Bath Time

A series of shorts presented as chapters. Also available on my livejournal singthefuryhome, and my AO3 as karmascars.

Basically, Dean and Cas (and later Sam) in all sorts of water-based fun. No actual watersports, though, that's gross.

Bath Time #1: The Rubber Duck

"Dean, what is this?"

The hunter squints over at Castiel. "You're in the shadows, man, c'mere." He beckons with the hand least coated in gun oil, his other hand cradling the body of his pistol. When Castiel holds out the item in question, Dean's eyebrows shoot to the roof, and his lips purse in the way that Castiel has identified as Dean trying desperately not to laugh.

"That's a rubber duck," Dean announces, eyes sparkling. Castiel tilts his head to indicate confusion, which brings an entirely different smile to Dean's face. "Well, it's just... something kids play with, in the bathtub."

"Bathtub," Castiel echoes, brow furrowed. "A receptacle in the bathroom? Full of children?"

This time Dean does laugh, hearty guffaws that double him over, eventually dissolving into snorts and sniggers. When he can finally speak again, he does so through dying chuckles. "No, Cas, that's -" He casts his eyes ruefully into the dinky motel bathroom. "Next place we stay in, we'll find a garden tub. Ooh! Or a Jacuzzi. Everyone should experience jets at least once."

Castiel is vaguely aware of jet being a stone, and also perhaps a human conveyance of flight, but as usual, Dean's reference eludes him.

He trusts the hunter implicitly, though, and so resolves to simply wait and see.

. . .

Dean's got his arm swept out proudly over what, to Castiel, looks like a basin made of manufactured materials large enough for four human adults to sit inside. On what looks like uncomfortable shelves dotted with black rubber nozzles.

"Look at the size of this thing!" Dean rubs his hands together. "All right, let's get this baby fired up!"

Fire? Castiel turns to Dean in alarm. The hunter is muttering under his breath, something about bubbles. The angel opens his mouth but then Dean, pointing to the tub, says, "Turn those two knobs until the water is a good temperature, a little hot so it'll stay warm longer, but you don't wanna scald." He twists the cap off a bottle shaped like a man wearing a pointed mask and a long, black cape.

Dean sees him looking, and toasts him with the bottle. "Viva la bubble bath," he says seriously, and upends the entire bottle beneath the cascading faucet.

Immediately, pristine bubbles form, and Castiel is mesmerized. He sinks to his knees, as close up against the side of the tub as he can get, reaching out to poke one and sitting back stiff with a gasp when it pops. Then he pokes another, and another, then finally scoops some into his hand. The sudsy water drips down into his coat sleeve, but he doesn't care. "I have seen these form in the ocean," Castiel says in wonder, "but I had no idea they felt like this. Or could smell like - what is that?" He turns and looks up at Dean, who smiles down at him. "It's Bat-berry," the hunter says, smile becoming a grin.

Castiel doesn't understand, but he puts that from his mind when before him, Dean undergoes a transformation: his neck, ears, and cheeks flush red, he no longer meets Castiel's eyes, and his fingers fidget. Quickly as thought Castiel stands, his sodden arm dripping on the tile. "Dean, what is it?" he asks urgently.

A little laugh. "Uh, I was just gonna - uh, did you wanna get in?"

Confusion.

"Um, in there," Dean mumbles, gesturing curtly to the bath. "Oh!" Castiel says. "But, my clothes will get wet." If possible, Dean flushes even redder.

"You, uh, y'don't wear clothes in a bath."

"Oh." And instantly Castiel is nude, his clothes appearing folded on the closed toilet lid. Dean gapes and whirls, and stammers with his back turned, "Okay, then, leave you to it," and makes to escape.

"Dean." Castiel stands helplessly beside the tub, fingers moving restlessly, naked and a little chilly. "What do I do?"

Dean's shoulders are stiff. "You climb in, and sit down. Then when you're in there, press the button for the jets."

Water sloshes a comfortable temperature over Castiel's skin as he steps in. He settles gingerly on one of the plastic seats - just as uncomfortable as he's anticipated - and reaches for the button.

A sharp sting of pressure hits his back and he yelps, twisting away from it only to encounter another. "Dean!" he calls frantically, but the hunter is laughing again, eyes wide over the hand clapped he's clapped to his mouth in a desperate attempt to silence himself. "Cas," Dean snorts when he can, "that's the jets, man, relax." He moves toward the wall, crouches and pats an odd, foam pillow attached to that side of the tub. "And nobody sits in a Jacuzzi! Come over here and lie down."

Castiel creeps through the water toward Dean and wonders to himself at the hunter's full-body shudder.

Dean won't look at him again. He's turning off the faucet. "Dean," Castiel says, settling back against the pillow and finding it satisfactory. Dean pretends not to hear him, drying his hands on a towel. "Well, enjoy," he says, his voice gruffer than usual, and he keeps his eyes cast away as he turns to leave.

"Dean."

The hunter's head snaps up, his eyes track to Castiel's unerringly and Castiel feels a rush at what he sees there. "Do you want to join me?" the angel asks, poking idly at the bubbles, trying to appear completely relaxed. "It's... nice."

Dean blinks. Blinks again, shakes his head. "No, no, I don't do baths," he says, and turns once again to the door.

Castiel draws a deep breath. "Dean, I would very much like for you to share this experience with me."

"No..." Dean's fingers ripple, clench and unclench. "I don't think that's such a good idea."

"Dean, please."

Green eyes burn holes into storm-sky blue. Dean takes off his shirt. Boots, socks and pants follow, but he leaves his boxers on. The red flush runs down his back and chest as he steps in and settles across from Castiel, perching on one of the seats.

Then, despite his reticence, Dean melts under the jets with a dirty moan. Castiel feels a stirring where he's sitting and shifts, with the barest frown. "Cas," Dean says loosely, "you made the right call."

"You should try this other pillow," Castiel says, settling into his. "They looked uncomfortable but they are actually quite serviceable."

"Nah, that's your side," Dean says dismissively, trying different angles in his seat. Castiel really does frown at that. "But you would be much more comfortable on the -"

"Damnit, Cas!" Dean snaps. "Are you trying to kill me?"

Castiel's eyes fly wide. "No, Dean, we are working to save you!"

"Cas..." Dean groans. "I got in. I'm sitting. Isn't that good enough?"

"I just want you to be comfortable!" Castiel explodes, both in voice and up out of the water, surging over to the hunter and planting both hands on Dean's thighs. "You run yourself ragged," he says earnestly, noting how at this distance (or lack thereof) he can map all the hidden symbols in Dean's freckles. "You drive and hunt and drink and all on very little sleep, just so -"

"Cas," Dean chokes out. "Personal space."

Castiel searches Dean's eyes, or tries to, but Dean keeps evading his gaze. He dips and dodges trying to catch Dean's eyes until one of his hands slips, inward, and his fingers snag on something that knocks a ragged gasp out of Dean. "Fuck!" the hunter snarls, twisting his hips to the side. "Get back on the other side, Cas!"

The angel just stares, not comprehending. "But, Dean -"

"Cas, please!" Dean sounds strained. The bolt of his jaw is twitching.

"Dean." The angel, eternally patient, rubs up against Dean's leg. "We are the same."

Dean's mouth falls open at the contact so Castiel does it again, and again, delighting so in Dean's reactions that he almost doesn't notice how good the friction feels. "Dean," Castiel says happily, sliding a hand into Dean's boxers and freeing the hunter's engorged cock, smiling benevolently when Dean moans and tilts his head back, looking at Castiel, incredulous. "Cas, where did you?..."

"I have seen you and Sam by yourselves -" "Ahaha, okay, cardinal rule: no - ah! talking about my brother while you're mmm touching me like this." Castiel twists his wrist, thumbs over the head and Dean jerks forward, knocking into Castiel and they're falling into the water, Dean's lips finding his as their heads go under.

They surface, laughing, streaming soapy water, Castiel still with a firm grip on Dean and Dean's just trying to kiss him again. "Oh, Cas," Dean says, "fucking hell, man," and his rough hunter's hand has found Castiel beneath the water. They trade strokes and rhythm and whimpers, Castiel seeking Dean's mouth with his own, completely unable to control his hips. It's so wet and so hot and so good, jets pummeling him with speeding bubbles, connected to Dean by hands and mouth. Castiel breathes greedily into Dean's mouth, chasing his tongue with his own.

Dean slides and wriggles, their erections line up and the friction drives a high, clear noise from Castiel. Dean laughs, but the sound is aroused and breathy; he bucks his hips into Castiel's, hard, their slide cushioned by the water. Dean kisses him again, and Castiel feels something like an electric warmth building in his nethers, forcing light from his veins and out through his skin. It feels fantastic. "Mmph, Dean, I feel -"

"Shh, let it go, buddy, let it go," Dean pants, cupping Castiel's head in his hands, working his hips snap-two-three-four – Castiel throws his head back on a sharp cry and comes, thick pulses into the water. His entire body tenses, minute little shakes in his limbs, his vision graying out – Dean noses into his neck and bites, Castiel cries out and Dean's coming, seizing over Castiel, heat rushing from his cock and he grinds it into Castiel's sensitive flesh.

Castiel lets out a feeble cry but it's swallowed by Dean's open-mouthed, lazily hungry kiss. "Cas, shit," Dean says, dazed and happy, laying his head on Castiel's chest. Castiel ducks his head to place a panting kiss on Dean's head, the water-beaded hair tickling his nose, filling it with the muted scent of Dean Winchester, berry bubbles, and the water itself.

Their breathing slows together.

"Ah!" Castiel sits bolt upright. Dean's on alert beside him; Castiel turns, eyes wide. "I forgot the duck!"

Dean collapses back in the water with a roll of his eyes and an exaggerated sigh.

"I suppose," Castiel says, his voice inexplicably rougher than usual, "that means we'll have to do this again."

Laughing softly, eyes closed, Dean nods against the foam pillow.

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