In the short amount of time it took to return to Dean's room, his confidence level peaked and evened out; Dean was finally doing the right thing and he felt pretty damn good about it. Cool and assured, playing it just like Han Solo. A regular Fonzie he was. Thinking with both heads as well as his heart, he'd do what should have been done months ago. A good plan, a solid plan. It was one thing for Cas to know that Dean cared, but tonight he'd show it.
Scenarios work out much better in your head than they do once enacted. As he stepped back into the door to close it and heard the click, a gong of terrifying realization resounded in his head. Dean's hold on Cas slackened, his mouth ceased functioning which lead the angel to hum in bewilderment against it, and his body became rigid enough to withstand gale-force winds. An unconscious mantra of ohgodohgodohgod skipped like a record at the highest volume.
Fonzie just jumped the shark.
"Dean, are you...?" Watching Dean shake his head as though he were a child who had imagined a phantasm in his closet, Cas corrected himself. "You're not alright."
"We're gonna, oh," he managed to stutter out before throwing his head back into the door. Ohgodohgodohgod.
Cas pulled Dean away, arms still wrapped snugly around him, before he could further injure himself. He could heal whatever damage occurred, of course, but he'd like to prevent it if he could. The kind gesture would help Dean retain some dignity.
It was quite clear that he was having seconds thoughts, and that was how Dean functioned, Cas reflected patiently. In situations where he set his standards too high, at least, absorbing himself in the moment until reality sat itself comfortably beside him. "Yes. You initiated."
"I did, didn't I?" He licked his lips, mouth as dry as the Sierra. It was suddenly way too warm in here. Yeah, scorching. Dean needed a fan, the AC, an ice cream – something. Was Cas as hot as he was? Right. Of course he wasn't. Angels can't overheat or die from heat poisoning, they can't catch a fever and have their brain figuratively melt. Could they not freeze either? Does their body temperature remain steady at a healthy 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit?
Cas could sense Dean drifting away, a panicked expression frozen on his face. Thinking about something that had absolutely nothing to do with sex, he assumed. "Are you frightened at the prospect of losing something you're committed to?" They had only talked about this, but with was worth reiterating.
Shrugging his shoulders uncomfortably, Dean fumbled with his answer. "No, it's not that. Maybe. Just a little." An arm released its hold on Dean and the hand found its way to his face, soft pads stroking slowly downward, gentle and reassuring and possessive all at once; a thumb traced the corner of his lips. Still bordering on hysterical he nevertheless leaned into it, but only fractionally. This was something Cas had done so many time before and it still had a hold on him.
Maybe it's because this became their "thing." Couples had words they only said in front of each other, baby names, nicknames and the like. Others kissed a specific way or slept in bed another: something unique to those two people while they were together. Such was Cas caressing him in this way. Those hands healed. Those hands killed, sometimes to save Dean and his brother, dressed in the blood of demon and family. They rubbed his back when we awoke in a sheen of sweat from a particularly bad nightmare. They would run through his hair teasingly while Dean drove, Sam still trying desperately to understand why Cas did it, and when they kissed. There was always an excuse to be had.
Grace could have seeped from his fingers like it did when he healed someone. Or not. Being touched by someone who wanted to, wanted to be there with you, who loved you so unconditionally and purely, could very well have the same effect. Dean couldn't say and Cas wouldn't answer. So he never turns away, even now when he's about to pass out.
"You're... and I'm..." He hung his head. "I'm fuckin' this up."
Cas' lips found the spot where shoulder met neck and placed a benign kiss there. When Dean raised no complaints, he did it once more, this time the tip of his tongue tasting the spot before applying a mild suction. In doing this he had no fear that Dean would interpret it as being inconsiderate. He was not insisting, nor was he impatient. It felt... right.
Dean sighed through his nose and Cas took it as a sign to ask, "Tell me why you are apprehensive." He kissed his shoulder one last time for good measure before setting his sights back onto Dean.
"You know." Although his body relaxed once again into Cas's own, his sharp eyes caused Dean to flinch. In the bright afternoon sun or in the middle of nowhere at midnight, one could feel him gaze at them, questioning, learning, seeing things humans could not. Being studied in such a way could send a tickle up your spine. It was no fault of Cas's own, though. Never did he intentionally want to make Dean uncomfortable. Ardent curiosity was simply a part of what made Cas Cas. Directing his attention to the now very fascinating floor, a dark pool around both of their feet from what little light slipped through the windows, Dean grumbled, "You're, you're a virgin and I, um, never had sex with a guy before."
"And?" Cas replied, blunt as always.
"And?! Your answer is 'And?'" Remembering Sam was just next door as well as other people inhabiting the complex, Dean hissed what would have been a shout with all the indignity he could muster. "You don't see what's so horrifying about that?!"
"No, I... Ah, I understand. You feel there is pressure on yourself to perform well because I am inexperienced, but you can't because you're also inexperienced."
He didn't think it was possible: Dean became even more edgy. Having it said aloud was too much to handle. Sex was Dean's number one on the list of best ways to die. Never did he realize merely talking about it would cause his demise. Not fair. Not fair at all.
"Did it never occur to you I may also be nervous?"
Actually, no, it didn't. With such a cool exterior and even tone, it was difficult to tell what went through Castiel's mind. Cas could be a book sometimes, with no light to illuminate the pages. Cas, scared? What would cause him to be nervous? What kind of pressure did he feel?
Cas turned Dean to the bed, the back of his knees bumping against the edge and pushed him softly down onto it. "When I first came to you in the Impala I was terrified. With no hesitation, I asked you if you loved me and with that question I ran the risk of losing very much. I could have been wrong, and in doing so I faced the possibility of ruining our friendship, assuming what I had hoped would be there. In the end, my desire to know trumped that of the fear. I asked for myself; I needed to know. And now," his voice lowered, almost coyly, "I run into a different type of apprehension. I may not be what you imagined, that you've set a standard in your mind of the reactions and movements... noises I would make. But my desire to try steads me and I have not feared it for some time. I'm very positive I will do something foolish and I couldn't care less. Because it's you, Dean."
"Yeah, no pressure there," Dean bemoaned glumly.
Cas sighed. If he didn't care for Dean's well-being so much, Cas would have shook him to death by now. Patience would be learned by trial, and Dean's consistent baby steps were definitely a test of it. He'd hobble on unsteady legs for only a few paces until he met another obstacle. To Castiel it could be seen as a hindrance. Instead, he saw it as Dean did: a source of immense frustration and anathema. He tried so hard to make what he had work to the best of his ability, treading out of his comfort zone for Cas regularly, and it was a source of pride, however small it was. Then he would come to an impassible object, only after coming so far. For someone with very low esteem, it made Dean loath himself even more.
"OK. Let's ameliorate this with a different perspective. In your dreams, how do you perform?"
"Well, um, pretty good, I guess." Standing in front of him, Cas urged Dean to continue and he did, only after hesitating with a string of filler words. "I'm a lot more confident, that's for sure. Like I know what I'm doing." Which is why it's a dream because I clearly have no idea what I'm doing at any time.
"Are you possessed?"
"No," Dean tried to recall. "I don't think I am."
"Have you used magic or has any one else used magic against you?"
"Again, Cas, I don't really know." He rubbed the back of his head. The questions were becoming a little too unorthodox for him. "There's no build-up, no casting couch interviews before the director wants you to strip. We're both beyond that when they start up."
Cas was not condescending as he chided Dean. He took the tone of one helping another string together a logic puzzle, demonstrating how A connects to B and so on before the answer or destination is revealed. Dean needed to find out for himself how simple it truly was. "So you're unaided. There is nothing stopping you from enacting what occurs in your dream. I would... like to know," he breathed, looking away from Dean as he said so. The words were more for himself than the other man listening in. Honesty had a way of slipping past your lips.
What was stopping him? His pride? Of all the things it could be, pride should be very low on that list. Cas knew Dean intimately long before they had ever met. He watched him being born, the child growing into a teenager and the teenager a man. Every mistake, every pratfall, good and bad, embarrassing and sensitive and wonderful, Cas knew. Not even his dreams were not impervious from the angel's inquisitive mind. Even if it was entirely without his consent, Dean had never been more honest with anyone. Not even Sam. He bit the inside of his cheek. Especially not Sam.
Then what else could it be? He was so safe with Cas! Anything that happened between them was for them only; he wouldn't say a word unless Dean said it was fine to. Trust. He trusted his Cassy with their privacy. Any positive or negative outcomes would be under lock and key. So what? What was left?
Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Only the psychosomatic response he had to years of living his life a certain way. The wall he saw separating him from Castiel was only an illusion. From his advantage it was no less intimidating than the Great Wall, spanning for thousands of miles and without the equipment to scale the blockade. But as he went up to it, faced it, touched it, his hand passed right through it like water, rippling away as it did. His mind punished him with roadblocks because that was he thought was supposed to happen.
Dean was so weary of illusions running his life. Thoughts dissipated, as fog did in the morning sunlight and just as intangible. He became so busy chasing shadows that he didn't consider Cas's own feelings. Something real. In front of him, something he could touch and smell and hear. Something that responded to him when he touched it; flesh that reacted. A voice to answer his questions, his cries. Solid and enduring and beautiful. Yeah. His beautiful defective angel, with perfection found in those very faults. Cas' personality and his mannerisms, logic or sometimes lack of it, while austere at times, was something he would never change even if given the opportunity. Cas was Cas. The dents and the dings made him unique.
And Cas, right here and now before him, told Dean indirectly as if it would inconvenience him, that he wanted to know his dreams, the same dreams he could intrude upon at any time but never did. He looked both timid and eager, if such a thing was possible. Everyone has the jitters the first time, Dean supposed, so no matter how confident Cas said he was, a part of him couldn't help but be anxious. It was... kinda cute. When their eyes made contact his eyes would dart around like flies. His feet wouldn't stop moving. It was then a soothing warmth spread through Dean's chest, seeing his angel fidget so after all that talk about not being nervous.
It was going to be OK. Dean did not need to assure himself anymore, because it was now a certainty. They were going to bumble through this together, just like everything else in their lives.
Swallowing down his awe, Dean then wrapped a hand around Cas' tie and tugged down slowly, slowly, until Dean lay back on the bed and left the dark-haired man no choice but to straddle his hips lest he lose his balance and sour the moment completely. He continued to pull until their heads bumped, the signal quite clear to Cas and he capitalized, placing unsure but needy lips to Dean's.
Something about the swirl of his tongue. Something about the heat. The way Cas' tongue would trace his lips when a kiss was broken only to continue again. The concentration he put into it, not because he wanted it to be perfect, but because he enjoyed the act so much. The simplicity and the passion of it all would make Dean flush from head to toe, and he would stop himself there before it became a much more combustible sensation; he forced himself to. Always had to remain in control. But tonight he could let that feeling linger as long as he wanted to, let it go where it wanted to, and to agree that he didn't want the control anymore. He'd give whatever Cas needed and take what was given to him with no objections.
Dean eventually had to come up for air, breaking them apart and leaving Cas somewhat disgruntled. "Sorry, but human's gotta breathe sometime," he joked between gasps. By the looks of it, Dean wasn't recovering quickly enough for his liking. Aw, his eager dog-angel headbutting cat nerd wanted so badly to continue. Well, he was going to have to wait just a little longer.
"You're gonna have to hop off me, babe."
"Why?" Cas responded flatly, quick as a gunshot.
His fingers batted at the tie hanging between them. "Call me crazy, but I think we have on too many articles of clothing to even consider sex. We should take 'em off, hm?"
Cas nodded. "Yes, that's, um..." He quickly nodded once again (oh, god, he's such a nerd, it's gonna kill me I fuckin' swear) and pushed himself off of Dean to standing while Dean sat up straight to toe off his boots. After removing his jacket, Cas looked about the room for the closest place to lay it.
"On the floor. Just like every other day." It seemed Cas, too, had a schema for how intercourse that included himself would proceed. Apparently he put his clothes away for once. Did he think someone was going to come into the room in the middle of the act, two naked men in a knot of limbs on a bed, the sounds of sex in the air and the first thing out of their mouth would be how ill kept the room is? Dean wanted to laugh at the visual, but with Cas on edge before him, a quick grin with his chin tucked to his chest would suffice.
Something felt off. He couldn't quite put place what it was, but there it was, tickling the back of his brain. This, what they were doing right now... could be improved upon. Maybe that was it. Nothing was stopping him from being dream Dean but himself, right? So what would he do? What did dream Dean want? In nighttime reveries the focus wasn't as much on himself as it was Cas and what he got out of Dean's ministrations. A huge switch for him, but one he found himself enjoying. Cas' hands rubbing through his hair urging him to go further, further down; moans or growls of Dean's name coming from his lips, a voice that not so long ago sang of piety and adoration for his Father and family, or a gasp of surprise when Dean took him in further than expected or hit that perfect spot inside of him. The arms that clutched around his neck to pull him close and legs that pulled even closer, that was his sole focus: Cas. And even now he wanted it to be that way. That's what Dean did, always putting others' needs before his own.
Dream Dean wouldn't stand for this. Nope, not a bit. Fully seating himself on the bed and off to the side of it, he pointed to Cas then to the spot next to him saying, "Get on over here."
Cas, who was struggling with his tie, stopped mid-yank and followed easily. In a way, he did, at least this first time, want Dean to take the more dominant role. He was more experienced so it was perfectly logical. Well, he forced it to make sense. This was a learning experience. Dean would lead by example and Cas would personalize. Then he remembers his human telling him, when their viewing of a soft-lit three-way lesbian porno got sidetracked by questions as was usually the case, that with sex, good sex anyway, you're constantly learning something. What a person likes or does not like, what you should do more or less of. Do they like it a little raunchy, or maybe tonight they don't want that. People get older and sensitivities change as well as tastes. Cas gave the laptop screen another concerning look and pondered why it looked so simple there, in which Dean replied, "Nothing is easy. Real life doesn't have make-up artists, multiple takes and an editing team. And guys that take a half hour to come. Not that I'm quick. I mean... Forget I said anything. Watch the god damn lesbians."
Removing his shoes, Cas let them fall to the floor with a thud and maneuvered himself beside Dean, looking to him for further instruction. As Dean moved his legs underneath him to sit on the back of his own heels and attempted to affably console him. "It's usually a little more fluid than this. I, uh, I'm sorry if I'm..."
Cas' body faced against the light muddily soaking through the window curtains, making him nothing more but a shadow from this angle. But it was enough to perceive him shake his head only once before touching his lips to Dean's once again, mouths parted, recycling each others air and Cas finally connecting them. So damn sweet and wet, coaxing Dean silently into a control they both knew he had. As a roaming hand swept through his hair and pushed him closer to Cas, Dean moaned from deep within his chest, and it vibrated relief. Something as simple as that was something he could have never allowed himself to do; it was a sign of pleasure, arousal, and that was a tripwire line he could not cross. Tonight he was going to give in to the words he couldn't say, the little noises that become a soundtrack.
Cas became emboldened by the sound and without breaking the kiss crawled onto Dean's lap as close as comfortably possible. To his absolute joy, Dean did not resist in the slightest, accepting the body on top of him. There were many, many ideas running through his mind as to what he could do and what he wanted right now, but it wasn't the time, not yet. The human was going to set his own pace lest he be pushed too far too quickly. What he wanted? Oh... He had to consciously stop himself from grinding against Dean.
The kiss was broken by Dean, leaving Cas fairly disappointed until a moment later those lips latched onto his throat, the vein underneath pulsing against them. It was a cycle of suction and teeth and tongue, not enough to bruise the skin; he wasn't a teenager too eager to impress. All attention focused on that one spot, soft and warm. Cas turned his head aside to allow more access and encourage Dean to continue. Blissful. Mouth parted and eyes closed, the move surprised him, so effective in its simplicity. The thought of Dean doing this elsewhere on his body sent a shudder down his back.
Feeling Cas wiggle against his only drew him in harder, hand gripping Cas' raven locks and pulling back, exposing even more of the neck for himself. He traveled up, maybe a quarter of an inch further from the now reddening saliva-covered spot and clamped down once again. Only this time, much to Dean's delectation, a husky sigh escaped from Cas, arching his back to the assault. Something he had waited so long to hear. It went right through him, his entire body responding. Dean's hips bucked up from pure instinct, his pants becoming uncomfortable, suffocatingly close around him.
Again, he wanted to hear that again. Releasing the hold he had on Cas's skin and gripping his back for support, Dean lowered Cas down onto the bed. Hair tousled, tie still loosely hanging around his neck, breathing becoming more labored as did the rise and fall of his chest appear more distinct, and the tiniest patch of belly uncovered by shirt. Cas, he looked...
"Beautiful."
Dean cursed under his breath. Damn word slipped out like a sneeze. But why should he feel embarrassed by it or regret saying it? He was being honest. Laid out before him, for him, Cas was as gorgeous as any woman he's bedded or man he wished he could have. But looks were not the selling point, they never were. A bonus, yes, a bonus he kicked himself for not appreciating much sooner. But knowing Cas, how he is and what he is, showing such vulnerability and willingness, nearly took his breath away. Eyes of ocean, a being of contradiction, both innocence and guilt, and one that would do anything to protect him. He was beautiful. Of course.
"My vessel is satisfactory." Cas meant it to be a question. Instead, as he said it, the words became a confirmation: Dean never said the words to appease him. He believed, too, that the body did not matter; Cas was Cas no matter what body he claimed. Although Dean did admit things would have moved more quickly if he had chosen a female. Complimenting his appearance was satisfying in a way he couldn't describe. It shouldn't have mattered, this flesh being no more that a suit. But Dean had said it, a word Cas thought he would never use to describe something, and it was directed to him. Maybe... maybe that was it.
"Yeah." Dean unfastened the loose tie draped along Cas' chest, tossing it aside, and began the tedious process of removing the white shirt from the bottom button up. "Your vessel is definitely a good one." He had to bite his tongue to refrain from just ripping the damn shirt off; too dark, too many buttons. Stupid sonofabitchin' shirt, come off already. Judging by the steady gaze from Cas, he didn't notice the internal argument Dean was having with an article of clothing.
Finally, success was reached. Cas motioned to push himself off the bed to remove the shirt. Pushing him lightly back onto the bed, Dean insisted that he keep it on. For now, anyway. Wanting to waste no time, for himself (hesitation meant second guessing) or Cas, he unhooked the belt buckle and slid it out from underneath him. Dean's hand hovered over Cas' stomach for the briefest of moments, nearly the blink of an eye. This was it, huh? No turning back?
Good.
Button unclasped and zipper pulled down, the slacks were eased off his hips and smoothly taken off, socks and all. He had seen Cas like this so many times, mostly bare and prone in bed. In those instances Cas was the gift he couldn't open, a treat from the oven that needed to be cooled before it could be eaten. A prize for Dean alone and he could not touch it. No. Don't touch. Don't you dare. What's wrong with you? Why are you doing this to yourself? So Cas could have never been appreciated during those times, as much as Dean wanted to shower him with affection. He could never look long enough to see the details of this body the angel resided in.
A smooth flat stomach parenthesized by hipbones Dean was used to seeing on models. Sharp as a knife, begging to be licked. Long, lean legs that only could have been sculpted by jogging. Sam and Jimmy would have gotten along just peachy. The same legs that would kick Dean while he was trying to sleep were the ones that wrapped around him during sex in dreams, using his strength as an angel to hold onto him like a snake - and sometime during his waking hours. He would fold Cas up, chest to chest and arms hooked under him as he moaned into Dean's mouth. Lewd vocals and the slap of skin on skin filled his ears, leaving room for nothing else.
Cas' soft hand around his wrist brought him back with a start. "Shit, Cas, I'm sorry." He smiled hoping it would mask the tinge of embarrassment creeping along his cheeks. "No time to be daydreaming."
"Judging by the look on your face, it was a pleasant one." Out of all the novels Cas had read in his lifetime, Dean was by far the easiest of all to read.
He grumbled an agreement as he nudged Cas' legs apart to seat himself between them. Once the fallen angel got into one of his playful moods -and not a good playful, either- it was hard to get him to stop. Maybe over the years he decided to get back at Dean for all the times he had been flustered. He'd nip this problem in the bud for tonight, anyway.
Bending forward at the waist, Dean pulled down the waistband of Cas' shorts marginally, just enough for a line of dark hair to be visible and leaving those tempting hipbones completely exposed. He ignored them for the moment, though, wanting to hear Cas's reaction as Dean dipped his tongue into his belly button.
A leg nudged up against his ribs and the stomach beneath him tensed up; a very alien sensation caught him by surprise. Dean raised his eyes to see his reaction, but Cas looked to the ceiling, his brows pinched together as if he were contemplating if the feeling was pleasurable or not. Better than saying "Stop" or "What the hell is wrong with you?" There was a possibility it tickled him, that is if angels could be ticklish.
His tongue left a wet trail as he moved toward Cas' left hip, planting several suckling kisses along the crest of it. As he found his ministrations moving back toward the stomach, rotating between licks and kissing, a nibble on a particular spot of flesh elicited a gasp from Cas, his back end baring down and wiggling against the bed.
Dean, amused with his work, drawled, "Little tender there?" Cas met his eyes momentarily before Dean repeated the action once more.
Yes, it was a little tender. Cas slammed his head back as Dean continued to nip at his flesh. It took all of his self-control and then some to restrain himself from bucking against Dean, the surprising sensitivity of the spot drawing out physiological reactions he had no idea existed in Jimmy. Information about his sex life was positively the last thing he was going to divulge in to an angel. What a shame if Jimmy didn't know about this.
The blood of his body began withdrawing from his head traveling south; his heel dug into the mattress restlessly. Down. Dean needed to move down. Remove the only piece of clothing left on him, completely open to Dean, to be on him, in him. Pink lips were bit upon to quell a moan. The human was not the only one regretfully abstaining for these several weeks.
All of these involuntary reactions were bothersome and to a lesser extent, frightening, but he supposed that's what sex was: your body knew what felt acceptable and would respond ebulliently. The enigma of what he was truly feeling... was it his own, or was it Jimmy's? Is he acting in the same way Jimmy would have? Less? More exaggerated? More importantly, did it matter? No. Not at all.
Cas grabbed a fistful of Dean's shirt, near the neck, and yanked him up, startling the man who had otherwise been busy until that point. As graceful as a bellyflop, Dean's weight-bearing hand slipped out from underneath him and his chest landed heavily against Cas' own. He didn't seem to mind, Dean observed.
"You wanted something, Cas?" Dean asked hazily.
He released the shirt and stroked his hand down, encouragingly closing around Dean's bicep. "I didn't want to seem eager. Should have held steady. But..."
"What do you want?" He practically hummed.
"More. Please."
Dean knew Cas could hear him swallowing, so loud it could have echoed. Cas just... Cas just begged him. Cas knew how to say that? It didn't sound like he was reluctant or diffident either, but sure, absolutely sure of what he wanted and how uncharacteristic it may have been.
Red again, a shock beginning at the base of his brain and striking down the spine. Blood of vampires slicking his hands and pushed so far into his nails that some still remained despite showers and vigorous scrubbing with water and soap. So much of it. Where did it all come from? Nausea. A voice entreating him to stop.
"It's not real," Cas murmured into his ear. His hands trailed Dean's tightened back before clasping together and pulling him crushingly close. Cas nudged his cheek affectionately against Dean's own, passing his lips as light as a brush stroke against the other's. Until the moment passed, he would wait, all night if necessary. This was a fight only Dean could participate in.
He's too nice to me, Dean's inner monologue began. He's so fucking patient and kind. I want to deserve a guy like him. But Cas said he did, right from the start. Dean Winchester is deserving of happiness. He has earned it time and again. So do it. Give yourself a little joy by seeing it in Cas. This – these nightmares are only temporary, a blinding light in your eyes that will soon return to normal; a little painful, but it won't kill you.
Dean sighed, expelling undesirable thoughts with it. No more of that bullshit tonight and no more interruptions. No embarrassment. Pushing himself back up and wiggling out of Cas' embrace, Dean moved to the foot of the bed once again. He drew an inquisitive hand down Cas' flat stomach and slowly, slowly, to the front of his shorts, palm resting against the length half-hard from the teasing earlier. And Dean was right... No hesitation, no embarrassment. The heat under his hand felt right. Cas languidly thrusting his hips against the friction as Dean began to rub felt right. Head tossed back exposing the neck he restrained himself from latching onto. It was pretty damn hard not to.
No words or noises came from Cas, although Dean could easily tell that he wanted to. He didn't comprehend why Cas would do that but decided to not bring it up. Once Cas was ready, or couldn't hold back anymore, he would. The hardening against his fingers was all the aid he needed to show Dean that he was doing something right.
But he wanted more. Since the man playing the role of Dream Dean was Dean Winchester, he felt very inclined to do just that. He grabbed the waistband of the shorts with both hands and pulled them down, Cas pushing off the bed with his heels to help. The dim room made details difficult to ascertain, but seeing Cas' cock rest against his stomach, fine dark hair underneath, reality crept upon him like the dawn. Would he... could he... all of that?
Yeah. Yeah, of course! Dream Dean, remember? Cool and confident, making Cas sing like one of them broads with the viking helmets. Until he started to beat him bloody that is... Well, tonight wouldn't be that night!
Dean smiled to himself. And he called Cas the idiot.
The fit was on the uncomfortable side as one leg dangled off the end of the bed while Dean bent the other to remain on it for some leverage. If Cas sat up against the headboard he would be able to lay on his stomach in a way that was less compromising, but he wanted Cas to remain right where he was. Didn't want to be a bother? You're getting soft in your old age. He urged Cas' legs further apart by patting the inside of his thigh.
Cas was anticipating Dean to continue with the handjob and, honestly, that was all he was expecting from Dean for the night, and there would be no disappointment because of it. Whatever Dean gave him was a gift. His shock was hardly contained when Dean took only the head into his mouth, sucking against it like a lollipop and tonguing against the slit. A throaty gasp threatened to slip by but was caught and promptly pushed down. It didn't stop his mouth from gaping and back from arching.
It was much different than he expected, the occasional masturbation -which Dean wanted to very much know about- and Dean's attention before prepared him not at all for the heat, the slickness of his mouth, and how soft a tongue truly was as it swirled circles around the head. So this is why Castiel's brothers and Dean enjoyed sex so much; it was easy to see the addictive quality to it. A body could come to crave this sensation: the thinking mind retreats and all you can feel is good radiating in every direction, warmth running through your veins like a drug or few too many shots of whiskey. Like other vices, some relied on this, how everything that may be going on in your life tapers off to one fine point while you lay naked and prone in front of someone.
Not thrusting into Dean's mouth took as much willpower as it did not to make noises. Dean wasn't ready for that, right? He would gag and may never do this again. No, that would not be advisable. And maybe Dean wanted him to be noisy. Women were. Men who were not visibly aroused were. Something like that was expected so it was only prudent he do so. It felt absolutely fantastic in spite of Dean being a novice, he just... couldn't get himself to force it out. Controlling his body meanwhile was much harder.
His head tossed fervidly on the pillows, open mouth grasping air in erratic bursts, and Dean took his time going further down, relaxing the best he could but remaining cautious of his teeth, and sucking in his cheeks. The fidgeting of his silent angel were enough motivation to continue what he was doing, shaky sighs sending a jolt through his abdomen. These jeans would have to go real fucking soon. Besides, holding back only encouraged Dean to push down more, eager to find out what it took for Cas to say his name.
As Cas finally nudged the back of his throat Dean knew that was as far as he'd be able to take it for today, which was absolutely fine by him; Dean did far better than he expected. The exclamation from Cas above him was further proof. He grabbed Cas' cock by its base and stroked slowly, teasingly, several times before placing his mouth back on him, hand and tongue coaxing in unison.
It sounded so lewd, slurps and the pop of suction being released, the humming vibration of Dean around him approving of whatever squeaks or grunts he happened to make. Too much, too much. Sensory overload was occurring. This moment was years in the making, something he waited for until the time was right, and now it was happening and Dean, he was in Dean, urging him to orgasm, close, so so close to coming, pressure building and this was absolute rapture...
Cas breathlessly called out Dean's name and pushed himself up to sitting. Well, Cas said his name but not for the right reason, it appeared. He let go of the angel and looked up to him. "Somethin' wrong?"
After taking a gulp of air, Cas said, "You."
"Me?" Where the hell was he going with this?!
Cas growled at Dean's misinterpretation. "No. You too." Dean looked only more perplexed. There was no way he could be such a dolt on purpose. Showing Dean would be the best course of action. "Up" was the simple order he told as well as did, resting on his knees and Dean cautiously following. Why was he...? Well, like he should have expected anything else. Cas inched near flush to Dean, hands on the bottom of his t-shirt pulling up as he raised his arms over his head unconsciously. Lips and teeth latched onto Dean's collarbone before he could even lower his arms. Not gently, but it wasn't intended to be. Cas wanted to taste him, mark him once again, feel him in a way his grace could not.
The attention toward Dean's freckled shoulders was soon diverted south when Cas, now on all fours, lapped at his nipple like a cat at water. It was when Cas took it between his teeth and gave the most innocuous of bites that Dean wished that this had happened to him much, much sooner. Why had no woman he had ever been with done this, and why the hell didn't he ask? One last flick and Cas moved on to the other side using the same methodology of noisy suction and wet tongue.
"Cas..." was all he managed to get out before he let out a no-so-discreet moan. In his mind he saw Sam and the faceless owners of the cars in the parking lot and, much like the heat lightning outside, he extinguished the thought. To hell with 'em. We're all adults here, right? He ran a hand though Cas's silken hair hoping it would encourage him, goading him on because whatever he was doing was a little bit of magic.
The pants needed to go. They could go to China for all he cared, as long as they weren't on him any longer and uncomfortably restraining his erection. Dean told Cas to stop his sloppy assault so he could be free to wiggle out of the denim, even though he desperately wanted that to continue. Cas did not appear pleased with the order but obliged by sitting up and sitting on his legs once again, removing his now wrinkled dress shirt. A steel blue gaze bore straight through him, Dean knowing they were seeing more than he could. How did he truly appear to Cas? Was what he was seeing any different than normal?
He undid the button, watching Cas studying him, the leering of his soul that should have been unsettling but now would be missed if it were to vanish one day. Cas' breathing was quickening again, the rise and fall of his chest almost entrancing. Just what was he looking at?
Feeling Dean's eyes on him, Cas slowly raised his gaze to meet Dean. "I'm sorry about that. You're... um."
"You're gonna have to speak up, babe."
"You're..." He shook his head. "You would be embarrassed. I'd rather not say."
"'You're going to have sex with me?' Yeah, that's the direction this train's goin', but I don't see how that's embarrassing."
Cas considered. "Yes, that too. But I meant..." He was lost to Dean once again, a beatific smile gracing his features. Lost in Dean may have been more appropriate. A coal turned diamond. Washed clean of dirt and mud by cleansing rain. The raw energy of a star condensed but emitting a different kind of heat, one that would not burn if one ventured too close. Maybe not forever, but for tonight it cooled enough, just enough, to allow another star to join it.
Dean was glowing and he would never know.
"You're such a space cadet." As Dean was about to remove his pants, a realization hit him like a smack upside the head. Sex? Embarrassment? Oh god, that's right.
Concerned with Dean's altered state, Cas asked, "Is something the matter?"
After a string of "Uh's" and "Um's" crossed the minute mark, the Winchester rose from the bed, shoulders slumped and pulling at his sagging pants, and knelt beside the nightstand where he kept his clothing bag. Now, what compartment did he keep them in? It had been several months since the last time they were used, so were they even still in there? Buried under loose socks and shirts, or over on this side with the toothpaste? Or maybe left at home, accidentally thrown in with the laundry? Maybe not. Sam would have left the evidence of that in a high traffic area like the kitchen with a note underneath: Found these in your pants pocket, thought you might want them back. P.S. Ew.
Muttering negatives as he searched (and turning the contents into such a wreckage that FEMA would need to investigate), Dean's hand came across what he was looking for. Cas watched, not needing light to see what his mate was doing.
"Cas, do you, um... have a preference? That's not right." Dean scratched the back of his head. This decision would have been infinitely easier to make if Cas were human. "I mean, do angels...?"
Dean had certainly piqued his curiosity. "Show me what's in your hand," he suggested soothingly.
"Yeah... Yeah," he repeated with slightly more confidence. "I know angels possessing women can get knocked up and guys can impregnate regular women, but can – I mean, not that I am or anything, don't let Sammy tell you anything different..."
"Say your words, Dean."
He held a silver foil casually between two fingers and resigned. "It's up to you, knowing more than I do about this sort of thing and, uh, the other reason."
"Ah. You wonder if by having unprotected sex either you or I would contract something." He saw Dean nod in the shadows. Telling him about his kind, stories or background information, were small moment he relished. As much as he delighted in learning about humans, Cas was quick to offer tidbits about his family. "Angels can become ill, but only through spells and magic and normally are not contagious; the magic can vary. As for contracting something a human has, not that you have anything-" Dean mouthed the words thank you "-no, we cannot. Diseases and viruses do not affect angels.
"The 'other reason' is ejaculating inside of me, correct?"
Dean nearly choked on his own breath. No casual segways for Cas, none at all. "Yup, that's, that's right. Unless you want me to pull out because I can totally do that, too."
Cas seriously considered the question, tilting his head to the side. With a pleasant demeanor he answered, "I guess I can't dislike something I've never tried before. It's called barebacking, right?"
"Jeez, you make it sound so dirty," Dean joked genially, grabbing another item from the bag before standing back up and moving back to the bed. "Not the good dirty either. More like a sleazy risky paid-to-have-sex-on-camera dirty." He was met with Cas' hand extended flat in front of him: stop. Stop talking? Stop moving? What? Strong fingers held tightly onto his waist and pulled him in closer, where Cas leaned forward placing surprisingly gentle kisses on Dean's stomach. They traveled lower as well as those fingers, looping under the waistband of his boxers and pulling them down along with the jeans to mid-thigh. Roaming lips stopped just under his belly button, Cas' chin nudging and rubbing against the head of Dean's erection each time. The contact -or rather the lack of it- was deliberate, mouth hovering so painfully close to where he needed it to be and the airy touches of scratchy skin teasing and torturing Dean all the more.
Cupping his cheek, Dean delicately drew Cas away from him and tilted his chin up, the details of every emotion the angel had coursing through him at this moment displayed as fine and clear as any paintbrush put to paper, darkness or no darkness. All of it a list of what made him love Cas in the first place. "Lay back," he said quietly. Not a suggestion or a demand. It just was.
Castiel did so amicably and rested his head on one of the pillows on the bed, curious as to what Dean held in his hand. How amazingly heady this sex thing is. One gets overwhelmed in positions like this. His only concern, his only worry, desire, need, was to have Dean on him once more, his mouth, his hands, his body. For Dean to be in him and filling him, not dreading the discomfort is may cause. Cas inhaled it all like a smoke, cloying every sense within his body and grace. A pillow was taken from beside him and Dean ordered him to lift his hips, and the regrettably flat pillow was placed under them. Again he didn't understand the purpose of this, but Dean knew best.
The pop of plastic drew his attention down to where Dean sat between his legs. "Lubrication?" Cas raised an eyebrow.
"Of course," Dean said like it should have been obvious. Well, it was obvious, even to Cas. So why was he being stared at like that? "Oh... Oh! Probably wondering why I have this at all considering sex was never offered on our menu. You see," he held the small bottle up, displaying it like a tool for his car, "this is a remnant of my 'I swear I don't like Cas' days. Some women... well, once again, porn lets us down with its inaccurate representation of sex. They like to have you think women are a Slip 'n' Slide, all loose and wet and ready in less than 3 minutes. It's not. That's why we have Mr. K.Y. here, complete with His and Her warm and tingly water-based lubricants." Dean halted, growing grim. "Stop... stop looking at me like that! I'm not cheating on you!"
After a moment of silence between the two, Cas turned aside and did nothing more to hide the devilish grin on his face. "You little shit. You're getting yourself off tonight." A lie, of course, but an empty threat was better than none at all.
Dean coated two fingers as Cas regained composure, watching him with rapt attention as Dean grew more solemn. "I know I can't hurt you much by doing this, but if it gets to be too uncomfortable or anything, don't hesitate alright? Just slap me or kick me or something." Cas nodded, drawing his knees closer to himself and tried to tilt his hips up to allow easier access for Dean. "You don't need to do that." A thumb stroked Cas' hip as he gingerly pressed his index finger inside.
There was no tensing around him as he expected; Cas was rather lax, looking up at the ceiling with his eyebrows drawn. Concentrating again and trying to figure out how he feels about this new sensation. It was pretty comical given the circumstance. "Not the look I was going for, Cas," Dean said, between dejection and complacency. He pulled out slightly and wiggled in hopes of stirring some reaction out of Cas, yet he remained austere as ever.
"It is... invasive."
Dean snorted. "No shit. Does it hurt?"
"No," Cas was quick to interject. He repeated more slowly, "No." He tilted his head down, benignity on his lips. "This will not break me. I'm not a porcelain doll to mollify and coddle simply because I've never had sex. Don't restrain yourself. The discomfort is temporary if you allow it to be." With that he implied Dean rather than himself. Dean was trying too hard to make his first time perfect and in doing so was taking himself out of the act, becoming mechanical and delicate. "Add another and do what you want, not what you think I expect."
An invitation to treat Cas like anyone else he has bedded, more or less. Which could be alright, he supposed, even if he wasn't like anyone else. Right now he wanted no special treatment; he wasn't a snowflake that would melt upon a touch, nor was he that damn sensitive psychologically. A little confused at times, but tough as a diamond to break.
Dean slid another finger in, meeting the same resistance as before, although this time Cas squirmed from discomfort or pleasure, Dean couldn't tell. It was tight, too damn tight, hardly enough leeway for his fingers. An electric current shot through his brain and Cas was in chains again, blood and meat on display and almost the entirety of his hand was inside Cas' stomach, relentlessly thrusting against sloppy guts and he laughed. That was the reality. That would be as intimate as they could ever get. The wound was the only way Dean could ever be inside of him.
Not real. Notrealnotreal. Dean held in a deep breath and slowly exhaled, hoping the small act would calm him as it was all he could do. Above him, Cas said nothing, knowing exactly where Dean was, and rode it out with him.
He had to focus on something else. Cas. The real Cas. The real Dean. Scissoring his fingers unexpectedly caused Cas to gasp out in surprise and brought some of Dean's senses back to reality. He thrust in deliberately several more time before doing so again, Cas struggling not through pain but wonderment as he adjusted. When he turned his palm up and made a hook of his two digits, the moan Cas emitted went straight to his groin and brought Dean out of his haze. And he clamped down on him, completely encased in heat, like Cas had any room to spare before. He finally did it. Dean got his little blackbird to chirp, and it was the hottest fucking thing he ever heard.
In between the short thrusts and loosening wiggles he would repeat that, rubbing that one spot inside the angel that practically had him purring at Dean's command, head lolling to the side. No pain, no cold iron imprinting itself upon skin and no metal scraping bone. He wouldn't let that happen tonight, not anymore, and do what Dream Dean could not.
"Another," Cas bit down on his lip as his long fingers wrapped around himself and began short but firm strokes. This time Dean did not question Cas's reasoning or contemplate his comfort; if Cas didn't like what was being done to him, Dean would known the second it happened. With the way Castiel gyrated his hips against Dean's hand, and both the relaxation and adjustment of his body and mind as he became more vocal, it was pretty obvious that the Winchester was succeeding. He did as was told, sliding his ring finger in easier than the first two despite the cramped fit.
"It's..." Cas started before Dean moved once again and a moan overtook him.
"What is it, Cas?" Dean drawled, enjoying the show before him.
He wanted to say "it's not enough," but his damnable mouth kept betraying him. What Dean was doing now greatly surpassed his expectations and don't fix what is not broken. But he wanted... he needed Dean with him and taking part fully now, not later.
The unique aspect of their relationship, long before physical intimacy, was the shared ability to silently communicate with each other.
They locked eyes, Cas's almost luminescent from the way the outside lights reflected on his face, both as equally entranced by the other. Long gone was the boastful yet still shaky Cas from earlier, as were Dean's nightmares and fear of disappointment. This moment was theirs, a tiny bubble in time where nothing and no one could interfere with what they did. They did not exist to anyone but themselves. Cas practically fucking himself on Dean's fingers and touching himself and those moans, everything that made Dean want to explode, because it was only him and Cas... he felt safe with Dean, to take care of him now and protect him later. Even angels can fall short. Especially angels. Unwavering trust and love and...
Oh. Because... oh. He almost asked Cas if he were sure about this, then realized there was no point in asking: it was absolute. Besides, he seemed to have made up his mind outside. A dull throb remained pulsing on his temple but was easily ignored. Dean withdrew his fingers and coated the same hand with lubricant to cover himself, stomach knotting up somewhat and, euphorically, not for the reasons it has been lately. Just anticipatory jitters, and they were welcome. He felt like a novice again.
Cas felt Dean inch closer to him on his knees and heard a rumble of amusement in Dean's throat. After shooting him a questioning look, Dean replied "Don't worry your pretty little head. Thinkin' good thoughts for a change." He'd allow the Winchester boy to employ his vagaries for now as he was left feeling empty and eager to be filled again. Mentally scolding himself for sounding like a whore did not last long. Was it wrong to become lost in something ascetically denied to oneself for millions of years with the only person able to move you to such an act? Yes, a reprieve was in order. So as Dean lined himself up and slowly, so slowly, began to sink in, he embraced it. He and Dean had earned this. If excessively enjoying the attention given to you by someone you love, then maybe he was a whore.
"Son of a bitch, Cas." Dean couldn't stop himself from hissing out. It felt like loosening Cas didn't do a damn thing. Then again he might be purposely clamping down around Dean. No matter. Although he had only managed in the head so far, the pressure was certainly not something he was used to, as was abstaining from a condom. So warm, and he could feel everything and... son of a bitch.
"...Am I hurting you?" Cas asked skeptically. Wasn't that supposed to be said to him?
Dean tittered. "No. Let's just say we're both adjusting." When Cas pressed his knees closer together, both touching Dean, he hooked one over his right arm, taking a small comfort in holding him almost like a security blanket; the other hand gripped Cas' side tightly. As delicately as he could, Dean pushed further in, bit by agonizing bit, putting no restraint on the flow of cursing and moaning, which Castiel seemed to take much delight in.
Replete. Dean was fully settled now. Full. Content. Satisfied. He sighed. Perhaps it should have felt uncomfortable, but it wasn't. It was supposed to be this way. Melting into the bed was certainly possible. Their voices filled the room when Cas bucked his hips, so desperately wanting Dean to continue he could not help himself. The message was received, deliciously slow thrusts rewarding the both of them. Yes, he was going to melt away, soaking right into the bed to never be heard from or seen again. Dean would never pull completely out, leaving a tiny bit of himself there before bottoming out, hips flat against Cas
His cock lay aching and unattended on his stomach, desperate for relief. With Dean holding his leg aloft and about to leave a hand-print bruise on his body, that attention would have to come from Cas. Licking his palm, he wrapped a hand around himself, thumb teasing the slit and underside of the head for a moment before drawing his fingers down to the base and back up, the pace somewhat faster compared to Dean's. Once Dean was knocked out of his daze from watching Cas stroke himself, free arm clutching at the headboard and open mouth breathing heavily, he took that as a cue to speed up.
"Cas... fuck," Dean strained, the volume of his skin slapping again Cas's gradually growing. "Fuck" was all his mind allowed him to say; forming complete sentences was a difficult a task as reciting pi.
Cas beckoned with his hand, waving it toward himself, and ordered Dean "Down," although his voice wavered. Dean knew it wasn't a stern request, but the nerd had a way of making anything he said sound like a demand. That tone of his, it could make him sound irritated when he was in fact... well, tolerant of something. So he did as was asked of him, Cas wrapping the untouched leg around Dean as he lowered his chest close to Cas's own, arm still elevating around the other. He rested on his forearm, digging it into the bed so he wouldn't crash atop of the angel whose hand was still diligently at work between themselves.
A hand brushed against Dean's face, soft pads grazing whiskers, and his dampening hair. Dean could see it in his eyes: Cas was somewhere else, looking somewhere else. It was a look of admiration, the ghost-like touches studying something precious and valuable. There was nothing sexual in them – the look or the touch. Dean was reminded of his Baby; he did the very same thing with her. With Lisa. Using his body, Cas was saying This is mine. This human, this soul, they are mine. And I can't believe it.
Still wrapped in Dean's hair, Cas pushed his head down to meet his own where lips brushed before Dean bridged the gap. The human tasted so good, too good, and now very aware of what the tongue was capable of. Cas had to break it to moan, arching his neck back and the opportunity to assault it did not pass by the hunter unnoticed. His hand quickened its movement: it wouldn't be much longer now. Dean at his throat, moving inside him, and himself, all trying and succeeding at milk an orgasm out of him.
"Dean, I... mmm."
He chuckled hotly against his throat. "I know. Me, too."
Cas, I...
You don't need to say it; I know. And I do, too.
Funny how life has a habit of repeating itself.
In another universe, at the very moment, an alternate version of himself was making love to an alternate version of Cas for the first time, in most cases just like this. Even if he didn't know them or never would know them, knowing they too put aside their burdens just for a little while and whatever held them back and do what should have been done years ago, was damn near beautiful. He was happy for them. There was the opposite side of that coin, worlds where he and Cas were enemies, or either one of them or both were dead, where Dean was never saved, even the champagne dreams and caviar wishes life some others had... but he couldn't think that way, not anymore. He would drive himself insane that way, contemplating of all the ways he would lose Cas and his brother. No. He would deal with this life, one that he'd do every damn thing in his power to maintain. It was a shitty one, but it was his.
Underneath him Cas' breathing was picking up, leg squeezing down on him like a damn bear trap; Dean was going to stay put. Not like he intended on going anywhere. The look on Cas' face was one of surprise, like he was shocked the buildup to an orgasm could be so intense. Dean could feel the pressure building in Cas also as he tightened around him. Too much more of this and Dean would be quick to follow.
Maybe he did it unconsciously, coincidentally, or absolutely on purpose. Whatever the reason was, an electric shock coursed through Dean when Cas grabbed his arm exactly where the imprint used to be, just as hard as he held Cas before. He knew, he just had to. His rhythm wavered momentarily before steadying.
"De-ean." There was no way Cas would climax quietly, nope, not going to happen, negative, an impossibility. He was glad Cas was finally able to huskily moan out his name like he wanted, but vociferous enough for Kevin to hear him was not planned. Doing the only thing he could do in such short notice, Dean clamped down his lips on Cas' as he came, the sticky fluid splashing onto both of their stomachs, and Dean was glad he did. Only when he began to pant did Dean release him. Never for a moment did the hand release his arm.
As Cas' body urged Dean to do the same, he knew it wouldn't be long. The flush on his face was visible despite the lighting. It was pretty cute. Cas leg limply slid down from his waist, the rest of his body following suit and becoming like jelly.
A few more frantic thrusts and Dean came, chanting "fuck" through gritted teeth into Cas's shoulder. Wave after wave hit him, relentless and feeling damn near endless. But of course, like all good things in life, it ended, leaving him too like gelatin. Unable to hold himself up any longer, Dean slid himself down onto Cas as slow as sap on a tree and in doing so dislodged himself, a groan slipping out of both men as he did.
Cas was left feeling empty at the loss of Dean, but was complete in other ways. Dean didn't want to move, not ever. To hell with everyone, he was staying naked with Cas in bed for the rest of his life. Castiel would zap them back to the bunker and that's where they'd stay. That seemed like a very sound life.
All was quiet other than heavy breaths trying to regain composure. A film of sweat covered Dean from both the heat of the summer and exertion and that was fine for Cas was not offended by bodily functions such as those; Dean was simply trying to cool himself off. They lost track of time. It was dark out still and that's all they needed to know. Cas could feel semen dripping out of him and onto the bed. Luckily angels had their own methods of instant dry cleaning. Warm... this was warmth. Nice.
A dulcet kiss to the forehead and Cas whispered into Dean's ear, "I'm still here."
