Disclaimer: I don't own SPN.

So this was gonna be the last chapter but…I decided to split it. Whoops? Have some porny goodness at the end XD

Thanks to Marissamiranda, cerridwenjones, Dragonsrule18 and Skyla Andrews for your reviews :)

Dean's got the weirdest sense of déjà vu as he cracks his eyes open to find himself in darkness, and for a moment he wonders why he's lying down on something so comfortable and where Naomi is. Is this just another way for her to torture him? Giving him a respite before continuing? It's a common tactic down in Hell: let the soul just sit there for a year or two, no torture at all, then start in on them again. The brief period with no pain meant that the soul couldn't become desensitised to the pain, so they broke quicker. And boy, had it been a favourite tactic of Alastair's to use against Dean, because no physical pain just meant that they had to get creative.

But…no, this isn't right. Why is there a warm body next to him? And, as he's sluggishly realised, why is he in bed? What, did Naomi decide to get all creepy and snuggle in bed with him to try and gross him out? Still groggy, Dean fumbles around in the dark until his hand meets warm flesh – someone's hand. And it's definitely not Naomi's. It feels more like a male hand than a female one; it's thick and rough and feels oh so familiar.

"Dean?" a low voice whispers. Dean immediately recognises it as Castiel's. So he's in bed with Castiel. Yeah, that's infinitely better than Naomi. But why? What happened to the angel bitch?

"Naomi…" he groans, trying to shift onto his side. He's immediately pushed back down and the next moment, a light snaps on, filling the room with brightness. Despite the fact that it's only a lamp and it's not as bright as the ceiling light, it still overwhelms Dean's eyes and he hisses and raises a hand to shield his eyes.

"Naomi?" Cas says. Dean wants to sink into that voice and never leave. "She's dead. I killed her."

He had? Wait…that's right, he had. When Dean had been hanging there, bleeding to death after she stabbed him. His breath catching in his throat, Dean starts to pat his stomach, feeling for evidence – an open wound, maybe, or even just sticky blood. But not only is there no sign of the wound at all, his shirt isn't even torn. He frowns. That's weird.

"I healed you, Dean. You – you were so close to death when I finally killed Naomi. You've been unconscious for a day now. My grace healed your wounds but it failed to replenish your energy."

Cas' voice is thick. Used to the light's presence, Dean lets the hand over his eyes fall and squints. He first sees a pair of bright blue eyes hovering above him, and he smiles. These eyes are good. He likes those eyes. And now that he can make out the owner of the eyes, his insides begin to soar. He likes those eyes, but he loves who they belong to.

He tenses, expecting a massive panic over thinking that word so casually, but there's nothing except a warm, fuzzy feeling. He grins stupidly.

"Cas," he croaks. It's just one word, but Castiel must have been able to pick up on all the emotions behind it because he bends down and brushes his lips against Dean's. It's a soft kiss, and very tame and chaste, but it feels like coming home and Dean practically melts into it. Despite his arms feeling slightly like lead – probably from being out for a day – he forces himself to lift them and he drapes them around Castiel's neck.

"I was worried," Castiel murmurs against his lips. "I thought that my grace would fail. It still hasn't recovered from Naomi's brutalisation when I was captured. But it healed you, and I don't think I have ever been more relieved."

He kisses Dean again. Dean, meanwhile, marvels at all of this. Kissing has always been a means to an end with him. He's never kissed anybody without the expectation of it leading to sex, with the exceptions being Cassie, Lisa, and Jo – and Charlie, even if that had been a brotherly kiss on the head. But there's something amazing about just being able to lie here and share kisses with his angel, with no pressure to take it further or expectations that it'll lead to more. It's more intimate than all of his sexual escapades combined; maybe because, to him, sex is simply stress relief. But this is so much more. He doesn't think that Lisa fully understood why he was so blasé about sex and why kissing for the sake of kissing was such a luxury to him – at least, not until she learned about his hunter life – but he knows that Cassie had picked up on it almost immediately. It might have been the inquisitive reporter in her, but she'd been able to pin Dean's low self-worth and starving need for affection almost straight off the bat. Maybe that's why she's always held a special place in his heart that not even Lisa could come close to – and why he chose to impose on Lisa rather than Cassie after Sam went to Hell.

"You're thinking about something," Castiel says when they break apart for air. "I can tell. Your thoughts are elsewhere."

Dean worries for a moment that Castiel isn't happy that he's distracted, but then he shoves that thought aside. Castiel's giving him that soft little 'I rarely smile but you're an exception' smile and he knows now that he could never turn Castiel off him. The thought that an angel has such unshakeable faith in him is staggering, but Dean's had years to process it – from the moment that Castiel had looked him in the eyes and then rebelled against Zachariah and Heaven for him – and, while he still doesn't see why he deserves it, he's coming to accept it.

"Just wonderin' what I did to deserve you," Dean finally answers. "I dunno what I did to make a freaking angel like me this much but I ain't ever letting you go."

Something lights up in Castiel's eyes and, with a wider smile, he leans down to kiss Dean again. This kiss is brief but it doesn't leave Dean any less awestruck.

"I would list all of the reasons, but I know that you would resist. If you hadn't just woken up after being stabbed and then rendered unconsciousness for a day, I would proceed to list them anyway."

He pulls away and sits up. Dean whines before he can stop himself. Castiel's presence is warmth and light and Dean's probably just being overly clingy, but he thinks he's justified; after all, he nearly died. Again. It's remarkable how many times he's died that he just doesn't even care anymore.

"I think a shower and some lunch is in order. Sam prepared a chicken salad for his lunch, so I can get you some of that if you like."

Dean struggles into a sitting position, wrinkling his nose.

"Or," he says, running a hand up Castiel's side and putting on his best 'puppy dog eyes', "you could get me a burger. Or some pie. I nearly died, so I think I deserve some pie. Don't you think?"

His puppy dog eyes aren't as effective as Sam's, but he's banking on the fact that Castiel finds him way more adorable than that overgrown moose. He's proven right when Castiel sighs, a small smile on his face.

"Go shower, and I'll get you your pie."

Dean grins and pecks Castiel on the lips.

"Thanks, sunshine. You're the best."

He doesn't mean for his shower to take so long but as he lets the hot spray wash over him and soothe the aches and creaks that he lives with, he can't help but wish that Castiel was here with him – washing his hair for him, those strong fingers digging into his scalp…maybe soaping Dean up, running those rough hands all over his body…

Dean grimaces when a familiar hot, tingling ache pools between his legs. He supposes he can't be surprised that he's popped a woody – after all, he had been thinking about a very naked Castiel touching him everywhere – but he's slightly resentful that he just nearly died and was out for a day and yet his dick doesn't seem to have gotten the memo that it should be recovering along with the rest of him.

Sighing, he reaches down and wraps his hand around it, hissing at the spike of heat that shoots through him. He gives himself a few strokes and he's about to really start pumping when he has an idea. He jumps out of the shower, disregarding how he's dripping wet all over, and crosses over to the drawers and rummages inside. He strikes gold in the second one, where he finds a small tub of Vaseline, and he slicks up two of his fingers before jumping back into the shower with the tub. He's not sure what Sam needs Vaseline for, nor does he really care; all he knows is that Sam is gonna want to buy a whole new tub if he learns what Dean's using it for.

Dean reaches around, brushing his fingers lightly over the cleft of his ass, before finding his hole and pausing. He's never done this before – always terrified of losing his tough, masculine status from sticking things inside him like a girl – but thinking about Castiel touching him has gotten him riled up and now he can't stop wondering how it would feel to have Castiel touching him everywhere…including inside him. He takes a deep breath, steels himself, and pushes a finger inside.

It's…odd. It doesn't hurt but it feels slightly unnatural to stick something up there. Dean almost removes his finger and washes away all evidence of his little foray into the world of gay sex, but he stops himself. He's never actually sought out gay porn but it's sometimes popped up and, well, porn is porn if you're getting off (apart from the really weird shit). He knows that a lot of it is exaggerated acting but the guys getting dicks shoved up their asses look like they've found Heaven on Earth (okay, maybe not the best comparison, since Dean's actually seen Heaven), and they can't have been faking all of it, right?

So he persists. He grimaces for the second time when he inserts another finger but then, to his surprise, it actually starts to feel…good. It doesn't feel amazing, but he's growing accustomed to the feeling of having something up his ass, and he thinks that if his mind was clouded by lust and pleasure and this was Castiel in here instead of him, it might feel amazing. Then he curls his fingers and –

'Holy shit!'

His knees nearly buckle underneath him as pleasure jolts through him and he has to reach out with his free hand and steady himself against the wall, panting. He suspects that he's just found his prostate. He's heard stories of it – about how it's the guy G-spot, how touching it can make you see stars, how orgasms can feel way better by stimulating it – but he's never really seen the point in trying to find it when he already has amazing sex.

Now, however, he thinks he needs to step up his game.

He deliberately avoids touching his prostate again as he scissors his two fingers to open himself up, not wanting to end this just yet. He's not sure how open he needs to be for Castiel to fit inside him – that is, if Castiel even wants to do this, but at least he's now found a new way of getting himself off – but after the initial shock of finding his prostate, he finds that this whole fingering himself thing is starting to feel really, really good. Not as good as jacking himself off, but not as weird and squicky as he'd first imagined.

It isn't long before he manages to fit three and then four fingers inside himself, and now he's openly panting and leaning his forehead against the tiles as he fucks his fingers in and out of himself. His legs are starting to shake and he's warm and buzzing all over. Castiel has to be back with the pie by now, so maybe it's time to just end this – he must be loose enough by now and if he isn't, he's sure Castiel will have a field day stretching him even more. With that thought, he finally allows himself to touch his prostate again, thrusting his fingers in and out and making sure that he hits it every time. And oh, what a difference this tiny bundle of nerves makes! He's actually whining and groaning now, close to collapsing if his legs decide to give out on him, and he's surprised at how needily he's rolling his hips back onto his fingers to chase the orgasm he can feel simmering in his gut.

"Cas," he hisses as his stomach begins to ignite, imagining that it's Castiel finger-fucking him instead, looking down at him with those bright blue eyes that he imagines will be lidded with pleasure. "Fuck, Cas!"

With that, he comes, painting the tiles with white streaks that are quickly washed away by the water. And…damn, that's a totally different feeling to coming by dick. Before, orgasms had felt like electricity shooting through his dick, but this? This is way different. It's deep inside him, this feeling, and it feels like a hot lightning storm in his very core. Is this the difference between clitoral versus G-spot orgasms that women keep going on about? Dean remembers one woman who had instructed him very thoroughly in the different orgasms that women could have, and if his dick is his version of a clitoris and his prostate is a male G-spot then damn, she'd been spot on about orgasms feeling different from different parts of his anatomy.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he removes his shaky fingers from his now-loose hole and just stands there, leaning against the wall to stay upright and groggily marvelling at how he had just come without even touching his dick. The last time that happened was when he blew his load in his pants as a thirteen year old when finding porn for the first time.

"Jesus Christ," he slurs. He suddenly shivers violently, realising a moment later that this is because the water raining down on him has started to cool, and as he gets out of the shower and dries himself with trembling arms, he can't help but think how much better it'll feel if Castiel does want to fuck him.