Sorry, tad delayed! Been moving from the UK back to Australia, always a busy time. Hope you're all well :)

This chapter should answer for myself the question I asked you last chapter... most of us are in agreement I think.

Stand by for a surprise visitor at the end of the chapter!

Getting out of the bathroom is a challenge. Dean only brought one towel with us, which he uses to towel my hair with apparent glee. Giving himself a perfunctory wipe-down with the damp material, he pauses and looks around the room, which has no convenient dressing gowns or extra towels in sight.

"Huh. Probably should have thought of this."

After half a minute of shivering discussion, Dean shoves the towel at me and instructs me to go grab his dressing gown from the bedroom. I wrap the material around my hips, smirking a little under Dean's admiring gaze as he leans back against the vanity counter to watch me.

"Hurry up, yeah?" is all he says as I go to leave. "Freezing my ass off here."

I roll my eyes but I do walk briskly down the hall to Dean's room, taking the robe from behind the door and then making my way just as promptly back to the bathroom.

Only to find Kevin with his hand on the doorknob, about to open it.

"Wait!" I cry out, springing forward-

It's too late. The door swings open and I cringe as I hear Dean's startled yelp, followed very quickly by his furious swearing.

"Kevin, shit, close the fucking door, man!"

Kevin yanks the door shut again, eyes round and mouth open. When he turns to look at me, though, he breaks into a wide grin.

"Oh, wow," he says, shaking his head slowly, mirth bubbling in his voice. I scowl at him, crossing my arms and effectively hugging Dean's robe to my bare chest.

"Kevin."

"So not only are you guys cliched enough for shower sex," he cuts across me loudly, "you're not even subtle about it. I mean, naked Dean waiting for you in the bathroom's a pretty telling clue. No mistaking that one-"

"Go back to your room, Kevin," I sigh, stepping past him. I pause, though, not yet opening the door. Kevin is still standing behind me and snickering to himself. I turn and narrow my eyes at him. "Now."

He arranges his face into a solemn, reproachful look. "I'm young and innocent, Castiel. Seeing this kind of depravity could seriously harm my mental wellbeing, I don't know how you can live with yourself knowing-"

"Fuck off already, Kevin," Dean calls out from within the bathroom. I nod emphatically.

"What Dean said," I tell the prophet sternly. He shakes his head mournfully but turns and makes his way down the hall, chortling to himself. I wait for him to turn the corner at the end before I open the bathroom door and slip through, finding Dean standing tensely against the opposite wall with both hands cupped around his genitals. I pass him the robe in silence and he puts it on immediately, belting it securely.

"It was actually nice to see Kevin smiling so much," I venture as he double ties the knot. He gives me a flat, unamused look.

"Yeah, whatever," he grumbles. "Just don't want the little asswipe to use this against me for all of eternity."

"Prophets aren't immortal," I shrug, "and neither are you, so that won't happen."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Yeah, great, thanks. Anyway, let's put that whole horrifying scene behind us, OK? Go put something on and I'll grab us some food. I want a slice of pie, like even more than usual."

I trail after him as he exits the bathroom, looking both ways with narrowed eyes before he steps out into the hallway.

"You bought pie?"

He grins over his shoulder at me, heading off towards the kitchen as I halt by the bedroom door. "Sammy bought it for me. 'Cause of the fake break up. He's a good kid."

I smile as I head into our room and pull on boxers and the old Metallica shirt, which has finally been washed. I do feel a little guilty that Sam was made to worry and fret about his brother because of the falsehood that we created, but it's heartwarming that Sam tries to look after Dean when he's in need of it. So much of Dean is given to looking after Sam; I don't think he realises that the love and support go both ways.

But he's right. Sam is good, inherently so. He cares about Dean in a way that I can't fully appreciate and I should try to remember that. I overreacted when I leapt to Dean's defence in Sam's room. Dean doesn't need any defence when it comes to his younger brother. Sam is no threat to him.

Dean ducks in and interrupts my musing, carrying two plates with generous slices of pie. He's already eaten a third of his. It's pumpkin pie, which I haven't tried before. I take my slice and settle cross-legged on the bed, slicing off a neat forkful.

"I's no' Tha'sgivin' for 'nother two weeks," Dean garbles through a mouthful, "bu' it tastes good any ti' o'year."

I nod in agreement as I chew, amused. The pie is delicious, it's true. It's been heated up a little in the microwave, but something about the flavour tastes warm anyway. Dean leans comfortably back against the headboard of the bed, ankles crossed in front of him, eyes closed as he savours his 'lunch'. I think briefly that this is not a healthy meal, but then dismiss the concern. I'll put more effort into dinner. I'm still feeling fairly low on energy from the spell last night. Not to mention shower sex, which is every bit as physically challenging and precarious as Dean has complained in the past.

It was good though. Very good. I drag my fork against my lips, staring vaguely at Dean, who is still engrossed in the pie. It was so satisfying to be skin to skin with him. Maybe we should start sleeping naked. It's not even necessarily a sexual thing. Although as a sexual thing, it definitely works for me. I chew through another mouthful of pie, the pleasant flavour a backdrop to my vivid memories of the shower with Dean. I run through those memories lazily: the slide of bare flesh under hot water and soap, the look in his eyes when I washed him clean, his breath on my throat blending with the steam in the air. Wet fingers caressing me, the way he moved between my thighs, the things he groaned in my ear when he came-

I drop my fork in surprise, the odd squeaking sound in my throat being drowned out by the resulting clatter. Dean jumps, eyes flying open, mouth full of the last of his pie. He makes an indignant questioning noise at me, chewing fast.

"Sorry," I breathe, flushing hotly. "I just- I forgot until now- you-"

He gulps down the pie with some difficulty. "What? What is it?"

I falter. This is probably something I should have just kept quiet about and considered in my own time, but it's a little late now. "Uh. In the shower. You said…"

Dean frowns at me, clearly nonplussed as I trail off. He might not remember that he said he wanted to fuck me. But that is exactly what he said.

Which isn't surprising as a general statement, if he was just referring to sex in any form. Sex with Dean is good - the best thing I can think of, really, except maybe falling asleep curled up around him - and he obviously enjoys it just as much as I do. But we were already having sex at the time and Dean's words, the longing and frustration behind them… it was like he was wishing for something more. Which has an obvious implication; I'm not experienced with the intricacies of human colloquialisms, but even I know that the most literal form of 'fuck' is penetrative sex. The 'home run'. Which Dean and I haven't done yet. So, clearly, it's something he does want to do. Again, this is not particularly surprising; it's crossed my mind too, as something that I want to try.

I just never pictured Dean fucking me, rather than the other way around.

It makes sense, though. Dean seems to have a deep-seated need to be in control during sex with me, although it clearly doesn't come naturally to him. It's a little frustrating. When he's at his most relaxed he lets me take over and it's effortless, but at a certain point he visibly starts to tense up, as though he feels vulnerable or over-exposed. I don't at all mind letting Dean be the one to hold me down, make decisions, tell me what to do. When he does it with confidence it's very attractive and he is, after all, far more experienced than I am. But often he seems to be pushing himself to be in charge, when it's obvious that he gains a lot of pleasure from relinquishing control… if he's feeling secure or desperate enough to allow it. I like being in control too; it's somehow soothing to take command, and Dean is so beautiful when he gives himself over to me. When I consider pushing our sexual relationship to a more intimate level, I automatically imagine myself inside Dean, watching him fall apart. Taking care of him.

But of course that's not what Dean imagines. Letting me in, in the most literal and physical sense, would be a huge challenge for him. Probably too much of a challenge at this point. The fact that I'm almost certain it's what he would gain the most sexual and emotional satisfaction from is irrelevant; he probably wouldn't even entertain it as a possibility. I sigh, accepting that we'll have to explore this on Dean's terms. If he needs to have control, I'll give it to him. I might like it, anyway.

"Cas?" Dean says loudly, waving his fork near my face where I've been blankly staring at his shin. I stir, blushing again. He's raising his eyebrows expectantly, mouth twisted in worry.

"Sorry, it's nothing alarming," I assure him, putting my plate and fork down and rubbing my palms nervously on my knees. "I just, um. I remembered that you said something while you were ejaculating."

Dean slumps back against the headboard, cheeks pinkening but shoulders relaxing. He rolls his eyes. "Well, yeah, Cas, I tend to do that."

"I know. This was just something that caught my attention."

He frowns at me but suddenly, his eyes widen in something like horror. I smile slightly. He's remembered, then.

"Oh, shit, that," he breathes. "Cas, you don't need to- I wasn't tryna make any demands or whatever- I was just-"

"It's OK," I interrupt lightly, still smiling. "I was just going to say that if that's something you want… well, we can do that. I mean, we can try it. Whenever you want to."

That seems to stump him. He blinks at me, mouth open. "Oh."

I nod slowly. Dean blinks again and, just as slowly, nods back. He drops his gaze to the plate in his hands and fiddles a little with it, face growing steadily redder. I wait patiently in silence. After half a minute, he looks back up.

"Thanks," he says huskily. "For, uh… I dunno. Being you."

It's my turn to flush and glance away, embarrassed and pleased. "That's alright."

Dean huffs a soft laugh and I peek at him from beneath my lashes, the corners of my mouth tugging inexorably upwards. We grin stupidly at each other.

There's a sharp knock on the door. "Guys!"

It's Sam. Dean frowns, laying down his plate on the bedside table. "Come in."

The door opens to reveal a scowling Sam. For a moment I'm worried that he's still angry with Dean, but he strides into the room with Kevin in tow and it's clear that he's concerned about something else.

"We have a problem," Sam says flatly. Kevin nods in silent agreement, hunched and defensive with his hands in his pockets. Dean scrambles off of the bed and I do the same, tensed for yet another stumbling block that I won't be able to properly address without my grace. Is it Hannah? Is she alright? Or are we being attacked somehow? Is Gadreel back? Or worse, Metatron-

"What is it?" questions Dean gruffly, urgently. Sam grimaces.

"Something to distract you from your domestic bliss, Squirrel," comes a smooth, familiar voice from the doorway. We all turn as one to see a short, impeccably dressed man step casually through the door into Dean's bedroom. He smirks around at us all, his gaze lingering on me with particular amusement and derision.

Crowley.

O ho! Good ol' Crowley :P btw yeah, I like switching but if I had to choose, bottom!Dean every time. And in AUs I go for pretty much exclusively bottom!Dean unless they're really amazing fics (like 91W). For canon destiel though, I don't think Dean could let himself bottom to start with. So switching is really the only way for me to write them :)