Tad later than I was planning but here it is!
OK, first thing's first. If any of you knew anyone hurt or killed in the Orlando incident, please know that you have my deepest and sincerest sorrow and sympathy. What happened in that club was an act of pure hatred and it's beyond sick. I know we're probably all really shaken up by it - although unfortunately, shootings in the USA are very much the norm since stricter gun laws are apparently just too much to ask - but please take this as a reminder that we already have more than enough hate in the world and the best way to fight it is to reject hate and choose love.
In this case, homophobia played a big role in what happened. A lot of people out there, people like that shooter, want the queer community to shut up and disappear for totally incomprehensible reasons. So we need to do the opposite. Snog your same sex partners on the train, post those cute couples pictures on facebook, wear clothes and make up that defy gender roles, use whatever fucking bathroom you fit best, eject the haters from your life and be proud and open about who you are (as long as it's safe). Read your queer fanfics! Obviously better representation in the media and better protection in law would be enormously helpful but while we're waiting on that to happen, we can take a stand in our own lives.
OK, off of my soap box now. Please enjoy this chapter, sinners, which I feel nicely reflects the season 11 motto of 'keep grinding' ;)

"Shit..." I breathe, lowering my fist but remaining frozen in place, panting. Dean is too; I can feel the harsh movement of his breath against my thighs and knees, see the way his chest heaves. An apology begins to form on my tongue until I see that Dean doesn't appear at all offended or afraid.

I don't have words for the look on his face, but I recognise it all the same. His eyes glitter up at me and it's just like in the kitchen, when he knelt before me and wordlessly undid my composure with nothing but that look. I lean down towards him, placing my weight on my free hand beside his head, coherent thought fading. His lips part and he thuds his head slightly against the mat in an odd, apparently unconscious twitch of frustration, the movement travelling down his body in a sort of shudder. It reaches his hips and I inhale sharply as he arches them up, closing the few inches to press them against my own.

He's hard. Maybe not fully, but there's no mistaking that firm jut through the thin material of our sweatpants. I know full well that I'm responding in kind, shamefully fast, as though he's issued an order and I've jumped to obey. My gaze flickers hungrily down his body and then up again, meeting eyes which have widened in belated shock. He drops back to the floor, his expression turning from intense to fearful in seconds. Tugging his wrists sharply, he pulls one hand free from my tight grip and wrenches his gaze from mine in the same moment, clearly intending to push me off and escape. Panic blooms in my chest, followed closely by desperation. He can't leave, he clearly wants me, surely he has to stay-

Catching hold of his wrist again with my free hand, I slam it back down to the mat by his other arm and spread my knees apart at the same time, settling my weight onto Dean, intending only to keep him in place for a moment more. Both of us catch our breaths in unison at the contact and I can't think properly, can't quite catch up with what is actually happening long enough to engage some common sense. Instead I rock down and forward on instinct, giving a low groan as my erection presses and rubs against Dean's. His eyes reel back slightly before closing and he hisses through gritted teeth. I bite down hard on my lip to keep my moan quiet as I roll my hips again, eyelids fluttering in pleasure. My gaze stays fixed on the man beneath me, drinking in the flush on his face and the taut lines of his body as he strains to prolong the contact. He gasps out my name and I whimper, repeating the movement hastily. Dean's eyes snap open.

"Cas, stop," he growls. I freeze, breath catching. Dean is glaring up at me, his pupils blown wide and his jaw clenched. I can feel him trembling harshly. "What the fuck are you doing?"

I swallow, terrified that I've read the situation wrong and pushed myself onto Dean against his will. Shit, of course that's what's happened, I'm pinning him down and everything. It seemed like he wanted me though. Surely getting hard is a clear sign of arousal? But physical arousal and personal consent are not the same thing. I know this all too well from all the times I've suppressed my own reactions as an angel, and all the times I've wished I still could as a human. With a growing sense of horror and shame, I release Dean's wrists and shift hastily, bringing us out of close contact although I'm still straddling him, leaning up and forward on trembling hands.

"Dean, I'm so sorry," I whisper in a choked voice. Dean hasn't moved; his hands are still on the mat above his head, although he curled them into tight fists when I let go of them. He drags an unsteady breath in through his nose before replying, his eyes burning with fury.

"You can't just... What the hell makes you think I want that?"

I frown, guilt turning to confusion turning to anger. How can he ask that? How can he place all of the blame for this onto me? I had perfectly valid reasons to think that Dean was attracted to me. Indignant, I answer in a low, sarcastic tone, the hurt hidden behind the bite in my words.

"Oh, I don't know, Dean. Probably the fact that you got an erection as soon as we made prolonged physical contact. Not to mention the one you had in my bed the other morning."

Dean sucks in a breath, eyes popping wide and filling with shock. He shakes his head in pointless denial and I dig my fingers into the mat, leaning closer as rage bubbles up inside me, an anger that I didn't know I possessed until now. Human emotions are so volatile.

"Yes, you fucking did. I know because I felt it. I know because I had one too, which I had to get rid of as soon as you left, and do you know what I thought about while I did that? You. It's always you, Dean Winchester, and that's been fine until now, but as a human? This desire is incredibly frustrating. It's tiring and upsetting and distracting and I am growing sick of it, so please, do not lie there and pretend that you are completely innocent in the matter."

I'm practically snarling at him by the time I finish, inches away from his face. He's utterly still, unblinking as his gaze flickers between my eyes. My scowl fades and I falter, shocked at myself. I certainly didn't intend to let all of that pour out. I didn't even know that I was hurting. A dull ache over Dean Winchester was a constant in my life long before I became a human. I swallow, uncertainty rising in my gut as I stare down into Dean's piercing green eyes, still hovering low over him. He breathes fast and shallow, licking his lips quickly before he speaks:

"You thought about me?"

I frown, my brain not really keeping up. "Yes."

I process his question some more and almost immediately ask one of my own, unsure. "Wait, when?"

An odd flash of something like a smile gleams in Dean's eyes, tender and strong if swiftly masked, and it makes me brave. I lean even closer, searching his gaze.

"Not that it matters," I whisper, feeling vulnerable but very sure that I need to make this clear to him. "I am always thinking of you, Dean."

His throat works as he swallows and he looks caught between scared and elated. I allow my gaze to drift down to his mouth, parted and tempting as always. I'm leaning ludicrously low over him and I bite my lip as I shift to bring us back into lower body contact. We're both still hard. I have no clue what is happening here but it's clearly arousing enough to eclipse what should be awkward and confusing. He catches his breath and when I look back into his eyes, they're pleading.

"What are we, Cas?" he mumbles, flushed and frightened and gorgeous. "What the hell is this?"

I stretch my arms out above his head, heels of my curled hands sliding steadily forward on the mat, a little drunk on the burst of courage that's snuck up on me in the face of Dean's crumbling defences. My abdomen and chest brush down against his and I can't keep the excitement or the desire or the pure worship out of my eyes as I hold Dean's captivated gaze from centimetres away. I feel reckless and impatient and very, very human.

"Everything," I murmur, the word a promise breathed against lips which a moment later, I finally claim with my own.

My eyes drift closed as I press down gently, fascinated by how soft yet firm Dean's mouth is, light-headed at my own boldness. Dean makes a noise that isn't quite a sound but reverberates through us both anyway; a sort of gasping sigh, pulling in and echoing out at the same time. It feels like relief and I hum slightly in agreement, moving my lips gently in a hesitant caress. Dean responds slowly, the air around us warming despite the coolness of the room. I shiver and gather this moment to me, memorising the sensations in obsessive detail, hoarding it in case it's all I'll ever have. Oddly, the bursts of pleasure radiating from every miniscule shift of my crotch are merely a vague backdrop to what seems important to me: Dean's heartbeat pressed near mine, the smell of his drying sweat, the way his lips are shy but eager.

I open my mouth very slightly, unsure whether I even want to push this. But Dean seems to get it, whatever 'it' is, and he responds by parting his own lips and inhaling briefly from me in a startlingly intimate gesture. I chase his mouth and he fits his open lips to mine only to close them again, dragging mine closed with them and then pulling away infinitesimally. When he presses back again it's sweet and quite chaste.

I'm oddly relieved by his unexpected modesty. It's entirely contradicted by the way I keep unconsciously rolling my groin against his or the way he bucks a little beneath me every time, but the innocence of the kiss itself is perfect. Dean Winchester might be the most perfect damn thing in the universe, even if he's a self-hating mess who can't seem to let himself have anything he wants without an agony of doubt and denial. Overcome with affection, I break the kiss and pull back enough to open my eyes and stare down at him. Green eyes flutter open a moment later and Dean looks dazed, his shocked expression tempered by flushed cheeks and pink lips.

"I love you," I inform him, not really meaning to say it out loud but not very surprised to find that I have. Dean freezes up and I shake my head. "You don't have to respond to that, don't worry. I just wanted to clarify it as fact."

"Cas..." he breathes, all reverent eyes and flustered glow, and my heart stutters because he may as well have said it back. I swoop down again to share my smile with him, suddenly eager to push this as far as Dean is willing to go. I twitch against him as his hands suddenly materialise on my thighs, sending a hot thrill through me. This time Dean is the one to open his mouth, coaxing my lips apart with each dragging, drugging kiss. I'm making pleased and surprised noises which I know full well are broadcasting my almost total inexperience in this area. I don't care. Dean knows me and judging by his roaming hands and straining hips, he doesn't care either.

It's as the gentle bumping of clothed flesh is developing into purposeful grinding that I hear it. Faint but unmistakable. I break away from the hypnotic sensation of Dean's tongue on mine to stare down at him in dismay.

"Sam is looking for you," I inform him reluctantly, in a hoarse and breathless voice. Dean blinks at me, eyes hugely dilated and brow scrunching endearingly in confusion. Then Sam's searching voice sounds again, closer this time. He'll reach the gym in less than half a minute.

Dean's mouth snaps shut and his face closes off. I feel my rushed, astonished sense of happiness and completion waver and crumple as he yanks his hands out from under my shirt and shoves hard at my chest. The reaction is clearly a panicked reflex but the horror in his eyes at the prospect of being caught by Sam leaves no room for me, and it hurts. Wordlessly and resignedly I push back onto my knees, cringing a little at how bereft I feel away from his body. Also, my erection has not managed to go away in the past several seconds and it feels entirely uncomfortable to be this suddenly dejected with physical arousal still muddling my senses. Looking down at Dean in front of me does nothing to help; he's still half-hard too and it's extremely obvious in the thin sweatpants. He scrambles back and it's only once he puts some distance between us that he seems to really look at my face.

"Cas- I-"

"It's alright, Dean, I understand," I hush him, although I don't, not really. Dean pushes up to face me on his knees, now gazing beseechingly at me with those sad green eyes, and I scramble to my feet to avoid kissing him again. Dean does the same and we stare silently at each other as Sam's footsteps approach. Tearing my gaze away and fighting down a sense of frustrated injustice, I turn and walk across to the other side of the room, picking up a small set of weights with no idea if I'm holding it correctly. I hear Sam enter the room behind me, hear his exclaimed greeting, raise a hand in acknowledgment without looking up. Dean is talking, his voice forced and husky.

I stare unseeingly at the dumbbell in my hand, feeling weighed down in more ways than one.