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Of Pirate Princesses, Cowboys and Firemen

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Dozens of red and gold leaves give off a satisfying crunch that seamlessly coalesces into the late October air when a pile of them is abruptly crushed by a fallen angel. Said fallen angel shuts his eyes and breathes in deep, a faint smile playing at the edges of his lips. He’s also wearing a bright orange sweater with a huge jack-o'-lantern face on it.

Dean watches fondly as Cas soaks in the divine bliss that is autumn, even revels in it a little bit himself. It’s a peaceful, quiet moment, disturbed only by the sound of squirrels skittering around in the yard. Cas is lying in a pile of leaves that Dean himself raked only an hour ago, which Dean finds almost comical. Because, really? With the life that he’s led, never in a million years did he think he’d ever be voluntarily raking leaves in a flat that he pays rent for every month. Yet here he is, sitting on their tiny porch as Cas lays in a pile of them amidst their veritable horrorland of Halloween decorations. This has been his life for months - almost a year - and sometimes it’s still very surreal.

“Join me, Dean?” Cas asks, gaze veering from the gray, overcast skies to where Dean is sitting.

“No! I was promised pumpkin pie,” Dean replies in a faux whiny tone. “The longer we’re outside, the less time you’re in the kitchen making me pie.”

“I’m not your housewife, Dean,” Cas says shortly. “Besides, we have to carve our jack-o’-lanterns first either way.” He makes a scarcely audible huff that Dean only picks up on because he knows Cas so well. “To redeem yourself of that comment, you must join me.”

Dean leaves the two large bags from the the local Halloween store that he’s been holding on the porch beside their assortment of pumpkins and stands up, striding over to Cas. He stops above the leaf pile, looking at his boyfriend.

“Can’t argue with that logic,” he says with a grin, and plops down so that the leaves crunch beneath him and some fly about.

“Thank you,” Cas says warmly, and Dean grabs his hand, lacing their fingers together. They stay there a long moment before Cas stretches and sits up. He looks at Dean for a moment, as though contemplating something, and Dean looks back at him. Cas leans down and kisses him gently before getting to his feet and offering a hand to Dean.

“I’d like to try on our costumes now,” Cas announces as Dean scrambles to his feet. Both of Dean’s eyebrows raise.

“I’m not putting that damn thing on until Halloween.”

At this, Cas puts on what Dean can only define as The-Puppy-Dog-Face-Cas-Stole-From-Sam. He grabs the bags and two of their five pumpkins when the reach the porch and Dean grabs the other three. There’s a bit of awkwardness as Cas reaches into Dean’s pocket to grab the house keys and open the door without dropping anything.

“Hey, don’t give me that face. I agreed to wear a stupid costume. I get to choose when,” Dean retorts. He leads them into the kitchen, where they dump the pumpkins on the table and Cas opens the bags from the Halloween store, peering in.

“I’d like to see how it fits. You wouldn’t try it on in the store,” Cas persists. Dean shakes his head resolutely.

“You see it on Halloween, Cas, no room for negotiation. And after that it gets burned.”

Cas chuckles.

“That would be fairly ironic, considering what the costume is.”

Cas has a fair point; there’s a sort of poetic irony to the idea of a burning fireman costume. Which, somehow, is what Cas convinced Dean to wear for Halloween. To be fair, Cas’ costume is 100% the product of Dean whining and practically begging that Cas humor his... not fetish. Dean does not have a cowboy fetish. He likes westerns and he likes his boyfriend, so why not combine the two?

And, hey, if the mental image alone makes his mouth water a little, it’s still not evidence that it’s a fetish.

“Ironic, maybe, but totally happening,” Dean says with a shrug and a grin.

Cas sighs heavily and the vestiges of his pout slowly ebb from his face, and Dean counts it as a win. He rarely has the ability to hold a candle to those big blue eyes. He’s got it down to a science, and Dean firmly holds to the theory that Sam taught it to him intentionally.

“Time for jack-o’-lanters,” Cas says, dismissing Dean entirely.

“And then pie?” Dean asks hopefully.

“Yes, Dean. And then pie,” Cas agrees, sighing facetiously as he pulls the carving set from the bag and sits down. “What are you going to carve?”

“Uh. A scary face? Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?” Dean asks, sitting at the table opposite Cas. Cas wrinkles his nose.

“That’s not very festive,” he says, frowning. Dean sits back in his seat and groans.

“You and your holidays, man. Never can be easy, can they? What should I carve?”

“That’s for you to decide, Dean,” Cas replies unhelpfully. He starts carving off the tops of the pumpkins while Dean stews on this.

“What are you making?” Dean asks after a while. At this point, Cas is scooping pumpkin pulp into a large bowl and Dean has been watching him absently.

“I’m making a rabbit so that Sunshine can participate in Halloween, and I’m also making... a feather.”

Dean raises an eyebrow at Cas.

“A feather?”

Cas squirms and stares diligently at his pumpkin.

“Wings,” he says softly, his grip on his carving tool slipping. Dean takes a deep breath because he suddenly gets it and kind of wishes he hadn’t asked. He covers Cas’ hand with his own and gives it a squeeze. Cas looks up at him gratefully, and whatever lingering sadness might have been in his eyes is gone.

“Can I carve a pentagram?” Dean asks finally, steering the subject away from symbolism and wistfulness. “It could look badass and protect the house at the same time.”

Cas’ eyes light up, and he looks incredibly pleased.

“That sounds perfect, Dean.”


They end up with four jack-o’-lanterns out front with flickering candles inside, bright lights making the designs glow brightly against the dark October night. Dean surprised them both by being quite skilled with a carving knife - which, in hindsight, shouldn’t have been much of a surprise - and his pentagram looks fearsome and intimidating. He’s also to credit for the creepy-faced jack-o’-lantern who shares the porch with the other designs. Both Cas and Dean decided it wouldn’t be right not to indulge the classic, stereotypical pumpkin.

The fifth pumpkin went to the awesome pie currently baking in the oven, for which Dean is practically salivating in anticipation. The smell of it resonates throughout the tiny apartment and Dean can smell it from where he sits on the couch beside Cas, sipping hot apple cider. Nightmare Before Christmas is playing on the TV and Cas is watching it intently. On the screen, Jack sings “But who here would ever understand / that the pumpkin king with the skeleton grin / Would tire of his crown? If they only understood / he'd give it all up if he only could and Dean thinks the guy is pretty alright for a creature he’d probably gank if he existed in real life. Dean usually hates Halloween movies because they’re so lame in comparison to real life - and, thankfully, Cas agrees - but Dean kinda likes the kid movies Cas has been choosing for them to watch. However, he totally didn’t cry when Casper met his mom or anything. That would be decidedly unmanly.

“Hey, Cas?” Dean asks as ‘Jack’s Lament’ ends. Cas breaks his laser stare from the TV and gives Dean an appraising look.

“Yes, Dean?”

“You haven’t mentioned what we’re actually doing for Halloween tomorrow. I mean, we’re kind of old to go trick-or-treating.”

Cas furrows his brow thoughtfully, as though this has just occurred to him. In his frenzy of decorating and preparing, he seems to have forgotten the main event. Not that the place doesn’t look as amazing as ever for the occasion. Orange and black streamers are strung across the ceiling, and bats and spiders hang amongst them. Skeletons of various sizes decorate the shelves and walls, smiling wickedly. Pumpkin and ghost shaped candles have replaced the usual ones on every open space there is. Dean’s favorite ones are white and appear to be dipped in red blood. They even have a bath mat in the bathroom that looks like blood when it’s stepped on with wet feet. All in all, their house is creepy and creative as hell, and Dean loves it.

“I suppose we could dress up and pass out candy to trick-or-treaters,” Cas says after a moment. “And afterwards, we could -”

Cas’ thought is interrupted by the sound of Dean’s phone ringing, blasting out the chorus of Hell’s Bells. Dean fishes through his pocket for it and finds Jayne’s number glowing on the screen. He answers it immediately.

“Dean?” Jayne asks, sounding... inexplicably hesitant.

“Yeah, that’d be me. What’s up?” Dean asks, sitting back in his seat and squishing in beside Cas. Cas leans in and listens.

Jayne heaves a sigh.

“I got called into work tomorrow,” she says, and Dean can just picture how she’s probably biting her lip anxiously, wrinkling worn worry lines in her forehead that have been caused prematurely by half a decade as a single mother. He has to smile; he knows where she’s going with this, and he knows how relieved she’ll be in a moment.

“I was supposed to go trick or treating with Lyric,” she  goes on dejectedly, “but I can’t afford not to go in tomorrow. Are you - is there... is there any chance you and Castiel aren’t working tomorrow?”

Dean laughs at the way Cas perks up and his eyes light up.

“We have every holiday off, even the dumb ones. It’s pretty much part of our contract. We’d love to take the kid trick-or-treating. In fact, you have no idea how much we’d love to. Holidays are kind of a big deal to us.”

This time when Jayne sighs, it’s in relief.

“You’re both angels,” she says, which Dean finds amusing. He winks at Cas, who cracks a smile.

“When should we pick her up?” Dean asks.

“Would you mind picking her up at school? She gets out of kindergarten at three. I’ll let the teacher know who you are.”

“Let her know it’s the firefighter and the cowboy,” Dean says, and Jayne laughs.

“Firefighter and the cowboy, got it. She’ll be so excited. She really does love you guys, probably more than you know.  It’s... nice, having father figures in her life. I think she needed that more than I realized.”

Dean swallows something in his throat and clears it to subsequently clear his head. Cas looks at him curiously and Dean reminds himself he’s on the phone and is expected to speak.

“Yeah, well, I think we needed a kid in our lives more than we realized, too. So that worked out pretty well.”

And, damn, if Dean doesn’t ever mean it.


“I look stupid,” Dean calls from the bathroom irritably, adjusting his firefighter hat in the mirror. He definitely does, too, and the only thing that made him maintain his commitment to this after putting it on is the passing comment Cas made about how eagerly he anticipates peeling off all the costume’s layers tonight. Which, yeah, pretty good incentive there.

Cas, to his surprise, doesn’t chime in with his dissent. When Dean wanders out of the bathroom, he finds Cas staring at himself in the hall mirror with his head tilted and his brow furrowed.

“I don’t think this is a period accurate costume, Dean,” Cas says, hands worrying the edges of the cowboy hat in his hands. Dean snorts.

“Who’s the Western movie buff here, Cas? Me or you?”

Cas gives him a deadpan stare.

“And who was alive during the Western era, Dean?”

This effectively shuts Dean up because, yeah, the guy kind of has a point there. And if Dean’s willing to admit - and he’s not - he may have veered from the more accurate costumes and chosen something a little more form-fitting for his boyfriend. It’s not Dean’s fault that the button-up black collared shirt and faded brown leather vest look better on the guy than its more authentic counterpart would. Dean’s not sorry, nope. He made the right decision here.

“Listen, Cas. I think you look sexy as hell - and that’s what counts, right? I’m not even entirely sure if I wanna let you out of the house so that other people can see you. Don’t want any strange men trying to take you home.”

Cas looks adorably confused, tilting his head just the slightest bit.

“I don’t understand. Why would strange men try to take me home?”

Dean laughs, ruffling Cas’ hair.

“Well, for starters, you ask questions like that. C’mon, we’ve gotta go pick up Lyric. If I have to wear this, you have to wear that. Let’s go.”

Cas stares at the hat in his hands for a moment, shakes his head, and then subtly drops it on the couch on their way out. Dean almost whines about it, but he decides to let it slide. Cas doesn’t even need the hat. He’s already there.


Kindergarteners are picked up from a side entrance that leads into a fenced playground area. Parents - almost exclusively mothers, it seems - wait here for their kids to get out of school every day. Younger children who are not yet school age are allowed to play here while their mothers wait.

Dean and Cas arrive with time to spare, and consequently find themselves in this area with the mothers. Dean and Cas are the only men, and are two of the four total parents in costumes. They stick out like sore thumbs and are getting weird looks accordingly.

Just as it’s getting so awkward that Dean’s tempted to just bail and tell  Cas to meet him with Lyric in the Impala, the school bell resounds through the playground. The kindergarten classes’ doors open with children lined up on the other side of them, and Dean can see Lyric at the front of one of them, wiggling excitedly. When she catches sight of Cas and Dean across the playground, her eyes go wide and she waves spastically. The teacher, who’s standing beside her, follows Lyric’s line of vision and smiles at Dean and Cas. She waves and then sends Lyric off, and the little girl bounds across the playground at high speed. Only then does Dean get a good look at her costume.

“A princess... pirate?” Dean asks incredulously, giving a tug on one of her tiny pigtails. She nods enthusiastically and steps back, spinning around to show off her outfit.

“I’m so excited because it’s Halloween and you guys are here and we’re gonna trick or treat and get candy.” Dean puts a hand on her head to stop her spinning before they both get dizzy. Now that her spinning’s stopped, he can fully take in the humor in the little girl’s outfit. She’s wearing it with an eyepatch, a red bandana with a skull on it, and a tiny black vest. Her hair has skull barrettes at the base of both ponytails.

“We are excited too, Lyric,” Cas says - which is hilarious, because the guy is so monotone that it hardly shows. Lyric doesn’t question it for a moment, though, and Dean likes that. For a kid, she really seems to get Cas, which Dean’s grateful for.

“We’re gonna hit every house in town until you can’t walk anymore, kid. You’ll make out like a bandit,” Dean says, winking at her as they make their way out of the playground.

“Like a pirate,” Lyric protests, giving him a firm, reproaching look. Then she adds, “A princess pirate.”

Dean raises both hands in a signal of surrender.

“Sorry, sorry. Don’t make me walk the plank.”

“I can’t, you’re the captain!” she chirps, all feigned sternness gone, and she grabs both Cas and Dean’s hands and walks between them, humming some nondescript pirate song that she may or may not be making up as she goes.

Lyric runs up to the first house, pigtails bobbing, and for a moment all Dean can see is Sam at five years old as a chubby Spiderman, grinning as he rings the doorbell. He’s hit with a wave of nostalgia that catches him off guard as he remembers being nine years old, taking his brother trick-or-treating while their dad was passed out, drunk on the couch. Lyric says “trick or treat!” in a sing-song voice, and Dean is taken back to the concerned looks from strangers who wondered where their parents were.

But the excited look on Lyric’s face when her Jack-o’-Lantern pail is filled up also brings back the warm feeling of watching Sam’s eager face as they paraded from house to house. Something surges in Dean, something powerfully paternal, and a part of him suddenly wishes this was every day, just getting to see these little moments. He almost articulates this to Cas, who is watching Lyric fondly as she races ahead to ring another doorbell, but the words all catch on his tongue.

They trick or treat for three hours, until Lyric’s yawns are more frequent than her cries of “trick-or-treat! It’s not very late, but the combination of the sun setting early because of daylight savings time and a massive amount of walking has worn her out. Cas and Dean take turns carrying Lyric back to the Impala. Dean can’t help but smile at the sight of Lyric’s face buried in Cas’ neck, arms wrapped around him. He sneaks a photo and sets it as his phone background, replacing the picture of Dr. Sexy that was previously there.

When Jayne comes to pick Lyric up from their flat about an hour later, Lyric’s asleep on the couch, having fallen asleep in the middle of Casper. Jayne looks ragged and tired, and almost a little wistful as she watches her sleeping child once she’s been invited in.

“It gets hard to make ends meet sometimes,” she says quietly, walking over and gently letting Lyric’s hair loose from its pigtails.

“Would you like some tea?” Cas offers, and the look of sheer gratitude on her face is compelling.

“God yes.”

There’s a slight crinkle to Cas’ eyes as he goes about brewing “Boo Berry” tea for the three of  them, which Dean picks up only because of experience. Jayne is slumped back in her seat, covering her mouth as she yawns.

“I’ve been saving to buy a house,” she tells them. “I want Lyric to have a backyard some day soon. She wants a treehouse.” Jayne sighs, and Cas hands her a black teacup that has a cheerful ghost on it. “I have to work a lot more than I’d like to. And my family... well, let's just say that you guys and me are the only family Lyric has.”

“We’ll build the treehouse when you make it happen,” Dean promises without hesitation. Lyric smiles appreciatively.

“Thank you.”

They sip their tea in affable silence after that, comfortable enjoying each other’s company.Dean likes Jayne, likes her because she raised such a great kid despite all the obstacles in her path. It’s inspirational in a way that civilians usually aren’t, and Dean is incredibly endeared to her. She’s becoming kind of like family, lately.

Once their tea is drained, Jayne gives them both one last grateful smile before standing up, stretching a bit.

“I can’t thank you enough,” she says graciously. Dean facetiously rolls his eyes.

“Enough, enough - we love having her, seriously. Cas would have been pacing the flat all day trying to think of Halloween stuff to do. He got the full experience because of you guys. I should be thanking you.”

Cas nods.

“Yes. Thank you.”

Jayne has this look like she’s gazing at angels - the not-dickish kind - and Dean feels inexplicably embarrassed.

Lyric is firmly against the idea of getting up, and whines and squirms when Jayne tries to rouse her. Finally Dean just scoops her up and carries her to the car. She curls up in the backseat, and Dean notices her stick a thumb in her mouth. He takes one last look at the pirate princess, proud of the kid for being damn cool enough to request such a costume.

They all bid their adieus and Dean and Cas stand outside, watching until the car is out of sight. Only then does Cas turn to Dean.

“I’d like to strip you of all these layers now,” he says in his characteristic monotone voice, and Dean shivers and grins.

“Gonna ride me like a cowboy, huh?” He can’t help but make the pun; he’s been waiting to use it all night. Cas furrows his brow and tilts his head slightly.

“Cowboys ride horses, primarily for herding cattle,” he says blankly. Dean laughs.

“It was a - y’know what, nevermind. Basically the idea of being fucked by a cowboy is getting me pretty hot right now, and I think we should get inside before I jump you right here.”

Cas looks contemplative for a moment, brows furrowed.

“Cowboys use rope for lassos, correct?” he asks, and Dean swallows because he knows where Cas is going with this.


“Then, would it contribute to your fantasy if I tied you down when I fuck you?”

Dean shudders again, a tremor coursing through his spine.

“Inside the house. Right now. All my western fantasies are about to come true.”




When they make it into the flat, the atmosphere is thick with lust and anticipation. No sooner does the door shut behind them than Dean is on Cas, pinning him to the door with a thigh between the other man's legs, mouths crashing together. Cas' mouth slides open easily, making way for Dean's tongue lick into it. He can taste Boo Berry tea and the faintest bit of Halloween candy, but the recognition is swallowed up in a haze of sensations as they rut together, hips crashing into each other, bodies trembling. There are far, far too many layers between them.


Cas pulls back and gives Dean a gentle shove backwards, and Dean raises an eyebrow in confusion.


“Will you strip for me, Dean?” Cas asks, voice coming out deep and rough and cautiously eager, like he's afraid the request will be denied.


Like Dean could ever deny a request like that.


“Sit on the bed,” Dean instructs with a wink. “I'll give you a show.”

Cas does as he's told, plopping onto the bed and leaning back on his palms, lids and inkblot eyelashes heavy over lust blown pupils and stormy blue irises. Dean swallows hard at the sight because the guy looks so gone already, so completely taken apart, and Dean can't wait to be back on him, skin to skin, making it that much worse. He notes that Cas' hands are curled tightly in the sheets, and he smirks at the excitement that's rolling off his boyfriend in waves.


Dean walks right up into Cas' personal space with about a foot or too between them before he starts to strip. He takes his time, letting his fingers trace up and down the zipper before he finally tugs on it. He's going for the slow reveal, aiming to really put Cas out of his mind, and he inches the zipper down incrementally, smirking darkly the whole time. Cas is staring up at him like he's some kind of deity, mouth slack and open just the slightest, eyes wide and body taut. The zipper finally makes it to the end of its path and his coat is free. He shrugs out of it and chucks it easily to the side, tossing his hat along with it.


He can hear Cas suck in his breath, watches the way the other man wets his lips with his tongue, and he's almost tempted to rush through this so he can get back to touching, to move on to fucking. He doesn't, though; he appreciates the value of making Cas wait, making him want it even more than Dean does.

Dean unclips the classic firefighter suspenders one at a time, fingers playing with the buckles a moment to build the tension. He's slow about it, drawing it out, and Cas' gaze is pinned to his movements. He tugs his black t-shirt from where it's tucked into his pants, slowly revealing his skin, inch by inch. He picks up on the quietest noise from Cas once it's over his head and he tosses it on the floor with his other things. Cas' eyes shamelessly rake over Dean's bare chest and arms. Dean chuckles, loving the sight of Cas loving the sight of him.


Dean moves closer to Cas so that one of his legs is between both of Cas' legs and there's barely any space between them. They're close enough that Cas has a perfect view of the next layer of Dean's strip tease, which is his firefighter pants. His thumb drags back and forth along the hem of him pants and Cas follows the movement with his eyes, fists curling and uncurling in the sheets. Dean lets this go on for an indeterminable amount of time, just thumbing at where skin meets fabric, driving Cas wild. He watches with eager eyes as Cas' hands try to figure out what to do with themselves, frantic in the sheets.


“Dean,” Cas breathes urgently as he slides one of his hands slide into his own lap,palming at his erection. Dean takes a shaky breath, content with the level of desire he's instilled in Cas (and, subsequently, himself) and unbuttons his jeans, slowly pulling down the zipper. He takes a brief awkward moment to up the tension by removing his boots and kicking them away before he's back in Cas' personal space, pulling his pants down past his hips, slowly and unhurried.


Once he finally steps out of them and adds them to the pile of layers that has formed on the floor, he's standing in nothing but the cheesy black boxers with flames on them that Cas picked out to go with the costume. Cas is eying the tent in Dean's underwear like a feral animal, lust-pumped and ready to pounce. Dean thumbs at the edges of his boxers like he did with his pants like he intends to draw it all out the same way again, but even he's not that cruel. He pulls them down with less grace than before, finally too eager for finesse.


Cas makes a tiny, indecipherable noise that might have been a swallowed up moan at the sight of Dean free and completely naked, standing before him. It feels a little weird, wearing nothing when Cas is fully clothed, but the way Cas is looking at him is so heated that Dean doesn't have time to feel exposed. Cas reaches out and gives Dean's dick a tentative stroke, and Dean shuts his eyes, breathing shakily. Cas adjusts his grip so it's firmer, and clearly he has the intent of jerking Dean off to an excellent orgasm – which sounds great, but it's not how Dean's planned tonight going. He was completely serious about Cas riding him like a cowboy.


… not that it's a fetish or anything.


He gently directs Cas' hand away, earning an irritated huff from Cas, but all protests die on the angel's tongue when Dean sinks to his knees between the other man's legs. He nuzzles into Cas' crotch, and he can hear clearly the sound of Cas' breathing from above him, ragged and uneven. He looks up at him with a wicked grin and hungry eyes before setting to work on Cas' belt, which has a big belt buckle featuring a bull to supplement the costume. He makes a big show of pulling the belt all the way through and tossing it on the floor, and there's something decidedly hot about the noise it makes when the buckle hits the ground.


“Dean, please,” Cas rasps, hips twitching, clearly displeased with Dean's pace. Dean snickers.


“Take it easy, I've got you,” he says soothingly, running both hands up the insides of Cas' thighs before they come to rest on the button of his jeans. He pauses just long enough for Cas' hips to make themselves known again, jutting forward, though Dean isn't sure if it's intentional or not. He makes like he's going to finally get to Cas' jeans, but decides better of it and opts to remove Cas' cowboy boots instead, making Cas practically growl.


“Dean, if you do not suck me off right now, there will be serious consequences,” he hisses – and the thing is that he's totally not joking. Dean's rarely disobedient in bed, which means he's not one to ignore direct orders like that. If he's honest, he seriously gets off on Cas ordering him around. So he tosses Cas' shoes aside and finally, finally unzips Cas' jeans and tugs them down to his thighs with his underwear, freeing Cas' erection. Cas squeezes his eyes shut as Dean licks a stripe along the bottom of his dick.


“Please,” Cas all but whimpers, sounding all broken and wrecked, and, yeah Dean is so done with this slow buildup thing.


He swallows Cas up, trying to take him in as far he can. Cas is definitely the king as far as blow jobs go; his bizarre lack of gag reflex makes it so he can deep-throat like a porn star and he actually gets off ongetting his face fucked. Dean can hold his own, though, even if he's not porn star material in this particular trade. Cas has sure as hell never complained.


He finds a rhythm that works for him and sets Cas off making strangled noises, body shuddering. Dean bobs his head, tongue probing, watching as the little things he does with his tongue create noticeable reactions in Cas. Dean grips the base with one hand and uses the other to hold Cas' stuttering pelvis steady, gratified by the knowledge that Cas can't help the tiny thrusts because he's that into it. There's something overwhelming about having his mouth stuffed full of Cas, stretched wide, spit pooling at the edges of his mouth, that makes his blood run hot and his dick hard as concrete. Cas' hands are scrabbling through his hair, trying in vain to hold onto the short spikes. Finally a hand ends up on the back of Dean's neck, not quite strong enough to be considered pushing but gripping powerfully enough to make its presence known. Dean moans, short and quiet, around Cas' dick, dizzy with the sheer pleasure of sucking his partner off.


Dean knows Cas, though, and he knows that Cas won't want to come until Dean is as close as he is, so Dean reluctantly pulls off, wiping his mouth lewdly and staring up at Cas.


“On your back,” Cas hisses, not missing a beat, “right now. Wrists at the headboard.”


The second Dean gets up, Cas is heading for their closet, where they've got rope around from the last time they did this. It's sort of a special occasion kind of thing – and Cas in a cowboy outfit? Definitely a special occasion. Dean almost gleefully crawls into bed and stretches his arms out, ready to be tied down. He's been ready to fuck a cowboy since, like, middle school; he's about to live out his western fantasies.


Cas shucks his pants and underwear and goes for his vest before Dean cuts him off hurriedly.


“No! I mean, uh, can you just. Leave it on.”


Cas rolls his eyes, a gesture he picked up from Dean.


“If you wish,” he says, before he's on the bed and crawling over Dean's body, sliding them together as he works on the knots that will bind Dean to the bed. Dean's never been on this end of the restraints before; usually it's Cas who gets a random desire to be tied down. As the knots close around his wrists, though, Dean thinks he sees the appeal.


As soon as Dean is secure, Cas crashes their lips together, kissing hungrily, and Dean's struck with the weird sensation of wanting to do things with his hands that he cannot. Every instinct in him tells him to tug on Cas' hair and roam his fingers over the other man's body, but the restraints keep him pinned down.


It's fucking hot.


Cas ravages his mouth until Dean's grinding hard up against him, half unaware of the desperate pleas leaving his mouth. Cas seems freakin' immune to them, and Dean figures bitterly that it's payback for his slow pace earlier. Dean's not interested in a slow pace anymore now, though; he's so, so ready to get mounted and screwed by a goddamn cowboy right about now, and the time for buildup has ended.


“Cas, c'mon,” he all but moans into a kiss, biting down hard to get Cas' attention. “I need you, buddy. Like, right now.”


“I'd prefer you put a little more effort into your begging, Dean,” Cas says, sounding composed as hell for a guy who looks so wrecked and moments ago was receiving a pretty extraordinary blowjob. Dean knows from experience, though, that Cas is nowhere near as put together right now as he appears.


Still, Dean's become pretty shameless in the bedroom, and he doesn't think twice before giving in to the inclination to beg like a dying prisoner.


“Please,” Dean gasps, not even trying to disguise the desperation in his voice. “Please, Cas, angel, c'mon. Need you,” he adds at the end, practically squeaking it.


It's this last sentiment that seems to compel Cas, because finally he pulls back and leans over the side of the bed, foraging blindly for lube. It hits Dean with a jolt that Cas is going to be prepping himself, which sends a little chill down his spine, makes his hips thrust of their own accord. The sound of the lube's cap sounds loud in the quiet of the living room.


Cas sits on the opposite side of the bed, and Dean has just enough leverage with the ropes to sit up the slightest bit and watch Cas draw his legs up and reach beneath him with slicked up fingers. Cas' legs are wide open, and Dean's got a pretty good view of the way Cas' mouth goes slack and his eyes fall shut as he fingerfucks himself, loosening his muscles so he can ride Dean. Cas makes a stunted, choked noise when he adds a third finger, and Dean thinks he might have found his prostrate – which, whoa, not fair. Dean clears his throat and Cas' eyes snap open, as though he's been snapped out of some kind of reverie.


Then he's moving, crawling over Dean's body again and straddling his hips. He sinks down onto Dean's dick and Dean exhales deeply, body shot with pleasure at finally, finally having attention to his dick. Cas meets his eyes and they're locked in a heated staring contest for a moment before Cas starts to move.


They build up a rhythm of upward thrusts from Dean and a skillful rhythm from Cas, with Dean straining subconsciously at his ties, aching to touch Cas but loving the denial of it. Cas makes little adjustments to the angle until he hits a spot that has him moaning, body shaking. All the while, the top half of him is still fully in costume, and Dean feels like he's died and gone to a heaven straight out of every western scene he's made up to masturbate to in his life. It's awesome.


Cas is hard as hell and Dean wishes he had at least one hand free to get him off, because he can feel his own orgasm bubbling up in his lower stomach, building with every rocking motion from Cas. At this point his hands are tugging wildly and his head is pressed back firmly against the pillow, eyes squeezed shut, chest heaving. The sight of Cas above him when he opens his eyes, looking like the world's most wanton cowboy, is what finally send Dean over the edge, reigns him in like a lasso. His feet scrabble against the sheets and he gasps and pants and stutters like he's been stabbed as he comes inside Cas, hips pushing up against him. Cas' voice cracks when he all but shouts Dean's name.


Cas still hasn't come yet, though, which is just friggin unacceptable.


“Untie me, Cas,” he says, surprised at how sandpapery his voice sounds. Cas complies without protest and the moment Dean's free, he's on Cas, flipping them so that Cas is beneath him. Only now does he undress Cas, completing his every torrid western fantasy, pulse pounding all the more with every button he undoes.


Once Cas is free of the rest of his clothes, Dean trails wet kisses down Cas' body, tongue sliding over flesh from his Adam's apple to his navel, and makes his way back down to finish what he started before. Cas moans as he swallows him up, body twitching, and he's much less in control of himself than he was before. Dean's mouth is barely on Cas' dick very long and he's just barely building up a rhythm when Cas comes down his throat, nails scraping at the back of his neck.


Cas goes limp all over as Dean lazily kisses his way back up, ending at Cas' mouth. They explore each others' mouths just for the sake of reveling in the intimacy, and their bodies come together like magnets, chest to chest, limbs entwining automatically. Dean pauses a moment to pull the blankets over them, and he wraps his arms around Cas and buries his face in Cas' neck.


“Happy Halloween, Sunshine,” Dean says quietly into Cas' ear, pressing a chaste kiss to it.


“Happy Halloween, Dean.”


They fall asleep shortly after, quiet and peaceful in their spooky apartment. Dean loves this, loves that he has this, and is happy to have spent yet another holiday in the company of the fallen angel he loves.