Chapter Twenty-One
Dean forces himself to go through a drive thru to waste time, purchasing everything he knows Castiel likes as well as a number one combo for himself. It's stupid, but what else can he do? He's not even hungry. Frustrated, he drives straight back to the building hosting the secret division, furiously staring at it the entire time as he chews his way through his hamburger and medium fry. He's still staring at it as he sips through his large Coke and then as he flips open his phone and dials Sam's number, not looking at the keypad to dial.
"What the hell is taking them so long?" he demands immediately without preamble. "He's been in there forever now - and they're probably running all sorts of bullshit tests on him; probably going to have nightmares every night this week because of it. God, the whole thing makes me fucking sick. I just hope Charlie will get something - Charlie." Because he's just realized he hasn't spoken about the OBIT to her since Thanksgiving and he clicks his phone shut without saying goodbye, dialing her cell phone a second after.
"Long time, no speak," she answers on the third ring.
"Charlie," he says in reply, glaring at the building before him. "Please tell me you've found out something fucking good on the OBIT."
There's a pause and then a shuffling of papers. "Why're you asking? You didn't seem all that gung-ho on it when I brought it up."
"They've got Cas."
"They've got - what?"
"No - I mean, don't form an attack team or anything," he says, though that doesn't seem like such a bad idea at this point in time. "They called him in for some sort of check-up thing, since he's been in the field for four months and they want to see how it's affected him. Whatever. It's total bullshit, and fucking Dick wouldn't let me stay, and so I'm just sitting in the parking lot like an asshole while they're doing who knows what to him." He takes a hard breath through his nose. "So what have you found out?"
"You're not going to like it," she says, and he makes a frustrated noise. "Calm down, I haven't even told you anything yet. Look, Dean, I'm the best there is at hacking probably anywhere, and even I'm a little astounded at how well their security is."
"God dammit, Charlie," he begins.
"Now wait a minute," she interrupts hotly. "I said I was a little astounded, and that's because it took me all of nine hours to hack in when it usually takes me under four."
They both sit in silence until she adds, "I'm holding for applause."
"For it taking you longer than usual? Come on."
"I'd like to see you try and break in," scoffs Charlie. "I'm betting on a year. Or more."
Through gritted teeth, Dean says, "Charlie. Did - you - find - anything?"
A brief pause and then, "Yes and no." He sighs loudly and she says, "God, Dean, you sound like you're about to have a heart attack and you're only thirty-one years old. Now do you want to hear what I found or not?"
Grudgingly, "Go on."
"Thank you." More rustling paper in the background. "Now what I did find was utterly pristine - just like their security, completely professional, all of it. Someone's been very efficient in making their records. All of it completely clean."
Dean's about to explode out of frustration, but he keeps his voice low and under control when he says, "So what you're telling me is that it took you nine hours to find absolutely nothing?"
"Yes, and that's the point, Dean, don't you see? Twenty-two years of working and they have nothing to show for it? No flaws, no faults, no dirty stains? Dean, someone's been meticulously covering up every little thing that comes and goes in that facility. They have to, in order to keep it a secret from ninety-nine percent of the nation."
"What about Cas? Did you find out anything specifically about him?" Someone walks out of the building and Dean tracks them with a narrowed gaze, suppressing the urge to simply leap out of the car and run into the building and find Castiel and drag him out far away from these sick motherfuckers. "Charlie?"
"It's - yeah," and abruptly she's quiet, subdued. "I found his. Parents, I found his parents."
"You - holy shit, Charlie, you did? Did you already track them down?"
"That's why I haven't called you yet." She takes in a slow breath, and then, "Coma patients. His parents were coma patients."
Dean doesn't know what to say to this. "Were? So they're dead?"
"Yes. Dean, his mother died in 1962 and his father died in 1979."
He reaches up, rubbing his forehead, unable to speak for a moment. "Charlie, maybe you found the wrong people. Same names, that sort of thing."
"You know I wouldn't do that," she's still speaking in that quiet voice that he hates. "They had their social securities listed and everything. So I did it for some of the other subjects - all of them dead ends, either dead before the kids were born or missing. Absolutely none of them were legitimate."
He wildly thinks of telling Castiel to say 'legit' like any normal person, thinks back to their easy moment changing a tire on the side of the road - and then wonders with a sickening feeling how he'll possibly tell Cas that his parents are actually two coma patients that died before he was born. "Can't we get them on that then? On - on forging documents?"
"How? I did further research, Dean, and technically none of these kids actually exist. Nothing. No records of them anywhere. And then - I looked at their success rate, and it's higher than anything I've ever seen. Any time they're put on a case, it's broken, in less time than any other division I've seen. They've created mass weapons of destructions, Dean, that absolutely no one knows about. No one's that's anyone is going to let this place be taken down."
"I can't believe that," he says firmly. "This is despicable, all of it. They're - fuck, they're just as much of an enemy as the fucking drug ring is."
"I know. Trust me, I know. And I'm still going to keep digging, don't worry." There is steel in her voice now that he knows is unbreakable. "They will come to an end."
"I'd suggest just going in and killing every single one of them if I didn't think they'd harm Cas in the meantime," Dean says and then glances at his phone as it beeps. He puts it back to his ear. "Hey, I got an unknown caller coming in; might be Dick's secretary saying I can get Cas. I'll call you later."
"I'll call you as soon as I find out anything more," she promises, and they both hang up.
Dean says, "Yeah?" to the new caller, and he was right - it is the secretary, speaking in a calm, pleasant voice. The conversation barely lasts a minute and then Dean's hanging up again and getting out of the car, walking determinedly back into the building.
"Where is he?" he demands of the same secretary once inside, and if she's surprised that he got there so fast, she doesn't show it.
"Mr. Novak will be out soon," she says.
Dean has to repress a growl and instead starts pacing, ignoring all the chairs available as he waits impatiently. He makes it back and forth twelve times before a door opens and Cas appears - clutching the arm of a woman and staring vacantly off into space.
"Cas?" Dean demands, voice cracking in worry as he steps forward and the brilliant blue eyes he has come to adore flicker in his direction, pupils miniscule black dots in an ocean of blue. "What - what's wrong with him? Cas - are you - what did you do to him?" He's got a hold of the woman's shirt before he can think, hauling her towards him in blind fury.
"Dean, let her go," says Castiel quietly, and Dean immediately releases her, turning towards the teenager and putting a protective hand on his shoulder. "I'm all right."
"You're - fuck, Cas, are you blind?" says Dean in a horrified voice, and the two women - Labcoat and Secretary - both give him a reproving look for cursing around a minor. Never-the-fuck-mind that they blinded the very same minor.
"It's temporary," says Labcoat before Castiel has a chance; Dean whirls on her again, a fire flaring inside him.
"He can speak for himself," he snarls, and puts himself in between them. There is utter repulse writhing in his chest along with a thousand other different emotions, half of them fixated on the OBIT with rage and disgust and fury and hatred and the other half fixated on Cas with concern and worry and protectiveness and possessiveness. "Cas, are you okay?" he asks in a gentler voice, forcing himself not to reach out and touch him in the way as he's grown used to.
"I'm fine," says Castiel in a weary voice, automatically inclining his head towards Dean, eyes focused on something over Dean's shoulder. He reaches out, hand shaking slightly, and touches the collar of Dean's jacket, wandering upward slowly until he touches the base of Dean's throat and pauses there as though drinking in the feel of Dean's skin. "Don't worry; she's right. It'll wear off in a few hours. Can we go?"
"Yes, of course," he says automatically, and he wants to take Castiel's hand in his but instead he settles for drawing the thin fingers to his arm, watching as they dig into his sleeve. He's trembling and his fingertips dig in harder, burrowing into the suit jacket as if still searching for skin. Dean finally glances back at Labcoat who is watching all of this with an unreadable expression. "He's fine to go?" It's brusque and to the point.
"If his vision is not completely returned by midnight, come directly to the lab," is all she says, and turns on her heel, exiting with her coat flaring out behind her.
"Bitch," Dean mutters under his breath, too low for the secretary to hear - Castiel clearly catches it as he cocks his head at the sound - and then slowly leads Castiel out, glancing worrying over at the expressionless boy every five seconds.
"Dean," says Castiel once they're both outside. "Stop that."
"Stop what?" He aims for nonchalant and misses wildly.
"Stop looking at me like I'm about to break. If you knew what I just went through, you'd know that walking to the car is absolutely nothing. I'd go without your help if I thought you'd let me."
"What did they do to you?" The furious edge is creeping back into his voice. "I'm going to fucking rip them to -"
"Wait," says Castiel, and Dean remembers that they're still technically on OBIT territory. The shitheads probably have cameras all around, listening in to every little thing that's said, and Dean presses his lips together in a thin line, burning. It's not long before they're at the car, Dean opening the door for Castiel and anxiously helping him sit down, but even when Dean's inside as well, he can't bring himself to ask again. The air in the car is tense and loaded as he starts the car and pulls out, tires screeching with the force of his silent anger.
"I got you some food," he finally remembers when they're almost at the hotel. "If you're hungry."
"Not really." Pause. "Thank you though."
They fall silent again. It's only after they've parked and Dean's starting to open the door that Castiel speaks again.
"Do you have any sunglasses?"
"I - yeah," he's about to direct him as to where and then remembers - God, he's such an asshole - and reaches across Castiel to flip open the glovebox, fumbling about for a moment before he pulls out a pair of aviators and hands them to Castiel who slides them on wordlessly. Dean stares at him for a moment, and then Castiel turns his head towards him. "What?"
He looks unspeakably hot in that moment (yeah, Dean knows he shouldn't be having these thoughts about a blind kid, whatever) in a tight white t-shirt and slacks that he definitely didn't go to the lab in. The sunglasses, the strong jaw, full mouth. "Nothing. Let's go."
He gets out first and hurries around to the other side of the Impala, opening the door and reaching a hand in to help Castiel - which the teenager ignores, pushing past Dean and then coming to a stop a few feet away, clearly at a loss as to where to go.
Dean comes up to stand behind him silently. "Can you please just accept my help until it wears off?" he asks at last. "It's only a few hours."
"I'm not a child," says Castiel in a tight voice.
"I know you're not. Trust me - Cas, if I thought of you as a child, would we even -" he can't say it out loud, not in public where anyone might hear. Strong jawline or not, Cas is still clearly underage.
"Then don't treat me like one now. I don't need to hold onto your hand to get to the front door, Dean."
He doesn't know what to say so he merely makes a face at Castiel's back and then turns and get their luggage out of the car. He wordlessly presses Cas's duffel bag into his hand and then says, "You're facing the entrance. About thirty steps. Listen for my footsteps," and moves in front of him, walking steadily in front. He hears Castiel stumble once - and almost turns around to help him but Castiel's already continuing on so Dean does as well.
They make it to the hotel room with little incidence and then Dean forgets to tell Cas about the raised bump at the door and he's just dropped his duffel bag to the floor when he hears Castiel's foot make contact with it and he goes sprawling. Dean's at his side immediately, crouching down with his hand hovering over his shoulder as he asks, "Cas? Are you okay?" with all the concern of a frantic mother hen.
"I'm fine," grits out Castiel. His sunglasses had fallen off in the process and he splays his fingers, patting the floor in search of them.
"Here," says Dean gently, pressing the fallen sunglasses into his hands. "But - you don't need to wear them in here," he says, watching as Castiel slams them back on and then uses the wall to haul himself to his feet. "Cas -"
"I'm going to take a shower," says Castiel roughly, and Dean is forced to watch as he runs his hands all along the wall, searching painfully slow for the bathroom door. He doesn't dare say anything, however, and finally Castiel reaches it, shutting the door roughly once he's in. It's not like he doesn't know exactly why Castiel's reacting this way - once more he thinks he has to prove himself to Dean, to show that he's worth something to their cause.
If he hadn't forced Castiel to go through so much in the beginning to prove himself - Dean looks away and moves further into the room, sitting down heavily on one of the twin beds and feeling it creak beneath him.
So he sees it as a weakness then, is that it? Another thing he has to overcome to be considered Dean's equal?
Well, then, Dean will just have to show him differently.
Castiel turns the water off and then leans his head against the tiles, closing his eyes and telling himself that when he opens them again, he'll be able to see again. It's been a few hours since he was injected with it, right? It has to be. It feels like years since he last saw something - and he knows Dean's probably concerned about him right now, probably thinking Cas'll slip and break his next or something - and everything within Castiel tightens.
If only Dean saw him earlier. Saw him fight blinded. Then he would never again question Castiel's fighting abilities. Never fear about having a teenager at his back. They'd act like real partners, instead of Castiel always a step behind, always following orders.
God, but he's so tired of following orders.
"Cas?" comes a cautious voice from behind the door.
Castiel represses a sigh. "I'm coming out soon."
Muffled shuffling. "Don't rush." Hesitation. "But when you get out, I have something for you."
What could it possibly be? A walking stick? A guide dog? "All right," says Cas because it doesn't seem like Dean'll leave the door if he doesn't say something back. He waits until the footsteps have faded before holding his breath and opening his eyes.
Nothing.
All his breath leaves him in one disappointed rush. Just straight blackness, like staring into an abyss. He can feel the disappointment in his veins, weighing him down, and he moves slowly out of the shower, waving his arms around until he finds a towel. Once it's around his waist, he closes the lid to the toilet and sits there with his head in his hands. Get control of yourself. Stop this. Stop feeling this way.
Alfie had been there.
Alfie, his Alfie, who had been the first person to really pay attention to Castiel outside of the scientists. He'd still somehow had a spark of mischievousness in him, always wearing a crooked little half-smile when he looked at Castiel, like he was about to share his inside joke and bring Castiel in on the secret.
When they kissed for the first time, Castiel had learned the secret. He'd been hesitant and confused and terrified of messing up but Alfie had just pulled back and smiled and said, "Doing fine, Castiel."
And now Alfie is… broken. Wrong. Alfie attacked him, Alfie hates him. Alfie thinks he probably abandoned him.
Castiel is a harsh swirl of emotion. What is he supposed to do? Forget about it? Tell Dean? No, absolutely not. He's just going to have to figure it out on his own. If there's even anything he can do. It's not like he can rescue Alfie. The OBIT is unstoppable, unbreakable, overwhelming. No one can escape it, just hope not to be swallowed whole by it.
The situation is bleak, to say the least.
He stays like that until he doesn't feel like he's falling apart quite as badly. Then it's up again and realizing he left his clothes outside and then slowly walking to the door and opening it.
Immediately, Dean's there, a presence that Castiel can feel with his whole body, and it irritates him beyond belief. "I said I didn't need your help, Dean -"
He breaks off when two hands cradle his face and lips press against his, hot and wet and firm, muffling his protestations and then enveloping his surprised groan. One hand slides into his wet hair, tugging lightly against the grain just the way Castiel likes, and he is hard so fast it's embarrassing, all thoughts of his problems gone. It is a welcome relief, an abrupt distraction he didn't know he needed.
"Get on the bed," says Dean in a low voice when he pulls away.
"Dean, I'm -"
"The bed." It is said in such a growl that Castiel dares not disobey and it sends another twinge of arousal shooting through him. He moves clumsily towards the bed - far worse off than the obstacle course - and then when his knees bump into it, Dean speaks again. "You can go ahead and drop the towel."
A little whimper leaves Castiel's lips without his permission and he pauses only a short second before he lets the towel fall from his narrow hips before crawling to the middle of the bed and laying down on his back. He waits. Cold air strikes him immediately and he's shivering by the time he hears footsteps coming closer towards the bed - but still Dean doesn't speak and his erection starts to wane. "Dean?" he finally asks, unable to bear it any longer.
"Shh," comes the quiet voice. "I'm looking."
Castiel clenches his eyes shut and shudders from head to toe, imagining Dean staring at him with lust in his eyes - and is he still fully dressed or did he get naked while Castiel was in the shower? He hadn't been able to tell from the single kiss.
"Beautiful," murmurs Dean, and a finger brushes the bottom of his foot, the lightest touch possible but it immediately sets Castiel's skin on fire, aching for more. The lone finger drags up the arch of his foot, making his toes clench. "Castiel, I know you think this sight problem is - well, a problem."
And just like that, his erection disappears entirely, body tense for a completely different reason.
"Hey," reprimands Dean softly, another touch - this time to his calf, fleeting. "Listen." He waits until Castiel cocks his head slightly. "You think it's a problem. But," there's the sound of a belt unsnapping and then a slight whistle as it whips off and is tossed carelessly aside. "I want you to know that there's a silver lining in everything, Cas."
"To going blind?" says Castiel, disgruntled even as he listens to buttons whispering against fabric one by one. Dean taking his white collared shirt off. "I'm useless this way." He thinks about how useless he would have been without Naomi's four hints, how easily Alfie took him down at the end; he flexes his hands now, feeling the scrapes from the gravel.
Dean's voice is deeper than usual and it makes something clench within Castiel as he says, "You are never useless. You are so much more important than your sight or how you fight or what you can provide. Crucial," and now there are the sounds of trousers unsnapping and Castiel's cock is interested again, "to my well-being."
"Crucial," Castiel repeats.
He can hear every little thing in that second. He can hear Dean's quick little intake of breath - hear his heartbeat pounding away - hear the cars outside the hotel - hear the rasp of fabric as Dean's pants hit the floor.
"Need help seeing the silver lining still?" The bed dips under Dean's added weight.
"Well, I am blind," says Castiel, and Dean laughs softly.
"Quiet now," he says, and Castiel instantly goes still as hands touch his calves. Dean slides his hands up, pushing Castiel's legs up with him so that his knees bend and then there's the lightest brush of lips to the inside of his knee, a tender press of lips. "See it yet?"
"I -" his breath hitches. "Still a little unclear to me."
Another huff of laughter against his leg and then Dean moves down, kissing down his inner thigh - and then skipping right over Castiel's wanting hips and kissing his stomach, light little kisses that make Castiel's stomach rise and fall heavily. "So anxious," murmurs Dean, his hands drifting up Castiel's sides, raking over his ribs before dragging back down. "Your heart is racing."
"I - can't - tell where you're going next," says Castiel, head tilting back into the mattress as Dean's mouth latches onto one nipple. And then when he feels Dean smile into his skin, he gets it. "Oh." It's a little gasp and cry all twisted into one.
More laughter, and it is this almost more than the tantalizing touches and soft kisses that is driving Cas mad. "Knew you'd get there on your own. It's all right that you're a little slow sometimes." And then he's leaning up and kissing Castiel - slowly, so as not startle him, dragging his lips against Castiel's and inhaling into him. Cas arches up, deepening the kiss, reaching up with both hands to hold Dean closer.
They both pull back at the same time, breathing heavily, and Castiel's eyes flutter open automatically before he remembers.
"Hey," says Dean softly, touching his cheek, clearly seeing the frustration in Castiel's useless eyes.
Silver lining. Silver lining.
"Stay still," whispers Castiel.
Dean slowly lowers his weight down, straddling him, and grows as still as a statue; Castiel yearns to see what he looks like with all his might but this will have to do. Searching hands reach upward until they come in contact with the underside of Dean's jaw, skirting the edges until finally Castiel climbs higher, touching the rough skin of an unshaven cheek. He drags his palms against the stubble and then presses onward, touching a strong nose and high cheekbones and then reaches closed eyelids, pausing for a moment and feeling Dean's eyes move underneath the thin eyelids, back and forth under Castiel's delicate fingers.
And suddenly he feels more intimately connected with this man than he's ever felt with anyone before - like he could ask anything of Dean and it would be given to him, no questions asked. Scared, he moves his hands further up - into Dean's hair and there he lets his fingers rest for a second until they tighten and he drags Dean back down, hungrily kissing him again.
"Let me," whispers Dean against his lips, and then he's shifting so that his lips press against Castiel's jaw, dragging along until he's at his earlobe - biting down and causing Castiel to shiver at the heightened sensation. Down to his neck now, pausing at his pulse to suck down hard - claiming him, marking him, and Castiel knows he's making little keening noises but he can't stop, can only focus on where Dean might be going next.
"You're so beautiful," Dean tells him.
"Are you the blind one here?"
"You don't see it," says Dean in a gentle chastise. "You don't see it even when your eyesight is 20/20, but you're gorgeous, Cas." His hands drag down his sides, nails digging in just the slightest bit, shifting back until he's between Castiel's knees again and then suddenly there's hot breath on Castiel's cock and he jerks, whining. "So beautiful, especially when you're all needy and wanting for me."
"Want you," pants Castiel, and reaches out searching until he touches soft hair. He weaves his fingers through and then can't resist tugging down, towards his hips. "Please."
"Gonna make you come, Cas," says Dean in a low voice and then takes Castiel into his mouth. It is heightened by ten by his lack of sight and Castiel writhes underneath him, already a frantic mess, and suddenly he knows what he wants.
"Dean. Dean," he chokes out, hands tightening as he tries to drag Dean's eager mouth away. "I want you to fuck me."
Dean pulls away and freezes. When he speaks, his voice is almost unrecognizable. "You sure?"
"Please," begs Castiel. "I need you in me."
There's a sudden, sharp intake of breath and then the bed moves as Dean scrabbles to find lube. He's back in record time and all Cas can do is lay and wait - listening as the cap comes off and it squirts out generously. He drags his legs up, long used to the burn of Dean's fingers in him - welcomes it, clenching around nothing as he waits for something, anything.
"Baby," says Dean lovingly, and presses a kiss to the inside of his knee, as he always does. It is almost routine now, but that doesn't take away from it - no, it gives Castiel a heady sort of rush that Dean knows him so well, knows how to press into him with his finger at just the right angle - and Castiel groans as it slides into him, slick and practiced. Moments later and he's already aching for more, thrusting down on Dean's hand. "Already?"
"Hurry."
"Someone's eager," says Dean, and Castiel knows he's aiming for humor but it comes out low and husky and drugged with want; if Castiel could see him, he knows he would see pupil-blown eyes and an open mouth and God, he hates being blind. The frustrating whimper that escapes him makes Dean push a second finger in, slowly rotating. He's never so acutely been aware of the spread and twist of those two fingers, deep in his body. He feels their touch everywhere, all at once, setting his veins on fire.
Dean waits until he's a whimpering mess, begging and pleading, before finally pushing a third in there.
"Gonna get you all wet and loose," he says. "Gonna open you right up for me, baby. There won't be any pain, no pain at all. I told you I was never going to hurt you."
"Never," Castiel repeats, breathlessly.
"Never," he agrees.
Soon, Castiel is jerking his hips down against Dean's hand and panting out, aching all over and then aching even more when Dean pulls his hand away. "You sure?" he asks again.
"Dean, I need it, need you," and he reaches hands out, breath catching slightly when a hand claims his, fingers intertwining in the air. Dean's palm is rough against his own, damp with sweat, but the tight clutch of his fingers against Castiel's is more reassuring than anything else. It also tells him that maybe Dean is more nervous about this than he's let on. That maybe this is a big deal for him as well. That he's just as scared about screwing it up as Castiel is.
And then Dean shifts forward on the bed, moving towards him, and something hot and blunt touches Cas's hole. He waits, entire body on edge, and then lets out a shaky breath he hadn't realized he was holding as Dean pushes forward, achingly slow. "Dean, Dean, yes."
"Oh God," says Dean in a choked voice. "I'm only halfway in - is it too much?"
"Just - just wait a second," manages Castiel. It burns, it aches, but it also makes him feel fuller than he's ever felt before. He can almost forget that he's blind with Dean halfway in him, rocking his hips just barely into Castiel like it's taking everything in him not to just push all the way in. All his senses are on fire, and he thinks even if he could see, he would have his eyes tightly squeezed shut just because actually watching Dean push into him might make him come from that alone.
He wonders what it feels like for Dean; could anything be better than this right now?
He discovers a moment later, when Dean finally moves until he's completely buried inside Cas, that yes, there is something better.
"Never leave me," he begs, one hand clutching Dean's, the one reaching up to trail across his face.
Dean leans his face into Castiel's hand, his breath coming out harsh. "Never," he promises.
"Because I need this, I need this, I need you." Now that he's had this - how is he ever supposed to live without it? His entire body is spread open for Dean, spread wide and vulnerable - he knows now he would give anything for this beautiful man. All his life, he has been treated like an experiment; it is only until Dean came along that he felt equal - but more than that, with Dean he feels worshipped, precious.
"Can I move yet?" whispers Dean. He rests his forehead against Castiel's, their breathing mixing together. "You're so - fucking - tight, feels so good, Cas -"
Castiel tilts his head up just barely and kisses him - hot and messy, needy in every sense of the word, and then draws away and orders, "Move, Dean," in his hardest voice.
Dean moves. It's a slow drag out and then a slow push back in and Castiel's never felt so tense in his life, so strung out and pulled in every direction possible. He's released Dean's hand somewhere along the way and now he puts both hands on Dean's chest, exploring blindly - down and then back up, marveling at the way Dean's muscles bunch as he moves. And then he's going faster and - the strangest sound drags out of Castiel's mouth, torn between a whimper and a growl.
"Fuck yeah, Cas," says Dean, slowly down slightly as he mouths along Castiel's jawline. "Moan for me, baby," and Castiel moans as Dean sucks down on his neck. He wants Dean to mark him up - claim him as his - the idea of letting everyone see Dean's mark on him makes his cock throb, pulsing slick pre-come.
He arches back, fingers digging in sharply into Dean's skin as suddenly he hits something like lightning. It streaks out through Castiel's entire body and he gasps, "Again," and, "Faster," and Dean obeys.
It is like nothing he ever imagined it would be. This entire experience, all of it - he never once thought he would find this in his life. This connection, this magnetic pull, this constant need for someone else. It's building in him, consuming, pulsing each time Dean says his name - which he does, constantly, over and over again like Castiel is a god.
That's what Castiel can't understand - the reverence in Dean's voice, the awe in his touch as he grips Castiel's hips. Like he can't understand how he ever got so lucky to get Castiel. Like he doesn't deserve Castiel.
It is so utterly absurd that Castiel almost wants to laugh.
Except then Dean reaches between them and grips Castiel's cock, and Castiel can't think of much else other than need, need, need.
"You're mine," Dean tells him. "Mine, all of you. I won't let them hurt you, ever again. You hear that?" His scent is all around Castiel, his taste still in Castiel's mouth, stroking Castiel in time with his rolling thrusts - "Mine," he says again, and that's all it takes. Back arching, Castiel opens his mouth in a soundless cry, unable to even breathe as his orgasm rocks through him. His hands dig into Dean's shoulder blades, clawing for a hold, and it feels like a lifetime passes as pleasure rocks through him.
Still can't see though - but he feels it when Dean comes a moment later, speeding up and then letting out a long groan that sounds a bit like please just as something hot shoots deep inside Castiel.
They stay like that for a moment, locked together, until Dean slowly pulls out. Instantly, Castiel feels achingly empty. "I just -" he says and then Dean's gone and a panic shoots through him. Dean's left, Dean didn't like it, Dean doesn't want him - "Dean?"
"Only getting a washcloth, sweetheart."
It's only when he's back on the bed, however, that Castiel's heart stops its mad sprint. He tries not to jolt in surprise when it touches him and a second later he's sinking down into the mattress, melting as the warm washcloth drags over his skin soothingly. It's almost better than sex - this feeling of being taken care, of being adored completely - it drags him down, lulls him into the safest place he's ever been in. Meticulously, Dean cleans every part of him, gently erasing all evidence that he'd been there.
"What were you saying earlier?" asks Dean in a quiet voice. He moves again, supposedly to drop the washcloth onto the nightstand, and then there's the sound of a lamp clicking off (it makes no difference to Castiel) and then he's back on the bed, sliding in next to Castiel and tugging him towards him. "Hmm?"
"I just wish," says Castiel and then turns, burying his face in Dean's skin. "I just wish I could have seen your face when you came."
He almost expects Dean to laugh and is surprised when instead Dean gives a little groan and shifts in the darkness to kiss Castiel - warm and drugged, as though Dean himself is just as affected by the aftercare as Castiel is. "Don't say things like that to me," he whispers.
"Or what?" whispers Castiel back. "You'll do it again?"
"And again, and again…"
"Let's do it," says Castiel. "I'm ready."
That does earn him a laugh. "Calm down, teenager. Maybe tomorrow. I'll teach you the miraculous wonders of morning sex and you'll never want anything else ever again, promise."
"Doubt it," he says. "I think I'll want you in every way possible, all the time. I don't think I'll ever stop wanting this. I think I'll need you always, Dean. More than sight. More than hearing or tasting… just you."
"You have me," Dean says sleepily, and presses a kiss to his forehead. It is the same as the washcloth - overwhelmingly sweet, overbearingly precious. It sends Castiel down, down, his eyelids growing heavy, and he comforts himself knowing that Dean's face will be the first thing his eyes see when he wakes up.