Get it Together
He doesn't know what he's doing. He has no fucking clue. Here he is, staring at his best friend, who is half naked, water droplets still hugging his skin and Dean can't even form a word. He knows what his intentions were. When Cas left the room to take a shower, Dean couldn't help but wonder how he was handling all of this. Given, Cas was the clear dominant one when they were on the couch, but as far as Dean knew, and by the little things Cas has said, he was just as new to this experience as Dean. What was going through that tousled head? How was he feeling about all this craziness; and how the hell did he know just how to get Dean off like that? Did he want to get off too? Dean didn't even think to ask—ha! How would he even ask that question? What the fuck would he even do if he did and Cas said yes?
Even though he had no clue, he still felt like a big bag of dicks for not even trying; so here he is, sitting on the edge of his bed. Hoping Cas will somehow, telepathically send his natural gift for hand-jobs to him. The only one Dean has every given was to himself—so he is praying to god that that is enough to get him through what he is thinking of doing.
Cas looks up at him, only just noticing Dean is there judging by the startled look in his eyes. Those eyes though! The steam makes the sapphire rims radiate from beneath Cas's brow. Dean feels a heat burn within him, lifting him up from the bed and propelling him towards Castiel.
He reaches out his hands, sliding them around his friend's waist, smearing the warm drops that had collected on the small of his back. Cas's pale skin is soft, and the bones and muscles beneath, offer little give to Dean's embrace. He feels as if he is clasping a velvet pillow filled with stones. The blue eyed man opens his mouth, but no words come out. Dean smiles, filling the void with his tongue, wanting desperately for Cas to relax—he doesn't need to worry about Dean for once. Cas deserves that attention now.
Dean releases his grip and backs away slowly, reaching out to pull Castiel with him. Cas complies, letting Dean take the lead, hesitation, however, still wrecking his face. Dean tugs him close once more, whipping him around until they have switched places. He pushes him gently down on the bed—Cas falls softly, bouncing on the mattress and finally allowing an ease to come over his eyes. Dean bends down at the waist, putting one hand, flat on Cas's bare, smooth chest and pushing him back until his alabaster skin in married comfortably to Dean's sheets. Dean crawls onto the bed and over Castiel. He leans his head down and gives him gentle kisses all along his collar bone, making Cas's chest heave and rattle against his lips.
The response fills him with excitement; maybe he can be good at this. After all, he is awesome at this kind of thing with women. They always seem quite pleased with his choices in bed; in fact, he can't remember a single one who didn't ask him to call her afterwards. That's something right? He has to have a natural talent for this; so what if it's a guy rather than a chick? He is Dean Winchester and Dean Winchester is an awesome lover!
The thought process is empowering, until Dean finds himself gliding licks around Cas's belly button—his chin grazing the edge of the towel resting on his friend's hips. How did he get down here so quickly? He feels his eyes grow wide, suddenly hoping that Cas is far off in some blissful place and not giving Dean another one of his trademarked stares. A quick glance up dashes his dreams; Cas is gazing at him like a deer in headlights, a redundant concern seeping from his pores.
"Get it together, man . . ." Dean mumbles to himself—he feels Cas pull up beneath him.
"Dean, you don't have to . . ." Cas begins but Dean is already shooting up across the man's body to shut him up with a kiss; determined not to make this about himself.
Cas relaxes into the mattress again, allowing Dean to prop himself up on his elbow, sliding his free hand down to the folds of the towel, now loosening around Castiel's waist. Dean continues dashing and stabbing Cas's mouth with his tongue, eyes closed, thinking that if he cannot see what he is doing, it will give him less to think about. He couldn't be more wrong.
He takes a deep breath through his nose and slides his fingers into the gap between the towel and the man's pelvis, instantly grazing the round, moist tip of Cas's cock. Cas rocks his hips and Dean freezes. Every inch of him is anxious and he's suddenly craving a cool glass of whiskey for the first time in days. Fucking, get it together! Dean thinks to himself, urging his fingers to wrap around Castiel.
He feels the veins throb inside Cas's dick; they seem to be trying to resist his grip, thumping strong enough to loosen it with each, little pulse. Dean focuses, motioning his hand up, squeezing hard, trying to force the veins into submission. Cas lets out an ugly grunt.
"Uh, Dean. . .?" Cas hums, obviously masking his discomfort with whisps of politeness.
"Sorry . . . sorry." Dean mumbles from around Cas's lips, hoping that he can find a rhythm between his actions so that Cas doesn't have to warn him again.
He shifts away from his friend's mouth, moving to his ear, hoping it will do what it did for him. He bites and licks the curves just above the lobe and Cas jumps slightly, like he was just shocked by static. Dean feels his frustration mount on top of itself- he is floundering and he knows it. He is fucking failing at this and Cas knows it too.
Dean moves his hand back down the length of Cas's softening shaft, no longer feeling veins or heat rising from his friend's body. He makes a few more eager swipes before he feels the weight of Cas's hand come and cover his own.
"It's alright Dean. I think—I think I am just too tired for this right now." Cas offers, pity and disappointment seem to overtake his voice.
Dean drops his head onto Cas's shoulder as he slides his hand out from under the damp towel. He wants to apologize but somehow, he knows that will make it worse—worse for him that is. Even when he was plastered drunk, he could please a woman, why the hell is it so different now?
"I am going to put on some clothes." Cas says, peeling himself off the bed after laying a light hand on Dean's wrist, giving it a gentle squeeze.
"Do you mind if I borrow a shirt and some pants from you?" The question falls heavy out of Cas's mouth.
"Sure." Dean says, his eyes closed, spitting silent curses at the threaded sheets.