The Only Familiar Thing
Dean hovers at the word. He had opened himself up to the possibility of Cas letting him in; but now that it has entered his ears, he isn't sure quite where to go. He feels his eyes turn from slits into craters, and the panic of not-knowing starts to fill him once again. It's not a sensation he had ever wished to become accustomed to; but feeling it now, for the second time since this morning, there is a slight ease about it. Still, his heart attacks his ribcage and his breath explodes like lava from his throat. Dean lifts his quivering thigh and dismounts Castiel, never unlocking his eyes from his friend's. The sapphire orbs calm him a little—they are the only familiar thing out of all of this . . . Cas, looking at Dean like he matters.
"It's okay, Dean." Castiel whispers, sliding his hand on top of the shaking fingers on his waistband. "Here . . ." he gives Dean's hand a gentle push downward, and both soon disappear from sight beneath Cas's stark, white boxers.
Dean's palm begins to sweat again as it slides along the already slippery, arrow of Cas's pelvis. Dean tosses tiny glances downward at his friend's wrist, as it maneuvers his own; each time, letting his eyes come back and calm themselves in the clear pools that are falling on him. He feels Cas lifting his hand and sliding it to the rigid shaft that's waiting for him. Once he fixes himself into the notch of Dean's thumb, Cas curls the nervous man's fingers tight around the base and pulls the shaky grip up and down, breathing heavier with each slide. Dean closes his eyes and lets the motions Cas is leading him in sink into the muscles of his hand. He grips tighter after a few minutes, this time, accelerating the speed of his strokes and pushing Cas's own hand up with his force. Cas takes the hint and slides his fingers away from Dean's, and back into the open air; letting the fair haired man take the reins. Dean moves up, twisting slightly at Cas's tip, feeling his friend swell a little with the pressure of his fist. He moves down again and wrestles the veins and thumps of blood rushing into the man's pulsing cock. Dean keeps his eyes shut, trying hard to concentrate, to do this right so Cas doesn't have to stop him again. So Castiel can finally feel some release after all the bullshit he put him through.
A gentle touch to his cheek shocks Dean's eyes back open.
"Look at me, Dean. I want you to look at me." Cas's voice is low and rasped, making the request sound more like a command; and Dean finds the force exhilarating.
Dean nods— his eyes wide, as he lets his weight fall onto the man beneath him.
"Slide your thumb across the head." The words skid out of Castiel's mouth like a hiss.
Dean complies without thought, letting his thumb graze the plump tip of Cas's cock. Dean feels his own body lift as Cas jumps. He watches as the man's dark, tousled head rolls back—his eyes shutting for what seems like the first time since they fell onto the bed.
"Christ!" Cas growls and Dean can't help but smile as the word hangs in the air, deemed unfamiliar by Cas's voice.
His friend's neck relaxes after a moment, and Dean is soon swimming once more in the thinning rims of blue around Castiel's blown pupils.
The man's dark, stubbled throat starts to rumble, "Faster, Dean . . . keep looking at me." and Dean's arm tightens as he puts more strength into his grip, pulling quicker, causing his friend to squirm and twist beneath him. Dean shifts his weight, attempting to hold the man down; but quickly finding that Cas's lean body keeps a lot of power. Dean grows more excited with the fight; tilting in closer, intensifying his gaze, wanting to show Cas that he is the one who was going to wreck him. He is the one who is going to make him feel what Dean felt the night before; Dean has him in his hands, and he is going to use Cas up with every ounce of strength within him—Dean is going to take him to the brink.
The man's dried lips part and his jaw clenches, as another unblinking stare digs deep into him. Dean maintains his rhythm, sliding Cas between his fingers, no longer concerning himself with the foreign feeling; instead, just loving the power and the ease of bringing Castiel into jostling-fits with just a squeeze of his hand.
Dean gives his grip a quick, hard twist, something new from the motion Cas had originally taught. Cas arches his spine off the bed and clasps his eyes shut, as if suddenly blinded by light.
"Dean . . ." Cas grunts between staggered breaths, eyes still closed and his neck cracking up and down with the strokes, "bite my neck, Dean."
"Bite it?" Dean asks, slowing his strokes for a second, surprised by the request.
Cas snaps his head back, eyes bursting wide, shooting out a manic fury, "Bite my neck, Dean!" he booms, and Dean feels his own cock throb at the sound. He plummets to the strained beams running beneath the thin skin below Castiel's jaw. Dean swipes one quick lick across the scratchy surface before sinking his teeth in. Cas groans and Dean picks up the pace with his hand, feeling Cas heave in his fist. Dean lets his jaw slack and then bites again, a little harder—slightly worried that he's getting too rough; but Cas moans louder. Dean feels Cas's shaft expand, pulling his fingertips from each other and making the strokes more challenging. Dean slides up once more; his thumb, collecting the little drops that pushed out of Cas's tip. The man's low groans vibrate Dean's lips and tickles his teeth. Dean climbs up Cas's chest a little further, and moves his head to the other side of his friend's neck, letting the growling moans and choking breaths fill his ear. Dean nibbles the new plain of skin, leaving indents and red marks up and down his throat. Castiel's hands slide to Dean's back; his fingertips, digging into his shoulder blades, pulling at his spine—any ridge that Cas could hold. Dean feels Cas's cock roll, persuading him to stroke faster still; his arm is aching with the effort. The man's neck stretches beneath his teeth and Dean pulls away, knowing that his friend is close. Dean finds himself wanting to see it—the moment Cas loses control of everything.
"Dean!" Cas chokes out one last, thunderous word, his eyes exploding, his skin turning pale; just before spilling out over Dean's hand. The whites beneath his lids shake wildly and Dean finds himself, still sliding his thumb over Cas's soaked head, loving the way it makes the man jerk and twist.
". . . Dean!" Cas gulps his name, trying to catch his breath; but Dean gives his friend's withdrawing shaft one last pass before resolving, finally letting him rest.
Dean looks over Castiel, his light skin looking flushed and beaten. His broad chest growing with racked breath. His mouth opens slightly with every exhale, and his racing heart rattles down his body and up to Dean's loosened hand. Cas blinks wildly, as if just waking up, not expecting the sight of Dean—one hand, propping up his freckled body, and the other, still hiding in the shadows of Cas's jeans.