Author's Note: OH MY GOD I CAN'T BELIEVE IT- this is it. The last chapter.
Before I give any warnings, I want to thank all of you again for taking the time to read this. I certainly never expected this many people to like it. And I really hope that my new twist on the sickening fluffy coffee shop AU genre worked well for everyone. I said it in the last chapter, but I want to reiterate: I appreciate every comment/favorite/follow I've received. I probably don't deserve all of it, but, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. Even as I finish up "The Nicest Thing" and start working on the flood of anime fanfiction I intend to post, I hope that you all will stick around with me. Even if you don't, though, I'm glad that you've enjoyed one thing I've written. Please feel free to continue commenting and such! I appreciate the feedback and kind words!
Anyway, warnings. There's some sexy times and explicit language, but this fic is rated E so that's expected. Other than that, remember to tag any tumblr posts with "fic: ihtu" and to come chat with me on tumblr and/or twitter whenever you'd like!
Chapter Summary: I'm a sap for a happy ending, and I'm not sorry about that at all.
Castiel wasn't a cynic. Really, he wasn't. It's just that Christmas time had never served as the flashy, fantastic holiday season most people made it out to be. In his humble opinion, at least.
The crowds crammed into shopping malls across the country made his skin crawl, and painful memories resurfaced, of stuffing himself into a suit, the Novak's prim and proper scholar, parading around family friends. Around Christmas, Castiel could've walked into any room in his house and found relatives yelling and ranting, stomping around without any concern for those that hoped to find some solace during the chaotic holiday season.
Other than the fragrant aromas of home-cooked meals and pine needles, Castiel's memories of Christmas back at home weren't all that fond. His parents showered him with gifts, and the remaining members of his surprisingly tight-knit family spent their stay fawning over him. Little did they know that the object of their affections hated the attention and wanted nothing more than to stay holed up in his room throughout the entirety of their week-long visit.
So, Cas's past experiences made him a little bitter about the whole celebration. And, worse yet, he had other things on his mind this year. For the past several nights, he couldn't keep thoughts of spittle, blood, and fists out of his head.
Castiel hadn't worked up the courage to tell Dean about the recurring nightmare that had been plaguing his dreams ever since "the incident"- as everyone called it- had occurred. In the beginning, it was only quick flashes of horrific images, pieced together like a slideshow presentation straight from the depths of hell. They were disturbing but didn't wake him in the middle of the night, frantic and sweating, desperate for something to cling to; that wasn't until later.
Dean tried his best to calm him down when his eyes flew open and his limbs began to flail wildly, nearly smashing into his slumbering companion's jaw or, worse, his bleary, half-lidded eyes. He whispered soothing words against Castiel's hair, against his temple, anywhere his lips could reach, and drew his shaking body in close, arms wrapped securely around his waist. The warmth and comfort of Dean's embrace usually helped. All tremors and shakes halted the second Dean touched him.
The first night it happened, Cas wasn't surprised when Dean asked what was wrong. He swore that it was merely a nightmare, that it wasn't all that uncommon for him, but Dean detected the lie before he even finished his piss-poor explanation. To Castiel's delight, though, he simply sighed and buried his face in Cas's hair, muttering a frustrated, "whatever you say" before drifting off to sleep.
Of course, Cas never could fall back asleep. He couldn't take his mind off the stifling guilt weighing down on his conscious. He and Dean had agreed to be completely honest with each other, and there he was, lying to him, as if the extensive conversation they'd had the day after reuniting meant nothing.
What would he say, though? That Benny had done more damage than he'd let on? Dean had other things on his mind and definitely didn't need to tackle Castiel's petty issues along with everything else.
"You okay?"
Castiel startled, nearly tipping off the edge of Dean's couch and onto the floor. The other man's arms tightened and pulled him against his side, fingers curling possessively around his midsection.
"Y-yeah!" Cas cried, flashing Dean the best fake smile that he could muster at such short notice. But, as usual, Dean saw right through it.
"Hm," he huffed. The calloused pads of his fingers pressed into the exposed patch of skin near Castiel's hip, lightly brushing the jut of his hipbone.
"What?"
"I just said 'hm', that's all."
"You don't believe me," Cas mumbled. Embarrassed, he sidled closer to Dean and rested his head on the other man's shoulder. "I'm not stupid, Dean, I know what 'hm' means."
"I'm not stupid either," Dean fired back.
Castiel's eyes widened. He glanced up at Dean, surprised by the flicker of frustration in his gaze. Ever since Dean had taken it upon himself to steer clear of the liquor cabinet, the flickering flame of anger within him took a considerable amount of pushing and prodding to ignite.
"Dean…"
"I'm serious, Cas, what's wrong with you lately?" Castiel caught the exasperated lilt underlying the question. His eyes flickered down to the ridiculous reindeer sweater Dean wore, focusing on an errant thread, the kind that would drive him nuts until he retrieved a pair of scissors and snipped it off.
"Listen, Dean, I- shit. I can't do this. You want… you want to know about the nightmares," Cas muttered, swallowing the sudden lump wedged in his throat, "Right?"
Although he'd been the one to bring the issue up in the first place, Dean hesitated. Cas watched the flickering lights of the Christmas tree, the dazzling display of red, blue, purple, and yellow reflected in Dean's forest green eyes. The fingers rubbing Castiel's skin stopped and crept over to rest right above the waistband of his jeans. Socked feet brushed against Cas's, and the delicious smell of hot chocolate and baking cookies filled the air.
"It's Benny, isn't it?" Dean finally asked, a slight waver in his voice.
"What if I told you it was? What would you think of me?"
"Of you?" Dean's attention turned from the towering tree in the center of the room, decked out in glistening garlands, an assortment of ornaments, and twinklings lights, to Castiel's forlorn expression. "What the- Cas, it's only human to still be stuck on that. That's a traumatic experience! It's not every day that someone tries to beat the shit out of you, for Christ's sake!"
Cas huffed and buried his face in Dean's sweater, cringing as the scratchy wool tickled his nose and cheeks. "It's been a couple weeks since it happened," he murmured, "I should be over it by now."
"So what if you're not? I'm here to help, you know. Kinda comes with the whole 'considerate boyfriend' thing," Dean replied. He brought his hand up to the top of Castiel's head, slowly carding his fingers through his hair. Unable to stop himself, Cas burrowed his face in the thick, wooly reindeer antlers of Dean's sweater and sighed contently, savoring the gentle touch and the tingling sensation brought on by the light scratch of fingernails against his scalp.
"But that's not something you should worry about. It's my problem- I should be the one to deal with it."
"I know I've said it before, but, Cas, you've got to start letting people in," Dean pleaded, dragging his fingertips down to the nape of Castiel's neck, resting his hand there.
"Same goes for you," Castiel muttered.
Dean's chest rose and fell as he let out a little chuckle, jostling Castiel's rested head around. The deep rumbling sound permeated through Cas's skin, a powerful tremor he felt in his bones. "Yeah, yeah, that goes without saying. But I'm getting better."
"Eh, I guess," Cas sighed, purposely dragging out the s's.
"No, no guessing- you know I am. So now it's your turn."
"But you already figured it out," Cas insisted, "I'm having nightmares about… Benny."
"Yeah, well, from this point forward, you have to tell me if something's bothering you. Especially if it's affecting your health, dammit." Dean shifted forward, carefully coaxing Castiel's head away from his chest. He reached out and tipped Cas's chin up, fixing him with a concerned stare, genuine concern that made Castiel shiver for reasons completely unrelated to the approaching chill of Winter.
"If anything's on your mind- and I mean anything- you come to me," Dean soothed. Cas had never heard him use that tone before, equal parts commanding and soothing, a melodic quality to it that he hadn't realized Dean was capable of.
"You'll probably regret saying that in the future," Castiel teased, hoping to lighten the mood.
Dean regarded Cas with the kind of fond admiration that would likely make Gabe break out into a fit of coughing and gagging noises. The lights from the tree continued to reflect off his eyes, and the scent of nutmeg and chocolate wafted from his sweater, an intoxicating aroma Castiel surprisingly hadn't noticed until now. Moving slowly, at an agonizingly glacial pace, Dean inched closer, flicking his gaze between Cas's wide eyes and his lips, slightly parted in anticipation.
"I like that," Dean whispered, breath ghosting across Castiel's skin, "you said 'in the future'. You know I plan on sticking around."
"I'm right, aren't I?" Cas's voice lowered, mimicking Dean's.
"That's pretty presumptuous of you…"
Castiel rolled his eyes and, catching the mischievous glint in Dean's eyes, snaked his arms around the other man's neck. "Oh?"
"Yeah…" At this point, their faces were close enough for Cas to breathe in the husky response, Dean's intake of breath, as if it were his own. He eagerly swallowed the single word, waiting eagerly for Dean to lean in the final couple centimeters and just fucking get on with it already. He ached for the heady sensation, the electricity that started where his lips touched and, slowly, coursed its way through his body.
When their lips met, Castiel surged into the kiss, burying his fingers in Dean's hair, pulling him closer. He cataloged every content sigh and surprised moan he drew from the back of Dean's throat, savoring the slick slide of tongues curling against each other, prodding and exploring mouths. Eager to try something new, he captured Dean's tongue and sucked it lightly, eliciting the most incredible sound of delight in response.
To Castiel's dismay, Dean leaned away. He looked positively wrecked, hair sticking up in every direction, lips swollen and red, pupils dilated. But Cas only had a few moments to take pride in his accomplishment.
"Upstairs," Dean croaked, shakily climbing to his feet.
Although he'd managed to sink into the comfortable leather cushions over the course of their discussion, Castiel jumped off the couch, frantically grasping Dean's offered hand. The two darted out of the living room, taking the time to slow down as they passed the kitchen where Sam and Gabe were hard at work, and quickly climbed the stairs.
And, oddly enough, as they sprinted up the steps, giggling excitedly the entire way, Cas felt like a kid again.
"These aren't the same cookies you serve in the shop, are they?" Sam asked, eying the rows of gingerbread cookies curiously.
Gabe wiped his hands off, leaving behind streaks of white flour on his favorite apron, a bright red one with "Kiss The Cook… If You Dare" scrawled across the chest where his boobs would be if he had any. He turned to face Sam. The traffic cone orange apron ("Hot Stuff Coming Through") looked awfully funny on his towering figure.
"Nah, these are my 'special' cookies," Gabe answered, strutting across the kitchen to stand by Sam's side. He peered down at the faceless gingerbread men, thrilled to see that they turned out well.
"'Special'? Oh God, there's got to be drugs or something in them."
"Yes, Sam, I slipped some weed into our Christmas cookies."
"Sick bastard…"
"I'm kidding, geez," Gabe chuckled, patting Sam on the back. A small smile tugged at his lips, but, even after the reassuring comment, he didn't seem all that convinced. "So is the dynamic duo still coming over later?"
Sam scoffed. "Yeah, last time I checked. They said they hadn't finished wrapping presents yet."
"Hm, makes sense," Gabe agreed.
Sam lifted the tray of freshly baked cookies and rested it on the island in the middle of the kitchen. He carefully moved the cookies over to the cooling rack, arranging them in neat rows of three, making sure that he left enough space between each one. Gabe quietly watched him, caught up in the almost reverent way he handled them.
"You seem like you know what you're doing, Sammy," Gabe scoffed, entranced.
"I wasn't kidding when I told you that I spend a lot of time in an apron."
"You know me- my mind was somewhere completely different when you told me that," Gabe replied, leaning his back against the cool marble counter behind him. The bag of gumdrops sat a few inches away, and he simply couldn't resist. He plucked a green and red one and plopped the larger of the two into his mouth, chewing it slowly to savor the delicious flavor.
"Should've known," Sam sighed. He set the spatula down next to the cooling rack, now filled with rows of undecorated gingerbread men. Although the garish snowman sweater and apron made it difficult to see Sam's shoulder blades, at least not as easily as when he wore one of his usual v-necks, Gabe caught the slight movement, the way he visibly tensed. "Gabriel?"
Gabe's mouth suddenly felt dry, and his brain seemed to have short-circuited, caught on a single thought: Run.
But he didn't move. He held his ground and waited, waited like he'd done many times before, waited for the imminent impact. The man who prided himself on intuition and the ability to crack people open like books, flipping casually through the pages of their life story as if it were mere child's play, found Sam Winchester to be his greatest challenge.
"Yeah?" A noncommittal response; nothing that gave away what he was really feeling.
"I'm sorry."
Dead silence fell over the room. Gabe searched for some kind of response and settled on, "For what?"
"Everything? I mean, what I did to you… I don't know if I'll ever forgive myself for doing that." Sam turned his head, unintentionally giving Gabe a striking view of his profile. The slope of his nose, the couple pieces of hair tucked behind his ear, the jut of his chin and curvature of his lips. "You're a better man than me."
That got Gabe's attention. "Huh? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"I don't know if I would've been able to forgive someone for treating me that way. But, here you are, willing to give me a second chance," Sam replied wistfully, "I'm… I'm lucky to have a friend like you."
Sam had offered him an opening. Gabe could take one of two routes. On one hand, he could say something equally profound, something heartfelt that would likely stick with Sam for the rest of his life. There were words waiting to be stringed together that fit that description. Yes, they would require a great deal of courage and trust on Gabe's part. And, yes, at this point, he might as well take that kind of leap.
Then, there was the other route. A far easier and less stressful route: the escape hatch. Instead of carrying on a serious conversation, he could switch gears and steer it back in the direction of "inappropriate, ridiculous, and teasing" he was used to. Those situations felt comfortable to him. That's where he thrived- not the heated quarrels between lovers that frequented his television screen. Besides, he and Sam weren't lovers. Why fight like them?
"Wow, sentimental little Sammy sure has grown up," Gabe teased. The jest felt strange on his lips, leaving behind a sour taste, and yet he knew that he'd said the right thing. Maybe it didn't seem that way now, but, later, the logic behind his choice of words would later become crystal clear. That's how it always worked, at least.
"Eh, yeah, I guess so," Sam chuckled. His head swiveled around, hazel eyes fixing on Gabe's. They quickly scoured his face, searching for the pain he knew lied beneath the weak joke, and hesitantly came to rest on Gabe's honey golden eyes. "But, seriously… thank you."
"Oh God, for what?" He tried to sound frustrated, but the attempt seemed to fall flat, even to him.
"For forgiving me. All that 'sentimental' bullshit you can't stand," Sam teased, and, just like that, the tension lifted off of Gabe's shoulders.
It baffled him, Sam's impeccable ability to diffuse a topic when it turned into a ticking time bomb, ready to burst at any moment. He'd always been such a fantastic mediator. For as long he'd known Sam, he watched in fascination as he tackled arguments like they were second nature to him, the closet negotiator who, without fail, managed to smooth things over. He probably developed the technique after his years as a lawyer. Or… had he been capable of it long before his law school days? Was it some inborn skill that Gabe could only dream of having? Possibly. The idea, romantic as it may be, fit Sam quite well.
"Pfft, yeah," Gabe replied. He pushed off from the counter and joined Sam, peering down at the tray of unfinished cookies. Hesitantly, he glanced up into Sam's eyes, still a little frightened of what he might see. To his relief, everything about his expression exuded a contentedness. Lips set in a small smile, a cheerful glint in his eyes, forehead smooth and without a single wrinkle. "It's all bullshit," he finished softly.
Sam nodded in agreement. "Yeah," he agreed, curt and surprisingly vague.
The uncomfortable itch from earlier crept its way back into Gabe's system. Nope, not happening, Gabe decided. Determined to fix things, he jabbed his elbow into Sam's side and quickly darted away from the retaliation he knew was coming his way.
"Just grab the icing and gumdrops, you little shit," Sam commanded, arms crossed and lips pursed, "these creepy ass gingerbread men aren't going to dress themselves."
And the warmth came back, full force and completely unrelated to the oven or overhead lights. Sam Winchester, the real Sam, could light up in an entire room when he wanted to.
He's the fucking Sun trapped in a human body.
Another person, another satellite, might come along and begin its orbit around Sam's brilliantly glowing aura. Gabe had learned that the sheer force of his magnetic personality couldn't be harnessed, but he'd also learned to accept it. He could now say with certainty that, no matter what came their way, he would be alright. They would be alright.
The sweaters were tossed carelessly to the side the second Dean and Castiel slammed the door shut behind them, adding a little mess to the pristine floor of Dean's bedroom.
The last time Castiel had been here, the cleanliness of the room was the last thing he'd cared about. And he still didn't give a damn about whether it was messy or not. Dean's only concern was steering Cas toward the bed, gently urging him along, carefully lowering his head onto the plush stack of pillows near the headboard.
If there's one thing Cas remembered from his last visit, it was the gentle way Dean handled him. He treated him like a fragile object that might break at any moment, but, at the same time, there was an underlying fierceness that excited Cas, luring him out of his comfort zone.
Dean's hands hovered over Castiel's sides, fingers pressing into the soft flesh. The lamp sitting on the bedside table painted everything in a soft, intimate light. His eyes had darkened and, looking down on Castiel's sparsely clothed body beneath him, his tongue swiped across his lips. Cas wanted to reach out and cup Dean's face, wanted to brush his thumbs across the bags underneath his eyes in hopes of swiping them away. Something about the electricity between them gave Castiel the courage to raise his hands and smooth his fingertips over Dean's cheekbones.
But there was something he couldn't get off his mind.
"Dean?" Cas managed to murmur as Dean's lips slipped between his, languidly, as if he had all the time in the world to kiss him.
"Hm?" He hummed the single word into Castiel's parted lips, noses bumping together as he leaned back ever so slightly.
"What… you said…" A sigh slipped out of his mouth, swallowed immediately by Dean as the warm tip of his tongue swiped lazily across Castiel's bottom lip. "Before… leaving the… h-hospital."
"Hm," Dean repeated. Cas gasped loudly, surprised by the fingers playing idly with his nipples, twisting and turning, a sudden surge of pleasure coursing through his veins.
"Did… Oh!" His back arched off of the bed, and he struggled to restrain himself, fighting back the urge to let the whole thing go and focus instead on his hardening nipples and the hand that, somehow, had reached the zipper of his pants.
"Dean, please," he begged, although he secretly wanted nothing more than to let Dean continue, "this is… important!"
Reluctantly, Dean's hands stilled, but he didn't pull them back. He huffed and leaned away, kneeling at Castiel's feet, offering a spectacular view of his chest where a thin sheen of sweat, barely noticeable, covered his skin. Cas's fingers itched to trace over his torso, to map out the contours of his abdomen, to smooth over his hipbones and down his pelvis until they reached- anyway, he had serious issues to tackle right now that didn't involve Dean's musculature.
"How important?"
"Important enough." Castiel focused his gaze on the wall behind Dean since he couldn't seem to think straight when he stared too long at anything concerning the other man's state of undress.
"Okay, fine," Dean sighed, carding his fingers through the hair Cas had spent the past few minutes mussing with wandering hands, "go ahead."
"I- um." Now that Dean had offered him an opening, rapt fascination in his hooded stare, Castiel's confidence dissipated. God, he had the worst timing sometimes. "Did you mean it? That you, er… l-love me?"
The confident disposition Dean usually adopted in the bedroom, and, for the most part, out in the public eye flew out the window. He looked more vulnerable than Cas had ever seen before, fingers twitching against Castiel's bare skin, eyes flitting nervously around the room. It might've been the low lighting, but Cas could've sworn that Dean was blushing.
"You heard that, huh?" Dean mumbled, still refusing to make eye contact.
Cas fired back a question of his own. "Did you not want me to?"
"No, I- dammit, Cas, that's not what I meant." It was weird, experiencing a flustered Dean. "What I mean… fuck, I'm not good at this."
"Just like your brother," Castiel offered up, hoping that the playful dig at Dean's equally dense brother would lighten the mood.
"Yeah, unfortunately."
The hand at Cas's waist tightened its hold on the zipper pull, while the other drifted away from the nipples they'd spent a great deal of time tweaking and twisting. It almost felt as if Dean were trembling.
"I… I meant it, though," Dean finally admitted. He had yet to meet Castiel's imploring gaze, but, nevertheless, the confession packed a real punch. Honesty, evident in every croaked syllable, every word, relayed in a reverent, secretive way.
"You… you really love me?" Castiel didn't want to get his hopes up. There was absolutely no way he'd go through the same agonizing period of being kept in the dark that he'd already endured. His heart swelled hopefully in his chest, pulse quickening.
"Of course I do," Dean whispered, regarding Castiel with the tenderest smile he'd ever found himself on the receiving end of.
"How-"
"No, no, we're not doing that again." The fingers resting on Castiel's zipper resumed their earlier mission, tugging down until they reached the final couple teeth, revealing the pewter blue boxers beneath.
"Dean-"
"Cas," Dean whined mockingly in return.
Frustrated, Castiel crossed his arms, fixing Dean with what he hoped to be a cool, intimidating leer. Which, in this situation, turned out looking about as cool as a stroll across the Sun's fiery surface. Dean saw right through the pathetic gesture, trailing his hands up to the waistband of Castiel's jeans, eager to tug the stupid things off once and for all.
"Dammit, Dean-"
"Okay, let's just settle this now," Dean sighed melodramatically, rolling his eyes like the closet diva he apparently was, "I'm an idiot for loving you, and you're an idiot for loving me. Good?"
Cas blanched. It wasn't uncommon for him to be so blasé, but this… this was crazy. How could he be this blunt, infuriatingly straight to the point, about something as poignant and monumental as love? "Wh- you son of a- how…"
Castiel didn't have an argument ready. Instead, he just lay there, slack-jawed and at a loss for words. Dean must've noticed because he mumbled a quick, "yep, that's what I thought," and leaned in, reclaiming Cas's swollen lips with a new found vigor.
The exchange lit a flame deep inside Castiel's chest, dragging out the excitement he'd been forced to keep hidden for the past few weeks. Invigorating and overpowering, the need to reach out and have Dean closer, to memorize each little detail before it slipped away, washed over him like the monstrous swell of a tidal wave.
Castiel had always been wary of intimacy. The idea of giving yourself over to someone so completely frightened him. How could you tell whether a person would abuse that privilege? Who would stay through the morning? Who would leave?
He'd made a lot of unfair judgments in the past. The concept of sharing your body with another person didn't really appeal to him. It was an invasion, another entity encroaching on his precious personal space. But Dean had changed all of that.
Sure, it hadn't happened right away. A preconceived notion like that didn't just disappear overnight. And, after many years of physically distancing himself from others, Cas took a considerable amount of convincing before he opened up.
That's why he let Dean in. He never overstepped his boundaries, never pushed too hard or asked for too much. He listened to Castiel, even when he didn't vocalize his fears or anxieties. With a single glance, he knew to stop what he was doing. It had kept them from going… well, he would never refer to it as such in front of Dean, but, going "all the way."
The term sounded ridiculous and juvenile, which is why Castiel hadn't brought it up. He hadn't had reason to either considering the fact that they hadn't been together sexually for days- far too long, in Cas's opinon.
But, here and now, with Dean there in his embrace again, he felt something shift, the proverbial switch inside his head flicking on. He could do this; Dean would take care of him. Wasn't that clear by now?
"D-Dean," Cas panted. His jeans were long gone by this point, a jumbled mess beside Dean's discarded pants near the foot of the bed. His erection pressed painfully against the constraints of his boxers, begging to be released, but Castiel chose to ignore it as best he could. Thankfully, Dean was in the same boat, if the tent in his boxers was anything to go by. "I… I'm ready."
"Obviously," Dean snorted, bending his head low, nuzzling against the strained fabric at the front of Castiel's boxers. The similarity between Dean and a kitten briefly crossed Cas's mind before he quickly shook it off, disturbed by the mental image.
"No, I… I'm ready for- you know," Cas finished weakly. Dean hands trailed up and down Castiel's bare legs, tracing patterns along his calves, down to his ankles, across the tops of his feet. Yeah, as if it weren't difficult enough trying to form words with Dean's warm, wet mouth teasing him through his boxers. "For it."
"You can't even say it," Dean chuckled, eliciting a full body shiver from the quivering puddle of a man beneath him, peering back with dark, dilated eyes. Castiel's back arched, lips parting in a wordless moan, fingers clenching in the sheets, desperate for something to cling to as he succumbed to the intoxicating sensations flooding his system.
"I don't need to, you dick," Cas grumbled. But Dean didn't pay him a single bit of attention. His fingers danced over the waistband of Castiel's boxers, inching them lower and lower until the head of his cock was showing. Cas couldn't look away, entranced by the careful way he drew the garment down, gazing up into dazed blue eyes from beneath golden brown lashes, cocky as ever. Ha, cock-y, Castiel thought and immediately wished he could mute his brain for rest of the night.
"I'm just kidding." Dean crawled forward until his face was directly above Castiel's erection once again, flushed and heavy against the other man's twitching abdominal muscles. Dean watched for several heated seconds before licking up the length, flicking the slit with his tongue. Cas's toes curled, a squeak- nothing sexy, just a goddamned squeak- slipping out before he could seal his lips shut.
"What do you want?" Dean drew his mouth back, murmuring the question into Castiel's inner thigh, eyelashes tickling the sensitive skin. "Tell me."
"Dean." Castiel hated pleading, but he really didn't have any idea how to be sexy or talk dirty or anything that he probably should be capable of doing by this point in his pathetically virginal life.
"Fine, fine," Dean laughed, "I get it."
"So you won't…?"
"No, you won't," Dean explained, "I'll do all the talking."
"Oh." Cas didn't know what to say to that.
"So, Cas." Dean sucked experimentally on the head of Castiel's cock, fingers wrapped loosely around the base. The still unfamiliar warmth of an oncoming orgasm sparked somewhere deep within the pit of his stomach, building steadily. "Do you want me inside of you?"
Castiel tried to respond, to tell Dean that he wanted that more than anything, but a whimper bubbled up on his quivering lips instead. The sound seemed to encourage Dean, though, as he eagerly took all of Cas inside his mouth, cheeks hollowing out as he sucked, sucked all of the sense out of Castiel's already frazzled mind, pumping Cas with strong, sure motions. Panting heavily, Cas squirmed as sweat dripped down the planes of his bare chest, gathering in the hollow of his collarbone, a normally uncomfortable combination of sensations that were quickly turning his body into a livewire, taut, on the brink of snapping at any moment.
"F-For now," he gasped, burying his fingers in Dean's hair. He pressed, urging Dean to take more, to take all of him. Always eager to please, he understood and swallowed until Castiel felt a moist heat pressing in from every angle.
With a slick pop, Dean reluctantly let Castiel's cock drop back down to his stomach. Cas could've sworn he saw Dean mouth the word "beautiful," but his every thought was clouded by lust at this point, and he'd lost the ability to decipher reality from hallucinations. "What does that mean?" Dean wondered, resting his head casually on the bed between Cas's spread legs.
"That… maybe one day I can-" Castiel hesitated. But, no, he could say this. He didn't want Dean to do all the work. "I can be inside of you."
Dean's eyes were dinner plates, wide enough to pop right out of his skull. His pupils seemed to dilate even more, if at all possible, and his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. Maybe he'd said something wrong. He'd thought that using Dean as a reference was the best tactic, but now, based on the dumbstruck expression on his unwilling mentor's face, he couldn't help but question his decision.
"Sorry, that was, wow, I probably sounded stupid, saying something like hmmph."
Dean's kisses were hungrier than earlier, sucking Castiel's tongue into his mouth like he couldn't get enough, drawing some of the most pathetic sounds from Cas's gasping mouth. The lack of oxygen left Castiel feeling a little lightheaded, but he couldn't bring himself to care, what with the slick slide of Dean's tongue, exploring every available inch of the inside of his mouth. Unwilling to let him take control, Cas tugged at Dean's bottom lip, giving it a quick nip before diving back in and capturing the startled moan Dean uttered, relishing the contact as he surged against him.
"You don't have to tell me twice," Dean panted, pulling away. Cas chased after at first until he realized just what he meant by the comment.
Dean sat back, and, to Castiel's dismay, didn't ask for help when he slid the red plaid boxers down his legs and kicked them off. They joined Cas's at the foot of the bed.
He'd forgotten how big Dean was, and, considering his lack of experience in the sex department, gaped openly at the sight of his cock, catching a glimpse of flushed crimson skin in the darkness. It reminded him that he couldn't wait for Dean to be inside of him and yet made him anxious, maybe a little afraid, at the same time.
Porn had never really been his thing, but he'd heard classmates discuss the matter of- he cringed as he thought the word- anal sex since high school. College students broached the subject more often, and Castiel, even at his age, wasn't exactly comfortable discussing it. They made it sound awkward, sometimes painful. And, logically speaking, it made sense. Having an eight or nine-inch long thing shoved up his ass would probably hurt like hell.
As if sensing Castiel's concerns, Dean pressed a quick kiss to his temple before leaning over to fish the lube out of the bedside table. He squirted a liberal amount into his palms and rubbed them together. Leave it to Dean to make sure he actually heated the lube first.
Cas watched, completely silent, as Dean made sure to coat his fingers. Once satisfied, he made an adorable- yes, adorable, shut up- little sound of contentment and hunched over, wrapping his arms around Castiel's thighs. He used the new position to draw Cas closer, moving him gently into place.
He allowed Dean to shift his hips around, pushing his legs farther apart. Trust was key in a situation like this. If he didn't have complete faith in Dean, that he would know what to do and when to do it, then his body would tense and certain things wouldn't work. And he did have faith in Dean; he wouldn't hurt him, not if he could help it.
The cool press of fingers against his entrance caught him off guard, though, and he distinctly felt his body clench around the digit inside of him. Dean didn't seem to mind. A string of incoherent praise, mumbled words of encouragement, streamed past his parted lips. He worked slowly and carefully, in and out, until he managed to push in up to his knuckle. It didn't hurt, but it didn't feel especially good either.
But Castiel's traitorous body took no notice of the ache. At this rate, Cas would finish long before Dean was inside of him, and he couldn't have that. Desperate, he pushed back against Dean's finger, silently begging him for more.
Thankfully, before Castiel could ask, a second finger slipped in alongside the first one. He moaned, writhing helplessly, digging his toes into the sheets. He'd lost the ability to control his movements, surrendering to the primal instincts he usually avoided.
Dean continued to stretch him out, scissoring, pushing, pulling, and added a third finger when Cas cried out his name, followed by a pathetic demand for another. Three fingers were probably comparable to the real thing, which, unfortunately, remained hidden at the moment, pressed into the mattress. As Dean worked, his hips adopted the same rhythm as his fingers, rocking in time to each careful drag.
Then, as he pulled out for what felt like the hundredth time, he crooked his fingers and struck the spot Castiel vaguely remembered hearing about when a group of guys were talking just a little too loud during class, and, well, Cas could be nosy when he wanted to be. A burst of pleasure unlike anything he'd ever experienced rocked through his body, and he let out a moan, probably the loudest yet.
"There we go," Dean mumbled, pressing his lips briefly to Castiel's inner thigh. He resumed his incoherent praise and pushed his fingers in and out a few more times before retracting them completely.
Cas must've looked like an absolute wreck. His face felt like it was on fire, and his entire body was trembling, erratic twitching from head to toe. He couldn't keep his mouth shut, couldn't stop the keens and whimpers from spilling out, and his brain had turned to mush, his thoughts a disorganized, jumbled mess inside his head.
Castiel's desire to be filled, to be taken apart, gave him the confidence he needed to plead for what he wanted. His entire being buzzed with anticipation, reduced to a puddle of incoherent cries and bated breath, squirming and shaking. Please, please, please, hungry pleas for Dean to continue, echoed in his head.
Dean proved his uncanny ability to read Castiel's mind once again. His husky laughter and the rustling of sheets, insignificant little sounds, filled the charged air.
"Just relax," Dean soothed, repeating one of the many things he'd panted against Cas's skin. There was a tremulous quality to his voice as he spoke, breathy and thick with an emotion Castiel couldn't quite identify. Excitement, maybe, or possibly a hint of fear, but he couldn't be sure.
Castiel nodded his head, droplets of sweat trickling down his face. Usually the wet salty taste disgusted him, but something about it in this context heightened his anticipation. He was perspiring for reasons completely unrelated to the exertion he'd grown to detest. But this time, this particular kind of exertion, didn't pose the threat it used to. If it were anyone else, he probably wouldn't be content to lie back and give in. Dean was different, though. Being with him felt natural- like they were made for each other.
How cheesy, the remnants of Castiel's shattered psyche scolded. He flushed in embarrassment.
Suddenly, he froze. All semblance of logic, of rationality and common sense, vanished in the blink of an eye, torn away by the press at Castiel's entrance. Dean had dropped down onto his elbows, propped over Cas, the glistening planes of his torso within reach. Shaky fingers reached up, clamping onto Dean's shoulders as he pushed in another inch.
This ache was worse than that of the dull flash of pain brought on by Dean's fingers. As expected, the real deal dwarfed the three digits. He could feel his body protesting against the intrusion, struggling to free itself of the pressure, but Dean grabbed hold of the sheets below, clenched his eyes shut, and pressed on.
"R-relax," Dean urged, "I've got you."
And, despite his body's resistance, Castiel believed him wholeheartedly. His eyes fluttered shut, placing all of his trust in the man he knew without a doubt he loved. The pain worsened, though, as Dean buried his entire length inside of Cas's quivering body. He could feel it pulsating, pushing deep, and he curled his legs around Dean's waist, silently encouraging him to keep going, struggling to ignore the aching between his spread legs.
"Cas," Dean whimpered, a broken cry ringing clear in the silence of the room, "are you okay?" He looked concerned, and Castiel realized that he must've made an agonized sound.
"Yes, y-you're fine just move," Cas growled in frustration, growing impatient. His irrational desire to join together with Dean, in a new and exhilarating way, clouded his judgment, and, unexpectedly turned him into the domineering force he had trouble portraying outside of the bedroom.
Dean was long gone by this point and settled for a curt nod, obeying the command, slowly drawing out of Castiel. His cock dragged along Cas's sensitive walls, and a dazzling display of light flashed before his closed eyes, painting the inside of his eyelids a striking combination of whites, reds, and yellows.
This time he heard his pathetic cry. But it wasn't one of pain. No, the sensation flooding his body had nothing to do with pain.
"Dean," he whimpered, a strangled plea, "just-"
"I've got you," Dean repeated, a soft whisper, barely audible even in the heavy silence. Before Cas could ask what exactly he meant, Dean thrust back into him, a quick movement that slid Castiel a little further up the mattress, sending a pillow toppling to the floor.
"Oh!" A powerful wave of pleasure crashed over Castiel, pulling him under, a gasping, quivering pile of sweat-slick skin and clenching fingers.
"There, yeah," Dean mumbled, more to himself than Cas, and shifted his hips back, pulling out faster than he had before.
Castiel was better prepared the second time. And the third, the fourth, and fifth. Dean built a surprisingly steady rhythm, in and out, hips rocking, shaking the mattress. Cas couldn't stop the pathetic noises now, and he really didn't want to. He could care less how he looked at that point; it wasn't like Dean was faring any better.
He liked it this way. Confident, sometimes infuriatingly clever Dean, a complete mess, falling apart right before Castiel's eyes. The soft skin coated with a thin sheen of sweat, just begging to be adored, to be traced by Cas's trembling fingers. He wanted to preserve this moment in time and keep it tucked away, somewhere only he could find it.
Ravenous, Dean sealed their lips together, swallowing the surprised yet incredibly pleased gasp of joy as it left Castiel's mouth. Their bare chests pressed together, slick and warm, and Dean's hands had found their way to the back of Cas's head, pulling lightly at the shorter hairs on the nape of his neck, a sensitive spot that only he knew existed. Castiel clumsily slipped his tongue into Dean's mouth but allowed the other man to take control of the kiss. Although he wouldn't admit it, he sometimes enjoyed being dominated by Dean.
The steady ebb and flow of Dean's thrusts was becoming increasingly erratic, to the point where he could barely hold himself up. He released another whimper, mumbling Castiel's name reverently, and shifted his attention to Cas's neck, sucking a bit of skin between his teeth, likely to leave a mark behind. It wasn't really kissing anymore so much as heavy breathing and quivering lips, switching between Castiel's jawline, collarbone, and the juncture of his neck and shoulder. Dean sucked a bruise into his skin and then smoothed his tongue over the affected area, covering Cas in tiny purple splotches he'd likely have to explain to his nosy boss and even nosier friends the following day.
But there were more important things to worry about. Like the fact that the warmth pooling in his stomach was rapidly approaching its peak, and each frenzied push was mercilessly hitting the same spot repeatedly.
"I'm close," Castiel managed to say, secretly hoping that Dean wouldn't stop now that he'd told him.
Dean let out a sound that could only be described as a growl, a primal noise that reverberated against the hollow of Castiel's collarbone. "Me too."
The admission, coupled with an especially strong thrust at just the right angle, sent Cas toppling over the edge. His eyes clenched shut, his body shook, toes curled, grasping frantically onto Dean who, after uttering a breathy, "Cas," tensed and came, buried deep in Castiel.
They clung to each other, ignoring the sticky mess on their chests. Cas's heart pounded, panting against Dean's neck, and savored the fact he, the inexperienced Castiel Novak, reduced him to this.
For a few seconds, they didn't say anything. It wasn't until Dean carefully pulled out and rolled over, wrapping his arms around Castiel's waist to draw his spent body flush against his still heaving chest, that someone spoke.
"Dean?"
"Hmm?" Dean buried his face in Castiel's hair, fingers splayed across his lower abdomen.
A beat. "We should clean up."
"You've got to be-"
"I'm just messing with you," Cas replied, laughing softly.
This pause lasted longer and felt heavier, better suited to the weight of the words on the tip of Castiel's tongue.
"Dean?"
"Hm?"
"I… I really do love you."
The confession hung in the air between them. Castiel waited a few painstaking seconds, scared that he might've said the wrong thing, before Dean responded.
"Love you, too, Cas," he murmured, nuzzling closer.
The corners of Cas's mouth drew up into what he could only imagine was the most ridiculously goofy grin.
Okay so maybe choosing to work at a coffee shop wasn't the best idea for a guy who loved coffee as much as Castiel. But what would his life be like if he hadn't? Where would he be now if he hadn't filled out that one, measly little two-page application?
Author's Note: I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH! Oh, and I purposely left Gabe and Sam's situation open-ended for anyone that wanted to see them together. In my eyes, they stay friends, but I've left it open to your interpretation.
I don't know what else to say, but, um, thank you!