"Oy, Jim Morrison, you gonna get up?" Dean pounded the door frame, waiting for Cas to stir. The weathered angel was bundled up under a pile of somebody else's quilts, in someone else's bed, in someone else's house.
"Dean?" Cas rasped. He struggled to remember where he was. He was tense and holy fuck, Dean wasn't wearing a shirt.
"Get out of bed, Cas, we got places to be."
"I'll get out of bed if you get in first."
Dean licked his lower lip nervously, and Cas watched him struggle with his response. It had been about two weeks since Cas had had any of his other fixes, and he was fucking desperate.
"Fuck me, Dean," he growled, and Dean finally lost his composure, all but tackling Cas to the bed.
"Cas..." Dean whined. He saw that Cas was completely naked beneath the covers and gasped, sending a bolt of electricity directly south. He knew that he had won.
The sex was animalistic, raw, instinctual and rough. Dean cast his pants aside and pushed the angel's legs apart forcefully. There was a glint of something in Dean's eyes, a flash of predator, and it scared Cas and excited him to no end.
"Give it to me," Cas begged at Dean's hesitation. Dean began to prepare him and Cas fucked himself on Dean's fingers and then it was his dick and the Croats were forgotten, the angels and demons forgotten, the endless losses and despair, all forgotten.
"Cas," Dean whimpered. He bit the angel's neck, hard.
"Fuck," Cas cries as he comes, hard all over them and as he tightened around Dean, the Fearless Leader followed shortly afterwards.
"Castiel!" Dean shouted, and Cas went rigid at the sound of his old name.
"I'm not Castiel anymore," he said, mostly to himself, after he had his breath back. "God gave me that name."
"God's dead," Dean scoffed, one arm still thrown across the angel's chest. Cas let him for once.
"Baby, that's alright with me," he muttered darkly.
The sun rose and they cleaned up and left behind the quilts and bed and carried away the guilt that washed over both of them.