When Cas had offered to fix the chill in the room, Dean had been under the impression he was going to use his angel mojo to get the shitty motel heater up and running again. As it turned out, Castiel had something entirely different in mind.
Rather than snap his fingers or bat his eyelashes to command the heater into action, Cas had pulled Dean in by the sleeve of his coat and then proceeded to mouth against his pulse point, hot breath causing goosebumps to rise up on Dean's skin. Sam had been out the door in an instant, shouting "Jerks!" over his shoulder before slamming the door none too gently.
It doesn't take long after that for Cas to strip him, practically throwing clothing across the room in his haste to get Dean naked, and somewhere in the back of his mind Dean realizes that taking clothing off is counter-productive to getting warm. A much more prominent part realizes that it was going to be worth it.
"God Cas, what's gotten in to you?" Dean manages as his last shirt is tugged over his head and tossed over the bedside lamp.
"Dean," Cas' hands slip below his boxers to tug them down, "please do not use my Father's name when we are about to have sex."
"Right," Dean groans, the last of his clothing stripped away and leaving him bare, shivering at the cool air hitting his skin. He reaches out to grab at Cas' damn trench coat, because the angel is still fully clothed and Dean plans to remedy that as soon as possible, but Cas merely swats at his hands.
"No, Dean," he grounds out, voice near a growl, and the tone has Dean's dick giving an interested twitch, the back of his neck heating up as he watches Cas' eyes go dark.
Cas lowers himself to the floor and that's when Dean reaches out behind himself to take hold of the dresser's edge. The sight of Cas, all-powerful angel of the lord, on his knees before him never fails to amaze, has Dean's dick swelling to half hard with one upward glance from Castiel, all lust blown pupils from under dark lashes. An angel shouldn't look so sinful, and Cas knew exactly what he was doing.
Said angel takes Dean's cock at the base, thumb running along the underside, curving up beneath the crown and eliciting a low moan from Dean. The hunter's fingers tighten their grip on the dresser as Cas begins a steady stroke, much too slow and gentle, but when Dean makes an attempt to shift his hips forward for more Cas answers by leaning in and landing a bite at his hip.
"No, Dean," he growls out again, tongue laving over the bite and Dean can't help the stutter of his hips this time.
"Fuck Cas, how long have you been thinking about this?"
A thumb runs along the slit of Dean's cockhead to collect the precome pearling there, circling the head before running back down his shaft.
"Since the last hunt I accompanied you on." As in two weeks ago. Two weeks for Cas to be fantasizing about getting Dean like this, all while tending to whatever angel business keeps him busy upstairs.
With that Cas' tongue flicks out, lapping like a fucking cat for Christ's sake and Dean has to bite into his lower lip to stifle an entirely obscene string of words. Cas works his mouth over the head of Dean's cock, wet heat engulfing him.
Meanwhile Cas' hand works in tandem, moving along the base and twisting as Cas swallows him down. Despite the damp chill in the air the room is suddenly a fucking furnace, and Dean can feel the flush crawling down his neck. His hips are moving again but Cas makes no move to stop him now, allowing Dean the stilted, forward thrusts and taking them all, moving in rhythm. His tongue is running along the vein of Dean's cock before Cas nearly pulls off, sucking the head and humming low in his chest.
"Fuck fuck fuck," the words are punctuated with a sharp gasp, Dean's fingers curling. "Cas," Dean warns when the angel sucks his length down again, and the final drag of Cas' lips is all it takes for Dean to buck forward and come, some sort of strangled groan escaping as Cas continues to suck him through it, pulling up and mouthing against the slit until Dean is much too sensitive and has to reach out with a hand to pull Cas off.
Cas rises, looking a bit more rumpled than when he first arrived, lips a bit more swollen and red. Dean pulls him in to mash their mouths together, tongue breaking through the seam of Cas' lips.
"Alright," Dean starts when they break apart, "I'm warmer, I'll give you that. How about we get you warmed up as well?"
"You do realize I am not affected by fluctuations in temperature."
"Just go with it," Dean mutters before peeling back Cas' trench coat, and it's a good thing Sam has learned by now not to return until they call him, Dean thinks.