So I was rewatching this episode and I saw something I didn’t notice before… Look at Dean’s face during this scene. It is a myriad of emotion. In that fourth gif it’s only when Cas is actually looking at him that Dean puts on this fake smile (and he’s hardly trying to look happy… it doesn’t reach his eyes at all). But it’s whenever Cas isn’t looking that Dean shows how he really feels. Just look at that last gif. Dean blinks and his smile dissolves. When Cas opens the car door, Dean isn’t even looking at him anymore, because he can’t stand to watch Cas walk away again. Misha was told to play the jilted lover in this episode and I think Jensen is really playing off of that really well. He’s playing the unrequited lover. Because Dean doesn’t understand that someone as pure as Cas could ever love him. So Dean feels like he’s pining for something that’s outside his grasp when all along Cas has never been more than an arm’s length away. And that’s what makes this so sad, because they both don’t want to say goodbye but neither has the courage to say it.
There’s no other word for what it is. Definitely not making love; they’ve spent enough time doing that, though more in the consistent loss, occasional betrayal, frequent survival of life threatening situations sense than in the textbook romance one with rose petals and scented candles. It’s not bumping uglies (everything about Cas is anything but that) or getting lucky (except that he totally is) or doing it (though he finds himself revisiting his earlier days of stumbling around his sexuality and blushing at the very thought of someone else’s bits and pieces).
It’s not even sex really. To Dean, sex is alleyways, behind bars, abandoned school closets, musty hotel rooms, an unfamiliar bed. This is so much bigger than that.
Cas has always been so much bigger than anything else could ever be.
But he can’t bring him to a bed that’s already marked with one (or both) of their scent’s, weighed down with the impression of their bodies. So he does the next best thing, crowding him in the backseat of his beloved car. He’s caged, back flat against the leather upholstery, Dean’s hands pressing beside either ear, his body pinning him to the seat. It’s hot and he’s not getting quite enough air because he keeps breathing in what Cas breaths out, but that’s okay.
That’s so, so okay.
The position claims. It protects. It comforts, secures, steals Cas away from the rest of the world and tucks him away in a space of their own. Dean is always one to give as he gets, though. Maybe he’s not as adept to handle a man’s body as he is a woman’s, but he knows the logistics of it from stolen glimpses at dubious reading material. He’ll be damned if he doesn’t make this good for Cas.
It’s clumsy, which he supposes is expected. It’s his first time with, well, a guy and Cas’s second time ever. Also there’s the matter of space, or lack thereof, and feelings, both of which make smooth, porn worthy sex next to impossible. His lips sting and his jaw aches from the sloppy, wide-mouthed kisses. Like he’s trying to devour Cas. Or Cas is trying to devour him. There’s an elbow in his side one minute, a discomfort inducing grind of hips the next. It’s a struggle to get enough clothes off to achieve any amount of skin to skin contact. Their only lube is saliva and Dean has to hiss through his teeth when Cas questions what he’s doing.
He slides down onto Cas’s cock for the first time and it burns and aches but it’s beautiful and he does not have a single fuck left to give about how sore he’ll feel in the morning because he can’t do anything but move.
Cas’s groans are raw and throaty. Deep, rumbling past his skin and into his very bones. He says his name over and over again like a prayer and he wants a recording of it. He won’t be able to get off to any other sound. His hands are everywhere. Hips. Shoulders. Back. Stomach. Dick. Thighs. Ass. Face.
He’s definitely being devoured as he’s yanked back into another kiss. He’s the one smothering Cas, but somehow he feels smothered himself under the assault of uncoordinated lips and tongue and the hands forcibly guiding his hips.
Dean doesn’t move. Even when the car reeks of sweat and sex and the stickiness of his come is drying between them while Cas’s leaks out from him a bit. They don’t speak. Only gasp for air until their hearts stop threatening to beat right out of their chests.
He doesn’t remember falling asleep, only feeling warm and fuzzy and wishing he could tuck Cas away some place where no harm would come to him. And no Noras. Just suddenly the sun is beating down on him and Cas is groaning beneath him as he stirs awake. They sit for a while in a silence that is both comfortable and painfully awkward.
A silence that persists when Cas gently nudges him until he gets off. One that chokes at his throat as he tugs last night’s clothes on and watches Cas do the same. One that carries with them the duration of the ride to the Gas-N-Sip, where he lets Cas slip from his hold again into a world of heating up nachos and letting pretty girls woo him. A world without Dean.
He doesn’t blare his tapes to drown out the silence like he normally would. Rather, he sits in it as he drives, focusing on the ache in his lower back and the faint, lingering smell and the barely audible I love you he’d caught on Cas’s breath the night before.
