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Sep. 30th, 2011 | 02:58 am
From:: mulder200.livejournal.com
“What the hell are you playing at here, huh?” he challenges, shoving lightly against Cas’s chest. Breathless and flushed, Dean stares at Castiel with a lack of comprehension too stubborn to be totally honest. They’re of one mind on this, Cas knows, same as they’ve ever been of one mind about anything. That Dean continues to fight is only because he thinks he should, always struggling, pushing back even if he’s forgotten why. “I tell you I don’t want your apologies, so you do this instead? I know those souls must have rattled your brain some, Cas, but this is just—”
“It’s what? Progress, Dean? Is that what you’re afraid of? That we might actually have to leave this ridiculous song and dance behind and start accepting that neither one of us is going anywhere, for better or worse?” Out of ideas on how to bridge the final gap towards what Castiel is certain they both want, he falls to his knees in front of Dean, looks up with him with his eyes bright and sharply focused. Dean continues to clutch at Castiel’s shirt as though frozen, afraid to move, and Cas covers the other man’s hands with his own, clinging, not-so-subtle desperation finally beginning to show. “If you say I am your responsibility, Dean, take it,” he finds himself begging. “I can’t stand another day of this.”
Startled by the words, the tiredness is suddenly gone from Dean’s face even if he is still, perhaps, not so alert as to recoil with his usual speed. Recoil he does, however, jostling Castiel back until Cas’s shoulders catch the edge of the sofa. With nowhere to go, his spine bends at an awkward angle over the edge. Letting out a growl of frustration, Dean hauls him up onto the cushions so that Cas sprawls there, temporarily dazed. He’s not quite sure what happens next, especially when Dean swoops in low and brings their faces back close together, panting quietly against Castiel’s mouth.
“So that’s fucking it?” he whispers, giving Cas a little shake. The tone of his voice sounds more frantic than angry; his eyes blaze but don’t lose their glimmer of fear. “Being guilty makes you uncomfortable, so you wanna force my hand? Make me, what—beat the shame out of you?”
Such an unexpectedly incisive statement makes Castiel’s breath catch before he can speak. “I want you to beat the forgiveness into me,” he chokes out, cheeks furiously, betrayingly hot. “I need it, please.”
Leave it to Cas to get the real core of the matter and not fuck around. I just love that aspect of him. And I love how he doesn't give up until he gets what he wants.
“I trust you,” he tells Dean, seemingly apropos, but the other man hugs him tighter in understanding, tangling their legs together.
“Good.” That Dean appears to be falling asleep with Cas beside him adequately echoes the sentiment, a quiet refusal to be concerned with what might happen if Sam or Bobby should walk in and find them lying here. “That’s something. That’s big.”
And for these two that's saying something. Perfect!
“It’s what? Progress, Dean? Is that what you’re afraid of? That we might actually have to leave this ridiculous song and dance behind and start accepting that neither one of us is going anywhere, for better or worse?” Out of ideas on how to bridge the final gap towards what Castiel is certain they both want, he falls to his knees in front of Dean, looks up with him with his eyes bright and sharply focused. Dean continues to clutch at Castiel’s shirt as though frozen, afraid to move, and Cas covers the other man’s hands with his own, clinging, not-so-subtle desperation finally beginning to show. “If you say I am your responsibility, Dean, take it,” he finds himself begging. “I can’t stand another day of this.”
Startled by the words, the tiredness is suddenly gone from Dean’s face even if he is still, perhaps, not so alert as to recoil with his usual speed. Recoil he does, however, jostling Castiel back until Cas’s shoulders catch the edge of the sofa. With nowhere to go, his spine bends at an awkward angle over the edge. Letting out a growl of frustration, Dean hauls him up onto the cushions so that Cas sprawls there, temporarily dazed. He’s not quite sure what happens next, especially when Dean swoops in low and brings their faces back close together, panting quietly against Castiel’s mouth.
“So that’s fucking it?” he whispers, giving Cas a little shake. The tone of his voice sounds more frantic than angry; his eyes blaze but don’t lose their glimmer of fear. “Being guilty makes you uncomfortable, so you wanna force my hand? Make me, what—beat the shame out of you?”
Such an unexpectedly incisive statement makes Castiel’s breath catch before he can speak. “I want you to beat the forgiveness into me,” he chokes out, cheeks furiously, betrayingly hot. “I need it, please.”
Leave it to Cas to get the real core of the matter and not fuck around. I just love that aspect of him. And I love how he doesn't give up until he gets what he wants.
“I trust you,” he tells Dean, seemingly apropos, but the other man hugs him tighter in understanding, tangling their legs together.
“Good.” That Dean appears to be falling asleep with Cas beside him adequately echoes the sentiment, a quiet refusal to be concerned with what might happen if Sam or Bobby should walk in and find them lying here. “That’s something. That’s big.”
And for these two that's saying something. Perfect!