His
A high-pitched beep shocks the static, "Dean, your disgusting, fried, non-fish tubes are finished!" Cas calls out over the microwaves third and final song.
Dean bustles into the kitchen, eyes rolling, doing his best impression of an annoyed-Sam. "These things aren't disgusting. They're deep-fried bars of golden-perfection, and they help me when I'm stressed out." Dean grumbles, pulling out the hot plate; poking each crusty fillet with his finger, "Don't diss the fish stick!"
Cas widens his eyes, and nods in sarcastic agreement—knowing that there is no hope of ever getting this man to eat healthier . . . ever. "I honestly have no idea why you are stressed, Dean. Sam is the one giving the speech." he says after a moment, tired of the fish-talk.
"He's my brother. If he chokes, I choke." Dean replies gruffly, moving to the fridge to retrieve the bottle of ketchup. In a moment, nearly a cup of red, sugar paste finds its way to his plate.
Cas makes a notable look of revulsion-flaring his nostrils and showing his teeth; Dean responds by eating each piece of processed, blubber in bigger, more obnoxious bites. Cas shakes his head and returns to the coffee pot that he had been washing.
"I appreciate your familial empathy Dean, but you have nothing to worry about with Sam. He is very good with his words and he will do fine, today."
"I know he is good with words, but I wouldn't be stressing if he didn't tell me yesterday that he was stressing. My little brother doesn't usually worry out about this stuff. He stresses over me, but not school-crap."
Cas looks back over his shoulder at the concerned, freckled man. He seems tired, and he should be. Dean tossed and turned all night, keeping Castiel up right along with him. Even Cas's attempts at relaxing Dean in his favorite ways were disregarded. Sam was too deeply imbedded in Dean's mind and Cas knows that little Sammy is about the only thing that can kill Dean's desire for intimacy. He wishes he could tell him—tell him the real reason for Sam's nerves, but that humungous Winchester would have his head for spilling the secret.
The glass coffee pot sings at the touch of the metal sink, vibrating its hum into the air long after Cas's fingers left it. Instead, moving them to Dean's shoulder—leaving a damp, darkened print along the curving cotton that's covering him up.
Dean leans a little to put down his plate, and Castiel watches intently as the man shifts his head to look at what he's doing. The man's neck tightens, showing each muscle and highlighting his jaw. The stretch of his skin pulls the top of his shirt away, just enough to expose the center of his wide, freckled collar bone. Cas can't help but lick his lips at the sight. Every arch of the man in front of him is appealing; and if they had nowhere else to be this morning, Cas would spend each moment of orange sun running his fingers along the paths around Dean's body.
The hand towel next to the sink is quickly collected; removing any grease and crumbs left on Dean's fingers. Castiel smiles, loving how Dean already knows his tendencies—that Cas wouldn't appreciate the residue of fake fish all over him. His smile grows wider at the realization that Dean is planning to touch him; even though Dean touches him often, it somehow stays new. It feels like a surprise Dean had thought out just for him. Grassy eyes wave, and shake as they lock themselves back onto the dark haired man. Strong hands slide along Cas's sides and finger tips wrap together at the base of his spine. Dean pulls him forward until their noses touch, and even though the smell of ketchup is still fresh on his thick lips, Castiel leans into their kiss. It is another gift he wasn't expecting this morning.
"Sam will be just fine. You will be just fine. This is a good day, Dean. We should all be really happy." Cas whispers over Dean's mouth; closing his eyes, letting the worked air flow between them.
Even in his hazy darkness, he knows Dean must be smiling. Short bursting breaths lick the top of his nose and Cas feels Dean's body rise. The taller man's forehead tightens against Castiel's as they lean their weight into each other. It is an amazing feeling for his skin, to experience Dean's happiness all over it.
"I know, Cas. I'm proud of him, too proud. It's almost annoying." Dean chuckles into the air.
"I'm sure Sam would be very pleased that he can still annoy you in so many, new and interesting ways."
Dean laughs louder, and Cas revisits the world as Dean pulls his head away, arching his neck back, giving a full showing of his perfectly straight, teeth.
"Yeah, he would be happy about that, that bitch." Dean hisses happily.
…
Dean loosens his tie to further expose the sheen of sweat glistening through his now, unbuttoned collar.
"Dean, please, can you manage not to strip down in the middle of the ceremony?" Cas whines, but Dean just throws him an aggravated look; Cas returns it. "It really isn't that hot, I don't know what you're making such a fuss about."
"It's like we're on the fricken sun! What the hell is taking them so long anyway?"
"It's a graduation ceremony, Dean. They have many students to get through."
Cas receives another frustrated glare, "I know that! I'm not an idiot; but don't they usually do the big speeches in the beginning?"
He feels his shoulders soften as he looks at the nervous, sweaty man. There has really never been anything more worthy of Cas's adoration than Dean, dressed up in a very nice, very fitting suit, fidgeting like mad, in anticipation of Sam's valedictorian speech.
"Sometimes, yes; however, I think when it comes to certain collegiate ceremonies, they want to save the best for last." Cas smiles, reaching up to gently squeeze Dean's shoulder, "and obviously, Sam is the very best."
A light hearted smirk crawls across Dean's lips, as his beautiful, green eyes roll for the millionth time today. Castiel drops his hand and Dean takes a small step closer to him, locking their fingers together, holding their grip close to his side. For a moment, Castiel acts how he always has, falling against Dean's firm body, pushing his weight down into the hold. Only realizing a second later, that they're not in his home, or sitting on Dean's couch. They are not in the Impala, listening to the same, tired rock songs on the stereo—they were in the middle of a crowd; perhaps a thousand people or more, and Dean was holding his hand. Cas looks down at their wrists, intertwined, like their bodies have become used to; Dean's thumb glides along the side of Cas's palm with soft, short strokes. He lifts his eyes to look at the person locked to him as he was staring at the stage, a small smile on his face and apparently careless about the possibility of being seen.
"There he is!" Dean shouts, suddenly pulling his hand away to cup it around his mouth, "Woo! Go Sammy!"
Castiel stares at Dean's fingers, sad that a moment he had been hoping for for quite some time is already over.
"Ya see him? He's right there; he's about to cross the stage!" Dean spits out of the side of his mouth, not bothering to turn his head to confirm that Cas is watching, "He looks like a fucking gothic giraffe!" Dean busts out with a laugh, "Yeah, Sam!"
The smile is contagious, even though Cas feels a little angry with Sam for stealing his moment, he finally turns his head to look at the stage. He wants to see what Dean sees. He wants to be just as proud as Dean is.
The announcer takes a deep breath into the microphone, vibrating the air around the stadium, "Samuel Winchester"
Dean goes wild. Castiel has never seen the man so happy before. The people around them begin to turn and stare, making Cas chuckle a little. No one even noticed them holding hands—which is what Dean has always been worried about; but everyone is now staring intently at the loudest one here. Dean is completely careless that he is acting like an utter fool.
Sam's face turns bright red when he finally locks eyes on his brother jumping up and down in the crowd. After a sheepish wave and a quickened pace, he was across the stage and walking down the steps until he was out of view. Once the shaggy head is gone, Dean finally calms himself, his chest still heaving from the excitement.
Cas smiles at him, "Did you get that out of your system?"
Dean shoots him a glare, "Back off, my brother is only graduating college once!"
"Well, that might not be true, there are higher degrees he could strive for."
"Oh, Jesus! Don't even say that! I can't handle this again!" Dean barks. His face turns serious, and he returns to pulling at his tie.
With Sam's walk, finished, only the X, Y, and Z's remain as students go; which are few and far between. It only takes another five minutes before Sam is being called back onto stage to give his speech, the speech that has been wrecking Dean for the past two weeks.
Dean is quiet this time around, clenching his fists together, bobbing up and down on his heels, eyes sealed to the podium as Sam centers himself, needing to bend down a little to reach the microphone.
"Don't choke, don't choke, don't choke . . ." Dean mutters to himself.
"He'll be fine, Dean." Cas reassures, but Dean only shushes him as Sam inhales his first, audible breath.
"Ladies, Gentlemen, fellow graduates: today, we stand here, in a sea of emotions. As family members and friends, I'm sure you are all very proud—perhaps, even nervous about this chapter of your loved one's life, coming to a close. I know that it is bitter sweet for me, I loved it here. As students, I am sure some of us may be relieved that the essays and the hours and hours of studying are finally finished; some may feel sad to say goodbye to this place that has become a second home to us; some may be only seeing this as a stepping stone to their next journey—all I know is, I find solace in that we are seeing these things together. We have all become brothers and sisters while here. I know many of you; I have worked with, and played with, and sometimes, even shed tears with many of you; and those of you whom I do not know, I feel like I do because we have shared this time in some way. . ."
The proud voice booms across the grass, over chairs and into their ears. Castiel can't help but peek at Dean with every other word. Little lines of water slide across his lids, as he stands, unmoving against the image of his accomplished, little brother.
"We have so many to thank for pushing us to this point, and so many to apologize to, for dealing with our insanity at times. You all may have had friends and parents, or extended family or sisters that guided you along the way. For me, I always had my brother. There is absolutely not one single person I can depend on more in this world, than him. Let us take a moment now to thank those who have guided us down our paths, we literally owe you everything."
The crowd erupts, cheers and cries from all corners deafen the air; but the people blur. All Cas sees is the vivid eye line of Sam and Dean, nodding towards one another. Cas watches Sam as he mouths the words "Thank you." in Dean's direction. Dean smiles and shakes his head, looking down for a moment; straining to keep away the tears.
…
Jessica throws an amazing party, even by Cas's standards, and he, frankly, is not a party-person; but the sweet girl, even took him into account. She invited many of Sam's professors, giving Castiel more intelligent conversation than he could ever hope for—better still, with individuals that were just as awkward as he. The only complaint that he heard from anyone's lips, was that the party was a dry-affair. Jessica had obviously been informed of Dean's issues with alcohol. Thankfully, Dean didn't seem to notice. Now that the speech was done with and the ceremony was over, all he could do was gloat about Sam to others; and embarrass the giant when he was around. Between rants over Falkner and philosophical debates on Plato's teachings, Castiel would find himself doing nothing but staring at his joyful counterpart. Dean would stare back, giving him a wink or an unrestrained smile; and for the first time in the year that they have been seeing each other, Cas truly thought of Dean as his.
Sam interrupts, jolting everyone's conversation and laughter; causing Castiel spit out a sigh of relief—in a moment, he could finally let go of the information that Sam had made him keep. The several weeks caused him to be even more blundering than usual. Dean had to know something was going on; every time he brought up Sam, Cas would choke on air.
"Hey, hey! Can you guys listen for a second? I know we are all having a good time because my beautiful, inspired, amazing girlfriend, Jessica certainly knows how to throw one hell of a party! Am I right?" Sam yells, and cheers follow his words.
Jessica is turning an adorable shade of red as she hides in the corner, beaming at her tall love who can't help but beam back.
"I want to thank you all for being here and celebrating with me. I love and appreciate all the support I have received from you guys." Sam's voice deepens to match the sincerity in his eyes, "It really means the world to me and I wouldn't have made it here without you."
"You already gave a speech today, now you're just showing off!" Dean heckles from the back of the room. Castiel leers at him and Dean's laughing eyes turn to confusion when he notices— eventually mouthing "What?" under his breath.
"Thank you, Dean. You have been the most helpful of all!" Sam barks back sarcastically. "But in all seriousness, I am not here to recite another speech—not to you all at least. I have one particular person that I want to talk to."
With that, Sam turns again towards Jess, reaching out to pull her into the center of the room. The shock on her face reddens it even more, and within a second, everyone in the room knows what is coming next. Cas looks again to Dean, trying to decipher what he makes of what is about to happen. Dean looks just as surprised as the thin beauty enraptured by his brother.
"Jessica, you have stuck by my side through every test and study session, through every troubling time and hard night, and you have lifted me higher than I had ever thought I could go. I want to do the same for you, no matter the cost, even if it kills me, I want to help you get everything you have ever wanted; but I can only do that if you promise . . ." Sam voice tapers as he pulls a ring from the breast pocket of his shirt, " if you promise to be my wife."
Jess puts her shaking fingers to her lips, and tears collect in the creases of her eyes. She nods furiously, before grabbing the ring from Sam's hands and flinging her arms around his neck. In a moment, she is lifted from the ground, being spun around by the ecstatic man she had just promised her life to. The two remain in their own world, unaware of the cheers and the congratulations being thrown at them from every direction. Oblivious, until Dean is suddenly at their side, embracing them both the best he can; looking happier than the two of them, combined.
…
"Can you believe that freaking moose didn't tell me? Me! He kept a proposal from his own big brother! If I wasn't so happy for him, I'd punch him in the nose." Dean laughs.
He's been talking non-stop since they left Sam and Jess's. Cas lets him go, enjoying each trilling sound that wisps from Dean's lips.
"Seriously, though! I really can't believe he managed to keep a secret!" the man pauses, smiling at the road ahead, "Did you have any idea?" Dean finally asks; and Cas feels his heart quicken. He truly hopes that he won't be upset that he too, kept the secret for so long.
"Well . . ." is all he can spit out before Dean's mouth begins to gape.
"You too? Come on! Really, man? No one tells me anything!" he hisses, smacking his hand on the steering wheel and staring back out the windshield.
"I'm sorry, Dean. Sam asked me to help him choose a ring, and he made me promise I wouldn't tell you. I suppose he thought it would be a nice surprise for you as well."
Dean stays silent; looking at the yellow lines that pass, clenching his jaw.
"Are you angry with me, Dean?" Cas asks, hoping he didn't make a mistake in conspiring with Sam. Even though it was for a good cause, he had reservations since the beginning, and felt like he was being deceitful.
Dean cracks, giving him a long, sideways look before letting a soft smile curl over his mouth, "Not mad, just impressed." he chuckles gently.
The rest of the drive home is filled with more of Dean's chatter: about Sam, about the speech, the proposal—about how happy he was that Cas was there for all of it. By the time they get out of the car, Castiel is in a state of eternal blush, not quite sure what has gotten into this man next to him, but he is enjoying it immensely. Dean moves ahead of him on the way to the door, and Cas watches how he walks, a little bow-legged, but confident. His spine is straight and his neck is aligned, no longer twisting his head from side to side, to make sure the neighbors aren't watching them walk in together. Dean is his, and he is Dean's, and it seems that the green eyed man is finally alright with that. As they push inside his front door, Cas only waits long enough for the latch to click before thrusting Dean up against the wall, furiously kissing his neck.
"Jesus!" Dean yelps; a hint of giddiness rattling his throat, "What are you doing?"
"What I've wanted to do the entire day." Cas growls between nips.
"Oh." is all Dean can muster before grabbing onto the man's tie and pulling him flush against his chest.
Cas rips Dean's hand away, pinning it to the wall, matching the other wrist in short order. Dean's eyes pop as he stares deeply into Castiel's face, as if trying to see through his skin. Cas's nerves burn, every hair on his body rises, letting chills run through them like wind through grass. Dean looks almost frightened as Castiel presses further into his waist, tightening his hold on his suspended arms.
"What the hell has gotten into you?" Dean breathes, in an airless chuckle.
"You." Cas grunts, laying a few more bites to his throat, not bothering to look up at the man, "Or you will be soon." He feels Dean's cock jump at his words.
Knowing that this frustrating, sculpted, goofy, loyal and loving man is his nearly drives him mad. His mind has lost all control over the rest of him, only his aching fingers and throbbing bulge have a say anymore; holding Dean down and making him do his bidding is all he can think about. After that very first day on Dean's couch, Cas let the fair-haired man take the lead, unless he asked Cas to help. He knew that that was the only way for Dean to transition into all this without much recoil. Today changed everything though. Today showed him that Dean was completely invested; he wasn't walking away. All the trepidation that Castiel had for pushing too hard dissipated into the muggy air, accumulating between their bodies. He wants to feel Dean in every way imaginable; and he has no qualms about fulfilling that desire.
"Do you mean . . . ?" Dean mutters, his face still looking panicked.
"Yes," Cas groans, "I want this." finally releasing his grip from the man's wrists, sliding his hands down to unfasten and pull away Dean's belt, "Get in the bedroom!"
His green eyes jump with the command, and his jaw clenches with anticipation. Dean is enjoying this—and Castiel is enjoying having control. Dean inches along the wall, never taking his eyes off of his partner; finally freeing himself from the weight being put on him. Dean backs away, walking blindly in short awkward steps down the hall, feeling behind him for the door to Cas's room. Cas follows, feeling his body hunch forward; he quickens his pace to rush the man, making Dean nearly trip over his own, eager feet.
He tumbles inside the door, stopping just short of the bed, waiting at attention for Castiel's next directive.
"Take off everything . . ." Cas hisses, still holding his unwavering glare on Dean.
Dean complies, slipping out of his shoes and socks; shimmying his pants down before sliding his shirt over his head. A dark, crumpled pile of clothing is soon resting between them on the floor, still warm from Dean's heat. Castiel looks down on it, feeling the corners of his mouth turn as he sees Dean's boxers still residing on his hips.
"Everything, Dean!" he barks and the tented button bobs a little at Dean's waist.
The boxers are soon, stripped away by thick, shaking fingers. Castiel takes in the sight, long and lean—angled and hard. His man was bare in front of him, and looks good enough to eat; and he has every intention of tasting him. Cas begins to work at his own clothing, loosening his tie and slowly unbuttoning his shirt. Dean watches, careless that he is so exposed. Castiel feels his own cock grow at the ease of it all. He drops his eye line down as he pulls off his tie and constricting top, Dean's tip is already purpling as it bounces with his quickened pulse. Cas licks his lips, wanting to feel the man expand against his teeth. He kicks off his shoes, but stops there, leaving his bottom half fully clothed—thinking that commanding Dean to undress him later sounds too appealing to deny himself; and Dean's perfect cock has been ignored for far too long.
He moves closer, finding the man's tightened chest, soft against his fingers; it's still, holding in its breath, waiting for permission to release.
"Get on the bed." Cas commands and Dean backs up, sitting down slowly on the edge of the mattress, keeping a close eye on his blue-eyed general.
Cas pushes between Dean's knees, letting the buckle of his belt stop just below his freckled chin. Dean tilts his head back, straining to view the length of Castiel's body.
Cas towers over him, loving the anticipation he could create with only simple stillness, "Undress me."
Dean nods as his hands slide up the firm thighs, meeting in the middle to unbuckle his belt. Cas closes his eyes, concentrating on every tug and pull Dean gives. He feels the man's wet breath on his naval, and he bulges more, aching to feel Dean's lip touch his skin. In a moment, his pants are undone and dropping off his bones; another pull at his briefs quickly reveal his strained tip and pulsating shaft. Cas flutters his eyes down and then blacks out the world again, waiting for Dean's powerful hand to wrap around him, waiting to feel his lips kiss his thigh, waiting for whatever new gift this man is planning before he takes back the reigns.
The pressure of a moist, soft tongue hits the head of his cock and Cas can't help but shoot his eyes open and peer below; in just enough time to watch himself disappear into Dean's mouth. He has only seen the image once before, Dean's last attempt was so awkward that neither of them really found any enjoyment in it. The man would later apologize and offer to try again, but Cas refused him—he hated making Dean feel insecure more than anything. That was nearly six months ago though, and Dean has received many visits from Castiel, sucking him empty in the time since. Perhaps he was being studious during those nights, trying to master the technique. Dean pulls Cas in with nothing but the force of his throat, and the erect man nearly falls over.
The light, intentional scrapes of Dean's teeth along his bursting veins, makes his skin shock and mount in waves. Castiel braces his hand on Dean's shoulder, not sure if he can keep standing—not if the man continues to go at him so furiously. As if in melded minds, Dean releases, grabbing Cas's hand and yanking him onto the mattress. Cas quickly arranges himself, not waiting for direction—only wanting to continue this since Dean is so willing to give it. He nestles himself between pillows and sheets, watching as Dean turns and crawls up his legs, heavy hands pulling him down with their weight on the bed. His almond eyes glow a little in the dim light and once again, Castiel drags his tongue across his own, dry, cracked lips, eagerly awaiting his man's touch. The sight of every detailed edge and bone dizzies his mind.
Dean bends at the neck, sliding his tongue up Cas's shaft before popping his tip back into his mouth. Cas pinches his eyes and clenches his jaw; the feeling burns his stomach and electrifies his nerves. He grips at the sheets and yanks them into his palms, as if trying to gain traction—control of something, since all other ability is lost. Dean sucks him in faster; keeping a perfect rhythm that makes Castiel's neck stretch and pull at its skin. Dean rises up again, hollowing his cheeks, pulling all the air he can into his lungs, while letting his tongue stamp, angrily onto Cas's purpled head.
"Fuck!" Cas spits out; he hears Dean chuckle around him. He ignores it, not able to think of any one thing for too long.
Cas feels the mattress shift as Dean moves, adjusting his body; sliding his hands up so he could bend his arms and rest on his elbows. With his hands free and Cas still in his mouth, he slips his fingers beneath his the prone man's back, palms up—gliding them down to the firm curves of Cas's ass. Cas stares wide at the ceiling. This is new. Dean grips his cheeks hard, spreading them a little and the sensation makes Castiel arc, pushing harder into the back of the man's throat. Dean gags a little; but before he can apologize, Cas feels Dean's fingers glide deeper into the crease—making his opening ache for something it has never even known before. A light panic seeps into his skin; he knows he said he wanted this—and he does, but neither of them has really attempted it before, not even the steps leading up to it. They have barely even talked about it; and other than the videos Castiel had studied in recent months, he isn't sure if either of them really has a clue of how to approach this part of each other.
Dean's index finger finds the gathered rim of his hole, pressing lightly on it, letting each cell within Castiel know he was just outside of him—waiting to come in. Dean sucks harder, faster, letting his saliva drip from the sides of his mouth and pool at the base of Cas's shaft, cooling his fiery skin. Cas feels himself throb; the familiar white flashes of exhilaration, start to cloud his already blurred vision. Dean responds, locking his jaw and moving his neck with more force—peering up at the man he is consuming. Cas feels his glare and it breaks him, his mind shuts down and nothing but muscle and bone remain.
Another light push of Dean's finger is all it seems to take. Cas rolls out, and Dean drinks him in—never breaking measure, gliding his lips through each pump; gulping Cas down. Castiel thrashes against the sheets, creaking the springs in the mattress. It's too much, he can't see, and the silent air erupts into deafening rings. He feels himself empty, but his body still lurches, trying to get out every last drop, as Dean sucks harder, attempting the same.
With one last pass, Dean pulls away his tongue and Castiel feels a slight calm; his muscles finally conceding that he is, in fact, dry. Dean slows his movements, pulling up a little, and lessening the pressure of his lips. Cas begins to see shapes again, the beveled curve of the ceiling, the nipple-tip of the light fixture. The air quiets. The heavy, rattled breaths of the man below him become audible. He feels his cock finally meet the light of the room as Dean slides his mouth off with a pop. Cas tries to lift his neck to look down but his muscles are asleep; his body is being pulled to the center of the earth and he really doesn't have a say in stopping it.
"Was that okay?" Dean finally grunts, sounding happy, like he already knows the answer; and by how Cas must look right now, melted into the pillow top, he should know the answer.
Cas manages a nod, feeling exhausted immediately after the movement.
"I am going to . . . uh, rinse my mouth really quick." Dean breaks in again and Castiel feels a chuckle rise from his lips.
"Did it taste that bad?" he croaks out, his voice, deep and snarled—like it usually is after Dean wrecks him in some way.
"No." Dean laughs softly, "it's just sticky."
Dean pushes off the bed as Castiel's choked laughter shakes it. The man disappears into the bathroom, and soon, rushing water and gargling noises fill the quiet. Cas starts to feel his mind awaken again, the temporary slumber coming to an end. His body is still beaten though, he could go to sleep right now, but after what Dean had just done for him, he can't imagine not reciprocating in some way. His directions from earlier, rush back into his mind. He told the man that he wanted to feel him in every way. He wasn't expecting this, however, and with all the blood back in his brain, he is now capable of analyzing all the probable outcomes if they tried to go forward. He isn't even sure if Dean really wants to go that far. Maybe he would prefer that Cas drink him down just like he did. Would Dean actually feel alright with something so different than anything they have done in the past year? He did let his fingers explore new territory just moments ago—that must be saying something, right? A finger is not the same as complete penetration though; neither of them is used to that.
Castiel feels, suddenly, very silly. They might not be used to that with each other but he knows, Dean especially, is very accustomed to that position with women. Castiel had never explored the depths of a woman's curving back side but he recalls many drunken stories on Dean's behalf. Maybe, maybe this would be the most familiar thing they could do. Perhaps, Dean has been waiting for this for some time. An excitement rushes over the relaxed man, giving new life to his exhausted bones. He hears the water shut off and Dean emerges into the light. Cas sits up, pulling his heavy body to the back of the bed.
"Come here." Cas instructs, staring intently at Dean's softened cock, seeing the exact moment it realizes, the night isn't over.
Dean bulges; his shaft thickening and pulling itself up and away from his body. The man inches forward and waits at the side of the mattress, hoping for more direction.
"Kneel on the bed." Cas growls. Dean once again, complies without question.
With him kneeling, Cas twists himself around, pulling himself up to kneel along with him, facing him and letting his hands slide up and trace the seams of Dean's body. Dean's breath tremors out his mouth, directing Cas's attention to his lips. Those lips have been neglected all night—that would never do. A hungry kiss falls on them; tongues collide, as Dean wraps his arms around Castiel's tired body. Dean's rigid cock presses hard into his hip and Cas lets one hand fall down, gripping the shaft and giving it long, forceful strokes. Dean arches and breaks with each one, doing his best to concentrate on Castiel's mouth, but failing as the man pulls him in.
"Do you want to try something new?" Cas mutters between staggered breaths and battles with the man's tongue.
Dean stops, shifting away a little to look attentively into Cas's eyes. His lips twitch into a mischievous snarl.
"That didn't sound like a command." Dean hisses, and Castiel feels his own, lifeless cock jerk again.
"You are going to bend me over this bed, and you are going to push inside me. Do you understand?" Cas demands—his words, slow and intense.
The grin crawling across Dean's face is only shadowed by the fire in his eyes.
In a moment, Castiel is being pushed over onto all fours; while Dean positions himself behind him. His heart begins to quicken again, as he feels the man's body lean over his own, the heat from his raging cock, heavy on his thigh. Dean kisses and licks up and down the length of Cas's spine, letting his hands glide beneath him to softly massage the crouched man's cock. The sensation is amazing, but Cas isn't sure if he'll be able to release again; he hopes that Dean doesn't try to wait on his behalf. Part of him wishes he could see Dean's face; the student in him wants to know the details of everything, so he can perfect it later on—he knows he is supposed to be the one in charge right now, but what is he going to say next? Should he say anything? Or will Dean just take the lead? He feels suddenly, very overwhelmed at the big bite he just forced into his own mouth.
His worry is flanked by Dean's heat abandoning his body; Cas looks back as the bed shifts and shakes as Dean dismounts from it. The bare, freckled man turns to the nightstand and opens the drawer, digging deep into the back eventually pulling out a small, clear tube with what looks to be baby oil inside.
"What are you doing?" Cas finally asks, not knowing what Dean's plans are anymore, or how long he has been hiding things in his bedroom furniture.
"Getting lube. You don't expect me to try to go at this dry, do you?" Dean laughs, crawling back to his spot behind Castiel.
"Lube?" Cas wonders aloud; in his research, he must have overlooked that accessory.
He paid far more attention to body positioning and facial expressions. How the person looked seemed more important than any implements or materials being used at the time. Did women use this stuff too? Their anatomy allowed for natural lubrication; at least that is how he remembered it being in his own experience. The other entrance to the body, however, he wasn't sure, he doesn't think so. Cas should have thought of this. He should have been thoroughly prepared before making this suggestion. Thank goodness Dean is an expert in this field; this could have been off to a very bad start already.
Dean doesn't say anything else, he just goes to work—his hands move knowingly around his body. Cas closes his eyes. He wants to turn this into a didactic experience; but the shock of icy wetness dropping on the cleft of his back, disturbs that intention. Nerves again. Suddenly, he's unsure of anything he has ever watched, ever learned. What was this going to be like? He cares for Dean, and honestly thinks he would do anything for the man; but this feels a little self-sacrificial without any life or death situation hanging in the balance. Dean has done this before; he needs to keep that in mind. Dean wouldn't hurt anyone intentionally. The man would go out of his way to make sure he knew what he is doing before proceeding with anything—Cas knows this about him, he should take solace in that.
Dean's finger slides the cold, lube down between Castiel's open flesh; finding the tightened hole and rubbing soft circles around it, easing the blue eyed man's body a little as the gel warms on his skin. Cas's elbows begin to quiver with his weight, making his whole body shake. He feels like he may collapse, but in a moment, Dean is gathering all the pillows on the bed, careful to avoid touching the fabric with his oiled-index. The pillows are soon pulled beneath Cas's stomach, creating a soft, bouncy shelf for him to rest his weight. Dean is used to this—he does know what he's doing. The reassurance stops a few synapses from firing.
"Lean onto that." Dean whispers, bending over the dark haired man once more to kiss his shoulder blade, "You okay?"
"Yes . . . I think so." Cas answers, immediately annoyed at his own honesty. He doesn't want to deter Dean from this, no matter his nerves.
"This isn't my first rodeo, man. Well, with , uh . . . not a guy, that is. I know what I'm doing is what I mean." Dean soothes, dropping his chin onto the seam of Cas's back, letting his hand rub the length of his arm, "We can stop, though. If you don't—"
"No!" Cas tenses again, "I trust you, Dean. I want this."
He feels Dean smile against him, and he wishes he could see it. That smile calms him more than anything. Dean erects himself, dragging his fingers back down to the rear of Cas's body, letting them go back to dancing small circles near his entrance. With his free hand, he massages the small of Castiel's back, relaxing his hips, making him sink further into the pillows beneath him. It is nice, calm. His muscles ease for a moment with Dean's light touch.
Pressure builds as Dean slides the very tip of his finger into Castiel. Cas tenses, and gnawing pain attacks his joints in unison, only to quickly dissipate into the stillness. He tries to relax again, hoping that what he felt wasn't obvious to the man behind him.
"How ya doin' Cas?" Dean asks, holding his finger still; keeping his other hand moving in steady strokes on the man's spine.
"I'm alright." Cas lies, terrified that this may be a miserable experience for him.
The finger glides into him deeper, opening him up. The lube carries the weight, smoothly flowing Dean's skin along his own; and in a moment, Dean has lost both his knuckles inside him. Castiel exhales, the pain doesn't return as his body gets used to the piece of Dean that's invading him. They both are stoic for a beat, letting each other settle onto this new plateau. Dean pulls back a little, before pushing in once more and bending his finger slightly, catching the edge of something inside Castiel that causes his organs to shake. A delicious burn rises up his back; pushing his cock, hard against the sheets. He has no idea what that was; or he might, but he had no idea that it could feel like that. Dean twitches his finger again and Cas's entire body drops into the bed, no longer able to keep his muscles functioning.
"That's new." Dean laughs, obviously aware that this is feeling good.
A muffled, soft growl vibrates into the sheets around Cas's buried face.
"Should I keep going?" Dean whispers.
Cas manages to pull his head up, letting the fresh air sting his skin, "Yes! Dean. Don't stop."
Dean twists his finger inside Castiel, making sure to touch that spot with each pass, the spot that causes his man to shiver and writhe on the bed—tense and relax, moan and hold his breath. Cas can feel Dean's excitement pulse on his leg. It feels large, too large. The nerves return a little, between touches; making Cas unsure of how all of Dean, can fit in him. Dean graces the magic area once more, and then gives his finger a slow pull, drawing it out of Castiel. This sensation isn't as pleasant, and his body grips onto the man's joints, holding him there. Dean resists and continues to move out; the stabbing ache returns. The pain drags on even after Dean is free; and Cas grits his teeth, trying not to breathe out the expletives that are forming on his tongue. He needs to ride through this. If he shows any remorse now, Dean will stop and who knows if and when they will try this again. He won't ruin this over a little, or even a lot of discomfort; Dean wants this—therefore, Cas wants it more.
The click of the lube bottle startles him over the last few waves of pain. Perhaps making things slicker will be of benefit. More iced gel fall against the tender insides of his skin. Dean shuts the bottle, returning it to its place on the nightstand; and a moment later, Castiel feels the presence of two fingers, pressing against him, both vying for space inside his body.
One slides in, easier than the last time but his bones still resist a little. The tip of Dean's second finger begins to pull and stretch his skin. The sting returns and Castiel breathes through it, concentrating on every part of himself that he knows is visible to the world—concealing the ache and stabs. Dean pushes further, and soon, both fingers are dancing along the magic spot inside him. The control he had over himself is lost again; the burning heat returns to his skin, making him hungry for everything carnal. Dean pulls his fingers back slightly, and then thrusts them once more—bouncing off the trigger that makes his man squirm; in and out another time, a little harder, a little faster. Soon, keeping a steady pace and Castiel is matching each motion with involuntary muscle spasms. He feels his cock throb and strain; between the blinding flashes of pleasure, he wonders what is left inside him to actually let out; but his body wants to try. The exhilaration mounts with each one of Dean's touches; he feels overwhelmed, and in need of more all at once.
Dean seems to read his mind again, slowing slightly, before pulling his fingers free. There is no pain this time, just a subtle urge to reach behind him and pull Dean's hand back—wanting to make it continue its dance. The bottle is collected again, and Cas feels the heat from Dean's cock disappear as the man pulls himself away. A soft moan resonates behind him and he can only imagine Dean's expression as he massages the gel into the crease of his tip, eyeing the space he is going to fill—licking his lips, anticipation, eating away his senses.
A steady hand returns to Castiel's hip as Dean centers himself. He feels the burning heat of Dean's cock inch closer. It rubs into him, pressing harder with the force of Dean's other hand behind it. Dean glides it up and down, across Cas's entrance, smearing the warmed lube, making him feel slightly unclean—and for once, not minding the feeling at all. Dean pushes against him again, this time, more broad and oddly, more pleasurable. His entrance parts and Dean slides in, spreading Cas wide with his girth. The pain and excitement clamor together with clicks and pops inside Cas's head, rattling down his spine and tumbling over his nerves. His brain can't comprehend anything anymore. Dean glides in further; the pain starts to win. The ache reappears, locking his joints and breaking them apart. He feels nauseous. He is stretching too far and he isn't sure if his skin can hold. He will tear in half. Another inch passes, slow and steady. Dean grasps Castiel's other hip, moving his friend's body back onto his shaft. Cas resists a little, not able to help what his mind tells his muscles to do.
"Too fast?" Dean grunts, sounding like he is trying hard to muffle happy moans.
Cas can't answer; he wants to, but he tenses around the man as his insides try to eject the large intruder.
"It's almost all the way in, it will be better in a second, okay?" Dean hums, tracing his thumb along the curves of Castiel's body.
He believes him, even though he physically can't comprehend anything to confirm that. His tendons scream, telling him to make this stop; but somewhere, deep inside, he knows that this is what he wants. He wonders when he became so masochistic, or when he started caring more for Dean's pleasure than his own pain. He nearly laughs to himself; he knows the answer—always.
Dean gives the final thrust, hard and deliberate. Cas hears his teeth crack; wondering if he is going to pass out. The world darkens; his brain melds into the dizzying spin of the sheets—only to be stopped hard by the feel of his man, pulling him back together again. The hurt fades, the sting subsides; his body opens up as Dean rests himself blunt against the pleasure-wall inside Cas's body. Every twitch of the man's pulse-he can feel. Every fibrous strand of skin and heat is now mixing with his own, amazing and sweet. Dean pulls back a moment, and then in again, and Castiel feels it—the eruption of ease and contentment. The closeness and connection of him and Dean; it's so strong he could nearly cry and for once, the tears won't shame him.
"Cas?" Dean's gentle tone warms him even more, "Cas, you alright?" He bends downs over Castiel's back, gliding his hand underneath his friend, across his chest, clasping just below his shoulder. Dean lets his head rest on the top of the man's spine and Cas feels him shudder as he tightens his arm around him.
"I am perfect, Dean." Cas finally says in a staggered whisper; feeling Dean's smile against his skin.
"Me too. " Dean breathes back.
Dean holds on for a while, and Castiel presses his body up, connecting every inch of skin he can with this man—this man he values more than anything. He could stay like this . . . as long as Dean wanted to grip him tight, he would stay. Nothing hurts anymore, and Castiel doesn't think anything could hurt him, not anymore-not while they're together. Not with Dean showing him that he feels like he truly belongs here.
A gentle kiss touches just below his neck; soft lips, lifting the skin beneath them. Dean raises himself back up, separating their bodies, letting the open air cool them down. With a slight pull of his hips, he motions half way out of Castiel; only to fall fluidly back in. His strokes quicken and his moans become audible. Cas strains to look back, trying to see the man's green eyes—he needs to see them. He catches a wavy glimpse, as his body rocks with Dean's thrusts. Their eyes meet and he sees Dean smile—only slightly with his lips, but his expression beams from the rest of his face. The man's happiness fills the room, elating Castiel and making each touch inside him more exciting. He slips into the moment, closing his eyes and falling back onto the Dean's shaft. Cas's cock grows harder, and he feels it leak a few drops of sticky warmth onto the sheets. He could release again, he didn't even know that was physically possible in this amount of time, but he could.
Dean growls and moans; sounding almost like words, but nothing that Cas can understand. He moves quicker, in and out, digging his finger nails into the dark haired man's hips, letting the smack and suck of their skin, ring in their ears.
"Fuck!" Dean barks, bouncing hard off Cas's back.
Cas begins to blaze, muscles lurching and he feels it again, the familiar, painful joy of climax.
"Dean, I'm close . . . Dean!" he hisses into the skin of his own arm, biting down, trying not to yell.
"Yeah." Dean mutters among other noises, and Cas deciphers the words as ones of solidarity.
A few more thrusts and Dean stills himself; Cas feels the man widen within him. He pushes in further, hard, up against Castiel, sending notes of blinding pleasure up the man's spine. Castiel spills out, soft cum sliding up the skin of his stomach and soaking the mattress. He arches and bucks against Dean's weight, causing the freckled man to yelp—collapsing down onto Cas's back, wrapping his arms tight around him. Heat pulses through his insides, and Dean twitches with each pump. They convulse and rock together, breathing hard; wheezing into the air, sweat gathering in their creases. Castiel feels Dean lessen, no longer taking up so much room inside him. Dean tips his head, resting his brow onto his friend's shoulder before kissing the pale skin beneath. He lifts himself up and eases out; Cas winces a little, the shadow of the ache, rushing by him one last time. Dean falls to the side, barely missing the blow of the headboard on the way down. The bed bounces as his body comes to rest, soft laughter keeping it awake.
Castiel mimics the act, turning his body and collapsing next to Dean on the bed, careless to the mess surrounding them. Dean scoots closer, linking their bodies together with his limbs. He nuzzles his head into Cas's hair and breathes in deeply. Cas smiles, knowing that this is something Dean often does, although he's never quite explained why. Smelling him, taking him in in this way, does something to his man. He wants to ask someday, but for now, he revels in the mystery. He is content in knowing that something as simple as his smell can bring Dean so much contentment. Cas pushes himself back, wanting to feel just as close as he felt moments ago. Dean tightens his grip, apparently wanting the same.
"Cas?" Dean whispers, his breath tickling Castiel's ear.
Cas hums in response, feeling the familiar pull of sleep on his bones.
"I love you."