shwetankeducation-blog

[artificialqueens]

(treat me nice) never let me go [branjie] 8/15 - pinkgrapefruit

chapter 8. don’t make me spell it out for you

previous chapters  1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7.

A/N -

look i know it’s been 4 months but i promise you it will be less next time…. i swear <3

let me know what you think!

*

Freshly cut grass and expensive champagne fill Vanessa’s nostrils as she tries to daintily walk through the field. She’s got one soft hand in Brooke Lynn’s own, fingers intertwined in a way she’s not quite ready to unpack yet, and the other hand is gripping tightly to wicker picnic basket Nina found for them - a red plaid blanket carefully tucked through the handles.

With Vanessa in her - almost vintage style - skater dress, and Brooke in a white shirt - sleeves rolled, and a pair of blue skinny jeans, they look like an idyllic couple ready for a day at the races. Brooke had assured her back at the hotel that it is the least formal day, and she can’t help but pray she is right.

As they get closer, Vanessa can hear the noise of the announcer filtering through the general hubbub of tipsy twenty and thirty-somethings, and it makes her stop in her tracks, eyes transfixed on the crowds. She drops Brooke’s hand.

“What if someone recognises me,” she asks, voice hard to hear above the ever-rising din. Brooke gives her a soft, but reassuring smile, coming to stand in front of her, arms winding around her waist, gently holding her.

“I assure you they have not spent that much time in Olympic.” Vanessa gives a chuckle at the sentiment but refuses to relax into Brooke’s grip.

“You did.”

Brooke rolls her eyes good-naturedly, picking Vanessa’s hand up again and giving it a gentle tug. “Alright, You look great. You look like a lady.” Vanessa scrunches up her nose. “You’re gonna have a wonderful time, let’s go.” She lets herself live in the way their fingers interlock for a few more seconds.

“Alright, Miss Brooke Lynn.” She allows herself to be pulled towards the crowd, and when she is - she can’t turn back.

*

They walk through the stalls and tents arm in arm, gently muttering snarky comments to each other under their breath. The races had never been Brooke’s favourite when she was a young upstart, but as she’s grown up and into her job, she found them valuable for networking and just enjoying herself.

They’ve just found a good spot to set up when Ru wanders over to them, already gunning for Brooke. The blonde just sighs heavily, visibly straightening her back and transforming in front of Vanessa’s eyes.

“Vanessa, I want you to meet my boss - RuPaul Andre Charles.” She offers her hand out as demurely as she can and he kisses it softly. She has to inhale sharply to stop herself recoiling at the action - it feels so wrong to her.

“It’s always a pleasure to meet one of Brooke’s girls,” Ru smiles. Brooke watches the encounter with a vacant look in her eyes as if she’s watching something that isn’t really there.

“Let me get you ladies a drink, champagne, Vanessa?” She nods, and, to her relief, he leaves. She leans closer to Brooke just to feel something that isn’t the cold breeze that follows Ru wherever he goes.

“Real genuine guy,” she jokes, but she still feels unsettlingly open and unguarded.

“Mhm,” Brooke agrees, placing each hand on Vanessa’s waist and coming to stand behind her so she can place her chin on her shoulder.

“I can see why you needed me.” This gets Brooke to crack a smile and if Vanessa turned around she’s pretty sure she’d be able to see the woman’s shoulders come back down from her ears.

*

They relax in their bubble for a few minutes more, just watching the world move around them, before they spot Ru coming back their way. Brooke sighs.

She smiles at the brunette, squeezing her hand once before pointing at two innocuous looking women. “That’s Nicky and Gigi, they’ve made marrying an art form - they’ll keep you entertained for a few minutes,” She states plainly in a tone that suggests this is not the time to argue.

Vanessa just nods her head, pressing her lips softly to Brooke’s cheek to try and convey a level of ‘togetherness’ and starts to walk over to the women who are giggling behind their gloved hands. She smoothes her skirt in preparation, bare hands gliding down the pale blue of her dress.

“Hello,” she starts, pulling the facade of confidence she uses while escorting onto her face with practiced ease. “Vanessa,” She sticks out her hand firmly and shakes in the way Nina so painstakingly taught her to. `

“Gigi,” offers the taller brunette as the blonde introduces herself as Nicky.

“So you’re ze flavour of ze month,” Nicky muses, her french accent more pronounced as she blends her ‘th’ sounds in a way that sounds much softer than you would expect coming out of such a demure looking woman.

Gigi raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow in response adding, “she’s just being testy,” to try and soften the blow. “Brooke Lynn is our most eligible bachelorette,” she explains, “She refuses any hand thrown her way.” And Vanessa has to fight the urge to snort a laugh a how nineteen-twenties it all sounds.

“Well, I’m not offering my hand, don’t worry. I’m just using her for sex.” Nicky tries to look scandalised at Vanessa’s admission, but it falls short and ends up bemused. “It’s mutual.” She tacks on the end, although she’s not sure it helps anything.

She’s about to start panicking about how she’ll deal with another half an hour of this when Yvie rides up beside them. She’s on her horse and suddenly Vanessa remembers something about the woman being a polo player, and she’s infinitely grateful for sitting through that dinner if it’s a means of escape.

“Yvangeline Oddly,” she introduces herself to the women Vanessa stands between, and she hears the gasps, further securing her suspicions that she knows nothing. Yvie looks at her and smiles. “Vanessa, lovely to see you again.” Her eyes are open and calm and Vanessa would rather spend a month with her than another five minutes with the demon housewives she’s been left with, so when Yvie asks if she will entertain her for a little while, Vanessa gladly agrees and ambles over to the stables where Yvie dismounts.

“Were you watching the Polo?” Yvie asks as she busies herself with removing the saddle and reins.

“What else would I be doing here?” Vanessa bats back, feeling an easy confidence she hasn’t felt in a few days. She’s strangely comfortable and she’s yet to discern why.

“Judging by many of the Lawyer wives - drinking heavily and trying to forget,” Yvie replies, and she’s smirking when she meets Vanessa’s eyes.  

*

“So who is she?” Ru asks - not trying to hide his judgement. Brooke rolls her eyes and leans back on her hand, the other gripping the stem of her champagne glass in a way that’s turning her knuckles white.

“I was asking for directions and there she was,” she explains, but she doesn’t quite get the air of finality right, and Ru nudges her to go on.

“What does she do? Does she work?” he asks like she’s under investigation.

“She’s in sales,” Brook mumbles into her glass, cursing herself for not thinking of this sooner.

“Sales, That’s terrific. That’s good. What does she sell?”

“Why do you want to know?” Brooke sounds exasperated and she can’t help it. She’s used to being cross-examined, but usually, Ru trusts her judgement enough to let her off once she’s answered the cursory questions.

“Just hear me out,” Ru starts and Brooke has to refrain from rolling her eyes a third time, hears her mother’s old saying in the back of her mind and keeps her eyes trained straight ahead. “I know you, Brooke, I hired you, for god’s sake. And you’ve been different this week - and I can’t help but feel like this girl is why.” He’s right, of course, he is, but she can’t let him know that. She feels an innate urge to protect Vanessa and she plans to act on it. “Especially when I see her talking to Yvie Oddly-”

“I introduced them at dinner the other night, so what?” Brooke cuts him off, tense.

“And now they’re best friends?” She lets her eyes find the stables and watches as Vanessa laughs with Yvie over her horse. She drops a strawberry into her mouth and uses her chipped thumbnail to wipe the juice from her chin. She has to pull her eyes away. “This girl appears out of nowhere. Now she’s talking to a girl whose company we’re trying to buy out. Convenient, don’t you think?”

“You sound paranoid, Ru.” She’s gone from tense to cold now, and she doesn’t care.

“How do you know that girl hasn’t attached herself to you, so she can bring information back to the Cains?” Brooke scoffs and it makes Ru more and more enraged until she can see his neck flush a muted scarlet. “This happens, Brooke Lynn. Industrial Espionage.”

“Ru.” She stops him dead in his tracks and he faces her properly. “Listen to me, she’s not a spy.” And Brooke prays to the heavens he will just leave it but he does not.

“What?”

“She’s not a spy, she’s a fucking hooker.”

His face twists and changes until he’s laughing, body fully shaking as he wipes a tear from under his eye. “Oh, she’s a hooker.” She watches as he drags his eyes up her body, even from afar and she wants to punch him.

“I picked her up on Olympia. In your car.” She is exhausted, hands raking through her hair as she pulls it out of its perfect ponytail.                              

“You’re the only millionaire I ever heard of… who goes looking for a bargain-basement streetwalker, you know?”

“She’s…. I’m sorry I told you.” Brooke bites her lip, teeth indenting into the cherry paint. Fuck.

*

Vanessa bids Yvie a good day as the latter prepares for her second event of the afternoon. She’s all prepared to go back to Brooke when Ru stops her - a large hand on her shoulder.

“Are you having a good day, Vanessa?” He asks and his voice sounds strained. She nods, affirming she is, before letting him continue. “It’s very different from Olympia, isn’t it?”

“What?” she lets out - not nearly as loud as she intended, but just as shocked. She gulps back the sudden urge to vomit on his very nice shoes and stands up tall. “What?” she asks again.

“Brooke told me, but don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.” He goes to walk away but turns around after only three feet. “And after all this is over maybe you can show me your skills.” He winks and he is gone.

She gapes as he leaves, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as her brain flicks through every possible thing this could mean but she cannot find a single response.

Not one.

[tibbinswrites]

For the prompt list, I'm gonna go with destiel, numbers #9 and/or #20 💙 and congrats on the followers!

Hiii! Thank you! And thanks so much for your request. I’ve already done #9 so I’ve done #20 for you. 

I really struggled with this one, not gonna lie. I had a plan for it but I’m not super sure I managed to balance both sides of the argument and come up with a satisfying solution. Let me know what you think! All concrit is welcome.

I’ve now done prompts for: #1, #2, #4 and #16, #9, #10, #20, #33, #77, #78, #170 and #502 and I’ve got two still left to do. I’m not accepting any more at this time.

Also, if you wanna check out a fantabulous destiel anthology I’ve had the privilege to write for, our indegogo page is live here

Enjoy ^_^

20. Rules

There were rules to sharing Dean’s bed, Cas had found. Many of them. The main one, of course, was ‘Don’t tell Sam.” Followed by the next rule, ‘Don’t tell anyone’, which Cas argued made the first rule moot, seeing as Sam was part of ‘anyone’ and so didn’t need a separate rule. In fact, most of the rules Dean hurled at him were about keeping what they were doing secret, make sure he wasn’t seen sneaking into or out of Dean’s room at night, no touch lasting longer than two seconds outside of the bedroom, stay quiet unless they were alone in the bunker.

Cas didn’t like these rules, but he respected them. He kept his distance, didn’t touch Dean when he wanted to, didn’t brush their hands together when they walked side-by-side or hold him while they watched movies with Sam and Jack; he didn’t slide his arms around Dean’s waist while he stood at the stove, pressing in close, dropping kisses along the line of his neck. He wanted to do those things, wanted to stare unabashed and happy at how beautiful Dean looked in the early-morning light, wanted to lace their fingers together in line at the supermarket, wanted to hear all the glorious sounds Dean bit back while they made love.

He understood Dean’s reservations, and yet he didn’t. He didn’t resent the rules, and yet he did. Being with Dean was wonderful. Beneath the covers they would talk through their anxieties, their hopes for the future, they would always be touching, they smiled, they joked, they kissed. They discovered every inch of each other and Castiel at least fell more in love with each new piece of revealed information. But if he ever brought up the idea of telling Sam or Jack, Dean instantly clammed up and rolled away, all easy smiles vanished.

“I’m not ready,” was all he said. And really, it was all that he needed to say. Cas knew that he couldn’t force it. Dean being ready was important and Castiel vowed to wait.

But sometimes the waiting was very difficult. He didn’t want to hide his love like it was something shameful, it hurt every time he did. It hurt every time Dean acted like it was something shameful. He tried not to think about the implications, that maybe it was the fact that it was Cas that Dean was ashamed of, rather than any internal hangups about his own sexuality. It wasn’t true, he was almost certain, but there was enough room for doubt that it was a constant battle not to let it take hold.

After all, Dean had raised Sam, how could he have any doubt that he would be anything other than fully supportive of Dean’s happiness? Unless he was just pretending at happy, of course.

As the weeks passed he felt himself growing smaller. That niggling concern that perhaps he didn’t mean as much to Dean as Dean did to him kept niggling, and all his arguments for the contrary weren’t strong enough to hold up. Outside the sanctuary of his room, Dean was no different; they still fought, still talked, still went hunting together, except that Dean didn’t seek out Castiel’s company anymore, instead waiting in his room for Cas to go to him. And any affectionate touches or looks were now reserved until they were behind closed doors. The first few weeks this has been exciting, it had been something to look forward to, to sequester himself in Dean’s room where he would be met with open arms and comfort. But that meant after a disturbing hunt, or a close call while they were still in the field, or a worrying piece of news, even if it affected Dean deeply, he would pull away from Cas’ touch as though it were something dirty, avoid his eyes like Dean had used to avoid his eyes, back before Dean trusted him with his vulnerability. Holding eye contact too long was against the rules after all.

He held Dean close most nights, writhing beneath him, panting his name, pressing sweet words into his skin, or with an arm slung over Cas’ chest while he slept, Cas’ fingers threading through his hair, and yet he had never felt so far away.

Eventually, around six months after the rules had been laid out, Cas realised that he couldn’t go on like this. Perhaps he had been idealistic in what a physical relationship entailed but if this was it then Cas wasn’t sure he wanted it anymore. He missed knowing that Dean would be at his back when needed, he missed feeling secure in his place with the Winchesters, he missed being able to sit comfortably in a room with his family and not be on edge about whether he was staring too long or sitting too close, or stating an opinion that would lead to a hushed argument cutting into the only time they had to be honest. Seeing Dean naked was nice, bringing him pleasure was a worship of which he would never tire, but compared to the bond they used to share, the one that wasn’t contained within four walls and a list of rules, where the passion and trust and care between them was solid and certain, it paled to barely a watermark.

If Dean had been truly happy with how things were then Castiel might have been able to bear it, but as it was, Cas had to say something.

“Dean,” Cas said one evening, gently pushing Dean away from where he was kissing his way down Castiel’s throat. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this anymore.”

“Can’t do what?” Dean asked, barely listening as he tried to get back in close. When Cas didn’t yield though, he sat back with a frown. “What?”

Cas shifted himself to a seated position and stared at his knees. “I want to go back to not sleeping together.”

Dean just blinked at him for a few moments before he said anything. “Oh,” was all he came out with,  followed by a much smaller, “how come?”

“Because I understand that you want to keep this secret,” Cas said, his throat closing around the words. He swallowed. “But I don’t, and it’s not fair to try and force that from you, so there needs to stop being a secret.”

“You’re kidding me?” Dean said, irritation flaring in his voice. “This is because I won’t tell Sam.” He scoffed loudly and got off the bed, bending to find the shirt he had tossed aside mere moments before.

“We spend more time hiding our relationship than having one,” Cas fired back, already hating how this was going. “And you know, you know that Sam won’t give a crap about your sexuality so the only factor that you have to be ashamed of is me.”

“Oh, yeah, you really got me sussed, huh?” Dean snarked, yanking the shirt down over his head as though preparing to leave, as if this wasn’t his own room. “Like you won’t leave the second that this thing becomes real.”

That struck deep. “It wasn’t…?” Cas began, the question mark hanging there like the rope that life was supposed to be. Then he cleared his throat and stood too, gathering his own clothes and pulling them on, all without looking at Dean. He would not let Dean see how much that had hurt him. “I understand. It was never real for you. That’s why it’s been so easy for you to separate. That makes sense.” The anger hit him then and he spun violently around, his eyes beginning to sting. “If you had just told me that that’s what this was I could have saved us both the trouble! I’m sick of being used, Dean. Ever since I was created I’ve been somebody’s tool. I thought it was different with you, I thought—” He squeezed his eyes shut. No, of course. Dean never loved him. Cared for him perhaps, as a friend, and wanted to explore his sexuality in a safe environment with someone convenient. That’s all this was.

“If you think I’m indulging this pity-party, you’re wrong,” Dean snapped. “You knew what you were getting into, I was upfront. It’s been six months and not a word that this isn’t working for you but all of a sudden it’s so bad that you wanna cut and run!?”

“You said you weren’t ready,” Cas reminded him. “Was I supposed to pressure you?”

“You weren’t supposed to pretend!” Dean shouted. Then he winced and lowered his voice to a hiss. “That’s how relationships work. You talk about the things going wrong so you can fix them.”

“And how do we fix this, Dean? Because I can’t contain my love for you in this room and you can’t love me anywhere else. What are we supposed to do?”

Dean hesitated at that, then he said, slowly, like he was replaying Cas’ words, “You think I don���t love you?”

“I think that our friendship has suffered since we started having sex,” Cas said bluntly. He had to be blunt or the sorrow caused by that fact would overwhelm him. “We practically avoid each other unless it involves a hunt in order to abide by your rules. I didn’t realise that the price of a relationship would be to sacrifice everything the relationship was built on. Turns out that’s not a price I’m willing to pay, you’re too important to me.”

“Yeah, I feel real important right now.” Dean snapped. He folded his arms and turned away, and Cas knew he’d hit a nerve.

“Dean—” Cas reached out to touch him on the shoulder but Dean shrugged him off. He sighed. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you wanted.”

“What? Happy?” Dean shot back, his voice thick with emotion. “Yeah, me too.”

He felt a pang in his chest at that.

“I love you, Dean. No matter what we call our relationship, that will always be true.”

“Whatever.”

Taking that as a firm dismissal, Cas turned to leave.

“Cas, wait.”

He stopped, his hand on the doorknob.

“I’m not scared about what Sam would think about be being with you, not really.”

Cas turned back around. Dean’s back was still to him; his shoulders were hunched over, curled in on himself. Cas longed to stride forward, gather him up and place a kiss to each of his freckles.

“Then what are you scared of?”

Dean faced him then, his eyes open and terrified. “This. You taking off again. If I told Sam then I couldn’t ever take it back. And if something happens, and they know… it’ll just make everything so much worse.” He scoffed, a wet, sad sound. “Besides, if he saw how gone I am on you… he’ll start trying to get to me to retire, to take you and just get out and make a happy, apple pie life of our own. I can’t leave him, and I’m not ready to stop hunting.”

“I’d never ask you to,” Cas said gently, a little confused.

“I know. But honestly? I’m kinda terrified of how easy it would be.” He smiled then, a soft, wistful thing. “I’ve actually been thinking about it, making plans for what comes after.” He made a self-deprecating sound “Like I get that lucky. Like I haven’t known since I was five years old that there is no after for me. I’ll die a hunter. At the end of a spell or a blade or a set of claws, that’s how I’ve always wanted it, that’s what always felt right.”

“And now?”

“Now… as long as you’re there with me, I don’t really care so much how it ends.” Dean’s eyes were on his, and they mirrored the longing that Cas himself felt, the magnetic pull that drew him in. “That’s what scares me, Cas. If I tell Sam, it’ll change the way I look at my life, I’ll start wanting something more than what my dad planned, what I was so sure was the only path I had.”

“Dean,” Cas said, reaching for him, and Dean came easily. “Since when have you ever followed a plan set out for you that wasn’t your own?”

xxx

The next morning, Dean dropped a kiss to Cas’ hair at the breakfast table, right in front of Sam, who did nothing more than roll his eyes and mutter something that sounded suspiciously like, “Finally.”