A/N: First: allow me to apologize in advance for this. This is my first attempt at non-rp smut (don't worry, I suck at that too). I have literally no idea what I'm doing and I had to ask my gay friends some incredibly awkward questions to get a proper idea of how it actually is. I honestly don't think I captured it (mostly because I refuse, straight up REFUSE, to use the word that they did – I have literally done things worse than this and I was never more red in my life than when he was telling me this) but I gave it my best shot. I'd appreciate any sort of constructive criticism anyone would care to offer (even though that conversation could quickly become more awkward).
Second: This chapter is from Castiel's POV and it is very purposefully vague as to who he is speaking to (or writing to if it makes you feel less uncomfortable about it).
Third: Bobby and Ellen are married in this and no, Jo is not Bobby's biological daughter. After his first wife I doubt he'd want to have his own kids again, ja feel?
Fourthly: I don't think I've mentioned this but I don't have a beta reader. So any mistakes are all mine and if there are mistakes, that's embarrassing. My b.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters from Supernatural mentioned in this fic. If I did Jo, Bobby, and Ellen would all be alive and well and a happy little family.
Chapter 5
Dean wasn't wrong; he was in a lot of trouble. Lunch passed quickly with Dean and I playing footsie under the table. Jo came over and told us to stop a few times but it was like we couldn't hear her. It was the most comfortable I've ever felt with a person after just meeting them. I've never been more immediately comfortable with someone in my life.
We talked about everything at that first lunch. My parents, my mom's unfortunate death, my siblings, Raphael's insistence that I become a doctor; Dean's parents, his mom's unfortunate death, Sam, his dad's death. We covered everything in a dizzying and seemingly endless but somehow suspended three hours. It was like the world was buzzing by so fast and we were stuck in one moment. Like in movies when two people or someone is standing in Time Square and the cars are zooming around but they're moving normally? It was like that. We missed the rest of our classes that day. I ended up failing one of them because I never got the syllabus and the professor wouldn't give out extras. I didn't mind. Dean didn't have class then either so we just spent the time together. Sometimes we would meet in the library and get a study room; sometimes we'd go out on the quad and eat lunch. Other times we just said fuck it and went back to our apartment and then fucked each other.
I'll deny it if you ever ask me this in person but that first date was the first time we slept together. I know, I know, 'Castiel, you were always one of the good ones, what happened to you?' Dean happened to me. And now I'm not just a good one, I'm an awesome one. I made the first move after we were done with lunch and it was the ballsiest move I've ever made and I'll never top it, ever. The only way I can think to top it would be if I had simply gotten on top of him right then and there in the parking lot of Ellen's bar. I'm getting ahead of myself here, that's not what you want to hear about… or is it? Oh, you're kinky. Dean would like you.
We were walking back out to the car holding hands. It was all very sweet and lovely but the incident on the front porch kept playing over and over in my mind and I wanted a repeat performance with an ending. And I wanted that ending to be good. Dean seemed content to imagine the little enticement I'd given him back in the bar to snap back to reality (God bless Anna for forcing me to do yoga with her. I thought that damn skill would never come in handy) but I wasn't. I was still… how do I put this delicately… unsatisfied.
Damn I've been with Dean too long. Anyways, where was I… Ah yes, my move. Dean still refers to this move today. On our anniversary or when he's feeling ignored he'll grab my hand and reenact "the move." It's not as romantic or as sexy as it should be when you're in your forties and bending the wrong way hurts. But if he still thinks about it twenty years later, I guess it was a damn good move.
We were walking back out to the Impala and when we got to the car Dean had started to make a move to open the passenger door. On a normal day this would make me swoon – real manners? On that day it made me grab his hand and turn him like we were dancing, but in a much more forceful (there was a bruise) against the side of the car. I basically jumped him. Right there. Seriously, as soon as I knew he wasn't going to fall, I jumped up and wrapped my legs around him because it meant there was more friction. We were in the fucking parking lot of his aunt's bar and basically the only family he had left was right inside that building, not more than thirty feet away. You know who else still mentions the move? Jo still mentions the move. All the time. All. The. Time.
Dean reacted just as any guy would – a quick, pathetic and yet somehow adorable yelp, followed by him immediately getting hard. What I hadn't expected, and what Dean should have accounted for, was him not realizing that I was wrapped around him. Amazing right? Here I am, holding on to him like a fucking howler monkey, grinding against him like I have no shame (what do you want from me, it had been six months since someone that I actually liked wanted to kiss me back or do anything back for that matter. I'm emotionally superior, fucking is always better when it's with someone I care about, leave me alone), and this idiot doesn't realize that there is a grown man wrapped around him. Dean tried to walk and couldn't which caused us both to fall on the ground, hard. Hot right?
You'd be surprised how good Dean is at making the best of a bad situation. Our new position in the parking lot gave us one hundred percent coverage and it was really romantic (as per the Winchester usual): Right between a dumpster and the back of the Roadhouse. In case you're wondering, it smelled fantastic. The space had previously been occupied by a homeless gentleman who left his week old vomit at the other end of the dumpster. What more could a boy ask for?
I'm sure you'd like to know this, because I could have done with a heads up, Dean has one glaring kink: he really likes public sex. And I mean he really likes it. I could walk up to him and church and casually say, "I'd like to fuck you over this pew," and he immediately gets hard. It's ridiculous really. This foray behind the dumpster was the first but not the last of our public encounters. I really hope Dean's right and that Hell is for truly terrible people like serial killers or rapists because if not, I'm pretty sure he and I are going to be there for all the stuff we've done to each other (and where we've done it in). Or at least permanently stuck in purgatory… that might not be too bad, right?
I was going somewhere with this… where was I going with this? Oh, right, right, sorry, you wanted to know about the first time we fucked didn't you? This is still super weird, I hope you know that… anyways, yeah.
So we're now on the ground and we're both a little stunned by the pain of falling on the concrete (and having a not as buff as he'd like you to think Dean Winchester fall on top of me). And that was the moment when I knew that I wasn't going to let Dean out of my life even if he wanted to: the fucker growled. He growled and pushed me back against the concrete, and I don't think I'll ever forget what he said, "I'm nobody's bottom." This is the point in the story when I should really mention that I can count the number of times on one hand that Dean has asked to top during sex. With at least two fingers left over. No matter what he says, he enjoys being the bottom. Scratch that, he fucking loves being bottom.
Cas you say, how did you respond to that? I whimpered. I'm man enough to admit it, Castiel Winchester whimpered like a fucking girl. This of course only spurred Dean on more. He attacked my mouth, coming at me with full force, all tongue and teeth and no more tenderness. He was trying very hard to prove his dominance and it was really fucking hot. Then the bastard had to go and sit up to ask me if I was clean. Me. The guy who basically had interviews with guys before I would sleep with them. Seriously, I asked for a resume and everything. I took sex very seriously back then. Amazingly enough, Dean Winchester, mister 'I don't know who this bra belongs to,' didn't have a condom on him that day. Oh the fickle fates.
We thought about stopping and going to purchase condoms but honestly, I don't think Dean would have been able to drive, he was that hard. I mean he started to suggest it and then smacked himself; yes he smacked himself, and attacked me again. This time he wasn't going to stop for a while.
He unzipped my jeans when I wasn't paying attention, I'm still not sure how my legs were wrapped around him this entire time, and pulled my painfully hard dick out. Dean told me to let myself relax against the concrete and I did, which apparently left enough room for him to pull my pants down and his pants, which had apparently come off by this point. I don't know, I can't give you the exact details because I was pretty distracted by the obscene things Dean was whispering in my ear at this point. He pushed into me and I swear I almost came right there.
While Dean has his kinks, I have mine: I've always had a thing for pain. I don't know what it is but there's something very satisfying about getting fucked so hard it hurts or something hurting during sex. Anyway, my point is that without any lube except the precome on Dean's dick and some hastily spit on saliva, it took us both a little longer than normal to adjust to the new sensations. It was… fucking glorious. It was something I'd never felt before, with anyone, and I'd later learn that Dean had the same thought. It was like there was an immediate and profound bond created between us with him entering me.
Dean waited a torturously long time before asking if it was okay to move and I couldn't form words, so instead I just pulled him down into the most sloppy, wet, passionate and hungry kiss I could muster. I wanted him in every sense of the word. I wanted him on me, inside me, on top of me, under me, beside me, with me, to be inside him, to be his. When he started moving it was slow and I kept egging him on, purposefully, by teasing his nipples. Another kink, don't ask.
Suddenly it was like a switch turned on and he just started pounding me and I've never been fucked so hard, so fast, or so dirtily in my life. And after our little session on the porch, I doubted either of us would last long.
I was right. After a couple minutes of Dean pounding me I could tell by the look on his face, that he was going to cum any second. Personally, I was trying my very best not to be as loud as I normally am (I know, I'm sure you needed to know that about me) and failing miserably. Dean was hitting my prostate if not every thrust than every other thrust and I had actually put my hands on the ground to push myself up (helps with the angle and makes it impossible for me to touch myself). "Cas… I'm gonna…" He didn't even get to finish his thought, poor bastard. Will I ever know what he was 'gonna'? It's been twenty years, I'm still waiting over here on the edge of my seat for an answer.
He kept riding me throughout the orgasm and you know what drove me over the edge? The bitch whined in my ear. He whined. It was the most blatantly sexual whine I've ever heard in my life and everything about it was perfect.
I'll spare you the details of how gross we were after that (although Dean did attempt to clean me up with his tongue… we should do that more often…) and I won't mention the horrendous encounter that will forever be referred to as the "Oh god, I'm going to kill myself with a spork now" incident. In which Bobby came out to put the trash in the dumpster and caught us in a post-coital, half naked, lazy make out session in between his dumpster and bar. Bobby hasn't taken the trash out since.