This isn't going to last long, not that Dean's surprised. He's up against the wall, riding Cas's thigh like a teenager who's never been touched, and Cas is bruising his mouth nearly bloody with the force of his kisses.
He can't remember the last time he was this hard, his cock fat and throbbing in his jeans. He's shaking, he's so close to coming, and he's not sure he's going to be able to pry his fingers off Cas's arms anytime soon.
Cas didn't even take off the fucking trench coat.
Dean thinks about Cas sometimes. Of course he does. Cas is ... he doesn't even know what Cas is anymore. Friend? Sometime lover? Partner? Colleague, for christ's sake?
Absent is what he is now, Dean usually decides, staring at the bottom of an empty glass in the flickering light of the TV late at night, or while he's carrying the trash out. Policing heaven in a shiny new sheriff's badge.
Which is the way it should be, probably. Dean's not sure he could actually take Cas being around, the earnestness in that deep blue stare. Cas knows him, is the thing. And Cas knows just how broken he is, inside anyway.
Some days, Dean's not sure he's thankful that Cas put the outside back together.
Cas is grunting, actually grunting, as he grinds against Dean. The raw reality of it -- sticky in the close air of the motel room, clothing rubbing in both wrong and right places, his head still ringing where it knocked into the wall -- is so potent that Dean's still shocky with it. Sam hadn't been gone five minutes before the "So, how've you been?" conversation exploded into this, mouths and hands and groins, pushing, pulling, pressing.
Dean has enough grace to feel guilty, but the gnawing bite of it is distant, far away. Right here is heat and pressure and the salt-slick taste of Cas's tongue, his bite, sharp and urgent, finding Dean's pulse with lethal precision.
It's oddly comforting to know Cas missed him, too.
Dean and Lisa don't sleep together right away. Hell, as much as he's drinking in the beginning, he figures whiskey dick was probably a possibility, not that he likes to think about that.
It takes a while, after that first night, to accept anyone's touch. The wall he's building is too fragile, and even Ben' slouched against him on the sofa knocks bricks loose. It's months before he can imagine himself naked in bed with Lisa -- Lisa with her kind eyes and her gentle hands and the silky spill of hair he wants to bury his face in, where it's dark and he can hide. But he can't, not then. Blown open like balsa in a hurricane, that's what would happen, all the shredded, tender places in him exposed.
Lisa waits. And when Dean is a little less shattered, a little more prepared, he gives her what he can, willingly. It's easy, really, if he takes the lead, concentrates on what he can do to make her feel good.
If it isn't exactly making love, it isn't just sport fucking, either, and more than that, it isn't a lie. His gratitude and affection are honest. Lisa might deserve more, but at least she doesn't expect it.
"Cas," he manages, and it sounds like torn paper, something breaking in the silence. He's going to come, just like this, pushed up against this wall with the smell of musty sheets in the air and his boots still on, and it's too soon. His orgasm is coiling up hot and tight inside him -- any minute it's going to snap, and this will be over.
Over, over, and then Cas will let go of him, and this feeling, this comfort that's so much like homecoming and recognition and belonging, will snap, too.
He's never felt that during sex before. Not with anyone but Cas.
"It's okay," Cas murmurs, and his voice breaks, too, splitting okay into too many sounds. He's still pushing, grinding, seeking, and Dean can only hold on and push right back, his head thudding hard against the wall again when he comes. It's hot and wet and startling, and Cas is right behind him, breathing rough into his mouth.
Dean finds he likes having a home after a while, or at least the people in it. Ben is a good kid, a smart kid, and a smartass to boot, and Lisa is, more than anything, a friend. He doesn't have many of those, and despite the occasional beer and backyard barbecue, he doesn't really count guys like Sid.
If a werewolf attacked during one of Ben's softball games, Lisa would grab the nearest weapon and charge it. Sid would probably faint behind the dugout.
He used to want this, he knows that. Really want it. Long ago, with his dad and Sam, even if that meant nothing more than just being together in one place, whether in a shitty motel with a drained pool or a squatter's cabin. And then for a while, he thought, yeah, maybe one day, with Lisa, or someone like her ... But that was assuming Sam was safe, and that Dean was tired of the road and the hunt, neither of which is true now.
Either way, it was before he met Cas.
"We always start on the wrong foot," Cas says when he finally peels himself away from Dean. He's still flushed and a lot more rumpled than usual.
Dean scrubs a hand over his face, huffing out something like a laugh. "Yeah, well, like they say, if that was wrong ..."
Cas's palm lands in the center of Dean's chest, firm. "Not wrong in that sense. Give me some credit, Dean."
Dean shudders out a breath as he searches Cas's eyes. His legs are still a little shaky, liquid with pleasure, and his heart is still banging like a fist. He doesn't know what he wants Cas to say, just that Cas is going to have to be the one to speak. Dean's been given a lot more than he ever imagined he could have in the last few weeks, between Sam and Lisa, and he's not about to ask for anything more.
"I didn't want to rush," Cas says, leaning close, his lips against Dean's cheek, a whisper of touch. "I didn't anticipate what I would ... feel when I saw you in person again."
"In person?" Dean turns his head just enough to push the words into Cas's mouth, soft. "You been watching me, Cas?"
He nods, brushing their mouths together, the tips of their noses. "You're important, Dean. To me."
Hallmark it ain't, and Dean's completely okay with that. "I could say the same."
It's the truth. He's still not sure what Cas is to him, but important starts to cover it. And he doesn't know where this is going -- any of it, not Sam or their scary-ass grandfather, not Lisa and Ben -- but for now, he'll be happy simply to take it to bed.
Maybe tonight he and Cas can take some time, possibly even get completely naked. He wouldn't mind seeing Cas in the shower, either, wet and slippery and close. Every other time before was too urgent, rushed and raw, just like now.
"Take this off?" he says, grabbing a fistful of trench coat.
Cas's smile is so rare, Dean has almost forgotten how it feels to see it, to know he made that happen. He rests his forehead against Dean's before he says, "Absolutely."