~700 words, destiel, canonverse, valentineâs day ficlet
The words sit in Deanâs messaging app, waiting to be sent. One hand is wrapped around a glass of whiskey and the other hovering over the send button.
Fuck, he should just send it. Itâs just like saying happy birthday, right. Dean doesnât even like valentineâs day, so it doesnât even mean anything. It doesnât.
It fucking means everything. To Dean at least, maybe Cas will receive it and just send the same message back, possibly accompanied by an emoji or two, heâs getting better at using them now. Or maybe Dean wonât get a reply at all and thereâll be just his message sat in Casâ phone lost to the void.
He takes another swig of his whiskey, letting the liquid send a buzz to his head. Couple more of those and heâll send that text without a second thought. Thatâs a bad idea.
Dean pushes the half-drunk glass across the table. Sighing as anxiety bubbles up inside him.
The pros far outweigh the cons realistically and he knows that even if nothing came of this it wouldnât change what they already have.
So whatâs holding him back?
Losing everything theyâve worked for.
Losing Cas would destroy him like losing his brother. Heâs been through that enough to know he wonât survive it anymore.
He slides down in his chair, tilting his head back. Cas has been out for the past two days and Deanâs probably just hankering after his company again.
Dean needs to stop making pathetic excuses. He needs to stop being pathetic in general.
He spins his phone around, lighting the screen back up and seeing the unsent text glaring at him.
He swallows, eyes up the rest of his glass of whiskey and hits send. He downs the rest of his whiskey and stands up abruptly, not even wanting to see of his message has been delivered and read. He paces, and paces, and paces. From the corner of his eye, he notices the kitchen light flick on, hears a glass being taken from the cupboard and then water on and off again.
Itâs just Sam heading to bed.
His phone buzzes on the desk and he turns, heart stopping in his chest. He hears Samâs door shut and then silence engulfs the lamp-lit room.
He wakes his phone and itâs a text.
Before he gets the nerve to open it, the front door opens and even through the darkness he can see that itâs Cas.
Dean doesnât open the text, just waits with bated breath as Cas comes down the stairs, the metal stairs against his dress shoes tapping and echoing.
After the text and after the reply he hasnât read yet he doesnât know what to say to Cas so he just fingers his glass, watching how the light casts a pattern through the tumbler.
A heavy weight lands on his shoulder and Dean goes still. Cas.
A rose is laid in front of him, long-stemmed and dark red, it almost looks fake but when he reaches out to touch it, it has that velvety feel to it that tells him itâs real.
The silence is charged and Deanâs breath hitches as Casâ hand ghosts over his cheek.
âHappy Valentineâs day,â Cas whispers.
Dean turns his head, and itâs just as Cas is leaning down to press a kiss to his cheek. Their lips meet. Soft, warm and electric.
Where Dean expected to pull away, he stays, opening his mouth and gasping as they kiss. Even as his heart flares and his lungs ache, he doesnât want to move. His back is twisted awkwardly but he reaches his hands up to cradle Casâ face. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are closed and Dean closes his eyes too, humming contently.
Cas breaks away first and Dean feels the loss instantly but he takes deep shuddering breaths as their eyes open and meet. Thereâs a softness there, desire too.
He glances back to the rose on the table. âI donât have anything to give you,â he says, voice a mere murmur.
Casâ expression softens and another kiss is pressed to his lips. âThereâs nothing more you can give me, Dean.â
