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A Dean/Castiel fic.

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Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Supernatural.

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A/N: Yup. Another one of those fics that I just had to write ... this one was no. 1 on the list, though. Much more "smut" in this one, so consider yourself warned.

Anywhoo ... not really in the mood for a long-winded explanation, so basically in this fic: Dean muses on his "mark" after he gets out of the shower, Cas pops in, takes Dean on a trip through memory lane, and then stuff happens.

Hope you guys like this, I know I'll love writing it.

As always, please read and review, I live for feedback!

Steam poured out the door when Dean exited the bathroom, the flimsy, motel-room towel slung around his waist. He walked over to his bed, tossing his bag on the bed and digging through it for a clean shirt.

We're gonna have to do laundry soon, Dean thought to himself, separating his clothes.

Dean stretched his arms above his head, working out his sore muscles and longing for the heat of the shower once more. It had been a long couple of years. Hell, Dean thought, technically, I should be about 70 years old. All things considered, I could be in worse shape.

The only time he'd ever really considered his body was when he was about to score with some hot chick. But after he'd been brought back from Hell without any of his old scars ... he'd started paying more attention. Despite all the things he did to his body ... all the diner food and beer, all the fights and near-death experiences, his body was in astounding physical shape. The image of perfection, with one notable exception ... the hand-print burned into his left shoulder.

It had been nearly two years since Castiel had pulled him out of Hell, and the mark was still there. Sure, it wasn't as red as it had been the first time he'd seen it, and it didn't stick out from his skin as much, but it had pretty much faded as much as it was going to.

"Why the hell are you still here?" Dean spoke aloud while lightly running his finger over the brand while the other hand un-tucked the towel around his waist, getting ready to get dressed.

"It is a holy mark, Dean," Castiel said, making the human spin around in surprise. "It will not leave your body."

Dean stood awkwardly for a moment, very aware of the fact that he was only one tiny towel away from being naked.

"Cas!"

The angel gazed at him innocently. "Yes?"

Dean sighed deeply. "How is it possible that after nearly two years among us humans, you have still not managed to grasp the concept of boundaries?"

Castiel tilted his head. "I have been employing the two-foot rule when conversing with you ... is that not what you wanted?"

Dean stared at him. "Do you really not see a problem here?"

Castiel was silent as he regarded both Dean and the motel room. "I do not."

Dean nearly tossed his hands in the air, and if he hadn't been so focused on his current state of undress, he would have. "Dude, I'm half-naked!"

Castiel continued to eye him, unblinking. "I am aware of that."

"This is the problem with you just popping in whenever you feel like it," Dean explained.

"I am not bothered by your lack of clothing, Dean. I have seen you naked before," Castiel replied.

Dean nearly dropped his towel at that. "What? When?"

Castiel walked forward. "When I pulled you out of Hell. I thought you had regained all of your memories from your time there?"

Dean shrugged. "I guess not ... I don't remember you, uh ... pulling me out."

Castiel stopped two feet away from Dean. "Would you like to?"

Dean glanced at him, blinking his green eyes a few times. "What? You can do that? Give me back the memory?"

Castiel tilted his head the other way. "Sort of. I can show you the event through my eyes. If you are interested."

Dean paused. "How? I mean, is it anything like the zapping thing? 'Cause that ain't exactly the most thrilling experience I can think of."

Castiel shook his head, motioning to the mark on Dean's shoulder. "That mark forms a connection between us, Dean. It will allow you to see into my mind as easily as I can see into yours."

Dean thought about it for a moment. He wasn't exactly busy, and Sam was out re-embracing human life in the hopes of forgetting his demonic disaster and the after-effects of drinking demon blood again. Plus, it might be kind of fun, Dean reasoned. "Okay, just let me get dressed first," the eldest Winchester answered.

Castiel moved a step closer. "We won't be going anywhere, Dean. There is no need to dress."

Before Dean could protest, Castiel sealed his hand over the mark on Dean's shoulder, and for a moment, everything was white. It only lasted a second, and then everything turned bloody. It was as though he were the angel, battling his way through the forces of Hell. He watched through Castiel's eyes as he disabled and killed the demons that stood between him and his goal.

After what seemed like mere seconds, Castiel approached his target.

Dean saw himself before him, having just come back from cutting some poor bastard to shreds. Dean tried to pull away from the memory, but Castiel held him in place.

He could see what the trench-coat-wearing angel had meant ... he was certainly naked. He had been since that first day on the rack ... no need for clothes when you're being mutilated. Apparently he'd blocked that part out.

Castiel's voice spoke to the naked Dean. "I am here to raise you out of perdition, Dean Winchester."

The Dean in front of him scoffed. "You ain't taking me anywhere, Sweetheart."

The angel paused. "Do you not understand? You are being rescued."

Dean watched himself sidle up beside Castiel, invading his personal space and leering at him. Dean watched in surprise as his own eyes raked over Castiel's form. Well, no wonder he's got no concept of personal space with me, Dean reasoned.

The naked Dean circled around Castiel's body, looking him up and down, and Dean shifted nervously, feeling Castiel's hand covering his mark in reality, and feeling him stand stock-still in the memory. Dean was beginning to feeling uncomfortable, unable to stop wondering where this was all going. He had a nagging feeling that things were about to get very awkward.

"So, are you my treat of the day? Alastair is nothing if not creative," the circling Dean commented, stopping in front of Castiel and toying with his tie.

"I see that I am too late ... they have already gotten to you," Castiel lamented, acting as though what Dean was doing didn't bother him in the slightest.

Dean couldn't take it anymore, and gripped Castiel's hand, pulling it off the brand on his shoulder. His memory of that day came rushing back to him, and he had to turn away from the angel. "Oh my ... I'm so sorry."

Castiel slowly lowered his hand back to his side. "You have nothing to apologize for."

Dean whipped back around with wide eyes. "Cas, are you kidding me? After what I did ...?"

Castiel explained with passive eyes, "You were not yourself."

Dean tried to clear his repulsive thoughts, twisting and tucking his towel back into place. "You should have just left me there, Cas. I didn't deserve to be pulled out," Dean told him.

Castiel sighed. "I am afraid that is simply untrue."

Dean shook his head. "But after what I did -"

Castiel cut him off, lifting his hand to press it against his handprint again. "You have been forgiven. You came back without any of your old scars and wounds ... you past indiscretions have been erased as well."

Dean shuddered at the warmth flowing through him where the angel touched him. He felt the sudden, burning desire to make the angel snap ... to get him to see Dean for who he really was, and hate him like he knew he deserved to be hated. He took a step towards him, ignoring the two-foot rule. "Are you seriously going to tell me that being around me doesn't bother you? That seeing me and knowing what I did to you doesn't make your skin crawl?"

Castiel shook his head slowly, simply watching Dean's actions.

"So I didn't break some high and mighty, righteous, angelic code of honor?" Dean continued, taking another step so that he was practically nose-to-nose with the other male in the room. "Didn't I completely fill you with ... sin?"

Any minute, Dean expected Castiel to disappear, to fly away and not come back for weeks. Dean planned on using that time to thoroughly beat himself up.

But Castiel didn't go anywhere. His hand remained on Dean's shoulder, his body stayed where it was, and his eyes didn't move away from boring into Dean's green ones. He spoke softly, "I am an angel, Dean. You cannot make me ... squirm so easily."

While Dean contemplated his next move, Castiel reached his other hand to the towel around Dean's waist, giving it a little tug.

"What are you doing?" Dean wanted to know, his face flushing and his heart thumping.

"I believe your people refer to it as ... "evening the score". This will made us "even", and you can rid yourself of the unnecessary guilt that you are feeling. I will give you ten seconds to decide if you want me to stop."

Dean blinked several times, swallowing the built-up saliva in his mouth and wondering why he wasn't screaming that this was wrong ... on so many levels. All he could seem to focus on was the hand that was holding his towel gracefully in its fingers, and the other hand that fit so perfectly onto the scar on his shoulder, and how good it was all making him feel. And maybe Castiel was right ... maybe letting him do this to him would solve his problem. It feeling good was just a bonus ...

"I am taking your silence to be your consent," Castiel stated, and before Dean could speak, Castiel's lips sealed over his and the hand holding his towel released the fabric, and the last semi-coherent thought that he had was: oh my ... unghh ... fawahh ...

Just over an hour later, the two naked creatures lay sprawled sideways on the bed.

"Okay," Dean panted. "I'm not sure if I'm feeling less or more guilty."

Castiel looked over at him with a careful turn of his head. "What do you mean?"

Dean smirked, no longer shy. "Well, we're not exactly even ... not anymore. Not after that last one," he explained. "You've got some catching up to do."

Castiel rolled so that he was looming over Dean, looking so much more human without his clothes on, but still unmistakably angelic. "Very well," he spoke. "We shall simply have to continue."

Dean chuckled, rolling the angel off of him and sitting up. "As good as that sounds, some of us need a little down-time before round three."

Castiel nodded, looking visibly disappointed.

The hunter grinned softly at the angel before glancing at the open bathroom. "You know, I think I might need another shower," he mused, looking down at Castiel.

Castiel nodded, assuming he wanted to be alone. He got up from the bed and started to gather his clothes.

Dean nodded, holding back a laugh as he walked to the bathroom door. "You could do that," he supposed. "Or ... you could join me and try evening the score, again."

Castiel didn't hesitate to drop his clothes and march into the bathroom shower with Dean, who couldn't resist laughing at his seriousness.

Neither of them heard Sam come back to the motel room, eye the clothing on the floor, look at the bathroom - with the door still open, so all groans and moans could be heard. Neither one of them saw Sam's pale face as he rushed out of the room while trying to claw out his eyes and ears simultaneously.

The end.

Hope you guys liked it!

Reviews are appreciated. Flame if you must, but constructive criticism is much more appreciated, and if you've just come to bitch about the pairing, don't bother.

Until next time ...!