Hellllllll yeah!! This one is a little ~steamy~ just so everyone knows lol
Hope you like :)
Words: 975 (one day I’ll calm down but probably not anytime soon)
Castiel had never been able to appreciate how truly drunk you could get until he was fully human. It had taken an entire liquor store once, all those years ago, and that had barely done the trick, he was still at least semi functional. But now, without his grace, without his wings, he was smashed off of four shots of tequila (with lime, Dean insisted) and three beers.
It’s Dean’s birthday, still frigidly cold in Kansas, and Dean wanted nothing more than to go out and get trashed, eat obscenely greasy burgers, and talk about how “fucking old I am.” He insists that Sam drive them home, and Sam rolls his eyes basically into the next week.
“Fine, but only because it’s your birthday.”
Cas isn’t sure what that means, but if it means he gets to see Dean smile that wide and radiant smile for the rest of the evening, he wasn’t going to ask too many questions.
He was always amazed that, though they lived in a relatively small town in Kansas, the bar was almost always packed. Usually with drifters, motorcyclists criss-crossing the country, truckers pulling in for a hot meal before getting on the road, the locals that would never miss a happy hour on Thursday nights, but there was almost always more than a smattering of people there, filling the dusty space with laughter and smoke and the smell of beer and liquor and food. A distinctly human pleasure, something that Cas had never been able to revel in before.
The evening had progressed quickly, Dean ordered a round of shots the second that they found a table, taking Sam’s for him since “you’re driving and you aren’t gonna wreck that car.”
The burgers and fries help with the haze that’s coming over Cas’ mind, but all the same, he’s feeling a little freer with two shots and a beer and a half under his belt. Dean is loud, boisterous, more relaxed than Cas had seen him in months. His arm is slung around the back of Cas’ chair, and he’s telling a story of a hunt that he had told around a hundred times before, and Sam’s eyes have completely glazed over. Cas is noticing the tips of his fingers are feeling like there’s electricity at the end of them, and his face his warmer than normal.
Is Cas imagining things, or is Dean sitting a little closer to him than normal? Is he imagining Dean’s fingers ghosting across his knee when they take their third round of shots? Is he imagining a shadow behind his smile, a shadow that’s asking for something that Cas desperately wanted to give?
“It’s too loud in here, I’m going to call Eileen,” Sam pushes back from his chair looking at them with something that Cas can’t quite determine, but Dean’s ears turn red.
“Going to Facetime Eileen? Tell her we say hi.”
Sam just rolls his eyes and heads out the door, throwing another look at Dean before the door swings shut behind him. Cas thinks his emotion sensors must be broken, he’s usually much better at reading people than this. It must be the alcohol.
“You wanna play pool?”
Dean’s voice is like molasses, he sounds a little more southern than usual. It certainly didn’t bother Cas. Cas simply nods, and Dean leads him over to the back of the bar, where it’s dark and smoky and somehow a little quieter.
Cas leans against the wall as Dean sets up the game. His fingers are still tingly, but upon inspection, he can’t see anything wrong with them.
“Why’re you staring at your fingers, Cas?”
Dean’s voice is practically in his ear, and they’re literally inches apart. Dean had once told him to respect personal space, but it seemed that that was out the window, not that he was complaining.
“Cas,” Dean whispers, and Cas feels so warm and heavy and is slinging his body across Dean’s, letting his fingers, drag across Dean’s chest, “Cas Cas Cas Cas.”
They’ve somehow ended up in a dark secluded corner of the bar, somehow where no one else was looking, somehow Dean’s hands were under Cas’ t shirt, somehow their noses were bumping together, somehow Cas’ hands were in Dean’s hair.
His heart is beating like he’s run a marathon. Dean always seemed to elicit that kind of response in him, even when he was an angel.
“Dean,” he gasps, the weight of the ebb and flow, of they will they, won’t they becoming too much for him. He just needed it to happen, for one of them to take the initiative.
The kiss is needy, desperate, like both of them need it to breathe. Their chests are pressed flush together and Cas can taste the sharp sting of whiskey and tequila on Dean’s tongue. It’s intoxicating, forget the liquor, the very feel of Dean, the way he sighs into Cas’ mouth, it’s enough to get any angel drunk.
Dean’s the one to break the kiss, and Cas instantly wants more, because Dean’s lips are pink and he’s all flushed and so tempting that it’s something Cas is completely unprepared for.
“Come on,” Dean’s voice is rougher and lower than usual, “Let’s go home.”
“Dean,” it’s a mix between a whine and a whisper, Cas is not used to feeling this needy.
“If we don’t leave now we’ll get banned, and this is the only good bar in town. Let’s go home.”
There’s an edge, a promise to his voice that is a little dark, and a little more than Cas can bear. He’s a little less drunk on alcohol and a little more drunk on Dean, and when they get back to the bunker, Cas wastes next to no time sneaking from the kitchen to Dean’s room, and closing the door quietly behind him.
Link to OG post
Prompt me up!
