Dean promised Cas he wouldn't let him die a virgin, and it still pretty much looks like Cas is gonna get his ass smote in the morning, so if Dean has to make like Bert and Ernie to keep this one goddamn promise to a guy who full on rebelled against god for him, well, then fuck it. Bring on the Muppet sex, because Dean's let the guy down enough to owe him a good time with some magic fingers in the red light district of Sesame Street.
Not like it'll be the first time Dean's felt like a puppet, and although, really, having a stick shoved so far up your ass you can feel it in the back of your throat is more Cas's department than his--witness the spectacular fail that was Dean's first attempt to get him laid--well, it is the guy's last night on Earth. Dean can suck it up and take it like Bert (that smug fucker Ernie's way too fucking happy to be taking it up the ass every night, and Dean's thinking that You Are A Pain In My Ass look that Bert shoots Ernie's way every episode has to be more literal than the Children's Television Workshop wishes.)
Cas looks a little stiff sitting on the bed on top of the cheap motel sheets in his holy tax accountant getup, legs stick-straight along the right side of the bed, careful even now that they're in bed together to follow Dean's earlier instruction about personal space. It's a little endearing how fucking awkward Cas is. That Cas momentarily reminds Dean of Sammy at thirteen, completely oblivious to Alison Daws trying to get him to hold her hand in the back seat of the Impala while Dean was smoking getting snacks from the drive-in's concessions stand only sours Dean's stomach for a second, before it kicks in his resolve. Dean says, "Fuck it," grabs Cas's tie and lays one on him.
Cas... doesn't fucking move. That's fucking flattering. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Dean flushes and unintentionally mimic's Cas's gesture from the whore house, rubbing his still fucking baby soft hand against the back of his neck. Fucking Cas and his rehymenising laser scar removal treatment went a little bit too far when he took away Dean's hard won gun calluses.
"You wish to give yourself to me in the ways of men?" Cas asks, head cocked a little to the side, zero fucking tone in his voice to give Dean a fucking clue what's going on in that angelic little brain of his.
"I am a man of my word," Dean says, covering over his massive desire to be anywhere but here with his cockiest shit-eating grin and a wink. "I did promise to give myself over to God and all his angels, didn't I? Well, here I am. How can I service you, o' Castiel, Angel of the Lord?"
Cas just looks at him for a moment, like he's looking into Dean's fucking soul, and fuck, that is totally what he's doing. Shit. Dean looks back, meet's Cas's eyes, even knowing what Cas will see there. They sit there, staring at each other for a moment, before Cas bows his head, says, "So be it, Dean Winchester, Servant of God," and reaches for him.
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Date: 2009-09-29 07:31 am (UTC)Not like it'll be the first time Dean's felt like a puppet, and although, really, having a stick shoved so far up your ass you can feel it in the back of your throat is more Cas's department than his--witness the spectacular fail that was Dean's first attempt to get him laid--well, it is the guy's last night on Earth. Dean can suck it up and take it like Bert (that smug fucker Ernie's way too fucking happy to be taking it up the ass every night, and Dean's thinking that You Are A Pain In My Ass look that Bert shoots Ernie's way every episode has to be more literal than the Children's Television Workshop wishes.)
Cas looks a little stiff sitting on the bed on top of the cheap motel sheets in his holy tax accountant getup, legs stick-straight along the right side of the bed, careful even now that they're in bed together to follow Dean's earlier instruction about personal space. It's a little endearing how fucking awkward Cas is. That Cas momentarily reminds Dean of Sammy at thirteen, completely oblivious to Alison Daws trying to get him to hold her hand in the back seat of the Impala while Dean was
smokinggetting snacks from the drive-in's concessions stand only sours Dean's stomach for a second, before it kicks in his resolve. Dean says, "Fuck it," grabs Cas's tie and lays one on him.Cas... doesn't fucking move. That's fucking flattering. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Dean flushes and unintentionally mimic's Cas's gesture from the whore house, rubbing his still fucking baby soft hand against the back of his neck. Fucking Cas and his rehymenising laser scar removal treatment went a little bit too far when he took away Dean's hard won gun calluses.
"You wish to give yourself to me in the ways of men?" Cas asks, head cocked a little to the side, zero fucking tone in his voice to give Dean a fucking clue what's going on in that angelic little brain of his.
"I am a man of my word," Dean says, covering over his massive desire to be anywhere but here with his cockiest shit-eating grin and a wink. "I did promise to give myself over to God and all his angels, didn't I? Well, here I am. How can I service you, o' Castiel, Angel of the Lord?"
Cas just looks at him for a moment, like he's looking into Dean's fucking soul, and fuck, that is totally what he's doing. Shit. Dean looks back, meet's Cas's eyes, even knowing what Cas will see there. They sit there, staring at each other for a moment, before Cas bows his head, says, "So be it, Dean Winchester, Servant of God," and reaches for him.