moonlettuce: (Comic: Gambit)
[personal profile] moonlettuce
Title: Royal Flush
Author: Claire
Fandom: SPN/X-Men
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: R
Word Count: 620
Summary: In which Gambit hits on Castiel and Dean gets jealous...
Notes: Written for [ profile] lassroyale's request on my drabble-type things post.

It'll just be a quick drink, Dean, Sam had said.

I think we deserve it, Dean, Sam had said.

We should take Cas with us, Dean, Sam had said.

And Dean, stupid fucking Dean, had actually listened to him.

Not that it hadn't been fun at first. Dean had ended up playing pool with a guy who may as well have been drinking water for the amount he was knocking back, while Sam had been at a table trying to put the moves on a woman who should have been way out of his league. (And Dean can appreciate that his brother's a good looking guy, but seriously? If Sammy gets to go home with the white haired, dark-skinned goddess with legs that go on for fucking years, while Dean gets stuck with the short, Canadian dude then he's fucking quittin', right here, right now.)

But what topped it off. What topped off the night of being thrown through the air and nearly fucking eaten by an emo goth wannabe who'd managed to get himself bitten by a vamp, is the slick-ass fucking slimeball who'd sidled up to Cas at the bar about an hour ago and hadn't fucking moved since.

"Hey, kid, you playin' or you tryin' to work out how to stop the Cajun from gettin' naked with your friend?"

Dean can't help but twitch at the thought, watching as the cue ball totally bypasses the ball he'd been aiming for, instead knocking the 8 into the corner pocket.

"Fuck--" Which, as a sentiment, Dean feels pretty much sums up the entire night.

The other guy grins, picking up the money from pool table and shoving it into his back pocket. "Shit, kid," he says quietly, pulling a cigar from his jeans and lighting it, "get over there before ya bust an aneurysm."

It's good advice, especially considering what Dean gets there in time to hear.

"--an y' should see what Remy c'n do wit' his tongue."

No. No, Cas should do no such fucking thing. In fact, if anyone's going to be showing Cas what they can do with their tongue, it's going to be Dean, thank you very fucking much.

Stepping up, Dean moves between Cas and the horndog next to him. "Cas, we need to leave."

"I t'ink Castiel want to stay, homme--"

But Cas isn't looking at Slimeball, isn't looking anywhere but right at Dean.


Dean knows he's told Cas to stay out of his head, but he also knows the angel still listens in at times, so he hopes like fuck he's listening to this. Hopes Cas is listening to every thing that Dean wants to do to him, hopes he's listening to thoughts of Dean on his knees before him, of him lying on a bed as Dean slides into him. Hopes Cas is seeing images of Dean's fingers wrapped around his cock, and of him spread beneath Dean as Dean's tongue works him open.

And Dean knows he's got him, knows it from the hitched breath and the flush that comes to Cas's face.

"I'm sorry, Remy," Cas says, voice controlled and careful and, if Dean's become any sort of expert at reading Cas, about to break any fucking second now, "but I'm afraid we need to leave."

"Dat's a shame, Castiel--" But Dean can hear in the guy's voice that he knows he's beaten. "Will y' be comin' 'round dese parts again?"

"No," Cas replies, his gaze not breaking from Dean's, "I very much doubt if I will."

Damn right, skippy, Dean thinks as he wraps fingers around Cas's wrist. Damn fucking right.
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