Work Text:
Dean sits on the deck, feet propped on the railing as condensation drips down his beer to pool on the table. The low hum of the bugs attracted to the amber glow of the singular bulb overhead fizzles in his ears. The white noise mingles with the haze of the burnt out blunt, lulling him into a dreamlike state.
The night is heavy, thick and humid and full of the dissipating heat of a day grown dark. It’s one of those relentless summer evenings, where it’s too hot to do anything but abandon your plans and lose yourself in the shimmering mirage where the sun meets the horizon.
The bulb swings softly under the assault of the moths fluttering around it, a small smile playing on Dean’s lips at the sight.
He’d asked his mother about them once; why they were so drawn to the light when it could only harm them. His mother had smiled softly at him, something twinkling behind her eyes, and told him that one day he’d find his own light, and then maybe he’d understand.
He’d been fascinated, at the time. The drug like manner in which they would circle and hum, never giving up or fading into the darkness. He couldn’t imagine understanding that, understanding what it was to be addicted to something that had little hope for a happy ending.
Perhaps that was naive of him.
Tendrils of smoke drift past his eyes, and the catch of breath on the inhale that is so characteristically Cas has Dean tilting his head. He’s entranced by the motion of Cas gently rocking back and forth, his mother’s old chair creaking as he smokes a cigarette.
He watches him, watches a bead of sweat dripping down his neck and is struck with the temptation to lean over and lick it off. He settles for lazily grabbing his beer, glad that Cas is too buzzed to pay any attention to the wishful thoughts of Dean’s roaming mind.
He thinks maybe Cas is that for him, that light which he knows he should avoid and yet finds inescapable. Like Icarus and the sun, he knows it’s only a matter of time before he gets too close and then burns.
“Do you ever wonder how something that supposedly burns so bright can somehow seem so cold?”
Dean watches Cas’ mouth move, memorising the way it shapes perfectly around his o’s, and has time to think about what it would be like to just lean over and capture that mouth in a kiss, before the words even have a chance to break through the fog in his mind.
Cas doesn’t seem to mind, too blissfully enraptured with staring at the night sky to care that it’s taking Dean far too long to answer. It takes him a moment to realise Cas’ talking about the stars, realisation only sinking in when he watches the way they glitter and reflect from his eyes.
He snorts softly.
“Maybe you should lay off on the good stuff for the night, angel.”
The nickname falls of his tongue readily, the glow of lights illuminating his friend in a halo that does little justice to what he truly deserves.
Satisfaction sits warm in his chest as Cas’ eyes roll, corners crinkling and deepening the shadow of his smile, a fist reaching out to punch him on the shoulder.
Dean grabs it without thinking, turning it over and marvelling at the intricate map of Cas laced under the skin. He runs a fingertip over the lines, cold from his beer, feels the goosebumps spreading on his skin.
He wonders how it would feel to trace them with his tongue.
“Dean, are you okay?”
Dean’s finger freezes right over Cas’ pulse. He swallows, lips parting even though the words are lost in his mouth, held back by the mist in his mind. He glances up at Cas’s face, is surprised by the amusement that sparkles back at him.
“I er… I… Yeah.”
He doesn’t let go of his arm, the steady throb of Cas’ blood anchoring his wandering thoughts to the here and now, the buzz of crickets in the shadows and the rogue disaster that is Cas’ hair.
Cas leans forward, so close Dean can almost taste him. It strikes him that they’re breathing the same air, and he feels his heart skip at the tangible intimacy that drifts in the space in between them.
“Can I have my hand back?” He asks with a smirk playing on his lips, and Dean’s eyes widen, moss green filling with uncertainty as he realises how close he is. He’s Icarus headed for annihilation and any moment Cas is going to clip his wings and let him fall to the ocean below.
He lets go of Cas, laments the loss almost immediately. He fumbles, glancing away to break the moment, but is startled back by the feeling of Cas’ hand pressing against his cheek, pulling his eyes back around to meet his own gaze.
“Hey,” Cas’ smile is the rising sun after a storm. “Where are you going?”
Dean thinks a raging hurricane couldn’t pull him away from this moment.
Cas’ palm is warm on his skin, the reassuring beat of his pulse echoing down into the fibre of Dean’s being. He leans into it, afraid to be the first to break the spell that’s hanging over them.
He feels like Cas is staring into his soul, exploring the depths and overturning every wall he’s built to house his desires. He feels vulnerability creeping in as he lets Cas look, lets him delve into the truth behind every conversation they’ve had, every touch they’ve shared.
He stares back, intensity crackling in the still air, as he loses himself in the pooling depths. He wants to analyse every detail, pick up a paintbrush and walk to the ends of the earth and back in search of the right shades. He wants to paint all the hues of azure blue, pick out a meaning from every strand, attach a memory to every shade.
He wonders if this is how Icarus felt. So lost in the moment of exhilaration and desire that he forgot what it was to be cautious, to be mindful of his pride. Dean thinks he’d take being burned a hundred times over if it only meant he could understand every nuance of meaning in the eyes of the man before him.
“Dean?”
Cas’ voice is hesitant, and Dean thinks to himself that if this is the only chance he gets, if this is the one moment where he can break the addiction and no longer be resigned to humming on the outskirts, then perhaps it’s worth it.
Cas’ lips brush his in a touch so faint that Dean thinks maybe his half addled brain imagined it.
But he’s still there, Dean can practically feel yearning radiating off of him. And he realises then, that this moment, this feeling; it’s what people write poetry about.
He’s out of his chair before he even has a moment to consider what he’s doing, pressing back against Cas and crushing his mouth on his own. He moves to straddle him, barely registering Cas’ hands curling around his hips, too intent on getting closer, on feeling Cas’ heat taking him over and pulling him into his grasp. He wants to feel the burn of need consume him, to throw hesitation away in the face of lust and be suspended in this moment forever.
A moan tears through the silence, whether it came from his own mouth or Cas’ he doesn’t know or care. He only pauses long enough to take a breath before he’s on him again, tongue reaching out to run along the line of Cas’s own.
It’s too much and not enough all at once, and he breaks away, gasping as he rests their foreheads together.
“Cas,”
He’s hot, too hot, and he knows he’s flying too close now. He opens his eyes, sees only Cas’ own warmth and desire staring back at him.
“Shh, Dean, it’s okay,” Cas pulls away, panic flaring in Dean until he feels Cas gently nuzzling at the skin under his ear, placing a soft kiss against his neck.
Dean can feel Cas through his jeans, lets the knowledge that Cas wants this too pour over him, sobering his mind and calming his heart. He buries his hands in Cas’ hair, leaning over to place a kiss in the dark strands as Cas reaches his throat, mouthing at the skin there as though Dean’s a fragile apparition waiting to drift away on the wind.
But there’s no wind tonight. The air is still thick and patient, and Dean closes his eyes again as Cas trails his way back up to his jaw.
“Let’s go back inside, shall we?”
The low vibration of Cas’ voice reverberating by his ear sends shivers through him and he squeezes his hands in his hair as his reply. He clambers up, steadying himself against the railing as Cas joins him. He lets Cas place another gentle kiss on his lips, his hands cradling Dean’s face and pouring heat into his skin.
Their eyes meet again and Dean sees the victory he feels reflected back at him, there in the depths of Cas’s gaze. It’s a triumph that’s theirs, something shared between them and no one else.
And it’s there, in the darkness with only the night to witness, that Dean realises he never needed wings, not when he has Cas to give him flight. That Cas is not the sun Dean’s been headed for, he’s the moon. As they step through the door into the cabin, Dean’s knows that Cas has always been there, his guiding light in the dark. And Dean is home.
He’s home.