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I stare at myself in the crappy little mirror I just set up in my room, shaking my head. What the hell had I agreed to?
A date. A date with Cas. More than one, actually. The way we talked, well, I kind of made it sound like I agreed to date him. That does mean more than one, right? Damn it, why did I say yes?
Oh yeah. Cause he’s weirdly cute . . . for an angelic dork. And because this is the fucking twenty-first century and I can be heteroflexible if I want. Besides, it’s not even all that gay, because Cas probably doesn’t have a real gender. He just—he happens to have a male vessel, that’s all.
And this is only a first date. And I made Cas promise that we’d take things slow. You know, so we don’t wreck our friendship over this. So we won’t be gay at all, really. Not tonight, anyway.
Well, maybe a little gay. I’ll have to kiss him, right?
There’s a knock at my door. I almost jump.
“Hey, Dean? Can I come in?”
It’s Sammy. Fuck. Okay, I haven’t exactly mentioned that I’m dating Cas. But no time like the present, right?
“Yeah, come on in.” I run my hands through my hair without thinking.
Sam catches the gesture as he opens the door. He cracks a grin. “Don’t worry. You look fine for your new boyfriend.”
I roll my eyes. “Cas told you?”
“Yeah, but he didn’t have to. He’s practically floating around the bunker right now.”
“Yeah, well, he should have let me tell you myself.”
“Dude, don’t be upset. He wanted to run his idea for your first date by me.”
“Oh yeah?” I step away from the mirror and take a seat on the edge of the bed. “Okay. But, listen Sammy. This isn’t really a gay thing. I don’t think Cas has an actual gender.” I’m sticking with that defense, damn it.
Sam’s eyes are all lit up and amused as he leans back against the wall. “Dean, I never cared about your orientation.”
You know what the weird thing is? He’s probably telling the truth. My little brother has zero of the hang ups that I’m stuck with. If I thought God gave a damn about anyone or anything down here, I’d thank Him for that.
“Well, it doesn’t matter.” I snort. “This is your fault.”
Sam cocks his head at me.
“You encouraged Cas in his little pretending-to-be-out-of-my-league plot.”
“I didn’t—”
I give him a look.
“All right. I did. A little. I mean, it was a cute idea. And it did spark your interest.”
“Dude, he stole the idea from fan fiction!”
Sammy shrugs. “It worked.”
“Yeah, I guess.” I glare at him. “Just know that I will have my revenge. And when you least expect it.”
He doesn’t look intimidated. “You ready? Cas is going to lose his nerve if you don’t show your face soon.”
“All right, all right.” I stand back up. “What’s he got planned? Dinner and a movie?”
Sammy makes this weird kind of face.
“Dude,” I say, “don’t tell me he’s taking me to a chick flick.”
“Not exactly.” My little brother looks cautious now. “I think you’ll enjoy it, Dean. It’s just, uh, not a typical first date.”
Fuck. I thought Cas would go all traditional on me. But he still doesn’t really get human things yet. I mean, yeah, he learned how to binge watch Netflix—and that kind of helped. But who the hell knows what a fallen, flightless angel is going to think up for date number one? God help me if he’s been reading more of those Destiel stories . . . .
“Just go, Dean,” Sam is saying. “Cas has got everything all planned out.”
I look back at the mirror once more. “Damn it. You know something? I can’t remember the last date I had.”
My brother raises his eyebrows. “You’ve never been hard up, Dean.”
“I’m not talking about one night stands. I mean a real date!” I blow air. “I don’t think I ever even took Lisa on a date. There was a one night stand, then a lot of time passed, and then—well, you know. Then we were kind of together all of a sudden.”
Sam looks exasperated now. “Who cares, Dean? I don’t think Cas has ever been on a date.”
“True.” I grunt. “All right. I’d better go see what our baby-in-a-trench-coat came up with.”
~*~
Cas is sitting at one of the bunker tables, staring up at me, his eyes all wide and soulful. “Do I have to tell you where we’re going?”
I smile a little. A comforting smile, I hope. “Yeah. I mean—let’s save surprise dates for later, okay? For the first date, I think we should play it safe.”
He looks disappointed. Awesome. Now I feel like an asshole.
“All right,” he says at last. And then he takes this deep breath, like the fate of the world depends on what he’s going to say. “I bought us concert tickets. Sam helped me take care of the logistics.”
Concert tickets? Oh man, am I relieved. Nothing weird about that.
I’ll still have to kiss him at the end of the night, though. But it can’t be all that weird, kissing another guy. Especially when the guy in question keeps looking at me like I’m his sun and moon and the reason for his whole existence . . . .
Woah. Time to rein in my thoughts. Concert tickets—right. That’s what we’re talking about now. And that’s fine. I just hope it’s not some classical performance or something. But, hey, if it is, I’ll live with it. I can handle Mozart or Beethoven or whatever.
“Concert tickets?” I smile wider at him. “That sounds great, Cas. Who are we going to go see?”
He looks apprehensive. Oh crap. It could be a lot worse than classical. What if it’s some indie folk band that Sam introduced him to? Or, worse, one that Cas found on his own?
“Ah, I hope this performer is acceptable.” Cas swallows. “I know classic rock is your preferred genre, but my research indicated that this man is more properly categorized as pop. But I have heard his songs on the classic rock stations you like.”
“Okay.” Please, Cas, put me out of my misery. “So who is it?”
“Billy Joel.”
Aw, Cas looks all hopeful and adorable. It’s easy to grin for real now.
“Is that okay, Dean?”
“Billy Joel? Yeah. That’s—that’s awesome. I mean, yeah, he’s a little more pop. But I ain’t going to complain about seeing the piano man live.”
My dork angel looks thrilled.
But then I pause to scrunch up my forehead. “Wait a minute. Billy Joel’s not playing anywhere near us. He’s got some deal with Madison Square Garden right now. It’s going to keep him there for, like, the next few centuries.”
“Ah, not quite centuries, Dean. But he does have an extended contract there, yes.” Cas smiles proudly. “So it was easier to get tickets than Sam and I anticipated. I suppose it’s because he’s doing so many performances right now.”
“But . . . we’re in Kansas. We’re nowhere near New York City.”
“Yes. And I know how much you hate to fly, so I’ve allowed us four days to reach Manhattan, which should be more than enough time.”
“Four days?” I stare down at him as my brain starts to catch up. “So, uh, our first date is a road trip to New York City.”
“Yes. It will combine the things you love. Driving the Impala halfway across the country, and a rock concert by a well-known and, as I understand it, respected performer.”
I blink. “But what if a case comes up?”
“Sam believes we all deserve a vacation. If something comes up, he’ll pass it along to another hunter.”
“Uh . . . .” All right. I can’t really argue that. “Okay then.”
Well, what was I supposed to say? Cas has obviously put a lot of thought into this and I’m not about to ruin it for him. Besides, Billy Joel is a respectable choice. But I’m going to be with my new boyfriend here for four days.
That means three nights.
That might as well be three dates.
I feel my face heat up as I look down into those blue eyes of his, which somehow manage to look ancient and child-like at the same time. Three nights—that phrase keeps running through my head. So does the fact that it’s going to be like three dates.
I just have to hope that Cas doesn’t know what’s supposed to start happening around date number three.
~*~
I take us up 281 North, straight out of Kansas, so we can hook up with Route 80 East in Nebraska. Not necessarily the shortest route, but it keeps things simple.
I have a special place in my heart for Route 80, the road that runs clear across the country, from New York City to San Francisco. All right, technically I think it starts in New Jersey, not New York. But once you hit Jersey, if you stay on the same road, it will take you straight over the George Washington Bridge, right into Manhattan.
Cas doesn’t say much. First he’s busy looking at his phone, sending out the occasional text to Sam, who, I’ll bet, is thrilled to have the bunker to himself. Then he’s busy staring out the window, watching the other cars and keeping an eye on the sparse scenery.
Finally he settles back in his seat, a look of sheer delight on his face. “I think this is the longest I’ve ever been allowed the shotgun seat.”
I grin. “Well, I guess we’ll have to give it to you more often now, if you and me are really dating. Hard to choose between my brother and my boyfriend.”
Fuck, did I just call him my boyfriend out loud?
“Your boyfriend?” Cas blushes. It’s kind of an adorable look on him, especially when you combine it with that gravelly voice of his. “I thought we were taking this slow.”
“My bad,” I say. “And we are.”
I expect some awkwardness, but Cas doesn’t seem upset. “I think that’s for the best.” He swallows and starts talking in his ultra-earnest, ultra-serious voice. “I want you to know, Dean, that I intend to behave like a gentleman for the duration of this trip.”
I scoff. “Aw, what? You afraid of taking advantage of little ole’ me?”
Cas lifts his eyebrows at my mock Southern belle voice. “I—I believe that is another reference I don’t understand. Regardless, I mean it, Dean.”
I glance at him and then put my eyes back on the road. “All right. How much of a gentleman, exactly?”
He clears his throat. “If I understand the metaphor, I believe we should go no further than ‘first base.’”
I choke back a snort. “Oh, so you’re into baseball metaphors now, huh? Did Sam teach you about those? Or did they come up on Netflix?”
“I did hear mention of it on the Netflix, yes. I followed up with research on Wikipedia. They had an entry entitled ‘Baseball Metaphors for Sex.’”
I’m not going to laugh at him. I’m so not going to embarrass him that way. See? This is me holding it together, not laughing.
“Good, Cas. I’m glad you’re, ah, expanding your knowledge of normal human stuff.”
“Well, normal Americanisms, anyway,” he corrects me.
“Right, whatever. So first base only, huh?” I shake my head a little. “That means nothing more than making out. You get that, right?”
I catch him swallowing again out of the corner of my eye.
“Uh, you know what making out is, right? You must have done that with April before, uh, the rest.”
“Yes, Dean. I know what making out is. And I understand that we will be limiting our sexual intimacy to that. Is that . . . is that okay with you?”
“Sure.” Taking it slow is good. I don’t want to turn too gay too fast. “That’s perfect, really.”
“Good.”
He sounds relieved. More relieved than he should—I mean, come on. I want the dude to want me. That’s a matter of pride. But maybe he’s just shy.
“Perhaps, Dean, we should request separate rooms tonight.”
“No!” Okay. That came out stronger than I intended. “I mean, you know, there’s no need, Cas. One room with two beds will be fine. We can control ourselves.”
It takes him a while to answer. “But I don’t sleep, Dean. And you don’t like it when I watch over you while you sleep.”
That’s true. It used to seem kind of creepy. But I’m not sure it still does. “Well, you can stay up and read or watch more Netflix. Just keep the volume low.”
“All right.”
I glance over at him again and grin. He looks kind of tense—but still adorable.
“Here, buddy.” I grab his hand and interlace our fingers. “This won’t violate your first-base-only rule.”
“But you should have both hands on the wheel—”
I give him a look.
He relaxes. Just a little, but I can feel it. “My apologies. I know you’re a more than competent driver. And this is . . . nice.”
And it is. His hand is warm and strong and sort of half smooth, half rough. Just holding it sends a shiver through my body. A good kind of shiver.
Huh. This first base rule might be harder to keep than I thought.
~*~
I let Cas pick out our hotel for the night. There are a few to choose from, depending on how far we want to drive, and he goes for one that’s a cut above our usual. He’s paying—I guess Sam helped him with credit cards—so I don’t say anything. He paid for our dinner too, a few towns back. Some dive of a burger joint, but I ain’t complaining. The burgers were awesome.
I’m feeling all stuffed and mellow as we walk into our room. Cas is right behind me, and he lets out this weird sound—some kind of strangled distress call, I think.
I swing around, ready to fight whatever’s attacking him . . . but he’s fine. He’s just upset about the room for some reason.
I put my fists down. “What’s wrong?”
“There’s only one bed.” His voice is somehow gravely and squeaky at the same time. I swear it. “We asked for two!”
“Relax, Cas.” I grin as I turn around again and walk further in. “The sofa is a pull out bed. I don’t mind taking that.”
“Oh.” He looks all flushed as he tries to be gallant. “No, you should take the real bed. I don’t even sleep.”
I take a step closer. “Let’s worry about that later, okay? Right now, we, uh, got some unfinished business.”
His face turns even redder. “Unfinished . . . baseball business?”
“Yeah.” I put a hand on his cheek. “Baseball business.”
He takes a step back. “I—um, we—shouldn’t we clean up first? At least brush our teeth?”
Jesus, Cas. Skittish much? “Okay, okay.” I let my hand drop. “You know what? You’re right. Let’s get cleaned up. And . . . comfortable. And then we can just, you know, relax. Watch a little Netflix.”
“You don’t want to, ah, play baseball?”
I can’t tell if he’s upset or relieved or hopeful. Or some weird combination of all three. “Cas, I’m good with playing some baseball. But I’m also good with just hanging out.”
So I end up in the bathroom. Brushing my teeth, showering—everything. And I take my time, because Cas doesn’t need to get in here. He can just, you know, mojo himself clean.
By the time I step out of the bathroom—in an old pair of sweats and a tee shirt, nothing fancy—Cas is sitting up on the bed. He’s got the smart TV working, I see. Sam gave him one of those sticks that lets you bring your Netflix or Hulu or whatever along with you.
And that’s all good. Except that he’s still completely dressed. All right, he ditched the trench coat, at least, but he’s still in his suit shirt and pants. Hell, even his shoes are still on.
“Oh, no.” I point a finger at him. “Slip into something more comfortable. Now.”
“But Dean—”
“No buts, Cas! I’m not playing baseball or hanging out with you all suited up.”
“I didn’t bring anything else.”
“You can’t mojo something up?”
“Well, I suppose, but—”
“Never mind. You can borrow something of mine.” I figured this might happen, so I came prepared.
I walk over to my duffle bag and pull out a pair of plaid pajama bottoms with a drawstring, so they won’t be too loose on him. We’re almost the same height—I have an inch on him, maybe—but he’s got a skinnier frame than me. Then I pull out an AC-DC tee shirt. Perfect.
“Here.” I hand the clothes over and then point at the bathroom. “Go change.”
Cas swallows any further objections and marches inside. It takes him all of two seconds to come back. I almost do a double take. He looks good. I mean, he always looks good—even in his holy tax accountant gear. But right now, standing there in pajama bottoms and a tee shirt, he looks shy and uncertain and damn sexy.
“So, uh . . .” I run my fingers through my hair. “Should we fire up the Netflix?”
“Yes. That would be . . . I would enjoy that.”
“Okay. Uh, what do you want to watch?”
“Have you seen Daredevil yet?”
I’m a little impressed. “No. But that’s a good, socially acceptable choice. You’re into caviar tonight, huh?”
He smiles. “Yes.”
I walk over to the bed and make myself at home, propping my back up against a pillow with my feet stretched out in front of me. I’ve left plenty of room for Cas, though. “Come’ere, buddy.”
It takes a minute, but he finally walks over and sits next to me. Same basic position—back propped up against a pillow, feet stretched out in front of him—but he leaves a lot of space between us.
Which is fine. Totally fine. I don’t want to turn too gay too fast, remember? So this taking it slow things works for me. Hell, it was my idea. I just . . . didn’t expect Cas to buy into it like this.
But then, just as Daredevil starts to roll, I feel his hand on top of mine. I glance over at him and smile as we interlock our fingers again, just like in the car.
Okay, this is a start. A slow start, but I’ll take it.
~*~
Did I say a slow start? I meant painfully slow. Agonizingly slow. I-feel-like-I’m-a-fucking-awkward-twelve-year-old-on-his-first-date kind of slow. No, make that a non-fucking-awkward-twelve-year-old. Because, trust me, there is nothing even close to fucking happening here.
After two episodes of Daredevil, Cas is still holding my hand. And he ain’t doing anything else. I tried to close the space between us on the bed, at least. Cas just gave me this wild-eyed look of panic.
I let go of his hand and reach for the remote. Before he can stop me, I turn off the TV.
“Dean? What’s wrong? Didn’t you like the show?”
“Yeah, I did. But you, buddy, will watch the whole damn season in one sitting if I let you. You’re a Netflix-addict.”
He blushes and gives me this soulful look. “One more?”
“Don’t try those puppy eyes on me. I get that enough from Sam. And you ain’t half as good at it as he is.”
That brings a smile to his face. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. Now get over here.”
“But—”
I put my arm on his shoulder to draw him to me. He freezes, but then swallows and shifts closer. Real close. My arm is all the way around him now.
“There. See?” It’s my turn to smile. “That’s better.”
“Yes.” His breath hitches.
Huh. I don’t think he even needs to breathe, technically. “You okay?”
“I’m—I’m nervous, Dean. I’m not . . . experienced the way you are.”
“Dude, I don’t have much experience with other guys. So we’re in the same boat, here.”
But he shakes his head. “No. You understand all this better than I do.”
“All this?”
He makes a vague circling motion with his hand. “All this human sexuality. I understand the mechanics, but not all the rules and what I’m supposed to do when.”
Okay, I’m doing my damnedest not to laugh. I’m going to keep my voice calm and nonchalant even if it kills me. “It’s easy. If it’s not a random hook up, just go by your baseball rules. First date, first base. Second date, second. And so on.”
Cas gulps. I swear it, he really does. “Dean, that means that we’ll be having intercourse by date number four.”
“That’s the idea, yeah. Although—well, the rules get kind of blurry on date number three. Sometimes you dive right into intercourse then.”
Okay, now he looks panicked. And you know what the weird thing is? It’s not at the thought of, uh, intercourse. I think he’s freaked out by the thought of blurry rules.
Yeah, Cas full out rebelled against heaven. And I don’t think he’s looking to be under anyone’s thumb again, ever. I mean, I know he has issues with free will—don’t we all?—but he’s not looking to obey anyone blindly now. But I guess he does need some basic rules to help him navigate our new relationship.
“Hey! Don’t worry, Cas. We’ll figure that out when we get there.” I pause to trace his lips with my fingertip. Just lightly. “But for now, how about we work on getting our lead-off guy to first, huh?”
He stares down at his hands. “Actually, Dean, I was hoping we could do something else first. Something I’ve never done with anyone. Not with April—not even with Meg.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“Um, sometimes on the Netflix, when a potential couple is clearly interested in one another, they somehow end up . . .”
“In bed?”
“Slow dancing.”
“Oh.” Ah, okay. I didn’t see that one coming. “Slow dancing?”
“Yes.” He looks at me with puppy eyes that would do Sam proud. “Dean, can we slow dance together?”
“Slow dance? You and me?”
He nods. It’s this ridiculously crazy earnest nod. And why do I suddenly have All Out of Love stuck in my head? Why does that schmaltzy tune always make me think of my dork angel?
“Um, okay. Did you have a song in mind?”
He twists away from me so he can grab his phone. “Yes. I thought one of Billy Joel’s would be appropriate. And there’s one I especially like. It’s called For the Longest Time.”
“So, you’re serious. You really want to slow dance?”
“Yes. You’ll like the song, I think. It’s sort of a tribute to Doo-Wop—”
“I know the song, Cas.”
“Do you like it?”
There’s that crazy earnest look again. All right, all right. That’s pretty damn irresistible. Especially right now, when I figure I still have a shot at getting laid tonight.
Wait. Woah. Where the hell did that come from? Yeah, my dick’s all perked up and eager now, but I am so not thinking with that part of my anatomy. Not tonight. This is Cas. I’m going to stick to my own rules and take this slow. I am not going to fuck this up.
“Dean? Do you?”
I roll my eyes and push myself off the bed. “Yeah, I like the song, Cas.” I can’t believe I’m doing this, but at least the slow dance will stop me from jumping his bones this second. Probably.
So I sigh and hold out my hand to him. “Shall we?”
~*~
It actually is a good song. For the Longest Time, I mean. And it feels good to dance with Cas and hold him like this. I’ve got my arms around his waist, he’s got his around my shoulders, and we’re both kind of laughing because this whole thing feels weird in a not weird way.
“The, uh, song is almost over,” Cas points out. “It’s fading.”
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t set it to repeat. What should we do now?”
This guy is an angel of the freakin’ Lord—and yet, he keeps looking to me for guidance in all this human relationship stuff. That’s adorable.
I pull him a little closer. “We could fix that,” I whisper. “Or—” I move my lips even closer to his—“you know, we’ll think of something.”
Is he going to pull back? I half expect him to. But he doesn’t. He pushes his lips against mine instead and kisses me so hard that I think he’s going to leave bruises. Fuck! But I ain’t pushing him away. No, I open my mouth instead and then there’s this war between our tongues.
I laugh as I finally break for air. “Woah, careful there, angel. I have to breathe, remember?”
That almost seems to annoy him, but he lets me suck in a breath before he’s back to crushing his lips against mine. He lets up after a few seconds, though, and slows down. And that’s . . . fuck, that’s even better.
We’re almost gentle with each other now. No more warring. Now our tongues are exploring each other. Cas tastes like—like peppermint toothpaste, actually. Not bad, not bad at all. I love the way his lips are just a little chapped. A little rough.
We press closer. There’s no more space between us. My dick is going to burst through my zipper, I swear it—and, fuck, Cas is just as hard. That should be a good thing—except suddenly he’s all wide-eyed and pushing me away.
“We—we should stop now,” he says. “Or we we’ll be moving onto second base. At least.”
Damn, his voice is all deep and stern. Does he have any idea how hot that is? “Listen, Cas. There’s nothing wrong with hitting a double on a first date.”
“Dean!” He shakes his head. “I want to do this right. I don’t want—I want everything to be the way it’s supposed to be.”
“Okay, uh, well, you know, I’m not sure leaving us both with boners tonight is the right way to go. We could help each other out—”
I stop. There’s just something about Cas’s expression.
“Okay.” I smile at him. I can’t help it. He’s still adorable, standing there all flustered like that. “Okay, we’ll stop there.” I dig my hands into my pockets. “Are we, uh, considering tomorrow our second date?”
He shakes his head. “No, this whole road trip is our first date, Dean. Now you should get some sleep. I’ll leave the bed to you.”
“But—”
“Dean, you made me promise you that we would take this slow. This was your idea, remember?”
“Yeah, I remember.” I must have been insane. “Okay, then.”
Great. I’ll be spending plenty of time in the bathroom at our hotels, either jerking off or blasting myself with a cold shower. Maybe both.
But you know what? For Cas’s sake, I’ll deal.
~*~
“So how was Billy Joel?”
We’re back in the bunker, standing by the research tables. Sam has just finished hugging us—now he’s standing back, looking from one of us to the other.
“Excellent,” Cas answers.
“Awesome,” I say at the same time. “But the dude made us wait until the third encore before he did Piano Man.”
Sam laughs. “I bet no one was leaving before that.”
“Yeah.” I grin. “No way.”
“He’s a talented pianist and, ah, harmonica-ist,” Cas adds. “And the crowd was very into every song. Especially Piano Man.” He pauses to shoot me a shy smile. “Everyone seemed to be standing up, with their arms around each other, singing along. Including Dean and me.”
Sam smiles back at him. “I should hope so, Cas. It’s Piano Man.”
That seems to makes perfect sense to the nerd angel. Which is good. He’s learning.
“Cas, why don’t you go get that tee-shirt we bought for Sam?” I slug his shoulder.
“Of course, Dean.”
I watch him walk toward the garage and then turn to face my brother’s raised eyebrows.
“So?” he asks.
“So what?” Okay, I’m playing dumb.
Sam rolls his eyes. “So are you and Cas a thing now?”
“Yeah. I think we are. Even though we did nothing more than make out the whole time—I feel like a horny preteen!”
“Make out?” My little brother looks like he’s staring at a stranger. “Dude, what happened? You’re not that—I mean, this isn’t because Cas has a male vessel, is it?”
“No! I didn’t freak out over that.” I collapse into one of the chairs. “Honestly, I stopped caring by the time we got to our first hotel.”
“So then why—”
“I was stupid enough to tell him that I thought we should take things slow. And then he looked up baseball analogies for sex on Wikipedia. Or maybe it was metaphors?”
Sam waves that distinction away. “Whichever.”
“Yeah. Anyway, somehow we decided that the first date would be first base, the second would be second base and, well, you know.”
Sam grabs the chair opposite me. “And you two counted that whole trip as one date?”
“Yup.”
“Oh man. That sucks.”
“Yup.” I grin again. “But it’s okay. I’m taking him on date two tomorrow. And by the time we get through with our third date, I’ll have that angelic ass sharing my bedroom.”
Sam leans back in his chair. “So this is it for you, huh?”
I stare at him for a moment, thinking back on the road trip. And back further than that too—I guess I’m thinking about everything Cas and I have been through since he, uh, gripped me tight.
“Dean?”
“Yeah, Sammy. This is it for me.”
He gives me a shrewd look. “Does Cas know that?”
“I don’t know.” I manage a shrug. “But I’ll tell you something. He will by date number four.”
~The End~
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