The days passed in a flurry of activity. According to Singer, their first public appearance was slated for early June, exactly a month from their signing date, and by then they needed to present the polished, finished air of a more seasoned, experienced band – the kind of image that usually took teams of studio people a year to put together. To accomplish that end, endless days and nights of little sleep were spent practicing their music until Castiel lost track of whether he was awake or asleep, the songs consumed him so entirely. They all began to look rundown, unless the makeup crew had been at them, in which case they all looked so perfect that they might have been caricatures of themselves, appearances resembling that of air brushed cover models.
Every evening, Castiel and Dean practiced together in Castiel's room. At first, he dismissed it as normal – there parts were often similar, which made it imperative that they know be familiar with each other's parts so that they'd know when they sang together and when they didn't, lest the instinct to accompany each other take over and they make a mistake. However, the small signs that Dean was flirting kept accumulating. He'd crack jokes, give Castiel that dazzling smile, choose to join Castiel on the loveseat even with the vast expanse of the sofa unoccupied, wait lingeringly in the doorway eying Castiel's lips, find excuses to brush touches against Castiel's skin – all manner of things that made him increasingly irresistible and made the small voice in Castiel's mind that screamed that it was all in Castiel's head more and more difficult to credit.
The makeover crew had made changes to each of them, expertly branding them each with a personality meant to obvious just by looking at them. Where Castiel had favored simple slacks, button down shirts and ties, a mirror to what he'd worn for years in religious school, he'd surrendered to their changes and now spent every day in slacks similar yet strangely different in cut and style, brightly colored shirts, vests, spiky hair and thick-rimmed glasses he didn't need. Castiel was glad it wasn't a dramatic change; Jo had nearly flipped the table she was sitting at when they'd shown her the goth-punk-pop look they wanted her to wear, but like the rest of them, she wore it. Victor complained almost as loudly about his baggy pants and basketball jerseys, he knew full well he was being made into the stereotype of a black teen, but he also accepted it. It wasn't like they had any choice, so they might as well embrace their new images, and Castiel thought that not only did the outfits take into account their personalities, they also looked interesting and, somehow, worked together, mostly through subtle use of unifying colors. The only one of them thrilled with the change was Garth, who now had more pairs of skinny jeans than anyone should need and a startling array of geeky t-shirts, all of which sported logos and characters that he could name; his stylist Charlie and he had bonded instantly over the incomprehensible garments. Dean's wardrobe had been switched from his leather jacket to loose jeans, big chunky boots, fitted t-shirts, and plaid button ups worn open with the sleeves rolled up, showing an impressive tattoo of a beautiful blonde woman covering his forearm, stylized to look like stained glass. The executives had decided that the tattoo was a good nod to Dean's "bad boy" attitude, while the subject matter showed he had a heart of gold – it was of his mother who had died six years ago, when he when Dean was 12.
When Castiel saw the beautiful art, his memories stirred again, but try as he might he'd not been able to remember. He longed to ask Dean, but Dean had given him no openings since that first night to ask if they knew each other and Castiel hadn't been able to bring himself to broach the topic. Castiel had sung with so many other children his life, from his own church and from others, that he could scarce remember more than a blur of endless, youthful faces, none of which resembled Dean. Puberty had surely changed all of them beyond recognition, Castiel included, and try as he might the name Dean Winchester brought no one to mind, nor did searching the internet for the name tell him anything of value, there were dozens of people named Dean Winchester, including some he thought might be the "right" Dean Winchester, but none were anyone related to choral singing, nor did any show pictures of a youth Castiel could remember singing with.
Castiel thought there was at least a chance Dean liked him. For his part, Castiel was rapidly crossing from having a crush to being completely obsessed. Every time Dean smiled at him, every time the light caught Dean's deep green eyes, every time a flush of embarrassment brought out the smattering of freckles over the bridge of Dean's nose, every time their skin brushed, Castiel's breath quickened and he felt a rush of blood to his heart and his cheeks and his dick. The previous weekend they'd had an honest-to-God day off and Dean and the others had spent it in the hotel courtyard, alternating between swimming in the gorgeous bright blue pool and lounging in their swim suits. Dean had only recently turned 18, and whereas Castiel's shoulders were starting to fill out to the shape of adulthood, Dean was still every inch a lanky boy, tall and slim, muscular and gorgeous. Castiel had originally planned to join them but he'd begged off only barely having to fake feeling sick and exhausted, instead sitting on his patio reading, watching, and waving whenever one the others noticed him. The book had been a pretext, mostly he'd watched his band mates – his friends, he thought with a happy glow, for wonderfully they did all get along. Dean had flirted effortlessly with Jo, horse-played with Garth, gotten into a good-natured argument with Victor loud enough that Castiel could hear it from his balcony, and Castiel had felt like a heel for staying away, wished he had the courage to be around Dean. He couldn't, though. Swim trunks didn't hide erections and there was no way Castiel could have been close to Dean so scantily clad without being overcome by the desire that buzzed permanently beneath his skin whenever Dean was near him.
Every night after Dean left his room, Castiel retreated to his shower and jerked off. The need was mortifying, but he couldn't help it. Had he not been so tired, had their workload not been so heavy, he thought he might have been able to control his desire, but he was so exhausted all the time that there was no fighting it. Dean was beautiful and kind and talented and extremely hard working, and Castiel wanted him so much it was starting to drive him nuts. He honestly considered asking Dean not to come over in the evenings, he could easily pretend he wanted more sleep. Dean need never know it was because Castiel was finding it increasingly hard to sit near him and not push him into the couch, kiss him breathless and rut their crotches together until, moaning, they both came in their pants.
As the day of their TV appearance neared, Garth and Victor showed increasing signs of panic, and the more experienced three worked to keep them calm and remind them it was like any other performance. Castiel had been on TV so many times he'd lost track and Jo's exposure on YouTube meant she was past any performance qualms. It was less clear why Dean wasn't bothered – either he had past experience he hadn't discussed and that Castiel hadn't found while Googling him, or he simply wasn't phased by the prospect – but regardless, he seemed a picture of calm that even Castiel found reassuring.
Unsurprisingly, they needn't have worried.
The appearance went off without a hitch. No, better than that, it went off stellarly. All of them had been prepped on what kinds of questions they'd be asked and how they should answer, regardless of the truth. All of them had been primped and polished and styled to within an inch of their lives. All of them had learned the two songs they'd be performing so well they could have sang them in their sleep. When they finished their segment, they all were matched in exuberance: racing hearts, cheeks so flushed that red showed through the makeup they wore, sweaty brows. In the warm afterglow of a stunning performance. Garth gave them all enormous hugs, then did it again; Jo couldn't stop laughing at everything; Vic kept staring in to space and nodding at nothing with an approving smile; and Dean beamed at each of the others in turn, beamed at the tattoo on his arm, beamed at his phone. A small, hopeful part of Castiel thought the most unrestrainedly happy looks were reserved for him, but he tried not to put stock in it.
Their segment aired at 7 that night. Social media exploded with talk about The Next Big Thing and Castiel was relieved to find most of what was said was extremely positive – and the things that were negative were precisely what he'd anticipated. There was always a subsection of the populace that would denigrate a band like theirs the instant they came out; some people were also pointedly offended at how there was only one woman among the winners, only one person of color, and that Victor's outfit was ghastly bad. There was no preventing there being some negative attention, but their target audience – teen girls – seemed thrilled. Of all of them, Vic and Jo got the most attention, both positive and negative, but there were several gushing diatribes about Castiel's eyes that left him blushing, Dean's tattoo was a hit, and the geekier crowd took to Garth and his boxy ears, thrilled to see someone who wasn't perfectly polished among the crowd.
It wasn't late when they got back to the hotel. As spring edged towards summer, the sun was up later and later, and when he entered his room Castiel was greeted by a gorgeous sunset streaming through the window, painting his hotel room pink and orange. The next day they'd be moving to studio apartments rented and furnished for them by the label, rooms on the same floor of the same building to facilitate their work, encourage them to practice together, and make it easier for the label to transport them and keep an eye on their behavior. Castiel had a feeling it would feel a lot like living in a dormitory and he was excited about it. They'd grown close the past month. It was such a relief that not only did they sing well together and look good together, they actually got along. Exhausted, unable to bring himself to pack for the move the next morning, Castiel threw himself on his bed. Surrendering to the inevitable, he burrowed into his blankets and let his eyes slip shut.
The shrill ring of the room phone woke Castiel to darkness. Fumbling, he flipped the bedside lamp on and spotted the long-ignored phone on a desk across the room. He stumbled over as quickly as he could, scrubbing fatigue from his eyes.
"Hello?"
"Cassie!" shrieked Anna. Castiel moved the phone from his ear to protect against the earsplitting volume. "Oh my God, oh my God, I saw your show, you guys are so, so, so good, I can't believe it!" His younger sister was 16 and smack in the midst of their target demographic. "And you looked fantastic – but kind of tired – Hannah didn't think so but I thought so, are you getting enough rest? Are you eating enough? Does the studio pay you well? Why haven't you answered my texts? Did they take your cell phone away? I thought they must have taken your cell phone away, but then today I remembered you'd told me the name of the hotel and I realized I could call your room but I had to wait until mom and dad went to bed because if anyone mentions your name Dad gets really angry and Mom starts to cry and Gabe storms up to his room and so we just don't talk about you."
Stunned speechless by her verbal onslaught, Castiel stared at the phone, mouth agape. He hadn't thought about his cell in weeks, he wasn't even sure where he'd put it. Looking at it had only made him sad, and he'd not bothered to charge it when the battery had died.
"I'll be right back," he stammered.
"Oh…okay," she replied uncertainly, enthusiasm painfully dimmed by his lackluster response.
Setting the receiver down on the desk, he scrambled across the room, searching around the bed, near the couches, finally finding the phone stashed in the drawer of his night stand and his charger plugged in behind the TV. Taking both over to the desk, he plugged it into the base of the lamp and waited for it to turn on as he returned to Anna.
"I'm so sorry, Anna," managed Castiel. "I still have my phone but I haven't been charging it. I assumed mom and dad would stop paying for it, and since dad is furious at me, there didn't seem to be any point in trying to use it. Um…what else did you ask? The studio makes sure we get food, but no, I don't really get enough sleep. The pay is good, and we don't need to spend much of it, they're taking care of our housing in Houston. Even if we fail, I should come out of this with enough money to pay for college." He hoped to pay for her college as well, but that was a conversation for another time, when he was sure he'd saved enough. "How are things with you?"
"Not bad," she said calmly enough that Castiel could hold the phone close again. "Things at home have been really tense so I've been hanging out at Hannah's a lot, that's how I was able to watch you today. I think dad would have had a fit if I'd tried to turn it on in the living room. Is Jo really as dreamy as she seems?" Castiel started at her tone, wondering if he'd imagined the almost worshipful note to it.
"I don't know…I guess? She's really smart and she's a great singer. She keeps saying she hates her look, but she wore one of those outfits on her day off so I think she secretly likes them, at least the flouncy skirts and the knee-high boots. Have you looked up her YouTube stuff yet? She and her friend Ash and a few others had a group called Harvelcapella, they're really good. I think you'd like them, they do a capella remixes of pop songs. How is school?"
"Ooooh, I'll check it out!" Castiel's phone made a quiet ding as it turned on. Impatient, he picked it up, wishing it'd load faster so he could see the texts that Anna apparently had sent him. "School's been fine. You know how it is there, it's exactly the same as it was before you left. But my grades are high and swim team is good and dad is happy to boast about me now that you're gone. Anyway, all of us have been getting away with all kinds of stuff 'cause dad's so pissed at you. Gabe can't decide if he wants to hit him or pray that this reprieve lasts forever. He keeps joking about sending you a medal; I think if he had your address he'd actually do it. So what about Dean?"
The message screen finally loaded and Castiel's eyes filled with tears. He had more than fifty messages from his sister, several dozen from his brother Gabriel, a handful from Uriel, and thirty three from his mother Naomi. There were none from his father or his other siblings. Finger trembling, he flicked to the ones from his mom.
Mom (May 4th, 7:12 AM): Castiel, I wanted you to know that regardless of what your father says, you'll always be my son and I love you.
Mom (May 4th, 6:34 PM): I understand if you're upset and don't want to talk about this right now, but please always know that I'm here if you ever need me for anything. What Michael doesn't know won't hurt him.
Mom (May 5th, 7:01 AM): I love you, Castiel.
"Cassie?" asked Anna.
Mom (May 6th, 7:23 AM): I love you, Castiel.
"I'm sorry – what?"
Mom (May 7th, 6:44 AM): I love you, Castiel.
"I asked you about Dean."
Mom (May 8th, 7:11 AM): I love you, Castiel.
"What about him?"
Mom (May 9th, 7:11 AM): I love you, Castiel.
So it went, every single morning since he'd left, a single text from her declaring her simple, unconditional support. Shaking uncontrollably, Castiel clicked on the text box to reply. He could hardly concentrate, had no idea what to say, too upset by his mother's words to focus on his conversation with Anna.
Mom (June 4th, 7:41 AM): I love you, Castiel.
Castiel (9:52 PM): I love you too, mom.
"He can't take his eyes off you. I mean…" she dropped to a whisper. "Cassie, I know you're…I thought you were….I mean…you're gay, aren't you?"
He dropped his cell phone with a clatter. "Wha…I mean…why would you…no! Of course not!"
"Oh come on, I've known forever, it was really obvious! Um…I think…" she hesitated, then said in a rush, "I think I am too. I mean, I like girls. But sometimes I also think I like boys."
"You might be bi," he said numbly, staring at the keypad on the phone screen as if it could tell him what else he should say.
"What's that?"
"Bisexual – you might like boys and girls," he clarified.
"That's a thing? Yeah, that'd be perfect! I'm bi, Cassie, so I don't care if you're gay," she said in a squeaky, excited half-whisper that probably carried through the thin walls of their home easily. His parents were probably hearing every word. For himself, he didn't care, he couldn't be more disowned, but he didn't want anything bad to happen to Anna.
"That's, um, that's great."
"So, you and Dean?"
"No…it's not…I mean," he took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair, wishing that the gesture could somehow contain his scattered thoughts. "It's not like that, I don't think? I don't know, he's never said anything."
"Oh! But if he did say something…"
Castiel blushed crimson. "…yeah…?"
"You'd hit that, wouldn't you?"
"Anna!"
"You would!"
Mom (9:56 PM): I'm here anytime, Castiel. Please take care of yourself. You looked thin during the interview. You're taking care of yourself, aren't you? Don't let them work you too hard!
"Anna, I—"
"Dean and Cassie, sittin' in a tree—"
"What are you, ten?"
"F-U-C-K-I-N-G!"
"ANNA!"
"First comes love, then comes marriage – that's legal now, you know! – then comes—"
"Jesus, Anna!"
"No, Cassie, Jesus doesn't have anything to do with that!"
"Look – I've gotta go. We're moving tomorrow, so you won't be able to call me at this line, but I'll go get a new cell phone and I'll text the number to you, okay?"
"Fine, fine." Her laughter was like a breath of fresh air to his tired soul. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed his family until he heard her voice. "You'll call me?"
"I promise."
"Good night, Cassie."
"Good night, Anna."
Castiel (10:01 PM): You watched the interview?
Mom (10:03 PM): It's book club night. I was at Meg's house.
Mom (10:04 PM): We all watched together. It wasn't a very good book anyway.
Mom (10:04 PM): Your father will come around eventually.
Mom (10:05 PM): You sang like an angel, Cassie. I'm so proud of you.
Castiel (10:06 PM): Thanks, mom.
Mom (10:08 PM): So, what about Dean?
Castiel's heart skipped a beat. God, was Dean being that obvious? It was only the past couple days that Castiel had begun to think that maybe he wasn't imagining Dean's interest. And his mother's question implied understanding, maybe even acceptance…
Mom (10:09 PM): He's grown so much! It's such a pity about his mother, she was very sweet.
Shocked, Castiel exclaimed aloud and tried to think how to ask her about it without sounding like an idiot.
Castiel (10:10 PM): There's something so familiar about him, but I can't remember!
Mom (10:12 PM): Oh, Cassie, don't be ridiculous, of course you remember! Dean Campbell and his mother Mary?
Dean Campbell, he remember. Dean Campbell, Castiel would never forget. Dean was the youth soloist for his mother's evangelical church, famous for his high voice, and the two churches had decided to record them together. They'd ended up making three albums over three successive Christmas', but then Dean's mother had died in a car accident and Dean had stopped answering the occasional letters Castiel sent and Castiel's heart had broken. Dean's younger brother, Sam, had become even more famous than Dean had and still performed with their father. When Castiel had finally secured permission to sign up for Facebook, he'd tried to find Dean but hadn't had any luck.
Dean Campbell, Castiel's first crush, his first kiss, his first clue that maybe he wasn't like the other boys he knew.
There was a resemblance, he reflected. Dean used to have long hair that covered his ears and his neck, the brown so light it was nearly blonde. A thick spread of freckles had covered his nose and cheeks, and his eyes, his eyes were so green. His voice was high and boyish, beautiful and rich when he sang, and he'd always learned music with an alacrity that Castiel had envied. His mother had been as close to an angel in appearance and attitude as Castiel had ever met, sweet and loving and kind and beautiful, and she clearly doted on her sons.
All of the niggling memories suddenly clicked. Puberty had worked a lot of changes, Dean had grown a lot, his hair darkened, his voice nearly unrecognizable.
Of course I didn't recognize him.
His freckles were exactly the same, though, and his pink lips, and his stunning green eyes.
He recognized me.
The tattoo of his mother was the spitting image of Mary, aside from the abstraction introduced by transforming her image to that of stained glass.
God, I'm such an idiot.
Mom (10:15 PM): You really don't remember? Winchester is their real name, they just went by Campbell for performing and preaching because of the connections that Mary had through the church her father had founded. The Campbell's were famous, so they used that name to help the boys get more attention.
Castiel (10:17 PM): I really didn't remember. But now I do. I'm sorry, mom, I have to go. I'll text you in the morning, okay?
Mom (10:18 PM): Sleep tight, my angel!
Castiel barely took in her parting words as he set the phone down. His first steps across the room were calm and measured, but his heart was pounding in his ears so loudly he could hardly think, his bare toes curling against the carpet, his breaths coming increasingly fast. He was walking as fast as he could by the time he reached the door, pulled it open, and stepped into the hall. It slammed behind him as he sprinted to the staircase. The tiled floor of the stairs slapped painfully against the soles of his feet as he leapt up the two flights separating their rooms. He crashed into the wall as he careened around the corner at the top of the stairs, jerked the emergency door open and bolted down the long hallway, the identical doors on both sides making the distance to the far end seem endless. He was gasping by the time he got there, heart racing, and he pounded heavily against the thin wood.
"Who's there?" called Dean, muffled by distance and the door.
"It's Cas," he panted. "Castiel."
A moment later the door opened to show him a sleep-ruffled, shocked Dean Winchester, looking wide eyed and young and so damn familiar that Castiel couldn't believe he hadn't put it together previously.
"Cas, what's the—"
He's just so damn irresistible!
Castiel threw his arms around Dean's neck and pulled their mouths together. It was sloppy and ridiculous, Dean's lips met Castiel's nose, Castiel's hit Dean's jawbone, but he didn't care, Castiel kissed the hollow of Dean's cheek, the corner of his mouth, found Dean's warm lips and pressed their mouths together eagerly. Pleasure bubbled through him, such a relief after all his wondering, all his self-denial, all his worrying and trying to remember.
"Cas?" Dean whispered uncertainly against his mouth. He'd scarce reciprocated, standing as if paralyzed.
"I remember," said Cas, breath heavy against Dean's mouth. Unable to resist, he kissed Dean again. "I remember." A faint groan died in Dean's throat as he leaned into Castiel, wrapped his arms around Castiel's back, kissed him back. "I never forgot you." Dean's tongue teased at his lips and Castiel opened to him delightedly, sucking at his tongue, drawing another faint groan. "I could never forget you." Their tongues flicked together and apart, Castiel lapping at Dean's lips, his teeth, he tasted like soda and musk and something Castiel couldn't place but was as familiar as the smell of Dean's skin, the feel of Dean's arms around him. "I just didn't realize you were you."
"It's okay," Dean said fervently, peppering Castiel's mouth with brief, frantic kisses, in between which he manage, "It's okay. It's my fault anyway. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I should have written you back, I should have—"
"Oh man," said Jo's voice behind them. Starting, Castiel shook off Dean's arms and leapt around to see her, Garth and Vic standing in the hallway staring at them. "Wait until the media finds out. They're gorgeous and they're gay for each other. We're gonna be the biggest thing since Britney."
"Just don't get bitchy and break up," Victor added bluntly. "You'll screw up the band. This is a good thing we've got going."
"Don't worry," said Dean, snaking an arm possessively around Castiel's waist, another over his shoulder. Castiel melted back into the contact, releasing a deflating sigh of relief. Dean was hot and solid behind him, a reassuring body pressed against his own. "Now that I've got him back, I'm never letting him go."
Desperate kisses punched light behind Castiel's eyes. As much as he wanted to watch Dean, wanted to stare at him, wanted to trace every way that the boy had become a man and soak up how gorgeous every part of him was, he couldn't keep his eyes open, couldn't bring himself to both look and feel as strong hands tugged his shirt up, ran up and down his sides, kneaded at his back. Every touch was electric, perfect, new and forbidden and everything he'd wanted.
"Lost near a year of my life after mom died," breathed Dean between kisses. Castiel pushed him down on the bed, straddled his waist, slipped hands beneath his shirt to rub against the heated skin beneath, brush through the thin covering of hair. "After that I felt like such a jerk for not writing you back, and I wasn't singing any more 'cause my voice dropped and I—" Curious what reaction he'd get, Castiel flicked a finger over Dean's nipple, felt the flesh instantly pucker. Dean broke off with a gasp that turned into a groan as Castiel gently tweaked the nub between two of his fingers, rubbing and twisting. "Christ, Cas, that feels awesome." Dean's hands locked firm around Castiel's butt, forced their hips together. Sensation beyond anything Castiel had imagined fired through his body as their hard erections brushed, Dean's pajama bottoms scarce containing him, Castiel's jeans confining him uncomfortably. "I'd screwed up so bad, hadn't sent you anything at all, convinced myself you no longer wanted to hear from me—"
"Damn it, Dean—"
"I'm sorry," Dean caught Castiel's lower lip as he sucked an urgent kiss against Castiel's mouth and rutted up from the bed to brush them together.
"Dean—"
"I'm sorry," Dean whispered again, loud groan a strange counterpoint to the soft, tender words. "I didn't mean to—"
"Would you shut up and get my cock out already?" Castiel snarled, eyes flashing open to show him Dean's expression, momentary stunned then slipping into a dopey grin. Dean's hands left his sides to fumble at the buttons, taut at the crotch of Castiel's fitted jeans. Sitting back, Castiel traced his nails lightly over Dean's chest and stomach, caught the elastic of his pants and freed Dean's dick, red and curved, moist at the tip, oh-so tempting and beautiful, everything he'd been fantasizing about for a month.
Longer than that, God, so much longer, I've been dreaming about this dick since I hit puberty.
With a triumphant cry, Dean got the button undone and lowered the zipper and Castiel moaned at relief that the fabric was no longer digging at him, noise shattering into a broken, guttural groan as Dean's fingers slipped through the slit in Castiel's boxers, tentatively brushed against Castiel's aching dick and pulled him free. Need, urgent and hot and frantic for physical contact, consumed him: need for more touch, for more contact, to feel Dean move against him, feel Dean's hands on his body; need to thrust and fill and be filled and suck and kiss and taste. It felt like going mad. Burying a hand in Dean's hair, fingers tight against Dean's scalp, Castiel bent low once more to kiss him deeply, bringing their hips close, urgently thrusting their bodies together so that at every pass their dicks bumped and brushed, smearing each other with drops of pre-come.
Frantic panting broke fragmented their kisses, the only sound a low growl deep in Dean's chest. Castiel's free hand went to Dean's nipples once more – he adored the reaction he'd provoked the first time. One of Dean's hands settled low on Castiel's spine, urging him on, urging him to press their bodies together more closely. The other snaked between their bodies, wrapped around both their dicks, slotted them together so that every pass brushed velvety soft skin against velvety soft skin, the way smoothed by only sweat and the early release beading from each of their slits. Castiel's body felt hot as it never had before, his thoughts consumed by how fantastic it felt, his only priority to keep moving to ensure that the feeling never ended, ensure that it grew, ensure that Dean felt the same way. In between sloppy kisses that left both of their mouths and cheeks slick with saliva, Castiel whispered Dean's name like a prayer.
All at once, it was too much sensation, too much pleasure, and Castiel climaxed with a groan, desperately pumping into Dean's grip, spurting sticky come onto Dean's hand and belly.
"Cas…" Dean groaned. Dean's hand stroked more urgently, his body going rigid, hips straining against where Castiel's weight pinned him to the bed. Awkwardly, Castiel reached between them, cupped Dean's cock in his hand, helped Dean to stroke. "Castiel…fuck…" He groaned again, his dick surged in Castiel's grip, and he came, his release mixing with Castiel's and beading thickly, pooling on Dean's belly and rolling down his side as he took huge, surging breaths.
Slumping with sudden fatigue, Castiel curled over Dean, panting, a drop of sweat tracing down his forehead and around his eye. There was a long pause, then Dean surged up from the bed, wrapped his arms around Castiel's back, pulled their bodies together. There was a ridiculous squelching sound as the come caught wetly between them and Dean flushed crimson, his freckles pale by contrast. Laughing, Castiel kissed him lightly on the cheek, again and again, until Dean's embarrassment faded into rueful chuckles.
"First time?" Dean asked, stroking gently along Castiel's back.
"Yeah." With a happy sigh, Castiel settled into a more comfortable position, easing against Dean's body, stretching his legs out so that they interlaced with Dean's.
"Me too" confessed Dean.
"Really?"
"Really. Got close a few times…but…" Dean squirmed and Castiel looked up to see him staring towards the curtained window, cheeks pink again. "Um…none of them were you…man, I had such a crush on you...I told myself to get over it, that I was never gonna see you again and I was being an idiot, but I couldn't get you out of my head. When I saw you here, I thought damn was I one lucky bastard to get a second chance. That first night I thought you must know me, and I wasn't sure that was a good thing. When you didn't remember, I figured that was even better, it meant wouldn't remember what an asshole I was. But it wasn't better – I couldn't seem to get your attention, couldn't get you take me seriously."
"Well, you did keep flirting with Jo," Castiel scolded. "You could have said something to me, Dean."
"So coulda you! You wouldn't even give me a hint, I didn't want to make a move if you weren't interested, I've gotta work with you for, like, years after this, how awkward would a failed pass be?"
Smiling, Castiel conceded the point with a nod and a shrug of his shoulders. "You're forgiven," he murmured, sucking lightly at Dean's neck.
Castiel had no idea how long passed as they quietly lay together, pressed close. Their bodies calmed, quieted, their breathing grew even. Slowly, Castiel ceased to feel like he was burning with desire; instead he felt calm, at peace, happy, comfortable in his own skin in a way that felt unfamiliar. The hour grew later, the only sound the periodic rush of air as the air conditioner turned on and off. Dean grew so still that Castiel thought he must have fallen asleep; he shifted so that Dean wouldn't be smothered beneath his weight, painting a light kiss over Dean's cheek as he moved.
"Would you think I'm crazy if I said I love you?" whispered Dean.
"I love you too, Dean."
The arms around Castiel tightened, Dean's body rippled appealingly beneath his, and the feeling of heat pooled in his gut once more.
"You're my next big thing," Dean said with a smirk.
"Well, however else you may have changed, your jokes still suck," Castiel grinned, sitting up beside Dean and wiggling out of his pants.
"Bull, you think I'm hilarious."
"No, I think you're adorable."
Dean punched him playfully in the arm and tumbled Castiel to the bed. The mattress bounced, the blankets shifted, and at some point rough housing gave way once more to heavy breathing, needy kisses, wandering hands. Dean was pulling his shirt over his head, Castiel was tugging his pajamas aside to show him Dean's cock half-hard and twitching, they were both rubbing together to feel the brush of skin on skin, leaking moans into the otherwise quiet night.
"Ready for another go?"
"God, yes!"
"All mine, angel – you're all mine."
"As long as I can say the same about you, Dean."
"Always, Cas. I might be an idiot, but I'm all yours."
"Perfect. Now, are you going to put that in my mouth, or do I have to come over there and get it?"
"Holy shit...where'd a choir boy like you learn to talk like that, Cas?"
"Fantasizing about you for a decade."
Dean groaned, and neither of them said another word for a long, long time.
It was easily the best night of Castiel's life.
End note:
So, it's only barely explicit in this story but I decided to make Castiel's mom Naomi. I considered my options (basically, female demons and angels) and decided that I could actually really see her as genuinely, lovingly maternal. After all, the decisions she made weren't malicious - she wanted to protect heaven. Sure, she went about it pretty horribly, maybe even sadistically, but her intentions were good. To me that fits well with being a mother - a mother who loves her family and wants what is best for all of them, and would be prepared to do really, really horrible things to anyone who tries to hurt them. I liked it better than any of my other choices, though. Thoughts?
(Vaguely related aside, I personally tend away from the Chuck Shurley/Becky Rosen pairing for Cas' parents. I've read versions of it I like but I personally do not "feel" it, mostly because I cannot, despite everything, see Shurley as God, and without that connection, they make no sense to be Cas' parents. I don't mind when other people write it that way but I just don't think I could...) :)
Anyway! That's that. :)
(another random aside: I know Jo and Vic's comments about finding Cas and Dean aren't the most politically correct...especially Henriksen's...for better or for worse that was intentional when I wrote that exchange...)
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