani cologne. His hands were still rough as he would caress her cheeks, and look into her eyes.

“I love you Mrs. Abbott,”

“I love you Mr. Abbott.”

Every night it was the same, the two of them would walk the beaches of Cheyenne.

-- -- --

well. . . be nice pls:)

166 notes · View notes

cariantha · 6 months

Note

Chosen at random! 3, 12, 21, 36, 47, 55, 61, 79, 80, 92

I'm greedy, sorry 😆

Hi there! And thank you! I'm going to answer these from my current timeline which would put E&S in Book 2, a couple weeks after the poison attack. I also answered these interview style, so I'm going to include my tag list.

Make Me Admit Stuff

#3: Have you taken someone's virginity?

Sawyer: "No."

Ethan: "Yes." (And I may or may not be currently working on a fic that will reveal who with).😉

#12: Do you own a pair of skinny jeans?

Sawyer: "Yes. Several."

Ethan: "What the hell are 'skinny' jeans?"

Sawyer: "Ethan, they are the kind that I wear. You know, the style that made you curse in frustration the other night as you tried to remove them."

Ethan: "Ah, yes, I have a love/hate relationship with those jeans. But I think I have the technique down now. Unzip, fold down, and peel away."

#21: Are you in a good mood?

Sawyer: "Today ... today has been one of the better days."

She glances at Ethan for reassurance.

Ethan: "Yes..."

He looks lovingly at Sawyer and squeezes her hand.

Ethan: "It's been a good day."

#36: Do you know where the last person you kissed is?

Ethan: "Yes."

Sawyer: (points to Ethan)

#47: Who was the last person to call you?

Sawyer: "My mom. She's been checking in everyday since...it happened."

Ethan: "Naveen. To also check on how Sawyer is doing--"

Sawyer: (covering his hand with hers) "And you..."

#55: Favorite type of fruit pie?

Sawyer: "That's a tough one. I love cherry and apple. Not a big fan of peach. Hmm, if I had to pick just one, I'd go with Razzleberry. It's a mix of raspberries, blueberries and blackberries. Though I do love lemon and key lime too. Really anything tart."

Ethan: (distracted)

Sawyer: "Ethan? What about you?"

Ethan: (looks up from his phone where he was Googling Razzleberry pie recipes) "Oh, uh, Dutch apple."

#61: Wear a bath robe?

Ethan: "No."

Sawyer: "Only because I live with roommates. If I lived on my own, then no."

#79: What was the last concert you saw?

Ethan: "Garth Brooks."

Sawyer: (snaps her head to Ethan in surprise and laughs) "That is not what I was expecting you to say."

Ethan: "Naveen is a huge fan. When I heard that Garth's tour was coming to town last year, I gifted him a pair of tickets for his birthday. He insisted that I go with him."

Sawyer: "Did you wear a cowboy hat and boots?"

Ethan: "No." (starts scrolling through this phone) "But Naveen did. He had the big belt buckle too. I have a picture here somewhere. What about you?"

Sawyer: "Justin Bieber."

Ethan: (rolls his eyes)

Sawyer: "Hey! Don't judge me. I went with my baby sister."

Ethan: "Oh, I'm so judging you right now."

Sawyer: (murmurs under her breath) "My mama don't like you and she likes everyone."

Ethan: "What?"

Sawyer: "Nothing. Next question."

#80: Hot tea or cold tea?

Ethan: "Cold."

Sawyer: "I'm not a fan of either. But if I'm sick and desperate for some relief, I'll sip on some hot tea."

#92: Do you want to get married?

Sawyer: "Yes? I've always pictured myself married one day. But is it a deal breaker if I meet the 'one?' Not necessarily. For me, it's not about the certificate or the title and name change. I just want the promise of commitment. And to be honest, most of my hesitation about getting married has more to with the actual wedding. My mother is a wedding planner, and the thought of her insisting on a huge, over the top wedding makes me break out in hives. If I get married, I want my wedding to be intimate and romantic. I want to be present and savor every moment with my partner. I don't want to be the main attraction at a circus, dancing and performing for everyone else just because it's 'tradition.' Does that makes any sense?"

Ethan: (looks to Sawyer) "I didn't used to think so. But one thing I've learned recently is...it's impossible to know what the future will bring."

Tagging: @potionsprefect @jamespotterthefirst @annfg8 @peonierose @socalwriterbee @tessa-liam @jerzwriter @quixoticdreamer16 @mysticalgalaxysstuff @inlocusmads @txemrn @trappedinfanfiction @mvalentine @takemyopenheart @openheartforeverinmyheart @coffeeheartaddict2 @genevievemd @starrystarrytrouble @hopelessromantic1352 @kyra75 @lsvdw-blog @rookiemartin @headoverheelsforramsey

#thanks for the ask!#make me admit stuff #ethan x sawyer

8 notes · View notes

aconstantstateofphotography · 2 months

Text

shipwreck. Inverness, CA

#photographers on tumblr #original photographers #black and white #garth buckles #28/5.6

370 notes · View notes

gearheadphotography · 1 year

Photo

beauty in The Vault, Peterson Automotive Museum, Los Angeles

#black and white #oriiginal photographers #photographers on tumblr #garth buckles #gullwing mercedes

7 notes · View notes

yeswearemagazine · 10 months

Photo

Afternoon nap © Garth Buckles aka A Constant State of Photography :

19 notes · View notes

stusbunker · 1 year

Text

Smoking Spirits on the Roof

Thank you to @michaelsworddean for the throwback Misha pic and @talesmaniac89 for the divider

Featuring: Dean/Cas

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 14.5k

Other characters: Sam, Anna, Gabriel, Bobby/Rufus, brief mention of past Dean/Cassie, Michael, Chuck, Naomi, Samandriel, Garth, Benny, Gordon and Sam/Jess at the end.

Summary: When Dean shows up to a Halloween party, he isn’t expecting his entire world to change. But that’s what happens when he drunkenly makes out with the mysterious Castiel, a brother of a friend of a friend. Follow Dean as he navigates Cas’ world and works to be the boyfriend Cas deserves.

Song fic, inspired by Tyler Childers’ Feathered Indians

Warnings, etc.: Drunken hook up, handjobs, driving under the influence and then not, Sam’s a lightweight, RELIGIOUS families and the way some of them are shitty, John Winchester’s A+ parenting, being closeted, hidden relationship, fellatio, first times, drug use, unsafe sex, HEA, seriously it’s actually pretty fluffy.

Big thank you to @thoughtslikeaminefield for her support, edits, and pre-reads.

Well my buckle makes impressions

On the inside of her thigh

There are little feathered Indians

Where we tussled through the night

If anyone asked him, Dean just said it was what he had available. But if you really knew Dean, you’d know that the costume he wore that night was born from a deep seeded interest— some may call a fetish— in cowboy culture, films and legend.

He tips his hat as he walks into the kitchen of Benny’s upper, Garth in aviators follows with Sam in overalls behind him. Sam was lucky he was so huge otherwise Dean wouldn’t risk bringing a high schooler to his friends’ party. And as his big brother, he made sure Sam knew it before they headed out that night.

Benny’s roommate Gordon is manning the keg, decked out in full ninja gear with foam swords that cross his back. His dark eyes smile when he sees Dean, and they fist bump in greeting before passing plastic cups to Garth and Sam.

“Didn’t think you’d show,” Gordon calls over the ruckus, keeping the drink line moving.

Dean shrugs and replies, loudly. “Didn’t really have any other plans, figured it couldn’t hurt.”

“Well, you know where the big man will be.”

Dean nods, then thumbs towards the back porch. “Andrea bring any friends?”

Gordon smirks, and Dean feels it behind the mask. “Yeah, she’s got a whole Greek Chorus out there.”

Dean hedges his chances and brings his entourage outside to mingle. The deck is almost at maximum capacity. And Dean sees what Gordon meant, there are three or four girls and a couple of guys all in togas, hanging around Benny and Andrea with their spray-painted leaf crowns. There are the customary sexy nurses and cats and a few guys too unoriginal to be anything but some kind of athlete with their favorite jersey thrown on for the night.

“Hail to the King!” Dean jeers, swaggering over to Benny for a jovial handshake and a side hug for Benny’s long-time girlfriend. “And her majesty, looking gorgeous as ever.”

“Eyes front, John Wayne,” Benny drawls. “This Sammy?”

Sam waves awkwardly and Garth finger guns. “Hey, Andrea, who are your friends?”

Dean rolls his eyes but lets Garth get the introductions.

“Meg and Anna are my sorority sisters, and this is Anna’s real brother Castiel and their cousin Gabriel. And Bela and Billie are up for the weekend, we grew up together.”

Everyone smiles or at least nods at the acknowledgment of their names. Then Garth is off, “well I’m your Top Gun Garth Fitzgerald the Fourth, with my two compatriots, Dastardly Dean Winchester and his hayseed of a brother Samuel.”

“Sam is fine,” Sammy points out, ducking his head nervously.

Dean just tips his hat again.

He catches a few eyes, but the unshakeable stare of the taller guy makes Dean swallow around whatever follow-up quip he’d been working on after Garth’s eagerness. And from that two hours, four shots, and three beers later, Dean is wrapped around the guy in the kitchen pantry, sloppy and silly, making out like they’re on a timer.

Seven minutes in heaven indeed.

The guy, Castiel, is strong, and solid. He shoves Dean back against the door and bites Dean’s bottom lip before slotting their legs together to get some frictional relief. Dean’s both grateful and frustrated with the jeans of his costume. Cas, Dean decides to shorten it now, in the toga is practically free for the groping, but Dean’s been keeping his hands on his hips until he’s given more verbal permission.

Sometimes kissing is enough. Sometimes, it’s hard to stop once you get started.

Sometimes Dean's a chicken shit.

He lost his hat somewhere on the floor, but he's still got his boots on and that oversized belt buckle he's saved for just an opportunity like this to present itself. And it's his belt buckle that snags on the rope tie of Cas' toga.

Cas pulls away with an annoyed grunt, tucking and twisting and gathering the flowing fabric until it’s bunched around his waist and Dean thinks he sees the hem of some white boxers in the shadows of the closet. And then he looks at Dean and tilts his head, jaw hitched and eyes imploring. “Have you ever heard that song about saving a horse?”

And then, some minutes later, Dean’s on his back, and there’s a dress's worth of sheet fanning out from either side of him as Cas writhes against him, both still fully clothed, but hard as steel as they gasp against each other’s mouths.

“I, uh, don’t usually listen to any modern country—- but I think I found a new appreciation for that song,” Dean gushes in between kisses. Dizzy and drunk on this stranger above him.

Castiel chuckles and grinds deeper. Dean sees spots and just as he realizes he’s going home with spunky shorts, there’s a bang on the door.

“Dean-o! Your brother’s puking his guts out!”

“Fuck off!” Dean hollers back before Benny finishes talking. “Christ,” he mutters under his breath, letting his head drop back onto the floor. He runs his hands up and down Cas’ thighs, feeling his retreating erection make room between them.

“Do you need to go?” Cas asks, voice low and forgiving.

Dean peers out of one eye. “Need to? No. But I’m gonna, just wanna—”

Dean finds Cas beneath all those layers, hot and heavy and somehow still hard. Cas groans at the rough tug of Dean’s hand, but he leans forwards and kisses Dean filthy as he lets this midnight cowboy get him off. At least the train makes for easy concealment and clean-up, for Cas, Dean thinks.

Begrudgingly, Dean stands to sort himself out before going to find Sam. He untucks his plaid button-up and tries to hide the dark patch on his pants. Cas hands him his hat. Dean smiles shyly and ducks into it.

“Hey, uh, think I can get your number? That was some ride,” Dean asks.

“Maybe. Go check on your brother and then find me before you go,” Cas says thoughtfully. But Dean starts to get nervous that this was all it was ever gonna be.

And then Benny’s pounding again.

It takes damn near twenty minutes to get Sam vertical and cleaned up, but with Garth’s sober, wiry strength, they get him into the backseat of the Impala. Dean dusts off his hands and looks at his friend. “Thanks, but give me like five minutes, and we can head out.”

“What?! Dean! He’s a little green in the gills to be beating around the bush,” Garth objects.

“I know, just— five minutes. Please?” Dean clamps his hand on Garth’s shoulder and begs with his eyes.

Garth agrees begrudgingly, “clock’s a’ticking.”

Dean rushes back into the house, but can’t find any sign of Cas. He spots a couple of other members of the toga crew, but none of them have the build of a centurion. He checks the den, the kitchen, even the bathroom, and then, finally, he resigns himself to being a drunken hookup.

He waves goodbye to Benny and Gordon who are in an epic battle against Bela and Andrea for the beer pong championship and mopes down the front steps.

To stop dead in his tracks.

Cas—Castiel is talking to Garth, who is apparently reassuring him that Sam is gonna be fine.

“--- won’t mind at all, in fact, it’s on the way to my place anyway.” Then the string bean notices Dean’s return. “What do you say, Dean, can we give Mr. Milton here a lift home?”

Dean straightens up and smiles, feeling ready and willing to do whatever Cas needs. “Everything alright?”

Cas clenches his fists at his sides and looks back at the house. “Uh, my sister, it appears she and Gabriel left some time ago. If it’s not too much trouble, I don’t live far.”

Dean understands his apprehension. He’s not about to draw this out in front of Garth, and least of all a shitfaced Sam. “Sure thing, man. Take shotgun, Garth can be on Sam watch for the first leg.”

Cas lives about a half mile off campus in a two-story bungalow with a well-maintained yard and three rusty cars in the driveway. No wonder he didn’t drive himself, Dean thinks.

Instead of asking for his number again, Dean gives Cas his, scratched out on the back of a gas station receipt. “Just text me to let me know you got in okay.”

It’s overkill. Everyone knows it. But no one mentions it.

Cas accepts the piece of paper and nods at Dean, never breaking eye contact. And suddenly Garth is ready to swap places with Dean for the drive to Garth’s apartment. The moment is broken, Cas lets his fingers brush against Dean’s as he tugs on the receipt, but nothing more is said.

He goes in through the side door, and the Impala backs out onto the quiet street.

If I'd known she was religious

Then I wouldn't have came stoned

To the house of such an angel

Too fucked up to get back home

Cas doesn’t text Dean until the following afternoon.

>>> I got in okay.

<<< I figured

<<<Must have been some lock

<<< glad to hear it

<<<hows it going otherwise?

They start casually talking, getting to know one another instead of just each other’s mouths and bodies. Cas is in his third year, studying ancient history with a focus on the Mediterranean. He seems very impressed with Dean being an engineering student, which isn’t the first time he’s heard it, but it still feels good.

Dean’s done with his last class with an entire day left before Thanksgiving break, so he and Benny are getting stoned and watching slasher fics. The bloodier, the better, they agreed. They’re about to start the last movie of the first trilogy when Andrea bursts in, in tears. Something about her stepmom or some family drama. Benny gives Dean a regretful look, but Dean knows when to make himself scarce. He stands to go and realizes he cannot drive. Everything is light and fluffy, and his tongue works over his teeth to give it something to do.

Dean decides to go for a walk. The fall air is crisp, and he knows the neighborhood well enough, even high as balls in the darkness of the late afternoon. He makes the brilliant decision to text Cas, to see if he’s free. Dean’s been trying not to get too attached to the stoic history major. But he can’t deny he wants to see him again and is curious to see what he only drunkenly felt on Halloween.

There are two major streets that lead into campus, and each has a minor grid of residential streets that break off in either direction, to the east it ends with the lake, to the west it ends with the river, and more pointedly, the start of the freeway. Dean heads to the west and the rows of older homes which have all slowly been turned into rental properties for the upperclassmen. The streets are full of students rushing off campus, but once Dean reaches the turn-off to Cas’ place, the chaos of the campus has quieted to normal neighborhood noises.

It’s peaceful, Dean thinks. Nothing like the crappy trailers he and Sam have been in and out of since their house burned down. Not too shabby for university housing, all in all. Cas had replied a simple ‘not much’ for his plans for the night, so Dean takes the risk. Worst case scenario, the guy isn’t even home.

So, when an acne-covered kid, who couldn’t be over fourteen, answers the door, Dean is concerned. Then the kid goes and yells at the top of his lungs, “Castiel, you have a guest!” Like they’re suddenly in some sort of Victorian novel.

Then it all clicks, this isn’t some rental, this is the house Cas lives in, with his entire family. And there are a lot of them, besides pimple face, there’s Anna and some blonde guy watching television in the den just off the foyer. Cas comes down the wide wooden staircase with a pencil behind his ear and his eyebrows pitched in alarm, pink lips pinched tight.

Dean tries to smile and wave, but he is interrupted by a short guy with curly gray hair and piercing blue eyes, lighter and more ominous than Cas’.

“Are you a friend of Castiel’s from school?”

Dean swallows because he hasn’t been asked a question like that since he hit double digits. He looks to Cas and back to his dad and holds out his hand.

“Uh, hi, I’m Dean. I was just in the neighborhood and thought I’d say by— swing hi.”

“Dean—,” Cas warns softly, hand clutching the ornate railing.

“I’m Chuck, but you can call me Mr. Shurley. I’m Castiel’s dad.” The guys got a grip on him, and very soft hands. Dean nods and shakes for longer than is probably necessary, but better to be safe than sorry.

“Nice to meet you, sir.”

“Likewise,” Chuck smiles and pulls his hand back, finally.

“I didn’t realize you were already done with classes,” Castiel tilts his head, probably trying to remain civil, but Dean feels himself be weighed and measured in his gaze. Damnit, he knows Dean’s stoned.

Does his dad know though?

Dean shrugs. “I got lucky this semester, only got Tuesday/Thursday classes.”

“Castiel?” His dad interrupts. “Why don’t you see if your friend would like to join us for dinner?”

Food sounds amazing and Dean kind of likes all the politeness. “Yeah, Cas, can I stay for dinner?”

Cas looks to the ceiling and then at the couch, glaring over a fleeting giggle from Anna. “I’ll go set another place for him,” he grumbles, sulking through the den and into a door that must lead to the kitchen. Or maybe the dining room, old houses like this would have one of those, Dean thinks.

“Come on in, Dean,” Chuck holds the door wide, and Dean steps inside and takes off his leather jacket. He sets it on a well-stocked coat rack just inside the door, there aren’t any shoes in the foyer, so Dean keeps his boots on.

He doesn’t think he’d be able to unlace them in front of an audience, not at the moment anyway.

“Something tells me you know, Anna as well–”

Dean smirks. “Guilty.”

“And that’s Michael, our oldest.”

“How’s it going?” Dean nods to the guy, who looks to be damn near thirty.

“Sup?” Michael barely glances in Dean’s direction.

“Hey, Dean. How’s your brother?” Anna asks, turning from the t.v. to give their guest her full attention.

“Sammy’s fine, just a little low on the tolerance level, but I think he learned his lesson.” Dean tries to cover all his bases, not sure how well received underaged drinking would be by Cas’ family.

Chuck sighs awkwardly. Dean turns to look at him, and he almost elbows the kid that answered the door in the face. Where the hell was the twirp this whole time?!

“Samandriel, did you finish your homework?”

“Not yet, but I will after dinner. I swear!” The kid’s voice cracks, and Dean feels for him.

He shoves his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and tries not to make his presence too obvious. Though he’s probably the biggest person in the house unless there are more brothers somewhere. Dean glances around the room and sees a row of school pictures spanning an entire wall. One, two, four, shit there’s six of them!

And Anna’s the only girl.

“Guilty,” she shoots his answer back at his thinking out loud. “Did Castiel know you were coming?”

Dean spins his head and bats his lashes at her, trying to remember the question. “No— nope. I, uh, kinda just assumed.”

“Well, you’re in it now. I hope you like spaghetti because she always makes too much as it is,” Anna says.

Dean’s stomach growls. Even Michael laughs.

Luckily Chuck wanders away at some point, so Dean is able to relax a little. But then Cas is back, and Dean has to remember not to openly flirt with the oh-so-handsome grump.

“So how blazed are you right now?” Cas murmurs as they let his siblings lead the way to the table.

Dean squints and pouts his lips, contemplating. “About half as much as when I got here. I’ll be fine!”

Cas cocks an eyebrow, but Dean must be adorable like this or something because Cas throws him a bone. “My mother’s name is Naomi, call her Ms. Milton if you want to get in her good graces.”

Dean whispers, “I thought your dad’s name was Shurley.”

Cas licks his lips and grins. “It is, she didn’t take it.”

“Ah!” Dean gets it, and Cas nods him towards the dining room door.

The dining room is lined in dark wood, but is well-lit. The parents take the seats at either end of the table while the mostly grown children all find spots along the sides. No one mentions the empty seat between Anna and Michael or from whom Dean’s borrowing his chair. He chooses the seat on the end near Cas’ mom, she looks nice, and he hasn’t gotten to charm a mom since he helped Benny and Gordon move in August.

“It smells amazing, Ms. Milton. Thanks for having me,” Dean beams as he pulls in his chair.

The woman’s bright eyes sparkle with amusement. “So you’re our surprise guest. Mr?---”

“Winchester, ma’am. Dean Winchester. I go to school with Cas and Anna,” Dean explains as Cas fills his water glass. “Thanks, man.”

“It’s nice to see that Castiel is being social, he tends to get so involved in his studies that he—,” Naomi starts.

“Mom!” Anna cuts in, eyes Cas and Dean, and then bobs her head to show that line of conversation is a little awkward. “Dean, what’s your major again?”

“Mechanical Engineering, though it was a tough call, I almost went civil, but I figured the small problems are more my specialty. I love figuring out how to make things work and work better.”

“It’s nice to see someone passionate about their field,” Chuck adds, after which Dean catches a glare between Michael and Salamander. Chuck clears his throat and holds up his hands for his children on each side to hold. “Bow your heads.”

Dean takes Cas’ hand in his left and Naomi’s hand in his right, the size difference between their two hands is mesmerizing, and Dean forgets to listen to the prayer of gratitude. He risks rubbing his thumb against Cas’ while it’s out of sight.

Cas has good hands.

Suddenly there is a very abrupt chorus of “amen,” and Dean catches up a beat too late. But at least he can open his eyes again. Anna smirks at him, and Cas does his best to avoid making eye contact as they eat. Other than Dean eating two full plates worth, his presence becomes less of a novelty as the meal progresses.

He volunteers to do the dishes because that’s how he was raised.

Awkwardly enough, it is also Michael’s turn. So Dean dries as Michael washes. The weed is almost completely out of his system, but a thick food coma has settled in its place. Michael isn’t terribly chatty, but Dean gets the impression that he is not impressed with Dean at all.

Dean’s spinning the cullender as he wipes it dry. He wonders what Cas is doing since his dad insisted that Dean was fine on his own. Either way, there are worse ways to spend a night off.

“So, you go to State too or—?” Dean tries to make conversation.

Michael chuckles and shakes his head.

“No, I work with our dad printing his magazine. I set us up online, and now I kind of do whatever comes up,”

“Family business, huh? I get that. What’s the magazine? Anything I would have come across?”

Michael looks at Dean in mild amusement. “I doubt it.”

Dean counters, “try me.” He takes the last pot from the drip tray.

“Christian Home & Family Quarterly,” Michael deadpans and flicks the water off his hands towards the sink before wiping them off on the front of his jeans.

Dean concedes with a little bounce of his head. “Yeah, can’t say that I have seen that one.”

“Yeah, you don’t seem like the church-going type. No offense.”

Dean just raises his eyebrows, because he’s not about to get into an argument with this guy in his own kitchen. But also, what the fuck?!

Michael grins and slaps Dean on the back. “Thanks for the assist. I’ll go tell Castiel he gets to have his playdate before it’s time for bed.”

Dean mutters silently behind Michael’s back. “Playdate my ass.”

He drains the sink and wipes down the counters, unsure if Cas is going to come to find him or if Dean is going to have to wander back to the living room for a prayer circle.

He wouldn’t be surprised either way.

“You’re still here,” Cas says briskly. Dean can’t decide if that’s shock or annoyance in his eyes.

Dean goes for broke and smirks. “Can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“I’m sorry— when you texted— I had no idea you were nearby. Or—”

“High as a kite? Yeah, man, no problem, I didn’t realize this was your folks’ place. This is all on me. On a scale of one to never, how likely will I be welcomed back?”

Castiel tilts his chin down. “Do you want to come back? We usually weird people out well before they make it to the dinner table.”

“Uh, well,” Dean stutters and scratches the back of his head. “I don’t mind the family time. I was just hoping to maybe hang out with you some more. But, uh, I’m guessing they don’t know about—.”

Cas sighs and looks behind him to see that the kitchen door is still closed. “No, they don’t. They think I’m an innocent, socially inept, straight guy who is so busy with school he isn’t ready to find a wife and settle down.”

“What about Michael?” Dean asks because that’s the first counterpoint to Cas’ parents' thought process his brain supplies.

“What about Michael?” Cas leans against the sink, holding his opposite elbow.

“Why isn’t he married and having a soccer team of his own?”

Cas frowns, but mostly in the brow. “He’s got impossible standards. And a bit of a temper, if I’m being honest. But who am I to judge?”

Dean tugs Cas’ hand away from his middle, stepping into his space and whispering, “Cas, if me hanging around could get you in trouble, I won’t do it. But if you still want to get to know one another better, I’ll be on my best behavior. Honest.”

Cas bites his lips and looks at their fingers looped together. “I don’t have many friends. I can’t trust a lot of people with who I am, Dean. All I can do is work my ass off to graduate on time and find a doctoral program or a teaching job somewhere my parents and their church can’t repress me.”

“Well, I gotta admit I was hoping for more than friendship showing up here tonight. But if that’s what you need, Cas— I can be your friend,” Dean tries to swallow down the disappointment. It’s not a rejection, but the aches are related.

Cas looks firmly into Dean’s eyes. “I can only be friends here, Dean. Anywhere else, in private—”

Dean nods, biting his bottom lip as he tries not to stare at Cas’ mouth. Oh, to feel those lips on his again. He clears his throat and straightens up.

“Alright, buddy, you got it. So— you think you can give me a lift to my car?”

Lookin' over West Virginia

Smoking Spirits on the roof

She asked ain't anybody told ya

That them things are bad for you

I said many folks have warned me

There's been several people try

But up 'til now, there ain't been nothing

That I couldn't leave behind

It was one of those in-between weeks, where the panic of finals sneaks up after Thanksgiving. Meanwhile, everyone is rushing to get ready to head back to wherever they’re actually from. Except for Dean, of course, ever the townie.

He inhales a long drag off his cigarette and looks out over the campus. It’s late, even for night classes. The walkways are lit up like a Christmas tree but in Hannukah’s colors of white and safety blue. He’s got a good ten minutes before his supervisor comes looking for him, so Dean spends the last minutes of fresh air sucking down chemicals. It still beats the fake lemon tinge of the floor wax.

He’s got two more floors worth of hallways ahead of him, and then the main floor’s bathrooms. Dean sighs and watches the smoke drift over the edge of the roof and into the night. He’s grateful for the job, especially since campus jobs are required to work around his class schedule. It’s just the second shift that kills most of his chances at socializing. And stops him from keeping closer tabs on Sam during the school week.

Which might be for the best, for both of them, these days.

Dean knows he’s not their dad, but Sam could really stand to listen every now and again. Kid’s smart, of course he is, but Dean doesn’t want him bullshitting his junior year and losing his chance at scholarships.

Fuck— this isn’t the time to start worrying about this shit. Dean takes the last pull and holds the smoke in his lungs, letting it simmer. He exhales, scrapes the cherry off the end, and tosses the butt into the abyss between buildings. Sammy’d glare at him for littering, but when it’s his crew that’ll be pulling it out of the bushes someday, Dean can’t feel too guilty about it.

He feels his phone vibrate against his thigh once he’s back inside and he takes the chance to check his messages.

Cas

>>>Kinda a nasty habit

Dean instinctively looks over his shoulder, and back into the blinding fluorescence of the physical science building hall. He’s alone. Before he can reply to Cas being a creepy fucker, he gets another message.

>>>I don’t know if you’ve heard, but it’s not very good for you.

Well, at least he knows what he’s getting reprimanded for.

<<<Yeah, but I look hot doing it

<<< call it a wash

>>>I doubt your lungs would agree.

Dean checks the hall one last time and walks to the stairwell behind the elevators, mostly meant for staff use.

<<<Why are you still at school?

<<<Don’t you usually turn into a pumpkin about this time?

He shoves his phone back into his pocket as he marches down to the fourth floor to pick up where he left off. He doesn’t feel a reply until he’s got the scrubber lined up and crawling along. It’s tomorrow before Dean can reply, but he goes to sleep rereading Cas’ last message.

>>>Working in the library. God has not been so gracious as to turn me into a gourd to save me from the FOUR papers I have this semester.

>>>Don’t work too hard. Or give yourself cancer.

It’s weird to have somebody besides Sam giving him grief about his health. It almost feels like enough of a nudge to actually listen.

From the circles it has raced

Well my heart is sweating bullets

Like a little feathered Indian

Callin' out the clouds for rain

Dean steps through the old wooden doors and does not immediately burst into flames. Sam’s behind him, and Bobby’s behind him. They make their way to one of the back pews, guided by candlelight alone. It’s Christmas Eve, and Dean decided they were going to church for the first time since John’s funeral.

Amazingly, neither Sam nor Bobby questioned it.

Dean sits down and tries not to get caught searching the congregation for a specific head of dark hair. Bobby even takes off his hat and reads over the single-sheet program. The shadows cast by the flames turn the room into something otherworldly, both ancient and echoing. An unmistakable strum of an acoustic guitar breaks through the murmuring of the settling crowd. Then Cas’ little brother sings the first verse of Silent Night to start the service.

Dean doesn’t have anything against God. Besides the usual orphan’s complaints, he supposes. He just doesn’t feel like he has anything to prove to the guy either. As far as he’s concerned, if God minds his own business, Dean will too. But there are those people who look at him funny, like they can see the gutter he dragged him and Sam out of and blame him for it. Like it really matters if he’s poor, or fucks around, or parties.

Life’s too short not to enjoy it.

And until God gives him a personal guarantee either way, he’s not changing.

Those people are just too uptight to see the things Dean enjoys as blessings, not temptations. Sam’s more of an everything-in-moderation type, but that even seems restrictive to Dean. And as long as they're safe and happy—

An older man stands at the front of the church and begins reading from Luke. The guy has a nasally voice, and it grates against Dean’s ears, but he soon passes the story on to Anna, who is wearing a simple black velvet dress with her hair pulled back.

They pause in the reading to lead the congregation in a verse of O’ Little Town of Bethlehem. Then Dean sees Cas for the first time. Not singing, but approaching the front of the church from the side aisle. He takes the Bible from Anna and stands with dazed patience as the melody trails off. Dean wipes his palms on his thighs as he mumbles the words he thinks are right, swallowing when Cas starts to read.

His voice is so much better to listen to than creepy guy’s.

It’s then that Sam catches up. Dean doesn’t look directly at him, but he FEELS the bitch face he’s getting across the side of his face and down the suddenly tight collar of his dress shirt. It’s uncalled for is what it is, it’s Christmas! Can’t a guy pick a church to go to without an ulterior motive?

Dean hates that he knows what Sam is going to say already and that he’s probably right. What Sam doesn’t know is that Dean is doing this to get in good with Cas’ family, not just get into Cas’ pants again. But he couldn’t exactly explain that without spilling all of Cas’ secrets, either.

Dean ignores Sam but misses the end of Cas’ reading. There are a few more songs and more scripture. They close with their heads bowed in prayer, and a simple chime from the organ sends them off, to proceed reflectively and silently into the dark night.

Their very conveniently placed seats for arrival suddenly are not so helpful as the people fill the aisles and bottleneck at the exits, either for donning their hats and coats, which Dean and company hadn’t bothered hanging up, or for socializing in whispers. Dean feels suddenly scrutinized as boomer after boomer eye him and Sam as fresh meat. He smiles and nods placatingly until he catches Michael’s raised eyebrow.

Dean is trapped. What was he even thinking— now he is actually going to have to interact with Cas’ family. And not the nice ones.

Michael lunges forward and grabs Dean’s hand in a tight shake, but takes care to murmur his greeting. “Dean, my man. Glad to see you.”

Dean squeezes his hand back. “Hey Mikey, this here, uh, is my little brother Sam and my Uncle Bobby.”

“Fellas,” Michael nods in turn. When Cas approaches and eyes the space between Michael and Dean suspiciously, Michael smirks. “Caught me fraternizing, huh, Castiel?”

Cas just rolls his eyes before nodding at Dean, his jaw is locked tight.

They share a glance as the crowd crawls out the back of the sanctuary, but nothing close to the reunion Dean was hoping for after weeks apart. He waits for the Milton-Shurleys to pass and then he follows them outside, completely unaware if Sam and Bobby are following or if they left him to fend for himself.

Dean keeps his head down, though his heart is in his throat and his stomach is in knots. He came to see Cas and seeing him just makes Dean miss him more. Once outside, he hunches his shoulders against the cold, stepping carefully down the stone stairs. The parking lot is packed with people mingling, despite the late hour and the weather. There’s a row of people waiting to be picked up along the small walkway.

Dean blows on his bare hands, rubs them together, and looks around, trying to find Sam or Bobby in the crowd. It’s like he’s been transported to an old movie or a Christmas card. Silver Bells’ lyrics run through his head as the snow gently falls on the retreating churchgoers. A throat clears behind him, and he spins, expecting Bobby.

It’s Cas.

With apologetic bright eyes, he smiles secretly at Dean. “Hello, Dean.”

This was all worth it, dragging Sam along, singing carols, and the awkward exchange with Michael. Because Cas is looking at him like he’s a gift and Dean has to swallow and remember to breathe all at once.

“Heya, Cas. Merry Christmas.” His cheeks prickle, but he can’t get any redder, from cold or blood.

Cas’ face softens further. “It is, isn’t it?”

They hold each other’s gaze, ignoring the dwindling crowd and even the rumble of the Impala’s engine as it pulls up beside them on the curb. Cas’ family is climbing into a beat-up van that’s parked in a loading zone. But neither of them really registers any of it. Because even in the darkness, Dean’s green locks on to Cas’ blue and holds tight, like spring leaves reaching towards an afternoon sky.

“Thank you for—”

“I should probably-”

A nervous beat breaks the stalemate and forces them to look away. And all the world rushes back around them. Dean shifts and holds up a finger to signal Sam to button it up before he starts heckling.

“‘S good to see you, man. Take it easy.”

Cas reaches out and grips the meat of Dean’s bicep and nods. “Merry Christmas.”

Dean wants to kiss him so damn bad. Instead, he licks his lips and does them both a favor by stepping back and breaking the contact. He waves at Anna as she approaches, folded in her puffer coat, big eyes full of concern. Impossibly, he walks away.

Dean doesn’t look back as he crawls into the backseat. Bobby’s got the keys, and there’s no way Sam would forfeit shotgun now. It’s almost two before Dean’s in bed, looking forward to a long weekend of good food and sleeping in. Exhaustion can’t stop him from checking his phone one last time.

It’s not in vain.

Cas

>>>How would you feel about getting coffee soon?

<<<Free now

<<<just saying

>>> *grinning emoji* Very funny.

>>> Monday?

<<<Monday! bright n early

>>>Until then. * kissy emoji*

Dean blushes and cringes in equal measure as he types a simple “x” and darkens his screen. Suddenly he’s very much awake.

I'd go runnin' through the thicket

I'd go careless through the thorns

Just to hold her for a minute

Though it'd leave me wanting more

Coffee gets crashed by Cas’ cousin Gabriel, and though he’s annoying and nosey, he seems to be someone Cas can trust. Then Cas has to drive Michael and their father to the airport the next time they try to schedule something.

Dean’s getting desperate, but he tries not to let his disappointment show. To top off all of their scheduling conflicts, Cas is taking a winterim course, three credits of work, and knowledge packed into three weeks’ time. Dean is worried he’s coming on too strong, pushing Cas away with his neediness.

<<<If it doesnt snow maybe we can get lunch on campus tmrw

It takes nearly an hour for Cas to reply. Dean does not have a cigarette as he waits, impatiently. He has to stop himself from deleting the text or double texting three different times. Why is he like this?

>>>I’d love to. Subs or burgers?

<<< Burgers!

<<< The redder the meat the better

>>>Agreed!

Dean huffs out a chuckle at Cas’ earnestness.

<<<Meet you outside your class?

>>>Sounds good. See you at 12:45

It snows. From sun up until just before noon. Which means Dean has to work, clearing the sidewalks with one of the plow-fitted ride-on lawnmowers. During breaks, he fills in on the grounds crew to make up for the hours he loses with fewer custodial shifts available. The school’s recruiting brochure brags about the five miles of walking paths on a scenic, green, urban campus. Dean curses every inch of those five miles as he speeds to make it in time to at least tell Cas in person why he has to miss lunch.

He pushes the engine as hard as he can while taking the time to carefully plow the way from the parking lot to each building. He forgot his headphones and his phone’s tinny speakers do little against the open air, but Dean bobs his head and sings along, trying to keep up some momentum. And fight his growing anxiety.

The Humanities’ buildings all back up against a small pond and Dean gets to those paths as his phone reaches a glaring 11% battery life. He shuts off his tunes and keeps pressing forward, only thirty minutes or so to get done.

He’s gonna make it. He has to. Even if he only gets a thirty-minute break and getting back to the Union will take ten of it, he’s going to get to see Cas. One-on-one, finally.

Dean plows and backs up and plows some more. He clears the loop around the pond and kills the engine just outside the nearest side entrance to the History building. It’s 12:48 and Dean is swiping his staff badge to get inside quicker. He stomps his boots clean before charging up the steps to the second floor and nearly runs smack into Cas as he turns toward the discussion rooms. Cas apologizes without looking up at first, clearly irritated.

Dean grabs him by the upper arm and makes Cas see him, however late. Dean made it. He’s sweaty, and his nose is freezing, but Dean beams as Cas’ eyes take him in.

“Hey, sorry, I—”

“Yeah, I just made it. Sorry, I’m on the clock.”

Cas squints and closes his distractingly chapped lips. “I see.”

“Got time for a quick lunch, if you’re still game?” Dean cocks his head down to the stairs and holds his breath.

“It’d be a bit brief for a first date, don’t you think?” Cas asks, adjusting the strap of his messenger bag on his shoulder.

Dean licks his lips because he knows he’s got to salvage this. “This is just the pre-date. The real date will be longer— better.” He sighs and steps closer. “Maybe we can hash out the details over lunch?”

Dean ducks to meet Cas’ reluctant gaze, giving his best hopeful eyes. Castiel looks at Dean and sighs with his whole being.

“Okay, burgers?”

Dean slaps him on the shoulder and holds on. “Burgers!”

They ride to the Union on the lawn mower with the plow raised for safety, Dean speeding on the nearly abandoned pavement, and Cas holding on to the back, grinning like a fool.

Hold me close my dear

Sing your whispering song

Softly in my ear

And I will sing along

They've managed a handful of stolen moments since. And now, Cas is over at his place, attempting to watch football while not overtly flirting in front of Sam.

Their first date was indeed longer, but finding time and location that had both access and anonymity was difficult. The Italian food left much to be desired, though Dean couldn't ask for better company. Miraculously, Cas asked him out for a second date, and the movie wasn't bad.

Sam is not buying it. "You guys know you don't have to babysit me, right?"

Dean looks at Sam and silently begs him to not be a bitch. "What are you talking about? I wanna watch the game."

Sam cocks his head. "Who’s playing, Dean?"

Dean looks at the TV and tries to figure out the teams by their helmets and initials on the score at the bottom.

"That's what I thought. Go fool around, or whatever it is you keep stopping yourselves from doing. I get it," Sam clips out the last t's.

Dean pushes up off the couch, hovering over his seat as he looks at Cas and smirks.

Cas’ eyes go wide, but he nods, his lips hollowed out in query. Dean nods towards the back of the trailer and heads down the hallway without another word, away from Sam and to the thinnest illusion of privacy. He feels Cas follow but doesn’t see his fisted hands at his sides.

The hollow door latches loosely closed behind them.

Dean turns on Cas instantly. Before he even realizes he chose to, he’s cupping a nape, and his mouth is catching Cas’ on the uptake. Both open and filthy. Dean feels Cas exhale into him, feels his body still and his hands perch on Dean’s shoulders delicately.

Dean grins into the kiss and presses closer into Cas’ space. Tries to unbury that toga-clad energy from Halloween. However sober, Dean knows it's in there.

All while getting them closer to the bed.

Cas sighs and grips Dean tighter. Pushes in with his chin forward and gives back. Dean sucks his tongue into his mouth and moans at the thick, heavy wetness.

Fuck, he’s hungry.

Dean stagger steps them towards the far wall, which makes the bed less than three feet away, but for some reason, they can’t stop kissing long enough to get there. It’s like depleting oxygen tanks or the last slurp of soda at the bottom of the cup. They need to kiss until they’ve gotten all of each other, desperate and determined; they taste.

Until they start to laugh.

Dean feels Cas chuckle, hunching his shoulders as they peck around giddy smiles.

“What’s so funny, hm?” Dean asks, looking down at Cas’ scrunched-up nose as he tries to pull away.

Cas just shakes his head and hauls Dean by the waist, kisses him again, and notches their thighs tighter. And okay, Dean is all about that, but he still feels like he’s missing something, but he doesn’t really think too hard about it with all the friction.

Then the floor is out from under his feet, and Cas is on top of him, half off the bed and growling against his neck. Dean huffs and giggles. Because, damn. He should have had his guard up. Luckily Coach Sonny wasn’t here to see that, because that was a solid takedown and Dean let it happen.

Dean catches his breath, slides his hand under Cas’ sweater and squeezes.

Cas freezes and glares. Dean looks back under his lashes, challenging.

“Ticklish, Cas?”

“No, but I know you are— that , I remember,” Cas replies as he slides up and pulls Dean’s hands above his head. Dean stretches out, slinking further up the bed and Cas follows, fucking stalking up his body with heated determination.

Dean swallows and goes for broke. “You gonna lose the Sunday best? Been dying to see you— feel you.”

Dean looks Cas up and down, crumpled and creased. His starched khakis do little to hide his desire, even in the gray afternoon light of Dean’s one-windowed room.

Cas rears back, kneeling on the bed between Dean’s legs and yanks the thick crocheted sweater over his back. It leaves his hair messy, but Dean’s too busy watching the way his shoulders flex as he pulls his arms out of the sleeves.

Cas balls up the shirt and tosses it in the corner, shrugging as if to say, ‘and?’

Dean rolls his eyes but scoots to sitting and starts unbuttoning his flannel. Castiel plays with Dean’s necklaces until it’s time to take off his t-shirt. And now that he’s got Cas in his lap, topless, Dean’s a little shy about his own bare torso. He’s not exactly super-defined or anything. He knows his strength, but he likes to eat, okay? Being poor you don’t skip meals unless you have to.

He’s kicking himself for not letting Sammy talk him into matching tattoos. Any tattoo automatically makes you hotter. But the kid’s got another two years before Dean could get him into a legit parlor anyway. He inhales and ducks out of his shirt, and immediately surges up to restart making out, unwilling to watch Cas see him just yet.

Cas’ hands roam Dean’s back, groping and kneading, dexterous and distracting.

Dean gets lost in the fog of want, too tight in the pants to dwell on his shirtlessness. Then Cas cups his jaw and pulls back to look him in the eyes. Insistent, imploring blue.

“Can we turn on some music?”

Which was not, at all, what Dean was expecting Cas to ask him in that moment.

Dean laughs and nods. But Cas keeps talking, “it’s just I know we’re probably louder than we realize. And with a younger sibling within earshot— I’d feel better if we— at least pretended—”

Dean kisses Cas, shutting him up. “Dude, yes.” Peck. “I’ve got tunes.” Peck. “Just give me a sec.”

Dean carefully unwraps himself from Cas’ body, giddy and grinning over all the skin he can see and finally feel . He pulls out the thigh of his jeans, trying to create room as he half stumbles and half struts to the bookcase and the ancient boombox he found at the Goodwill that has a double tape deck and a six-disc changer.

He had been making compilation tapes during his downtime before spring classes start, and had intended to make one for each year to give the impala some diversity without letting Sam use his damn phone all the time. He just pushes play on the last finished tape. The old hiss from recording from vinyl starts and the room is filled with the crooning of Tommy James and the Shondells.

When Dean turns around Cas’ head is cocked and he’s resting back on his palms, broad chest and strong arms on display. Dean wants to crawl into his lap and pink up his lips some more. But, ever the little shit, instead he unbuckles his belt and drops trow, kicking out of his pants and making Cas’ eyes bulge like a treefrog.

Cas licks his lips and sits up, trying to open his fly and watch Dean step closer at the same time. If there’s one thing Dean knows it’s the art of distraction, and if his dick is out, there’s less chance Cas is gonna be staring at his softer-than-he’d-like torso.

He grabs Cas by the back of the neck and leans down to kiss him filthy, kneeing between Cas’ legs as he feels Cas’ shaking hands find his hips. Dean smiles into the kiss and slows it down, pulling back to watch Cas’ lids flutter open, dopey and bright.

“Wanna see you— can I?” Dean gestures down to Cas’ khakis and instantly draws attention back to his ruddy cock. Cas mumbles something but then nods, sitting taller and leaning back, forcing himself to look away as Dean sinks to the floor.

He starts with Cas’ shoes and then his socks, and sees Cas flex his toes before falling fully onto his back on Dean’s bed. Dean drags himself back up and pulls open Cas’ pants, hands snaking beneath his thighs and tugging the fabric as Cas rocks from side to side. Dean looks him over, strong runner’s legs and dark hair, flat stomach, and messy hair. Fuck! If Dean didn’t know he went every which way already, he’d be so screwed. Castiel is gorgeous, and Dean’s got him in his bed naked as a jaybird.

Happy early birthday, Dean thinks to himself and sets his hands alongside Cas’ waist to crawl up the miles of skin, trying not to stare at Cas’ fat dick that's hard and leaking for him.

“I don’t want you to penetrate me,” Cas blurts out of nowhere.

Dean stops in his tracks. “Uh, wasn’t even close to that yet, buddy. But, okay. That’s fine.”

Dean looks down at their laps and then away, resting back on his heels, needing Cas’ to say more or even look at him. Cas’ eyes are shut tight, and he’s rubbing the bridge of his nose. Dean feels his anxiety in the air, so he starts rubbing Cas’ thigh and waits.

And does not touch his own dick, even though it’s begging for any sort of contact.

“Cas?” Dean asks after a solid two minutes of tense silence. “Is this your first time?”

Dean knee-walks to Cas’ side and tries to pry his hands from hiding his face. “Because it’s totally okay if it is. I, uh, I haven’t really done much with guys— and I’m just excited we’re finally getting a chance to be alone— and all that.”

Cas sighs and glares at Dean.

Dean drops his chin and glares back. “What’s that for?”

“You are being completely understanding, and I really don’t need another reason to like you,” Cas explains.

“Thanks?” Dean guesses a polite response.

Cas rolls his eyes and sits up, apparently unaffected by his own nakedness. He reaches for Dean’s hand and fiddles with his mother’s ring. “Can we go back to the kissing? I can handle that, and it’s goo—”

Dean doesn’t let Cas talk himself into more embarrassment. Yeah, the kissing is good, great even. But Dean doesn’t want Cas worrying either. So he lays them both down, on their sides, knees knocking and dicks not quite touching. The heat between them lays in concentrated hollows, making the rest of them pucker in the winter air.

Dean cups Cas’ jaw and runs his thumb along his cheekbone. “You okay?”

Cas holds his wrist and husks out, “yeah. You?”

Dean breathes out a single laugh. “Yeah, I’m pretty effin’ okay.”

Dean kisses Cas’ chin, and nudges down to kiss along the underside of his jaw until he can suck on his pulse point. Cas’ breath hitches and Dean goes for broke, sliding his pelvis across the neutral zone they’d silently negotiated, in search of progress and the throbbing relief of the press of flesh against flesh.

Cas moans and Dean reaches down and grabs a handful of Cas’ ass. Then he rolls them both so Dean’s on the bottom and Cas is the one in control. Cas licks into Dean’s mouth and grinds down, feeling the way their dicks slide together between their bellies.

“What do you like?” Cas asks suddenly, hips rolling long and languid as Dean squirms and pecks at the parts of Cas he can reach.

Dean looks up at Cas and smirks. “Do your worst. We can try whatever you want to try first.”

Cas stills and bites his lips. “Are you sure?”

Dean spreads his legs and feels Cas fall harder against him. “Yeah, it’s okay, just see how it goes. No stress—- this is supposed to be fun.”

Cas nods seriously and kisses Dean’s cheek. “Thank you, Dean.”

He looks down at their bodies, nestled and sticky, their dicks have been impossibly patient. “I’m not sure about the taste of semen. Do you mind if I taste you?”

“Do I mind?” Dean stares slack-jawed and appalled. “No, I do not mind. Fucking taste away, Cas, Christ. Blow jobs are only some of the best things humans have invented, up there with music and pizza.”

“Hmmmm, I may have to ask you to prove your hypothesis, but—.” Cas clears his throat. “Later.”

Then he inches down Dean’s body and takes Dean’s dick firmly in hand. He traces the head with the pad of his thumb, making Dean whine as he tugs the skin of the shaft, watching carefully as more precum beads at the slit. With a flattened tongue, Cas laps the head of Dean’s dick and Dean goes cross-eyed watching him.

Still holding Dean’s shaft, Cas starts licking Dean like an ice cream cone, and it’s not bad, it’s just very apparent the guy has never watched porn. Dean moans and starts rolling his hips, trying to at least get some stroking going on if Cas isn’t gonna take him into his mouth fully.

When Cas starts to mirror Dean’s movements, Dean husks, “yeah, now, uh, can you suck on it? You don’t have to take it all, just start slow.”

Cas watches Dean’s face as he holds the tip of Dean’s dick on his bottom lip and mouths around the girth. If he wasn’t so worried, Dean might have laughed, but Cas’ bright-eyed earnestness is making it hard for Dean to keep talking him through it.

“Okay, now try and use your tongue, like we’re kissing,” Dean offers. “And take a little more in.”

Cas obliges, words buzzing around his mouth as he asks, “like that?”

Dean nods, licks and bites his bottom lip as Cas rolls his tongue and squeezes with his lips.

“Suck, Cas, and bob,” Dean says, trying to stay still as Cas finds something like a rhythm.

He pulls off breathless, but smiles. “Your dick is quite big— I, uh, I have to try again.”

Dean chuckles. “Hey, look who’s talking, that monster between your legs is gonna be a full meal.”

Cas blushes, but grabs Dean by the base and takes him even deeper. Dean’s starting to throb, the storm in his belly makes him thrust against Cas’ efforts, but he forces himself to keep it shallow.

“You’re doing so good, babe, sucking me so good,” Dean murmurs, voice pitching higher with each wave of pleasure.

Cas groans around Dean’s dick, tonguing the underneath as he dips his head down and up, down and up, dooooown and up. Dean’s right on the edge when Cas starts to gag. Dean catches himself a second too late from whining in defeat, but he gets Cas upright and coughing before it can go beyond repair.

“Just breathe, it’s okay,” Dean says, watching Cas for any signs of regret or vomit.

Cas clears his throat and takes big breaths through his nose, eyes wide with alarm.

Dean hugs him around the shoulders and just squeezes until everything evens out. He doesn’t say anything, just brushes his lips along Cas’ hairline and waits it out.

“Sorry,” Cas gasps out.

“Sorry? Don’t be sorry— you don’t apologize for going whole ham on me like that, okay? We’re figuring shit out. There’s a learning curve to this, too, you know.” Dean says firmly, not making Cas face him just yet.

Cas chuckles mirthlessly. “I do now.”

Cas side eyes him sheepishly, but Dean just smiles and waggles his eyebrows. Cas rolls his eyes but lightens up the more Dean goads him with flirty faces.

Dean kisses him softly, hands brushing over Cas’ face and down his neck until they start leaning back towards the pillows. Dean thinks about the skin mags shoved beneath his mattress and the lube he’s got in an old shoe box beneath that. He thinks about how none of that feels like this.

Having Cas here, to himself, has been the true fantasy since Halloween. But this is real, and it’s happening. And Dean isn’t going to waste it.

“Do you touch yourself?” Dean murmurs.

Cas exhales and stretches back against the covers. “Sometimes, but I don’t have much privacy for anything elaborate.”

Dean guessed as much.

“How do you like it?” Dean asks as he reaches for Cas’ dick, just a gentle tug as if he’s gripping his shoulder in passing.

“Harder,” Cas sighs, eyes cautious.

Dean stops himself from rolling his eyes and squeezes as he starts to pump, leaning on his side as he watches Cas relax into his touch. He stops and licks his palm and over the pads of his fingers, easing the slide against Cas’ thickness.

Cas groans at the wetness. “Faster, Dean.”

Dean speeds up, dropping his free hand on Cas’ flat stomach and down to the ridge of his pelvis poking out. He keeps Cas’ face in his periphery but focuses his attention on the gorgeous body before him and the fat cock in his hand.

“You’re so fucking hot like this,” Dean says, mesmerized by the straining muscles and the throbbing heat. “Wanna get you there, Cas. Let me?”

Cas moans Dean’s name over the sound of CCR’s steady opening to Proud Mary.

Dean kisses Cas’ chest and reaches down to cup his balls, stroking faster, careful to swipe the tip for a more natural glide. Dean looks over his shoulder and sees Cas watching him.

“Like this?” Dean asks, voice as wrecked as Cas looks. Cas whimpers and bends in half around Dean’s hold, coming hot and hard all over Dean’s bed and hands.

“Shit!”

Dean almost giggles because Cas never swears. He strokes Cas through it, easing until Cas is whining from the contact. Dean kisses Cas’ shoulder and tugs the comforter out from under them, careful to avoid the mess and wipe his hands off at the same time.

With just the sheets left on the bed, Dean falls beside Cas. Cradling him into the curve of his body, Dean tries to avoid direct ass-to-dick contact. He doesn’t want Cas to panic again.

“You have incredibly strong hands,” Cas mutters into the pillows.

Dean looks down and flexes his fingers. He’s never thought about his hands much, but he guesses Cas must be right. Years of working molded him into a very different animal from Cas, whose life is all Bible studies and textbooks.

“You’re welcome,” Dean teases.

Cas laughs, breathy and tender.

Dean kisses his temple, gripping his chest and pulling him closer. They lay in the comfort of each other’s arms, letting the mixtape run out as they spoon and joke, eventually twisting beneath the top sheet.

“When do you need to be home,” Dean asks against Cas’ chest, too content to even raise his head.

“Don’t remind me,” Cas replies, reaching off the bed for his phone all the same. “Ugh! Probably should leave soon.”

“How soon is soon?” Dean asks, sitting up while keeping the sheet bunched around his half-hard cock.

“Seventeen minutes,” Cas replies offhandedly until he glances apologetically to Dean and starts to crawl out of bed.

“Uh, where do you think you’re going?! I still get your naked ass in my bed for at least another ten minutes.” Dean grabs Cas’ elbow and drags him down on top of him.

Cas smirks at Dean’s determination and shakes his head, snuggling closer. Then his hips slot against Dean’s poorly hidden erection.

Dean hums noncommittally.

Cas grinds down again, and Dean whines as he feels Cas’ growing interest.

“Fuck! We really don’t have much time, man,” Dean warns, rocking against Cas. Cas yanks the sheet away, leaving Dean bare beneath him.

“Next time,” Dean promises. “We’ll do more than the surface stuff, alright? Now I just want to feel you.”

Cas nods, mouthing up Dean’s neck as they grip each other and stroke in incongruous rhythms.

“I’m going to have to sit through dinner still smelling you on my skin,” Cas thinks out loud.

“Good! Want you thinking about me while those assholes play house. Want you knowing I’ll be thinking about you— your mouth— your dick in my hands— in me— however you want, Cas.”

Castiel gasps, but his hand moves faster on Dean’s shaft. “You want to take me?”

“Cas!” Dean warns, too strung out after hours of build-up.

“Dean,” Cas’ voice drops like a reprimand and Dean comes all over both of their stomachs.

Too blissed out to keep jacking Cas off, Dean groans and then wiggles down to mouth at Cas’ dick. Half wild and desperate, Dean sucks Cas into the back of his throat.

Cas, who is dumbfounded by Dean’s actions, keens at the new sensation of mouth and tongue and then comes again within moments. Dean doesn’t know if Cas is aware of how hungry he still is for him until he feels Cas tense when Dean catches Cas watching him lick his own spendings off Cas’ stomach.

Cas twitches and moans a warbly, “oh, Lord!” They both freeze at his blasphemy.

Dean looks up at him through heavy lashes, and Cas simply stares back. Dean kisses just below Cas’ navel and sits up, knees framing Cas’ thighs.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” Dean rockets off the bed and throws a towel around his hips. But he realizes he’s still a mess, so he tugs it up around his chest. He opens the door and quickly ducks out, closing it tight behind him.

He rushes to grab an extra towel and a washcloth from the bathroom between his and Sam’s rooms. Dean’s gone less than three minutes, but in the moments they’re apart, he starts to worry that it was too much too soon.

Dean doesn’t know if he can go back from this now. If he can keep it strictly PG since he’s gotten to truly worship Cas’ body. Now that he knows how it feels to just be in his presence, the connection, the comfort. Dean misses him already.

He wipes off his belly and rinses out the cloth and adds some hand soap for good measure. He clutches the fresh towel to his chest and rushes back to his door, knocking.

“It’s me,” he says and slips inside.

Honey tell me how your love runs true

And how I can always count on you

To be there when the bullets fly

I'd run across the river just to hold you tonight

Dean sits in the impala, anxious. Cas is coming to dinner. And not just at the trailer with Sammy. He’s been personally invited to Seder by Uncle Rufus. And well, to say that’s a big deal is an understatement.

Bobby and Rufus have been a thing as long as Dean can remember. From what he gathers, since the mid-80s after Bobby’s wife, Karen, passed and they met at a grief support group. The way the men always bickered, it took Dean into his teen years to realize how and how deeply they loved one another.

Their home was probably the safest place for Dean to come to terms with his own varying sexuality. And after John disappeared for good, they were the only family he and Sam had left.

The months with Cas start to fly by, between their ever-increasing class loads and the necessity of sneaking around, it’s spring before either of them realize it. Actual spring, not whatever the school tries to pass for it giving its spring break in mid-March, either.

Dean knows Cas is curious about Rufus’ faith, among other things. He just hopes Cas’ blunt inquisitiveness isn’t met with mockery. He exhales and counts down the minutes until Cas is out of his last class of the day. He wonders what excuse Cas gave his parents for missing dinner with the family.

He hates having to be a secret.

With Cas’ family being so prominent and his father’s business at stake, Cas knows he has to lay low until he’s done with school. Because he’s on a scholarship for one thing, and another he doesn’t want to hurt his siblings or bring further scrutiny on them. Anna especially has had many struggles with mental illness that she’s had to fight without professional help because their parents insist it's a matter of faith and devotion, not brain chemistry.

Dean has to bite his tongue so often that he’s gotten used to the taste of his own blood. But this is not his battle to fight. He’s there as backup only. He lets Cas lead the way, which he always does with compassion. Even when Cas is asked to pray at services Dean’s attended or the occasional family meal, Cas always prays for the lost or the less fortunate. He believes in the love of God in a way his parents and their judgment never could.

He’d probably make a good priest, or pastor, whatever. Dean wonders which churches even let gay people be ordained. He bets there are some out there. He wants that for Cas, for him to find true community someday. Something like the crotchety old guys who wouldn’t pass for queer until they’re caught kissing in the toolshed. The type of safety and home Dean’s had the better half of his life.

But he’ll do it and keep doing it as long as it keeps Cas safe. Cas told him about what happens when queer people are exposed within his family’s circle of friends, or anyone, really not willing to fully conform. Either the kids, because they’re usually too young to be able to fend for themselves, are sent to those awful camps. Or the entire family is blacklisted. Jobs are lost and all sources of charity or socializing suddenly dry up. Then they have to start over, somewhere else.

Faith is something too commercial and too big for Dean to grasp most days. But he likes the ritual of it all, the tradition and the history. He knows Cas will love Rufus’ Seder. He just hopes Rufus and Bobby like Cas, too.

“Hello, Dean,” comes Cas’ standard greeting as he pries open the door.

“Heya, handsome. How was class?” Dawn checks his mirror and waits for the parking lot to clear as Cas tells him about his day. They hold hands across the bench seat because it’s dark enough for it to be hidden from any passersby.

It’s a long drive this time of night, rush hour pushing them past sundown, which Dean knows will earn him a reprimand. But he’s not worried about himself. Sam was with Bobby helping out at the garage for some part-time money, so Dean knows at least they’ll be on time for dinner.

Rufus will just have to deal with them crashing in.

When they pull up to the well-worn bungalow, Dean takes his hand back to kill the engine and wipe his palms off on his thighs.

“So, uh, this is Rufus and Bobby’s place. Dinner’s probably already started— so we’ll just go in quietly, especially if they’re singing. Neither of the bastards can carry a tune— but it’s tradition, so.”

“Understandable, as you know, I’m not one to judge someone’s singing voice,” Cas even self-deprecates with empathy.

“Okay, but, before we head in, can I?” Dean leans in and kisses his boyfriend without waiting for an answer. Cas slides closer across the seat and enters Dean’s mouth, thoroughly agreeing with the further delay.

Dean breaks the kiss to breathe, resting his forehead against Cas’ as they both regain their composure.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“We should go inside.”

“Yeah, I know— I just—.” Dean squeezes Cas’ forearm and searches his eyes in the darkness of the car.

“I missed you, too,” Cas says softly, eyes big and hand warm against Dean’s cheek.

They kiss once more for good measure and head inside.

All things considered, it was a good night. Cas’ cheeks are flushed from the wine, and he’s grinning as Sam and Bobby regale him with the story of Dean’s last significant other to make it long enough to attend a family gathering, Cassie.

Except Cassie hadn’t been invited to Sam’s birthday dinner, she just showed up.

“So get this— we’re grilling out back— about to start a game of two-hand touch with a bunch of middle school guys and —,” Sam sets the scene.

And Bobby cuts in gesturing wildly, “a flipping diva. Hair out to here, walks in.”

“She had more makeup on than I’ve seen on professional drag queens,” Rufus adds as he clears their dishes.

“Okay, let’s be nice,” Dean interjects. “It was bad timing— I’ll give you that.”

“It was weird, Dean! It was my party. I was twelve!” Sam argues.

Cas chuckles and watches Dean as he shrugs, Dean ducks his head and tries to hide the heat in his cheeks.

“Anyway, this is better, right? See!” Dean asks everyone with insistent eyes. ‘Don’t embarrass him like you’re dragging her,’ he silently begs.

“Much,” Sam agrees. “But I already know Cas– more or less.”

“What is it you’re going to school for again?” Bobby asks carefully, popping some leftover matza into his mouth. Dean only eats the stuff when he has to, but Bobby doesn’t let any go to waste. The conversation flows easily and before long Cas needs to get home.

“Thank you so much Mr. Turner for having me— I hope the second night goes just as well for you all.” Castiel shakes Rufus’ hand.

Rufus preens under all the attention, earring sparkling in the glow from the front porch light. “I’m sorry you can’t make it, but there’s always next year, am I right?”

Cas, clearly surprised, smiles all the same. Dean scratches the back of his neck and waits for the goodbyes to be over.

“Alright, young man, drive safe,” Rufus says to Dean. He can’t remember Rufus ever using his actual name. He’s always ‘hey you’, ‘punk’, or if he’s been on his best behavior, ‘young man’.

Dean shakes Rufus’ hand and leans in for a quick hug. Sam follows behind shaking hands and nodding his gratitude.

Dean glances at Sam to sit in the backseat as they make their way down the driveway. Sam pretends to think about it, the sacrifice of giving up shotgun is a pretty big deal when it comes to being sixteen in your brother’s legacy car.

But before it gets too noticeable that they are silently arguing, Sam relents and lets Cas have the cherished spot. Dean isn’t impressed, but he mouths a ‘thank you’, though it could be interpreted another way. He slides into the driver’s seat and grins over at Cas. Cas smiles knowingly back, and Dean cranks the volume.

They don’t kiss goodnight, and not just for Sam’s sake either. It’s just too rushed, and Cas has to transform back into the stoic machine he is around his family. Dean hates these moments the most. Not just parting with Cas but watching him bury so much of himself.

“Thanks for the ride,” Cas says sadly before ducking out of the open passenger side door. He nods to Sam and marches dutifully up his front steps. Dean ignores Sam when he turns down the music and settles into the front seat. Something pulls at Dean’s insides, but he stays put watching Cas. Then Cas turns around, waves, and opens the door to return to that damned prison.

Dean slowly blinks back to reality and puts the car into gear. He drives home on autopilot and Sam’s smart enough to leave him to his thoughts. When he gets home, Dean reworks some details on a design for his automation class. Then tries to get ahead on some reading for a seminar he’s taking. Nothing sticks, but maybe it will come back when he needs it.

Guess he’s an optimist now.

A week later, Dean chances a phone call when he knows Cas will still be on campus, but out of the obligation of any classroom.

“Hey— this is stupid—- but I was wondering if you— maybe— like this summer— when the semester is over, and classes aren’t so crazy—- I talked to Sam and he’s cool with it if you help out. But like— no pressure or anything—- and only if you wanted to. It would be awesome. So, do you think—- maybe— you’d like to move in with me? I mean with us?” Dean hadn’t rambled this long since he tried to talk their way out of a parking ticket for a passed-out John, in middle school.

He must have lost oxygen to his brain because when he hears Cas on the other end of the line, it’s only a thready plea of his name.

“No, listen, I know you’ve got your scholarship shit, but you can get grants and a job at the student aid office or tutor for money or something. They can’t stop you from finishing school—- they can only make it a little bit worse. But everything else can be better, Cas, I swear.” Dean wasn’t supposed to be so desperate about this, but he really wants Cas to be happy. Well, safe and out and happy, but still.

“Dean—- we’ve only been dating for a few months,” Cas sighs. “They’re my family forever.”

“They don’t have to be,” Dean says without thinking. He closes his eyes, takes a breath, and then rubs his forehead with the back of the hand that’s holding the phone. “Not like you have to cut ties with them or anything— but, uh— well, Bobby’s always said family don’t end in blood. So, you know— you’ve got options.”

The seconds of silence coming from Cas’ side of the call last into the next century.

“And what happens if we break up, Dean?’ Cas doesn’t sound upset, but he still isn’t sold on anything.

Dean wasn’t expecting to go down that particular trail of possibility, and he flounders for a response. Both hurt and worried that Cas would think so little of him, of them.

Dean looks around the trailer’s living/dining/kitchen area and wonders what this could look like to Castiel’s eyes. He thought it was freedom, but maybe it’s just a trash hole to him like it was to the wrestling team and half of Dean’s exes.

“We’re both really young to be making such decisions,” Cas adds lightly.

“Look— I just want you to be happy. Are you happy, Cas?” Dean lays it out.

Cas exhales and shifts on the line, Dean can practically hear the gears in his head whirling a mile a minute. When he doesn’t answer, Dean presses on.

“Do you think you could be happy with me?”

“That’s not fair,” Cas counters. “You know this isn’t just about me. Would you leave Sam behind if it meant you could be happy?”

Dean locks his jaw, bitter and righteous. “No, but–”

“I may not be responsible for my siblings the way you are for Sam, but I do love them, Dean.”

“I know.” Dean feels it all slipping away from him. He doesn’t know what to say or do to make it better. He wishes he could take the entire conversation back.

“For what it’s worth—- when I’m with you—- that’s the happiest I’ve ever been.”

Dean pinches the tears out of his eyes and bleats out something like a chuckle. “Yeah, well, that’s great.”

“Dean?”

“Hm?”

“Do you work tonight?” It’s such an innocent question it throws Dean for a loop.

He looks at the clock on the microwave and sighs. “Uh, yeah, got like an hour before Sam’ll be home and then I’ll head in after we eat.”

“What are you making?” Cas’ voice is soothing, and Dean hates him for being able to distract him like this because it’s fucking working.

“Uh, just hotdogs and beans—- didn’t want to make a huge mess.”

“Because it’s on Sam to clean up and he’s probably got homework,” Cas concludes.

“Didn’t want him to leave it for me in the morning is all,” Dean reasons.

“Of course,” Cas agrees, knowing Dean’s thought process better than Dean would like.

“How late is the library open?” Dean turns the curiosity back on Cas.

“Ten, you know that: why?”

Dean shrugs though Cas can’t see him. “Was hoping to see you, maybe, if you’ll still be there when my shift starts.”

“Okay.”

Castiel is waiting for Dean in the parking lot closest to the Macleod Library. He walks him to the maintenance staff office so Dean’s not late for his shift. They shake hands and pat each other on the back goodnight. Just guys being bros.

Dean doesn’t mention the sheet of folded-up paper Cas passes him. It’s just a time and place, but it brightens Dean’s mood better than any placation or even kiss probably could at that moment.

His shift has never been longer.

Just before dawn, Dean finds Cas right where he had said he’d be. On one of the stone benches lining the small pond on Cas’ department’s side of campus.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Got your note— a bit cryptic— but I chose to interpret it like a middle school note— do you like me? Check yes or no.” Dean saunters closer, his hands fit around Cas’ hips beneath where his hands are wedged into his pockets.

“What are you checking?”

Dean kisses him because they are alone and because it’s his answer. Cas hums and pulls back. “Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”

Dean rolls his eyes at the lame joke, but kisses him again, deeper and more forceful until they both have to pull apart for air, grinning and giddy.

“How was work?” Cas presents one of his hands for Dean to thread their fingers together.

“Work— but I managed to get through. Might have been a little distracted.”

“Sorry about that,” Cas smiles mischievously.

“No, you’re not,” Dean murmurs against his temple, kissing him softly. “What’s up?”

Dean is dead on his feet, but he won’t be able to sleep until Cas tells him what all this build-up was for. Cas goes still, but he stays close.

“I wanted to tell you something—- and ask you for a favor,” Cas explains carefully, not making eye contact.

Dean watches the side of his face but aims for casualness. “Okay, a little dramatic, but shoot.”

Cas does face him then, eyes bright and brows high in hope or apology, Dean’s not sure. “It’s about your offer— sort of.”

Dean waits, but his palm is getting sweaty underneath Cas’ insistent grip.

“I want to be with you. I do. But since I can’t—- fully— until I graduate and Samandriel is an adult—- I want to promise to be true to you until we can both be our real selves.”

Dean squints and looks at Cas.

“Are you breaking up with me?”

Cas glares. “You are an idiot. Are you seriously so tired right now that you interpreted me pledging myself to you as me breaking up with you?!”

Dean doesn’t know what to say, so he puts on his best adorable apology face, essentially saying ‘I’m dumb but pretty.’

Cas rolls his eyes.

“You’re impossible.”

Dean reaches up to hold Cas’ face with both hands. “That’s already where I’ve been, Cas. That’s all relationships are— loyalty and devotion.”

Cas leans into Dean’s touch. “No, Dean. Maybe it’s not common in the secular world. But promising ourselves to each other is kind of a big deal with the people of my church.”

Dean drops his hands and steps back. “Are you proposing?”

“No-o,” Cas says it like it’s a question.

Dean grabs his hair and has a mini freak-out. But turns back and looks Cas in the eye even though he’s terrified. “Holy shit, you’re proposing.”

“Dean, I’m not proposing,” Cas says more sternly.

“And you were freaking out about me asking you to move in together.”

“To be fair, moving in together doesn’t happen in my experience until after marriage.”

“Yeah, but like half the people you know don’t even kiss before marriage,” Dean snarks.

Cas grimaces, but nods. Dean leans back in. “We’ve done a helluva lot more than kiss.”

“Your point?” Cas asks with a fragile sort of firmness.

Dean laces his hands behind Cas’ neck. “You are proposing.”

Cas, once again, rolls his eyes and tugs Dean closer by one of his front pockets. “Call it a pre-engagement if you must, but only if you swear to it, too.”

All the teasing leaves Dean’s body. Instead, he breathes deep and stares into Cas’ hesitant eyes. “I love you, you know that right? I mean— we don’t say it, but you know that about me.”

Cas softens in Dean’s arms, nodding as tears start to build in the corners of his gorgeous eyes.

“I’m yours, Cas. As long as it takes, okay?”

Cas swallows thickly and grins. “Okay.”

Dean looks down at Cas’ hands and between their bodies. “I feel unprepared for this.”

Cas cocks his head. “What are you talking about?”

Dean flexes his fingers and spots his solution. “I feel like I should be giving you something.”

“Dean, it’s not like I brought you anything.”

But Dean’s already untying one of his necklaces. It’s made of rough leather with a few beads knotted onto it. He bought it because he thought it was the right colors for the bisexual flag, but there’s a green one that throws off his reasoning.

“Here,” Dean insists, taking his mother’s ring off his right hand and threading it down the twine. “That should work— long enough to hide it, but still with you at all times.”

Cas doesn’t speak, just swallows and nods, turning so Dean can tie it on. Cas cradles the metal loop against his chest like he’s making the pledge all over again.

Dean beams at him, never realizing how satisfying it’d be to call Cas his. To have a claim on him, and his heart.

“Looks good on ya.”

“Thank you, Dean. I’ll— I’ll think of something to give you. Okay?”

Dean nods, hugging Cas close and whispering in his ear, “we’ve got plenty of time for that, okay?”

“We do, don’t we?” Cas grins his nose-scrunching grin and kisses Dean with more teeth than tongue.

Six years later

The arena is packed with people, families and friends filling the lower levels for the first round of afternoon graduations. Dean scans the crowd looking for Bobby and Rufus because, frankly, he’s sick of telling people the seats on either side of him are taken.

Then there’s the guy one chair over who won’t stop announcing that his cousin is getting his doctorate and how cute it is that Dean’s kid brother is only getting his bachelor’s. Dean isn’t going to let him bate him, it’s neither the time nor the place. But he clenches his fist anyway, just for something to pass the time.

Finally, Dean spots Rufus stiff-arming his way through the masses. He doesn’t say, “move, I’m gay.” But Dean imagines he is. Once they’re within earshot, he realizes Rufus is playing another card entirely.

“Senior citizens coming through!”

Dean picks up his coat and stands up to shake his uncles’ hands.

“Have trouble finding the place?” Dean teases.

“Don’t get him started,” Bobby warns, sitting in the now open middle seat. Leaving the far seat for Rufus, right next to Mr. Obnoxious himself.

Rufus settles into his seat and does a double take. “Don’t I know you?”

Gabriel rolls his eyes and acts offended. “Yeah, you do, Gramps. Forget your readers at home, huh?”

Dean tries to stifle his laugh, muttering, “he’s your problem now.”

The ceremony begins with a quick introduction and only two reasonably long speeches. The graduate students are announced first, but Cas is in the last row. It feels like Dean has been waiting for this moment as long as Cas has. He’s certainly put in the hours of research beside him. Fed and watered and supported them while Cas TA'd, wrote, and argued his thesis.

Dean shoves down the nervousness and focuses on the pride. There were only six doctoral candidates, and five made it across the stage that day. Dean couldn’t help but scream his head off when they announced, “Doctor Castiel Milton-Winchester.”

Everyone in the row beside him joined in, from a very pregnant Anna and her husband to Samandriel and Jess, Sam’s girlfriend whose nursing school graduation was in two and a half hours. Their tribe went hard.

Then they all had to wait for Sam’s turn near the end of the undergrads.

Dean doesn’t think it’s possible to be any prouder than he is at that moment. Seeing Sam’s floppy hair tucked underneath his square cap brings tears to his eyes. His brother was gonna be a lawyer someday, and not too far in the future Dean and Cas will be at another one of these robe parades.

Who knows, maybe Jess will still be around for it, too.

Dean grins and sniffles, because, yeah, Sam is graduating, but Dean helped get him there, damn it.

Not bad for two trailer park kids.

After the official time for applause, once the final name is called, the crowd returns to chaos. Dean bides his time, knowing Cas and Sam will find each other and meet up with him at the impala, sooner or later.

He watches his extended family gather their belongings and trudge outside into the spring sunshine. Rufus is loudly impatient the whole way. While Anna is almost to the point of waddling. Dean can’t wait to meet their niece already. Life is starting to slow down it seems.

Maybe they’ll finally be able to take the honeymoon they’ve been putting off for the past two years.

From somewhere behind Dean, Cas drawls a pathetic, “hey there, cowboy.”

Dean spins on the spot, smirking. “What’s up, Doc?”

“Really, Dean?! Bugs Bunny?!” Sam admonishes.

“Shut your face, Sammy,” Dean snips, not breaking eye contact with his husband.

Sam groans and turns to find Jessica. Dean’ll properly congratulate him later with the new juicer Sam’s been talking about, none too subtly, since the air fryer Dean got him for his birthday.

“Ready to celebrate your momentous accomplishment?” Dean asks, sliding in close and slipping his hands inside the now open sides of Cas’ faux satin gown.

“Please tell me there’ll be food. I woke up late and was too distracted to have breakfast,” Cas grumbles on Dean’s shoulder, shuffling his feet as if they’re dancing.

“Okay, but you never eat breakfast,” Dean argues since he was the source of the distraction in the first place.

“Because I eat between classes at like ten, Dean!” Cas bellyaches.

Dean sighs and gives him an unimpressed grimace. “Yes, there’ll be food, Christ. I’m not a sadist.”

They walk hand-in-hand to the car, Sam and Jess trailing behind them.

“Okay, quick lunch, and then back for round two?” Dean asks as everyone finds their respective doors. They all nod in agreement and Dean ducks into the car.

A memory of Cas’ first ride in the impala pops into Dean’s head. Having Sam in the backseat with Jess, it’s like looking in a funhouse mirror of that night. Sober and Garth-less, Dean chuckles.

“What?” Cas asks, amused.

Dean shakes his head. “It’s nothing. Just funny how everything works out in the end.”

“Good things do happen, Dean,” Cas agrees.

“Yeah, tell me about it. I got you, didn’t I?” Dean revs the engine and pulls into the line of traffic making their way out of the parking garage.

Destiel Tags: @dolphincliffs, @lastactiontricia

Tell me what you think?

#supernatural fanfiction #destiel #dean/cas #destiel fanfic #college au #hea #drunken hook up leads to fluff #homophobia #bisexual dean winchester #closeted gay castiel #bobby/rufus #first time

40 notes · View notes