Dean wakes in a cocoon of blankets snug around his naked body. He takes a moment to remember where he is, what has happened. He is in Castiel's room, underneath his blankets, a whole burrow of them. He does not remember being so tangled in the sheets before sleeping so Cas must have tucked him in before he left. Early morning hours are a blur to Dean. His eyes are difficult to open, dried tears have tacked them shut and he needs to wipe them before he can see. Castiel is gone, probably at work already. The boy finds himself eager for Cas' return, then he can finally get the punishment he deserves.
He tried last night, after crying for what felt like hours while Cas shushed and held onto him, did all he knows to make Castiel angry. The bait was not good enough, the man only continued to refuse him. When breaking rules was not enough to rile him, Dean tried seduction, slipping out of his clothes and pressing his naked body against the man, only to have Castiel deny him. He tried to make Castiel touch him, remind him that he still has the body he admires. All the places he used to kiss are the same. Castiel snatched his hand away and threatened to tie Dean's hands but, not for the reasons he wanted. He cannot remember if Castiel is angry, after struggling and crying all night he fell asleep face down ass in the air trying to get Cas' attention.
Dean should dress in the clothes Castiel left, the soft, yet tight, polo he always leaves. He has one for each day of the week, varying in patterns and small-embroidered logos. Sometimes he will have pants for Dean to wear, very rarely. He usually does not mind if Dean wears a tattered pair of jeans about the house, as long as they are not sweat pants, they are too casual for his taste. Dean looks around the room, eyes searching for the familiar material he has seen every day for weeks now, nothing looks similar though. He wonders if Castiel left one in his room, thinking he would return there. He would check but his body still aches with the sinking depression in his chest, so he hugs the blankets to his chest and closes his eyes. He drifts to sleep with hopes of a better dream life.
Sam is the first person he recognizes in his dream, his hair a tousled mop on his head, bangs hanging low in his eyes. Dean hardly remembers that he is ashamed to be around the boy when he smiles bright enough to blind him. They exchange a hug, not the quick kind that hardly lasts a second, but the kind that requires strength and steady breathing to pull through. Sam is strong, his arm without a cast, tugging him in close, closer as he closes his eyes and sinks into the familiar scent of soap mixed with boy. He misses how close and he Sam used to be, now Dean spends so much time covering his own lies that he finds it difficult to concentrate of the moments he shares with his brother.
The next person he sees is Mary, all ethereal glow and long blonde hair. Sam lets go and allows Dean to pass by him. Dean feels the tears well in his throat, so much it burns when he swallows. His strides are long, covering expanses of land but Mary continues to shrink and disappear before him. He starts to run, to chase after her but the light pools around her, distorting her image, what a shitty metaphor, Dean thinks. He can feel the burn in his calves as he continues to race across the field, something he never noticed until now. His feet are bare and he can feel the twigs snapping below his feet, knows they are bleeding in areas but he has no time to stop and mend the, he has to catch mom.
The light shines, blinding him so much he needs to stop and shield his face with his arms. He hates to surrender so easily, he can hardly keep his eyes open enough to focus on her disappearing figure though. Soon, she is gone, only a whisper of her voice in the wind for Dean to catch and hold onto. He never wants to forget the way she says his name, or hums the same tune she sang to him every night. The lyrics fade away, Dean finally opens his eyes when the words are a distant memory.
Looking down, Dean notices he is at the edge of a cliff so he turns to step away from the ledge. John stands before him wearing the smile from before Mary passed away, the one that reaches his eyes. Dean chokes on the sob that shakes through his body, beckoning him to release it and give in to the sorrow that has become his life. He reaches out wanting to be near the John before the booze and prolonged absences, just like Mary, John only moves further away. Dean's feet are stuck to the ground when he tries to move, when he looks down there is nothing binding him but gravity.
Dean looks up again and John is in front of him, his smile distorted making Dean cringe. John laughs the same laugh when Sam was born, then presses his finger tips to Dean's chest and pushes. He feels weightless, floating through space while gravity shifts around him and softens the fall. The concrete that catches his head feels all too real, making him groan and rub the back of his head. Blood, his hand is covered in blood causing his eyes to widen in panic. Sam is there, cradling him in his arms, hands caressing the tender spot on the back of his head.
"You should have let us catch you," he says. Repeatedly until the dream fades away to a quickly forgotten memory as Dean fights for consciousness.
He wakes again in a pool of light pouring from the window. The blankets stick to him uncomfortably, as his body is damp with his own sweat now. He pushes the fabric away and revels in the relief fresh air brings him. Now he can stretch his arms and legs, free of obstruction caused by the comforter. His knees pop and elbows creak as he stretches them, feeling the pull of his aching muscles relax a little. Exhaustion weighs heavy on him, but he has slept too long, already awake and alert for the day. Blankets slide to the floor as he pulls away from him, standing uneasy on his feet, he hunches unable to support his self.
Naked, he reminds himself, needs to find the clothes Castiel left for today. One hand cups him as he shuffles along the carpet, then steps unevenly up the narrow staircase. Dean stumbles into darkness and remembers there are no windows in his tiny room. He finds the light switch and tugs the flimsy cord, Cas needs a material stronger than weak string, he will tell him to go to the hardware store to find an appropriate switch. His room is just as bare as he left it yesterday, just his duffle tucked beneath the bed, an empty closet, and the furniture that came with the room. He pushes a hand through his hair and feels it stand in place, he must look a mess and reeks of sweat.
Deciding to shower, he grabs the towel he keeps in his room, the softest one Castiel owns and he is not ashamed that he hoards it. He throws the towel over his shoulder and steps back down the steps, unashamed to be unclothed this time. No one is home so Dean is going to take advantage of the free feeling. His foot catches on the bathroom rug so he kicks it away and promises to fix it later but he is always tripping over the damn thing. He drops his towel and turns the dial to the shower, getting a good temperature ready as he finds the appropriate materials in Castiel's cabinet. He keeps most of them under his sink, which Dean thinks is pointless when he will always be transferring them to the shower. He sets them on the shelves hanging from the shower wall and catches something he had not noticed before.
A note on the sink, must be a list of chores he suspects, holding the paper between his wet fingers. He wipes them on his chest but hardly manages to dry them, settles for holding the bare corners of the paper to prevent further damage. Castiel has sloppy handwriting, with the control he exerts Dean expected a neat, formal manuscript but Castiel is all loops and curves, at times smudging together so Dean has to squint to read them. What he thought was a list is actually two simple phrases, no chores today-dress comfortably, Dean reads them again to make sure he is correct. No faulty in paper though, he thinks, today he is going to dress comfortably. He smirks at the idea of walking around naked, but decides that will not do, not for a whole day.
Dean showers, brushes his teeth and combs his hair, he does not style it just removes the tangles. He changes into a pair of boxers but the rest of his shirts still need washed, since Castiel has been handing him a new one each day, he has neglected to do his own laundry. He bites his lip and gingerly crosses into Castiel's room as if the man is waiting there to catch him. He tugs drawers open, one by one searching for a shirt drawer. He pushes through articles of clothing, neatly tucking them back into place when he does not find what he wants. When he finally finds the correct drawer, he picks out one of Castiel's sweaters, a long one with a simple block stripe pattern that drapes over him comfortably.
Without chores, Dean does not know what to do. He could watch a movie or listen to the stereo and write, but none of that sounds fun. They are distractions for when he is unwinding, not helpful enough to keep him busy. Dean paces lazily throughout the house, a back and forth stroll while he thinks of something to keep busy. He passes by Castiel's china and admires the gold trim on the plates and bowls. He admires the crystals he has collected in a separate cabinet, everything is so delicate in Castiel's house. Dean is not delicate, he does not cry and does not get to be treated as a piece of glass. He will show him.
Dean stops pacing when he enters the kitchen, Castiel left him a bag of breakfast bagels and spreads in the refrigerator this morning. Normally Castiel harps about bagels not being a real breakfast, not unless he makes them, so Dean wonders why he is giving him a treat today. Never the less, he sits at the table and opens the containers, spreads one of the bagels with one-half strawberry, half regular, then does the same to the top half. He eats them at the table and cleans his mess when he is finished. Cas left no dishes for him to wash, Dean frowns down at the sink and realizes he truly has nothing to do with his day.
Normally, Dean would visit Sam, but with Sam finding out information from Crowley, he would rather avoid another confrontation. Maybe in a week or two when Sam needs money again and Dean cannot avoid the issue, but for now Dean is going to avoid it like the plague. His kid brother does not need to know about his sex life or that he is willing to bend over for a few dollars. Even now, while he is staying with Cas, knowing that he is paying him for sex serves no purpose for Sam. Dean, without thought, rinses a rag under the faucet and begins to wipe the already clean counters.
He thinks he should stop there but his arms have plans of their own, grabbing the broom from its closet and sweeping barely there crumbs. Then he mops the floor, runs the vacuum, dusts the living room, and dusts his own room. He has exhausted himself by noon and stops for another snack break. His normal serving of baby carrot sticks with dressing or the small salad Cas sometimes makes for him is missing from the refrigerator. He searches around the fridge, but finds nothing to stand out as specifically for him, perhaps Cas forgot this morning. Maybe this is Dean's punishment, no snack.
He remembers the note and knows Castiel said he had the day off, at the same time he only began to follow Cas' rules. He wants to prove to the man just how good he can be. Dean searches through the drawers in the fridge, the one Castiel normally keeps his fruit in, a few apples and peaches roll around so he grabs the peach. He runs it under the tap, wiping away invisible chemicals before biting into it, he makes a sour face but continues to bites through the skin. He can be good, he knows he can. He swallows the bite, forcing the second bite past his tongue. Not that he hates the taste, just knowing it is healthy and he will be hungry in a few moments makes it difficult to stomach the food. When finishes eating the fruit, he tosses the pit in the garbage and pats himself on the back. Now, he can continue with his chores, Castiel may not have left a list but Dean knows most of them by heart now, the ones Castiel makes him do daily.
He straightens up each room, taking his time to scan for any article out of place, then sets them right again. Today he is determined to polish and shine every inch of the poorly designed house. He finds the window cleaner and takes the time to go over the insides of the windows first. He wipes a paper towel around each edge of the window frame, being sure to dust off the sill separately. Then he makes the trip outside, slipping on a pair of Castiel's pants and shoes as he does, they are much too big on him but he does not mind. The clothes feel nice against the brutal autumn wind. Once he returns to the comfort of the man's home, with his heating, he sheds the pants and shoes again. He begins to miss the feeling of the fabric against his skin, wearing the man's clothes messes with Dean in a way he cannot explain.
Dean cleans the bathroom. He scrubs the bathtub until the shine blinds him, he cleans the sink and pours a solvent to clean the drain. Same for the tub. He scrubs the toilet clean and shakes out the small rug to sweep. Once he is finished, he empties all of the trashcans around the house. Garbage will not be for another few days but Dean is on a roll so he drops the bags in the can behind the house. When the bulk of the cleaning is finished Dean still feels antsy, needs do something, anything. Cas needs to know how good he can be.
The boy settles on the couch and waits, finding difficulty in sitting still. Nothing else can be done, the entire normal list of chores is completed and Dean has scrubbed nearly every surface of the house. He feels he knows the house on an intimate level now, having dusted along its banisters and scrubbed its floors. He squirms on the couch, hands fidgeting with the hem of Castiel's sweater. He wonders is Cas will think he is bad for wearing his shirt, maybe he will find a punishment for Dean, one he will get right. No matter how tough it is, he will please Castiel this time. He has to.
Dean crosses his legs and holds them as he waits on the couch, watching the clock tick down the time. He picks at his nails, the dirt removed in his morning shower so he only succeeds in clacking his nails together, knowing they are due for another trim. When the tone of the grandfather clock sounds, vibrating through the house, he squirms on the couch, anticipating what Castiel has in store for today. The possible punishment he has lined up excites Dean a little too much he thinks, trying to sit still. His behavior has changed drastically since he started living in the man's house, it worries him at times how easily he submits. Castiel mentioned he was teaching Dean, training him, he still needs to ask what that means.
The door creaks open and Dean fights the urge to meet Castiel at the door. He is just so eager to do right, to prove how good he can be. He sits in the den and pulls the edge of Castiel's sweater over his thighs. He should have worn pants, too late now he guesses. He hears the rattle of the man's keys as he pulls them from the lock, and then pockets them. Dean wonders if he brought take-out or if he will make them dinner tonight. His stomach rumbles and he remembers the fruit he had as a snack, the trial he put himself through just to eat it. Cas would be proud though, knowing he followed his rules and took initiative even when he did not order him too. He rubs over his calves and warms them against the draft brought in through the door.
Castiel walks past Dean, a bag in hand, as he goes into the kitchen. Dean feels disappointment sit in his stomach, but fast food will be just as good as Castiel's cooking he supposes. He lifts from the couch and stands at the entrance to the kitchen, watching as Castiel separates the contents of the bag. He got Italian, Dean assumes from the smell, stacking the containers on the counter, and then dropping the bag into the trash. Dean walks into the kitchen, shoulders hunched, and head ducked. He feels embarrassed or nervous for reasons unknown to himself. Castiel never looks, just continues to dish out servings onto plates, old dishware with a scalloped edge and small design in the center. He wants to say hi, ask how Castiel's day was but he cannot figure how to string them into a coherent sentence.
Dean stands near Castiel, smelling autumn air on the man with how close he is. Castiel turns to look at him, Dean waits for the feel of his hair through his hair but it never comes. He knows he was bad but he needs the attention, an incentive. Dean slides to his knees on the tiled floor, going slow to prevent further bruising on his pale skin. His hands reach around one of Castiel's thighs, lean with muscle he finds as his hands press against it. He strokes his thumbs over the smooth material of his work pants and rests his cheek against it. Never before has Dean been this close to Castiel, feeling the man's warmth against his cheek soothing him.
"What are you doing?" Castiel's voice startles him, makes him gaze up at the man.
"I want to be good for you," his voice is almost a whisper and he can feel the red tinge his cheeks.
"You don't have to, not today." Castiel says, hands cutting up some sort of meat before sliding a slice onto a plate. Dean watches them, hoping they touch him soon.
"I want to." His hand slides up the smooth material, up and up over corded muscle until Castiel jerks his leg away. Dean catches the edge of the counter to prevent falling.
"Wait at the table. Dinner will be ready soon." Dean nods and hides his disappointment. A sleeved hand covers his face as he sits in the chair, the seat is uncomfortable, always is, but he got his first order for the day and refuses to ruin it.
"Is that my sweater?" Castiel squints at him as he takes his seat, placing two plates on the table.
"Yeah, sorry," Dean blushes, then smirks, gears turning in his head. "Want it back?" He lifts the sweater, grabbing the back to pull it smoothly up and over his head. He folds it loosely and offers it back to the man. Castiel's eyes travel over his body a moment, Dean hides his pride. He knows the man is looking, refusing the urge to touch his goose bumped skin.
The kitchen is cold, Dean can feel how hard his nipples are, knowing Cas notices them too. He rubs a hand over his chest in an attempt to warm the skin. Hand resting on his pectoral he watches Castiel's face as he slides a finger around the shape of his nipple before touching it. He rolls it between his thumb and forefinger as Castiel swallows and almost spears the table with his fork. He moves away from the pink skin and pokes at one of the bruises on his collarbone, Castiel has a knack for marking as often as possible. Some are faded and need replaced. The man clears his throat and pokes at a piece of chicken on his plate.
"No, keep it. It's cold."
Dean frowns, the man has such an unbreakable will that Dean decides he needs to try harder. He pulls the sweater back over his head and resolves to eat his dinner for now. Later he will find a better way to gain the man's attention. For now, the chicken in good, sits well in Dean's stomach, along with the pasta that accompanies it. Vegetables though, Dean has a tough time eating them, mostly pushes them around his plate like a petulant child. Remembering he is a good boy, Dean scoops them into his mouth. He has to switch between chicken and veggies to get them all down. He swears he sees Castiel smirking at him.
Castiel is busy reading an article from a National Geographic, Dean finds it hard to believe people read those for fun, he assumed they stopped printing them years ago. After dinner, the pair settled in the living room for a change of scenery. The living room does not have a television or stereo, only comfortable furniture that Dean can sprawl out on lazily. He watches Castiel from the corner of his eye, can see the clock behind the man's head and bites his lip as the minutes tick away. Dean still needs to break him and get him to touch, run fingers through his hair, or spank him, anything to show that he notices Dean. Cas is on this, not today, maybe tomorrow fix that Dean was sick of when he woke up. He needs to show Cas that he is okay, that they do not need to take breaks just because Cas thinks Dean is fragile.
Dean crawls across the floor, where he has been laying, until he is staring at Castiel's knees. The man's face is concentrated on the article he is reading so Dean thinks it is a good opportunity to surprise him. He starts slow, nervous when his palms smooth up the man's legs for a second time. His legs are parted just enough for Dean to fit his body between then, so he does. One of Castiel's hand bats him away, but Dean persists, running his hands down the length of Castiel's thighs urging the man to pay attention to him.
"Dean, stop." He tries, still focused on his magazine. Dean leans in and presses a kiss to a clothed thigh, does the same to the other.
"I said stop," but Dean can hear the change in his voice, knowing he is aroused by this. He kisses further up his thigh, as far as he can reach with the couch pressing into his stomach, acting as a barrier. Castiel huffs and drops his magazine to the side.
"Stop," his voice is weak, but his hands are strong as they grip Dean's wrists and hauls him to his feet, forcing Dean to look down at him. Dean can see how exhausted Castiel is, should probably stop before the man gets angry but he feels so close now. He leans down and presses his lips to Castiel, tongue eager against the man's chapped lips.
"Dammit, Dean." He groans. In a swift move, he turns Dean around and forces him onto his lap. Dean hardly notices his arms wrapped behind his back until he tries to move them with no give. "It's like you want punished or something," he mutters under his breath. Dean stills, body rigid as he hears Cas gasp, hands tight over his own.
"Is that what you want, to be punished?" His voice rumbles through Dean. He nods and half turns to look at the man, a plea in his eyes.
"Yes." Castiel manhandles him again until he is back on the floor, bent over Castiel's knee.
"I gave you today off, you know. There's really no reason for me too." He rubs Dean's back and the boy practically arches into his palm, feels so good to be touched.
"Doesn't matter." Dean's arms lay trapped between his chest and Castiel's thigh, his hands gripping into the fabric as he waits for the man to do move.
"Oh." Oh, is damn right, Dean thinks. His hips grind into Castiel's leg, showing him just how needy he is right now. Dean gasps when he feels Castiel's nose pressed to his cheek, breath ghosting over Dean's neck and ear.
"I don't want to hurt you." The words sound innocent as they drip out of his mouth. No, never, Castiel never wants to hurt him, that is why they have taken so long to get this far. Dean bites his lip and stifles a complaint.
"Do it anyways." Dean groans as Castiel's palm slides down his back and smoothes over his boxers. His fingers find the elastic, Dean shivers as the air chills his skin, and pushes them down his thighs until they fall easily to the floor. His palm rubs the smooth skin as Dean tries to anticipate his next move.
"Tell me to stop if it's too much." Dean nods but expects he will not, never does. Castiel is harsh commands but executing them is a different story, his hands are always gentle and his bite never as rough as his bark. "You okay?" Cas is being so cautious today, checking that he is okay every moment, as if his answer will change, it annoys Dean. He pulls up his shirt to expose himself a little more.
"Yeah, come on already." He rests his head on Castiel's thigh, jerking back up again when the first smack lands against his ass. A groan catches in his throat and Castiel takes a moment to rub the sore skin.
"Still okay?" Dean nods and Castiel wastes no time landing another blow on the opposite cheek, rubbing it the same.
"Okay?" He is hesitant now, hand hovering over him, almost afraid to touch. Dean practically has to arch into, just to feel his warmth again.
"Fuck, yes, just keep going. I'll tell you if I'm not." Dean grinds his teeth and drops his head on Castiel's thigh. He relaxes minutely before Castiel lands another blow to his bottom, not taking the time to rub the tender skin this time. Instead, he lands the second smack right away, making Dean buck into his thigh with the force of it.
He is hard between his legs but tries to ignore it in favor of preparing for the next set of smacks. Castiel is hitting harder now, hard enough for Dean to really feel it, even as Castiel moves his hand away he can feel the shape of it on the round flesh. He arches and gives the man more access, urging him to continue. The next to smacks have him rubbing against Castiel's thigh, moaning as his cock catches on the fabric of his pants delicately. He hears himself cry for more, feels like he is asleep, in a dream. Dean digs his nails into Castiel's thigh with the next smack, moaning louder, grinding harder.
He is going to come, feels it building with each smack the man lands. A moment of realization sets on him, reminding him that they are in Castiel's living room, the room he spent all day cleaning. On top of that, Castiel has expensive furniture, it may be ugly but Dean is sure he spent some hard dollars on the couch. He grunts with the next smack and grips the base of his cock, holding off his own orgasm.
"Wait, stop. Stop." He groans, pushing away from Castiel's thigh, wincing when his bruised skin touches the floor.
"Shit, did I hurt you?" Castiel picks him off the floor, back to his lap, hand smoothing his hair from his forehead. He is sweating, feels exhausted when he really did nothing. Castiel cups his face and waits for a response.
"No, no. Well, yeah, I'm a little sore but that's not the problem." Dean shifts his hips so he can sit comfortably in the man's lap. "I, uh, didn't want to come on the furniture." He ducks his head and moves his hands aside to reveal how hard he still is.
"Oh." Castiel is short phrases and no grace today, Dean almost wonders if he is okay. He wants to ask if he had a bad day at work, but saves it for a later time. Castiel lifts his chin to look him in the eyes before leaning in to kiss him, slow, almost chaste. His lips are a whisper on his own, taking their time to explore every inch of his mouth. When Castiel licks into his mouth it is not with a hungry appetite, as usual, this time he tastes Dean's mouth slow. The kiss feels like deeper than normal, Dean tries not to read into it as he kisses back languidly.
"What do you want to do know?" Castiel asks, wiping the spit off Dean's bottom lip with his thumb. Dean laughs and rests his head on Castiel's shoulder.
"I would like to come, if that's alright," with that, Castiel wraps Dean's legs around his waist and lifts him off the couch. Dean stifles a moan as he rubs against Castiel, focuses on how easily the man carries him up the stairs to his room. Dean will never get over how strong Castiel is, manhandling and lifting him with grace. Not that he is a heavy kid, after years of skipping meals for Sammy he knows he could stand to gain a few pounds. He dips his head to reach the man's neck and sucks lazily, leaving a few marks before Castiel eases him onto his bed. Dean kicks his boxers off his ankles and waits for Castiel to make the next move.
"How do want it?" He asks, shedding his grungy work shirt. He has another in his hand but holds it in case he should wait to put it on.
"I don't know." Dean never picks, just goes along with what comes. He racks his brain to think of what he wants, all he knows is he wants release, but needs something to tip him over the edge now that he has restrained himself.
Castiel drops his shirt on his dresser and pads over to the bed, it dips where he rests his knee to crawl up the mattress. He hovers over Dean, one hand stroking his exposed hip while the other brushes his hair away. Dean needs to cut his hair soon, Dad would have his ass if he knew he had bangs almost as long as Sam's now. He squeezes his eyes shut, forcing the thought of John out of his brain. Castiel soothes the thought away easily, kisses his cheek, then his nose and his chin. Dean cups the back of his head and pulls him down for kiss. He leaves him breathless.
"I want, I think, fuck me, maybe?" Dean tries, one eye gauging Castiel's reaction. Until now Cas' fingers have only been in him and he knows the man has to be dying for it. Not once, since Dean has moved in, has Cas come. Not that Dean has seen, at least. He wants him to, wants them both too. Castiel rests on his knees and stares down at the boy. One finger trails up Dean's shaft, and then swirls around the tip eliciting a moan from him.
"I'm not sure you will last long enough." He reaches into his nightstand for lube. Dean is caught off guard a moment, not expecting Castiel to give in so easily.
"Do it anyway." He lifts his hips and allows Castiel access to his hole. Castiel slicks up a finger and rubs against the tight ring, pressing against it gently.
"You sure this is what you want? After last night I thought-I don't…"
"Forget last night, please. Just do this, its okay, I'm fine." Dean is unsure he is but the words feel real, rolling off his tongue. Maybe because Cas has a way of making Dean feel less like an object and more like someone to take care of. The way he strokes so gently, presses his fingers into Dean with ease, worrying he will break him if he adds too much too soon. Dean groans as Castiel's fingers open him.
"I can't just forget." Castiel whispers, leaning down to place kisses along Dean's jaw as his fingers work the boy open. Dean gasps, a small sound escaping his throat, as Castiel sucks new marks on his neck. They will be harder to hide from Sam, but Dean could not care less. He bends his neck to give Castiel easier access.
"You were so broken, don't want to see that again." Castiel adds another finger and begins scissoring Dean open.
"Wont." Dean is too wrapped up in the feel good to create coherent sentences, he presses against Cas' fingers searching for more.
"No, because you're mine. I'll always take care of you." Castiel adds a third finger, releasing a drawn out moan from Dean. He digs his nails into Castiel's back, not worrying if he leaves crescent shaped marks.
"All yours," he says between gasps for air. "Please, Cas, I'm ready." He whimpers, when Castiel pulls his fingers away, he feels empty. Castiel needs to shuck his pants first, dropping them to the floor with his boxers. He digs a condom out of his drawer and rolls it on, lubing himself.
"If it hurts, tell me to stop. Don't take too much at once." Dean relaxes when he feels the tip press against his hole, wants this to feel good for once. Castiel moans as he slides in, a slow decent, stopping when he worries he is hurting Dean. He peppers his face in sloppy, wet kisses, coaxing him to relax for him. Dean wants to tell him he has, that it already feels good but his mouth only works to lets out a string of curses as Castiel bottoms out. He is still, waiting for Dean tell him to move.
"You alright?" He shifts his hips minutely, making Dean gasp and arch. His clings to Castiel's shoulders, sleeves of his sweater making his grip slip, refuses to remove it though.
"I'm not a virgin, remember?" Castiel strokes the side of his face and begins to move, a simple rocking motion.
"No, but you can still be hurt." Dean knows, feels it run through his core before he shatters. It was coming, he knew, felt it when he woke up, felt it all day. His arms beckon Castiel closer, so he can grip him properly as the man pumps into him steadily. Fucking Cas, with his concerns and nimble fingers whispering praise into Dean's skin with each touch. Fucking Cas always wanting to know if Dean is okay, should he stop, give him a break, let him breath in the overwhelming sea that seems to always be pulling him under. His already slow pace comes to a crawl and he finds leverage on the bed and hovers over Dean, thumbs wiping the stream of tears from his cheeks.
"I can stop."
"No don't," Dean practically begs, pushing down on the man's cock. "Please, just…don't stop okay." He repeats it, a whisper coaxing Castiel to pick up rhythm again. He still works slow, gently rocking into to Dean, worried of breaking him again.
"You have to talk to me, Dean." He sounds breathless now, grunting when he picks up pace.
Dean tries to find some words to describe it, that he feels it now. Maybe it is the moment, the intimacy of having another person inside, but he never felt like this with anyone else. He feels like Castiel cares, actually fucking cares with all of his commands and rules. The reason why his touches are soft caresses instead of rough, unless Dean asks for it. His compliments and the phrase, that phrase he always says when Dean does something right.
"Tell me I'm good. Say it, I need you to say it," he probably sounds like a kid, voice broken, practically begging.
"You're good, you're so good for me Dean. Always such a good boy." He thrusts harder now, a shift of his hips until he hits the spot, the one that makes Dean throw his head back and scream through tears and the emotion welling in his chest. He whispers, tells Castiel not to stop in case he might. He is almost there, feels it in his gut.
"You're beautiful, not just because I'm inside of you either." Castiel is rambling now, but Dean does not mind. He pulls him back, grounds him from escaping to his make believe world he is so fond of living. He wants to be here, to feel every inch of Castiel pressed against him.
"Such a good boy," he whispers against Dean's collarbone. He grunts when he comes, knows he covered Castiel's chest as well as ruined his sweater. He clenches around Castiel, pulls him closer to his own orgasm as he comes down from his own. Castiel swears under his breath, hips jerking and Dean knows when he comes too.
They lie still a moment, both recovering slowly. Dean wipes the tears from his eyes, curses himself for crying again, during sex too. Only teenage girls do that. Castiel climbs off him, pulling his sweater over his head. Dean wants to burrow beneath the blankets but worries about ruining another set of Castiel's sheets. He waits instead, for Castiel to return from his bathroom with a damp cloth. He cleans both of them, returning the cloth to the bathroom afterward. Castiel lifts him, drops a kiss to his forehead, then pulls the sheets up to his chest. He slides in on his side, curling up beside Dean, his long arm winding across his body. Dean presses into him and enjoys the warmth that spreads through him as he does so.
"You okay?" He is a little sore, pride dampened as well.
"I need you to quit asking that." Castiel chuckles.
"Anything else you need?" He shifts so he is level with Dean. He can look at him better that way.
"Yeah, actually," Dean says, after a moment of hesitation. "I need you to pet me." Castiel drops his hand to his hair and runs his fingers through the tangled mess, face serious as he does so. Dean exhales and relaxes against the man's side. "You don't have to do it constantly, but once a day. Maybe."
"That's fine. This is important to you then?" He pushes Dean's hair back, teasing the ends with his fingertips. Dean nods. "Every day, then."
"I just can't have you not touch me. I don't know why, I need it though. Once a day, at least."
"I trained you well." Castiel whispers, places a kiss to Dean's hairline.
"You're gotta tell me what that means someday."
"You'll learn."