Castiel Krushnic is a goddamn wolf in sheep's clothing. You let the guy get you off in a moving vehicle one fucking time and suddenly he's starring in your masturbatory fantasies for the rest of your miserable fucking life. When you meet him, the gorgeous bastard looks enticing and harmless in his tousled, oblivious way and you fucking fall for it. Then, next thing you know, your pants are filled with your own come and he's eaten the heart right out of your gullible little chest.
Not that Dean is speaking from experience.
And now he’s stuck in the living room of 86 Maitland (just off Kent) with the goddamn wolf himself.
"Would you be interested in getting high?" Cas pipes up from the other end of the couch.
Of course Dean would be interested in getting high. There’s nothing he wants more than to leave his own worries and fears alone for a goddamn minute. Maybe be able to forget those piercing, predatory eyes that won’t stop glancing over at him.
"Um," Dean starts, because he is a master of eloquence around Cas, "I, uh, better not. Sammy might– he might need a lift or something."
The gargantuan moose was supposed to be here by now. The three of them are supposed to be making their way through all the movies on some pansy critics' list. Some moronic, weekly brother-roommate bonding ritual. Dean couldn't tell you what a single film they've seen in the last three months was about. He usually spends the entirety of the movie trying to calm his dick and avoid looking at Cas.
Right on cue, Cas hits Dean with one of those soul-searching stares that Dean hopes might be just for him, but could just as easily be part and parcel of the standard stoner-hippie aesthetic. It's not like an entire fucking cornucopia of sex partners haven't been rotating through Cas' bedroom. And yet, when he looks at Dean...
Just as Dean is starting to lose himself in the look, Cas shrugs and pulls his silver rolling box towards himself, “Your loss, Freckles.”
The phone in Dean's pocket buzzes and he fumbles to get it out. He sends a silent prayer to the gods he doesn't believe in that it's Sam saying he's almost home. This is his stupid idea, after all. The oblivious bastard seems to think that Dean and Cas need to get to know each other better. Dean is this fucking close to blurting out how well he and Cas really know each other, just to end the fucking agony.
The social fucking butterfly is twenty minutes late to his own stupid house. Dean's not sure how much longer he can wait. Just sitting alone in the same room as Cas is about as much torture as his libido is willing to endure. If Mr. Aloof von SexHair asks him one more rumbling, lust-tinged question, Dean’s gonna lose his shit.
Sam: Held up on a group project. Won't be home 'til late. You guys watch without me but NO SPOILERS!
Dean shuts his eyes and rubs at his mouth. If he doesn’t look over at Cas, maybe this isn’t really happening. He can hear Cas open the end table drawer and pull out his mason jar full of weed. Airtight - because the fucker is nothing if not practical.
“Uh, Sam has to cancel.”
“Hmm.” Cas doesn’t seem perturbed by the revelation. Nothing ever seems to ruffle this guy. Dean hears the clank of the grinder slotting together and looks over to watch Cas’ deft hands twist the device. Cas doesn’t take his eyes off his work as he speaks, "You wore that sweater the first time we met."
Dean glances down at his red hoodie. "How do you remember that?"
Cas' shoulders tremor with a silent laugh as he taps the contents of the grinder onto the waiting paper. "How could I forget?"
"Seemed pretty easy."
Dean watches as Cas slowly closes the lid of the roller and a fully-formed joint pops out the top. Cas looks up and Dean isn’t quick enough to look away. He gets a full dose of hair and eyes and cheekbones and dammit, Dean is not strong enough for this.
"It's not." Cas picks up the joint and sucks the whole thing into his mouth; slowly pulls it back out through his pink, puckered lips with absolutely no fucking regard to the way the action impacts Dean's traitorous dick. Cas runs his tongue along the seam of the paper a final time before placing the filter into his mouth and reaching out for his lighter and sparking a flame. "Trust me," he mumbles around the butt dangling from his mouth, "I've tried."
The action has no right be as beautiful and erotic as it is. The way Cas' long, graceful fingers gently cradle the lighter as he lifts it to his face; the way his features are thrown into sharp relief when the glowing flame ignites the joint pinched between his lips... Dean is a man, dammit. He's not supposed to be silently composing sonnets about the beauty of his brother's stoner roommate. Regardless of how fucking life-affirming their one-time shared sexual encounter may have been.
Dean’s resolve snaps.
"Give me that." He grabs the joint right out of Cas’ mouth, grazing lips with his knuckles.
"What would Sammy think?" The question curls out of Cas' mouth alongside wisps of smoke, the words themselves smoldering with low-burning heat. It's unfairly sensual, and fuck, Dean wasn't supposed to be getting all poetic over this asshole.
Dean smirks, "You're asking the wrong question."
Cas tilts his head to the side and squints at Dean, “Am I?”
Before Dean can raise the joint to his lips, Cas is suddenly in his space, slowly taking it from between Dean’s fingers. Cas pulls a hit, then cups the back of Dean's head. He looks straight into Dean’s eyes as he moves impossibly closer. A single, quick glance to Dean’s lips betrays his intentions as Cas closes the gap and blows smoke into Dean's slack mouth.
Dean lets his eyes slip closed and savors the earthy-sweet taste of Cas’ lips pressing against his. He lets himself feel the burn of the smoke flowing into his lungs; breathes in the familiar mix of weed and Cas that will forevermore be inextricably linked in Dean’s fucked-up mind.
Cas pulls back and Dean is stunned – he holds his breath, but he can’t be sure if it’s because he’s holding in the smoke or he’s simply forgotten how to breathe.
Cas chuckles, low and deep, then lets Dean go and leans back against the arm of the couch. He taps at his lip with one long, tempting finger, “So, what am I supposed to ask, Dean?”
Dean regains himself and lets the smoke slowly drift out of his lungs.
"You don't care what Sam thinks." He rises from the couch and forces himself to look unhurried as he moves to stand in front of Cas. Bolstered by the burn in his lungs and the lightness of his head, he crowds over Cas' form and reaches to pluck the joint from those tempting fucking fingers. His lips brush along the shell of Cas' ear when he whispers, "What you really want to know, is what am I thinking?"
He tries to grab the weed, but Cas pulls away; eyes challenging and joint still in hand. Without a word, Cas stands from the couch and moves towards the stairs. He doesn’t even glance backwards as he starts to climb his way to his bedroom.
Dean slumps back onto the couch, squeezes his eyes shut, and wonders where the fuck he went wrong. He thought for sure that he had read the signs correctly. Why doesn’t anyone ever just state their fucking intentions? Dean can’t exactly be a fucking mind reader while all his blood is making exodus for his dick. Speaking of – Dean presses the heel of his palm into his crotch.
Down boy, he thinks. Looks like you’re off duty tonight.
"Are you coming?"
Dean opens his eyes to see Cas leaning back down over the railing, joint once more perched between perfect, pink lips. Cas looks pointedly at the fabric tenting under the strain of Dean’s hard cock and fails to contain a sudden giggle fit.
"Although,” Cas says, biting his lip between words, “I was hoping I’d at least get your pants off this time."
Fuck Dean’s life, because the gorgeous dipshit looks even hotter when he’s laughing at him. Dean drops his head into his hands and wishes the ground would swallow him whole. Maybe he should just give up on this hot hippie fantasy and go crawling back to Lisa and– Wait a second. Did Cas just imply that he’d like to take Dean’s pants off?
Dean looks again at Cas’ happy, flushed face and he’s off the couch and moving for the stairs before he can even finish processing the thought.
“I,” Cas nods.
Dean mimics the gesture a half-dozen times and then they’re up the stairs and bursting into Cas’ room and falling onto the bed and it's all hands and tongues and too many fucking clothes.
Cas reaches behind him to extinguish the last of his joint against the headboard. Dean's not even sure how he can be aware of such an action in a moment like this. All his thoughts should be focused on relieving the pressure of his achingly hard cock, but Cas' fingers just look so good and– Is a finger fetish even a thing? Because Dean thinks he might be developing one.
Cas begins to bite small nips along his jaw.
“Cas,” Dean says, the wet heat of Cas’ mouth causing his voice to shudder, “Watch those sharp teeth you have.”
Cas licks a trail up towards Dean’s ear, “Trust me. They're better to tease you with.”
He raises those beautiful fingers to cup Dean’s head and Dean lets out a low moan.
“Cas, fuck, your hands.”
“Mmm.” Cas lets them dance over Dean’s still-clothed nipples, “The better to feel you with.”
Dean can’t help the way his hips involuntarily buck forward and then he’s really fucking pissed at whoever invented pants because they are cockblocking him so hard right now.
Heh, hard. Haha; cocks. The better to fuck Dean with, right? Wait, no! That’s the whole problem! Dean’s still trapped in his goddamn pants.
Dean can feel Cas’ hardness pushing up against his thigh and these pants have got to go. Dean pushes himself up off of Cas just enough start awkwardly fumbling at his zipper.
Cas grips Dean’s face just a little tighter and Dean tries to focus on Cas. Maybe Dean should notice if his eyes are still blue, but goddamit he’s a little too high and way too fucking turned on to worry about shit like that right now.
“Dean,” Cas says, “You need to tell me that you want this.”
Dean throws another emphatic gesture at his stupid fucking zipper. Obviously he is one hundred and ten percent on board with the current plan of action.
Cas lowers his left hand to grab at Dean’s and forces Dean to make glassy eye-contact. “No,” Cas says, “I need to hear you say that you want me.”
“You’re goddamn right I want you. I’ve wanted you for a while. ” Dean rolls his hips with intention, punctuating his words, “It’s been a long, hard wait.”
Cas pulls Dean down on top of him, capturing his lips in a languid kiss as he rolls them over. He pushes himself up on his elbows, allowing his forearms to frame Dean’s head. Dean’s eyes begin to drift shut as he loses himself in the taste and touch of Cas.
Fingers graze along him, slowly removing the clothes from his body. Dean revels in the feeling that he is being cared for; treasured. He lets his own hand fall to Cas’ hips as he pushes breathy sighs against his tongue.
“It's been so long,” Cas says between kisses, “Since I touched someone like this.”
Dean's hands clench against Cas.
“I thought,” Dean starts, stops to shake his head, and then restarts, “Wait. What?”
Cas dips down to steal another kiss, but Dean turns, confused.
“No. I mean–” Dean’s lips try to form words, but sound is difficult to make. He closes his eyes for a moment to regroup. “You bring people up here all the time.”
Dean feels the faint tremble of Cas attempting to suppress a laugh.
“I sell them weed, Dean.”
Dean shoots him an incredulous look. No fucking duh. That’s not exactly what he’s concerned about. He’s worried that Hipster Stonington here is lying to spare his feelings. Does Cas think he’s some delicate, virginal prom queen? You come in your pants one fucking time–
“I tell them bullshit meditative techniques,” Cas continues, “Try to play up the whole granola mystic thing.” He runs a hand along Dean’s cheek. “I haven’t wanted anyone else. Not since you.”
Dean can’t respond to that. He just lies there, trapped under the hot-as-fuck body of one Mr. Krushnic. He’s too stunned to even wish for the words to tell Cas that he feels the same damn way.
“You’re the only one I want, Dean.”
Dean tries to see the lie, expecting to see it hidden behind blank, glassy eyes. But, when he looks, he’s met with perfect clarity. Whatever high Cas might have had is long gone; replaced with nothing but earnest honesty. It’s a look he’s never seen on Cas before and Dean realizes that everything he wants is right in front of him, asking for him in return. And Dean is so beyond ready to give.
“Me neither,” Dean shakes his head softly from side to side, “No one else.”
Apparently, that was the right thing to say. Cas is tearing at the clothes between them before Dean can even shut his mouth around the last word. Cas pulls at his jeans and Dean can barely wriggle his way out of the damn things before Cas is then throwing them on the floor.
Dean moves to pull his sweater over his head, but Cas reaches out to still him.
“Leave it on.”
“Cas, I’m burning up, man.” Dean waggles his eyebrows and darts forward to press a kiss to Cas’ lips. “You make me so damn hot.”
Cas catches Dean’s lower lip between his teeth. The command that rumbles around the trapped flesh is nearly feral, “Leave. It. On.”
Hot fucking damn. Cas’ possessive growl is the best thing Dean’s cock has ever heard. Lil’ Deano is at the fullest mast he can achieve. Looks like Dean is outnumbered two against one: the sweater stays on.
He turns his attention back to Cas’ devastatingly dressed body. Dean isn’t sure he can maneuver Cas into the full, naked position without separating their lips. But, Cas takes care of it. Somehow. The asshole manages to make himself that impossible bit sexier by getting fully nude one-handed and proving he’s one flexible motherfucker.
“What can I say?” an impressively naked Cas laughs between them. “I’m bendy.”
Dean’s caught off guard as Cas ducks his head into the pocket of space between Dean's sweater and the hollow of his throat. He didn’t realize how arousing Cas’ breaths could feel trapped between cloth and skin. Without conscious permission, he lets his own breathless giggle melt into Cas’ mouth.
“Turn over, Dean.”
“Cas. No. I can’t– Man, I’ll never make it if you use that fucking tongue against me again.”
Cas runs his index finger down Dean’s jaw, “Who said I’d use my tongue?”
Dean feels embarrassment spread across his cheeks. He probably looks like a goddamn teenager, all flush and freckles. His mind wanders back to the last time Cas had touched him - the way that his tongue had licked at his hand; the way the heat of his mouth felt against Dean’s fingers. Dean can’t help as the spike of arousal spreads his blush.
Cas’ eyes rove down along Dean’s covered chest, resting when they reach the aching hardness of Dean’s cock. “Unless, of course, you’d rather use your tongue on me?”
“Yeah,” Dean pants, “I want to use my tongue.” He reaches out to lift Cas’ chin so that their eyes meet, “and then I want to ride you.”
Cas is on his hands and knees before Dean can finish his sentence.
Despite having never been this close to a naked man before, Dean knows exactly what he wants to do. He’s seen enough porn and done enough research since meeting Cas that he’s now only mostly worried that he’s gonna do this wrong.
He’s anxious to get to the main event, but Dean allows himself a moment to take in the truly gorgeous body below him. Cas has the sort of lean, firm body that makes Dean’s mouth water. He’s toned and powerful and Dean can only wish that his own pudgy tum could be coaxed into revealing hip bones as sharp as the one’s belonging to Cas. Don’t even get him started on the perfect, meaty thighs gripped underneath his fingers.
Dean should probably tell Cas how gorgeous he looks. He should tell him how much he’s wanted this; since the very first moment they met on that darkened rural road. How he’d never thought he could want anyone the way he wants Cas. How he’s willing to do anything to be with him. But he can’t right now. He knows he’s supposed to be capable of fully-formed thoughts and sentences, even when he’s this turned on, but he can’t come up with a reason why he should waste the energy on that thinking-talking shit when his tongue could be put to such better uses.
Dean pushes his tongue out through his lips, letting it rest on the lower lip for a moment as he wets it. Cas can’t see this part, but Dean still wants to make it a show to remember. He raises his index finger to his mouth, sucking it between his lips. He get his finger nice and wet and then grabs Cas’ left ass cheek in one hand and spreads it to the side. He traces his finger around Cas’ puckered hole, reveling in the soft gasp that escapes from Cas.
Dean moves his hand from Cas’ ass and pushes down on his back. Cas ducks his head into the pillows and cants his ass up in the air, pushing back against Dean’s finger. Dean leans over his body to whisper in his ear, “You like that Cas? Like the way I make you feel?”
Cas moans in response, circling his ass in a bid to find friction.
“If you want more,” Dean says, “All you gotta do is ask. You want my tongue, Cas?”
“If you don’t start using your tongue,” Cas grits out, “I’m going to make you come without ever laying a hand on you. Again.”
Dean scrambles back before Cas can follow through on his threat. This isn’t going to be the first ass Dean’s eaten, but it’s definitely the one he’s most excited about. He flattens his tongue and presses it up against Cas’ hole, thoroughly wetting it before darting the tip inside. Cas moans beneath him and Dean feels his dick twitch at the sound.
Dean doubles down on his enthusiasm and starts tongue-fucking Cas like a man possessed. In what could be minutes or hours or lifetimes, Cas is writhing below him and Dean can feel the first beads of precome start to pearl on the tip of his cock.
He keeps one hand on Cas’ back, taking a brief moment to take his tongue from Cas’ ass to wet his free hand. He reaches under Cas to find him just as aroused.
“My Cas,” Dean groans, “what a thick cock you have.”
“It’s better to fuck you with,” Cas snarls. He bats Dean’s hand out of the way, and in an instant rolls them over, practically pouncing on top of Dean. Cas fumbles for lube in his discarded pants and manages to rip it open with his teeth and holy fucking hell Dean’s cock is going to explode because that is so goddamn hot.
Dean wills himself to hold on for dear life as Cas starts to scissor him open. In some far, distant corner of Dean’s mind, he knows that Cas is being slow and gentle and careful. But Dean’s so far gone in feel and taste and pleasure that he can barely remember his own name.
“Dean,” Cas grunts, “You need to tell me.”
Dean tries to focus on the sexy, low rumble of Cas’ voice. “Grumph?”
“Dean, look at me.”
Dean stares up at the sweat beading on Cas’ neck, at the way his own hand tangles in the curls at the base of Cas’ neck, and the beautiful curl of his lips as Cas talks.
“Tell me you want me to fuck you, Dean.”
“Cas,” Dean pulls Cas down so that his mouth is resting against his own, “I thought I said I was going to ride you.”
A low growl deep in his chest indicates Cas’ approval. Dean takes his cue to push Cas down onto his back and quickly climb on top. He pulls a condom out of the pocket in his hoodie and thanks those same gods he still doesn’t believe in that he was a boy scout in his youth. Dean rolls the condom onto Cas’ cock and then lines himself up over it.
He’s played with enough toys that he thinks he’s more or less prepared for what he’s about to experience. But, as he lowers himself onto Cas, he realizes that nothing could have prepared him for just how fucking mind-blowing it feels to have a sweating, breathing, kissing partner attached to the huge cock sitting in his ass.
“You feel so fucking good,” Dean moans.
“No shit,” Cas huffs.
Dean laughs and dips his head to rest on Cas’ glistening chest. “Asshole.”
“Maybe,” Cas presses kisses into Dean’s hair, “but I’m kinda more focused on yours.”
Dean rocks himself down onto Cas and captures his mouth in a heated kiss. He’s close, so fucking close, and he wants to bring Cas right over the edge with him. He reaches both arms behind Cas and forces them to sit up together. He braces his arms around Cas’ shoulders and rides him like the fucking fate of the world depends on it.
Dean is losing his mind in the swirl of sensation and he tells Cas that he’s ready. So fucking ready. Asks if Cas is ready too.
Cas pants into Dean’s mouth declarations of bliss and profanity and passion. He lets his hands drift down to Dean’s ass, pulling him closer and closer with each thrust. Finally, he reaches between them and circles Dean’s hard, leaking cock with one of his soft, gentle hands. The touch of those fantasy-inducing fingers against Dean’s heated skin is almost more than he can take.
“Come for me, Dean.”
With a final, firm stroke, Dean shoots hot ropes of come between them. It coats Cas chest and smears across Dean’s hoodie. Cas’ eyes grow wide at the sight and Dean feels him begin to pulse inside him. Dean kisses Cas through his orgasm, trailing soothing hands up and down his partner’s back.
“Good,” Dean murmurs, “You did so good.”
Cas sighs as he falls back onto the bed. He lowers a hand to the base of his softening cock and Dean rolls off to lay beside him. Dean finally takes off his sweater and uses it to tidy them up. Cas ties off the condom and they throw both onto the floor.
“Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?” Cas asks.
Dean pushes the matted hair back from Cas’ forehead, tucking an errant curl behind his ear. “Why’s that?”
Cas' brow creases and he squints at Dean. “I didn’t think you’d had sex with a man before.”
“Hadn’t.” Dean laughs and pulls Cas up against him, pressing their naked chests together. “Now I have.” He kisses Cas slow and sweet. “And I will again.”
Cas settles in against Dean, the predatory wolf transforming to a snuggling puppy in his sated state. Dean just wraps his arms tighter, burying his nose in Cas’ hair and taking in the scent of happiness. He’s just beginning to drift to sleep when the door to the room bangs open.
Dean bolts up to see a bewildered Sam standing in the doorway.
“In my bed, Dean!?”
Dean casts a groggy look at the room around them: moose-sized flannel, nerdtastic study guides, an old Stanford pennant on the wall… So, not Cas’ room after all. He looks over to Cas, who appears to be reaching the same delayed conclusion. Wouldn’t you know it? The bastard looks beautiful when he’s surprised.
Dean shrugs and looks back to his brother, pasting on his best shit-eating grin, “Heya, Sammy.”