A/N - This is a shorter chapter, but I think you'll see it's an important one. This is the last time Dean Fucks With Cas, so Chapter 8 will start the one time Cas Fucks Back. I know you'll enjoy that one. But pay attention to this one too, as there are some important little goodies hidden in here that will come back to "haunt" Dean in the next chapter.

*mwuah!*
~~ ** Lady Tuesday ** ~~

Chapter Seven – Power Hour

About five minutes into the fifteen minute journey back to the motel, Dean starts swearing. Loudly. Unfortunately, said swearing is directed at the one person who really had not a hot damn thing to do with the way the evening unfolded.

"God damn it, Cas," he growls, slamming his hand against the steering wheel. "I could have gotten laid tonight. I could have gotten blown and laid by somebody probably almost my age. And why didn't I? Not because it was a guy, which I admit I got comfortable with amazingly fast. Because of you, you awkward, nerdy, personal-space-disrespecting, I'm Completely Indifferent to Sexual Orientation-spouting fuck."

He slams Baby's door, not even caring about the noise despite the fact that it's after 2am, stalks into his hotel room and gives that door the same treatment.

"I've gotten my head so twisted around how I feel about you that I had a fucking 25-year-old limber bartender throwing himself at me and I couldn't close the deal, because of you, Castiel."

Walking in quick tight circles, Dean strips off his clothing and hurls each piece in random directions, venting his impotent frustration in any way he can. When he gets down to his boxers, Dean realizes that despite the fact that half an hour has passed, he's still half-hard. Dean throws himself backwards onto the bed and growls incoherently at the ceiling, throwing his hands up above him.

"Eight years ago, I couldn't have thrown a fucking rock without hitting a chick who would bend over backwards to ride me like fucking Sea Biscuit and you know what? I was happy with that. And then you stroll your angelic ass into that damn shed with your stupid sex hair and those fucking eyes and the god-damned trench coat." A yelp of anger leaves him. "And it's like you were a fucking tornado that blew away everything I used to be."

The anger blows away now, too, but Dean stares up at the stained popcorn paint above him and keeps talking as if the angel is there listening.

"And you changed everything, man. Everything. Especially after fucking Purgatory. When I found you by that river and I hugged you? Damn it, Cas, my heart raced like it was trying to leap out of my chest and into yours. And once I got out … you know how many times I've gotten laid since Purgatory, Cas? Eight. Eight times in almost four years. Hell, I used to get laid eight times in a freaking weekend. And you know what? Just between you and me? When you got out and you came out of that bathroom, all angel-mojoed and clean-shaven and with that stupid trench coat clean again … I popped wood, dude. Like out of nowhere, BAM. Inappropriate boner, right in front of my freaking brother." Dean sighs. "I should have known then."

He stays quiet for a long moment, letting that moment bubble back up to the front of his mind. "You looked good, that day. After so long in Purgatory, seeing you dirty and scruffy with your mojo dying, and then suddenly, you're all powered up? It was like lightning, Cas, and it went straight to my dick."

One of Dean's hands slides from behind his head down his chest and then right under the waistband of his boxers. He strokes himself slowly, loosely, while he continues his litany to the absent angel.

"I should have known then, but I didn't. Or maybe I just denied it, but it didn't even really hit me until the catacombs when you were beating the shit out of me over the demon tablet. I thought, 'Damn it, he's fucked up in the head, he's going to kill me, and I'm not even going to get to tell him.' I didn't even know what I wanted to tell you then, but I just knew I wasn't gonna get the chance. Three years, man, and I still haven't gotten up the stones to say it."

The stroke of his hand speeds up without Dean even really planning to do it and his hips start rocking into the tight grip of his fist; his breath leaves him with a wheeze.

"I want you, Cas," he groans in a harsh whisper. "I didn't know it at first, was too afraid to look at it, but … God, I want you so fucking much."

He pushes his boxers down with his free hand and uses his thumb to spread around the drops of precome beading at the top of his cock. He's been so on edge all evening that it's not going to take much, but Dean tries to draw it out as much as he can.

"I want you," he mumbles again. "Want you to touch me the way that kid did. How would you do it, Cas? Would you sit in my lap like he did? Growl in my ear with that fucking gravel voice? Wrap your arms around my neck and rock on top of my cock? Let me put my hands on your ass and thrust up against you?"

Dean wriggles against the bed because it isn't just his cock that needs the friction, the touch; he feels like he's going to climb out of his fucking skin if he doesn't get relief, and he needs it everywhere, everywhere. He can feel the itch for it all over him, as if Cas is really here and raking his nails down every fucking square inch of Dean's body all at once. He rolls over onto his stomach, letting the rough scrape of the cheap comforter against his skin scratch at his senses as he thrusts into his fist, burying a moan into the fabric. Turning his head to the side, he lets the words keep tumbling out.

"He wanted me, Cas, and I couldn't do it. I wanted to take this kid home, fuck him senseless just to get you out of my head, and I couldn't do it. I would have kept thinking about you, pictured your lips on mine, your mouth on my cock, your ass in my hands; I would have kept imagining it was you as I fucked him."

Dean pushes his face down into the comforter, his chest heaving with thick breaths, and he's fucking into his fist so hard he may even have bruises tomorrow, but it's still not enough.

"I think you would start all slow and intense, sitting in my lap and just rocking your hips against me, letting my cock push up against the underside of your balls, teasing yourself as much as me. Would you kiss me? I feel like maybe you'd probably just stare at me – the fucking stare, Cas. Jesus, if I were a woman, that stare would make me soak my panties. Maybe you'd just grind on me like that kid did, driving me crazy until I couldn't stand it anymore and just fucking pounced on you."

"Or maybe," Dean says, letting the fantasy spin out of his head and into his mouth as he pictures it, "maybe you'd want to draw it out. How would you start, Cas? Would you suck me off? Wouldn't be the first time I've pictured that happening. You on your knees, stretching your lips around my cock. I bet you could take me all the way down to the back of your throat. God damn, that mouth of yours; just the idea of pushing my dick between those lips makes me want to come."

His skin is on fire and he just wants more, more, more; he remembers when he was at home in the bunker and rolls back over onto his back, spitting quickly onto his fingers because he doesn't even want to stop thrusting long enough to scrounge for lube. When Dean presses his left thumb back down behind his balls and pushes a finger inside his ass without bothering to be slow about it, a ragged moan leaves his lips and he starts up babbling.

"I wouldn't though, Cas; not in your mouth. I'd pull you back up into my lap, push my tongue into your mouth, taste myself there. You could stroke both of our dicks together while I stretched you out on my fingers – fuck!"

Some marvelous twist of fate while rocking his hips allows the finger he's got inside him to brush up against his prostate. Dean's legs almost go out from under him with the jolt of pleasure, but he manages to press down hard. He can't keep still, his muscles are twitching and jerking, and he's all over the bed.

"That's why I couldn't fuck that kid, Cas. I would want it to be you. Your hands on my skin, your mouth, your cock in my hands. Your voice in my ear, telling me I'm sexy, telling me how much you want me, how good I feel against you. Did you hear what that kid said about you, Cas? Did you hear him say that you should beg to hop onto my cock? Would you beg? Jesus, I think I would come just hearing you say it. Would you say it for me, Cas? I want to hear you say how much you want to fuck me."

Another finger inside and a few hard strokes push him over the edge, all three syllables of Cas's full name coating his lips as he falls. Dean shatters when he comes, and he's almost certain he passes out for at least a few minutes because when he becomes aware of himself again, the puddle of come on his stomach is mostly cold and the clock reads 3:02 AM. Well, Sam wasn't wrong, it turns out. He got off at 3:00, too.

A/N - Obviously they never actually acknowledge that Dean gets an erection when Cas comes out of the bathroom after he gets back from Purgatory but ... come ON. I defy anyone to watch that sequence and tell me it's anything other than Dean rearranging a boner. I mean, Jensen Ackles could have chosen literally ANY other gesture if all he was trying to convey was nervousness/anxiety/discomfort/etc, but Cas walks out of a bathroom after an ugly duckling transformation and Dean just HAPPENS to adjust his CROTCH?! Nope. Inappropriate boner. End of freaking list.

As I mentioned, next chapter starts where Cas Fucks Back, which I am so freaking excited about you guys seeing. Can't wait. ^_^