Work Text:
Castiel's POV
Dean Winchester is beautiful. My time with Charlie has taught me to look at him whenever I have the opportunity. I find his every move to be quite erotic, even given my nature. How am I to understand how men and women cannot simply pass him by? His beauty could be the product of Michael's interference or his being a Winchester. They have always had a sort of grace—rulers, generals, even a king once. They were always so enchanting. But Dean is more. He is so much more.
I’ve had to heal him again. The noise he made caused me to excuse myself from his presence. I still do not understand why my vessel has chosen to react to him as a man should react to a woman. This way it seems to be how humans react when aroused, so I find him arousing. Dean is not interested in men, so I do not think things will go far.
-_-
Things have gone far. We've just arrived at the bunker after a completely confusing day at a place I wish not to revisit. Dean and Sam are standing at the tail end of the stairs, conversing about the next step to rectify the current situation. I cannot recall what I was beginning to say. I find myself in awe of him, completely. His "monkey suit," as he calls it—what I would call professional clothing—makes him look so domineering, so catastrophically exquisite.
“Cas?” Sam raises his voice. I point my gaze to the floor, hoping Dean did not see whatever was revealed in my eyes. I look up, and they are both staring at me. I clear my throat—Dean does it when he doesn't want to talk about uncomfortable topics, so I think they will understand my implications.
“My apologies. What were you saying, Sam?”
He narrows his eyes at me, and I do not blink or show weakness. Dean looks between us before pinching the bridge of his nose and throwing his hand in a shooing manner.
“Sam, please stop acting as if you are five, fighting off your sister's potential boyfriends. It didn’t work then; why would it work now?” He walks to his room, ears tinged red.
I can do nothing but stare after him and try to make sense of his statement. He implied that he and I... that I was a possible suitor. But technically, I am. I find myself feeling like a fish out of water, opening and closing my mouth. Then the feeling of irritation hits.
“Damnit!”
I grimace at the volume of my exclamation. Sam is still staring at me, the heat behind his stare replaced by sympathy, I believe.
“I’ve found myself in a compromising and confusing situation with my feelings. I understand their meaning and purpose, but I cannot find a way to convey them. Charlie made this seem so easy when she described it. Why do I feel so irritated by my actions? I should have just done it. Damnit!” I run my hand through my hair.
^-^
The silence in the bunker is deafening. Sam decides to head back out to see if he can recover some information from local enforcement. Meanwhile, Dean has efficiently gotten me drunk, and now I understand what Charlie meant when she talked about liquid courage. It would be so easy to tell Dean how much I long for him, how it hurts me internally not to be able to help him when I hear his cries, to be there to quiet his qualms, to tell him how beautiful he is. But that would be "coming on too strong," as Charlie put it. So, I wait. We talk and laugh, and as I calm down from his latest snide remark, I find myself lost in him once more—the curve of his lips, the wrinkles by his eyes, the joy in his laugh. I can't help but look at him as if he is my whole world because he is. I would do anything he asks if he were to show even the smallest morsel of attention.
"Why do you look at me like that?" His sudden words jolt me. I glance up at him, finding him searching my face. "You look at me sometimes, and I think you want to say something, and then nothing. You say nothing." He sounds hurt like my actions hurt him. He doesn't know, he doesn't understand.
"I'm sorry—" That was not the right response. Dean rockets out of his chair, sending it back. "It's fucking tiring waiting for you to talk. It's been about half a year, Cas. Just spit it the fuck out."
"You do not have to force it out of me. You'd just have to ask. Are you sure you could stand me after I tell you what I want from you, Dean? Could you understand? Could you see how in love with you I am?" I stand now, walking closer to him. He's backing himself into a corner, wild eyes searching my being. "Do you want to know that I long for you, I ache for you , that my days do not feel complete until I see you laugh, smile, and live? You are the reason I am here, the one who made me an angel love , a man as beautiful as you taught me to love when I had never felt the feeling in all my generations of existence."
He has hit the wall now, still looking down at me, searching my face as I stand on my tiptoes. Even though I don't need to lean towards his ear, I whisper, "I wish to show you physically how much I love you, to learn every inch of you. Our falling in love would not fix our problems, no, but it would make you happy. It would leave you without regret, without envy for others. I would love you until your last breath, Dean. Is that what you think I was withholding? Do you think it has just been months? Dean, I have loved you for years."
He searches my eyes. I stand so close to him that I see the unshed tear in his eyes.
Dean's POV
I slip my arms around his waist and pull him close, so close. I do not know where he ends and where I begin. I press my lips against his and whisper, "olani hoath ol."
I'm so glad Gabe taught me how to speak in Enochian.