AN: This chapter has exactly two parts: part one is PWP, part two is sadness. *whispers* aka the only two things I like to write.
It kinda sucks for me atm because my two main WIPs have my OTPs having all these issues... simply because these assholes won't talk to each other! Ugh! So I'm feeling the melancholy as I try to get them ready for fixing things and everything being all good again. But it also probably means I will be doing a couple side stories of fluff or smut to get my fix of happy OTPs.
His whole world is balanced on the head of a pin. It was only a matter of time before it all came crashing down.
The next few days pass in a blur. They hardly leave each other's arms until Dean sheepishly admits he has to go to work at some point. That gives Cas a whole day to himself, something he hasn't really had in a while (still doesn't quite have, since there are still moments where he and Thomas feel like separate entities that happen to occupy the same space) so he puts in the effort to enjoy it.
There are simple joys in life, ones that he's been neglecting. The smell of fresh sheets is the reward he gets for finally doing some laundry. The release of tension in his neck and upper back when he takes a bubble bath are another perk. And when he goes to enjoy lunch, the near bare pantry and fridge give him more opportunity to find those little pleasures he's been missing.
Bright skies and chilly air accompany him on his walk to the grocery store. With winter fast approaching, it's truth be told too cold to fully enjoy the trip. But he's always enjoyed the feeling of cool air filling his lungs, and the physical activity helps center him. He buys only enough to make himself lunch and to cook dinner for the two of them that evening. Any more would require the car and another trip.
He's planning out the meal - chicken curry with fresh naan - when he opens the front door to the house.
And is almost immediately greeted by a moan coming from the living room.
Cas barely registers closing the door and putting down the grocery bags before he follows the sound of skin on skin and heavy breathing. There's not much to see right now, just Dean leaning over one edge of the couch, but the noises are divine. He swallows audibly as he inches closer, moving around to get a better view.
Dean looks absolutely exquisite, sprawled out on the couch and naked but for his tented boxers. His eyes are closed as he palms his cock, fingers dipping to tease his balls before his hand moves back up to the waistband and slips inside to stroke himself.
It's no surprise that he feels his own dick stir to life, almost already fully hard as he watches in awe. "Dean," he whispers because he feels he needs to let the older man know he's there. (Though how could he have not heard the door? He must have, he must know- Cas can't help but groan, thinking of Dean planning this out, planning to be caught and knowing full well that he's watching him right now.)
Immediately his eyes open and he smiles brightly. "Hey." He bites his bottom lip as he picks up the pace for a few strokes before slowing down to something more lazy, only meant to maintain his arousal. It is possibly the hottest thing Cas has ever seen. "You weren't here... hope you don't mind that I got started without you?"
He has just enough brain cells functioning at the moment to scoff at him. The man knows damn well what he's doing. Not so subtly he moves to readjust himself in his tight jeans. While he does so, he maintains eye contact and asks, "Do you plan on having all the fun yourself or do I get to join in?"
A flirtatious smile broadens into a full on grin. "I think we could work something out."
Slowly he pulls off his jacket and lays it on a nearby chair. Then he starts on his boots, his shirts, but leaves on his jeans. The whole time Dean just watches, jacking himself off at that slow rhythm all the while. "What did you have in mind, Dean?"
He goes through all the things they've done recently. The kissing, the handjobs, the blowjobs, the rutting against each other until they can't stand it anymore and come in their boxers. All of them were amazing and he finds he's more than eager to see what they'll be getting up to this time.
"Well," and then he flushes. Which is strange, Dean has never been nervous before. Not with any of this, anyway. "I was kinda hoping... you'd fuck me."
His brain really does seem to shut down at hearing that. All higher functioning stops as his dick twitches in agreement. Because yes.
"Cas?"
He snaps back to attention, trying not to look to eager as he starts to unbuckle his belt and pull down his pants and he actually needs to take a breath to slow down because he just tried to take off his jeans without unbuttoning them.
Dean, mercifully, doesn't comment. Instead he just hooks his fingers in his boxers and takes them off with a mischievous grin. "That a yes?" The way he looks in that moment is utterly obscene.
Once he finally sheds the last of his clothes, he groans at the sight of Dean Winchester laid out on his couch like a fucking feast just for him. The fact that he's naked and waiting for him to fuck him...
"You just gonna look or you ever gonna come over here and-"
"Lube," he interrupts. Because the end of that sentence will probably only make his grasp on the situation all the more tenuous.
Dean chuckles a bit, lazily stroking himself as he watches Cas try to remain calm. "Front pocket of my jeans," he says with a wink.
"You keep lube in your pocket?"
"Fuck, Cas, you've had me on edge since the moment you walked in that fucking door. Yes I keep lube in my goddamn jeans."
With all the patience he can summon, he finds Dean's pants under the coffee table and digs out the small bottle of lube. As he's turning around in triumph, he feels strong arms pulling him down. Even so, the kiss takes him by surprise, all burning heat with just the undertones of the gentleness he's used to.
He fumbles a bit with the bottle before he's able to get some lube out. His fingers tentatively move down to tease Dean's rim, but his hand shakes a little. It's not that he hasn't had sex before, but he's never really been put in charge like this. Never had to open himself or his partner up, and he can't help the nervous flutter in his chest.
Dean must sense his distress, because a hand comes to guide his. "Shh, you're doing great, sweetheart."
There's a moment where he feels silly, that Dean shouldn't be the one soothing him right now, but the thought is gone as soon as he's pulled in for another kiss. Then another and another. He's so distracted his finger moves almost mechanically, a second one urged in by Dean.
It's not until he goes a bit deeper that he must graze Dean's prostate, if his appreciative groan is anything to go by. "Yeah, just like that baby."
The nervousness fizzles out after that, nothing but the desire to be inside Dean right now. Enthusiasm takes over and he starts rubbing his neglected cock against Dean's thigh. Soon two fingers are replaced with three, then he's pulling them out and slicking himself up.
The couch is barely big enough for the two of them when they're watching tv together, certainly not designed for two grown men. That's never been more apparent as he tries to shift Dean's legs and find a decent angle. They move around until they find one that seems promising, one of Dean's legs hanging over the edge of the couch, the other hooked over the back. Cas lifts his hips a bit to line himself up before slowly pushing in.
He moves as slowly as he can, whimpering because it feels so good but his legs twitch from the effort. The strain of holding himself back is tortuous at best, but he manages to hold his self-control until he mercifully feels himself bottom out. And maybe it's good that he has to wait a moment for Dean to adjust, because he needs to calm down, gather himself or he'll be totally lost in a whirl of Dean Dean Dean.
"You can move," Dean whispers in his ear, clenching down to emphasize the point. "C'mon sweetheart, fuck me real good."
"Dean," he chokes out but his body is already starting to obey. The first few thrusts are shallow. Eventually he pulls out a bit more, then more, until he's so close to sliding out completely each time he pumps his hips. Once he's got a handle on that, he picks up the pace until soon he's slamming into Dean.
For his part, Dean seems content to let Cas take the lead. His hands roam his back, his ass, neck, everything he can reach. One handle settles on his own cock, the other cradles his face. "So good for me, always so good for me, keep going baby." A moan cuts him off and then he's right back to praising him. "Fuck me so good, baby, can't wait to feel you come in me, please come in me, Cas, need you to."
Dean Winchester has a filthy fucking mouth.
He loves it.
The burn in his thighs is familiar, a warning that he can't keep this up for long. Not that he thinks he'll need to, he's so fucking close. All he needs is something to set him off, just a little push and he'll be gone.
He braces himself on his arms, looks down to watch Dean jerking himself off as his cock slides in and out. "Dean, oh fuck, Dean-"
"It's okay, baby, come for me."
And fuck, he does. He's too caught up in his own orgasm, jerky thrusts as he finishes, that he barely notices Dean arching into him or the warm wetness that hits his chest. It's just too good, too much for him to take it all in.
When he does regain some semblance of coherence, he finds himself in Dean's warm embrace. The older man's fingers gently massage at his back and run through his hair, tender kisses peppered along his face. He allows himself to soak it in, to enjoy the whispered endearments. He's almost drifted off when he hears Dean's satisfied yawn and a content, "Mmmm I love you."
And as he lays there in Dean's arms, it shouldn't break him to hear those words. It should make his heart soar. But... there's this feeling nagging him that there's something wrong.
The tipping point comes slowly after that. He fan fill it shifting, ever so slightly, with each passing hour. He can't shake the feeling that everything is about to go spiraling out of control (-that it already has-).
He's irritable and he knows it. The first couple of times he sounds peeved with Dean, he doesn't seem to mind. Then comes the snapping at seemingly benign comments. Although he still doesn't comment, the concern on Dean's face says it all. But it's not until the next afternoon that it finally happens.
And there's nothing really to set it off. Just Dean casually reaching to give his shoulder a little squeeze as he walks by him in the kitchen. It's happened a hundred times before. But this time is different. This time, as Dean's fingers just start to graze his sweater, he pulls away from the contact.
Dean's hand freezes in midair.
All the other things he might have been able to ignore. The tense silences and his apparent need to start an argument at every little thing. But this is a million red flags to both of them, cementing in their minds that something is wrong, something is broken.
"Cas," Dean begs, looks like he still wants to reach forward but scared to.
"Thomas," he corrects automatically.
That's when it clicks into place for him. When he realizes what's wrong and why he's angry and can't quite stand to be around Dean right now. Because fuck... If Dean loves Cas, wants Cas, where does that leave the part of him that's not Cas?
It's like a slap in the face. He can see exactly when Dean registers what's happening because the only emotion he sees cross his face is despair before it becomes an impassive, blank canvas.
"Thomas," he concedes, but his voice is a little more formal now. Like he doesn't know who or what he's dealing with anymore. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." It's not a very good lie, so he corrects it. "Everything."
Dean sighs, finally lowering his hand. "Tell me what I can do-"
"You've done enough, Dean."
Shoulders slump in defeat and green eyes that won't meet his right now. "I'm sorry." And it's so sincere it almost breaks his heart.
Because he knows deep down, even if he doesn't really want to touch the idea, that this is all his fault. That the identity crisis he's been struggling with for months is merely a new thread to the way he's felt his whole life. Dean might have triggered something new, but he's the one who's at a loss as to how to deal with it. He's the one who told Dean he was comfortable being Castiel, when maybe he wasn't yet. Sure he confided in the hunter, but not fully.
But of course he doesn't say any of it. Takes a page out of Dean's playbook and stuffs it down to process later (or ignore completely).
What he does say is probably going to rip him to pieces later when he's got a better grip on the situation.
"I have to go." He starts heading out to the garage.
"Thomas, wait-"
He pulls away, shrinking back from the older man as he moves to block his path. Dean stops immediately, hands up in surrender. "I just don't think you should be driving right now," he whispers. "I'll, uh... I'll go," he offers.
Not giving him a chance to respond, he grabs his keys from the hook by the door. With one final sad look shot his way, Dean's gone.
He wants to cry. He wants to go up to his room and curl up in a ball and pretend this didn't happen. But he can't. He needs to do what he should have done weeks ago.
Decision made, he heads upstairs. With shaking hands he packs a duffel bag. Within an hour he's on the road, heading straight to his parents' place.