Author's Note: Part III of this chapter contains explicit depictions of sexual activity. I considered truncating it for the sake of staying within the FF.N guidelines, but decided to take the risk and leave it in. Please proceed with your own best judgement.

I

Bashful, disbelieving, they talked very little in the backseat of the cab. Every time Dean glanced over he would inevitably catch Cas stealing a glance of his own and they would immediately look elsewhere. Dean was sure that Cas felt the same jolt of desire whenever their eyes touched; it was a rolling simmer now, a living thing under his skin, his body thrumming with it as it began to collect in pleasurable stabs in his groin.

"Here we are," Cas said as the cab pulled to the side of the road, his voice smoother somehow at its quiet volume.

Dean looked out the window. "You live in a bakery?"

Cas chuckled as he flipped open his wallet. "There's an apartment above it. I don't know, it just…struck my fancy." He handed the driver a few bills. "Keep the change. Merry Christmas."

Dean peered in the dark windows as they walked past, eyes puzzling out the familiar machinery of an espresso machine. "This is where the coffee comes from."

"Hmm?" Cas asked.

"Monday coffee. It's from here."

"Oh. Yes." Cas grinned. "It's close by, and they always have it ready for me." He cleared his throat. "They've been making two cups for so long that they, ah, might want to meet you." He pointed at a brightly-lit alleyway to the side of the bakery. "Stairs are back there. After you?"

II

Dean had a brief impression of an orderly, if small, space swathed in tones of gray and blue as he stepped into the apartment, but had little time for anything more than that before Cas closed the door behind them with a click and grabbed Dean by the shoulder, spinning him about. There was hesitation in Cas's eyes as they locked with Dean's, as though he wasn't certain what to do now that they were finally here. The light from the window made sharp angles and planes of his face and Dean impulsively reached out to smooth his thumb over one cheekbone.

The intimate touch, so unlike anything else that had ever passed between the two of them, seemed to snap some sort of barrier. Cas grabbed at the lapels of Dean's coat and pulled him close, their mouths meeting together so forcefully it would have hurt if Dean hadn't had the split second of preparation. Dean could taste the champagne on Cas's tongue and feel the other man's stubble scratching the corners of his mouth as he pressed as much of himself as he could against Cas, acutely aware of Cas's warmth bleeding through his overcoat and of his obvious arousal as Dean pressed their hips together, backing Cas up against the door in an abrupt outlet of the slow burn that had been building for the last half hour. Cas made a small noise of approval against Dean's lips as he rolled his hips forward, one hand reaching around to the small of Dean's back and pulling Dean closer, as though Dean had any notion of escaping.

The rough canvas of the overcoat had to go; it slipped from Cas's shoulders in a muffled rustle as it dropped to the floor. The silk of Cas's shirt was smooth under Dean's hand as he ran it up and down Cas's arm, feeling Cas fumble with the buttons on the front of his own coat and suddenly all the fabric between them was too much. Dean felt flushed and confined, and not appreciably less so as Cas navigated the third button and Dean hastily shrugged out of the heavy wool. He didn't know what he wanted to do first – whether to divest himself of his shirt or Cas of his – and was irrationally considering the logistics of doing both simultaneously when Cas bowed his head and placed a hand on Dean's chest.

"Dean."

Slowly, thickly, as if awakening from a deep sleep, Dean blinked and took a deep, shaky breath. "You okay?" he asked, surprised at how husky his voice had become. He cleared his throat and swallowed, trying valiantly to distance himself from the aching need that pulsed through him.

"I don't – I'm not playing a game." Cas swallowed, his own voice considerably lower than normal, and closed his eyes before looking back up at Dean. "Are you?"

A tiny lash of cold horror licked at the warmth that had been suffusing Dean for the past hour. "Cas," he said uselessly, the name still somewhat foreign and thrilling on his tongue, "I – no. I don't – Jesus, where did you get that idea?"

Cas looked abashed. "Cassie," he said simply. "There's history there. It's plain as day. I didn't even have to ask if she was the one who…" he trailed off.

The tumblers began to fall into place, and Dean laughed weakly. "Yes. There's history. But – it's history, Cas." He licked his lips. "I know the games. I don't play them. Not anymore. You're –" He let out an explosive exhalation. "There's no way to say this without it sounding corny, but…" He swallowed. He'd not planned on saying this, but it was probably best to get it out in the open now: "I've never even been with a guy before. It wasn't something I wanted to stumble into without…" He hesitated. "Without caring about it."

He ignored the way Cas's jaw slackened slightly in surprise and bulled forward. "It matters now. Back when I was aimless and stupid, yeah, I played all the games just trying to figure out what was supposed to be so damn great about it. I never found out, and gave up and settled for what I could get, which was Cassie, and…" He clenched his jaw. He was babbling, and he knew it; he should shut his mouth before he said something he'd regret, if he hadn't already. He let his eyes fall to Cas's shoulder. Vague feelings of shame twined through his stomach, as though he was seventeen again and scared shitless in Giselle Rhodes's backseat, knowing what he was supposed to do and that he was supposed to want to do it and terrified of what it meant that he didn't.

"It matters," he said, if only to break the silence. "I wouldn't be here if it didn't. I'm not playing."

Cas still wasn't saying anything; it looked as though he was struggling to make a decision, gaze turned inward. Dean closed his eyes and sighed. He'd come to the wrenching conclusion that he should bend down to retrieve his coat when Cas nodded, once, and stepped past Dean into the dark apartment.

"I need to check something," was all he said before he turned a corner.

A light flicked on, illuminating a long rectangle in the next room. Curiosity piqued, Dean ventured further into Cas's apartment, stopping next to the gray sectional sofa that dominated the living room as he spied Cas through the lit doorway, digging through a bathroom drawer.

"Ha!" Cas barked in amusement as he studied a black box. He looked up, the sheepish grin on his face completely incongruous with the sobering exchange they'd just abandoned in the entryway. He threw the box to Dean. "They don't expire for another three months."

Dean looked down at the still factory-sealed box of condoms and felt a foolish smile quirk the corner of his mouth. "I didn't scare you off?"

Plucking the box from Dean's hands, Cas tossed it negligently to the table. With only the slightest air of self-consciousness, he reached out and laid a hand on Dean's waist, drawing him closer. "Dean. I've spent weeks forcing myself to ignore how much I wanted you. And now I find out you don't want a careless tumble. That this matters to you." Without warning, Cas hooked his leg around the back of Dean's knees, sweeping his legs out from under him and landing him ungracefully on his back on the couch in one smooth motion that made Dean let out an undignified shout. Astonished and catching his breath, Dean could only stare as Cas climbed astride him. "If you think I'm kicking you out after that…"

The weight of Cas on his thighs stirred the nearly dampened ardor, rekindling it in a heady rush. With a desperate air, Dean tangled his fingers in the hair at the nape of Cas's neck and pulled him down, snatching his lips hungrily against Cas's, who was clearly only too happy to respond in turn. Blindly, not wanting to break away, Dean groped for the knot of the tie around Cas's neck, loosening it and then pulling it apart to slide out from under Cas's collar. As if in answer, Cas undid the button at Dean's throat and continued down with impressive haste, making a soft noise of frustration at Dean's undershirt, which Dean thought slightly unfair – after all, Cas was wearing a vest that Dean would have to dispose of before he could even think of starting on the shirt.

The vest proved to be little difficulty, Dean's deft fingers slipping the buttons through their holes with an earnest desire to remove every scrap of clothing from the man atop him as quickly as possible, halting only to allow Cas to pull Dean's undershirt over his head. Dean's skin prickled with gooseflesh with the exposure to the chill air, Cas's hands hot as he ran them over the bare skin with obvious relish, leaning forward to press his mouth once again to Dean's.

"Goddamn buttons," Dean muttered against Cas's lips as he started on the tiny ones of Cas's shirt. In a stunning showcase of foresight, he kicked off his shoes and toed off his socks – there was no sexy way to remove socks, so he may as well do so while Cas was distracted with his belt buckle – and by the time Cas had worked his fly down and was tugging at the waistband of Dean's trousers Dean had finally managed to not only slide Cas's shirt from his shoulders, but he also was able to lift his hips and allow Cas to pull the trousers down past his knees, where they pooled around his ankles. Dean kicked them aside, suddenly very cold despite the flush of Cas's bare chest against his.

"So this is what's under the scrubs," Cas murmured appreciatively as he rocked back, reaching behind him to tug at his shoelaces while Dean worked at his belt buckle. The shirt and vest still hung from his elbows, caught where the sleeves had been rolled up, and he slid his arms from them and let the offending garments fall behind him.

Finally down to just the thin cotton of their boxers, Dean felt the slightest twinge of trepidation. This was territory both familiar and vastly foreign, and he felt his fingers tremble slightly as he ran his hand down the lines of Cas's torso to play his fingers along the curve of Cas's cock through the fabric. Cas let out a soft exhalation against Dean's neck – of pleasure, Dean assumed, and he felt his own cock twitch with it – and in a burst of courage he dipped his hand under the waistband and pulled Cas's cock free.

Dean was in medicine; he had seen and handled more genitalia than most people did in their entire lives, but that was in an entirely professional manner. He'd never wrapped his fingers around the shaft of a cock that wasn't his own with the intent of giving pleasure, and watching Cas's head cant back and eyes droop shut, leaning backward at Dean's touch, made Dean lick his lips involuntarily.

All at once, in a dizzying roil in his gut, he wanted things he didn't even know how to ask for, wasn't even sure how to name, and the intensity of the sheer need immobilized him.

Cas's eyelids fluttered open and abruptly, as he took in the expression of near panic on Dean's face, he seemed to understand. "Hey," he said softly, leaning down and pressing his forehead to Dean's. "Relax. I'll take care of you."

III

Dean's throat felt parched from his series of low, ragged gasps as Cas worked a second finger into him, as excruciatingly slowly as he had the first. He shivered as Cas gently rubbed against his prostate, rolling his hips downward for more pressure. He'd somehow never gotten the correct angle for this by himself, never gotten past the sensation of his own sense of touch as he'd explored, but now his entire world had shrunk down to Cas and his hands and his mouth as he leaned down at uneven intervals to tease at Dean's cock.

He rolled his hips downward again as Cas slowly began scissoring his fingers, the burn of the stretch no longer shocking, instead a promise that set a lash of need lancing through him. "More," Dean said breathlessly, his tone very nearly begging.

"You want more?" Cas asked, almost amused, as he thrust his fingers in deeper and twisted in a motion that earned another buck of Dean's hips.

"Want you," Dean managed, forcing his eyes open as he propped himself up on his elbows to catch Cas's gaze. Cas's eyes, already dark in the dim light, were nearly black, pupils blown wide with lust. "God, Cas, I want –"

"Easy now." Cas shifted to lean up and catch his lips against Dean's, taking the opportunity to thrust upward with his fingers again in a motion that made Dean moan into the kiss. "This part is important."

"I know," Dean murmured, "I know, I just –" he broke off in a gasp as Cas slipped a third slick finger in beside the other two.

"But if you're so eager, we can speed things along a little," Cas breathed into Dean's ear, before sidling down to gently tease at a nipple with his teeth.

"Fuck." Dean threaded his fingers through Cas's hair, now mussed beyond anything resembling propriety, his other hand going to grip the base of his cock tightly. Three times, now, Cas had brought him nearly to the brink, keeping Dean teetering there for long, torturous minutes. Dean was uncertain whether that could be attributed to Cas's skill or his own hunger; likely it was a delicious combination of both that set him to tingling, overtuned to the slightest velvet rub of skin on skin.

With one hand, Cas pulled a condom from the box on the coffee table, even as he flexed the fingers of his other hand, carefully watching Dean's reactions with relish. He ripped open the foil with his teeth – an image that nearly undid Dean right there – and leaned back to roll the condom down his length before slicking it with lube.

Even knowing what would come next, Dean whimpered as Cas withdrew his fingers, feeling the loss deep in his gut. Mute with desire he had no words for, Dean watched as Cas climbed up onto the couch from the floor, pushing Dean's legs apart and positioning himself over Dean in the corner of the sectional.

"Dean," Cas said, meeting Dean's eyes. "Can I?"

Dean nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and shut his eyes as Cas carefully pushed the head of his cock against Dean's rim.

The moment stretched in anticipatory ecstasy; Cas withdrew ever so slightly only to thrust shallowly again a little further, hands holding Dean's hips steady, Dean holding his breath against the burn, trying to force himself to relax at the welcome intrusion. After an age of countless small shifts Cas let out his own breath in a long whoosh, letting himself fall forward against Dean's chest, trembling as his cock twitched, finally fully seated.

Dean tried for a breath as Cas lay still to let them both adjust, reveling in the sensation as his body relaxed in small measures around Cas's cock and he could instead feel the fullness of it, his muscles contracting in tiny spasms in response to the involuntary twitches as Cas fought against moving. Experimentally, Dean shifted his hips and both of them hissed in a sharp intake of breath.

"Careful," Cas said in an oddly strained voice. "Or this'll last about five seconds." He reached up to cup his hand around Dean's face, bringing him close for a sloppy kiss. "God, you've got me riled up."

"Same," Dean breathed, the sheer force of will required to keep his hips still making him feel as though he were about to fly apart. His cock was pressed between their bellies, the minute shifts eliciting a maddening sort of hot friction that made him unsure whether he should grind up or down. Either way, he knew that when they started moving in earnest, he would not last long before spectacularly breaking.

They lay there, breathing together, Dean feeling Cas's heartbeat against his chest, until Cas braced himself against the back of the couch and slowly rocked his hips forward. Dean felt his eyes roll back as the shaft of Cas's cock slid along his prostate with just enough pressure to release a ghostly thrill of pleasure. Almost reflexively he reached between them to grasp at his own cock and begin stroking it slowly, matching Cas's measured pace as the other man carefully withdrew and then thrust forward again, this time angling himself just slightly upward. He hit his target; Dean could not stifle his moan and he felt his hand begin to pump more quickly in response to the overwhelming urge to come.

Dean felt a gentle hand on his and he opened his eyes as Cas pulled his hand up to the back of the couch. "Can you come from just this?" Cas asked, eyes needy as they caught at Dean's.

"I don't know," Dean replied breathlessly, aching with the need for some kind of release. "Maybe?"

"Let's see." Cas thrust forward again, harder this time, and while he didn't hit the same mark as squarely it still forced a wave of heat to join the tight coil at the base of Dean's belly.

As though they shared a mind, they moved together, Dean rolling his hips downward to meet with Cas's thrusts, their pace increasing gradually until Cas suddenly paused, stiffening. "Wait," he gasped, head bowed, face screwed up with tension. "Wait just a –"

"So close," Dean breathed, heedlessly pushing back against Cas's rigid hips, "I'm gonna – Cas I'm gonna –"

With a crack of lightning behind his eyelids, all the hot tension unleashed violently, and Dean gave voice to a wordless, strangled shout as his orgasm wracked his body with wave after wave of sharp pleasure, spattering hot against his chest as it shot from his cock in thick ropes.

"God," Cas croaked, his hands releasing Dean's as he set them to Dean's hips and he thrust, hard, repeatedly, making Dean shout again as a new pleasure spiked with every move. "Dean, you –" He groaned, low and guttural, as he stilled again, but this time the shudder and the twitching of his muscles made it clear that this was not a pause to collect himself. "Dean," he said again, drained, as he lowered himself to Dean's chest, mindless of the mess there, and snatched his lips against Dean's neck.

Muscles still weakly spasming with aftershocks, they lay there as their breathing slowed to normal, loathe to separate and become two again.

IV

Warm.

Dean's eyelids fluttered before opening wide in disorientation as he sat upright. There was a wall where there shouldn't be, and the sheets didn't smell right, and the blanket was heavier than he was used to, and the angle of the light was all wrong -

"Hm? S'wrong?"

Dean glanced down, heart racing, and as his gaze rested on the figure in bed next to him as it stirred awake, everything fell into place. "Nothing. Just – not used to this."

"M'neither." Cas reached up and clumsily grappled at Dean's shoulder, pulling him back down. "You're letting cold under the covers."

"Sorry." Dean pulled the duvet over his shoulder as he settled back into the pillow, smiling to himself as Cas threw a sleepy arm over his side and pulled him tight. He leaned back against Cas's chest and closed his eyes.

Warm.

V

Familiar guitar chords jolted Dean awake; they were followed by the jostle of Cas reaching over Dean to shut off the clock radio in the middle of "Carol of the Bells."

"Always liked that version," Dean muttered as he rubbed his eyes.

"Sorry about the alarm," Cas said, settling back under the blanket and pulling Dean close in an almost automatic gesture. "I usually get up early to go running on Saturday."

Dean looked back at him with a raised eyebrow. "I really hope you arrange to have someone chasing you, because that's the only excuse to go running at –" he checked the time – "seven o'clock on a Saturday."

Cas snorted. "I like running."

"But it's cold outside," Dean protested.

"I didn't say I was going running today." Cas gave him a little squeeze. "There are more important things on my mind."

"Oh?" Dean nestled against Cas's front, feeling the stirrings of lazy morning arousal begin. "Like what?"

Cas smirked. "You are insatiable. Like breakfast." He made as though to sit up, then slipped back under the covers. "But it's cold, so I think I'll stay here a little while longer."

Dean turned over, and was momentarily overcome by the depth of emotion that struck him, seeing Cas's face cradled in the pillow, hair dark against the light linen, eyes cloudy blue even in the steely silver light of predawn. That it was still shockingly incongruous with how he was used to seeing those eyes only made the thrill more profound.

Cas evidently felt something similar, because his already soft gaze melted further as he reached up to fit his hand perfectly at the back of Dean's neck, pulling him in for an oddly tender kiss.

They had been lost in the fever pitch of passion the night before, and satiated exhaustion had claimed them soon after; this was a different kind of kiss, slow and sultry like warm honey, without the frantic pounding of hearts sounding the rhythm but something much smoother, much more akin to breathing. Time did not slow so much as suspend, enveloping them in a microcosm of warmth and languid exploration that was theirs and theirs alone.

It was Dean who pulled away first, mildly surprised to find he had rolled atop Cas. "I just remembered something."

"What's that?" Cas asked, curiosity alight in his eyes.

Dean leaned back into a sitting position. "Turn over."

Cas's eyebrows shot straight up, but without a word he shifted, wriggling under Dean as he turned onto his stomach.

Dean was not sure how to describe the sensation he felt as his eyes made out the details in the dim light; at once he was awed, amused, and vaguely aroused as he reached out to trace the lines that had blurred very slightly with the years. "A caduceus," he said finally as his fingers trailed over one wing that took up almost an entire shoulder blade. "That makes so much sense I don't know whether to laugh or cry."

Cas groaned and shoved his face into his pillow. "Gabriel told you his story about it, didn't he?" he asked, resigned, voice muffled by the pillow.

"He…hinted," Dean hedged.

Cas propped himself up on his elbows so he could twist and look over his shoulder at Dean. "It wasn't an accident," he said plaintively. "You don'taccidentally get a full-back tattoo. I'd been planning it for a while. I…" he smiled in slight embarrassment, his eyes focusing on the near distance as he remembered. "I wanted something with wings, because I was going through a phase, and since I was studying medicine, a caduceus seemed fitting. I didn't want to go through with it until I actually got into medical school." He exhaled a shallow laugh. "Probably should have waited until I wasn't drunk to go ahead and do it, because I gave Gabe enough ammunition to torture me with misinformed fables for the rest of my life."

"How long did it take?" Dean asked, tracing over the outlines of the intertwined snakes as they twisted down along Cas's spine.

Cas gave a small shiver at Dean's ministrations. "Twenty-six hours over five weeks. And really, the joke's on me, because I can't even show anybody. I tend to keep my shirt on in polite company."

"Hey," Dean said, switching his light touch to digging in his thumbs as he walked them back up on either side of Cas's spine. "My manners are flawless."

"Present company," Cas gave a little grunt as Dean tread over a knot in his back, "always excepted." He closed his eyes and let his upper torso fall back to the bed. "You can stop doing that in about three years."

"I don't know about that long," Dean said with a grin, "But I don't really have anything else planned for this morning."

VI

The sweatpants and University of Washington tee shirt smelled like Cas, were just a shade too small in length and across the shoulders, and Dean had never been so thrilled to put on clothes that weren't his. He sprawled on the couch in that slightly-self-conscious way of one who has been told to make themselves at home in a place that is wholly unfamiliar. It was ridiculous, especially since less than twelve hours ago Dean had had every stitch of clothing removed from him while he'd been on this couch, which almost certainly granted him liberties beyond that of a normal houseguest.

The creak of the door opening made him twist. "Don't get up," Cas called as he pulled the door closed behind him with his foot. Dean watched as he made his way into the living room, balancing two familiar, nondescript coffee cups atop a pink bakery box. "Apple and sausage croissants," Cas explained as he handed Dean one of the coffee cups. "I wasn't kidding about breakfast." Hands freed, Cas pulled the handful of mail out from under his arm and began shuffling through it as he sank onto the couch next to Dean.

"Right," Dean said, swallowing against the aroma as it manifested in the small living room. He glanced sideways. "I love the smell of conflict of interest in the morning."

Cas winced. "That…occurred to me too. But we were busy at the time, and it seemed like a terrible opportunity to bring it up."

"You kidding?" Dean grinned sheepishly. "You really think that knowing we shouldn't be doing this doesn't add a little something?"

"Maybe a little," Cas admitted with a small smile of his own.

Dean nodded. "You know what I think?" He didn't wait for Cas to answer. "I think we should ignore it until it comes around and bites us in the ass."

Cas looked up from tearing open an envelope. "Somehow, I think that might be the philosophy for a lot of things in your life."

Dean shrugged. "It got me into bed with a hot surgeon. I can't say it's steered me wrong yet." He flashed Cas a smile that faded when he saw the color drain from Cas's face as he scanned the sheet of paper in his hands. "What?"

Cas swallowed and nodded at the paper. "A subpoena." He heaved a troubled sigh. "I expected this. It looks like I'm summoned for questioning about the circumstances of the murder of Victoria Wilson." He looked up sharply. "You probably have one, too."

Licking his lips, Dean leaned forward and rubbed his eyes. "And suddenly, things got a lot more complicated."