unlike-my-brain

anonymous asked:

Prompt: Dean punchs Sam for drunkenly kissing Cass and finding out only because there's a photo. He ignores Cass as well. In the end, he apologises and explains why he flipped out ;D

The hockey game had been Dean’s idea. Now he regrets even mentioning it.

“’Dollar Beer Night’, Sam,” Dean had said. “How can you say no to that? We all need a night out: you, me, Cas…” 

Sam had agreed to go, as had Castiel (even though the intricacies of organized sports tended to escape him most of the time). They piled into the Impala and headed to the nearby arena to watch the local ECHL team while getting hammered on cheap beer.

That had been the plan at least. 

Everything was going so well up until the end of the first period. Dean got up to drain the snake and get them all refills, leaving Cas and a visibly-tipsy Sam at their seats. He was standing in line at Concessions, watching the replays on the monitor above his head when the stadium began their “Kiss Cam” thing. 

It was cute: a young couple clearly on a first date, and elderly man and woman decked head to toe in team colors, A man and a woman who don’t seem to know each other very well but play along with a peck on the cheek, a shaggy haired guy and… Wait, is that Sam and Castiel?

“What the…?” Dean mutters, watching in horror as Sam cups a hand around Castiel’s jaw, pulling him in for a sloppy kiss. Castiel looks surprised at first then  relaxes. Dean’s veins seem to harden and fill with ice water. He barely aware of  the cups of beer tipping out of his hand or the shouts of the other attendees around him. 

Seconds pass like hours as Dean’s eyes remain glued to the screen. Dean has seen so much horror and awfulness in his life but it doesn’t compare with the image of his brother kissing his, uh, his…

“Fuck…” Dean hisses under his breath. Without thinking, he moves down the passage way, heading back to his seats.

“Hey Dean,” Sam says cheerily, his words a little slurred. “Castiel and I were on the-” He’s cut off by Dean’s fist connecting with his jaw. Sam lurches back for a moment and before lunging toward Dean, plowing his entire weight into his brother. Castiel calls out Dean’s name and attempts to pull them apart as Security scrambles up the steps toward them.

“What the fuck, Dean!” Sam shouts as they walk toward the Impala after being thrown out of the arena. “What the fuck is you fucking problem?” Dean stomps toward the car, any buzz from the beer now gone. 

“I said I was sorry,” Dean says, not turning around. He was, too; He had no idea why he blew up that way at his brother. It was clear that the kiss had been a joke; just a drunken reaction to the Kiss Cam. Sam was laughing like an idiot the whole time he was doing it. 

Castiel stays strangely quiet, trailing behind the two men. Dean can tell he’s pissed, at him in particular. That was all Dean seemed to do nowadays- piss off people who care about him and drive them farther away. Dean couldn’t even bring himself to look at Castiel. 

“Why the hell did you punch me?” Sam asks again.

“It doesn’t matter,” Dean says. “Let’s just head back to the-”

“No, no!” Sam grabs Dean by the shoulder and spins him around to face him. “You’re going to tell me right now what-”

“Is it because Sam kissed me?” Castiel asks. Dean startles and looks toward him, his blue eyes cool and a little accusing.

“I… I uh… I,” Dean stammers. A denial hangs on his tongue, but he just can’t seem to get it out.

“Is that fucking why?!” Sam blurts out incredulously. He makes a disgusted noise and scrubs a hand over his face. “Godammit! As if I don’t have to deal with the two of you and your soap opera shenanigans enough. Christ, Dean, you could’ve said ‘hey, Cas is my boyfriend. Hands off, alright?’”

“Cas, isn’t my-”

“If you’re companionable to that idea, Dean, I think I can be persuaded-”Cas interjects. 

“But instead,” Sam continues, “You decide to punch first and ask questions later. That is not how healthy relationships work!” 

“Sam, it’s not like -” Dean frowns, noticing the disappointed pull to Castiel’s shoulders. “I mean, if you want it to be like that, we can Cas, but-” Sam grabs the car keys from Dean’s hand.

“I’m going to the car,” he says firmly, turning to leave, “You two get this sorted out. I don’t care what you do, just do it.” Sam’s grumbles echo through the parking lot as he walked away from them. Dean can’t lift his gaze to meet Cas’, too mortified and angry with himself. He starts to follow after Sam when Cas pipes up.

“Dean?” he asks. “Dean… Is that why you punched Sam? Because you were jealous and assumed him and I were in some sort of relationship?” Dean doesn’t answer, just continues to stare at the ground. 

“I can assure you,” Castiel continues, “that my interest in Sam is purely platonic.” Dean nods, but he can’t seem to shake the image of the kiss from his brain. “Unlike my interest in you which is… deeper.” Castiel moves forward, and Dean barely has time to react before Cas’ lips are on his. The kiss isn’t as quick or messy as the ‘Kiss Cam’ kiss, but there’s a level of need and intensity that has Dean sinking into Castiel’s embrace touch, his mouth opening willingly as Castiel’s tongue runs over the seam of his lips.

Dean’s hands come up around Castiel’s middle, pulling his closer and earning a soft groan. Castiel’s hand close around Dean’s chin, his cool fingers a counterpart to the warmth of his mouth. 

Dean pulls back first, catching his breath and resting his forehead against Cas’ temple. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I’m an idiot.”

“A little,” Castiel offers. “But you’re my idiot.” And then a little more hesitantly. “You are, aren’t you? Mine?” Dean leans his head on Cas’ shoulder. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I am.”

anonymous asked:

Imagine Mycroft forgetting your anniversary and trying to make it up to you.

“Mrs. Holmes, another vase of flowers arrived at the front desk-”

“Put them with the others, as it seems my slighting sister-in-law is in no mood to take them considered that the announcement of their mere presence has seemingly rekindled fires of displeasure. And get me another coffee but remember this time that I take it black with two sugars if your feeble mind can be ripped away from your tawdry erotica you’ve been reading on the company’s computer which by the way, was written statistically written by some virginal shut-in that’s never down anything remotely sexually with another human being that wasn’t setup in their delusional little heads and romanticizing the entire ordeal.”

You don’t even have to look up from your desktop to know that Candice is probably a picturesque example of a person torn between wanting to die of embarrassment and attempt murder.

Meekly you peek behind the desktop monitor and look imploringly.

Please Candice? I’ll even let you go home early,” you offer hoping to god and back that she’ll take the bribe since the last time you left Sherlock alone in your office he all but managed to take everything apart the computer included to stave his boredom.

She looks between you and the gangly figure sprawled across the office’s mini couch trepidation before placing the vase filled with a colorful assortment of flowers with the rest of the garden congregating in the corner of the room.

Roses, daffodils, daisies, snapdragons, lilies and more exotic pieces now occupied the room sending floral scents wafting everywhere in the near vicinity of the office (much to the displeasure of many employees with airborne allergies.)  

However the flowers weren’t the only thing that you were playing host to as well as several expensive giftsets, bags, sweets, stuffed animals and even a kitten currently taking a nap on Sherlock’s stomach (the little traitor.)

“Yes, by all means, let her go home early ______. It’s not like she was planning on doing any productive for the company rather than try to structure the plot for her gay romantic novel she’s been sitting on for years,” Sherlock tacks on sending her stomping out the door.

“Sherlock!” you shout, “You know that was wrong.” Honestly why is he here NOW of all times you wonder a bit hysterically even when you both know the answer.

“And so was she, an employee of yours, I might add, for neglecting her duties that makes the minimal payments on her outstanding student loan debts to work on what at best will be regulated to be a dime-store novel rather than a best seller with solid representation,” he replies with a huff, “speaking of which how long are you going to sit there and pretend play pretend?”

 Slowly you shift from behind the desk in your swivel chair, “Excuse you?”

“Don’t play dumb _____,” Sherlock shoots back carefully squirming around a bit on the small couch, “For the last week and two point seven days you’ve been avoiding contact with my brother and your own home over something as insignificant as an anniversary.”

“It was our first wedding anniversary Sherlock, and you of all people should know that date well considering that you single handedly destroyed our wedding cake apprehending a woman you claimed to be a gang member in your latest murder mystery and she stabbed you with our wedding topper,” you exclaim loud enough to startle the kitten.

It twitches back to consciousness and lets out a pitiful ‘mew.’

Sherlock cuddles the feline tighter in the crook of his arm in an effort to lull it back to sleep. He looks accusingly back at you.

“See? All your overly emotional reactions and willful ignorance has even upset poor Curie.”

There is a lot of things you want to do at once.

Like shouting at Sherlock and tell him, ‘the kitten isn’t even yours so you don’t get to name it’ nor is he taking it home because she was meant as a gift to you dammit.  

Shouting at John for having to go on that mandatory seminar in Sweden for two weeks leaving this lump to vegetate on your tiny couch and steal your kitten. “And don’t make any calls to the center either because I’ve already warned them to block the number ____, you said you and Mycroft would mind him while I was gone!”

Watson had the nerve to do such a thing!

Screaming at Greg seemed like a good idea too. Greg who couldn’t (wouldn’t) remove Sherlock legally from the premises or at the very least give him something-anything to occupy his attentions so he wouldn’t harass you, your employees or steal gifted kittens.

Or even shouting at yourself because you knew that there would be days like this when you said ‘yes’ to Mycroft.

He has a demanding job that can require him on a whim to fly to foreign places without notice for the sake of country and crown for an unset number of days.

You weren’t dumb, on those missions from the crown Mycroft wouldn’t have access to most of his devices outside of work and you wouldn’t be able to reach him. Really, it was stupid to act jilted lover but for this to happen so early in the relationship still smarted.

Honestly, you had imagined this kind of problem might have happened somewhere later in the years after several kids.

And plans, oh boy, did you make them for this first anniversary.

The two of you were going to go away for a week to sunny Bora Bora where you’d wear that new little bikini along with a few other racier items as the evenings progressed; there was supposed to be dining, dancing, romancing and a shitload of uninterrupted sex for seven consecutive twenty-four hour periods.

And yet here I am in dreary old London you think a bit miserably knowing that Mycroft was still a world away in farthest parts of China neck deep in negations.

Whether he remembered the date on his own or someone brought it to his attention was beyond you but since then Mycroft has been sending a steady stream of gifts to your business’ doorstep.  

Eyeing the gifts you can tell that Mycroft’s desperately trying to make up for it with their quality and quantity alone but it just simply won’t do.

You’re not going to lie, they are some pretty nice gifts but they feel so hallow in comparison to what you really want.

That’s not what I want. What I want is-

“SIR! I say, excuse me, SIR! You can’t just barge in there!” you can hear Deshawn calling feebly as a shadow nears your door frame. “SIR!”

The door opens with such ferocity that sends the kitten to jump at the noise and Sherlock to hiss.

“_______.”

He’s flushed in his suit jacket that looks like it’s threatening to fall from his shoulders and heaving up a storm as he rushes up to you and gently grabs the edges of your face.

“You know I didn’t mean to forget our first anniversary, don’t you?” It’s more of a question than a statement as his blue eyes are blown wide searching for a conformation.

Eyes raking over Mycroft’s form you can tell many things. Such as how poorly dressed he is from the way his tie doesn’t complement his cuffs, the way his hair wasn’t coiffured to its usual perfection, his socks were at half-mast causing a lump at his ankles, his shirt is a wrinkled mass and he smells like he hasn’t showered in the last twenty-four hours or sprayed on any cologne.

Mycroft Holmes, both the watch dog and hammer of the British Government has forsaken his duties or cut corners just to be with you and ensure he wouldn’t lose you.

Dear god, there’s no way I can stay mad at you…

“Good, because if you left him there’s a ninety-eight point ninety-nine percent chance of him committing suicide,” Sherlock says carefully setting Curie on the couch and shrugging on his Belstaff.

 “Did I say that out loud?” you ask a bit curiously as Mycroft’s face releases some of the tension it was holding.

His hands are such a warm and welcome thing as they stray toward your hips and bring you bodily closer. They start rubbing in small languid circles as you come closer into that welcoming heat of his arms.

“No, but it was obvious for anyone with half a brain unlike my brother who’s too hyped on endorphins to properly notice. Anyway, Madame Curie and I are heading home before you two simpletons start to rut like animals on the desk. We certainly don’t need any added nightmare fuel,” Sherlock scoffs taking his your kitten and leaving the room with a dramatic bang.

“______,” Mycroft huskily whispers between fervent kisses.

“Mycroft,” you breathily answer back pulling him with you toward the desk.

Sure, you were still going to yell at Sherlock for appropriating your cat and candidly alerting your employees to ‘just clock out and go home; your boss is too busy fornicating on her desk to appropriately monitor you lot much less her  business’ but at the very least it got you wanted.

Well, that and your first pregnancy but that’s a different story.