Bring It On Home- A Destiel AU [COMPLETED]

Chapter 8

Dean spent most of Saturday night concentrating on not screaming hysterically and booking the next flight to Barbados.

Okay. Okay. He'd kissed worse. That one chick at the Pi Chi party with the lazy eye and the sore on her mouth, for example. That hadn't meant anything, and this didn't mean anything, and you know, it was like a stage kiss really, just for show, and Cas only did it to fuck with him and freak him out and by God it was working.

It was just... all those questionable girls had been girls. And he'd always kissed girls. This was a dude. A gay dude. A possibly gay dude prostitute and dear Jesus he was going to have to get tested, wasn't he?

Dean mentally kicked himself. Of course he didn't need to get tested. It was just a kiss.

Just a kiss.

Not even that much tongue.

He laid in bed and tried to forget.

....

Dean couldn't forget.

It should have been easy. Barring one exceptionally graphic daydream, he didn't think about Cas that way. Didn't think about any men that way.

Okay, there had been a couple of - but that was besides the point!

He just wasn't attracted to Cas. That was the cold hard truth. It was an instinctive-response kiss, not a real one. And the thing actuallyfreaking him out, he decided, was that he wasn't sure how real the kiss had been to Cas.

He looked at the clock.

7 am. Good a time as any to get up.

He sat in front of the TV for an hour, watching the anchors fret about and blather. Two feet of snow had fallen in the night. They were calling it "Snowpocalyse '09". Lots of interviews with beleaguered citizens unable to get to the grocery store or refill Nana's prescription. Correspondents in supermarkets gesturing to empty shelves where the flashlights and gas stoves should be. Cars stranded diagonally along the highway. Dean rolled his eyes and let them panic. Maybe if he was lucky, he wouldn't be able to make it in to the office tomorrow.

And then he heard a knock on the door.

Castiel was standing there, bundled up in bulk like the younger brother from A Christmas Story, with the entire ensemble crowned by a knit monkey hat. "Do you have electricity?"

Dean sighed. "Come on in."

Cas barged his way inside and waddled into the kitchen, where he began to laboriously strip off the layers one by one, starting with a series of brightly colored scarves. "I don't even have a fireplace," he explained. "I was seriously contemplating eating cold hot dogs when I remembered that we're friends." He reached inside his puffy blue overcoat and pulled out a handful of brown paper packets. "I brought oatmeal."

Dean sat down at the kitchen table and steeled himself. "Listen, Cas..."

Castiel draped his coat across a chair and began unbuttoning his snow pants. "Listening, Captain."

"About last night." He swallowed thickly, his mouth suddenly dry. "When you kissed me. Let's not... well, I'd like it if you didn't do that anymore."

Castiel stepped out of his pants and unzipped his parka. "You want to upgrade to blowjobs already? Don't you think that's a little greedy, Dean, considering that you're less than likely to return the favor?"

"What? No!" Dean exclaimed indignantly.

Castiel gave him a doubtful look. "Are you sure? Because... I give excellent blowjobs." He pouted his lips just slightly.

"No!" Dean stood up and crossed and uncrossed his hands violently in a vehement "no" gesture. "There will be absolutely no - blowing! None!"

And Castiel grinned, and shucked off his parka and said, "Easy mark, Dean, you're so incredibly easy."

Dean fumed silently for a second, and then noticed what Cas was left wearing. "Cas, I think you're the last person in America who still owns long underwear."

Castiel took Dean's kettle from the stove and filled it with water. "Want any oatmeal?"

Dean sat back down, elbows on the table, and rested his cheek on the heel of his palm. "Sure."