Castiel decided that if he could not be an angel, than at least he'd be useful in other ways. Which is how he found himself under flickering fluorescent lights sorting piles of flannel and denim in the bunker's basement. It was quiet without Sam and Dean. Sometimes Castiel appreciated it; he liked the way he could roam through the library, adding notes and corrections – being useful. But other days, like today, the quiet made him lonely.
He picked up a soft flannel button up and shook it out, the smell of Winchesters fanning into the laundry room. They should be back soon; at least that's what Sam's text had said. Castiel let the thought ease his loneliness and the frustration that he could not be out on the hunt, that he was no longer useful in a way that mattered.
The feel of satin under his fingertips cut into his thoughts. As soon as Castiel looked down at the laundry pile, images of Dean and Sam driving down the endless road in the Impala disappeared. Sitting on top, pressed between his two fingers, was a pair of ladies panties.
Castiel dropped the item like it was on fire. He stared at it a moment before crouching to get an eyelevel point of view of the garment. When was the last time a human woman entered the bunker? He sincerely doubted it had been between the last time he did laundry – only last week – and today.
He reached a finger out to slide under a fold of the fabric, lifting the crumpled satin and lace. As they turned in his hand, a scent musky and so very Dean hit his nose.
He dropped them again, and took a step back as images of Dean – Dean in forest green satin and lace, the fabric stretched and barely holding him in; Dean coming out of the shower in only the tiny- Castiel sucked in a breath as a feeling he identified as arousal grew deep within him.
What should I do now? His pulse raced at the thought of touching the garment again but, he had been doing their laundry for months – surely, Dean could not have wanted him to find it. Right?
Dean, bending over his bed with satin pulling across his backside– Castiel couldn't stop the images. He closed his eyes against them, stepping forward to grab the panties and a handful of Dean's other clothes.
He threw them into the washing machine, slammed the lid shut and ran back to his room where he tried to think of anything else: his brothers and sisters in heaven, Sam and Dean hunting, cheeseburgers. Nothing could stem the barrage of Dean in satin panties. His hand flew to his own growing bulge as soon as the door closed against the empty bunker.
Castiel had experienced arousal before, had awoken in a wet spot from dreams of blurred faces touching him all over. He had recently started experimenting with different fantasies when the problem…arose, so to speak. But nothing had gotten him as hard as the thought of Dean wearing those panties under his jeans.
His hand fell to the zipper of his pants as he leaned against the bedroom door. He wouldn't even make it to the bed, he just grabbed two tissues from his nearby desk and stroked. Once, twice, his hand dragging over the bulge while the Dean in his mind cocked a hip, face transforming from its cocky smirk to flushed cheeks. Castiel came.
His head hit against the door as he took a steadying breath. He looked down at the crumpled, wet, tissue in his hand and, for a fleeting moment, wished it was green satin.
Dean needed a shower. His arm ached from the djinn twisting it behind his back and he had way too much of someone else's blood sticking to his hair. He bypassed his bed and moved straight to the bathroom down the hall. He spent his time letting the warm water pound against his aching muscles.
By the time he walked into his room, he was almost a sleepwalker. Castiel had tidied up, that much made it through his exhausted haze. Dean had tried to tell his friend that he didn't need to earn his keep, but it continued to fall on deaf ears.
He stopped short at the sight of a pile of folded, clean, laundry; a pair of satin green panties on top.
Adrenaline shot through Dean and he ran forward, twisted the should-be-hidden panties into his hand and shoved them into the nearest draw.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He pulled on some very plain white boxers and started pacing. Shit, this means Cas…
He could just imagine the confused former-angel lifting his –oh god, he had cum in those – panties, blinking with a tilted at them.
Oh, god.
He gripped his hair tightly and tried to ignore the twinge in his groin at the thought of someone, hell of Cas, finding out his secret. Fucking panties didn't mean anything when he slipped them under his jeans or spent a night sleeping in them but found in his laundry basket, that meant something.
It meant someone else knew and fuck it's not like he was a fulltime crossdresser – not that there was anything wrong with that – but it wasn't him. He just liked the feel of lace tightening around his cock.
People like shit, that's what people do.
What could Cas have thought? Dean didn't want to think about it but he couldn't help it – did he blush when he saw the panties? Did he even know what they were? Oh god, did he try them on himself?
Just the suggestion of Cas in his cum-stained satin panties made his cock twitch. He would not think about the reasons behind said twitch, no sir, not at all. Instead, he paced some more and tried to think of what he would tell Cas. If he even had to bring it up, maybe he could just sweep it under the rug. Maybe.
Cas woke early the next morning, filling a cup of coffee in a quiet kitchen. The quiet wasn't lonely anymore. He could hear Sam typing in the next room and knew that Dean would be waking up soon.
He hoped Dean wasn't angry with him. After Castiel's…indiscretion, he had continued with his laundry chore, moved on to cleaning the bathrooms and cataloguing the library like it was just another day.
Except it wasn't any other day.
He had kept busy and almost succeeded in keeping the thought of Dean in panties out of his mind, panties that must bring out the color of his eyes when he was panting and flushed and–
"Hiya, Cas," Dean's voice as he entered the kitchen knocked Cas from the unwanted vision. He must've turned bright red too because Dean cursed and brought his fingers to his temple, pressing away the tension and avoiding Castiel's eye.
"I guess we're gonna have to talk about this, then." Dean addressed the kitchen tile floor.
Castiel's eyes dropped below Dean's waist. Dean audibly groaned. Castiel spun back towards the coffee maker. "Would you like a cup?"
Changing the subject was a suitable way to avoid an awkward conversation, Dean had taught him that. Before the Hunter even answered Castiel turned and thrust a cup of too hot coffee into his friend's hand. It sloshed over the rim and onto his boxers.
Castiel blushed again.
"Oh for the love of – look, we don't have to act all awkward about this?"
"We don't?" Castiel asked because this certainly seemed to be the definition of awkward.
"No. People like pretty things sometimes, okay? Like Sam and his long hair."
Castiel watched Dean flutter his empty hand in the air like the gesture made the comment sensible.
"But Dean, Sam's hair isn't sexual."
"Ah, jeez Cas," Dean's own cheeks reddened. "Do you really have to say that word?"
Castiel tilted his head. "Sam?"
"No! Sexual."
"That is what this is, correct? Fetishism is almost as old as humans themselves, especially this one in particular. Although not always with the same garments. Throughout history it has often – "
"Okay, Cas, that's enough. Please stop saying fetish and sexual and, look, okay. Maybe it does have something to do with that, just a little, little, little bit. But really, it's just the colors and the fabric okay. I like the feeling of it or whatever. Nothing…weird."
It got much weirder two days later.
"Cas," Dean whispered as soon as he cornered his friend in the back of the library. "Why is there a shopping bag with pink tissue paper sitting on my desk?"
Castiel, for his part, had enough self-preservation to at least look ashamed. "You said you liked pretty things."
Dean's jaw clenched. "That doesn't mean you needed to go out and buy me something."
"Well- "
"And how did you even get it anyway, you drive to Victoria's Secret yesterday afternoon?"
"There's one in the nearby shopping mall and –"
"And what? You just waltzed in and asked for the largest size?" Dean's blood pressure rose, he watched his friend face morph from confusion to disgruntled. "Look it's not that I'm mad –"
"Based off your tone and the reddish hue to your face, I'd have to disagree."
Dean sighed. He didn't want his friend to think he was mad at him. "I'm just so used to keeping this a secret, you know? And now all of a sudden you're out on a shopping spree and ya, it's a little weird."
Castiel looked up, blue eyes meeting him and Dean realized how close they were. "Did you open them? How did you like them? Did you try them on?"
That deep voice asking Dean if he had tried them on, it turned husky at the thought of just the thought Dean in panties – unless that was his overactive imagination? Dean could only flush in response, all his anger dying and reincarnating into embarrassment.
"Not…really. The bag itself is a little telling." And a little exciting. Dean had never let himself go into the store, deeming it too public. No, only online orders of panties for Dean Winchester. Coming up here, to corner Cas had almost been a distraction from what his mind was truly occupied with: the panties.
He keeps saying "them" too, like there is more than one, or maybe a corset or something else. Dean had never let himself try on anything else but the panties and just the thought of it was getting him too excited, especially this close to Cas.
"I can return them, if you'd like."
"No!" Castiel raised an eyebrow, then blinked, waiting for Dean to say more. "It's just, you already went out and bought them and maybe – did you hear that?"
"What, Dean?"
"I think Sam is calling me."
"I did not hear anything, let alone Sam calling for you."
"No, I'm sure I heard it."
And then he ran. John Winchester had taught Dean that sometimes it takes more courage to escape than stay and fight, and hell this is one of those times.
He ends up back in his bedroom, face to face with the pink bag of hell. He couldn't even focus on anything else in the room. His heart pumping from his chest in the direction of what he knows is woman's lingerie. Bought for him, by Cas.
Dean took a deep breath. He knew he'd open the bag, he didn't have the strength not too. So what if maybe, just maybe, he took a little excitement from it.
He always wanted to push apart the pink tissue paper and it felt soft under his calloused fingertips. Inside the bag, he felt lace and ribbons and silk. Dean blushed and felt himself start to harden.
He turned the bag over and let five pair of panties fall to the bed. So many colors. Castiel had bought him a white frilly pair, a leather black one, red lace with ribbons, another green one made of cotton and a thong.
Dean had never owned a thong. This one was as pink as he knew his face was at the moment but god, had he always wanted one of these. He sometimes pulled up the single satin pair he owned up and into his ass just to feel the sensation.
Fuck, I don't know whether to sock Castiel in the face or kiss him, but I definitely know I won't be able to look him in the eye anytime soon….and I shouldn't think about kissing Cas.
He slid off his white plain boxers and slid on the white frilly pair slowly, letting the elastic stretch around the muscle of his thigh before settling against his fully hard cock. He hissed at the pressure, slid his body up the bed, and cupped his hand around the frills and his bulge. Slowly he moved his fist up and down as his eyes slipped closed.
Behind shut eyes he imagined walking around the bunker in his just his panties, swaying his hips to phantom music and making the frills shake with them. His fist clenched around his cock at the thought of curious blue eyes watching him from the library shelves and he came to thoughts of teasing a spying Castiel.
A month passed. Castiel sat next to Sam doing some research for an impending hunt. Dean had just walked into the room wearing sports shorts and a white tee shirt. The shorts clung against him as he bent over to grab a book from the nearby stack.
Castiel knew he should return his gaze to the book he was reading but he had become so in tune with Dean's movements over the past month. He just wanted to catch another glimpse.
The first time he saw the rim of red elastic under Dean's denim, Castiel had to make excuses to leave the room. He couldn't trust himself not to stare otherwise. Dean had a knowing smirk as he left.
The second time it was the black leather pair. Dean was climbing a ladder, Castiel beneath him. The man had been wearing the same shorts he was now and it was easy, too easy, to look up the leg of the shorts to see leather cupping a flaccid cock. Dean had to ask him to repeat the title of the book they were searching for three times. Castiel still doesn't know if he imagined Dean spreading his legs wider on the ladder or not.
This time, Castiel could easily see the thin strap of the thong slowly appearing while Dean's shorts slid down as Dean bent over. He watched, transfixed as more and more of the pink was revealed. Dean stood up quickly, pulling up his pants and looking over his shoulder, right at Castiel.
Luckily, a book hid Sam's face so he did not have to witness the blush that erupted across Castiel's face at Dean's wicked smile that followed. Castiel's groin tightened but he turned back to his book.
Dean was officially teasing him.
It went on for days. Dean kept finding excuses to bend over or lift up his shirt so a thin sliver of color would be revealed. It had to be intentional; Dean's smirk suggested nothing less.
Then, it got much worse.
They were on a hunt when Castiel sensed his grace.
