A/N: Dean remembers their first night together a whole lot better than Cas does.
VI. The Beginning
"It's over? What are you trying to say, 'it's over'?"
"I'm saying just that. This, this relationship is over," Dean says.
Lisa stares at him. "And… that's it. That's all you have to say. No reason why, no explanation at all, just—it's over."
"Hey, you told me you knew what you were getting into," Dean says defensively.
"Well, yeah. But this… this is really abrupt. We've been together for almost two years, Dean. I thought that if we were going to break, there'd at least be some signs."
"Oh, there've been signs."
"Bullshit."
Dean shrugs. "What do you want me to say? I've lost interest, and that's it. I can break it to Ben myself, if you want me to."
"Oh, Ben's going to be fine," Lisa says, waving a hand dismissively. "It's not as though you're leaving the state, or dying, or something. Wait—you're not dying, right?"
"No, of course not."
"Good, because I don't wanna have to cry for you right after getting dumped by you."
"Aw, you'd cry if I died?"
"Fuck you."
It's silent for a moment, and then Dean starts up in a lighter tone, "Hey uh, this—"
"No," Lisa says, cutting him off. "You don't get to say something stupid and make this into less than it was. We weren't just fuck buddies, no matter what you think. And I don't care if we both knew this wasn't permanent—you still don't have the right to just fucking break it off like this, like I've meant nothing to you—"
"Hey, that isn't fair," Dean protests.
"—all this time," Lisa continues, as though Dean isn't speaking, "even after everything that we've been through together."
"Lise, hey. This really doesn't have anything to do with you. I—"
"Of course it has to do with me, Dean. I'm half of this fucking relationship. And before you try to explain, I get that it's not my fault. You don't have to tell me that."
"Well all right, then. I don't have anything else to say."
Lisa seems disappointed. "I'm not asking you to stay, Dean. All I want is a reason why it's ending. Why you're doing this. I thought… I thought everything was fine."
The way her voice breaks a little on the 'fine' hurts Dean, and he has to look away, unable to meet her eyes. He still likes what they have—had—but he doesn't feel the same about it anymore. It's different now. And he hates thinking about it, hates analyzing his feelings, so he just wants to bury away the cause and deal with the off-ness by ending it.
"I'm sorry," is all Dean can bring himself to say.
Lisa gives him a hard look. "Well, I don't care for your apologies. I have to get to the gym—class starts in ten minutes."
Right, yoga instructor. That's something Dean's gonna miss about Lisa.
"Earth to Dean?"
"Yeah."
"I have to go to the gym," Lisa repeats. "Means you're gonna have to go. And while you're still here, give me back my key."
Dean looks down at her extended palm and hesitates for a moment before reaching into his pocket to pull out his set of keys. He fumbles with them, picks out the key to her apartment, and works it off the chain.
"So I'll… see you later," he says, pressing the key into her hand.
"Yeah," she responds with a forced smile. "Better later than sooner."
When Lisa continues to look at him expectantly, Dean ducks his head and turns around, exiting the apartment as fast as he can. He doesn't slow down until he's out in the street, walking down the sidewalk toward the spot where he parked his car.
It's dark now—the sun set about an hour ago—and he doesn't know what he's going to do. He knew that he had to break up with Lisa, that he couldn't keep up the semblance of normalcy when he felt so wrong inside. But now that he's done it, he can't help but wonder if he rushed into it, if he couldn't have given himself just a little bit more time with her.
No, he decides as he gets into the Impala and shuts the door, resting his hands on the steering wheel. No, more time wouldn't have changed things at all. He'd end up feeling this way anyway—the only difference would be that it'd happen a bit later. Maybe a week or two, or a month later, tops.
Yeah, he's definitely right about breaking up. The heaviness in his chest is mostly guilt at having caused her pain, but that will go away. He has experience with this, though his relationship with Lisa is probably one of the longest he's ever sustained with a girlfriend, except for Anna.
But he's not thinking about that. Not right now.
Because no matter how much he wants to deny the cause for his need to break up with Lisa, deep down he knows that it all comes down to Cas. He's known for a while that he finds some guys attractive. Known since his second year of college, when he had that really hot grad student for a TA. There've been a few others here and there who've caught his eye since then, but he's never really thought about Cas that way, because by the time he'd made his revelation, they'd been friends for just over a year and Cas was just… Cas.
That is, not until a few weeks ago. He can't explain what it is, refuses to think too hard about it, but he knows that it started at Ben's birthday party, that it has to do with Ben's flirty preschool teacher and the way Cas looked at him. Since then there's been something about Cas that just makes him want to grab and take. It's only gotten worse, and the more he tries to ignore it, the more insistent it is.
He and Cas have been close since freshman year, and they've always been comfortable in each other's company. But thanks to Dean's new… urges, it's been difficult to be around Cas. And that's not acceptable, so what's he gonna do about it?
Well. It's an itch that he's been trying to ignore. And in Dean's logic, if an itch won't go away when it's being ignored, the only thing left to do is to scratch it.
As soon as that thought surfaces, Dean's mind latches onto it, supplying images of Cas spread out beneath him, pliant and needy. He's wrestled with Cas before, knows what it feels like to get the better of him, to pin him down and keep him there. And fuck, okay, now he's hard.
The next thing he knows, he's holding his phone to his ear, listening to the dial tone.
"Hello?"
"Cas! Hey," Dean says, and he curses himself for sounding so breathy. What the fuck, seriously. "You free tonight?"
Dean tips back his fourth shot of the night and leans back on the ratty couch to look at Cas. Cas, who's sprawled out beside him, arms spread wide along the back of the couch, head tipped back to expose the long, pale column of his throat. Dean's suddenly gripped by the urge to mark that neck, to fasten his teeth on Cas's pulse point and leave a dark, pretty bruise on that perfect skin.
But he knows that he's not nearly drunk enough to be able to pull moves on Cas without being questioned, without being stopped, and Dean doesn't think he'll handle rejection all that well when all he's been able to think about in the past week's jerk-off sessions has been Cas—Cas's hand, Cas's mouth, on him.
Cas, on the other hand… Dean knows Cas well enough to tell that he is getting close to the point where he's drunk enough to not remember things clearly the morning after. Dean briefly considers joining him in that state, but he quickly dismisses that option—if there's no repeat performance, Dean's going to want to remember this.
Cas turns his head toward Dean, wide, blue eyes fixed on him, and observes, "You're not drunk. I thought you came over to get drunk."
His words are slurred. Score.
Dean leans in, and he's positive that he isn't imagining the way Cas's breath hitches as he does so. "Maybe I came over to get you drunk," he murmurs.
"Why?" Cas breathes, nearly going cross-eyed as Dean comes even closer.
Dean opens his mouth to answer, but he's never liked using his words, so he just tips forward and closes the distance between their mouths. Cas gasps, and then he freezes up, body rigid. Dean pulls back, heart pounding. That might've been a colossally bad idea.
"Why did you do that?" Cas whispers, as though he's afraid of Dean actually hearing him.
"Because I wanted to," Dean answers, and it's not even partially a lie. He wants Cas, wants him in a way that he hasn't wanted anyone in a long while. Wants him so much that he hardly knows what to do with himself. And as this occurs to him, Dean realizes that one night won't be enough, that he'll need more after this.
But that's something to worry about later, not now, not when the pupils of those large, blue eyes are steadily dilating.
"You're… joking?" Cas asks, and he sounds strangely small and vulnerable at this moment.
"Not joking, Cas," Dean says, not afraid to be honest because Cas won't remember this. He leans in, placing his lips by Cas's ear, and says in a low voice, "I want you, Cas, any way that you'll have me."
But Cas—Cas laughs, and Dean doesn't get it.
"What's so funny?"
"You. Wanting me. That's funny," Cas replies, and Dean's exasperated, now.
"How the hell is that funny?"
Cas's smile fades, and he says seriously, "You're straight."
"Not exactly," Dean answers, and Cas chuckles.
"Yeah. Right."
And because Dean's officially sick of this conversation, he leans back in and presses their lips together for the second time. Cas goes still again, but Dean ignores it this time, opening his mouth to lick at the seam of Cas's lips, pressing forward to force Cas's mouth open. It doesn't take much coaxing, and next thing Dean knows, Cas is kissing right back, wet and sloppy and perfect.
When Dean pulls back to breathe, Cas's hands are framing his face, warm palms resting against his cheeks.
"You can't be serious," Cas whispers, and Dean isn't sure who he's trying to convince—Dean or himself.
"I'm very serious," Dean says as Cas's thumbs rub back and forth along his cheekbones.
Cas's expression shifts minutely, and then he's pressing Dean back into the couch, sliding to the ground to kneel between Dean's knees. "Serious, hmm?" Cas says, and his eyes are challenging, like he's calling Dean's bluff.
Except… Dean's not bluffing. So he just watches, waits to see what drunk Cas will come up with.
When it becomes apparent that Dean's not backing down, Cas drops his gaze from Dean's face to his crotch, and god, Dean's hard, has been since Cas gave in to the kiss. Cas hooks his hands around the backs of Dean's calves and tugs gently, prompting Dean to scoot forward. Then Cas's long, thin fingers are unfastening Dean's belt buckle, unbuttoning his jeans, unzipping his fly. Dean hisses at the release of pressure.
Cas leans forward to mouth at Dean's cock through his boxers, and Dean wants to close his eyes at the sensation, but he can't take his eyes off the image of Cas like this. Cas slips his fingers under the waistband of his boxers, and Dean lifts his hips, helping Cas pull off his jeans and underwear. The air in the apartment is cool, bordering on cold, and Dean shivers when he's exposed.
But in the next moment, Cas's hand is wrapped around the base of his dick, and his mouth is opening around the head.
"Cas—fuck," Dean bites out, resisting the impulse to thrust as he's engulfed in heat.
He wants to keep watching Cas when he starts bobbing up and down. But blue eyes flash up at his face, Cas pulls up to tongue at the frenulum, and Dean's eyes roll back into his head. His hips shift, barely restrained, and a fucking whine escapes his throat when Cas sinks, sinks, sinks until Dean's hitting the back of his throat.
"Fuck—Jesus, Cas—" Dean grits out, voice cracking, and oh fucking hell, Cas knows how to deep-throat—Cas is deep-throating him.
Then Cas starts swallowing around him, the walls of his throat convulsing perfectly, and Dean thinks it's a good thing Cas is a forgetful drunk and won't remember this in the morning, because it's about to be over embarrassingly fast.
But suddenly Cas pulls off, hand wrapping tightly around the base of Dean's cock, and Dean thinks he could cry at the injustice of being abandoned right on the fucking edge.
"Cas, you fucker," he complains.
Cas just grins, looking like a friggin' predator, and gets to his feet, slowly loosening the grip on Dean's dick. "Don't move an inch—I'll be right back. Though you can get rid of the shirt," he says, and his usually graveled voice is even hoarser, fucked-out, and goddamn, that is hot.
As Cas staggers off toward his bedroom, Dean tugs his t-shirt up and over his head. And then he seriously considers just finishing himself off here, because he needs to come right the fuck now. But before he can act on the impulse, he hears a crash in the bedroom, and he's hovering between sitting and standing when Cas shouts, "Don't move!"
He's back in the next moment, naked, with a bottle of lube and a foil packet in hand. Oh fuck, this is really happening. Dean lowers his ass back down to the couch, and just in time, too, because as soon as he's seated, he's got a lapful of Cas—naked Cas—very aroused, naked Cas—and suddenly he has no idea what to do, where to put his hands.
Cas smiles obligingly and says, "Need me to help you out?"
Without waiting for a response, Cas grabs Dean's hand and squeezes some lube over his fingers. Then he's leaning forward to kiss Dean, and Dean's only dimly aware of Cas guiding his hand behind his back and down, down…
When Dean's fingers come into contact with the tight rim of Cas's hole, he breaks the kiss. "Oh, fuck. Cas, you—you sure about this?" he asks breathily.
Cas gets this pissy look on his face and rakes his nails down Dean's bare chest hard—ouch—but Dean can't even complain because the bastard also rolls his hips forward. The motion aligns their dicks together, and Dean's head tips back on a moan. "I don't know, Dean. Am I sure? What do you think?" Cas growls at him, and then he's lifting his hips and fucking gyrating on Dean's lap.
"Cas—fuck—don't be a dick," Dean manages, gripping Cas's waist and holding him still.
Cas shifts impatiently and leans forward to press their mouths together again. Dean continues to hold Cas in place and starts rutting upward, the glide of their cocks against each other slick and hot and glorious in a way that Dean would never have expected. He's ninety-nine percent sure that he could come, just like this. Right now. Yeah, now would be perfect.
Dean doesn't even register the absence of Cas's hands from the equation until one of them lands on his shoulder, nails digging in lightly, and he opens his eyes. Cas breaks the kiss but keeps their foreheads pressed together, allowing Dean a close-up look at the long, dark lashes resting on his pale cheeks, and all Dean can think is that this, this is what he's wanted to see whenever he looked at Lisa in the past… however-many days, or weeks. He really can't think straight right now.
Cas's free hand is gripping Dean's cock again, only this time he's lifting himself up onto his knees, head bent down to stay in contact with Dean, and Dean's breathing speeds up as he realizes that Cas must have been fingering himself open for him.
"C—condom?" he blurts out, remembering the foil packet Cas had brought from his room.
Cas groans as though it's the end of the world and looks around for it, and Dean collects himself enough to look down at the couch on either side of himself.
"Where—" Dean starts.
"I'm clean," Cas interrupts. "You?"
"Think so."
"Forget the condom, then," Cas says, shutting his eyes again, and before Dean can start to protest, Cas is lowering himself down, guiding Dean's cock into himself in a long, slow slide.
"Oh my god," Dean moans, long and drawn out, because Cas's hole is slippery with lube, tighter than anyone he's ever fucked, and he already feels seconds away from coming.
Cas just single-mindedly works his way down, little huffs escaping his lips now and then, and Dean wants him to stop, but he needs him to keep going, and he has no fucking clue how anyone ever lasts through anal sex if assholes are all this tight.
And then, finally, Cas is pressed all the way down, panting a little, and Dean tilts his head up slightly to kiss him. "Okay?" Dean murmurs, and Cas nods.
"Oh, yeah. Hell, yeah," Cas responds, eyes flashing open, and Dean can't stop staring at them, the way the black has almost overtaken the blue, evidence of Cas's want right there in front of him.
Cas braces himself with his hands on Dean's shoulders and starts slowly lifting himself off of Dean. When Dean's just about to slip out, Cas's lips curl upward, just a bit, and for an instant he looks completely evil.
Oh, Dean is so fucked.
Cas slams down, hard, forcing all the air from Dean's lungs. After that he doesn't stop, strong thighs tensing and relaxing as he lifts up and drops back down, fucking himself on Dean's cock. And the sounds he makes are positively obscene—breathy gasps, loud moans, grunts that sound suspiciously like Dean, all on top of the lewd, rhythmic slaps of skin on skin.
Dean grips Cas's hips in an attempt to get some control, but Cas snarls at him and grinds down harder, jerking his hips slightly to get Dean's hands to loosen up. And okay, if Cas wants control over the whole show, he's got it.
Suddenly Cas drops into Dean's lap and stays there, rocking his hips in small motions, and he keeps making these needy whining noises, whimpering. Dean's heard things about prostate stimulation, and he thinks this, what Cas is doing right here, this has gotta be an example of that. He wonders if Cas can come from just this, because he's definitely heard about dudes who can come untouched, and that would be unbelievably fucking hot.
Cas brings Dean back to the present when his nails rake down Dean's chest again, and Dean doesn't think he ever had much of a thing for pain before, but wow, this hurts in a good way. He bucks his hips up slightly, just one quick jerk, and Cas gasps—Dean!—in a voice so cracked that Dean hardly recognizes it. So he repeats the motion and gets another delicious mewl from Cas.
"Oh god, Dean—fuck—"
Cas's legs go completely lax, and Dean takes that as an invitation to fuck up into his tight heat. He feels hyperaware of every noise Cas makes, helpless to resist, and he adjusts the angle a few times to find the ones that pull the best sounds out of Cas's throat. He hits the jackpot several thrusts later and continues fucking from that angle, soaking up Cas's near-delirious cries.
"Oh, yeah," Dean breathes, getting a better grip on Cas and yanking him down to meet his thrusts, "gonna come like this? Can you? Fuck—come on—oh—oh, yeah—c'mon, Cas—"
And god, Cas is going nuts, head buried in the crook of Dean's neck like he wants to stay there forever—all the thrusting means that his head bumps against Dean's shoulder a few times, but then he fixes the problem by just sinking his teeth into Dean's neck, and somehow that is not okay but also the best thing ever at the same time. Cas's nails are running free down Dean's torso again, and for a moment Dean's brain tells him that tomorrow morning it's gonna look like he pissed off a cat really, really bad, but he can't bring himself to care, not when Cas is trying—unsuccessfully—to muffle his sex sounds by biting Dean.
And then Cas's hole suddenly clenches impossibly tighter, spasms around Dean, and Dean's digging his fingers into Cas's hips and coming hard, hips still stuttering upward as he pumps into Cas. He's barely aware of Cas crying out, of the thick, hot strings of come shooting up between their torsos.
Dean thinks he blacks out for a while, because the next thing he remembers is Cas kissing his cheek, nice and chaste and sweet, and Dean has no idea what to do with that, not after the mind-shattering orgasm he just had.
Cas drops his face to the base of Dean's neck. "Hmm," he hums, lips pressed against the bite mark that he's no-doubt left behind. Yeah, Dean's definitely gonna return that favor, any minute now. As soon as he doesn't feel like his entire body is made of jello.
"Cas," he slurs, "freakin' amazing."
"Understatement," Cas responds, and Dean can't believe Cas is using four-syllable words when he's reduced to grunting fragments of sentences.
After they've both recovered a bit, Cas crawls off Dean's lap, wincing a little. Dean opens his mouth to apologize, but Cas shoots him a look that clearly means don't even start, so he shuts his mouth again. Cas lifts both his arms over his head and stretches, cat-like, and Dean's seen him do this in the past, something about it being good for waking up his limbs, but it's never gone straight to his dick like this before, and it's way too fucking early for Dean to be able to get hard again, but his cock gives a little twitch anyway.
"Hey—Cas," Dean says, and Cas looks down at him, eyes back to that startling shade of blue that Dean hasn't ever seen in anyone else's eyes. "Round two, bed. 'Kay?"
"Who says there's gonna be a round two?" Cas answers, grinning down at him.
Dean gets to his feet, trying to think of a comeback, but he's just had his brains fucked right out of him, and he's covered in Cas's jizz, and he's got nothing. So he just leans down and presses his mouth to Cas's, kisses the smirk right off his lips.
And when Dean pulls back, those wide, blue eyes seem softer, and Cas breathes, quietly, "Yeah, okay."