Having Dres in my kitchen is something else completely, something I don't think I'll ever get used to. It only takes him a few seconds to get used to the room, before he's moving in that smooth way of his like he's liquid and fills any shape. Dres has me prep the cutlets, teaches me how to pound the meat so it's tender and even. He explains how you flour it, do an egg wash, and then bread it so it fries crisply.

     Once dinner's finished cooking, we move to the breakfast nook by the windows to eat. Dres plates while I grab drinks. "I've got wine?" I say even though I know Dres is going to turn it down.

     "You're underage," he says pointblank.

     "It's French," I respond as I grab the Brita and a can of coke for myself.

     "And?" Dres asks as he carries the two plates to the table.

     "And it's practically like drinking wine in France. Where it's totally legal for me to have a glass at dinner."

     "That is not real logic."

     "No, of course it isn't, its Cas logic. Which is so much better."

     "Yeah no."

     Grinning, I say, "I don't like wine, anyway." I pour a glass of water, before joining Dres at the table. I waste no time digging into the meal while Dres remains composed and cuts his food first.

     "I feel like," I say around my mouth full. "I feel like my table manners are pretty sufficient. But compared to you, I'm a Neanderthal."

     "Thank you?"

     "Contrary to how that came out, that wasn't actually me complimenting you, asshole."'

     His eyes widen, like he can't believe I just called him an asshole even though there was no bite to my words, just affection. "Maybe try swallowing your food before you talk, that might help civilize you."

     I say exaggeratedly, "Oh ha ha. You're not funny."

     "Funnier than you," he remarks playfully.

     "Not at all," I exclaim. "Not even close, man."

     "Man?"

     "Man. Man-boy. Dude. Bro." He glares at me on the last one. "We're bros, aren't we?"

     "No."

     "Can you pass the cheese, bro?"

     "Stop calling me that."

     "Bro, don't be like that."

     "Say it one more time."

     "Ooh that sounds kind of threatening...bro."

     "You're really going to regret this."

     I'm grinning. "Yeah I don't think I am, bro."

     So it turns out that I do end up fully regretting my usage of bro on Dres. Not while we're eating, which is goes very smoothly. A weird thing about me is I could watch Dres eat all day. After dinner, we're cleaning up and I'm on dishwashing duty while Dres packs away leftovers. We have a dishwasher, so I'm mostly rinsing the plates and placing them inside. When I finish, I clean the sink out and wring out the sponge.

     Just as I'm about to turn around, I feel Dres crowd my space, chest pressing up against my back. I still but don't stiffen so I'm curving against him. His arms meet mine on the sink and I can feel him everywhere – legs, chest, hips. Fuck. The whole of it, the slowness and intention, makes my breath choke up in me.

     The tip of his nose brushes the back of my ear, the lightest of touches that I'm not even entirely sure he's doing it on purpose. He lets out a breath that tickles my earlobe, before his nose comes down the side of my neck taking an unhurried path. His face is just rough enough to feel good, tingling my skin.

     I tip my head back, giving him more of my neck. He smells nice. My eyes close as my whole body prickles. Dres presses closer and now it's not just nose and cheek up against my neck but lips, too, and it is so, so good. My mouth is open, and Jesus, am I fucking panting right now? (I am, fully, completely, unabashedly.)

     It doesn't even matter. There's a pulse in my mouth, like all my blood is rushing there. I need this, all of it, the kissing and touching. Dres below me, me beneath him, us sideways and up against walls and in showers and pools. Yes, god, I need Dres in a pool. I am desperate for it all.

     I tip my head back further, wanting more but I don't even know of what. He drags his teeth along my neck, down that one vein that sticks out if I strain enough. That's good, that's really good. Never mind about the kissing, just keep doing that.

     He shifts so his legs are bracketing mine and his hand is on my stomach, low enough that I can feel the edge of his palm on this sliver of exposed skin between my shirt and jeans. He bites down right in the corner of my neck and shoulder, where my shirt starts. At the same time, he slides his hand up underneath where my shirt ends, palm pressing against my stomach.

     His nose is back, gliding up my neck till it reaches behind my ear, and then he laps at the skin there with his tongue. I fully tremble, not sure my knees are going to keep me standing for whatever is about to go down (hopefully lots and lots of things.) He's biting on my earlobe next, and I'm losing my mind, making small noises from the back of my throat as I fall apart right there in my kitchen, up against the sink and Dres.

     "I'm not your bro," he says, voice hoarse and quiet, words moving slowly through my ear.

     I nod, delirious on endorphins and lust and want, as I turn my head so now he's pressing into my cheek and nosing his way to my mouth. "Nope, yep, got it, never again." I'm pretty sure I'd sign and seal my whole life to Dres right now if he wanted me to.

     His lips are so close to mine, like they've never been this close without us actually kissing but he's a step ahead of me, so every time I try to close the gap he pulls back just enough to keep the tiniest space between us. My mouth parts. I can't catch my breath. I don't know anything outside of wanting to kiss him.

     His words hit me right in the teeth. "Told you not to say it again." What? What? What is he saying? "Told you you were gonna' regret it."

     He steps back, away, and walks out. And wow, I am so turned on I could cry.

     "Cruel," I say loud enough for him to hear me once I get my voice back. I lean against the counter and try to catch my breath. "Plain cruel." His laughter is the only response I get.

     I gather myself slowly, adjusting my jeans because I'm still fucking hard before I join Dres in the living room. He's sitting on the couch, and pulling the two picture frames I'd stuffed under the cushions out.

     "Hey!" I race over and grapple for the photos before he can look at them, but he's at an advantage being taller and responding faster. He has the photos well above my head before I can get to them. I don't give up easily, because those photos are crazy bad – I'm talking acne and braces – climbing over Dres to get to the photos.

     I never noticed how long his arms were till I was trying to get something out of his hands. They're stretched above his head, and even though I'm in his lap and I've got myself braced on his shoulders, I'm still just a fraction too short to reach. Dres is smiling, like fully grinning with no end in sight. This situation combined with the one that just occurred in the kitchen has set me on a steady path to blue balls.

     Dres turns suddenly and I'm on my back against the arm of the couch in a second with all of his weight against my chest as he leans on me. His elbow digs into my sternum and his head is tucked up under my chin, smelling so freaking good, god, it like sucks how good he smells.

     The pictures are in his other hand, the one farthest away from me, and he brings them down to eye level because I can't move under his weight. He really is all muscle, heavy and solid (this is not a complaint) (being pinned under Dres is one of the Top Ten places to be in the world.)

     He makes a sound, a laugh and an aw combined. I purse my lips, grumbling. The first photo is my eighth grade graduation, so I'm wearing a blue cap and gown. I'm awkwardly tall and lanky.  I've got this weird pseudo-Justin Beiber haircut. Only it's slicked down with gel because my hair is curly so it definitively looks a thousand times worse than if it was just a Justin Beiber haircut.

     "It's not that bad," he says but he's laughing because yes, it freaking is. He sets the frame down on my stomach and holds up the second photo.

     This one's better but still bad. It's a photo of me, Grace, and Halston freshman year before the homecoming dance. I'm wearing my dad's suit, so it's entirely too big. I've grown out the Beiber look and instead have slicked my hair back. The whole thing emphasizes how I've yet to grow into my features. My nose swallows my face, and my lips are puffy because of my braces, so my ears look substantially tinier because of everything the rest of my appendages are doing.

     "Wow," Dres says and I roll my eyes. He glances at me just as I do it, and goes, "You didn't have to hide these."

     "They're awful."

     "They're not awful," he disagrees. I disagree with a noise. "They're not awful, Cas. They're you and you wouldn't make sense if you didn't," he laughs, "have braces and poor hair choices. You can appreciate who you are now more."

     He slides upwards, shifts some of his weight to his elbow that's tucked between the back of the couch and my side, and runs his hand through my hair making me go still in an instance. "I'm glad you leave your curls alone now. They're my favorite."

     Dres is between my legs, so basically my ability to make words at this point is pretty remarkable. "You know 'favorite' implies there's a bunch of stuff you like about me and you had to like choose from a pool of options."

     "Mmhm," is all he says and I'm warm all over, grinning like crazy. And we are so going to make out on this couch, my childhood couch, with my yellow handprints basically cupping Dres's ass. I could not be more pleased.

     Only Dres moves, sliding down me so slow and tantalizing that I almost make a grab to keep him where he is. Once he's on his own cushion he says, "Are we watching a movie?"

     "We can watch a movie later," I say as I sit up, and close my legs as much as I can. I'm wearing what I consider to be my best boner-hiding jeans, a strategic move on my part, but there's only so much even they can do. Dres looks at me like he thinks I'm going to say we're going to make out now. I almost do. "How seasoned a gamer are you?"

     "Gamer?" he asks and one side of his mouth tugs upwards into this sort of half-grin.

     "Xbox? Playstation? Ring any bells?" He lets out just one laugh, sort of a pant. "Oh my god, Dres, do not tell you've never played? Ever? At all?" He shrugs. "Well, do you want to?"

     "You clearly want me to."

     I'm grinning as I stand, reaching for his hand to pull him to his feet. "Prepare to meet your newest addiction."

     I'm still tugging and he hasn't made a move to stand. "Where are we going?"

     "My room?" I say like I shouldn't even have to clarify that.

     "Can't you bring it down here?" he asks, ignoring my incessant tugging of his hand to remain seated.

     "I mean I could but that's more work for me when I have both consoles already set up in my room and all my games are up there, anyway."

     Dres hesitates before finally standing, and I don't even think about his apprehension to head upstairs to my bedroom. I'm still wrapping my brain around the fact he doesn't play video games, because that, that right there, is a travesty.

     "I feel like," I say as we climb the stairs. "I feel like you're going to really like Fifa." I turn down the hallway and I can hear my mom's voice as we pass her bedroom 'absolutely no going upstairs for any reason,' but we've got hours before she'll be home so it's fine. "I'm more of a Star Wars fan myself. GTA is great. I don't know anyone who doesn't love that. But first, we have to play Call of Duty."

     Dres has no idea what I'm talking about, of course. He stares at me like I've grown two heads. I've got two heads and I've decided to stop thinking with one long enough to induct Dres into the gamer world.