A sequel to No Rush (this will make a whole lot more sense if you read that first). A quick thanks to those who encouraged me to continue with this little 'verse.
"Really?"
He has to ask, though Dean is clearly serious as he kneels in front of their television, popping open the case and casting a look to Castiel over his shoulder.
"Hey, we made a deal. You agreed."
And Dean had held up his end, for that matter. Dishes, laundry...he even cleaned underneath their bed; gained a couple pairs of socks and a hardcover copy of The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire (he's not sure why they even own that) while he was at it. Dean is not about to take pity just for the put upon look Cas is wearing.
Still, it was worth a shot (a good pout of Castiel's lips had served him well in the past), and he maintains looking stricken even while Dean has his back turned. There has to be some clause within deals struck under the influence of a good and thorough early morning fuck that renders any and all verbal agreements made within five minutes of orgasm void. There has to be. He feels like he's been cheated, and Cas' eyes track the movement of the DVD slot, disc fed in and disappearing into the device. It's as if Castiel's fate itself has been sealed for how distraught he looks.
"Oh come on." Dean rolls his eyes heavenward and settles into the couch beside Cas. "You're being a baby." He nudges his knee into the other man's leg, the introductory credits sounding before the main menu pops up.
The look on Castiel's face could be considered a glower. "You know I don't like horror." He leans further into the couch at any rate, against Dean's side before he crosses his arms. Dean knows very well, in fact- but Castiel's opinions on the genre have nothing to do with fear and everything to do with, as he once phrased it, 'the lack of intellectual value.' Dean is calling bullshit.
"This isn't horror!" Dean protests. "It's a classic!"
The growing exasperation on Castiel's face does not go unnoticed, but his obvious plight fails to inspire any sympathy within Dean. He merely clicks play before stretching his arm to switch off the light. Something is muttered from Dean's side, Cas' head coming to rest on his shoulder, but Dean's too excited to care about whatever threats of bodily harm his better half might be promising as the movie starts up.
-x-
If there were ever a time Castiel hated Dean Winchester, it would be now.
How long had it been since they sat down? A half-hour, maybe forty-five minutes, in real time? In Castiel's universe however the movie should have been done and over with long ago, minutes stretching into a lifetime as they sat in the dark on the couch awash in a flickering blue glow. To think that he could have been in bed by now, propped up against the headboard with his reading glasses and that copy of The Decline and Fall that Dean had unearthed from the pits beneath their bed (he'd wondered where that had gotten off to), and yet here he is.
To be honest he must have spaced out for a bit, because when Castiel's attention is finally diverted from playing with Dean's fingers splayed against his thigh and he glances back towards the screen, he has no idea when they moved to the kitchen, or what happened before the little suburban family's chairs got stacked atop their table. Not a clue. Hopefully it isn't a crucial plot point though, nothing he'd have to recall and expound on later when they are lying in bed and Dean begins asking him his thoughts on how Poltergeist shaped the genre and popular culture as we know it.
"Don't you have to work tomorrow?" he tries and rolls his head against Dean's neck to look up past his jaw. Cas knows damn well that Dean does have to work tomorrow, 8 A.M. sharp; the both of them do.
Dean doesn't so much as blink. "Come on Cas you're gonna miss the best part!" Whatever is about to happen has Dean sounding urgent, and Castiel reluctantly flicks his eyes forward, watching as the little girl is whisked across the floor by seemingly nothing. The movie may not have his full attention (or any significant portion of it), but it's pretty clear to Cas that this phenomena must be an effect of the poltergeist, and how can the family not realize this? As a scholar of physics Castiel would not usually buy into this sort of thing, but for the sake of art and maintaining Dean's good mood, he's willing to go along.
But well, if that's the best part, Castiel feels he can dismiss the remainder of the film and not feel too much of a loss. Dean of course is still completely engrossed, though how this could even be mildly entertaining anymore (Dean has probably seen this movie what, three, four-hundred times?) is beyond Castiel.
However, despite some claims to the contrary, Cas has never lacked in creativity, and he certainly knows how to keep himself busy, not prone to occasional bouts of childish impatience such as Dean. It's this sort of resourcefulness that begins the whole thing.
It starts innocently enough, Castiel's hand just rubbing and massaging the top of Dean's thigh, palm smoothing over the well-worn material of his jeans and nails racking back and forth. Dean pays him little mind for all Cas can tell as he blinks up every now and then, waiting for some reaction other than the full attention being given to the tv.
That's fine though. If Dean is disinterested, so be it. It doesn't stop Castiel from proceeding with his hand, any thoughts of keeping things wholesome eighty-sixed as his fingers venture further inward, wandering touches only fueled as Dean's eyes widen in excitement at something happening on screen. The first brush is light, and bathed in the darkness of their living room Castiel is going on touch rather than sight, though by now he is more than acquainted enough to trace along just the right path, the inside crease of one leg...
that certainly gets Dean's attention.
"What are you doing?" He looks genuinely confused.
"Hmm?" Castiel merely hums, gaze just peeking subtly from beneath his lashes even while his head is still resting at Dean's shoulder. "What?"
"Cas..." The simple light touches of Castiel's hand should not be so distressing. "Come on Cas." Dean's head tips towards the television again. "You're missing stuff."
"We're watching, just as you wanted."
"No, I'm watching, you're, you're-" Dean makes a face that explains absolutely nothing, one corner of his mouth turned down and nose wrinkling, hands rising to make some sort of gesture and giving up halfway. On screen a giant tree crashes through a window, terrorizing the Freeling family.
"I'm watching," Castiel insists, face turning fully into Dean's neck to place a chaste kiss to the skin there, melding into the warmth. Dean sighs, complaisant, and there's no more fussing to be heard, not even when Cas' lips part in a much slower movement, forming against flesh and tongue joining in a wet slide. There's no outward protestation, but the muscles in Dean's neck certainly tighten, the man's face hardening and eyes narrowing at the screen where they remain resolutely fixed.
Similarly, Dean mentions nothing when Cas rises up onto his knees, the angle more convenient for him to better pay attention to the lines of Dean's neck, marking a path to the hollow beneath his jaw and landing a gentle nip there at the cut. Dean's breath might be coming in harsher through his nose, but they've always matched each other in stubbornness, and there's the determined, simultaneous clench and unclench of Dean's fingers at his side.
The heel of Castiel's hand is working in earnest now, coaxing out the gradually hardening line pressing to the inseam of Dean's pants, likewise drawing out shakier and shakier inhalations from the man. Cas waits, watches, eases the pressure and returns again, all to see Dean's brows knit tighter inwards, eyes nearly straining to pay attention (something about a paranormal investigation crew, Cas thinks).
In the dim light it's hard to tell how much damage he's done to Dean's neck, but it is well enough for Cas to move forward, one deft pull of his fingers to get Dean's button and fly down, the only sound to indicate Dean is affected being the hitch in his breathing. Dean is chewing his lip, fingers fidgeting, and he is definitely not straying away from where there is now a ghostly aberration floating in the living room on screen, he is not side-eyeing Cas as a warm hand cups around his dick through the thin material of boxer-briefs. And most of all there is no audible swallowing to be heard.
When Dean jumps it has nothing to do with the stream of ungodly screeching coming from Carol Anne's bedroom (of course not, he's seen this enough times to have the moment of her door being opened down to the second), but rather the harsh snap of elastic beneath his balls, Cas' fingers releasing his underwear from where he'd been tugging downwards. Whether it's intentional (Dean wouldn't put it past him) or in result of Cas reacting to the sudden blaring noise Dean can't tell, but either way he recovers quick enough.
Dean is gripped at the base, one slight tug of Cas' hand before he is bending down without a word, mouth parting and taking the head of Dean's cock between his lips. In return Dean's heels end up knocking against the base of their couch, teeth gritting, and his fingers curl around the edge of a cushion.
Two men skirt the edge of a graveyard on the tv, Mr. Freeling pausing at the perimeter in contemplation. At the same time Castiel's lips drag up the shaft of his dick and a tongue ends up prodding at his slit to draw up a drop of precome. Needless to say Dean is having a difficult time deciding where his attention should be directed.
"Cas..."
It's a bad move on Dean's part, Castiel's answer coming in the form of a questioning hmm, mouth still working steadily up and down. Dean's hips are begging to tilt up.
"Cas..."
With a pop Castiel peels off, Dean's cock slick and shining against the glow of the tv, and a low ache is building in the pit of his stomach.
"I thought you wanted to watch the movie." Cas raises a pointed brow, and oh, that bastard. If the same bastard didn't also have his hand wrapped around his dick Dean may have made some snippy comment, but he settles for a glare-perhaps a bit childish at that-and lets his expression carry his point across.
Castiel doesn't seem to care. "Eyes forward Dean," he instructs, and Dean only complies to prove that yeah, the movie is totally his priority and Castiel is really missing out on some quality stuff here. No matter how tempting the sound of Cas unzipping his own jeans is Dean will not look away from the tv again. Bastard.
There's a lot of shuffling at his side, mostly just blurred movement to be seen out of the corner of Dean's eye as Tangina arrives on screen. Dialogue is accompanied by the much more prominent sound of Castiel's zipper, the soft whispering of his jeans being peeled off, and Dean can only guess that his underwear follows. Dean tries his best to pay attention to the medium's words, or the happy tears from the mother at finding out her daughter is alive, anything to distract from the obvious sucking noises coming from Cas.
If Dean had been willing to give in he could have looked over to find two of Cas' fingers in his mouth, getting them wet and pulling them out as loud as he can. Dean also would have been correct to say that both jeans and underwear had been discarded on the floor, but more than that, Castiel's shirt has been removed as well.
There's no end to Cas' satisfaction as he watches Dean all the while, noting the perpetual scowl, lips a thin line and the crease between his brow. He only continues to study Dean too, even when he reaches behind himself and circles his own rim. It's not the best position but this isn't going to take long, either, fingers pressing forward and Cas stifling his groan with his lip held between his incisors. He works quick, twisting and scissoring and only putting forth minimal effort, at the cost of a little burn, but he'll manage. Vaguely Castiel recognizes that something heartfelt and emotional must be happening within the movie, soft dialogue going in the background and what sounds like crying, and he almost cares enough to turn his face to just get a glimpse at what he's missed (how were they going to flush out the poltergeist now?).
But with a few more thrusts of his fingers Castiel deems it 'good enough.' As the characters are beginning to climb the stairs, Castiel climbs atop Dean's lap and straddles him with knees resting against his hips.
Dean's face doesn't soften in the least. "And how am I supposed to watch the movie now?" He challenges Cas by tipping his face up, eyebrows raising with the question. Watching the movie is about the last thing on Dean's mind however, not when there is so much else to pay attention to like Castiel entirely naked sitting in his lap, while only his own cock is pulled out from his pants in contrast. Or, Dean could focus on the way Cas' face remains just as passive as he replies, "I'm sure you'll figure something out."
And that's as much input as he gets before Cas is lifting up and reaching behind himself, easily finding Dean's cock. Everything seems to hit at once, from Cas sinking down way too quickly considering how little he bothered to stretch himself to things going to shit on the tv screen, fire and blue swirling light illuminating the living room in a series of flashes. Luckily the volume ensures Dean's moan falls under the radar, though Cas doesn't seem to be paying attention to his reaction any longer.
Actually, Cas currently has his face buried in the side of Dean's neck, warm little panting breaths hitting the skin there and chapped lips grazing along the curve of his shoulder. He's out of the way so that if Dean had wanted, he could see the screen just fine.
Dean really, really does not give a shit about the movie at this point.
"Fuck." The whisper falls out before Dean can stop it, along with the last of his resolve. "Okay, okay you've made your point. Come on Cas." He tries to facilitate the rocking movement Cas has settled into by gripping at his hips, and Dean gets his hands swatted at in return.
"Watch your damn movie," Castiel mutters against him, though there's no bite behind it, other than the fact that Castiel seems to be serious about continuing the minute nudges of his hips.
"Oh you've got to be kidding me..." Dean's fingers are itching to touch, his head barely holding off from rolling back as Cas merely rolls his hips slowly, his hole still clamped tight and gripping along Dean's shaft at each tiny movement. Torture. That's what this is, Dean is sure of it, and for the life of him he can't figure out what he ever did to deserve this, or whether Castiel is ever going to actually start moving.
The friction and heat is slowly killing him, and still Cas doesn't budge beyond the unhurried little pushes, his cock bobbing between them as he rocks, face turned into the side of Dean's neck. It's a handful of minutes in reality, and lifetime for Dean before there's any sort of progress made, in the form of Cas' head jerking up at the loud splat coming from the tv.
All movement halts, Cas still seated fully on Dean's dick as his head turns around as far as he can manage to watch the two bodies falling from the glowing vortex on the Freeling family's ceiling, landing with a squelch among what looks to be some sort of residual slime and viscera. And that's strange; it's a shame he's missed whatever had led up to this development.
"What happened?" Cas asks, only looking forward again to Dean when the mother and her daughter are being hauled into the bathroom unconscious. "Did they save the girl?"
"Christ, I told you to pay attention!" Dean exclaims with his frustration mounting, unsure of if he should be more pissed at the fact that Cas had slacked off the entire movie or that he seems intent on drawing this out into the next century at the pace he's keeping, which at the moment, is a complete standstill. "Could you move, something!"
Cas looks back around again, though his weight does shift enough for his hole to pull at the base of Dean's cock. The family on screen have begun packing their boxes. "Is that really it?"
"Oh my god," Dean groans, patience thinning to nonexistent; except Cas looks to be waiting for an answer.
"The spirit didn't seem to put up much of a fight." Cas rises up an inch, sinks back down. "I was expecting a better climax."
And that's it. All in all it's fairly simple to turn inwards and get Castiel onto his back. Cas lets out a short yelp as he's upended, hits the cushions and only briefly has time to contemplate the switch before Dean is bracketing him and bending his legs back, one of his heels resting on the back of the couch.
"I oh-" Castiel's voice breaks as Dean pushes back in, head rolling to the side. "The spirit seems to have returned."
Dean's hips thrust, finally something decent, and luckily Cas isn't fighting him on this. "Really?" Dean asks, though there's no way he's stopping now that Cas seems to be compliant. Of course he'd care about the fate of the Freeling now of all times.
"Really," Cas agrees, but he's more reluctant to keep his attention focused on the tv when Dean's hips slap into his ass, which has his cock dribbling precome onto his stomach. In all seriousness the movie has seemed to pick up quite a bit. "They'd better- ah...they'd better call the medium back."
Dean takes hold of Castiel's chin to direct him forward. "Eyes forward Cas."
"But the polter-"
"We'll watch it again tomorrow," Dean promises before sealing their mouths together.
Thanks so much for reading! Comments/crit always appreciated.