twentysomething

So, included are FIVE short fics in the Shortskirts 'verse, aka, I can't stop making terrible choices. They vary in length from 750 words to about 2,500 words, totaling about 9,100. There are varying ratings, G to NC-17, and levels of disgusting schmoop, high to TOXIC. Rather than spam you guys, I decided to just cram them all into one post, so.


GUESS WHO’S COMING TO DINNER



David met Winchester when he came down from Kansas the spring before he started his freshman year. He'd come to see them play Rice in Super Regionals- and coincidentally smack them down with the hand of god- right after he graduated. He seemed like a nice kid- a little bit of an ass, but hey, David remembers being 18 and, well, if he was as- objectively- hot as Winchester, he'd be an ass too.

He does remember, though, watching Winchester take a call right after the game- he'd done the universal "gotta take this, it's my girlfriend" nod and spent a few quick moments talking quietly to someone, finishing with, "Yeah, baby, I miss you, too." He'd flipped his phone shut, shrugged and said "Cas," like that was some sort of explanation, but David had filled in the blanks- she was probably a Midwestern hottie- all long, tan limbs and gingham or some shit.

David also remembers cursing her name when Winchester had fucking lobbed balls at their faces at 89 mph all fall semester because he was an asshole with blue balls. David pretty much can't imagine how criminally, insanely hot this girl must be that Winchester hasn't dropped her and gone for any of the chicks freaking hungering for his dick, although he thinks he has a ray of insight the first time Dean brings the lemon bars into the clubhouse, citing that Cas had made him. But after a semester of Winchester being like, the angriest, probably most masturbatory person ever, David nearly cried tears of merciless, gay joy when Dean casually mentioned that Cas was transferring to Tulane in the spring.

So essentially, he's been praying to god that this means Winchester will actually get laid and stop trying to murder them, but it's still sort of a surprise when he runs over to borrow some notes and Dean's room is clean. Well, not clean, but the laundry is done and Dean's manslut roommate has actually taken down the terrifying squirting poster.

"What the shit, man," David ventures as his opening move. Dean shrugs.

"Cas is coming for the season opener," Dean says, shoving some stuff under the bed. David blinks.

"Wait, so we finally get to meet the lemon-bar, cookie genius that is Cas?" David asks, because holy shit, this is going to be a big fucking deal. Like, at least five of the guys are going to want to get a haircut. David tucks his mask more securely under his arm. He likes to think that he knows Winchester a little better than the rest of the team- just by dint of more hours spent together and the fact that Winchester's damn fastball practically broke his jerking hand twice. Dean eyeballs him suspiciously, but nods, staring as David practically bolts out of the room.

"Dean's hot girlfriend is coming," he announces via immediate team email.

Trey does get a haircut.

David's not sure what this is a symptom of- because if Dean and Cas have been dating this long- and also since none of them are hotter than Winchester- they don't have a shot at her. But Cas sends regular care packages to the whole team now, and they're all a little bit in love with her. So the locker room on Friday is a little tense with anticipation and Coach yells at them for being nervous about the game, which is such a joke. None of them are worried about the game. Because, David thinks, they're actually all probably nervous because they want Cas to like them.

Winchester sort of keeps glancing behind himself, like he thinks he's hallucinating the whole fucking team stalking him back to his dorm- Jerry had actually asked if he should bring flowers- but they're not missing this. And when a sweet, dreamy silver Audi turns a corner and Dean's like, fucking ears perk up, David feels like he's stepped into a movie or something.

Okay, maybe not, because the car parks and this tall, skinny, northern-pale guy in a button-down and seersucker shorts steps out, all messy dark hair and giant black-rimmed glasses that give him a studious appearance, and this is totally not Cas. Cas is probably 5'6, blond, with a great rack.

David glances at Dean, who is- halfway across the lot, grinning like an idiot, and when the dark-haired guy sees him, he waves and lets Dean come to him. Dean stops a bare foot short and-

HOLY SHIT DEAN IS CHEATING ON CAS WITH A MAN.

IN FRONT OF ALL OF THEM.

"Now, that ain't right," Jerry mumbles. Trey elbows him sharply.

"Don't be a homophobe, Jesus, Jerry," he says, but his heart isn't in it.

"It's not that, it’s just- cheating on Cas is a sin." Jerry manages finally. Dean is still lazily kissing this guy, casually crowding him up against the car, like he's not being homosexually unfaithful in front of the whole team while his girlfriend is due any moment. Jason stares at Jerry.

"Jerry, you fucking moron. That is Cas." Jason says flays. David blinks.

"Wait, what?" he demands. Jason stares at David like stupidity is catching.

"Are you fucking serious?” Trey asks, still staring avidly at Winchester frenching a man who may or may not be Cas.

"Well, that would explain a lot," David says after a long moment of contemplation. He sort of feels like all his hopes and dreams have been broken like so many bats were broken last semester with the force of Dean's sexual frustration. Which, again, would explain a lot. Because everyone know gay guys have a lot of sex, so- like, it would be a lot to miss.

"I feel like my entire life has been a lie," Jerry mutters. Winchester has finally taken a bare step back and Cas stares up at him, mouth fucking wrecked and adoring and- this whole train of thought is sort of mercilessly gay. Dean grabs a duffel from the back seat and tugs Cas over toward the door to head inside, which- takes them right by the team.

"Dean," Cas says, stopping, taking in the multitude of LSU Tigers Baseball tees. "Are these your teammates?" Dean looks really fucking resigned.

"Christ. Unfortunately. They followed me, Cas." Dean mutters, putting the final nail in the coffin of David's vainglorious prayers that it might just be homosexual cheating, after all.

But the hell of the thing is- faced with Cas's bright smile and cheerful introduction- David still sort of wants Cas to like them. And whether he's a dude or a lady, Cas still sent a lot of really nice baked goods- to them specifically, even- and David's momma raised him better than to be ungrateful, certainly.

"Hi, I'm Jason," And of course, he leads the brigade, because second basemen aren't to be fucking trusted, but they're all introduced one way or another and while David still feels like he's in the mothereffing Twilight Zone, Cas is just- well- too goddamn nice to freak out at. Dean finally makes this face after the tenth, "No, really, thank you for the lemon bars," like he's just so embarrassed by them all.

"Look, I haven't seen him in two weeks, go the fuck away, all of you, I'll see you tomorrow." Winchester says, a hint of his old extreme pissiness in his voice and- oh god, that probably means they're going to go in there and have sex. Cas’s mouth makes this moue of reprimand at Dean, who glances away, ears faintly red.

"It was nice to finally meet all of you," Cas says, earnest and sincere, and fuck it. David sort of likes him, even though he's not a smoking hot chick. Dean practically drags Cas inside and the hot second they're gone, Trey whips out his phone.

"What the hell are you doing?" David asks after ten seconds of frantic typing.

"Tweeting," Trey admits. "And Facebook statusing."

Trey's simple "CAS IS A DUDE" gets about 30 comments in varying levels of coherency and about 15 'likes' from the male members of the GLBTA. Within half an hour, there's a Facebook group called, "Dean Winchester is Gay and Taken, FML."

David doesn't know what's worse- that Winchester is off having probably bendy and athletic gay sex- or that he's thinking about it. He then realizes he's been letting Dean pitch to him all season and feels kind of dirty and cheap.

Lisa texts him an hour later when they're at the bar, drinking.

"Wait, so he's gay?" and David just takes a long, mournful drink of his fifth beer and texts back, "yeah his bf is cute"

He doesn't get a text back for a long moment, but when he does it just says, "Make sure Dean knows to sit him with us tomorrow."

David thinks about telling Winchester that his manwife has to go sit with the team girlfriends and orders another beer.

The next morning David thinks he's maybe dying, but Lisa just snorts at him, throws a Gatorade at his face and continues gathering her hair up with her purple and gold ribbons.

Some of the other guys look pretty rough, too, and David spares a second to thank god their game is against Villanova and they're going to crush them mercilessly anyway, otherwise Coach would probably murder their fucking faces off. But fucking Winchester is cheerful as shit, which is enough to drive David to drink again, let alone the faint scratches down Dean's back when he strips out of plainclothes into his uniform, the dark hickeys on his neck. Jerry's still staring at Dean like he's been betrayed.

"Okay, I'm going to say it, because no one else will, Dean," Jason says, clapping a hand on Dean's gay shoulder. "We all thought Cas was a girl." Dean furrows his eyebrows.

"Are you serious?" Dean finally asks, obviously combing through past conversations. "Well... he's not." Jason laughs.

"Yeah, we noticed. But hey, man, we're all cool with it," Jason adds, like he's daring anyone to disagree. Dean frowns.

"Um, okay. Thanks, I guess?" Dean says eventually, like, why wouldn't they be okay that their pitcher is suddenly gay? Oh- that's right.

"Uh, Dean, Lisa said to have Cas sit with her," David mumbles, the "with the other girlfriends" left unsaid. But Dean just nods and texts quickly and David feels like nothing is ever going to be normal again.

Sure enough, when they head out there, Cas is ensconced between Lisa and Carrie, looking like just another team girlfriend, wearing a bright LSU baseball shirt. David cannot handle the world today.

And despite the fact that David is like, 100% positive Dean got laid last night, his fastball is just as vicious, David stealthily shaking his hand out every once and a while, even with his glove on. In fact, Dean is on, pitching four innings without a single hit and stealing third after a triple play, and then knocking out a home run in the fifth. He pitches all through the 7th inning and the Villanova coach is clearly thinking about a mercy kill of the game because they're up, 10-1, even with Chris letting a bunt slip by him after some walks to get Nova their only run. Dean is making this face in the dugout, like what's the point of a relieving pitcher if they suck, which David actually kind of agrees with- but they can't let Dean pitch the whole game, either.

Clearly not content with the score, Dean fucking steals third and cruises into home in the top of the ninth when Jason slams a ball back deep into the field, skidding into the plate just under the tag. David sort of thinks he's just showing off for Cas at this point. But a win is a win, and after they shake hands politely, Dean vanishes, but David's not surprised when he catches a glimpse of them later, Dean still in his dusty uniform, pressing Cas up against the wall, kissing him like his fucking life depends on it. It sort of makes him uncomfortable- in ways he doesn't really want to analyze, but clearly it makes Dean happy or some shit, so, as long as it stops Dean from throwing "rogue" pitches at his face during practice and keeps them in lemon bars, it can't be so bad.






IN SICKNESS AND IN HEALTH



Cas always answers his phone- with the notable exception of when he's in class and he never skips- ever- so, when Dean gets the voice mail for the third time in a row- "this is Castiel Meyer, please leave your name, number and any other necessary information after the tone, thank you for calling,"- he's understandably concerned. He's done with classes for the week- his two Friday classes have been canceled by the grace of God and an unseasonable bout of flu that's been circling around campus. Dean has just kept washing his hands and avoided the dining halls and has thus far managed to avoid it, but a couple of guys on the team and a few of his profs have gotten it and Dean has no desire to join their ranks. He's laying on his bed, debating whether it's clingy and psychotic to just drive down there or if it's just concerned and being a good human when his phone blares out Taylor Swift and he really wishes he could figure out how Sam changed Cas's ringtone so he could stop looking like a 14 year old girl in public. He pushes the accept call button harder than he needs to.

"Cas," Dean says, relieved and irritated and pleased. He hears a hacking cough and some ragged wheezing. "Cas?" There's a long pause.

"Hello, Dean," Cas finally manages and it's hoarse and weak and Dean starts throwing clothes in a bag. "I'm sorry I missed your phone calls, I was... asleep." Dean translates that from Cas-ese, and that probably means he passed out somewhere in his apartment in an illness-induced haze.

"What's your temperature?" Dean says insistently. There's a little more wheezing.

"I'm fine, Dean, really, it's most likely just a cold." Cas says. Dean rolls his eyes, wedging his phone between his ear and his shoulder, so he can use both hands to zip up his duffel.

"Get into bed, take two aspirin with a whole glass of water, I'll be there in an hour." Dean directs and he can hear Cas frowning.

"Dean, it takes an hour and a half to get to New Orleans, obeying posted speed limits." Cas says flatly.

"Yeah, we'll see about that. Seriously, bed." Dean argues, hanging up. He scribbles a note to Ben, just "CAS SICK IN NOLA DON'T FUCK ON MY BUNK," as he grabs his keys and heads out the door.

He makes it there in 50 minutes, which, beyond involving a lot of illegal speeding, may have actually broken some natural and gravitational laws, too. He's doubly grateful that Cas decided to live in the Garden District, rather than the poky apartments he'd been looking at in the French Quarter, because there's a comfortable parking space that he pulls into with the tiniest of screeches before he lets himself in with his key.

"If you're not in that bed, you're going to be in a world of hurt when you're better," Dean calls as he toes off his boots in the entryway, dropping his bag. He makes his way through the kitchen and living room, seeing no sign of Cas other than a trail of crumpled tissues, and pads up the stairs to the loft.

Cas is sound asleep, breathing hazily through his mouth, lips parted gently and just a little chapped. He's nested in the middle of the huge, snowy linens, arms flung out towards the nightstand, his cell phone still clutched in his hand. Dean is sort of embarrassed by how much he loves Cas, fiercely and for so many reasons he can't even name them all, so he just settles for sitting gently on the edge of the bed, pressing the back of his hand against Cas's hot cheek.

"Dean?" Cas asks, foggy and quiet, blinking bloodshot blue eyes.

"Hi, baby," Dean says. "You sound terrible. Have you eaten?" Cas frowns, glancing at the clock.

"You sped," Cas accuses weakly. Dean grins, pushing back Cas's damp bangs, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead.

"Maybe a little. Stay here, I'll be right back," Dean promises, tugging the comforter down to cover Cas's white-socked feet. Cas is still giving him the gimlet eye, but he settles back into the pillows, which Dean reads loud and clear as defeated acceptance. He takes the steps down two at a time, and at least he knows where everything in Cas's kitchen is, he thinks, putting the kettle on and opening the fridge door to rummage for something suitable. Because this is Cas, it's stocked for an army, and Dean actually finds like, a fucking roast chicken in there and plenty of vegetables, because Cas is this freak who actually enjoys Sam's summer salads and Dean has this stupid-ass half-smile on his face as he chops through a crap ton of celery and baby carrots, throwing it all in a pot with the organic chicken broth he finds in the pantry. The kettle is hissing and spitting, so he makes a cup of Cas's shitty, dried bark and mulch tea while the soup bubbles away.

He takes a moment to ponder when the fuck he became his mom, but better Mom than Dad, so he just shrugs and takes the tea upstairs.

Cas is woozily sitting up in his bed when Dean makes it back up the stairs, carefully balancing the mug so none of the super-sweet, toasty hot liquid spills onto his hand. Cas is sort of blinking around, almost puzzled- looking more or less like those damn kitten videos he loves and watches on repeat while cramming for exams.

"Drink this. Slowly- it's hot," Dean says and the look of dazed affection Cas swings his way is too much for him to handle, so he perches on the edge of the bed and sort of holds the mug as Cas weakly wraps his hands around it and takes a careful sip.

"That's just how I like my tea," Cas says wondrously, and Dean chooses to think that it's the fever talking, because if he didn't know how Cas takes his terrible, gross tea, he'd be a pretty shitty boyfriend.

"Yeah, I know," Dean replies, because he's spent lazy Sunday mornings in Cas's sun-filled kitchen, watching him dump spoonful after spoonful of raw sugar into his tea, clanking his spoon quietly as he reads the paper. Plenty of people think Dean's just a dumb jock, but when it's important, he pays attention... and Cas is important. "I'm making you soup." Cas blinks.

"I didn't know you could cook," Cas says, but he's smiling and pleased looking, like he's filing that away in that big brain of his, because as much as Dean's been paying attention to what Cas likes, does, wants- Cas has an almost encyclopedic knowledge of Dean that's humbling and gratifying and a lot of other things Dean doesn't look at too closely, he just accepts. Dean smiles and kisses Cas's temple.

"You cook better than I do. This is an emergency situation," Dean teases and gets up to throw the egg noodles in the pantry into the soup to finish it off, but Cas catches at his sleeve.

"I love you, you know," Cas says, raspy and quiet and honest and Dean has to bite his lip for a moment, because he doesn't know how he got here and Cas has had to take all the big steps in this relationship- making the first move, transferring to Tulane- but nearly three years later, he's getting a grip on how not to let him down.

"I do, Cas," Dean manages, and he makes a joke out of almost everything, but he's serious. He knows. "I love you, too." Cas's smile is brilliant and Dean has to duck his head a little, because he probably looks like a moron, grinning from ear to ear.

"Lay down, dork, you're going to make your head explode." Dean says and goes back down to the kitchen. He throws the noodles in and then realizes his cell phone is ringing, muffled in his bag. He fishes it out and answers in the nick of time.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean says, using his free hand to stir the soup lazily. "What's up?"

"Is Cas okay?" Sam asks, concern in his voice, and Sam may be nearly a thousand miles away but Dean knows that he's making the dweebiest scrunched up face of woe.

"I mean, he has a fever and sounds pretty rough, but-" Dean pauses. "Wait, how the hell did you know Cas is sick?" The silence on the other end is deeply judging.

"Dean, it's all over Facebook," Sam says. Dean spares a second to slap a hand over his face.

"Christ," Dean mutters. "How?" Sam snorts.

"Well, Ben posted that his room was open for quote- 'pussy, pussy, pussy'- end quote, because his roommate was off playing Florence Nightingale- there are about 20 comments from the team asking about Cas. I think they're about to call the CDC." Sam answers, and Dean rolls his eyes, because he really doesn't know why he still lives with Ben.

"Seriously, I don't have words for how much I regret introducing the guys to Cas," Dean says, poking at a noodle and, deeming the soup finally done, decides he should hang up on Sammy. "Right, I'm going, hold down the internet fort, don't let the guys send a sex worker nurse or anything." He ends the call before Sam can complain further about god knows what, because he has more important stuff to do, and he tosses his phone back into the bag. He dishes up two big bowls and another big glass of water- he even uses Cas's tragically gay breakfast-in-bed tray to carry it all up. Cas has managed to put his glasses on and even has his hands wrapped around the mug in his lap.

"That smells amazing," he croaks out. Dean smiles.

"You're only saying that because you don't have a sense of smell right now," Dean replies easily, settling himself next to Cas, letting Cas lean against him and the headboard, putting the tray across their laps. Cas frowns at him.

"Don't belittle the things you do for others. You're extraordinarily kind, Dean," Cas insists. Dean shrugs, putting a spoon in Cas's soup, hiding the flush he knows is creeping up his neck and ears.

"Well, it's you, so." Dean says, nudging the bowl toward him. Cas sighs roughly, but smiles as he carefully eats his soup. They're quiet for a while, eating, and it's easy to be around Cas- it always has been- and by the time that Cas has managed about two-thirds of the bowl and insisted he can't eat anymore, they're tired and so Dean just makes Cas take more cold medicine and puts the tray down as far from the bed as he can manage, so he doesn't step on it in the morning. He slips out of his jeans and puts them both under the covers, despite Cas arguing weakly that Dean will get sick and he really could do the dishes since Dean cooked. Dean just laughs, quiet and low, and uses his limbs to weigh Cas down in bed, until his protests are just hazy murmurs.

"Go to bed," Dean orders, tucking his face into the sweet space between Cas's neck and shoulder, dropping a lazy kiss to the fever-warm skin there, just above the edge of Cas's t-shirt.

Dean wakes up to sunlight and Cas snuffling sadly against his chest. He fights down a smile, because there is something seriously adorable about Cas, pink-cheeked and drowsy, but knowing Cas, he's miserable- Cas lives to take care of other people- which makes him an astoundingly awful patient. Dean's debating whether or not he can get up and go to the bathroom without waking Cas up, but the issue is rendered moot when Cas blinks blearily, raising his head up a bit.

"Dean?" Cas asks quietly, but his voice has lost a lot of the scratchy tone it had yesterday.

"Hmm, baby? What do you need?" Dean replies. Cas smiles into Dean's t-shirt.

"Nothing. This is just- I miss this," Cas says softly. Dean presses a kiss into Cas's hair.

"Me too," Dean says. He lays a hand against Cas's forehead. "It feels like your fever's nearly gone." Cas looks up, staring at Dean beatifically.

"I guess you should be the doctor, not me," Cas teases. Dean rolls his eyes.

"So, I'm guessing you feel better," Dean says. "Hold on, I'll be right back." He eases out from under Cas, grabbing the glass from the nightstand, filling it up in the bathroom, and passing Cas two aspirin. "Take that." Dean heads back the bathroom to piss, because unlike Sam, Cas can actually be trusted to take medicine on his own. Dean used to make Sam show him both hands, open his mouth and under his tongue, like an inmate in a psych ward, because Sam was a wily little kid. After he washes his hands and does a quick brushing of his teeth, Dean leans in the doorframe.

"What do you want for breakfast?" Dean asks. Cas pouts, just slightly.

"Couldn't we just..." Cas trails off, but the way his fingers are plucking at the covers, Dean gets the gist anyway. He crawls back under the covers and tucks Cas close under his chin. Cas sighs, relaxed and easy, the rattling wheeze from yesterday smoothed over into a faint whispering tone.

"You know, I don't delay breakfast for just anyone," Dean mumbles into Cas's hair, but he's already feeling warm and heavy again, so it's not like it's a hardship, to just close his eyes as Cas hums his assent into Dean's collarbone.

When Dean wakes up again, Cas is sitting up against the headboard, reading with his glasses slipping low on his nose, and screw it, maybe he'll get sick, but he can't help but lean across the bed, pull the book out of Cas's hands and kiss him, long and slow and simple. Cas makes a muffled noise of surprise against Dean's mouth, and Dean is half-prepared for Cas to lean back and say something about germs or morning breath, but instead he just palms his suddenly empty hands against Dean's chest, fingers catching in Dean's old Zepplin t-shirt. Dean smiles and kisses Cas again, twice, three times, soft, almost chaste, like when they'd been teenagers and trying to figure each other out in the backseat of the Impala all summer.

"Good morning," Dean finally says, leaning his forehead against Cas's. Cas smiles.

"Good afternoon," he corrects gently. "We seem to have slept through the morning." Dean snorts.

"Yeah, and whose fault was that?" he kids, but just brushes a thumb over Cas's cheekbone, finding Cas fever-free and just warm and nice to lay in bed with.

"Mm, I will make that up to you," Cas promises, "If you put on some pants, we can go to Commander's Palace for lunch." Dean smiles, because Cas's attempts to bribe him into dressing better with truly amazing pork will never stop.

"Really, pants were not in my plan at all today," Dean admits, because he really doesn't want anything more than to make cold cut sandwiches and neck with Cas in the kitchen, and well, that's probably not on the menu at Commander's Palace- although Dean is totally holding Cas to that some other time. Cas smiles, and he must be feeling better, because that's the smile that means Dean is getting laid.






PROUD TO SWIM HOME



Cas has taken to Louisana like a duck to water- his bizarre- Christ- genteel manners had been right at home with the seersucker-shorted Sons of the South, and his easy way that bespoke old money suited them just fine. Dean likes any place that's full of good food, good people and a cheerful irreverence- and that's in no short supply here. That being said, Cas has always been a little crazy when it came to the environment- Cas took Dean to see Oceans twice and Dean sort of thinks that Cas bought a blu-ray player just so he could watch David Attenborough talk sedately about Planet Earth on his ridiculous huge TV.

Which is why Dean is in no way surprised when he opens the door to Cas's one-and-a-half storey, historic, former carriage house in the Garden District, and Cas is having an argument with someone about the oil spill. Dean's not sure if Cas is on the phone with his parents or Al Gore- although, Al's a little busy these days- when he says, "The repercussions of this are going to be felt, not just for the next three months, not even for the next three years. Unfortunately, human interest alone isn't going to allow for fast enough action- what's needed here is capital." Cas frowns, but leans forward to kiss Dean briefly.

"Father, I understand your hesitation, but I don't think that BP will be allowed to dodge culpability," Cas insists. "Because the people this fund would be benefiting are the people least likely to see a dime of the money they're owed, in any scenario." Cas sighs. "Alright, we'll continue this conversation later, Dean just got here and I don't want to be rude." Dean rolls his eyes, starting to make a gesture that means "go on with your conversation," but Cas hangs up the phone anyway with a quick goodbye.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Cas says, dropping the phone on the couch so he can slide forward and greet Dean properly with a long, lingering kiss.

"Mmm, that was important baby, you didn't have to hang up on your dad for me," Dean replies easily, because seriously, only with the Meyers would "I'm neglecting a guest" fly as a reason to end a call. Cas shakes his head.

"He'll need to sleep on it, anyway," Cas demurs, and the only good part about them living over an hour away from each other is that Cas can't keep his hands off Dean when they are together- which, granted, is nearly every weekend- but it's still... nice. Well, except when he comes back with interesting bruises and the guys stare inappropriately in the shower, but those bastards are basically just weird, creepy horndogs. Like, he's not complaining about the bruises, don't get him wrong, but there's a really short list of dudes he likes staring at him in the shower. Short, as in, in the room with him. Cas scrapes his teeth over the edge of Dean's jaw, carefully.

"You're not paying attention," Cas says, a hint of a pout in his voice, and Dean figures "screw it," Cas always treats dinner reservations as a suggestion anyway, so Dean drags Cas, laughing, all the way upstairs and well, maybe he'll have time to fuck Cas into the mattress and still make 8 pm call.

They're five minutes late, but Cas wrestled Dean into a tie- or, more like Cas had promised they would use the tie for other things later if Dean wore it now- and Cas's sweet smile still greases wheels. Of course, Dean flushes like a moron when Cas just shifts in his chair, looking smug and well-fucked and Dean's obvious embarrassment only makes Cas smile more.

"Okay, you need to stop that before the waiter gets here," Dean insists, under his breath. Cas just blinks, innocent looking and totally devious.

"I'm just getting comfortable," Cas says and Dean isn't really sure how he ever thought Cas was naive. But suddenly Dean has a whole separate set of problems, beyond Cas passive-agressively claiming Dean as his turf, because the woman at the next table loudly proclaims that there's no way she's eating seafood, it's all poisoned now. Dean's face inevitably is reading "shit's about to go down," because Cas shuts his mouth abruptly, even though he's clearly dying to turn around and tell her Louisiana's fishermen and women still have 400 some miles of coast line to Texas, completely unscathed.

Instead, when the waitress appears at that terrible, fateful moment, Cas just- equally loudly- declares that he's going to do his part to support the Gulf Coast fishing industry in a time of hardship, especially since he's certain Gino would never allow anything to compromise the quality of the experience at Luke's, let alone serve contaminated food. Cas then proceeds to order every menu item with seafood in it and Dean just smiles weakly at the waitress as she stares between the two of them with this combination of amusement, horror and sheer, terrible gratitude all over her face.

Dean just tells her to bring some extra plates, they'll share.

Dean thinks that every member of the waitstaff comes by at some point during their meal- although, that might be because Cas ordered everything- but it's all fresh and delicious and Dean has never been told he's not an eater's eater, so he just takes another bite of amazing, buttery redfish and commits himself to running 5 miles tomorrow morning rather than three. Gino comes by with a bottle of wine on the house, which a) neither of them are 21 and b) how ridiculous is it that he knows the general manager of the restaurant by name? Normally this is where Cas would sort of frown, because drinking a beer with the team at a party in LSU is one thing, but Cas just pours them two glasses and Dean grins, because his crazy, weird, hot boyfriend is on some sort of environmentally motivated power trip, and hey- more of that power to him.

Of course, when he heads out, weighed down with maybe seven to-go boxes and a handsy, drunk Cas, Dean is sort of regretting that decision. Due to some kind of miracle, Dean manages to stop Cas from trying to give him road head on the 19 blocks back to Cas' place, and keeps him just beyond undressing range while Dean stuffs it all into the fridge, since Cas made such a goddamn scene about eating it, Dean thinks letting it go bad on the counter would be a shame.

And then, because he's a gracious kind of guy, he lets Cas go to town on him.

Dean wakes up the next morning to smell a seafood frittata cooking- ugh, since when did he know words like frittata- and strong coffee brewing, and Cas thanking someone over the phone- probably his father for donating God knows how much money to save local fishers and sea turtles. He just shakes his head and thinks they should probably eat out in the garden.






ONE MONTH



Dean has never actually managed to withhold sex from Cas. Even the week during freshman year winter break after Cas had told him he was transferring out of Chicago and coming to Tulane, when Dean was furious with the idea of Cas compromising his future for Dean- they'd had angry, awesome sex in Cas's room while everyone was out of the Meyers' house. Finally, Cas had just pointed out that Dean would have done the same thing for him, and Dean had been forced to concede the point, because there were brochures for Northwestern and Valpo in his desk drawer. But he had tried- for about a day.

Which is why, stripping off his stupid tie, throwing it toward Cas's closet, Dean doesn't even consider that they won't have sex tonight. But it'll be on Dean's terms and they'll have to have a fight first.

"Dean," Cas says quietly, placating. Dean wheels around.

"Were you even going to tell me, Cas? Or just surprise me when you didn't go to school next year?" Dean demands. Cas sighs.

"It's a deferral, Dean. I can do research for a year. It'll be good to have experience." Cas tries and Dean shakes his head. It's sweltering, even for New Orleans and Dean takes off his jacket, too, tossing it to the ground.

"What were you thinking? How many schools have you heard back from?" Dean pushes. Cas averts his eyes.

"All of them. But it's just until June, Dean." Cas insists, coming close enough to touch, to trace his hands over the damp white fabric of Dean's oxford.

"Cas, I might not get drafted," Dean says, sitting down on the bed heavily. "Did you even consider that? I might be going team to team, for years- if I even make it. You can't wait for me like this, not again." Cas looks- Cas looks pissed.

"Dean, you have an extraordinary talent. You're going to be drafted. And when you know where you'll be, so will I." Cas argues, stubborn, getting right up in Dean's face and Dean has to kiss him.

"I'm not letting you leave me behind," Cas growls against Dean's mouth and oh, Christ. Dean pulls back, holds Cas firmly at an arm's distance.

"Is that was this is about?" Dean asks. Judging by the stubborn way Cas's eyes refuse to meet his face, yeah, yeah it is. "Cas, you dumb fucking bastard." Dean pulls Cas as close as he can, crushing their mouths together.

"I don't want to break up," Cas says harshly into Dean's mouth, winding his arms around Dean's shoulders and Dean just shakes his head.

"Baby, that's not- God." Dean leans back, just far enough that he can focus on Cas's face. "Look at me. Hey, Cas." Cas looks terrified. Jesus- Jesus fucking Christ.

"Don't you-" Dean tries and he chokes a little on it, because he can't - he can't even believe he has to say it. "Don't you know you're it? I'm never gonna love anybody else, Cas, not anyone but you. Can't fucking believe you're making me say this." Cas is shaking against him, breath catching on every inhale as he presses frantic kisses to Dean's mouth.

"I just-" Cas presses his face into Dean's neck. "I'm just so tired of not being with you. I can wait for everything else. But I want to be where you are, Dean." Dean shakes his head.

"Just because you might go to med school, somewhere good, while I'm in the minor leagues doesn't mean we would break up, Christ almighty, Cas." Dean mumbles into Cas's hair.

"Stop talking yourself down," Cas grumbles, the sound vibrating against Dean's collarbone. "You're going to get drafted. Just... don't let the Red Sox pick you. I don't really want to go to Harvard." Dean laughs, startled and amused.

"Cas," Dean says, hesitantly but Cas just shakes his head.

"Another month, Dean. Just... another month." Cas pleads. Dean rolls his eyes, thinking about the calendar in the kitchen that's counting down to the First-Year Player draft and that Cas even knows what that is, that Cas thinks- well. Dean just sighs.

"Goddamn it, Cas," Dean complains, but Cas can hear the resignation in it, because he just kisses Dean, carefully licking his way into Dean's mouth. And they've reached the end of the verbal argument- and now it's time for the argument sex.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," Cas finally says- and this is the problem with argument sex- Dean's pretty much inclined to forgive Cas anything with his mouth pink and slick, just slightly open like that. Dean tries to frown, but Cas looks mussed and upset and so Dean just sighs and nods, already reaching for Cas's Tulane blue tie.

"Next time, can we... talk about this shit? Rather than... I don't know, hiding your acceptance letters under the bed?" Dean requests and Cas just blinks sweetly.

"They're in the cereal box, actually," Cas demurs and Dean has to laugh, because okay, yeah, Cas knows him pretty damn well- the last place Dean was going to be looking is Cas's damn organo-crunch cereal.

"Cas, shut up," Dean says, fond and so totally fucking whipped. He quickly runs down the line of buttons, tugging Cas's crisp white shirt out from it's perfect tucks into his slacks. He throws it over the side of the bed, the thin t-shirt following it. "God, how many layers can you wear?"

"It's just so I can watch you peel me out of them," Cas admits, lifting his hips so Dean can finish with his fly and slip his pants and boxers off in one swift move. "But I really object that I'm naked and you're fully clothed." Dean snorts, but Cas is like a fucking wizard- Dean is naked, too, before he can even attempt the stupid cufflinks Cas had made him wear.

"I think it's because you're a tease," Dean argues, catching Cas around his hips, pushing him up the bed, feeling the sheets and comforter bunch and slide under Cas. Cas hooks an arm around Dean's neck, pulling him down to press against Cas- all hot sweat and skin on skin- and bites at Dean's mouth, wet little kisses all over his jaw.

"It's only a tease if it gets you hot," Cas says, using his other hand to palm at Dean's dick.

"Stop stealing from the Breakfast Club," Dean groans, trying to ignore how good it feels. Because if you let Cas get the upper hand in argument sex, it's not argument sex at all- it's just their usual, mind-melting, brain-breaking, filthy sex- and Dean can't punish Cas with that. Dean scrabbles with the hand not holding himself up, reaching into the open nightstand drawer for the lube. When he finally manages to get a hold of it, he slides down Cas's fever-hot body, using his arm to pin Cas's hips down, even as Cas makes an irritated little whine.

"Dean," Cas protests. Dean grins, licking quickly over Cas's leaking slit, hearing Cas slam a hand against the bedspread. He slicks up both his hands, gripping tightly around the base of Cas's cock, taking just the head of his dick into his mouth, sucking hard as he jacks Cas quickly.

"Baby," Dean says, letting the obscene pop of his mouth slipping off Cas's dick do most of the talking for him. "If you really didn't like it, you wouldn't let me do it." Cas whines something indistinct as Dean takes the opportunity to stroke the soft skin behind his balls, rubbing fingers against Cas's hole, getting it slick, playing with him. Cas raises his head for a moment to glare at him weakly, but he flops bonelessly against the pillows again as Dean slips a single finger into him, just to the first knuckle.

"I know what you're doing. We had sex last night, you don't need to be so- ah!" Cas breaks off into a gasp as Dean takes Cas's whole cock into his mouth in one smooth- extremely practiced- slide. Dean chuckles around him, because he'll never get tired of hearing Cas moan and sigh under him, the restless, pleased noises he can't smother. The thick salty weight and heat of Cas against his tongue is familiar and welcome, makes Dean think about that first summer after high school when Cas taught him to give a blowjob, hours of fooling around anywhere and whenever they could get each other alone, completely unable to keep their fucking hands off of each other.

"Dean, Dean, please," Cas begs and Dean swirls his tongue around the head of Cas's cock, eases up so he can press it flat up against the sensitive underside of his dick, tracing along the vein. "Just, more, please." Dean bobs down two more times, pausing to lick across the head again to gather up the traces of precome seeping out, swallowing hard. Cas heaves a sigh as Dean finally slips in another finger, and Dean can tell the second he finds Cas's prostate, because Cas lets out a long, low, fervent, "Fuck." Cas only swears when they're having sex and it's sort of a turn on- okay, Cas's filthy goddamn mouth is a huge turn-on- so it's a compliment, Cas staring glassy-eyed at the ceiling, breathing hard as Dean just strokes Cas's cock in unison with the soft press of his fingers inside him.

"You think you want to come yet?" Dean asks him, jacking Cas fast. Cas makes this little choked noise and Dean suddenly has come all over his hand and even on the underside of his chin. "So good, baby. So good." Cas just whimpers and twitches his way into post-orgasm compliance.

"Maybe we should fight more often," Cas mumbles, slurring over his words like he's drunk. Dean just rolls his eyes, carefully adding another finger, slowly stretching Cas, brushing the pad of his middle finger against Cas's prostate.

"Or maybe you should just let me do what I want," Dean suggests. Cas laughs, bright and relaxed.

"Mmm, Dean, it's not my fault if I need you so bad. I get lonely over the week, you know. Sometimes I just like a little reminder of what we did." Cas chirps, like he's talking about keepsakes, not hard, fast fucking. Dean just gives him the stink eye and scissors his fingers even slower.

"I really don't think I would be like this with anyone else, Dean. No one else could make me feel like, mmm, oh fuck, like I can't get enough," Cas whispers, even as Dean uses his forearm to keep Cas's hips still, keep him from arching into it. "Plus, I like knowing you can. You can just push me down on the bed and fuck into me, make me take it. Is that wrong?" Dean frowns.

"Don't- you know I know what you're doing, don't you?" Dean asks, because Cas is driving him fucking insane. "You won the argument, that means that I get to take my time and fucking do you slow." Cas shrugs, loose and liquid under him.

"Dean, I'm just sharing," Cas says, and if Dean didn't know him so well, he'd never be able to tell that the hint of reproach in his voice is so Cas doesn't fucking laugh. "I'm just being honest about how you make me feel. How you always make me feel." Cas's runs his hand up over his stomach, lightly teasing his nipple.

"If you can't resist fucking me, fucking me so hard I can't sit, well," Cas says, followed by a measured shrug and Dean just laughs, sliding up Cas's body to kiss him, wet and thorough, lazily exploring his mouth like it's the first time, savoring it.

"Baby, you are so totally obvious." Dean shoots back, gently biting at the shape of Cas's pout.

"What, I'm not-" Cas breaks off into a low moan as Dean slowly guides his dick into Cas's ass.

"Yeah, sure," Dean says, but it comes out as this breathy pant as he struggles to keep his shit together in light of the way Cas clenches tight, deliberate, around him. Cas practically purrs against him as Dean's hips snap forward reflexively.

"Cheating," Dean grits out. Cas smiles, smug and goddamn sneaky as he takes advantage of Dean's distraction to pull them flush together. Dean can't focus- there's suddenly miles and miles of hot skin, slick and responsive under him.

"Can you blame me? For wanting just a little bit more?" Cas says, grinding filthy and so good against him. Dean bites the tender crook of his neck, the soft patch of skin above his shoulder. Cas's whole body freezes for a second, because Cas might know Dean's body- what spots make him craziest, what to say to make Dean so fucking blind with want- but Dean knows him, too. So Dean just chuckles and lets his body weigh Cas down so he can just set a slow, rolling pace that makes Cas squirm fruitlessly under him.

"Dean, Dean," Cas whines, and Dean can feel where he's half-hard again, trapped between their bodies. "Please, just, I need-"

And that's definitely not fair, because it's one thing for Cas to whisper filthy nothings into the air, it's a totally separate and harder thing to hear that want, the desperation in Cas's voice, even though he's come once already.

"Baby, we're gonna get there. But I will take my time with you, so slow, that when I do let you come, it's gonna feel so good, Cas, so good." Dean promises, breathing hot against Cas's collarbone. Cas is breathing so fast, shallow, that it almost sounds like sobs.

"God, Dean, I-" Cas gasps. Dean just kisses him again, letting Cas steal his air, breaking apart to the wild beating of Cas's heart.

"Shh, shh, baby, I've got you, not gonna let go," Dean swears, pressing their foreheads together, blinking away the salt-sharp sting of sweat. The pace is tortuously slow for him too, on that knife-edge between so-good-it-hurts and hurts-because-it's-so-good, and the room is almost oppressive in its heat and silence. The only sounds in the room are the whuffing slice of the fan and the wrecked mess of their breathing, arrhythmic and shuddering.

He can feel himself losing it, the smooth glide of his hips going shaky and uncontrolled until he gives in, buries himself in Cas and comes and comes. Dean feels Cas's sharp inhale and the clutch of his orgasm in addition to the slick heat buried between them.

"I told you, right? So, so good, Cas," Dean says, his voice hoarse and a total mess, tight with way too much shit he can't name and he just runs his hands over Cas's face, brushing back the wet, loose dark curls stuck to Cas's forehead. Cas just pulls in these tiny fucked breaths, nodding weakly.

"Yes, Dean." he agrees finally, pushing his cheek into Dean's palm. "Yes, of course."

Dean thinks he can't move, now, or maybe ever again, but he makes himself get up, pulling out of Cas as carefully as he can. He comes back with a towel, damp and cool, wiping them both clean. And it's way too hot for this shit, but he lets Cas pull him close, grip him tight against him, bury his face in Dean's neck.

"A month, Cas," Dean reminds him, even though he's about to pass out. Cas hums sleepy agreement against Dean's skin.

"A month."






EMPIRE STATE OF MIND



The night of the draft is a goddamn hot mess. Dean doesn't really remember any of it except Cas blowing him in the bathroom maybe fifteen minutes before Joe Girardi had sat down next to him, looked at him for about twenty seconds and asked, "Son, you want to be a Yankee?"

Dean had felt sort of baffled, but he'd nodded and grinned and he'd shook hands with Joe and kissed Cas and he'd been a pitcher for a Major League Baseball team.

Cas had accepted his offer from Columbia with a cheery smile and settled into finding them an appropriately snooty apartment building on the Upper East Side and like... nesting, with terrible trips to the Home Depot and increasingly horrifying deliveries brought up by the beleaguered doormen in the service elevator from the Pottery Barn.

It doesn't really hit him that he's part of it now- part of Ruth and Mantle and DiMaggio- until CC elbows him in the side and tells him to "freaking smile, kid." He goes and hides in the bathroom for three minutes, breathing sickly between his knees totally convinced he's going to fuck up everything. And because Cas loves him, crazily, insanely, always, and won’t get it, he hits speed dial 1 instead of 2 and calls Sam.

"Please tell me you're not throwing up, Dean, I can hear your heavy breathing against tile." Sam opens with and Dean barks out a frantic laugh. “Seriously, you don’t need an eating disorder.”

"Just-" Freaking out. "How's your day going, Sammy?" Dean listens to the careful pause before Sam cheerfully blathers on about how awesome Stanford is and how he can't wait for them to play Oakland so he can take all his friends to the super shitty nosebleeds and point. Dean shakes his head.

"Thanks, Sam." And because he's been having a totally pre-teen spaz fest in the bathroom he hangs up on his brother and ignores the shaking of his hands and goes out to the bullpen and focuses on throwing as hard and fast as he can, the count steadily heading up as he starts breathing again, 91, 94.

That being said, most of his zen disappears as he steps out and Andy fucking Pettitte is leaning there, watching him.

"You went to LSU, right? I'm from Baton Rouge, you know." Pettitte says quietly, as he sort of shepherds him toward the clubhouse. Andy sits on him, sort of mothering, just the two of them talking in an out of the way corner until Dean feels like maybe he can do this. If nothing else, he feels like he can fake it, at least long enough to get home and let Cas put him back together again. Dean's the baby of the team, he knows it in the way they trade between tiptoeing around him and jocularly poking at him.

Dean heads home, exhausted, a little freaked still, even though Boone and Ivan had made fun of Alex- Christ, A Rod- until he'd cracked a smile. He's only collapsed in the freakishly comfortable armchair in Cas's "study" for a few moments before he feels the press of lips to his temple.

"You look like you had a rough day." Cas says, soft and thoughtful.

"I'm just realizing how wildly under-qualified I am for my life, that's all, baby," Dean promises. Cas's frown is tucked against Dean's neck.

"You're perfectly qualified. Come to bed." Cas says and even though Dean doesn't feel like he could get it up under direct order from god, he follows Cas into the bedroom meekly enough. Cas strips him efficiently, but gently, pushing him face down on the bed. Dean can hear the whispering of fabric, and he feels the firm muscle of Cas's thighs straddling his back and a quiet snicking noise that's not the lube bottle.

"Oh, thank you, Jesus," Dean mutters as he feels the slick, warm heels of Cas's palms press and glide against his back.

"It's just "Castiel,"" Cas demurs, teasing and ridiculous and way too good to him.

"Ha ha- ah." Dean's voice hitches as Cas pushes the tension out of his body. "I owe you one, babe." Cas hums his disagreement.

"I think this one is on the house." Cas says, lulling Dean into sleepy acquiescence. The last thing Dean thinks before he falls asleep- between one smooth caress and the next- is that he's going to earn this.