Merry belated Christmas, everyone! :D May all your wishes come true.

My first attempt to write erotic scene ever -_-. Hope it didn't go too bad and you will like this one. Please review :) Also, fixed some mistakes in the earlier chapters, thanks to wonderful readers 3

Warning: this chapter has homoerotic content! If you don't like such thing - please don't read it.

Dean

He remembered how first saw his King. How would one ever forget?

A frail-looking fourteen-year-old against the pack of poachers, he had defeated them before Dean could blink, armed only with the dagger.

- Your technique is amazing, my Lord. – Dean acknowledged with respect, shaking boy's hand. – I'm Dean Tully, son of John Tully, it is my duty to keep this part of our land safe for the travelers, at which I've failed tremendously. My deepest apologies.

- Oh it's nothing, I'm sure you'd deal with them as successfully. – the boy smiled genuinely. – I'm Castiel Tyrell. Thank you for keeping the roads safe. I've wandered off, so it's entirely my fault these fellas have jumped me.

Dean knew at the time that Castiel Tyrell was the only son of the Hand of the King, the boy that had destined to become one of the most important people of the Kingdoms. He heard that young Tyrell was as wonderfully skilled at combat as he was gentle and kind at heart.

Dean had become one of the best warriors in both Westeros and Essos, and his best friend had become the man to claim the Iron Throne. Through the years Dean had always regarded Castiel with the same awe as on the first day they've met. He was sure that no one was more suitable to be the King to bring prosperity and peace to Westeros. Yet that morning Dean couldn't care less for the happiness of Westeros. His best friend was scared, drained, surrounded by ill-wishers. If it was the price for well-being of the Seven Kingdoms, then the Seven Kingdoms could go to hell.

- I'm here, Your Highness. We will sort everything out, whatever is troubling you. As we always did. – Dean wished he'd been better at comforting, but in Tully family discussing one's worries out loud had always been discouraged. – If you're not feeling well, the march can be hold off. It doesn't matter, there's still time.

- I didn't mean… We're marching on Tuesday, there's no need for the delay. - Castiel shook his head. – There are some things that cannot be sorted. I have a bad feeling about you. I'm scared for you. – the King looked at Dean squinting, as if he couldn't see him very well.

- All right, with all due respect, it's just the lack of sleep talking. Nothing can happen to me, I escaped from Quarth for Gods' sake! – Dean tried to remain cheerful.

- You keep coming back. For how longer you'll be lucky?

- What do you want me to do? Stand back?

- Exactly. Stay in Highgarden, see that my Queen doesn't plot something new.

- You know very well it's not going to happen. – he snapped, forgetting the etiquette. His friend was out of his mind. – My place is on the battlefield. And I'm most certainly not going to spy on a woman.

- What if I command it? – the King took a step forward, looking Dean in the eye.

Dean hated when his friend did that, because (though he wouldn't confess it even to himself) awe and respect weren't his only feelings.

It was summer, right before his eighteen's nameday. Many guests came to Riverrun, for the first time on Dean's memory. John Tully wasn't keen on throwing parties, but this year was different. Probably he gave in to Sam's persuasions. The youngest Tully had insisted that it was plain rude to be such a closed-off household, and that official visits as well as banquets were to ensure their good relations with other Houses. Tyrells were, of course, on the guest list. Dean was excited to see his best friend, because the last time they've met was more than a year ago. As Castiel's father was the Hand of the King and couldn't leave King's Landing, young Tyrell had a lot to do, and by the age of nineteen was performing all the duties of the head of the House.

When they'd met Dean couldn't believe his eyes. Castiel had grown and matured so much in a year, he wasn't a skinny fragile boy anymore. He was a tall, quite broad-shouldered man, with soft yet calm and confident features. His beige-and-blue elegant suit made him much justice.

- Hey, Cas, what a change! – Dean grinned, welcoming his friend. – I bet you've got quite a number of bastards already.

- Hello, Dean. Unfortunately, in these terms the year was wasted completely. – Castiel sighed jokingly. – Yet I have high hopes for local … attractions. You should give me a tip on where to start.

Both laughed, and Dean felt like he was falling, falling, falling…

He loved women, he loved loving women, and women loved him. It didn't change after that nameday, he hadn't been hit with a dry spell, or turned to liking men, no. He just realized that there was no woman he'd wanted to keep. All these beauties, sweet and gentle blonds, spicy and experimental gingers, and, of course, clever and seductive brunettes, they were fantastic, they were fun, they made him want to conquer cities in their names. But not one of them made him want to just be somewhere near and quietly watch as she's cooking, or reading, or tending to the garden. And on his nameday Dean realized, panicking, that he could've just been there and watched Castiel for all his life.

This, of course, was never said or even thought about.

- Considering this is an unthoughtful command, I chose to ignore it. – Dean did not take a step back.

- I will not change my mind. This is decided. This conversation is over. – Castiel turned away.

Dean felt an urge to grab his friend and shake the stubbornness out of him. Where did this stubbornness come from anyway?! He restrained himself as he was speaking to the King now, and just caught Castiel by the elbow.

- Cas, I'm talking to you as a friend, not as a Knight. You're tired, you're edgy, let's talk after breakfast. Don't rush your decisions. I'm worried about you too, you know, but let's keep a mind on what's wise.

- I am keeping a mind on what's the wisest. You will help me to win, it's true. But consider this – after the victory I shall rule. And without you it shall be impossible. I had a significant amount of time to fully understand it. We've come a long way to put the realm in my hands, sacrificed a lot, and it will all be for nothing if the realm receives the incapable King. – Castiel said calmly, it was so natural for him. – I need you to function.

Dean felt his heart dropping. He had never ever let any hope seep through and was actually quite good at it. Alas, at that moment King's unexpected revelation broke the defenses he'd built for years, the single phrase brought all his desires to the surface, flung the gates of the most secret part of his soul open. He leaned forward, finding Castiel's lips with his own, knowing that probably his career as well as his life was going to end because of that. But for a moment he could imagine his feelings were requited, and his life or honor didn't matter. The moment passed.

- If I'm going to be imprisoned here on Your command, I prefer to be guilty of something. – Dean said, trying to keep his voice natural.

The King looked at him, a little surprised, still squinting, emotions hard to read. Dean waited for him to say something, but the only thing he could hear was his own heart racing.

- Agreed. – Castiel said finally, pulling Dean closer, running a hand through his hair and returning the kiss in a passionate manner. He held Dean tight, one hand on his left shoulder and one on the back of his head, his kisses strong and possessive.

Dean submitted to his King right away, getting lost in the sensation, his hands sliding over Castiel's shoulder blades, feeling his perfectly sculptured back muscles through the delicate silky night shirt. Amazingly, being in this man's arms felt right, every kiss made Dean want to be even closer, to surrender, to feel every inch of his skin, to touch and to savor him. His touches were light, his lips gently trailed along King's jawline then neck, stopped over the pulse point. Nothing compared to the moment when he could feel his friend's heart beating, beating for him. He tasted his way down to King's collarbone, taking a long lick along it, making Castiel shiver. Contrary, the King was demanding, pressing his body firmly against Dean, tugging his hair. Castiel's kisses were long and heated, his tongue parting Dean's lips, reaching into his mouth, sliding against his tongue, leaving the taste of herbs. King's fervor made Dean hard in seconds, his heart beating so fast he'd never known it could.

They've lost their clothes, and Castiel pushed Dean down onto the silky sheets of King's bed, their bodies entwined. Hot breath on his skin, strong hands all over him, sometimes barely touching and sending surges of desperate need through him, and sometimes gripping tightly, fingertips digging into his flesh, leaving marks, the unique smell of herbs, royal soap and spices, Castiel's smell, everything blended like in a dream, making Dean dizzy. He wanted to just dissolve, to melt, to disappear in the moment, to have all of this for longer; he'd never known he could feel so much affection towards somebody, he'd never known he could get completely drunk of somebody. He'd never known he could worship somebody's body like all gods, old and new; that simply interlocking gazes with somebody, seeing those wide-blown pupils, would make him burn and ache with want. All longing, all desire he'd suppressed through the years came flooding, drowning him. He loved Castiel, loved deeply, desperately, and was dying to express this love, if even giving only an inkling of the storm roaming inside him. He had no words though to help him, he could never say something so important, so emotional, and thus he used his body to give Castiel a sense of how he'd felt.

He devoted to bringing his King pleasure, and it was his heaven. He kissed his way down Castiel's chest, his lips brushing over the nipple, then parting, the tip of his tongue circling around it, his breath sweep over it, making in harden at once, drawing gasps from the King. At the same time his hand reached down, caressing Castiel's erection, lightly stroking at first then getting a hold, and moving more purposely, finding out what speed and pressure were right. He was delighted to discover that he was doing perfectly well, judging by King's quick breath and little moans. He moved to Castiel's other nipple, gently gliding his tongue across it, and then sucking and tugging on it, which sent jolts through King's body and made his moans louder. Dean thought that having this man in his arms, watching him shudder, making him arc and groan, and lust for Dean's touch was everything he'd ask for. Dean's kisses got lower, he paid attention to King's abdomen, played around his navel, laid heated kisses onto his thigh, stroking his length, teasing. Castiel grasped the back of Dean's neck, then getting a hold onto his hair, ruffling it, humming in pleasure. Dean indulged in the sensation, every inch of his body tense, ran his palms along Castiel's inner thigh, and then took Castiel into his mouth, sliding lips around him, tasting him like the best dainty there was. Castiel reacted, muscles flexing, loud moan leaving him, trembling running through his body. Dean began to suck gently, swirling his tongue to add sensation, his gaze never leaving King's face. Castiel was gorgeous, eyes closed, long eyelashes flickering, cheeks flushed, parted lips swollen. And Dean was in full control of this breathtaking man, getting this beautiful body writhe in pleasure. It was intoxicating; Dean could barely wrap his head around what was happening. A couple of hours ago he would've never even thought about something like this, and would be outraged if somebody suggested such. He had always known that he would serve Castiel selflessly, die for him if needed, Castiel had always been the best friend he'd ever had, somebody to look up to, to respect, to protect. He thought he'd won the battle with his heart a long time ago, leaving no place in it for "inappropriate" feelings as he named them. How did it happen then? Dean would panic if he wasn't so overtaken by love and lust.

Castiel pulled on Dean's hair, bringing him back up and then rolled him over, so that now Dean was on his back and Castiel was on top him. Dean reached out, intending to cup King's face, but Castiel clutched his wrists, flinging his arms above his head and pushing them down into mattress. He looked possessive, bewildered, almost scary, but Dean hadn't have a chance to clearly see his face, because Castiel abruptly bit down on Dean's neck, almost breaking the skin, then rolling his tongue over the bite in a soothing manner, and Dean felt he was losing his mind.

Shadows on the ceiling were twisting and entangling like two figures beneath them, morning light grew stronger as Dean's best morning was coming to an end.

So what do you think? Is Dean kinda too hopeless romantic here?