A/N: Thank you for the feedback! They really make my day. :)

This chapter is warned for implicit sexytimes. Actually, p much this entire story is warned for that because I've lost count of how much sex they had in this fic.

BOOK ONE

One: The Husband

Summer

Cas was tired. The light from the laptop screen seemed to be burning through his eyes and scorching out his very retinas. His fingers were stiff. He was sure he was developing carpal tunnel. And Dean still hadn't closed for the day and God, he just wanted Dean with him right now. He had tried phoning his husband, but Dean wouldn't take his call, so Cas could tell he was busy. Probably a picky customer. That, or Charlie was in a chatty mood tonight.

He liked them: Charlie and Kevin. Dean had only wanted some wait staff, and they were perfect. Charlie lived fifteen minutes away and had taken computer studies at UMass Lowell. Kevin had just finished high school and had been accepted into UML as well, and into the same program as Charlie. Nerds, Dean had called them, and Cas had never seen many people who were so enthusiastic about their subjects. Apart from Sam, that is.

The laptop still sat there on the table, the screen blaring brightly at Cas's face as though it were accusing him of stalling. And, okay, he was on a deadline, but he needed a break right now. So he ignored all the protests in his mind that told him he'd regret this later on, and promptly saved his draft before shutting the laptop. Then he decided to try for Dean again.

Cas was already sprawled in bed when Dean picked up the phone.

"Where are you?" he asked immediately, before his husband could so much as utter a 'hello.'

"Cas." Dean sounded wary. "I'm coming home."

"Yes, I've been waiting for you, Dean."

"Yeah, uh—" Dean paused for a second, and Cas felt his eyes narrowing. What was going on?

"Dean?"

"There's, um… someone with me."

"Okay."

"It's this dude… from the FBI."

Cas's heart shot up to his mouth as he pulled himself into a sitting position. Sam had warned him… warned them both and said it was dangerous… he never should have started all of this—

"He just wants to ask us some stuff," Dean told him. "Don't worry."

"Dean, is this—is this about what I—?"

"No, Cas, it's cool. You wait there. Sam's said to call him if shit gets bad, but it won't."

And Sam was still in Palo Alto, so a lot of things could go wrong before he even got onto a flight.

"You stay put," Dean continued, "I'll be there in two."

"Yes."

"Cas—"

"I'm fine, Dean."

There was a pregnant pause, and then Cas could hear the smile in Dean's voice. "Yeah, you are."

Cas put the phone down with those words ringing in his ears, only realising belatedly that his hands were shaking.

~o~

Special Agent Victor Henriksen had handled a lot of horrible, strange, gruesome cases in the entirety of his FBI career, but this one had to take the cake. He had arrived in Tyngsborough two days ago after a murder had been reported, the seventh in a series of absurd killings that had spanned throughout the country over the last year and a half. These occurred every three months, in a different town each time, but this time, the killer seemed to have blundered and killed two people in the same town within the span of a year. And that town was Tyngsborough.

The local PD was frustrated because they had no leads and the media was creating a commotion amongst the people, who all wanted answers for everything these days, even before there were any answers at all.

At the FBI, they called him the Creature. The killings took place once every season on a full moon night and they all happened in the same way, victims all being somewhat similar in age and appearance. They were men, mid-forties, and they were found dead with their bodies mutilated and hearts missing. They were all classic douchebags, too: abusers, perverts, serial cheaters, and rapists. It was like this killer was trying to play God (or Dexter), which he obviously had no right to. A vigilante. He turned up like clockwork, every three months, bang-on according to the lunar cycle, and he took one more life with him.

The weird thing about this whole case was that there was no link to these murders apart from this very fact. The kind of pervert chosen was random. The city or town where the murder took place was random. There was no way to guess where this piece of filth would strike again.

Up until now, there had never been more than one murder in one town, though. Not like this one, and according to Henriksen, this was a gold mine. This was how he was going to catch this bastard.

He smiled to himself and glanced at Dean Winchester as they headed to his home to question Dean's spouse. The first murder in this town had been that of a man named Jack Wheeler and he'd apparently frequented that little flourishing diner that Winchester owned. However, that wasn't what was special about this man and his husband, and Henriksen intended to take full advantage of the kind of information he was about to get from this little family.

They rounded a corner and entered a residential street, Winchester tucking his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket as he hid a smirk. He was young, barely thirty, and he had a mouth on him. Henriksen did not like this guy. He and his husband were extremely implemental to his investigation, though, and that was one of the most unfortunate things about this entire case.

So Henriksen followed Winchester into his house, knowing that he'd probably have to put up with these people for a while now and that he wouldn't be able to complain about it. Reasonable bargain, as long as he found the killer.

~o~

Cas was ready when the doorbell rang. He could feel his heart fluttering in his chest as he went to get it. Sam had already called twice. He was definitely coming home now, he'd said. He was cancelling his trip to Jess's place and taking the next flight out. Cas did not doubt that, but he did not know if Sam could help them if the situation was what he thought it was.

When he opened the door, he found Dean standing on the porch with a man behind him on the stoop. Before Cas could react, his husband leaned over to place a small kiss on his cheek and Cas felt the inevitable peace and comfort take him over as he smiled.

Dean was not a very big talker. He relied on gestures and small sentences, but Cas knew that the kiss was Dean's way of comforting him. Of saying that everything was going to be just fine. And Cas involuntarily just believed his husband.

Dean stood back, the sparkle of green prominent in his eyes. "How was your day?" he murmured.

"Good."

"Good?" Dean gave him a kind smile, then moved. "This is Special Agent—"

"—Victor Henriksen," the man finished for Dean, as he came forward and shook Cas's hand. He was tall, bald, and black, and exuded a sharp, intelligent personality, like he knew every bit of what he was doing. Cas found himself swallowing a little.

"Castiel Winchester."

Henriksen nodded. "I have some questions for both of you."

"Sure," Cas told him. "Come on in."

He cleared the books off their coffee table—all Cas's—and saw his phone blinking with a message from Sam. He opened it as Henriksen made himself comfortable on the armchair.

Sam [21:11]: Got my ticket on the morning plane out. See you. Don't worry. Say hi to Dean. :)

Cas smiled at his brother-in-law's sweet message and tucked the phone into his pocket as he sat beside Dean. Dean's hand reached for Cas's thigh, stayed there a moment, and was gone the next. "So, you had questions?" he asked the agent.

"I do." Henriksen leaned forward. "Some are about that man, Jack Wheeler, who you know was found murdered last October."

Dean glanced at Cas. "Yeah, we remember that."

"His girlfriend, Linda Ballinger, was at your diner minutes before she found him."

"That's right."

"And Dean," Henriksen nodded, "so were you. Correct?"

Dean smirked. "I was there the entire evening."

"Anyone who can confirm that with me?"

"We got cams in the shop. Plus my wait staff can tell you I was there."

Henriksen nodded. "All right. And before that?"

"Here," Dean told him. "I took a break for the afternoon."

"Your customers tell me that you're always at the diner. So why weren't you there on that day?"

"It was, uh…" Dean looked at Cas again, going slightly pink, and Cas's heart grew a little at the sight of his husband being flustered. "It was a slightly late anniversary celebration."

"Anniversary?"

"Yeah, we'd been married two years and Cas was busy earlier that week, so it was a late anniversary thing and… I wanted to get some stuff ready." Dean's ears were positively red now as he tried to avoid all eye contact with Henriksen.

The FBI agent turned to Cas. "And you can confirm that?"

"Yes." Cas took Dean's hand. "We made lunch, watched movies together, and exchanged gifts."

"Okay." Henriksen rubbed at his eyebrow. "And I think you know that two days ago there was another murder."

"Yeah. That dude was a regular," Dean said, looking down as he sighed.

"Edward Miller," Henriksen said, nodding. "That was his name. Did you know that?"

"I did. He'd come in the previous day, too," said Dean.

"So where were you when he was murdered?"

"No clue, but we were home that morning and in Worcester in the afternoon. Barnes and Noble." Dean grinned. "Since Cas is a big-time author and all, he has these readings he's gotta do sometimes of his books."

"I know. So once again, you weren't at the diner that day?"

Dean shrugged. "Not the whole day, but there are people who saw me around the entire day, including the time when the murder could have happened. I was working when they found Ed, too. You can ask the staff."

"What prompted you to take the day off?"

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Cas was nervous."

"And he hasn't had any other readings before? With his success?"

"What, he can't be human?" Dean was getting dangerously on edge and Cas squeezed his hand, to feel him squeeze back. "You doubting us now?"

"You do have a shady history."

Cas glanced at Dean, who rolled his eyes. "Again."

"Again, what?"

"Look, dude, I told the police after it happened, too. My dad died in a fire. My foster dad was attacked by a burglar. Our guardian got shot in the head after. Sam and I had nothing to do with any of that, okay?"

"We'll see."

"Sure, open up the old files, why don't you," said Dean, his voice mocking. "Will make a lot of sense to look for shit that isn't there."

Henriksen folded his arms. "Where did you meet your husband?"

"At my foster parents' place," said Dean. "And for the record, I was already eighteen. It was extended foster care until I graduated. We were friends for a whole year after."

"So these are the third and fourth deaths to occur in the vicinity of you and your husband."

"Vicinity." Dean huffed. "Are you… are you serious?"

"You can understand why I'm asking you these questions, right?" Henriksen raised his hands. "Just covering the basics."

"Well, then," said Dean, and Cas could already feel the anger pouring out of him as he squeezed his husband's hand harder, "basically, Cas wasn't even in the house on the day I left foster care. That was the day my foster dad was killed, too, and like I said, in a burglary."

"Why didn't you contact someone from the system or CPS? That you were leaving?"

"You kidding me?" Dean asked him. "Look, this is stupid. I just told you I was eighteen. My brother, who's four years younger, wasn't, and I didn't want him going back to some home, okay? Bobby called the police when we reached his place. He was our legal guardian and his papers were through and he took great care of us. Better than CPS and all the other idiots."

"And the days of the murders at this town, you and your husband cannot give me concrete proof as to where you were?"

"You want an alibi?" Dean asked him, and Cas knew that tone in his voice. Goddammit. "Let me—"

"Dean," Cas muttered, trying to stop the volcano from erupting, "we don't need to do this. Sam is arriving tomorrow and—"

"No." Dean had reached into his pocket now, and was fumbling with his phone. "He wants proof, Cas, and I can give it to him right here." He had unlocked his phone and Cas knew what he was reaching for.

"Dean—"

"Tell Sammy to go meet Jess's folks," Dean told him as he opened his video gallery. "We can deal with this."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Aha!" Dean glanced at Cas, a small smile playing at his lips, before sliding the phone to Henriksen. "Look at that."

Henriksen picked it up, but made a face. "This is a video."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "And we're naked. And fucking. That was our anniversary celebration. We hadn't fucked in a while. And you can see the timestamp if you want, for your alibi."

Cas shut his eyes momentarily, warmth rising up in his cheeks as Henriksen stared at the clip, not touching it. Dean watched him for a moment. "What, you paralysed all of a sudden? Play it."

"You're being crass," Henriksen began. "I don't need to—"

"No." Dean took the phone back, pushed play, and Cas looked away as the distinct sounds of heavy breaths filled the room.

"That's enough," Henriksen said over Cas's moan. "I have a few more questions—"

"About what?" Dean asked him as Cas moaned in the video again, with Dean this time. Finding his own voice vaguely disturbing and embarrassing, Cas moved forward to stop the video.

"We just told you that we had nothing to do with this shitstorm," Dean continued as he took his phone from Cas.

"You can't expect me to believe that without proof," Henriksen told him.

"I proved it to you, you asshole! Go ask the people at the bookstore! And at the diner. I was out and about that day, not murdering some dude, you stupid fuck."

"Please stop misbehaving."

"We are just a fucking family in this fucking town, and—"

"This is also about the novels your husband is working on," Henriksen said calmly, although Cas could sense that his temper was just waiting, ready to fly off. "If you don't have any connection to this, you shouldn't have a problem answering these last few questions."

"Yeah, my brother—"

"Dean." Cas cut his husband off midway and Dean turned around to him, anger melting from his face. "I'll answer those questions," said Cas. "We knew they'd ask."

"Yeah." Dean swallowed, his other hand reaching to grab some of Cas's fingers, "but you didn't do anything." He was almost whining as he said it.

"They know that," Cas lied. "But it's their job, okay? Let me do this."

"We had a deal." Dean was earnest now, not angry, but Cas could sense the slight worry in his voice. He shrugged. "Sam's coming tomorrow, man."

"I can handle this."

"Cas—"

"Dean, you've already ruined it," Cas told him, his frustration making itself apparent. Dean deflated a bit and Cas felt guilty, but it was gone when he remembered the video from a few minutes ago. "We both know what my situation is. I want to answer his questions."

Dean stared at him for a long moment. He nodded slowly. "Okay. You're right."

They turned back to Henriksen, together, and the other man straightened up, looking Cas directly in the eye. "So, Mr. Winchester, when did you come up with the idea for the Werewolf series?"

~o~

"That went well."

Dean emerged from the kitchen, a glass of whiskey in hand while Cas leaned against the sofa cushions with his phone. He knew Cas was pissed off with him for everything that went down with Henriksen, but hey, that guy asked for it. He was blaming them off baseless suspicions and the million questions had really annoyed Dean. He didn't regret his actions one bit.

Plus, Henriksen ought to be jealous of him and Cas right now. They had some really great sex and Dean had just presented him with evidence of that.

"Do you really think so?" Cas asked him in a low voice when Dean settled next to him. Yep, definitely pissed.

"Yeah. You don't?" Dean asked his husband, grinning. He knew this would rile Cas up more, but he'd kiss Cas everywhere, slowly first, then quicker and get down on his knees, only to make Cas beg. And he'd take Cas in his arms and—

"I don't know, Dean, I think that was crass and unnecessary." Cas's gravelly voice cut across Dean's fantasy and impending boner.

He sighed. "Don't make some big goddamned issue out of this, man."

"I'm not making it an issue. It didn't need to be a problem at all."

"What do you want me to do, huh?" Dean asked him, trying to be patient. "You want me to come and apologise? Kiss his feet and tell him I'm sorry for hurting his feelings?"

"It was not his feelings you hurt."

The statement was so blank, so unexpected, Dean's jaw dropped. He put his hands on Cas's shoulders, trying to get him to look at him, but Cas kept turning away and Dean needed him to say that crap once again to believe him.

Because, what the fuck?

"Dude," he began, listening to the disbelief in his own voice, "dude, seriously?"

"What we do in our bedroom and in our lives is private, Dean."

"Yeah. So? I was just trying to teach him a lesson!"

"I did not want my privacy breached," Cas snapped at him, standing up. "Did you ask me? Did you even think of whether I would be comfortable with that, before sharing something so intimate with a stranger?"

Dean stared at him blankly, watching his husband's face. It hadn't been that bad. It hadn't—

"It appears that you don't have the capability of understanding that anyway," Cas cut across Dean's thoughts as he began to walk away, and Dean felt his heart sink.

"Come on, Cas, he was a jerk," he moaned, and Cas actually turned back.

"No. I believe he was doing his job."

"Like an asshole!"

"Like any other law enforcement personnel would."

Dean drained the last of his whiskey and stood up, too. "So now you're gonna be pissy at me because of some fucker from the FBI?"

"If that's what you think," Cas said, crossing his arms in that annoyingly pissy Cas way, "then I'm not even going to bother to correct you." He paused. "I'm going to bed."

"Fine."

Cas walked away, leaving Dean to wish he'd reciprocated with a fine, too. Preferably shouted it out, because then Dean would know that it was all right, but now he'd have to live with Cas pissed at him.

~o~

Cas had been a struggling novelist for the better part of his life. He'd read extensively as a child, created fantasy worlds in his head, and thought up characters and kingdoms and languages that he'd always wished he could share with everyone.

It never worked out that way, though.

There were too many like him. Too many people who'd had similar dreams, who spoke and wrote like perfect poets and had more to share, who could express beauty in little words and dialogue and move hearts and souls with their pens with so much ease and fluidity, it left Cas dumbstruck. They didn't have a place for their stories, either, and compared to them, Cas was very far behind. Too far behind to actually win.

Or so he thought.

Werewolf had been his most recent brainchild, a mystery novel series about two women investigating a string of murders that occurred every month on full moon night. The murders were in random towns across America, and all the victims were missing their hearts.

The story was a trilogy. Cas had added sub-plots and diverse characters and comedy and tragedy and romance and adventure and everything he could think of. He had been careful about including all that, so it would fit in, weave in neatly with his story and not look like too much. Dean had sat with him day and night and listened as Cas wrote the first book, and Sam had read drafts upon drafts and been honest and good about it all. They'd done it in six months and they finally even became Cas's unofficial literary agents.

Then came the rejections. They poured in, one after the other, each publisher finding a flaw with the storyline, finding problems with the characters, and a million other things which had seemed just fine when Cas had written them. When he was just about to give up and return to helping Dean at the diner, Cas had met Marv, a truly horrible man and a professional literary agent who seemed interested in Cas's writing. Marv made good work of it and got the books published sooner than Cas expected.

Cas had had his first book published earlier this year, and it had received rave reviews and a great following. He knew he would never be Conan Doyle, but he was happy at his success, as was Dean. He'd made a small fortune out of it, he was attending readings, signing copies, giving interviews, and being appreciated, and not too many people knew about him and his relatively private life.

Of course, that had all been perfect until Henriksen came knocking. Because now, not only had Dean been kind enough to display his willingness to show that video to Henriksen (and maybe Cas was making a big deal out of it, but it was a big deal to him), the FBI seemed to have realised that the recent serial killings bore some kind of a resemblance to the deaths in Cas's novels.

And that was fine, because Cas had stolen his concept (and only concept) from what was really happening (and it attracted the market even if a lot of people were quick to criticise him for making money out of tragedies, but far more people were interested in reading it and sales were increasing by the minute, and it was honestly only the concept that Cas had gotten—everything else was fictional). But suspecting him for murder based on all of that? That was… worrying. And if Cas could have known it would come to this…

He thought of it, over and over, thought of Henriksen's questions about his conception of the idea and Dean ruining everything and he found himself wanting to curl further and further into his blankets. He'd have to talk to Sam tomorrow about this. About all of this. It was very important at this point that Sam understood the urgency of the situation. But then again, Sam was smart enough to understand why it was all going to hell.

There was a disclaimer. Cas had included a disclaimer in his novel, that the events in the book were fiction, meaning he had nothing to do with the Creature. And the publishers had offered legal protection, too, even if Cas didn't trust any lawyer more than he trusted Sam. It didn't need to fall apart, but he hated that it could.

He swallowed and tried to block out all the thoughts in his head when he felt the bed dip with Dean's weight behind him. He didn't respond. Dean had to know that what he'd done was wrong and not forgivable, or something to be repeated. But then, Dean's arm was around Cas as he pressed himself against Cas's back. Cas's mind was blank the next moment.

"'M sorry," Dean muttered into his ear, hot breaths ghosting against his skin. "'M really sorry, okay?"

"Please don't do that again." Cas was upset. He could feel it in his gut, rising up his throat. "Dean, I'm really worried."

"About what?"

"You don't think we should be worried?"

Dean kissed Cas's neck. "No." He kissed him again. "And Sam's gonna be here soon, right? He'll make sure shit doesn't get fucked up." Dean came in for a third kiss, lips brushing against sensitive skin, and Cas shivered in anticipation. He turned around and palmed Dean's face, pulling him forward to kiss him on the mouth, lips working slowly as he took it all in.

When they parted, Dean moved to nibble on Cas's ear. "Wanna recreate that video?" he murmured, tongue touching Cas's earlobe briefly.

Cas could already feel his nerve endings crackle. "Yes, please."

~o~

Cas woke up to Dean's hand circling the waistband of his boxers. He moaned, letting Dean take it as a cue to continue breaths hitching when Dean's hand surpassed the waistband as he felt the firm roughness of Dean's palm. He turned to find Dean smiling at him sweetly, before leaning in for a kiss.

Fingers came to tantalise at Cas.

"Oh God," he muttered against Dean's lips, thrusting forward. Dean pressed his mouth onto Cas's again, and reached down to get his boxers off.

Cas gasped, wriggling out of the very last piece of clothing he'd had on, wrapping his arms around Dean and letting him roll over. He clutched at Dean's bare back, fingers digging in as Dean left kisses along his jaw and down his neck. Cas reached for the lube on the nightstand and handed it to his husband, shuddering as he felt Dean's lips on every inch of his skin, sending flutters down his navel. Their breaths were erratic, kisses wet and sloppy, the rustling of the bedcovers mingling with the songs of the morning birds. Dean kissed Cas's stomach and thighs and legs and ankles and his hands were magic, stroking and teasing and maddening Cas.

"Dean," he muttered, every inch of him quivering, begging for mercy. Dean's green eyes matched his and he was suddenly palming Cas's hips, letting Cas wrap his legs around him and—

"Oh, oh God."

"Yeah," Dean growled in a low voice, thrusting forward. Cas shut his eyes, mouth falling open.

"D-Dean."

Dean's lips were there to silence him at that moment, their bodies moving together, and Cas grunted and gasped against his husband, moving and shaking and feeling him push and thrust until—

"Fuck." Dean's voice was low, guttural. He buried his forehead in Cas's neck, pushing. "Oh, fuck." And Cas, in a flurry of ecstasy and joy and satisfaction and smiles and sweat, soaked into the warmth of Dean's body and the comfort of his presence, gasping loudly into the morning air as he came.

It wasn't just a moment. It felt like an hour, an eternity, their hearts beating together as they held on, listening to the sound of beauty around them. This never got old. This could never get old.

Cas felt Dean climb off him, lay down beside him, and turned to his husband to cup his face. Dean was a staring at him, eyelids blinking sluggishly over bright green eyes, beautiful and loving, and Cas smiled. They needed to get dressed and ready because Sam would be arriving soon.

He found himself cringing a little at the thought. He loved Sam and wanted Sam to come over, and that wasn't a question, but why Sam was going to be here was another thing. And last night with Henriksen was just…

Cas had a bad taste in his mouth as he recounted everything. He couldn't believe Dean would do that.

"What're you thinking?" Dean's voice was a gravelly murmur, sexy and warm, and Cas wanted to hold him in his arms again, but he shut his eyes.

"I hope you didn't tape that, Dean," he said earnestly. "I didn't like it. I didn't like it at all. I didn't like that you think something that private can be displayed for others to watch."

There was a breath of silence as Cas waited for Dean to respond.

He could hear the cogwheels in Dean's head whirring at an incredible pace as his heartbeats picked up to possibly match that rate.

He knew Dean now. He expected Dean to grin and scoff and call him an idiot for it, or to shake his head and tell him that he'd love another round of morning sex. And he was prepared for it. Prepared for another joke, and to tell Dean off, and have a serious conversation. Dean was reasonable and he would listen…

The stiffness in Dean's posture pulled Cas out of his thoughts. He waited a moment for Dean to loosen up, confused, but that didn't happen. Instead, his husband got off the bed and Cas's heartbeats were fast again because why?

Dean headed to the door, still naked, but he stood there a moment and Cas's chest constricted when he heard the anger and pain in Dean's voice. "I said sorry, you know, but you ain't gonna believe I didn't do that to hurt you, so…"

And he was gone, leaving Cas to lie there in a whirlwind of emotions and nerves.

~o~

Dean threw on an apron and flicked a bit of butter onto the pan, trying not to fume about Cas. They'd promised each other they'd be understanding, never storm away angry, but this was goddamned stupid. Okay, Dean had made a mistake. And he'd apologised to Cas about it… even given Cas a good time (and was Cas going to complain about that? No, no, he wouldn't, because he'd enjoyed the fuck out of it). Now Dean wished he'd taped it all, just so he could remind Cas how much he loved getting fucked and…

He gripped the counter, shutting his eyes for a moment. No, he didn't want to be angry. He wanted to talk this out with Cas and understand…

He didn't want to be angry.

Dean reached for the batter when he opened his eyes and poured some onto the pan, wondering if they had any more of those frozen blueberries. Cas loved his pancakes with blueberries. And Dean always kept some, but sometimes he'd forget and…

Ah, screw it, if they didn't have any, he'd run by the diner to get it.

He heard footsteps behind him and stiffened, but a pair of arms wrapped themselves around him. He could feel Cas's stubbled chin rest on his bare shoulder, his warm, naked body pressing close to Dean's bare ass. It was way sexier than how Dean had tried to apologise last night.

Okay, and it wasn't a competition… but it was. Cas was so freaking hot, though. And, fuck him, Dean was already getting a boner with Cas standing against him like that.

"I believe it's my turn to apologise," Cas said. "I'm sorry. And I don't want to fight about this. So just please understand."

God, he was so fucking cosy and sexy. Dean turned around and cupped his face, kissing his lips. "You're hot. I hate you for it."

Cas's eyes twinkled. "There is still some time before Sam gets here…"

Dean grinned at him, kissed him again. "Yeah, I know." He pushed Cas back, holding his wrists and sliding their hands up the wall as he slammed Cas against the surface to kiss him. He could feel Cas's jaw drop, breaths catching in his throat as he went down to nip at Cas's neck and shoulder. He'd forever remember Cas's grunts and moans when he'd pushed him to the edge, lifting him and letting his legs curl around his hips. He'd forever remember hearing his name being called and gasped out urgently and loudly, wrecking the oppressive silence of their home from all their fights.

They'd never fought very long anyway. And they knew the best ways to make it up to each other.

A/N: Reviews always make me smile. If you have time, please leave me a word or a line. :)