Ow.

Dean cracks his back.

Yup, ow.

Even now, as he's laying on a cushioned couch instead of a rocky, dirt surface, his body still feels stiff; and he has a vague aching, like he just gotten beaten up. But, it had still been worth it. And Dean would do it all over again tonight if he had the chance. Hell, he'd do it every night if he had the chance.

Castiel is just something special. Just having Castiel wrapped up in his arms every night is something special on it's own, but Dean feels so incredibly lucky. He feels luckier than he thinks he deserves to be, but nevertheless, lucky. He feels at ease when he's looking at him, calm; like he's just laying on the beach with the sand between his toes, and the steady, constant flow of the ocean. Dean just allows himself to be himself when he's with Castiel, and he's grateful for that. He's grateful for how comfortable Castiel makes him feel.

But Dean just doesn't know if he's ready for love.

He starts to bite the skin around his nails. He reaches in his pocket for his phone and dials the only person he feels like talking to at the moment. It rings a few times, and then the voice picks up.

"Hey."

"Heya', Sammy."

"What's going on? You okay?"

No, not really.

"Yeah, I'm cool. What's up with you? Has the bathroom been overridden with tampons and hair dryers yet?"

Sam huffs on the other line, "Yeah, it's starting."

"I warned you." Dean jokes.

"By the way, what's the deal with Gabe?" Sam asks, a slight nervous hesitation to his tone.

Dean shakes his head, "He's just a barrel o' laughs, isn't he? For a short guy, he's sure got a big ego."

"He got my number," Sam clears his throat, "Did you give it to him?"

"No." Dean says, almost wishing he had.

"Well...he won't leave me alone." Sam groans and Dean laughs, "It isn't funny, Dean. I'm married."

"Oh, so if you weren't married would that be a different story?"

Sam goes silent.

Oh my god.

"Sammy, are you—"

"Shut up, Dean! Even if I am into him a little, I would never leave Ruby. Let's just drop it from here, okay?"

Dean drops it, although he doesn't want to.

"What about Cas?" Sam asks quickly. Dean was half expecting to hear that, but even though he had been expecting it, he hadn't come up with an answer to say when the question would be given.

Dean pauses. "Cas is good. He's on a run right now," Dean shakes his head, "Damn you guys and your health habits. Jogging is the worst, Sam. I mean, I know it keeps you healthy, but God, at what cost?"

"Is that your way of avoiding the truth?"

Dammit Sammy.

Dean stiffens his shoulders against the couch. His brother knows him all too well. Sam knows something's up, so Dean figures he might as well just tell him.

"He loves me, Sammy." Dean grinds his teeth, "Cas loves me. And I have no friggin' clue what the hell to do."

"Well how do you feel?"

"But that's the thing!" Dean sits up on the couch, "I don't even know what I feel. I didn't even know I could feel."

"So, you do feel something?" Sam points out.

Dean bites his cheek as he shakes his head.

Dean feels something enough to take him to Disneyland. Dean feels something enough to take him to his brother's wedding and walk him down the aisle. Dean feels something enough for him to leave California with a guy he only just met a week ago. Dean feels something enough to have sex with him. Dean feels something enough that he will sit in awkward family dinners with his psycho mom. Dean feels something enough to sleep on the edge of a rocky cliff with him.

Dean feels something enough for Castiel to be the only person Dean feels like he really wants.

"I don't know, Sam."

"Wanna' know what I think?"

"Do I, though?"

"I think that you've convinced yourself that you don't have any feelings at all – so you've basically just trapped yourself inside this little bubble that you won't let anyone pop because you're too scared to lose the protection." Sam pauses like he's stopping himself from going on a rant, but decides to continue anyways, "And I do think you feel something for Castiel. I see it every time I look at you. Just pop the bubble, Dean. Pop the damn bubble."

Dean can feel his stomach twist.

What does he even say to that.

Dean can think of exactly what he wants to say. He doesn't even have to think too long either, it just comes to him as quick as blinking: Sam is right. And Dean knows that. Dean knows that he does feel something, but he's prevented himself from trying to feel anything by putting himself behind lock and key. He's just been denying it, over and over and over.

That's what he wants to say.

"Okay, Sammy." Dean swallows down sharp regret, "I gotta' go."

"Wait, Dean —" Sam croaks, his voice deepening a little.

"Yeah?"

"Look, I was gonna' call you about it later today, but, since you called…" Sam hesitates and Dean can feel his heart begin to race, "...Lisa's here. She flew in last night and came to me and Ruby. She asked where you were and what was going on."

Dean tries to suck in air but it's a little hard to do that when you feel like your lungs have just gone M.I.A. He stutters his voice, but nothing really comes out except broken letters.

"I told her you ran off," Sam continues, "I tried my best. I know she went to your hotel to find out information if she could but...that's all I know."

Dean drags his hand down his face, "Well, that's just peachy." He spits sarcastically.

"I'm sorry, Dean, I—"

"It's fine, Sam. I'll figure it out," Dean shrugs, knowing perfectly well that he won't figure it out, "You get back to cleaning off your bathroom sink of feminine products and dealing with the sassy gay trickster," Dean jokes, trying to lure Sam away from the situation at hand.

"Yeah, alright." Sam agrees, although Dean knows Sam's not buying it, "Bye, Dean."

"Later, Sammy."

Dean slams his phone shut and rolls his lips together. What does he do now. Does he tell Castiel? Or does he not tell Castiel?

But she wouldn't know how to find the house… Dean thinks, scratching the back of his hair... unless she implanted a tracking device in my head...?

Nah.

There's no way Lisa could find the house. They paid with cash when they stopped at the gas stations on the way here, so there's no credit card trail. He hadn't told anyone else where he was except Sam; but even Sam didn't know the exact location.

There is no way.

So, he decides to not tell Castiel.

And he decides to take a nap instead.

He wakes up on a really hard surface. He has no idea where he is, but it's dark, and it's freezing; so cold he can see his breath vaguely through blurred vision.

He stands and burrows bare feet into dirt and rock as his eyes process the silhouettes around him.

He's standing on the cliff in front of the lake, bare feet, no shirt — just basketball shorts.

He wants to open his mouth and yell for help, but for some reason, he knows no one will hear him. So he starts to walk. His feet are numb, almost frozen solid from cold, and the tips of his fingertips burn painfully.

Everything is black. The sky, the water, the trees, but in the very distance he can see the house on the other side of the lake, a single light at the top corner flickering slightly.

He knows that's where he needs to go.

He slides his hand through the wall of leaves, gliding the rest of his body through, but there's bushes and branches closing against him, and he can't see the way out. He pushes through and swats away everything tightening against him, but it just seems to be getting tighter, and tighter. He can't breathe.

Why can't he scream?

It's getting tighter. The branches are stabbing him, cutting him; he can feel his blood pulsing through his head. His legs fail to work and he ducks down, crowding his head around his knees and wrapping his arms tight around his legs.

It hurts. He can't breathe. He can't feel his feet, or his hands, or his face. He's entirely numb. He tucks his head in tighter, wraps his arms around his legs more, buries his toes into the dirt farther.

Go away. He wants it to go away.

And it does.

And he's not in the forest anymore, he's sitting outside the house. The big, wooden cabin with the single light in the top corner. He's sitting quietly and tentatively on the grass. He allows his legs to let him rise.

He's walking — why is he walking? He doesn't want to walk towards the house, but he is. It's still cold, and the moment he steps in the house, it's even colder.

It's completely silent. Not a sound but the echo of air.

Why is it so quiet?

Why can't he run away?

He wants to turn around and go someplace else, anywhere else, but he knows he needs to go upstairs. He knows he needs to be here. He knows he needs to keep walking.

He walks farther into the darkened house, past the kitchen and the couch and to the stairs.

A man is sitting on the stairs. The man is crying.

As soon as he reaches the foot of the stairs, the man lifts his head up.

It's Sam.

Sam uncoils from his tucked knees, his mouth flattening out completely, like he is trying to hide the evidence of sadness. Sam stands tall in front of him, face blank and mutated, and he raises his arm slowly, a lone finger reaching out from his hand and leading up the stairs.

Sam doesn't say a word, and somehow, he knows that Sam wouldn't answer him if he asked.

So, with numbed feet he takes a step onto the first stair, ignoring the needles he feels every time his skin touches the ground. He follows Sam's pointed finger up the stairs and to the long hallway; where the very last room at the end of the hall has it's light on.

He doesn't want to go.

Why can't he stop walking?

With every step he can feel the air getting colder, but the blood pumping so hard in his veins begins to make him sweat. He's scared. Why is he scared?

He hears noise, now.

He tilts his head, pausing his movements to listen to the almost deaf whisper.

He doesn't know what the noise is, so he walks closer. He wants to stop but he can't seem to; he knows he can't turn back.

The noise gets louder.

It's voices. Groaning voices.

And only when he is standing inches from the door does he realize what the noise truly is; the squeaking of the bed, the harsh undertoned breaths and ragged words.

And only when he peeks over the side of the door does he realize who the voices belong to.

It's Benny and Castiel.

Benny, who has stripped Castiel down of every article of clothing and now has the naked man pinned down with his stomach against the bed; while he thrusts into him with softened force.

Castiel, who lays so supernal against the mattress, smiling and whispering out sweet nothing's like he is enjoying every inch of pleasure that Benny gives him; his hands coiled tightly in the sheets of the bed.

Benny and Castiel both turn to look at him at the same time, eyebrows lowering malevolently, grins invading their faces like wildfire — mocking him. They're laughing at him.

And the walls begin to close. He can't breathe. It's too cold to move, and he begins to twist his body together, shrinking down and tucking his face back into his knees, wrapping his arms around his legs and tightening his strength.

Why can't he scream?

"Dean! Dean! Wake up!"

He wakes up with a massive gasp for air.

He screams.

"Dean! Calm down!"

He can't calm down. He can feel every vein in his body pulse against his skin. Castiel wraps warm hands around the sides of his arms. It's dark outside now. How long had he been asleep?

"Dean, please, take a breath," Castiel alarmingly says, "It was only a nightmare."

Dean halters, "But — you, and...and...Benny...and—" He swallows the rest of his words down. The back of his throat feels like it's on fire; along with the rest of his body, as he's dressed from head to toe in a damp sweat.

Castiel's eyes wander Dean's face and try to make sense of what he's saying, but he ends up watching Dean choke on his own words.

Castiel lets go of Dean's arms and takes a step away from the bed, "I'll go get you some water —"

"No!" Dean yells suddenly, reaching out and gripping Castiel's arm tightly. He swallows, "Please stay."

Hold me.

Don't say it aloud. You're too afraid.

Castiel softens. "Okay."

Castiel sits down on the bed beside him, watching Dean intently with brightened eyes. It makes Dean feel that much more calm. Dean reaches his arms out, and soon the both of them are wrapped so tightly in the other's arms that it would be a shame to let go.

Dean tassels his fingers into Castiel's hair, burying his face into the side of Castiel's neck. He allows long fingers to trace shapes along his back, allows his uneven breath to return to normal, allows himself to relax.

"It's okay, Dean." Castiel reassures him gently, "I'm here."

"Just stay," Dean says deeply, "I need you."

Dean holds on to him so tightly he thinks he might be suffocating the man, but he just can't seem to stop. The way Castiel smells, like cinnamon; like what you would smell when you woke up on Christmas morning. Dean closes his eyes.

It had been so vivid; seeing Castiel and Benny like that. And it makes him sick to his very core. He felt so alone. It hadn't been just a nightmare, it was, in fact, his worst nightmare. Dean can still feels his arms shaking slightly. Castiel rubs his back tenderly.

He's here. He's mine.

He's mine.

Dean wonders why that dream had even crossed his mind. To him, the thought of that happening had never occurred, but now he knows it's going to be in the back of his mind; and he doesn't think it'll ever go away.

"Are you okay?" Castiel whispers, still holding on to him. The deep tone of his voice is calming.

"Yeah," Dean breathes, although not entirely sure he is telling the truth. He had never realized how bad it would hurt to lose Castiel; or at least, have the feeling of what it would be like to lose him. Never before has Dean felt anything like that before. He doesn't want it to ever happen again. He wants Castiel. Dean wants all of Castiel; and all of what comes with him.

"I want you." Dean says suddenly, finally gaining the courage to let him go and look at his eyes. Castiel looks disquieted, head tilting in question.

"You have me." Castiel nods.

"No," Dean shakes his head. His hand trails up Castiel's arm and circles around the side of his neck, "I mean I want you."

I want you to have sex with me. I want you inside me.

Why is that so hard to say? Dean wants it, he can think it, but he can't seem to say it aloud. However, Castiel seems to understand.

Castiel just nods, letting himself lean into him, letting himself gently touch his lips to Dean's. Dean consents Castiel's body to melt against his. His skin is still damp, but Castiel doesn't seem to mind, letting soft fingertips run across Dean's skin. Castiel's lips open up to him, allowing their tongues to swirl around each other, sucking faintly on each others lips.

Castiel repositions himself, walking on his knees to the middle of the bed whilst never breaking contact with Dean's lips. Dean can feel his heart begin to beat a little faster. He's nervous, probably the most he's ever been, but he knows it's okay. He trusts Castiel. There's the sudden feeling of hands crawling up his back, entwining hands into his damp hair and tugging lightly.

Dean slides his hands up from Castiel's hips and rides his shirt up and Castiel obliges, letting the shirt be thrown across the room. The shirt only separates their mouths for a split second. Their kisses are gentler, more controlled and relaxed, like all the time in the world belongs to them. The way Castiel bites his lip isn't how it had been; it's delicate, and passionate, only like a small tug.

Castiel glides down to Dean's neck, desperately kissing across sensitive skin, nibbling across his broad chest. It's so slow but full of hunger and desire, like Castiel is eager to suffice his need for Dean. Dean hisses through closed teeth when Castiel grazes a nipple, taking it lightly between his teeth and letting his tongue twist around tender skin.

Dean takes a quick glance at Castiel, his lips so faultlessly caressing him, pink and swollen lips so concentrated on nobody else but him. Castiel nibbles his way back up, sucking gentle purple marks into Dean's skin until his lips find his again, impatient to have their tongues against the other. Castiel's hips press into Dean's and Dean can feel the hardness from the other man pressing into his own. Dean knows he'll never get sick of that feeling.

Dean's cock is aching desperately, and he can't seem to stop grinding his hips up, spreading them and urging Castiel to provide friction. By the way their bodies are so close, Dean's sure that Castiel can feel his heart threatening to break through his skin. Castiel kisses him bruisingly, allowing the smallest of marks to make their way into Dean's skin.

Castiel is back at Dean's chest now, gliding his hands down until they rest gently on his hips. Dean hisses through closed teeth, arching his back up into Castiel's tongue. Castiel's hands begin to slide the rest of Dean's clothes off, pulling them down to his ankles and allowing his mouth to follow the fabric, kissing his thighs and legs as he goes down. Dean leans his head back against the pillow, not watching, but feeling Castiel touch him, feeling Castiel kiss him.

Castiel kisses and sucks onto his inner thighs, totally ignoring Dean's cock completely and just moving back to his abdomen. And somehow, that's totally alright with Dean. Pressure slides between Dean's open lips, and a hooked tongue tangles back into his. Dean's hands find Castiel's hips and he ruts Castiel's cock down against his stomach, where he can feel damp pre-cum touching his skin.

Dean feels Castiel's arm move subtly to the bedside table. Dean releases from him and watches Castiel fumble for a bottle of lube and a condom.

"Wait," Dean swallows, "I've never done this before." He says quietly. He can feel his face begin to flush as soon as the words come out.

Castiel's lips gape.

"You've never — "

"No," Dean answers him quickly, as if afraid to hear what Castiel was going to say, "No." He repeats with slight embarrassment. Dean stays as stock-still as a hunter waiting out his prey, but he can see anticipation in every line of Castiel's body.

Castiel doesn't say anything, instead placing the condom back onto the dresser and taking the lube only to coat his index finger. The action, for some reason, scares Dean almost to death. Why is he so terrified? Dean closes his eyes and lets out a constricted breath. He can't see Castiel, but he can hear him and feel the heat from his skin as he comes close to Dean's face.

"I'm not going to hurt you." Castiel breathes, the low tone of his voice a soft echo. Dean nods, his eyes still remaining shut.

Dean grabs a handful of the bed sheet, trying his best to relax when he feels the slick, cool skin of Castiel's finger brush against his entrance. Dean clenches his teeth down and slowly opens his eyes, only to be greeted with the view of looking at the sun underwater.

And the fear is gone. Heat swarms Dean's senses, his skin, his blood, his mind. He can't even remember why he had been afraid in the first place. Because it's Castiel. It's the guy that has Dean so tightly in the palm of his hand; that he could do anything that he wanted to him, say anything that he wanted to him, and Dean wouldn't go anywhere. Dean needs him.

Castiel tilts his head, "Are you okay, Dean?"

And as soon as Castiel says that, Dean snaps out of whatever world he was in moments ago, and now he can feel something a little tight and uncomfortable. It's not what Dean had expected. It doesn't feel like he had expected. Castiel is moving so gently inside him, taking his time to make sure Dean is comfortable. It doesn't hurt. Dean nods, urging Castiel to continue moving.

The feeling of a single finger starts to slide into his easier, starts to feel better, and Dean begins to meet down on Castiel's finger with each small thrust.

And then there's the second finger.

And it burns.

Dean hisses when it sinks in, tightening muscles against Castiel's fingers. Castiel leans his forehead on Dean's.

"Dean, you have to relax. It will be much easier if you trust me."

Dean swallows and lets his body relax, easing Castiel's fingers in much deeper. Castiel kisses him gently, and Dean moans delicately into his mouth. Dean wraps his legs around the back of Castiel's, trying to push him as close as he can get him. Castiel goes very slow, so slow that Dean can feel every movement that Castiel makes with his fingers, like when he curls them ever so slightly upward, or when he makes small circles. Dean feels himself begin to sweat; it's getting a lot hotter in the room.

It still burns, but it gets more tolerable for Dean. "You can go faster," Dean says with harsh undertone.

Castiel picks up speed, and Dean can't stop staring at him. Dean has seen him like this before, with swollen, parted pink lips, flushed cheeks, damp sheet across his forehead and eyes shut gently; but he is so utterly perfect in that moment it's almost painful. Dean hooks uneasy hands around the back of Castiel's neck and presses open lips to his.

Third finger.

Dean bites Castiel's lip too hard by accident and Dean can suddenly taste metallic iron.

Castiel leans back and swipes a drop of blood from his lip with his tongue, "Relax," Castiel reminds him. Dean swallows and nods but he doesn't exactly agree.

It's still painful and uncomfortably tight, but Dean can't seem to stop meeting Castiel's thrusts with his hips. Castiel is breathing delicately and softly into Dean's ear, sometimes the slightest moan escapes, and it just makes it so much easier for Dean to relax to know that Castiel is enjoying it. Castiel nuzzles heated breath into his neck; tender kisses around his collar bone and chest, nipping around Dean's tattoo.

Dean's starting to enjoy it. It's starting to feel good.

"Cas..." Dean hisses, "Fuck."

Castiel squirms a little, seeming to press his body closer to Dean's. Castiel picks up speed. It's so much easier now, to relax and trust the man on top of him; to realize he could provide more than the simple blowjob and hook up. Dean arches his back up into Castiel's chest, and he can see the muscles in Castiel's arm strain as he continues to move in and out of Dean, picking up speed every few seconds.

Dean starts to roughly but almost gently, intertwine fingers into the back of Castiel's head. He's getting deeper, much deeper. The base of Castiel's slick fingers are urging to go past the limit, overreaching and extending past their maximum potential, until —

Dean gasps.

Castiel smiles, "That's your prostate."

Dean swallows, "That felt good." He says, as if he had no idea that it could feel good. The second Castiel's fingers had gotten that deep, it was like Dean's spine stood straight and he could feel every nerve of his body come to attention. He wants more.

Castiel keeps pushing his fingers into him, as well as his hips inadvertently thrusting against Dean's side, and his shuddering breath sweeping against Dean's neck. It's becoming easier for Castiel to reach his prostate now that the burning sensation is gone, and every few pushes inside him Castiel reaches for it, sending jolts of pleasure down Dean's skin. Dean digs his nails into Castiel's back and groans.

Dean's finding that his legs now have a mind of their own, and they're spreading farther and farther apart, making Castiel's long and tender fingers glide slickly out of Dean's ass. And then Dean starts to feel the familiar ache in the bottom of his stomach.

"Cas, Jesus, right there..." Dean can't help but thrash his hands around Castiel's back, "I think I'm gonna' come,"

Castiel makes an effort to push his fingers in faster, "Dean," Castiel says, parting his mouth like he has more to say but can only comprise Dean's name.

Castiel's fingers start to hit Dean's prostate with every thrust until Dean turns into a complete hot mess; squirming so much that Castiel has to hold him down underneath his arm to contain him. Dean's never experienced this type of feeling before, the kind that actually makes your toes curl, the kind that makes you feel like every muscle in your body is tightening around your bones.

Dean screams Castiel's name, sinking nails deep into the skin of his back and pressing the mans head into the crease of his neck as Dean comes completely undone underneath Castiel. Dean can feel Castiel's urgency, his heat against his own skin. His lungs start omitting air, and soon Dean's begging for it, gasping and sucking in air like he'd been underwater for several minutes.

He just came. And Castiel didn't even have to touch Dean's cock.

And...why did Dean want to do it again?

His breathing resides quickly, but for some reason, he's not tired. He's not drained. He doesn't want to go right to sleep. Dean truly, genuinely wants Castiel inside him. Castiel is still breathing heavily into Dean's neck, and Dean hooks his hands around the back of his damp neck and pulls him up so their lips meet again, tongues dancing and swirling around each other. Dean wraps his free hand around Castiel's back and trails it down against his ass, pulling Castiel's thigh around his waist and tangling their legs together.

"Are you ready, Dean?" Castiel asks, hand rubbing Dean's jawline.

Dean nods, "I'm ready."

Castiel reaches towards the bedside table next to him, but Dean grabs his wrist as soon as Castiel's fingers touch the condom. Castiel looks at him questioningly.

Dean blinks slowly. "I'm clean."

Castiel visibly swallows, "Me too."

Dean grinds his teeth down. This is it.

Why can't he stop staring at Castiel? He can see every movement he makes, every blink or twitch of an eyelash, or every lip curve and tremble; Dean just can't stop, because Castiel is so fucking beautiful. And it's almost sad, how happy he is, because he knows he'll most likely never be as happy as he is again as he is right now. Or maybe he will, he doesn't know. What matters now is what he feels now.

Castiel kisses him once again very briefly, and then sits up, leaving a cold shiver against Dean's skin where Castiel's was once pressing.

"You should turn on your back, it will be much easier." Castiel says seriously, "You can rest your legs down."

Dean nods, turning onto his stomach and resting his head gently against the pillow, closing his eyes and waiting to feel which part of his body Castiel will touch first. He slowly feels a hand brush softly against his shoulder blade and then following the bones of his spine down to the dimples of his back, where Castiel runs smooth fingers over the skin of Dean's ass and then to his thighs, pulling each of his legs apart and giving Castiel room to slot in between them.

Never before in his life has Dean felt so at ease but also so incredibly terrified.

Dean takes a breath, raises his arms above his head, and squeezes the pillow case. Castiel kisses his shoulder.

"Are you sure about this, Dean?"

"Yes." Dean says instantly. He doesn't open his eyes.

Castiel kisses his shoulder again and presses his body against Dean's, where Dean can feel Castiel's cock touch the back of his thigh. Warm hands are at the top of Dean's back, tenderly depressing into his skin. They begin sliding down, and Castiel's mouth follows his fingers, nipping and sucking skin on Dean's spine. He can feel Castiel shaking with desire yet he also feels him moving slowly. Slowly, too slowly, with a feather light touch, Castiel traces the curves of Dean's ass with his finger tips before Dean hears the click of a bottle cap.

There's more kisses against the back of his neck as one of Castiel's hand wraps around the back of Dean's, and then Dean feels the cold, slick tip of Castiel's cock touch his entrance. Dean shuts his eyes tighter. Castiel hesitates for a moment.

"I'm sure, Cas," Dean reassures him, "I'm sure."

Castiel's grip tightens against the back of Dean's hand. The tip enters, and Dean grinds his teeth. And then Castiel, very slowly, moves in a little more, and a little more, and a little more, until his hips have met Dean's skin.

"Are you okay?" Castiel asks, hot breath in Dean's ear.

Dean nods, "Yeah, Cas." He says as normal as possible, because never before in his life has he felt a burning tightness as bad as this. It is almost unbearable; so much worse than Castiel's fingers and what Dean had imagined.

It hurts, but it also doesn't hurt.

Castiel stays like that for a while, letting Dean get used to the stretch, letting his muscles relax around him. Castiel intertwines the palms of his hands onto the back's of Dean's and lifts them over his head. Castiel kisses timidly against the nape of Dean's neck until Dean's breathing subdues. Dean can sense Castiel's hips wanting to move, but he can also sense Castiel's patience; his desire to cherish the feeling.

"You can move, Cas." Dean says with ragged breath. Castiel leans his forehead against the back of Dean's neck and pulls out even slower then he pushed in. Dean bites down on his teeth again. It hurts, still very badly, but not as bad as it had before.

And they continue like this for awhile, forbearing such a keen and anxious moment, with Castiel moving as slow as his body will allow him to in and out of Dean, kissing the skin on his back and groaning quietly in Dean's ear. After some time, the pain dulls, and Dean's body begins to accept the feeling, and he finds himself releasing his tight strain on Castiel's hands and just melting back against him.

Once Castiel realizes that Dean has succumb to the feeling, he pushes in a little faster. Dean groans loudly.

"Are you okay, Dean?" Castiel stops his movement, "How does it feel?"

Dean arches his back, "It feels good, Cas. Feels so good — don't stop."

Castiel listens to him, thrusting his cock back inside of Dean and receiving a delightful moan from the man. Dean can't even remember the burning pain he had felt before, and now all he can feel is the burning pleasure of Castiel. It's amazing, this feeling, whatever it may be thats beginning to simmer in the pit of Dean's stomach. Listening to the noises Castiel is making, his shaken breath and euphonic moans, the feeling of delicate skin sliding against his back. It's so tantalizingly beautiful.

Castiel isn't moving fast, he isn't moving like he's got somewhere else to be; he's moving like he as all the time is the world, just savoring and adoring Dean. Dean's incredibly relaxed now, enjoying Castiel's cock buried so deep inside him, enjoying the chaste kisses on his shoulder blades, enjoying Castiel's hands intertwine with his own.

Castiel is moving deep enough to hit his prostate now, and it's beginning to turn Dean into a whimpering disaster. It's so incredibly good — and Dean's not sure how much longer he can last if Castiel moves like he is, rolling his hips gently.

"Cas-Castiel—" Dean groans out, "— I need to see you."

Castiel stops his movements, and pulls out of Dean unhurriedly. Dean winces at the emptiness, but gladly turns over so he can finally kiss him again like he's been aching to do for the last several minutes. Castiel's eyes; so lust-blown and incandescent, to say that they are just 'blue' would just be like saying that the sun is 'yellow'; sufficient but not accurate enough to capture the burning. Dean had a sky of his own to look up into, although it may not contain the sun, it still contains the warmth.

And it's his eyes that completely destroy him, that make him so lost and out of focus, that he just lets Castiel kiss him and touch him, and Dean can't even seem to move. He lets Castiel push back inside him, and he just feels so whole.

Dean wraps arms around Castiel's back and pulls him close, kissing him passionately with his tongue. Castiel's hips begin to move in and out of him again, slick and wanting, until both of them are sweating but not caring about the sticky mess between them. And Dean can feel it, the start of his peak, the steady grow that he can feel so deep in the center of his core. Castiel kisses his neck, nipping and leaving marks against tender skin. Dean is assaulted with the smell of mint and honey again, and the feeling of Castiel's cock pressing against his sweet spot. The feeling in his stomach is getting stronger.

"Cas, I'm going to — "

"Me too, Dean," Castiel chokes, moaning intricately into Dean's mouth.

Dean feels as though he can barely hold on. Listening to Castiel on top of him, listening to him whimper and moan, feeling him quiver and shake, feeling Castiel inside him; it starts to push him over his edge. His legs wrap tightly around the back of Castiel's thighs and he tenses, pressing the man closer to him and deeper inside him until his legs begin to tremble.

"Cas-Castiel—" Dean groans, hands urgent to press Castiel's chest closer to his, " Fuck, Jesus, Castiel, it's so good — you're so good."

Castiel keeps moving in and out of him, inadvertently picking up his speed inside him, sending Dean over his edge. His vision starts to blur, and soon he's screaming out Castiel's name, and Castiel is heaving for air against Dean's neck. Castiel's movements start to spasm, whispering gentle words into Dean's ear that have Dean clutching at his back. Castiel entwines his fingers into Dean's hair and leans his forehead against his. The noises omitting Dean's mouth become his own language, and all he can feel is the tingling set so far into his stomach; all he can feel is Cas. The world starts spinning and Dean can't see anything but the sky.

"I love you, Dean," Castiel cries, finally letting himself go, "I love you so much."

Castiel collapses on top of him, breathing rapidly into Dean's neck and chest. Dean is so helpless to move, so reshapen and disarmed that he can hardly move anything in his body, and all he can hear and feel is the man on top of him. He doesn't know what he feels, or what he's feeling in the pit of his body, but it's hard to say he recognizes it as a familiar feeling.

Dean watches Castiel's back rise and fall beautifully. He can hear and feel the thick breaths, the damp skin, the shuddering hands weaved into his own. His mind is blank.

And as Dean lays underneath the man who had most likely just given him the best moment of his life, he realizes two things.

1. Castiel Milton just made love to him.

2. He is: so...fucking...screwed?