It starts with the words teach me--, with Sam off with Ruby somewhere, and Castiel appearing in their motel room, face illuminated by the flickering neon sign outside the window that the cheap-ass drapes just can't block out.
It starts with Anna, it starts with Uriel, it starts with Cas looking at Dean like he thinks that one of them's a little bit broken, but he doesn't know which one.
It starts with I just want to feel--, and Dean can get behind that, seriously he can. Because he knows the easiest way to lose yourself is to do it in touch and need and want. But most of all, he can get behind it because it's his motel room that Castiel appeared in. Not some church or some monastery or some other house of the God that sent him down to Earth, but here, in a shit-hole next to the interstate. And that means that Castiel isn't after prayer or thought or absolution for his sins. He's after something else entirely. And Dean, saviour of angels, kittens and idiots called Sam Winchester, is more than happy to oblige.
When they'd first checked in Dean had thought the light in the bathroom was too glaring, too sharp. Thought that maybe the owners should have gone for something softer; something a little easier on the eyes and less likely to pick out the green mould between the tiles on the wall. But now, shining down on Castiel with crystal clarity, the reflection of them both in the mirror clear and bright and perfect, Dean's starting to appreciate how fucking awesome a 100 watt bulb can be.
Cas's trench coat has been abandoned on Dean's bed, and Dean thinks he looks kinda naked without it, but not naked enough. Nowhere near naked enough. Not yet.
Dean can feel the heat from Castiel's body as he steps behind him, closing the gap between them until Cas's clean white shirt is pressed against a Zeppelin tee that's seen better days.
Castiel doesn't move as Dean's fingers slide under his shirt collar, running along his tie until they reach the knot. His eyes are closed, and Dean can feel trembling under the hand that's resting on Cas's hip, although he's sure the angel'll deny it if he comments on it.
"Open your eyes." Dean murmurs the words into Cas's ear, his fingers tugging gently at the tie.
There's a beat, two, before Cas's eyes open, blue meeting green in the mirror.
"Y'see," Dean says, other hand moving from Castiel's hip to unknot the tie, "you've got to find out what you like." Wrapping the tie around his fingers, he pulls the strip of cheap fabric from Cas's neck, dropping it to the floor. "Do you like it slow? Calm, soft strokes, just enough to hold you on the edge for hours?" Dean's hand brushes over the front of Cas's trousers, barely-there touch just enough to feel the cock beginning to stir behind the fabric.
"I--" Dean's finger over Cas's lips stop the words, his other hand resting briefly on Cas's stomach.
"Or do you like it fast?" Dean continues. Without warning, Dean moves his hand from Castiel's stomach, harsh and sudden against Cas's cloth-covered cock. Cas jerks at the touch, moving into Dean like he can't help himself. And Dean figures he'd want it like that, with just that edge of pain to make it good.
Castiel's breath is ghosting over Dean's fingertips, hot and sweet and just too fast. And Dean thinks that even if Castiel wanted to speak, he couldn't. Because Dean's good at this, at touching and holding and making someone's body think everything that's happening is their idea.
Leaning forward, Dean nips at Castiel's ear as he nudges the angel's ankle with his foot. "Shoe."
The word breaks the silence Castiel is holding himself in, his head turning slightly and Dean's fingers sliding off his lips. "You wish me to leave?" And fuck if Cas isn't sounding like someone just kicked his puppy.
Dean's teeth fasten on Cas's ear again, easier to reach now that Castiel has moved. The nip is harder this time, Dean's tongue darting out to sooth at the red mark he leaves behind. "Don't you dare," he says, stepping back before sinking to his knees. And this was easier when he was younger, but at least he's not in a back alley this time; at least he's not on his knees just to suck cock so Sam can eat because the money Dad left them has run out.
He taps his fingers on Castiel's ankle as he looks up. "Lift."
Castiel meets Dean's eyes before lifting his foot, hand reaching out to the sink to balance himself.
Dean pulls off the shoe and throws it in the corner to land on the tie that's already there. The shoes Cas is wearing aren't expensive ones; they're not $10 WalMart specials but they're certainly not Italian leather, and a night on the floor of a motel bathroom isn't about to hurt them. The sock Castiel has on follows, and Dean doesn't know why he's a little disappointed to find out that they're just plain black and functional, but he is.
He runs a finger lightly along the sole of Cas's foot, feeling the shiver that runs through him at Dean's touch, before moving onto the other foot.
It's only when Castiel is barefoot that Dean stands, pressing against him and knowing that the angel can feel Dean's hard cock, still confined behind his jeans, reaching for him.
"Open your shirt." Because Dean wants Cas to participate in this, to know that he gave himself over to Dean's hands willingly.
Castiel's hands reach the button on his collar the same time as Dean's hands reach the one on his trousers. And there's tremors running through Cas's body; fine shivers that mean it takes him a couple of attempts before the shirt button finally slides free.
"Dean, please--" Cas's voice is soft, a hint of longing scoring each tone as Dean's fingers open his trousers and slip inside, other hand gripping Cas's hip.
"Keep going--" Because Dean's that much of a bastard that he's ignoring the pleading, ignoring the fact that he has an angel of the Lord in his arms and fucking begging for Dean to touch him. He presses a kiss to Cas's shoulder, lips covering fabric, his hand resting at the base of Castiel's stomach, fingertips lightly trailing through the wiry hair he can feel.
Castiel's breath hitches, softly swallowed gasp spreading through him and into Dean where their bodies touch, spreading into Dean at lips and fingers and crotch.
"Keep going--" Dean repeats, fingertips pressing into Cas's stomach. "Because I'm not moving until you do."
The sigh is quiet, a barely audible breath laced with want, as Cas undoes the next button. And the next. And the circles Dean is rubbing into Castiel's skin dip closer to the angel's cock with each button, fingertips skimming the base of hard flesh as Castiel reaches the last one and his shirt finally falls open.
"Good boy--" The praise whispers across the back of Cas's neck, drowning the whimper that escapes from Cas's lips as Dean's hands move away from his cock, fingers wrapping in white cotton to slide the shirt off Castiel's shoulders and add it to the pile of discarded clothes in the corner.
"Dean--" Castiel's hands reach back, fingers flexing in the air before they reach Dean's jeans, gripping the denim until his knuckles turn white. Dean's fingers carding through Castiel's hair cut off further words, Dean's name segueing into a subtle purr vibrating through Cas's body and reminding Dean of the alley cats that used to live around the motels they'd stay in when they were kids. Cats, fur matted and half-starved, that avoided people with quick tempers and hard hands, but so desperate for affection that they'd sometimes risk it anyway.
"Dean, please--" Because Castiel's cock is still hard and straining, still trapped behind the boxers Cas is wearing, even if his trousers are open.
And this is what Dean has been waiting for, Castiel wanting and begging, reduced to only the need to have Dean touching him.
"You want it, Cas?" Fingers dancing over Cas's side, skin warm as Dean presses harder, branding his name into Castiel's flesh in red and purple and blue, print on Castiel's hip to match the one on Dean's shoulder. "You want me to hold you down, to fuck you?" Hand back on Castiel's stomach, pressing him closer to Dean, closer to the hardness throbbing between Dean's legs.
"Yes--" There's no hesitation in Cas's reply as his body pushes into Dean's, ass flush against Dean's crotch. And the metallic edge of his jeans zipper is biting into the head of Dean's cock, sharpness barely softened by his boxers, but he doesn't care. He doesn't care because there's no fucking way he's moving now, not with Castiel hard and hot and fucking ready.
Dean keeps his hand on Castiel's hip as his other moves to Cas's face, skirting lightly over Cas's cheek before reaching his mouth. His fingers rub across Castiel's lips, and the last time he felt lips this soft was Becky Anderson, both of them fifteen and wedged into a janitor's closet. And Dean wonders if Castiel will taste of the same chemical cherry taste Becky did when Dean kisses him. Maybe. Although he doubts if the angel will slide to his knees as sweetly.
The word is still dying in the air when Castiel's lips open, Dean's fingers sliding inside to wet and warm. And Dean doesn't know what memories Castiel is calling on, but his tongue is laving over skin, wetness replacing sweat and the ingrained gun oil Dean knows is there. He's beginning to think that maybe Castiel would slide sweetly to his knees, hands on Dean's thighs and eyes holding Dean's gaze as he takes a cock down his throat for the first time. Beginning to think that it's going to happen before the night is through.
His fingers are spit-slick when Dean finally pulls them from Cas's mouth, Cas's lips reddened and swollen from Dean's thumb rubbing over them. Spit-slick when he wraps them around Castiel's cock, flesh hard and hot under Dean's touch as it's finally released to the air.
"Keep your eyes on us." Command backed-up by Dean's free hand under Castiel's chin, thumb stroking Cas's neck as Dean holds his face towards the mirror, holds the reflection of Castiel's gaze with his own.
Cas's breath stutters as Dean's grip on his cock tightens, stutters as Dean starts to jerk him, fingers moving gently over his flesh.
"Slow and calm?" Dean asks, cadence of his voice matching the smooth strokes over Castiel's cock. "Or harsh and fast?" Sharper and sudden, and Cas's hands release their grip on Dean to grasp at air.
"What do you want, Cas?" Because Dean's not doing anything more until Cas tells him, until Cas lets him know what he wants, what he needs.
"Harsh--" Castiel gasps out. "Harsh and fast--"
But Dean still doesn't move, feels Cas's cock twitching in his grip as he presses a kiss to Castiel's shoulder, sweat and salt and a hundred things an angel shouldn't taste of on his lips.
Dean releases Castiel's chin, catches one of Cas's hands in his and twines their fingers together, as he starts to move, stripping Castiel's cock. And this, this, is what Dean wants. Castiel, hard and begging and fucking perfect in his need. And all Dean's.
"C'mon, Cas." Because Castiel can't last long, not like this. Can't last long with Dean's fingers around his cock and moving into Dean's touch. Can't last long with each whimper that's being forced out of his throat, low and keening, as Dean takes him apart. "C'mon--"
"Dean--" A cross between a plea and a prayer falling from Cas.
Dean tightens his hold on Cas's hand, tightens his hold until Castiel's fingers turn white. "Do it, Cas--" Soft but insistent. "Come for me--"
And Cas does, fingers clamping around Dean's and body thrusting into Dean's grip as he comes, gasping and shuddering and Dean's name on his lips.
And Dean knows this is blasphemy and sacrilege all rolled into one, standing in a cheap motel bathroom with an angel's come dripping from his fingers. He knows it as he presses a kiss to Castiel's shoulder. He knows it as he lifts his hand to Castiel's mouth, smearing the come across Cas's lips. And he knows it as he leads Castiel from the bathroom and to the bed, intent on burying himself so far in Castiel's body that the angel will never be rid of him.
He knows it. He just can't bring himself to care.