they’ve been dating for two months now. two months of secrets. secret kisses, secret gifts, secret moans, secret dates, secret fucks. castiel is tired. he doesn’t know if he can handle it anymore- the teasing when he sits in the bleachers during dean’s football practice, or the raised eyebrows and whispering about his “crush” every time he sneaks a peek at dean in class. maybe a better man would be able to handle a closeted relationship, but castiel isn’t sure of himself anymore.

he’s determined to speak to dean about it tonight, although he knows it’s probably going to end with his tears soaking the avengers pillow that dean had bought him a couple of weeks into their relationship, affectionately teasing him about his obsession with iron man.

it’s what had gotten them together in the first place. castiel had overheard dean arguing in the hallway with his teammates about batman vs. superman, and he’d stopped, intrigued, to listen. the others had displayed minimal knowledge about the superheroes based on the movies, but dean. dean, sex god of truman high, captain of the football team- dean was a nerd.

a day later, castiel, fighting his nerves every step of the way, had stopped by dean’s locker, thanking every deity he could think of that, for once, dean was alone and not surrounded by his entourage. clearing his throat, castiel had held out his prized, mint-condition batman comic.

“i’m more of an iron man person myself,” he’d said quietly, “but batman is pretty fucking awesome too.”

he should’ve known, even then. the way dean had looked at him- his eyes sweeping over his face, then doing a slow once-over of his entire body that would’ve had castiel blushing if he’d been paying any sort of attention- was not the way a straight boy looked at another person of the same sex.

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(ao3)

“Do you love Cas?” Sam asks one day, blurting it out after dealing with their shit for far too long.

Dean looks away from the television and frowns at him, “Huh?”

Sam takes a deep breath in, waiting for the inevitable of Dean to yell at him, “Do you love Cas?”

Surprisingly, Dean doesn’t shout, in fact he looks at Sam like he’s the biggest idiot in the universe, “Course I do, it’s Cas,” Dean shrugs, “He’s family.”

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credo. (deancas, 9x10 coda)

Castiel’s phone rings in the middle of the night; he picks it up and mutes it and it vibrates in his fingers then, trembling but silent. Sam’s asleep in another room down the hall but Castiel knows he sleeps fitfully, shallowly. He will until he’s healed. The phone in Castiel’s hand lights up with a number he doesn’t recognize. He presses the little button on the left, and holds it to his ear.

“Cas?”

"I’m here," he says. There is an exhaled breath on the other end that rattles into the receiver. "Where are you?"

"Nowhere," Dean says. "How’s Sam?"

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It takes exactly two mugs of eggnog and three kisses under the mistletoe for Dean to realize that Christmas turns him into a huge sap. He sits on the couch in the den, having long since melted into its cushions, and smiles as Cas covers their bare feet with a second fleece blanket. The moment is almost too perfect, really—with the stockings and tree and Cas’s somehow-always-cold fingers fitted between his own—so much so that, if he weren’t so afraid of losing the moment altogether, he would pinch himself just to make sure the whole thing wasn’t a dream.

"Where’d you go?"

Cas’s voice is quietly curious, gravelly from disuse, and the part of Dean’s brain currently flooded with bourbon takes a moment to fully appreciate the different ways in which it turns him on.

"I’m right here," is Dean’s eventual reply, and he wonders if that had sounded half as poetic as he’d meant it to.

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I saw it and I had to. based off this post (x) [dean + cas | HS AU]

It’s only after they’ve been kissing for about ten minutes, Dean realizes he doesn’t know the boy’s name.  He pulls back slightly, breaking contact and stares into a pair of the bluest eyes he’s ever seen.

“Are you wearing contacts?” Dean asks drunkenly.  

The boy rolls his eyes and giggles.  “Hell no, this is all real, baby,” he slurs.  The boy reaches around to lightly squeeze Dean’s ass and he jumps.  “Is that real?” he asks.

Dean blushes and nods.  “Of course,” he says with a giggle.  Dean frowns and points a finger at the blue eyed boy.  “What’s your name? And why are you wearing eyeliner? And why does it look so good on you?” Dean asks.  He blinks a couple times and then pushes his glasses up on the bridge of his nose before folding his arms across his chest.  He runs his tongue over his swollen lips and he smiles. 

“My name is Castiel Novak, and I’m wearing eyeliner because I want to, you little shit,” he says with a grin.  He leans forward and presses his mouth against Dean’s once more, smiling when he feels the boy’s hand brush against his rapidly hardening cock. 

Dean pulls back again, a curious expression on his face.  “Castiel?  God, that is a mouthful, how do you even…how about I call you Cas?” he asks. 

Cas shakes his head and shrugs.  “Sure thing, babe,” he whispers before leaning in for another kiss. 

They kiss for a few more beats when suddenly, Dean presses his lips against Cas’ ear.  “So Cas, how do you feel about moving this party upstairs? Cassie’s parents’ bedroom, third door on the left,” he whispers as he untangles himself from Cas’ arms. 

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because all i really want for christmas is Dean/Cas. so grab your snuggie and your hot cocoa, and come curl up with me by the fire as we read about the greatest love story ever told:

[back to main fic rec]

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Cas is here.

He’s here, his body stretched beneath Dean, languid and soft and unmoving. He looks happy – healthy, even – the slyest twinkle in his blue eyes. When Dean touches his face he smiles, and Dean thinks about how long it took them to get here – to this place where Cas can smile, can stretch his naked limbs underneath Dean’s and be unafraid.

There’s guilt still – there’s always guilt. Dean feels it clinging to his blood cells like an unshakeable illness, and he knows Cas feels it too – like a second skin. A permanent layer of dust and heat and grime.

But when Dean strokes Cas’ stomach, skitters his palm across the warm skin and rests it above the old tattoo, he doesn’t feel it surge through his throat like he might once have done. He feels it only as a dull throb, easily drowned out by the sound of Castiel’s even breaths.

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