Interlude: The Sexual Escapades of an Angel and his Demon

Part I – The Aftermath

Author's Notes: Take this porn as an apology for the unintentional hiatus...

These interludes will be what screenwriters call "darlings", which always end up cut from the script since these scenes don't further conflicts or drive the plot. In this case, it will mostly be PWP moments that would never make it onto the show, even if Destiel became canon. Long live fanfiction! And my filthy imagination!

This will mostly be bottom!Dean but I intend to have them switch at some point, depending on how adventurous Castiel feels *winks*

xXx

Prolonged exposure to humanity might have helped Castiel with his now slightly less rusty people skills, yet nothing in any plane of existence could have prepared him for this situation.

For what is the appropriate social conduct when your long-time friend, who saved your life and whose you guarded with yours in return until one day you failed yet he still went on – what is the appropriate behavior when this friend breaks the tension between you and kisses you? How are you to react when kissing leads to more and it feels like nothing you have ever experienced in all your millennia in Heaven and on Earth?

These things don't come easy to Castiel, now ever more so since coherent thought is, frankly, a challenge at the moment, images of black eyes and freckled skin covered by a sheen of sweat leaving his head reeling.

And apparently, one reaction to the levee finally breaking is taking off and leaving.

Which Dean did just moments ago, climbing off and gathering his clothes, not meeting Castiel's eyes.

He swallows, forcing himself to move, draw up his pants and attempt to tuck in his shirt. Only there are buttons missing – yes, Dean was in a hurry, so quick as if he needed to touch Castiel's skin more than he needed to live.

Maybe he did. Maybe he left because he realized he had made a mistake. Maybe he left because he doesn't talk about feelings. 'Chick flick moments', Castiel thinks he calls them.

As he fixes the buttons on his shirt, trying to use up as little power as possible, it occurs to Castiel that he should, all things consider, have negative or at least mixed feelings regarding what transpired tonight.

Dean is, after all, a demon. Diminishing grace or not, Castiel is an angel…

But he is still standing, isn't he? Well, there is no one around to smite him. Also, why? Why would his Father punish him for something that felt so good, so right?

So right and good, in fact, that Castiel needs it to happen again.

Castiel groans out loud in the empty room, rubbing his hands across his face. He wants to do so much more. Everything he can think of now that the knowledge of books and movies is etched into his mind. Has an entire list of things he wants to do with Dean. Always thought he would, one day, start off small and work his way to more intimate interactions.

Well.

Castiel smirks despite himself. He doubts Dean would have indulged Castiel that much before he became a demon.

He shakes his head forcefully, hoping it will chase these thoughts away but to no avail. So Castiel doesn't dwell any more on this; instead he fixes his clothes and walk to the sigil he drew, scratches the dried blood to deactivate it. He figures human authorities shall want to investigate. A glance towards the body of the woman confirms that Dean took his blade with him before he left.

Castiel steals outside, ducks the police officers already scattered outside. An ambulance is on standby and near the vehicle he spies Sam.

"Cas, oh my god, what happened?"

He muses it might be safe to assume that Sam is not referring to the sexual encounter his brother and Castiel just shared.

"Dean had to kill the vessel along with the demon. Yet at least as of now it won't hurt anyone else."

Sam's face falls. "Where is he?"

"Not with me. I had to deactivate a sigil to let the police inside once they decided to proceed."

"Probably waiting at the car. Or back at the bunker…"

"You should find him."

Sam looks on in confusion for a moment before shaking his head. "Of course, you'll need to get back upstairs. Metatron's still on the loose."

Castiel inclines his head and walks off, doing exactly that. He checks in with his garrisons, with Hannah and Kemuel, coordinates his troops but when he has the chance to return to Earth, he opens a portal over Lebanon, Kansas.

He could call.

He could simply visit the bunker.

Or he could linger outside, too uncertain of what is socially acceptable and what is not.

Lebanon is busy in the late afternoon hours. Castiel can hear noise from the city, cars and people, going about their day without knowledge of the bunker's existence in their middle. Thus no one sees Castiel when he paces near the door, weighing his options without any idea of how to determine the right course of action. Ho do humans do this on a daily basis?

A sudden noise startles him and he spins quickly, his angel blade falling into his hand.

He is not prepared for the sight of Dean. Dean, wearing a plaid shirt and his leather jacket, looking equally startled by his presence, hand on the blade at his hip, ready to draw when necessary at inhuman speed.

"Cas? What the hell're you doing here?"

Castiel can but squint since he doesn't know the answer to this question either.

A flicker of emotion transforms Dean's face for the briefest moment. It is too quick for Castiel to decipher and a moment later, Dean has schooled his expression again. Castiel doesn't know how he must look, which feelings his countenance projects.

"I thought you'd – never mind."

"What did you think?" Castiel takes a tentative step forward.

Dean huffs, running a hand through his hair and Castiel can see the freckles in the afternoon sun. The silence stretches as he considers Dean, traces his jaw with his eyes, marvels at the straight posture and the slight bow of his legs until Castiel hears him swallow.

"I thought you'd never want to see me again."

"Why?" The notion is confusing. Castiel never indicated any such intention.

"After… Jeez, Cas, you really gonna make me spell it out?"

Castiel looks on for there is nothing else he can think of. He has no idea what Dean is referring to.

"So you don't regret the, uh, the thing we did?"

"It was wonderful."

Dean jerks back a little, eyes wide. He seems surprised, yet why would he? Before he can voice his concerns, however, Dean's expression morphs. Gone is the confusion, instead his lips curl into a smirk Castiel might even describe as lewd.

He approaches, strides wide and intention-fueled, until Dean is maybe two steps in front of him.

"You liked it?"

"Of course," Castiel replies softly. Why does Dean need to ask? Wasn't it obvious?

"You liked having me on your lap?" Dean's voice is lower now, close to a purr and Castiel drinks in every syllable as it washes over him. "Like me ride you, take you like that?"

Hot breath ghosting over his cheeks. Dean is close now, close enough to touch, kiss, claim once more.

Castiel gives into the impulse and brings his hand up to caress Dean's cheek, his throat going dry when Dean leans into the touch.

"I liked everything."

Dean's eyes blink open and meet his, brilliantly green and sincere. "Everything?" he echoes.

"With you – everything."

It doesn't come close to articulate the complex feelings inside Castiel's chest, too layered and intertwined for any angel to process, yet it will have to do for now. Until Castiel learns how to do it better.

And until then, Castiel thinks he should let his actions speak for him.

It is him who closes the distance between them this time, pressing their lips together. The kiss is different, the urgency of last night gone, less teeth and more languid movements of tongue. Dean is a wonderful kisser, better than Castiel ever dared to imagine in his most private hours.

They are moving, Dean walking Castiel backwards yet it barely registers as Castiel's hands wind themselves around Dean's torso and pull him in until their chests collide just as Castiel's back makes contact with a tree.

Dean doesn't withdraw, crowding him against the wood and maybe there is a pun in there somewhere if Castiel had any capacity for original thought left since he can feel Dean's growing erection press against his own.

Castiel untucks the fabric, then sneaks his hands underneath the shirt, fingertips brushing over skin to simply feel. Goosebumps erupt where he touches while Dean starts moving his hips, rutting their groins together teasingly until they have built a rhythm that ties in perfectly with the dance of their tongues.

Ages seem to pass before Dean pulls back, breath coming in gasps. His hips cease their movement but Dean looks down, his forehead coming to rest against Castiel's, and slowly, strong hands glide down Castiel's chest until they reach his fly.

He watches Dean release him from the confines of his clothes and move on to his own belt buckle. Castiel wants to see what Dean is going to do so he keeps up the light caress of his fingers underneath Dean's shirt until Dean's cock springs free, flushed and wet at the crown.

So many possibilities and Castiel can't decide which is best, all bleeding into one another inside his head.

"This'll feel great, Cas," Dean promises, shuffling closer, one hand on Castiel's hip and the other on his erection.

A gasp escapes him as Dean's cock brushes against his own and doesn't withdraw – Dean wraps his hand around both shafts and simply lets them touch for a moment, silky smooth skin against silky smooth skin. Castiel notices his own erection is slightly bigger where Dean's has more girth. He wonders if this is important to Dean but it doesn't look like it is.

The hunter is mesmerized, eyes on both their cocks resting against each other and gradually the urge to move begins to override Castiel's self control, yet he holds out, watches Dean simply look for a while.

When he moves his hand, colors erupt in front of Castiel's eyes and his entire body shivers.

"Dean," he moans, voice almost too loud in the secluded space.

"Told you it'll feel good." Castiel's eyes have fallen shut on their own accord but he can hear the smirk in Dean's tone.

"Hold on." Dean's hand slips from Castiel's hip, leaving the spot cold and lonely, but it replaces Dean's right one on their cocks while that hand comes up between them. Dean opens his mouth and licks his palm, coating it with saliva until Castiel understands what it is for.

When Dean eventually grips their erections again, it is impossibly better, his strokes eased by the slippery residue Dean's tongue left.

Without making the conscious decision to move, Castiel surges forward, claiming Dean's mouth and sucking on his bottom lip. He swallows Dean's moan when it bubbles to the surface, low and heart-felt, and pulls the man closer, raking both arms around him beneath his leather jacket.

The sensations are incredible – Dean kisses with his entire body, chest rubbing against Castiel's while his hand moves with strong strokes up and down their shafts. The first time Dean swipes his thumb across the slits, gathering the precome that has accumulated there, comes as a surprise and Castiel's hips jerk with it.

"Oh yeah," Dean breathes into his mouth, altering the angle, twisting his hand when he strokes down, gaining momentum.

Then Dean's fingers tighten, zeroing in on the spot where the glans meets the shaft and just works it, over and over again with tiny movements that send sparks of pleasure up Castiel's spine, flowing out in a whimper. It is intense and incredible, unlike anything he has ever felt and he never wants to end.

"Dean," is all he manages but he must have understood for he keeps working that spot until Castiel has to tear his mouth away and rest his head on Dean's shoulder, nonsensical sounds spilling from his mouth.

He feels the vibrations of a groan against the side of his head, feels Dean's throat move as he gasps and Castiel wants to hear more sounds like it, wants to be the one to cause them. Encouraged he moves his right hand and touches Dean's slit, spreading the fluid he finds there.

Dean shudders deliciously and Castiel wants more. He toys with the tip, Dean's hand still moving up and down their lengths, drinks in every gasp and every tiny moan until he focuses on the other end of Dean's cock. His testicles are dusted in hair and soft to his touch when he places two fingers on either side.

Castiel massages them, first one, then the other, finally cups them both in the palm of his hand and Dean goes wild against him, twisting so hard he almost breaks rhythm.

"Fuuuck," he growls, the vowel long and deep, his chest rumbling against Castiel's.

Suddenly all Castiel can think of is watching Dean unravel, loosing himself to pleasure, so he doesn't stop, keeps his hand right where it is and places his other on Dean's cock.

"Holy…" is all Dean manages to gasp before he throws his head back, bracing himself on Castiel's shoulders while Castiel experiments, tries to determine what Dean likes, what will elicit the most intense reactions.

He jerks Dean fast and hard, grip tight, thumb swiping over the crown with every other stroke. Adding a twist on the downward stroke makes Dean hiss in pleasure, palming his testicles while Castiel's fingers ghost over the skin behind them draw a shudder and a low moan from him.

"I want to see you, Dean," he tells him, barely recognizing his own voice. "I want to you come from my hands on your cock."

Dean forces his eyes open then, staring at Castiel with blown pupils and his mouth agape. Castiel holds his gaze, keeps jerking Dean's cock, keeps massaging his balls, keeps twisting his hand just so and Castiel can see the moment in Dean's eyes when the orgasm builds because the green recedes, black taking over as Dean comes in long, hot bursts between their bodies, stripes hitting Castiel's shirt and coat.

It is the most amazing sight and Castiel wants to memorize it, never ever forget how Dean's face contorts in the throws of pleasure. His lips are parted by a silent moan, eyes succumbing to the urge to close them as he tilts his neck back, baring his throat.

Castiel's own erection twitches where it has been abandoned, heavy and hot between his legs but Castiel's hands are still on Dean, milking him through the aftershocks, gradually slowing his ministrations as the shudders die down and Dean's head falls to his shoulder.

"Fuck, Cas…"

The awe in Dean's voice draws out a triumphant smirk as he relishes the feeling of Dean's breath against his neck.

"Dean –"

"Yeah, just catching my breath, jeez, where did you learn how to, fuuck…"

Castiel can't help the chuckles Dean's incoherence provokes. It almost makes him giddy, how easy this feels between them, any worry about Dean fleeing again evaporated in the heat of their encounter.

"Oh, you ain't seen nothing yet, mister," Dean drawls with a raised eyebrow as he finally pulls back. He glances down and the familiar cocky grin in place when he finds Castiel's eyes again. "Need some help with that?"

"That would be much appreciated," is Castiel's reply which for some reason makes Dean laugh.

Then suddenly Dean is gone, no longer at eye-level. Castiel stares down as Dean drops to his knees on the cold ground, a dangerous glint in those green eyes. Dean licks his lips, slowly and deliberate, making a show out of it mere inches away from Castiel's leaking erection.

Castiel swallows, sees how Dean traces the movement briefly before focusing his attention on Castiel's groin. A calloused hand around his shaft, wet with saliva again. Dean doesn't move it, just holds his cock and labs at the tip, flicking his eyes upwards to where he knows Castiel is watching, grateful for the tree behind him for he doubts his feet would have held him upright at that point.

Dean doesn't break eye contact, not when he wraps his lips around the glans, not when he flattens his tongue on the underside of his cock, not when he takes Castiel as far as he can until the tip hits the back of his throat. Dean makes a show of it, his movements slow and deliberate, stretching his lips around Castiel's length and bobbing his head.

He pulls off with a soft pop, uses his hand to rub the cock against his lips, still slightly bruised from kissing. The sight is obscene. When Dean leans forward and buries his nose in Castiel's groin, breathing in his scent, the scruff of Dean's cheeks scrapes the shaft. Castiel jumps, not expecting the strange mix of pain and pleasure it causes as his cock grows harder still.

He can feel Dean's smile against his skin as he places his hands on Castiel's hips, pressing him against the trunk and keeping him there. The image Dean makes is incredible, on his knees in front of him, holding him down with Castiel's flushed erection curving upwards. Dean doesn't avert his eyes as he dives in, swallowing Castiel down in one smooth movement.

He is building a rhythm in earnest now, forgoing the teasing, and every time Dean takes him he goes deeper, pushes his head more onto Castiel's cock until he can feel the muscles in Dean's throat flutter against the tip.

A moan escapes Castiel as his eyes fall shut and a hand twists its way into Dean's hair. He hums around his cock, which Castiel interprets as approval, so he keeps his hand there, grip light until Dean takes him further again and swallows around his cockhead.

The sound Castiel makes is not human. Dean seems to like it since he repeats the action, takes him deep and works his throat, again and again until Castiel forgets his own name, let alone his ability to form words or even syllables.

He forces his eyes open again, groans when he sees the flush on Dean's cheeks and how red his lips have become.

As if Dean can feel Castiel's gaze on him he glances up without ceasing his movements. On an upward twist when only the tip of Castiel's cock is between Dean's lips, his mouth curls into a grin that doesn't bode well.

Dean swallows him to the hilt then, nose brushing against Castiel's groin, and just stays there, staring up while Castiel shudders uncontrollably, heat pooling in the pit of his stomach. Dean works his throat in the exact moment his eyes turn black and it is too much. Castiel looses the shreds of his control as his orgasm takes over, making him spill his release down Dean's throat and tighten the grip on his hair.

The world blurs for a moment as Castiel simply breathes, waiting for it to rearrange itself.

He barely registers that Dean is pulling his pants up for him, tucking in the shirt and doing up the fly before he straightens up, grinning like some proverbial animal that got the cream. Or the canary – Castiel neither knows nor cares at this point.

All he cares about is kissing Dean, kissing that smirk right off him. It hits him that he is tasting himself on Dean's tongue, the realization like an electric shock shooting through his body.

They remain like this, trading passionate kisses until a bird chirps somewhere in the vicinity and suddenly their surroundings return with full force.

Dean withdraws first, bruised lips already starting to heal despite the renewed kissing.

"Come back tonight," Dean whispers, his voice hoarse from their activities, "around two in the morning. Sammy's mostly asleep by then."

Castiel doesn't trust himself to speak, so he nods with a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Dean's eyes are warm as he acknowledges Castiel's reaction with a wink. He blinks out of existence to who-knows-where and Castiel leans his head back against the tree with a contented sigh.