This chapter is considered M for Mature, proceed with caution. This chapter has been edited.
Sam Winchester was not stupid. In fact, he quite often considered himself to be the smarter and more level-headed of the two brothers. He was exceptionally good at figuring things out, which came in handy when it came down to "Oh, that wasn't a spirit, that was a little girl who's been living in the walls" and various other times when they came face-to-face with something only to later find out that they had been face-to-face with something completely different. Sam was never a boaster, but he had always felt a prickle of pride at his innate ability to sniff out the truth. And now as he lay in bed, staring up at the dark ceiling that was tinged a faint blue from the moon outside the second story window, he began to recall the events of the last week with disturbing clarity. Images flashed by, when suddenly his mind came to rest on that day in the guest bedroom. Dean had been sweaty, flushed, and rather obviously aroused. And just a few minutes before then he had been saying a name – oh no. Oh gross.
Sam bolted upright in the bed, covers bunching around his lap when he came to his sudden realization. Sam was the smarter of the Winchester brothers, he could figure out what an 'oh' face was. Storming down the hall to the living room where his brother was sleeping, Sam vaguely recalled having not put pants on, but at this point he wasn't so bothered. Concern and confusion clouded his thoughts as he took the last few steps into the living room, crouching down next to the couch on level with the sleeping man.
"Dean!" Sam whispered forcefully, his voice a quiet yell. "Dean, get up!" Sam grabbed his brothers' shoulder. Dean bolted upright and alert, grabbing the knife from under his pillow and flinging it around wildly before realizing he was in no immediate danger. He looked to his brother, face going from fright, to relief, to incredulousness, to frustration. Sam stifled a chuckle in the back of his hand at the comical change of expressions in Dean's face, but when frustration turned into an all-out glare, he lowered his hand, willing his smile to relax into something more serious.
"What do you want Sam? I need my four hours!"
"I know, but Dean, I-I know you've been hiding something from me, and I want to know. I think it's my right to know."
"Nothing's going on Sam! Drop it." Dean rolled his eyes and lay back down on the couch.
"So, there's nothing going on between you and Cas?"
"What? No. You're crazy." If he had blinked, Sam would have missed the look of confused panic on Dean's face. The look of the kid who just got caught elbow deep in a cookie jar. He hadn't blinked though, and he watched as the man on the couch reached up to swiped a calloused hand over his face, suspiciously not meeting Sam's gaze. "There's nothing going on."
"C'mon Dean, I-"
"Drop it Sam!" He replied hastily, and with more force than necessary. His hand dropped to the side so his elbow was covering his eyes, Sam raised an eyebrow and Dean sighed quietly before continuing. "You're imagining things. Besides if, hypothetically, there were something going on, why would I tell you about it?"
Sam thought about this statement for a moment, he really did. He knew Dean wasn't likely to spill his guts to his little brother about the things that bother him, the 'chick flick' moments. Not to mention the hunter would probably choose another forty years in Hell over downgrading his masculinity, because really, that's what this was about. He was being defensive because he would probably never want to admit in a million years that he liked a dude, but Sam knew. That's all that mattered, even if Dean never wanted to talk about it, Sam would secretly know. Besides, he reasoned, it's not like he was going to lose Dean, it's not like his older brother would ever give into temptation on something like this. And, on that note, Sam decided it best to just drop the subject.
"All right, you win. Good night."
"Night." Dean grunted in response and rolled over.
Sam padded out of the room and back up the stairs, each step groaning beneath him in response to the weight, shaking his head and smiling. His brother had feelings for Castiel, the angel, the guy. The sheer ludicrousness of it was enough to baffle him, but it really did put his behavior into perspective, in the diner and in the guest room. He reached the door and crossed the threshold, feeling accomplished that he knew, and Dean didn't have to know that he knew. And it's not like the strange attraction would ever see the light of day, Sam adjusted the covers and lay back down, contented.
Meanwhile, in the living room, Dean rolled back onto his back and paused, listening for anything to suggest that anyone was still awake. When he was sure that he hadn't even heard a mouse fart, he slowly sat up on the couch and looked to the ceiling in the darkness.
"Cas, get your feathery ass down here. We got a problem."
"I don't understand what you're so worried about." Cas' gravelly voice came from where he was perched on the desk opposite the room from Dean. "Sam knows that you have non-committal intercourse with strangers quite often."
"No, Cas." Dean ran a hand through his hair; they had been going over this for about twenty minutes now, and he was getting exasperated. "I have non-committal sex with women, not with dudes."
"Yes you do."
"No, I don't." The angel looked at the eldest Winchester with his signature confused frown, but also the slightest trace of annoyance on his face. As though he were patiently explaining to a child why they shouldn't put a knife in the toaster.
"But, you do."
"Listen," Dean started, clearly frustrated. There was a gnawing in the back of his brain that made him just want to drop the subject and go to sleep, but he couldn't do that until he knew that he and the nerd angel were on the same page. "We've had - y'know - sex, but that doesn't mean that I like dudes the way I like women." He paused, trying to find the words to explain himself, he had to, Cas had to understand. "I'll have sex with any woman above a five, but I will only – you know – with you. That means I'm not gay.
"If I am correct in my understanding, that was a compliment." The hint of a smile crossed Castiel's lips, ignoring Dean's exasperated sigh.
"No Cas, it wasn't a compliment, it was a statement."
"So, you're saying that I'm not good at intercourse?"
"Jesus, dude! That's not what I'm saying. Look, we just can't let Sam find out about what's been going on. Okay?"
"We have agreed on this Dean, I don't understand why you've decided to bring it up now." He tilted his head to the side slightly, as though it would help him to see the world better.
"Sam caught you using your angel mojo on me a few days ago. You know, when I yelled at you to stop."
"Yes," Castiels' eyes glimmered with amusement. "I did enjoy that."
"Do you have any idea how hard that was? I had to keep a straight face in front of Sam while you worked me over!"
"You could always show me."
"No, I'm not doing that again. Why did you start at the diner anyway? In front of Sam?! That was not cool!"
"It may not have been 'cool' to you, but you know that I will stop when you learn your place Dean Winchester." Dean gulped as he turned away from the celestial blue gaze staring him down, daring him to talk back. He remembered the first time he'd been 'taught his place'; it was the night he tried to give himself to the angels. Suddenly there were fists, and blood, then there was a bed, and pain followed by immense pleasure as what could've been the sun was inked out by the black feathers, those huge vestiges of power framing the warrior of god. His eyes darted around the room as he was suddenly very aware of the tightness in his pants. "You enjoy thinking about it." Castiel had taken a couple steps forward, moving deftly toward the hunter, catching his gaze. Dean's mouth went bone dry and he swallowed, or at least attempted to. "You would enjoy it if happened again." Dean chuckled nervously at the statement as the angel took another few steps forward, and all of a sudden Dean had an eyeful of dark black slacks, skirted by a tan trench coat.
Dean didn't have a chance to retort as the angel's lips landed on his, chapped but warm, as the back of his head was cradled in the others' hand. Every thought that had been in Deans' head disintegrated into blissful darkness. He closed his eyes and leaned into the kiss, opening his mouth to let the angel in. Taking the opportunity, Castiel slipped his tongue in as he settled his weight between Dean's legs, slowly pushing him backward into the couch until he found himself flat on his back. He could feel hands on his body, beginning at his shoulders, then descending to his hips, where they proceeded their journey under his shirt, nimble fingers sliding over taut skin. He shuddered as the hands ran their way up his abdomen before an irritated growl broke through the angels' mouth. Cas pulled himself away from Dean, and sat up.
"Off." Cas looked at the other man's shirt with disdain. Dean hastily removed the offensive garment, deciding to himself that Castiel was definitely wearing too much as well. He grabbed the lapels of the others' ever-present trench coat and pulled him into another kiss, he needed this. He needed the heat and the desperation and desire and anything that could keep his mind off of the severe lack of boobs and curves. He worked hastily, each gravelly moan the angel made sent small shockwaves throughout his entire body and reverberated in his groin. First to hit the floor was the coat, then the tie, then deft fingers furiously slipped the buttons through the white dress shirt, finally removing it and tossing it to the side with the rest. "Dean.."
Castiel thrust his hips forward, grinding himself and Dean together. "Cas." Dean moaned breathily, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, focusing on sensation, and the angel took this invitation, kissing and biting his way down to Dean's collarbone. Dean's head was swimming, there was heat, and desire, and hunger, and he needed this so badly, but he had suddenly become very aware of the feeling of stubble on his neck. His eyes flew open, a panicked expression on his face. I'm not gay, I'm not gay, I'm not gay, I'm not gay ran through his head, over and over like a mantra. He gulped a breath, about to push Castiel off him when the latter slid his hand up and gently pressed it over the handprint on Dean's left shoulder, looking up at him from under dark lashes, his pupils blown so just a sliver of blue showed around the rim. A shudder erupted through Dean, and Castiel smiled against his skin. He ground their erections together again through rough fabric before leaning up and pressing his lips against Dean's.
The two men writhed on the couch, Castiel grinding them together in a rhythmic pattern, sweat glistening on their tanned skin. Castiel found that he enjoyed this very much. As much as he liked unraveling Dean using his powers, he much preferred taste and touch and sweat and heat. Dean was slowly coming undone beneath him, he was breathing heavily, back arched, his nails digging deliciously into Cas's back. He skimmed his nimble fingers over Dean, pausing and brushing lightly against his nipple, then he thrust their hips together once, twice, and three times. Dean was right on the edge, pressure building in his groin, he moaned and pushed Castiel away, instantly missing the body heat.
"I want to see them." He demanded breathily. He held Castiel at arm's length, hands just above the other's elbows, and Castiel looked down at the man, considering. His pupils were blown, hair going this way and that, sheen on his body from sweat. Cas put his hands on Deans' hips and dug his nails in earning him a surprised gasp.
"Beg." Malice glimmered in his eyes as Dean's back arched off the couch and his hips bucked, searching for friction.
"Castiel please. Please, for the love of god, let them out." Dean noticed a minute nod and smile from his angel. It was a sight to behold as the angel flexed his muscles, chest heaving as he pushed his wings out of his back in the blink of an eye. Dean's eyes widened as he saw the ebony wings stretch and ruffle as they adjusted to the new setting, gently scraping the ceiling and floor. He reached up and ran his hand over their velvety surface.
"Dean…" Castiel growled as he leaned over, eyes falling shut, and he placed a hand on the back of the couch to steady himself. Dean smirked and reached up, gripping the base of the lustrous black wing. Cas's eyes flew open as he gasped. He smashed their mouths together in a desperate kiss, all tongue and teeth and breath, and he ground their hips together again, this time more forcefully.
"Shit, Cas!" Dean exclaimed around the kiss, he felt the muscles in the wing tighten and loosen repeatedly in perfect rhythm that the other man had begun thrusting his hips to. Castiel moved his mouth down to Dean's collarbone, trailing sloppy wet kissed down his neck, where he proceeded to bite down hard enough to bruise. "Cas, you gotta slow down."
"I won't stop Dean." Cas raised his head up and looked Dean in the eyes, something flickered there for a moment, but as soon as Dean had noticed it, it was shoved down, masked my rough lust and a need so great it made his insides constrict. Castiel ground their hips together one last time, feeling Dean tighten and give beneath him. A ragged moan escaped Dean's lips as his manhood began to convulse with orgasm, lining the inside of his pants with the hot liquid. He pulled Cas down and pressed their lips together as he rode out the high of his orgasm, moaning roughly into the other man's mouth, his hands pulling frantically at the short black hairs on the back of his head. He finished and lay back, panting.
"Oh. My. God!" Dean heard someone exclaim from what seemed like the other side of ten feet of brick wall. He opened his eyes to see Castiel was frozen over him, breathing heavily, a look of pure horror over his flushed face as he stared at something just behind Dean. He careened his neck to see behind him over the arm of the couch, and his blood ran cold.
It was Sam.