Hi! For some unfathomable reason I put myself through the stress of writing MORE smut so that's what you get this chapter. It is dodgy smut but it would be a LOT dodgier if the lovely Alicemurdock hadn't beta'd it for me, so thank her if you like it. Berate me if you do not. She's a massive Dean!girl and I'm a dedicated Cas!girl so between us we have things covered.
Thank you for the enthusiastic response to my new fic 'Resurrect and Reconcile' :D I will be updating that soon.
Guys I read this AMAZING fic recently on AO3. It's called 'Ninety One Whiskey' by komodobits. Might be my favourite destiel fic ever? Certainly my fave destiel AU fic, and yes I have read T&S. Slow burn and historically accurate and detailed and gripping and emotional and YES READ IT kthxbai

The footsteps moving towards the door barely register underneath the new and horribly negative response I'm having towards Dean, a hostility that I never imagined I could feel towards him, that I wouldn't have been capable of before turning human. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know that I should be paying attention to the sound coming from outside the room. Instead, I open my mouth furiously, overtaken for possibly the first time ever with a wish to hurt Dean back, to retaliate.

Quite without warning, he kisses me.

I make a muffled noise of shock and vehement protest, my anger at him creating a reflex reaction of shoving him away, hard. He steps back into my space immediately, much to my blistering indignation.

"Shut up, Sam's coming past," he hisses, resentment at me clear in his expression even as he tugs me towards him again. The footsteps I heard are growing louder in the hallway and I understand belatedly: Ezekiel is probably already alert to our odd behaviour at lunch. He'll only be more suspicious if he hears us fighting when we're supposed to be an untroubled couple. Sam must not be allowed to think that anything is amiss either. And we are currently supposed to be tearing each other's clothes off, not arguing.

I grit my teeth and grab Dean by the arms, pushing him a little too roughly against the door with an audible thump. The footsteps pause. I scowl at Dean, who scowls back. I nod shortly at him.

He seizes me by the shirtfront and kisses me again, mouth clashing painfully against mine. I grunt at the impact and, feeling a pettiness that was unknown to me as an angel, I reach up and grip his hair, pulling more than necessary. He makes a low, irritated noise into my mouth, catching my bottom lip between his teeth and biting down harshly. I try to jerk back but he swiftly mirrors me with a hand tight in my hair, stopping me from moving away. Sam hasn't resumed walking yet, probably because the sounds we've been making are more violent than passionate. Ironically, since Dean and I are both too enraged by each other to actually make out properly, the only option open is to fight Dean harder in an effort to produce sounds that might convince both Sam and Ezekiel that we're not fighting at all.

Shoving my tongue into Dean's mouth, past caring if he bites it - I'll just bite him back - I dig my fingers into his back under his shirt, nails almost breaking the skin. He flinches and I tighten my other fist in his hair, tugging sharply, the subliminal message clear: I am in control, not him. He jerks against me, groaning hoarsely, and I make a surprised sound as he winds his free arm around my waist and hauls me up against him, forcing me to shuffle my feet forward between his own. He keeps his arm locked around me, kissing me so aggressively that I'm made to bend slightly backwards, my punishing grip on his hair tightening impossibly. His fingers are still tangled at the nape of my neck and he responds in kind, flexing them so that my scalp is tested to its limits.

"Dean-" I grit out as I tear my mouth from his. Dean opens his eyes and smirks cockily at me from an inch away, the expression intensely aggravating. He clearly thinks that he's won. Unwilling to concede but trapped in his hold, I yank his head back and sink my teeth into his neck where it meets his shoulder, triumphant at his shocked gasp.

"Cas," he chokes, and I realise two things at once. Sam has already walked away, because I can hear his bedroom door closing, a distinctive squeak that only his hinges make. And Dean, pressed so tightly against me that I can't tell whose heartbeat is which, is getting hard.

I open my eyes, mouth still parted and wet against Dean's throat, our pulses thrumming in my ears. Shit. I didn't think that this was sexual, but abruptly, it very much is. I also didn't think that Dean was aroused by physical aggression, but it certainly makes sense. After all, we first kissed in the aftermath of a fight, albeit a staged one for practice. I shift a little against Dean's now unmistakable erection and heat pools quickly in my stomach at his poorly suppressed moan, his fingers bruising my waist where his arm is still wound around me, keeping me flush against him. I huff in disbelief, utterly confused. I was furious. I still am. I think I am.

The thought fragments as Dean pulls harshly at my hair and kisses me again, with less biting this time but no gentleness. I'm confused and a little annoyed to find that I reciprocate without giving myself permission to do so, rising up onto the balls of my feet to equal his height and press him back against the door.

Our tongues twist and thrust together and I can feel so much of Dean, we're so close, so firm and warm and alive. My anger at him pulses faintly in my head but it's rapidly being outstripped by passion and excitement, a new sort of lust that seems to have taken hold of me with no warning. I rub and rut my own growing arousal against his and he drops his hands to my ass, roughly squeezing through my jeans, anchoring me to him, sucking on my lower lip as hard as he bit it mere minutes beforehand. I moan, feeling frenzied and wild, both my hands fisted in his hair now.

It occurs to me abruptly that I've never touched Dean's cock. I realise at almost the same time that I want to, far more than I thought I did.

Shoving my hands down between us before I can consider my actions, I fumble with the button on Dean's jeans. He inhales sharply, drawing the air from my mouth, running his hands up my sides and allowing me to shift back a little and yank his zipper down. I push his jeans down with my fingertips but there's only so much I can do standing upright, still kissing Dean.

So I drop promptly to my knees. It's practical. Dean whimpers above me but I'm busy tugging his jeans down around his thighs and then hooking my fingertips into the waistband of his boxer briefs, running my teeth over my swollen lips and eyeing the straining outline of his erection against the dark material. It's only then that I pause, coherent thought finally catching up to me. I raise my eyes to Dean's face and see that he's flattened himself against the door, holding his breath, green eyes enormous and fixed on me.

"Is this alright?" I ask him breathlessly, feeling guilty for forgetting that Dean is supposed to be the one steering our sexual relationship. He blinks at me and swallows visibly before replying.

"If I say no?"

I immediately drop my hands, leaning away from him. "I'm sorry-"

"I'm not saying no," Dean interrupts my apology hastily, reddening. "You can, uh- I mean, if you want to-"

I give a sigh of relief that he's OK with this and nod silently, reaching up and gently pulling Dean's briefs down. He exhales in a rush as his cock bobs free, hanging heavy between his legs and lifted slightly away from his testes, stiff and flushed. I tilt my head, staring for a moment. Dean huffs impatiently and I glance up to see him looking endearingly flustered.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," he mutters, not meeting my eyes, but then he snaps his mouth shut, looking horrified. "Not that I won't- I mean, I'll last, I-"

"Dean," I cut across him loudly and he falters, anxious gaze focusing on mine. I smile softly up at him, squeezing lightly at his thighs. "You're very attractive."

He gulps but rolls his eyes, his disgusted face so false that it doesn't worry me for a second. "Dude, you don't compliment other dudes when they've got their dicks out. It's just awkward."

"I don't intend to compliment anyone else's dick," I remark, looking back at the dick in front of me. Dean huffs again, this time in surprised laughter, but I forestall whatever he might have said in response by wrapping my hand around the base, squeezing lightly. Dean swears quietly, the tone of his voice remarkably similar to that of his prayers. I gaze up at him again as I draw my hand up his cock and then push back down, my movements slow and careful. He's watching my hand with an open mouth and I part my own lips, my heartbeat quickening at the rapt expression on his face.

Dean seems to regain some level of confidence as he meets my eyes and my breath hitches at the way his gaze settles and sharpens, dark and smouldering. I realise that unlike when he touched me like this, Dean has experienced having people on their knees for him before. He knows how to navigate this and it's magnetic to watch. He's sure of himself.

At least, he is until I lean forward and tilt his cock up to lick broadly from base to tip, peering up at him to gauge his reaction.

"Shit," Dean bites off, eyes popping, hands flattening against the door again. I smile and drag my tongue across the tip, tasting something faintly different there mingling with the mild salt of his skin. I glance back up at him but he only blinks at me, apparently speechless. I decide to stop testing and hesitating, since Dean hasn't protested but seems incapable of vocalising his explicit approval. He'll stop me if I do something he doesn't like, hopefully.

Leaning back in, I close my mouth around Dean's cock, slurping a little before I think to tighten the seal of my lips. Dean is groaning in a low voice as I slide forward as far as possible before the tip bumps my throat and I pull back hastily with a popping noise, coughing a little.

"I can't go any further," I say, annoyed. I look up questioningly at Dean. "But on the pornographic film I saw the woman was able to go much further. Is it different for men and women?"

Dean is pink and slack-looking, staring down at me. "Huh?"

His gaze is distracted, unfocused, and I quickly realise that he's probably not in a state of mind to be answering my curious questions. I shake my head hastily. "Apologies. I'll google it."

"Jesus, Cas…"

But he's laughing, massaging his forehead with his fingers, eyes crinkling in mirth. I smile sheepishly and slip my mouth back over the head of his cock again, hearing his breath catch. I think about what feels good with fingers and try to apply that with my tongue and lips, sucking hard and then swirling my tongue, keeping one hand wrapped around as well.

It feels a bit messy. Wet, slimy really, and I'm worried about my teeth hurting him, and my jaw is starting to ache. But it's worth it to hear the sounds that Dean is making. Small moans and wrecked gasps, bitten off groans, stuttered curses. And best of all, my name, breathed out like worship, like I'm all he can think about. I have my free hand on his hip trailing absently across the bare skin there, thumb rubbing against his hipbone, palm mapping the slope down to his thigh. But every time Dean says my name I can feel my own arousal spike and I'm starting to wonder if it would be OK to touch myself, if that's considered rude somehow.

Dean's hips are canting further forward a little as I work at him, the movement clearly suppressed, tiny abortive jerks and thrusts that are getting more obvious as the minutes tick by. I'm settling into what I'm doing, applying more pressure, keeping to a rhythm and it's gratifying to feel the effects. Dean shudders, hot and heavy and pulsing in my mouth, a mildly bitter and salty flavour growing against my tongue. Quite suddenly, his hand is on my hair, touching hesitantly, hovering awkwardly, the gesture tense and strange. I open my eyes, having closed them to concentrate. Is he alright?

I tilt my head up a little to check on him, not wanting to interrupt myself completely. He's staring down at me, mouth agape, chest heaving. As I meet his eyes he seems to fall apart somehow. His stiff, open hand becomes a fist woven into my hair and his heavy breath dissolves into a broken gasp.

"Fuck, fuck, Cas, fuck-"

I swallow reflexively against him, dizzy with my own desire. His response is like a burst of repressed energy; he almost shouts, the cry wordless and rough, eyes finally squeezing shut and head tossing back against the door with a painful thump. I go to pull back, concerned, but his hand is tight in my hair and his hips are undulating against my mouth, cock sliding back and forth through my loose fist and tight lips with a sense of purpose. I decide that he seems unhurt and reapply myself to my task with determination. I can sense that he's close. His movements are losing control, becoming frantic and aggressive, his flesh impossibly hard on my tongue, the odd bitterness stronger than ever.

It's too much for me to just passively observe. I'm painfully hard in my jeans, breathless not just with exertion and limited air supply but also with lust. Just glancing up at Dean is overwhelming. His expression, his eyes, the sheen of his skin, the shape of his throat as he leans his head back. The knowledge that I can do this to him. Whimpering a little around my mouthful, I drop my free hand to my crotch, adjusting my cock through the denim and then keeping my hand pressed there, just trying to relieve some of the tension building within me. I give a soft moan, eyelids fluttering, circling my tongue almost lazily underneath the ridge of Dean's foreskin.

I can tell when he notices. His voice breaks as he splutters my name, the syllable barely recognisable. His other hand joins the first in my hair and I almost yelp at the tightness of the grip, squeaking in wide-eyed shock as he pushes forward, almost enough to make me gag. I drop my hand from his cock even as I rub the heel of my palm against my own, the surprise and discomfort of the moment doing nothing to dampen my arousal. With a twitching and throbbing sensation against the back of my tongue, Dean comes and I'm so busy listening in wonder to the half-sobbing way he cries out my name that I almost don't notice the taste or the fact that I'm about to start choking.

It quickly becomes too much, though. I wrench away, wincing as I yank my hair out of Dean's grip. I get splashed across the chin and neck as I lean back but I'm too busy coughing to notice, my face hot and my eyes watering.

"Ugh," I almost wheeze, even as Dean is panting above me, spent. I'm still hard but I ignore that for now, frowning and blinking rapidly as I try to swallow away the strange taste.

"Fuck," Dean slurs, the sound almost a groan. I take a deep, steadying breath and stagger to my feet, feeling a little dizzy, a little surreal. I pause and gaze at Dean for a moment, struck with how gorgeous he looks like this. He's flushed and soft-edged, lips pink and bitten, jaw slack, chest heaving. His eyes are closed and his head tilts back. He looks like he might collapse at any moment. He looks like he's already asleep, dreaming.

I'm still staring at him when he opens his eyes, locking onto mine and staring right back.