Like A Virgin / Like A Prayer (destiel fanfic)

Borderline

"Dean, we have to talk," Sam rounded on him at morning coffee.

Dean just kept drenching his hot cakes in maple syrup. Glossing over those fluffy little fuckers with a thick layer of nonchalance, just like he's done to his feelings for the last thirty or so years. Dean stole a glance at Castiel who was staring into the depth of his Americano coffee with a look of tremulous doubt, as if he was gazing into an abyss. The way Castiel kept avoiding eye contact with Dean was gutting him. All the trees in Canada couldn't produce enough maple syrup to sugarcoat the raw edgy awkwardness of this morning after.

Dean shuddered when he thought about the night before. The way Castiel had shouted at him, declared his feelings through gritted teeth then just dropped to his knees and worshiped him with his stubborn mouth. It had been utter torment and sheer heaven rolled into one. Like a roller coaster ride he never wanted to get off of.

Neither of them did, in fact, get off. Sam had come running into the woods, gun drawn, when he'd woken up alone in Cas' car and found the Impala abandoned. They had to make up some shit about having to take a crap in the woods, simultaneously. Of course, Sam wasn't going to believe that one, though he had the good grace to let it drop for a couple hours so everyone could get some sleep. Dean wasn't sure how Castiel's sleep cycle went in the adjoining room, but in the one he shared with Sam he just laid there furtively grasping himself through the sheets, too embarrassed to help himself and too turned on to close his eyes. That's because every time he shut his eyes, he was back in Cas' hot, sleek mouth, pushing himself hard into that gorgeous face, helplessly rambling out the words 'fuck' and 'Cas' like a broken record.

That same heavenly mouth was tightly shut at the moment and Cas looked at the bagel Sam handed him like blueberries and cream cheese were the most confronting thing in the universe and he was about to throw up.

"Look, can either of you please talk to me, I know in my gut something went down in that forest!" Sam said in exasperation.

Castiel literally jumped in his seat, face going a dark bronze red. His butter knife skewered the bagel, unbalanced the plate and tipped the whole thing onto the floor with a loud crash. Dean leapt up instinctively to help Cas and almost got impaled on the cutlery. So as Sam tried to unfold himself from the booth-seat and reach for Dean to stabilise him, his long arms made Dean's pancake stack and Cas' coffee go flying. It was like an episode of the three stooges, except one of them was deluded, the other disheartened and the third bewildered.

Cas ends up wearing it all, scolding coffee down the front of his one white shirt, sweet treacle all over his coat which he ineffectively wipes at with his hands. Dean wants to burst out laughing except Castiel is pulling up his shirt to check the pink burn on his perfectly tanned abdomen, fingers leaving strands of shiny syrup all over the fly of his pants in the process. And Dean gets feverishly jealous of the napkin being dabbed, quite pointlessly, over Castiel's crotch. He glares at the waitress who was going out of her way to assist the flustered angel with the cleanup. She ignores Dean and keeps rubbing at Cas until he shyly backs away, grabbing the napkin from her busy hand.

Once the slapstick scene is tidied somewhat and Castiel had gone to the bathroom and changed into a spare t-shirt Dean had in the car, Sam starts talking again, but thankfully he's moved on to the hunt.

"Yeah, remember, that's why we are here," Sam was going through the exposition faithfully to recap the case for Castiel's benefit. "The Venice Beach Sphinx is a local rumour that started online about a week ago. A number of witnesses have reported encounters with the man."

"How do they know he is a man," Castiel asked. "You mentioned a creature with the face of a lion."

"Oh, they know," Dean winked and immediately regretted the casual flirtation.