So... Where do we go from here?
Dean thinks about his mother a lot. It's no longer an open wound; an ulcer that he can't keep his tongue from or a scab to pick at, but it's a scar he carries. If he allows his mind wander, he'll consider the milestones they never got to share. Sometimes he'll dwell on the scraped knees that were never kissed better.
Other times he'll wonder how she would have handled the first time he got drunk, the way he'd failed to make it all the way to the bathroom before emptying his stomach of the acidic cocktail he was too inexperienced to know shouldn't have been mixed together. Would she have liked the girls and boys he brought home on his arm, or would no one ever have been truly good enough for her son.
He knows her first shot at motherhood wouldn't have been without error, but he often finds himself pondering on the advice she might have given. She would have known what to do. He wishes, with all the futility of one who knows their request can't be granted, that she could tell him he's doing the right thing; that being with Cas is the right thing.
He's found himself asking this of himself a lot, recently. His mother's picture doesn't give any more of a definitive answer than his reflection does.
At this very moment, however, Dean Winchester has never been more grateful that his mother can't see him. Mostly, because he has six feet worth of the most beautiful specimen of masculinity firmly ensconced in his lap. Cas is an animal - not in the sexual sense, because they're still not doing that yet - but in his need for touch; if he can be tactile, he will. This is including, but not limited to: hands slipping down spines, starting at shoulder blades and nestling into the dip at the bottom; nudges that evolve into him burrowing under arms and finally, Dean's own personal torment: snuggling on the sofa.
It happens every time. Cas sits, so Dean opts for a respectable distance a few cushions over - by the time it hits the first commercial break, he's got a lap full of Cas. Usually literally.
The problem is that they've only been dating a few weeks and they're very much still in the middle of the no sex zone, (Charlie likes to call it 'sexile' but Dean's not uttering that word under pain of torture). Cas appears to not give a flying fuck about the no sex rule. Or, which is far more likely, he's doing his damnedest to get Dean to break it.
Take now, for instance; he's got a knee on either side of Dean's thighs, a hand cupping either side of Dean's jaw, and he removed his own shirt about three segments ago. He's also appears to be trying to remove Dean's tonsils with his tongue acting as the only surgical equipment.
Cas' hand has now begun to seek out jean buttons - it doesn't seem to matter if they're his or Dean's - but Sam's return home is the only stay of execution Dean's going to get.
The door slamming is enough to prize Cas' lips from Dean's as he turns his head ruefully over his shoulder to greet Sam.
"I didn't expect you to be home so early." Cas follows this with a little cough to clear his throat - and head too, probably.
"Yeah, sorry about that. The date was a bust - turns out she knew Dean somehow, or her sister did... Anyway." Sam hurries to course correct, but Cas has turned to glare at Dean.
"I'd ask for a name," he's speaking to Sam, but it's very clear that Dean's being addressed, "but I doubt that would jog any memories for Dean."
And with that, he slides back from Dean's lap, scoops his shirt from the floor and heads to the bathroom. It's all really rather graceful, Dean's mind offers hazily.
"Yikes." Sam's eyes track back to Dean from the closed door. "I thought things were better between you two?"
Dean sighs and tips his head over the back of the couch. The ceiling doesn't hold any answers, but it's better than dealing with Sam.
Sam's walked in on plenty of make out sessions and regardless of the level of pornographic content, he always shrieks and covers his eyes like a scandalised nun. It's very telling that he's not drawn any attention to what he walked in on today.
"Can't erase the past, Sammy, and it's pretty damn hard to predict the future."
Dean's exhausted and he doesn't know how to deal with the situation, so he gets up and heads to his room.
It's not that he doesn't enjoy Cas dedicating a very healthy amount of his free time to the pursuit of seducing Dean... Cas is exceptionally hot and Dean requires no coercion. In fact, if they'd just met, Dean would have wasted absolutely no time in divesting Cas of his jeans, shirt, shoes... He'd have spread him out and taught him all the ways his own body could sing. But therein lies the problem: Dean would be having a much easier time right now if Cas was a perfect stranger - they'd have a great time for a couple of hours, perhaps stretch it into a couple of days, but then they'd go their separate ways. Perhaps if they saw each other in a bar months down the line, they'd share a conspiring wink and a nostalgic encore performance, but that would be it. Cas is different. Cas is oh so very different and it's everything that make him wonderful, but it's also everything that is seriously messing with Dean's equilibrium.
Dean thinks Cas is hot as fuck and he really does enjoy spending time with him. Those two things are pretty mutually exclusive in Dean's recent past, though.
He rolls away from the side of the bed that holds the picture of his mother, because he knows she'd be disappointed, even if her smiling image doesn't waver.
Instead, Dean thinks about a novel he read years ago. Not his standard dystopian read. In fact, he doesn't really remember much about it - he thinks it was Faulkner, but he can't be sure and has no desire to cross check his facts. There's a line in the book that stood out to him though. Still resonates with perfect clarity: in every relationship there's always one who loves deeper than the other. I don't mind if that person is me, only that you won't take advantage of it.
Dean knows without a doubt which part he plays in this fledgling relationship with Cas. He remembers the giddy enthusiasm of their first date in the café, how great it felt to be the hero of this story and how easy it would be to slip into this new role with Cas. He assumed that by taking sex out of the equation that his feelings would be clear. Salient. Cognizant. He has less than two weeks left on his self-imposed embargo and suddenly reality is a cruel fucking mistress.
He knows he's attracted to Cas but that's not enough. He knows Sam is supportive, but that's doing little to ease his anxiety. Cas had said it himself, whether he was joking about it being seven years or not, he's been waiting for Dean for a long time. How can reality ever live up to an ideal? Ultimately, if this thing between them continues, Dean's not sure he can avoid taking advantage of Cas...