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There’s a new kid at school who won’t stop staring at Castiel. Like, really won’t stop: spends all of his time drilling a hole into Castiel’s temple with his eyes (shut up, Castiel has no idea what colour they are) and smirking. The smirk is what’s getting to Castiel the most, to be honest, because it’s one side of his lips curling up higher than the other, a glint in his eyes (ok fine, they might be green, maybe, it’s not like he’s thought about them much) and a promise hidden in the tilt of his head, as though inclining itself to Castiel.

The boy has barely been at school a week, and Castiel already hates him.

“Cas!” someone says sharply, and it takes Castiel a few seconds and numerous blinks to realise it’s his twin sister, Anna, clicking her fingers in front of his face. Castiel turns to look at her, trying futilely to will away the flush he can feel creeping up his neck, and she’s smirking. “Taken a shine to the new kid, huh?”

Castiel scowls. “No,” he replies, sullen and petulant as he focuses resolutely on the cheeseburger that is, as yet, uneaten on his plate. “He keeps staring and it’s making me uncomfortable. What’s his problem?”

One of Anna’s eyebrows arches. “Sweetie, c’mon,” she coaxes, and when it becomes clear to her that Castiel has no idea what he was meant to garner from that vague sentence, she rolls her eyes exasperatedly. “Oh my God, Cas, you’re such an oblivious moron. He wants to get into your pants.”

“He –“ Castiel starts, and there’s no point wishing the blush away now, because he can feel it burning underneath his cheeks. Anna’s grin widens and Castiel hates her more than the new kid. “He does not want to – to get into my pants, Anna.”

This time, she responds by flicking him, hard, on his forehead. Castiel mutters an indignant ouch! and begins to rub at the offended mark, but Anna just stares at Castiel like he’s a toddler.

“Have you heard nothing about what they’re saying about him?” she asks, which is stupid because of course Castiel hasn’t. Who the hell cares about high school gossip: it’s pointless and boring and Castiel does his best to stay away from it. Anna knows Castiel feels this way, and proceeds to fill him in anyway. “He’s, like, a total sex god. I heard he got expelled from his last school for having sex on school grounds. And it was with a teacher!”

Now it’s Cas’ turn to roll his eyes. “That’s very nice and everything, but I don’t understand why that could possibly mean him fucking with me by staring is his way of – of flirting.”

“Oh, honey,” Anna coos, patting Castiel’s head like he’s a puppy. Castiel swats her hand away, grumbling, and she cackles like the witch that she is. “You’re his next target. You know, make it difficult for himself by trying to seduce the virgin. It’s totally Cruel Intentions. You’re Reese Witherspoon, how cute!”

Cas scowls again, and decides that if he ends up with really bad wrinkles by the time he’s 20, Anna is the one to blame. “I don’t understand that reference,” he replies, and she rolls her eyes again. “And I don’t think I want to. Besides, how would he even know that I’m a virgin? We’ve never even spoken.”

“Love,” she says, and Castiel decides that all terms of endearment are evil and condescending and he curses the sap who made them up. “It’s practically written across your forehead. Or, at least, those damn button downs you insist on wearing. Seriously, Cas, please let me take you shopping, I promise it won’t be like last time.”

Castiel shudders at the memory of skinny jeans and t-shirts that were two sizes too small. “No,” Castiel asserts firmly, and Anna doesn’t protest because last time was pretty damn awful and she’s lucky he’s even still talking to her. “And also shut up. He does not want to have sex with me just because I’m a virgin. Wait, scrap that: he does not want to have sex with me at all. Stop projecting your media induced bad boy fantasies onto me and let me eat my cheeseburger in peace.”

Anna opens her mouth as though to respond, and then her eyes flicker left, just to the side of Castiel’s head. Her eyes widen slightly, and Castiel is just about to turn and see what the hell she’s staring at when her hand grips onto his jaw and keeps him looking at her. A grin curls its way onto her lips and Castiel is really, really worried, because this can only mean bad things.

“I promise to leave you with your cheeseburger,” she vows, tone solemn but a glint in her eyes that Castiel does not like. “But, I can’t promise he will.” She points behind him, and before Cas can turn she presses a kiss to his cheek, stands up and all but runs away, calling over her shoulder just before she’s out of ear shot. “Have fun, boys!”

Castiel’s face scrunches up in confusion. “What?” he mumbles, and when he turns around he freezes. Shit. New kid. Sitting next to him. Still smirking, and wow, ok, those eyes are even greener up close than Castiel initially thought. It stuns him into incoherence. “Oh. Um. What?”

New kid is smirking – when is he not, really – and he reaches over to grab a fry off of Cas’ plate, pushes it into his mouth and chews obscenely. Castiel averts his eyes, because he is not popping a boner in the school cafeteria. It’s when his head is ducked that the guy speaks.

“You’re Cas,” he states, and fuck, his fucking voice. Slight accent, gruff and rough and Castiel is so not popping a boner in the cafeteria! Castiel has it in him to raise his head and look at the new kid, to refuse to be some shy little nerd that everyone assumes him to be, and nod. This makes the new kid smile. “Nice name. I’m Dean.”

“That’s nice,” he responds, quick and sarcastic. Dean’s lip twitches into an even bigger smile and Castiel tells himself that it makes him annoyed, meaning he pointedly ignores the way his heart stutters and the way his lips want to smile right back. “Why do you keep staring at me?”

Dean laughs out loud, and Castiel tries not to look at his freckles and the way his nose scrunches when he does. “To the point,” Dean murmurs, still smiling. “I like that.”

“How lovely,” Castiel states, and he’s not usually this sarcastic, but today he seems to be meeting his year’s quota. “But that didn’t answer my question. Can I help you in any way, or do you just enjoy creeping out people you’ve never spoken to before?”

“I’m speaking to you now,” Dean counters and Cas glares at him. He chuckles again and shakes his head slightly, and then he leans forwards slightly, lips next to Castiel’s ear, palm curved around Cas’ waist, and what the fuck is happening? “Your sister was right, just so you know. Those pants of yours look awful nice to get into. Khakis are just my kinda thing.”

Castiel’s breath catches in his throat. When Dean presses a small kiss to the spot underneath Castiel’s ear, his heart fucking stops. Then, Dean pulls away, smirking at the frozen horror look on Cas’ face, standing up with his leather jacket and ashy hair and fucking green eyes that Cas can’t not think about.

“See you round, babe,” Dean offers, lopsided grin just before he walks out of the cafeteria. All Cas can do is watch, hands twitching uselessly in his lap, cheeseburger cold and uneaten on his tray, head all a mess and having no idea what day of the week it is anymore.

Castiel’s remains sat alone at the table for a long time. He doesn’t notice the way the rest of the student body keeping glancing at him, some in wonder, some in jealousy, some in utter bewilderment. Castiel, himself, is stuck in the latter of those three options, and his brain won’t process anything enough to let him breathe again.

Lunch ends and Castiel still has no idea. The school day ends and Castiel still has no idea. Dean fucking winks at him from the driver’s seat of a big, black car just before Cas gets into his Toyota to drive him and his sister home, and Castiel is pretty sure nothing will ever make sense again.


The rest of the week passes like this: Dean stares at Cas every time they’re in the same room together. He smirks and toys with the collar of his jacket, swipes his tongue out to wet his lips like a fucking asshole and Castiel can’t remember the last time he sported a semi so often in one day since he got over the initial awkwardness of puberty. Dean knows exactly what he’s doing, and Castiel half hates him and half wants to just walk over to him and fist his hands in Dean’s hair, bite at his mouth and be pushed up against a wall, back smacking against the concrete and legs wrapping around Dean’s waist.

Yeah, it’s images like that as to why his dick is in a state of permanent high alert.

Through the means of the school’s rumour mill – namely, his sister, because she’s a clichéd little gossip no matter how much she protests the traditional gender role – Castiel learns some stuff about Dean.

For example, he learns that his full name is Dean Winchester. He learns that he’s a senior just like Cas, that he has a little brother, Sam, whom he is fiercely protective of, and that the two of them moved to Castiel’s small town from South Dakota. The reason behind the move varies depending on who Castiel asks, but each story includes some kind of allusion to Dean being caught in a compromising sexual position with someone damning. One theory includes a goddamn priest, and Castiel definitely does not find that idea incredibly hot.

Castiel has never bought into the whole bad boy fantasy. Sure, he’s comfortable in his homosexuality and is open about it and everything, but he’s never really understood the appeal of mystery, danger and, in Castiel’s opinion, someone being so much of an asshole that apparently this makes them irresistible.

Except with Dean, he can see it. He can see that the smell of leather is enough to have him horny for the whole day, how the backseat of a big, slick car looks like it’d be the perfect place to have a cock in his mouth. He sees how when Dean smirks, it makes him want to bite the smile off his face, and how when he uses names like babe and angel and sweetheart, all Cas wants is the patronising endearments kissed into his skin,.

Dean is the personification of bad boy, and Castiel, despite his best efforts, wants to be corrupted.


It’s a Friday afternoon and he’s sat on the bleachers alone during a free period so he can study in the sunshine. After a while, he sets aside his notes, twirls the pen around between his fingers and leans back against the seats. He closes his eyes to the sound of sports on the field below, a coach yelling, the feel of sunlight on his cheeks. There’s a calming influence to being outside, alone, and feeling warm air circle around him. He likes it this way, wants to keep it this way until Anna’s finished all her lessons and he can drive them home.

It quickly fades, however, when he hears a creak of someone sitting beside him, and cracking open one eye slightly he sees that it’s Dean. He groans audibly, sees Dean grin widely when he does, and he sits up properly, because if he’s going to deal with Dean, he needs to be in full control of himself, and not some lazed out version of himself that relaxation incurs.

“What do you want, Dean?”

Dean just looks out over the field, arms stretched either side of him. The one that lays behind Cas’ back is warm and solid, and Castiel has to actively keep himself from leaning back onto it, curling into Dean and giving up. Dean is an asshole. A flirtatious and lecherous dick who wants to fuck with Castiel. Hell, he’d ended their first conversation by saying he wanted into Cas’ pants, so why the hell is Castiel having any trouble at all saying no? This should be easy, because he doesn’t like horrible people, and Dean Winchester is a total dick.

“You study too much,” Dean observes eventually, still not giving Castiel his whole attention.

Cas rolls his eyes. “Thanks for your input, Winchester. I’ll be sure to keep in mind that the new kid thinks I shouldn’t work hard enough to make something of myself.”

Dean’s lip twitches upwards again, and Castiel scowls. They sit like this for a while; both just looking over the pitch where a game of baseball is in process. There’s a silence between them that feels oddly comfortable, and that shouldn’t be happening because Castiel doesn’t like Dean, so he shouldn’t be able to just sit with him in total silence and feel – well, content.

“Wanna go for a drive?” Dean asks after a while, and before Cas can simply scoff and say of course not, Dean turns to him. His smile is in place, showing a bare hint of teeth, and this close up Castiel could almost count his freckles. He feels his breath catch when Dean purses his lips. “C’mon, Cas. Live a little. Come out with me.”

Castiel opens his mouth. Nothing comes out. It takes a while of fingers opening and closing by his side, of having Dean looking directly at him, unwaveringly, before he makes the stupidest decision he’s made in all of his eighteen years of existence.

“Yes,” he answers, and doesn’t wait to see what reaction that gains from Dean before he bends his head and packs his stuff away. He stands up when he does, Dean following, too, and they just stand there for a while, looking at one another, until Castiel gestures for Dean to move. “Go on, then. Lead the way.”

Dean does. It’s a short walk to the school’s parking lot, but to get there they have to walk past the field. This means that the sophomores playing baseball on the field and the assortment of cheerleaders by the side stop and gawk as Dean and Cas walk by, in silence but clearly together. It sets off a lot of hurried whisperings that Castiel knows is about him, and it makes his skin heat up at the attention. Dean seems unaffected, and has Castiel mentioned that he really, really hates him?

They walk up to the big, black car that has appeared in way too many of Castiel’s jerk off fantasies of late (not to mention the pretty face that drives it) and Dean rubs a hand over the hood almost reverently.

“Would you like a minute alone with the car?” Cas teases, and Dean looks up and his smile is crooked. Castiel’s heart melts slightly, and he has to duck quickly into the now open car to stop the fact appearing across his face.

Dean comes in a moment later, smile still crooked and almost criminal. He puts the key in the ignition and the engine purrs to life, and when it does Dean glances to Castiel beside him. “She’s beautiful, ain’t she?” he says, and all Castiel can do is nod tightly in order to stop stupid words from falling out of his lips.

“Where are we going?” Castiel asks, and Dean shrugs.

“Dunno, Somewhere.”

Castiel frowns. “You really thought this through.”

Dean shrugs again. “Didn’t think you’d actually say yes,” he admits, and then he turns his head to wink at Cas. “You’re gonna be glad you did, though.”

Castiel opens his mouth to reply but finds nothing will come out. He closes them again, purses his lips, looks outside the window, scowling. Dean chuckles, low, reaching over to turn on the radio, filling the air with the sound of a band Castiel thinks is AC/DC, but that’s more surmising from Dean’s t-shirt than any kind of knowledge of the band itself. They drive in silence, only the sound of a song that seems to be about thunder – or maybe sex? Probably both – filling the gaps, and Dean goes out of the parking lot, winds down roads Castiel’s not sure he even knew existed and just keeps going.

The roads get bumpier and bumpier – less gravel now, more dirt and mud – and Castiel didn’t think through the possibility that, well, he doesn’t actually know Dean. This isn’t exactly safe, because whilst Dean is known and, yes, people did see Cas leaving with Dean, that will only mean if he gets murdered they’ll be able to catch the killer. He’d really rather pre-emptively strike so as not to have to actually, you know, die.

“Are you going to kill me?” Cas blurts out. Dean’s bark of laughter surprises him, and when he turns his head he sees Dean’s eyes are crinkling and he’s showing his teeth. Castiel can’t help but let a small smile slip onto his own lips.

“Why would I kill you?” Dean asks, still smiling, and Cas just shrugs.

“I don’t know. You’re the one driving us into the woods. Seems like a kind of murderous thing to do, to be honest.”

“I’m not going to kill you.” Dean is shaking his head, eyes flickering over to Cas every once in a while, grin still firmly in place.

Cas narrows his eyes. “That’s what a killer would say,” he mentions, and Dean laughs again. Castiel finds that he’s growing to really like that sound, wants it to happen more often, wants to run his fingertips over the creases beside his eyes, press kisses against them. He shakes his head to dispel the thoughts.

“I can’t win here,” Dean mutters. Castiel shrugs again, a silent yeah, well, and then Dean is pulling to a stop in the middle of nowhere.

They’re surrounded by trees and grass and Dean turns off the engine, puts the keys into his pocket and then just stares out of the window. Castiel waits, expecting maybe Dean to say something, explain why he’d asked Cas to go for a drive with him and then proceeded to take them to the middle of nowhere and just sit. He’s oddly offended that Dean hasn’t tried anything on, to be quite honest. Did he look bad today He runs a mental check: button down and khakis, just like usual – and didn’t Dean say he ‘had a thing’ for that? – hair messy and unkempt, but there’s nothing much he can do about that. He looks the same as every other day when Dean has leered and made lewd comments, but today he’s not, and Castiel feels strangely bereft.

He clears his throat. “So now that you’ve got me to serial killer haven,” he starts, and Dean’s smile tugs up again, “what are you gonna do with me?”

Dean peers at him then, turning his head slightly, smile lazy and lecherous. Castiel wants to hate it, but he just can’t, so instead he feels his pulse quicken and his fingers itch to reach forward and touch. Dean just looks at him for a little while, eyes roaming the contours of Cas’ face, searching for something that Castiel’s not sure what it could be. Then he shrugs and leans slightly closer.

“What do you want me to do with you?” he asks, and there’s an actual fucking glint in his eye.

Castiel swallows. “Nothing,” he chokes out. Dean raises an eyebrow dubiously. “I don’t want – want anything. You’re an asshole. I don’t like you.”

Dean breathes a small laugh and leans closer still, lips barely a murmur away from Cas’ and breath warm against Cas’ skin. “Oh yeah?” he asks challengingly. Castiel can’t answer. “Well, if you don’t like me so much, why are you here?”

Why is he here?

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly.

Dean licks his lips. “Well, I’ve got an idea.” He shifts closer, moves his lips to right beside Cas’ ear, brushing against the shell and making Cas’ eyes fall shut and his fingers fist in his pants. His voice is barely a whisper when he speaks next. “I think you want me to fuck you.”

A whimper accidentally escapes its way past Cas’ lips. Dean pulls back and smirks – fucking asshole, has Castiel mentioned that? – and he raises an eyebrow again, waiting for an answer.

“You’re an asshole,” is the only thing Castiel can think to reply.

Dean grins sloppily. “I am,” he agrees amiably. “But I’m also a fantastic lay, babe.”

Castiel hates him. Totally and entirely hates him. Doesn’t want to hear that fucking gruff voice of his muttering obscenities, doesn’t want to see the sparkle in those absurdly green eyes, the smirk on those lips that Castiel can’t help but imagine wrapped around his cock. Castiel hates Dean Winchester for fucking with him, making him want things he’s never really wanted before, making him want to lose control and be stupid just for a little while.

But, Castiel also knows that there’s no point denying it any longer: he wants Dean Winchester to fuck him. Bad.

The only solution is to press forward and kiss that smirk off of Dean’s face.

So he does, swallowing that fucking smile with his teeth and tongue, letting Dean bite at his bottom lip and fuck into Cas’ mouth with his tongue. Cas’ hands are on Dean’s jaw, and he’s not really sure what he’s doing here because he’s never really done this before. Sure, he’s had his first kiss, and his second and third and so on, but those were all with shy teenage boys, the ones who blushed when they held hands and never let their palms leave Cas’ waist.

Dean is decidedly not a shy teenage boy, and Castiel is overwhelmed by what Dean can do. Dean’s hands are trailing up and down Cas’ side, untucking and slipping under his shirt, resting, warm and oh so fucking welcome on Cas’ skin. His fingernails dig in slightly when he clutches at Cas’ hips, raking blunt marks that make Cas break away from Dean with a groan. He rests his head on Dean’s shoulder, pants loud into the silent air of the car and hears Dean doing the same.

“Dean,” Cas breathes, screwing his eyes shut. “Why are you doing this?”

He asks because he has to, because he has no freaking idea why Dean has singled him out. There are plenty of gorgeous people at their high school; ones who don’t wear khakis and always do their homework on time. Ones that would be a much easier lay, not so held back by eighteen years of abstinence because he didn’t want to get sidetracked from his work, from his future. There are people who would gladly sleep with Dean – probably wouldn’t call him an asshole beforehand and who would definitely not be as inexperienced in this as Cas is – and Castiel has no idea why Dean didn’t just choose one of them.

Dean puts one hand to Cas’ chin, cradles it between thumb and index finger, brings it up so that Cas is looking straight at him. His eyes are strangely soft, not the usual smirk and arrogance, and Castiel wonders if many people have seen this side of Dean before. Probably not, he decides, and tries to ignore the way that thought settles into his skin and makes him want to beam with happiness.

“Get in the backseat,” Dean murmurs, though, eyes trained on Cas’ mouth, and if Cas expected any nice words, any kind of, fuck, romance, he was clearly mistaken.

He scrambles into the backseat anyway.

His nails scratch at the upholstery in his haste and at the sound of Dean chuckling behind him, his face starts burning red. He didn’t mean to seem so, well, eager, but with Dean’s hand on his thigh and the thought of oh fuck this is the backseat of a car running through his head, he can’t help the way his heart beats in his ears and his dick twitches in anticipation.

He lays himself down on the backseat, leaves his legs hanging open, a clear invitation. Dean takes it, sliding into place in the slot between, pushing their hips together, the sound of material scratching together when he rolls his hips down, slowly.

Cas moans. “You like that, baby?” Dean asks, and it should be a turn-off, because that sounds like shit from a fucking porno, but instead Cas just screws his eyes shut and nods, lets his hands grip onto Dean’s waist and needs.

Dean chuckles again and this time it’s closer, the gruff laughter vibrating against his skin, into it. Cas’ eyes are still closed when Dean kisses him again, wasting no time before he slips in his tongue, curling it around Cas’ and running it over Cas’ teeth. He kisses with definitive experience, hips rutting expertly and fingertips gripping bruises into Cas’ pale skin. A part of Cas knows that part, at least, he should object to, because he’s on the swim team and that is one thing people will definitely notice next time he goes to practise. He can’t find it in himself to say stop, though.

“Dean,” he breathes, the words getting lost into the indent of Dean’s lips. He punctuates the word with the roll of his hips upwards, by letting his head fall backwards against the car door with a thunk, silently asking Dean to bite and lick at his neck. Dean groans, low, and gets to it. His lips are warm and wet, the feel of the flat of his tongue against Cas’ skin making his cock ache and his pulse beat at double time. “Dean – Dean, please, please touch me.”

The air is filled with the sound of ragged breathing, the frenetic rise and fall of Cas’ chest a clear show that Cas fucking needs. Dean pulls back slightly, looks Cas dead in the eye for a second, or two, or longer, who fucking knows or cares, and his hands trail from Cas’ hips to the button of his jeans.

“Where do you want me to touch you?”And fuck, it’s almost a fucking growl. Cas whimpers and pushes his hips upwards in search of friction, but Dean just takes his hand away and tuts. “No, baby, we’re gonna do this my way. And my way is you staying still until I tell you that you can move, not coming until I say it’s ok. Got that?”

All Cas can do is nod mutely and frantically. Dean smiles when he does, filthy and pleased against Cas’ mouth before they’re kissing again and Dean’s hand is popping the button of Cas’ pants, pulling the zipper down agonisingly slowly. Cas lets it happen, doesn’t move an inch even when Dean hooks a thumb either side of Cas’ khakis and takes them down, pulling them off along with his shoes, and it’s only when Dean follows the path, rucks up Cas’ shirt without even undoing the fucking buttons that Cas’ hips buck up.

“Ah,” Dean says, a sharp little noise as he stops his movement and looks up at Cas. “What did I just say, Cas?”

There’s a pause like Dean expects an answer. Cas swallows heavily. “You told me not to move,” he repeats, and sees Dean smirk lazily.

“Exactly,” Dean confirms, and presses his mouth against the skin of Cas’ abdomen. “So don’t fucking move, ok babe?”

Cas’ breath is caught in his throat and his hands by his side, unsure whether he’s allowed to touch or rut, but knowing that he likes being talked to this way, being told what do and being entirely submissive. He can’t say it’s something he’s ever expected but now that’s it’s here, happening, Cas fucking loves the way Dean’s forearm is across his hips, holding him down, how Dean is telling him exactly what to do, how to do it.

Dean smirks, smug, and presses a soft kiss to the jut of Cas’ hipbone. “Good boy,” he murmurs, and continues to pull down Cas’ khakis. He slips them over Cas’ knees, pausing at the feet to let them bunch there, restraining Cas’ movements even further and that thought goes straight to his dick.

He knows that he’s leaking through his boxers, knows it would only take a glance down and he’d see the wet patch against the white cotton of his tight briefs. The thought makes him flush slightly but then Dean’s nose is against his crotch, through the material and his mouth breathing so fucking hot against Cas’ erection. It’s a struggle to keep his hips still, but he manages it. He doesn’t manage to keep the strangled whimper in his throat, though.

“Dean, please,” he chokes out, not even entirely sure what he’s asking for, but knowing that he needs something.

Hands curl around Cas’ thighs, fingers digging into skin and palms warm. He looks up at Cas from beneath his lashes, eyes dark and mouth parted on a groan. He tugs at Cas’ legs, makes Cas shift so his legs fall open wider, so his hands clutch at the upholstery and his dick is so fucking close to Dean’s mouth.

“Take off your shirt,” Dean commands, voice steady and gaze level. “Take off your shirt and keep your hips still, babe. Not gonna touch you properly until you’re begging for it like the little slut that you are.”

There’s no hesitation before Cas hands are on his shirt, ripping open the buttons he can’t unfasten quickly enough. He pulls it roughly open, feels a low breath of laughter against his fucking cock and sits up on his elbows to pull it over his shoulders and then shove it unceremoniously onto the car’s floor.

“Ok?” he asks, when he’s done, on his elbows and drinking in the sight of Dean in between his legs, Dean’s mouth against the inside of his thigh, Dean’s hands clutching onto his skin. He feels as though he’s going to fucking die if Dean doesn’t touch him soon, and he’s so fucking eager to do whatever the hell Dean wants, ready to be Dean’s anything to make Dean happy.

Dean sucks a mark onto Cas’ thigh before answering, using teeth and tongue and lips and leaving Cas incoherent and harder than he’s ever been before in his life.

“Perfect,” he murmurs when he pulls off, and he’s up by Cas’ mouth then, kissing him open and filthy and gorgeous. “You’re fucking perfect.”

Cas whines in the back of his throat and arches up, and this time Dean lets him. Dean puts a hand between them, still biting at Cas’ lips, and cups Cas through his underwear. And Dean is – Dean is still fucking fully clothed, for fuck’s sake, still wearing his leather jacket and jeans and there’s not enough skin for Cas to lay his hands on. He wants to rectify that as soon as possible.

“Can you,” he starts, breaking away from Dean’s mouth and panting heavily. “Can you take off your clothes, please?”

Dean peers down at him for a while, contemplative, the hints of a smirk in the corners of his lips, his eyes heavy and lidded, bright and fucking scorching as they roam over Cas’ body. Cas squirms under the attention, under the way Dean’s eyes rake over his body, lingering on his nipples while he licks his lips. Dean chuckles under his breath and raises one eyebrow, and then he fucking backs off and sits himself on the other side of the backseat, legs open as he keeps looking at Castiel.

Cas sits up. “What – what – why –“

“You do it,” Dean commands, cutting off Cas’ increasingly incoherent mumblings. Cas sits up on his elbows. “If you want to see me so bad, you can take my clothes off.” Cas’ breath comes out of him in a broken exhale, and Dean’s smirk returns with a vengeance. “And then you’re gonna suck my cock with that pretty mouth of yours until I tell you that you can stop, got that?”

Cas just nods and scrambles towards him, eliciting a loud laugh from Dean. His hands go to Dean’s jacket, shoving it hastily off his shoulder and to the car floor, Dean complying even as he eyes Cas’ body all over like he’s fucking inspecting it. Next is Dean’s t-shirt, and Cas slips his fingertips under the hem first, skirting over warm skin and hard muscles, making his dick twitch obscenely in his thin boxers. Dean notices and licks his lips, eyes trained on the bulge and he’s still wearing too many clothes, so Castiel takes the t-shirt off, too, as fast as he can.

Dean’s torso is fucking gorgeous. All tanned skin and hard muscles, abs that Cas just wants to bite and suck at, leave marks on and memorise the feel of with the flat of his tongue. He’s staring, he knows that, and it takes Dean’s voice to bring him back.

“Hey,” Dean barks, and Cas looks up at him. “When I tell you to suck my cock, I mean now, babe.”

Cas blinks, swallows, and shuffles back on his knees, the leather sticky against his skin, his hands running up and down the denim over Dean’s legs. He shifts until he’s almost on his front, mouth hovering over the crotch of Dean’s jeans, breath hot against the scratchy material and just itching to touch. He looks up once, sees Dean staring down at him with bright eyes, so dilated that the green is almost swallowed entirely by darkness,  and darts his tongue out to wet is lips.

Slowly, tentatively, he moves one hand to Dean’s zipper, making fast work of it despite his shaking hands, and moves to hook a thumb either side of the pants. He looks up at Dean again, sees Dean nod slightly and then raise his hips accommodatingly, and he slides the material down, past Dean’s thighs, his knees, letting them catch at his ankles and stay there.

His mouth is right by Dean’s ankle so he presses a light kiss to the inside of it, hears Dean’s sharp intake of breath and knows he’s onto something here. He begins to his way up, switching between legs, pressing his lips lightly to the inside of Dean’s ankle, his calf, his knee, all the way up until he’s in between Dean’s thighs, Dean’s cock hard and twitching in his boxers, Dean’s hands fisted in his hair almost painfully tight. He presses his lips to the base through the cotton, hands in his hair clutching even tighter, and Cas smiles slightly.

“Like this?” he asks, pressing his nose and lips against the bulge, light and teasing while Dean bucks.

“Yeah, baby, just like that,” Dean groans, voice strangled. “You’re so fucking good at this, darlin’, feel so fucking good. Can’t wait for you to put my dick in your mouth, suck my fucking brains out with those perfect, pink lips.”

Castiel moans loudly in the car’s silence, the noise bouncing off the car’s frame and back to him and it’s like he can’t fucking take it anymore so he just yanks Dean’s boxers down to his ankles.

When he comes back up he sees Dean’s cock properly: long and hard against his stomach, pre-come pearling at its tip, and it’s enough to make his mouth fucking water. He slowly wraps one hand around its base, hears the thud of Dean’s head falling backwards against the door, and he takes that as all the acquiescence he needs before his mouth is descending, wrapping around just the head first, tongue on the underside.

At first he is aware of a taste of salt. Only slightly, not necessarily badly, but he’s never done this before and he just didn’t quite know what to expect. He presses the flat of his tongue to the slit experimentally, hears Dean moan really fucking loudly from deep in his chest, and he takes it as a success. He starts to move down slowly, swallowing inch by inch until he doesn’t think he can take anymore, and what’s not in his mouth he wraps his palms around, squeezing gently and starting to suck, hard.

Christ, Cas,” Dean pants, hands so tight in Cas’ hair and hips bucking up just a little, not too much for Cas to deal with. Cas absently wonders if Dean is restraining himself for Cas’ sake, but the thought is quickly overwrought by the taste of Dean in his mouth, salty and wet and warm, a heavy, welcome weight against his tongue. “Yeah, baby, come on, move your head up and down. Yeah, yeah, just like that, angel, so fucking perfect.”

He bobs his head up and down, humming and making Dean writhe, his own dick painfully hard in his shorts. He opens his eyes slightly, looks up at Dean from beneath his lashes and finds Dean staring down at him, eyes dark and lidded, looking like he wants to fucking devour Castiel, and Cas thinks he wouldn’t even mind if he did.

Cas keeps their gazes locked, starts bobbing up and down faster and faster, sucking harder and harder until Dean is bucking up mercilessly, pushing it so far in that Castiel almost chokes.  He keeps going though, eyes watering and jaw aching, but wanting this too much to even consider stopping. Dean’s cock is in his mouth and he’s hungry for it, wants more and more, all that Dean can give him, wants from Dean what he’s never wanted before from anybody else.

Dean licks his lips, fingertips wandering to Cas’ jaw, his cheek, brushing lightly against his skin, almost reverent. “So fucking close, Cas,” he murmurs, voice gruff and Cas groans. “You’re so good at this, babe, I’m gonna come in your pretty little mouth and you’re gonna swallow it all up, aren’t you? Taste every last drop.” Cas nods eagerly, head bobbing and Dean’s eyes searing. “Touch yourself,” Dean demands. “I want you to come with my dick in your mouth, yeah?”

All Cas can do is let his eyes roll back in his head, use one hand to quickly push his boxers down his thighs and then wrap a hand around himself. He strokes to the same rhythm as his head bobs, brushing a thumb over the head and spreading pre-come to use as lube. It’s hot and frantic, his mouth swallowing Dean and his hand moving so fucking fast it must be a flesh coloured blur. He keeps going and going, eyes watering and heart hammering in his chest while Dean murmurs above him, words like fuck and baby and so perfect.

It’s when he opens his eyes and looks up, sees Dean staring down with an intensity that burns straight through his skin and he just says, “Come,” that Cas loses it.

He spills over his hand, seeing stars behind his eyes so fucking bright, and then Dean is coming in his mouth. Cas swallows as much as he can, greedy for the taste of bitter salt that runs down his throat, lapping at the head of Dean’s cock and milking him through it, fucking loving it all the while.

It takes some time for it to be over, for Cas to come down from his almighty high into a lingering buzz that thrums in his veins, and when they’re both done he pulls off, an obscene pop noise that settles low in his stomach. He can feel come on his chin so he brings up a hand to wipe it, but Dean catches it in his own before he can.

“Let me,” he says, smirking, and then surges forward and fucking licks it off, tongue swiping the remnants away and Cas’ dick twitches so hard, too sensitive, and it fucking hurts, but it’s so good anyway. Dean pulls back. “All done.”

Cas lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. “Fuck,” he breathes, and Dean winks.

“Maybe next time,” he promises, and Cas would roll his eyes if he had the power to control his movements.

Dean leans down to get his clothes and Cas shrugs his boxers and pants back on. He hands Cas’ button down to him with a smirk and Cas dresses hurriedly, scrambling to save himself from nakedness because he just had his first sexual encounter in fucking public with some asshole he barely even fucking knows and right now he really hates himself.

Once they’re both dressed, Cas steps out of the car, feels cool air against him and breathes in and out slowly, seeing if the outside can lessen his shame. Surprisingly, it doesn’t. He’s still in the process of trying, at least, when a arms wrap around his waist.

“Alright, babe?” Dean murmurs into his ear. Cas whips around angrily, shoving Dean’s hands off him and glaring.

“I can’t believe I just fucking did that,” he mutters angrily, more to himself than anything else. “What the fuck is wrong with me?”

Dean frowns. “Calm down, babe, it’s just sex.”

“Don’t fucking call me babe!” Cas yells, and Dean recoils slightly. “It’s not just sex! It’s – that was – that was the first fucking time ever, and now I’ll always have to remember it being with some fucking asshole who probably won’t even remember my name tomorrow! I’m so fucking stupid! How could I just let myself do something like that?”

Dean takes a hesitant step forward, but Cas doesn’t notice because he’s staring firmly at the ground, hard enough like maybe he can burn a time portal into it with his glare, go back in time to the bleachers and have a hint of common sense and just fucking walk away. Dean reaches out a hand to wrap around Cas’ waist again, and Cas’ head snaps up.

“Don’t touch me,” he warns, and Dean backs off immediately, palms held up in placation. “Don’t ever touch me again. Just – just take me back to school and never touch me again, ok?”

Dean just nods, face expressionless. “Ok,” he says simply, and walks off to climb into the car.

Cas takes a second, breathes in and out a few times, and then climbs into the passenger seat. When Dean turns on the ignition the radio blares into life again, but Castiel blurs it out in favour of sitting in his own thoughts. They drive back in silence, winding road after winding road until the school comes into view. When Dean pulls into the parking lot Cas is out of the car in an instant, and it’s lucky he is because it’s only a few shorts seconds for him to stalk back to his own car before the bell rings and students begin to mill out.

He leans against the side of his car, still breathless and flushing and refusing to look over to see if Dean’s car is still there. Eventually, Anna comes out, bright and perky and smiling, walking over to Cas with a wave.

“Hey,” she greets, and Castiel offers her a weak smile. She frowns. “You ok, Cas?”

He swallows, accidentally glances to the side and sees Dean leaning against his car, talking to some freshman who Cas has done enough research to know is his little brother, Sam, and he just shakes his head faintly.

“I’ll tell you later, yeah?” he pleads. Anna’s still frowning but she nods understandingly, so Cas presses a grateful kiss to her cheek. “Thank you. C’mon, let’s go home.”

He climbs into the car, Anna in the passenger seat, and as he’s pulling out of the parking lot he sees Dean staring into the driver’s seat, eyes hard and confused and Castiel sinks lower into the seat. He blushes bright red, hates himself for it, and if Anna notices anything she doesn’t say, and that’s why Cas loves her.


“You did what?”

Cas winces, shushing her hurriedly and moving to close his the door so no one else in the house can be privy to this conversation. They’re in Castiel’s bedroom, Anna sat on the bed, eyes wide, and Cas is pacing up and down the length of the room, hands rubbing over his face and shame crawling up his spine.

“I didn’t mean to,” he mutters futilely. “It just kinda happened. He asked me to go on a drive and I said yes because I’m an idiot and we – we kinda had sex.”

Anna snorts unattractively. “How can you ‘kinda’ have sex, Cas?”

Cas blushes. “There were, y’know,” he murmurs shamefully, “blowjobs, and stuff.”

“Ew,” Anna replies, scrunching her nose up. “Maybe I shouldn’t have asked. You’re my brother and that is really gross, man.”

Cas huffs out in exasperation and flops down on the bed beside her, arms spread behind him and legs dangling over the edge. He screws his eyes shut and fists his hands in the sheet, and then feels Anna’s hands rubbing soothingly through his hair. He opens his eyes again and Anna is there, smiling kindly and Cas really, really loves his sister.

“What am I going to do?” he asks, voice small.

“Well,” she starts, contemplation on her face as she thinks, “sex isn’t a bad thing, Cas. Not if you do it right, anyway. I mean, there’s no real reason to be so upset. This isn’t a bad reflection on you, love.”

Cas huffs out a humourless laugh. “Oh yeah, losing my sort-of virginity in the backseat of a car to a virtual stranger isn’t a bad reflection on me. Gee, how wrong I was to think it made me some kind of tramp.”

“You’re not a tramp,” she soothes, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead before sitting up again. “You just, y’know, gave in to a bad boy. Everyone’s allowed to do it at least once.”

“Not me. I’m – I’m Cas, the nerdy Novak who wouldn’t know sex if it bit him in the ass! I’m not supposed to do stuff like this! I’m supposed to do my homework and be on the swim team and give a really boring Valedictorian speech. What if he tells people, Anna? What if people start calling me a slut?”

“You’re not a slut, Cas. Fuck, if you are, then what the hell am I?”

Cas makes a noise of distress in the back of his throat. “Things that are only making this worse, Anna!”

“I’m just saying!” Anna protests, and when Cas just scowls at her she rolls her eyes and gives in. “Ok, fine. Well, I don’t know, hon. Talk to him tomorrow? Ask him to not tell anyone? I mean, he seems like an ok guy, priest seducing aside, so I think he’ll be cool about it.”

Cas closes his eyes again. “But I don’t want to talk to him.”

“Why?” she asks, and there’s a fucking smirk in her voice. “Don’t think you’ll be able to control yourself from just getting down on your knees again?”

Cas swats her. “Fuck off, bitch,” he grouses. “I hate you.”

Anna lies down beside him then, curling an arm around his waist and burying her face into his neck. Cas doesn’t even bother contemplating pushing her off, just wraps his arms around her in return and snuggles hard enough that he feels a little bit better.

“It’s gonna be fine, Cas,” she promises.

“I hope so.”

A small silence. They keep hugging, something they’ve been doing their whole lives as the twin youngest. They do it whenever Luke and Michael fight, whenever Gabriel comes home from college and starts yelling at their dad for never being around over the phone. It’s how they cope with having a fucking weird-ass family, and Cas loves his sister more than he can put into words.

“So,” Anna starts. “How was he? Good kisser? Real attentive? Big dick?”

Scratch that: Cas hates his sister. “Shut the hell up before I tell Michael where you hide your condoms.”

Anna smirks against his neck. “You wouldn’t,” she replies calmly. “You love me too much.”

And fuck her, she’s right. Doesn’t stop him from replacing her shampoo with yoghurt that night, though. Prank victory is few and far between in the Novak household, but with Gabriel at college and the added incentive of his sister being a jerk, Cas feels his won this one.


The next day at school is hell. Cas spends his morning classes making sure no one’s staring at him, making sure that somehow word hasn’t got out without him noticing. He blushes every time someone talks to him, is a stuttering mess throughout all conversations and from the side-eyes he’s getting people are noticing that he’s acting really weird today.

He can’t help it, though. There’s panic in his veins instead of blood, worry that somehow he’s going to become the school’s gossip, that he’s going to get engulfed by the high school cliché of being the week’s hot topic and become ostracised. As it is, he’s hardly ‘popular’, but he has his friends and he’s happy, and he doesn’t want a momentary lapse in judgement to ruin that for him.

By the time lunch rolls around he’s a fucking nervous wreck, and he hasn’t caught sight of Dean enough to talk to him. He’s not even sure the guy goes to classes, to be honest, and he goes into the cafeteria with the pit of his stomach trailing beneath his shoes. He walks in, glances at the table where he usually sits with Anna and Charlie and Chuck and finds that there’s one person more than there should be.


He’s stood beside Anna, hip cocked as he leans down into her, and she’s – she’s fucking blushing, on the edge of her seat away from him but still clearly under some kind of fucking spell from him. Castiel feels anger settle low in his stomach, itching his palms into fists and he strides over intent on yelling at someone, anyone, and he doesn’t even care if he makes a scene anymore.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Dean just stands up straighter all casual, smirk on his lips and an eyebrow fucking raised. Cas hears Anna let out a long exhale and he spares her a quick scowl.

“Just talking to your sister,” he answers, practically drawling his fucking words. “That a problem?”

“Yes,” Castiel grits out. “Yes it fucking is. Get the hell away from her.”

Dean’s smirk grows. “Now why would I do that?” he replies, looking down to wink at Anna. She blushes again. “She’s so pretty, ain’t she? Such a gorgeous little thing.” He leans into Cas then, mouth right be his ear, breath hot and debilitating, and he whispers, “I can see the family resemblance.”

And that’s fucking it.

“Outside,” Cas spits out. “Outside now. I have to talk to you.”

Dean grins lazily. “What about?” he asks, faux-innocent and a total asshole.

“Just get the fuck outside,” he manages, fury coursing through his body. Dean takes a second and then walks away, moving into the hallway that will be empty and throwing a glance behind him as he goes to let Cas knows he’s meant to follow. Cas grits his teeth and turns to Anna, and she’s looking up at him imploringly.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmurs, looking so guilty.

Cas melts. “It’s fine,” he mutters, rubbing his hands over his eyes. “It’s not you I’m mad at, it’s him. I’ll – I’ll be right back, ok?”

Anna just nods acceptance and Castiel grits his jaw, feels muscles jumping there, and then walks into the hall where Dean’s waiting.

It’s empty, as he expected, and Dean is leaning casually against one of the walls. He smirks when he sees Cas, pushes off the brick and stands straight, hands in his jeans pockets and looking like such an asshole that it takes all of Castiel’s self-restraint not to just punch his pretty face until it’s not quite so pretty anymore.

“You wanted to talk to me?”

Castiel shoves him, hard, and he obviously wasn’t expecting it, because his back hits the wall with a resounding thud. “What the fuck was that?” Cas hisses. “What the fuck were you doing hitting on my goddamn sister?”

Dean shrugs. “Well, you told me not to touch you ever again, as I recall,” he replies, lazy smirk, “but I still got an itching for some Novak action, know what I mean? Figured your sister’s a pretty damn good next best thing. Great rack on her.”

Cas shoves him again. “Don’t fucking talk about her like that!” he yells. “Don’t fucking go near her, got that? Just – just stay the hell away from all of us, you hear me? Go do whatever asshole shit you usually do and leave us all the fuck alone!”

He goes to shove Dean again, hands almost on Dean’s chest, but Dean catches his wrists, stops his trajectory and traps him. He pulls Cas closer to him, and Cas trips over his own feet so they’re chest to chest, hips pushing against each other so that Cas’ eyes fall closed without his volition.

“You really want me to leave you alone?” Dean murmurs, rolling his hips and making Cas moan. “Cos I don’t think you do. I think you want to let me make you come again, babe. I think you want to let me touch that pretty cock of yours and bend you so far in half you’ll feel me for week after.”

Cas whines. “Don’t –“ he starts to protest, but Dean cuts him off.

“C’mon, baby, tell me you didn’t have a good time yesterday,” Dean whispers, mouth so close to Cas’ that Cas swallows the words when he inhales shakily. “Tell me you don’t want to do it again.” Cas opens his mouth to deny, but Dean doesn’t let him. “And don’t lie to me, darlin’, I can feel how much you want to.”

He punctuates the thought with another roll of his hips, and it’s all too much, and they’re in the fucking hallway where anyone could see them, and Dean just hit on his sister and calls Cas all these pet names that should repulse him entirely but somehow just don’t. It’s all too much and Cas can’t breathe, can’t blink, can’t fucking move away like he should do.

So he does the only thing he can do. He yanks one hand free, reaches blindly to the left where he knows there’s a door somewhere, opens it up and shoves Dean inside the janitor’s closet. He’s weak and he knows it and he’s going to fucking hate himself sometime soon, but right now Dean’s tongue is slipping into his mouth and Dean’s hands are unbuttoning his shorts and he doesn’t care about anything other than the way his back feels slammed against the cold brick wall.

Cas grunts with the impact, hands in Dean’s hair, at his jaw, sliding underneath his t-shirt. The door’s not even fucking locked but Castiel’s not thinking about that, not when he’s stepping out of his shorts and Dean is doing the same with his jeans, not when Dean is pulling Cas’ sweater over his head and then taking his own t-shirt off in turn.

“I hate you,” Cas mutters between biting and licking, barely even kissing because he’s angry and he wants to lick his frustration into Dean’s mouth, wants to grip the bruises into his hips. “I hate you so fucking much, asshole.”

Dean has the fucking balls to chuckle, hands gripping round the back of Cas’ thighs. “Yeah, yeah,” he breathes, not a fucking care in his tone. He bends his knees slightly, hands gripping tighter against Cas’ skin, nails digging in and leaving blunt, red marks in their wake. He pulls his mouth away from Cas’ just slightly, looks Cas dead in the eye and just says, “Jump, would you, babe?”

Cas growls in the back of his throat and jumps anyway.

He wraps his legs around Dean’s waist, pushing their groins together deliciously, feeling Dean just as hard as he is through their boxers. He grinds down, attaches his mouth to Dean’s and bites so hard he tastes the metallic tang of blood on his tongue, hears Dean grunt in approval when he does. Dean thrusts up almost viciously, making Cas cry out loud and stupid in the fucking janitor’s closet, where anyone could walk by and want to inspect the noises coming from inside.

The thought should make him want to push Dean away, come to his senses and redress, leave Dean alone to his own jerk behaviour while Cas gets on with the perfectly content life he was leading before Dean fucking Winchester decided to waltz into the school and declare Cas his fucking chase.

It doesn’t, though. It makes him want to grind down harder, have Dean’s fingers and dick in his ass, pushing up roughly and making Cas moan Dean’s name until his voice is as sore as his ass.

Dean pulls away from his mouth with a loud smacking noise. “You’ve got gorgeous nipples, baby,” he says, and Cas’ head falls back against the wall painfully hard. “So pretty and pink and hard for me, aren’t they babe? Just waiting for me to suck and bite on them.”

“Yes,” Cas pleads, pushing his chest out, looking for Dean’s lips and tongue and teeth. “Yes, Dean, please.”

Dean chuckles, low, in the back of his throat. “Well ok,” he agrees, voice irritatingly steady. “But only because you asked so nice, angel.”

He moves his lips over one of Cas’ nipples, breathing hot and heavy and making the nub tighten almost painfully. Cas moans loudly, past the point of caring about where they are right now, and he grinds down harder on Dean’s cock, eager and wanting, more than he ever has before in his life. He follows the breathing with a slow lick, just the tip of his tongue sliding over one teasingly, retreating back almost as soon as it’s been out.

Cas bucks uselessly. “Dean, please, I need this.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean challenges, eyes glancing upwards and locking with Cas’. “Tell me how much, baby. Tell me how much you want my mouth around your nipple, my dick in your ass. C’mon, darlin’, no holding back here.”

Cas grunts in frustration, nails raking marks onto Dean’s shoulders. “You are such an asshole,” he complains, and Dean just breathes out a laugh against his sensitive skin. “Fine, fine! God, I want you, ok? Want you so much I can’t – can’t breathe. This is all so fucking stupid. You’re an asshole and you hit on my fucking sister and I still want you so bad I can hardly stand it.”

Dean sucks in a breath. “Me too,” he says, so quietly that Cas decides it must have been his fucking imagination, because there is no way in hell Dean would admit to that. He doesn’t have time to question it, though, because then Dean’s mouth is on him properly, the flat of his tongue pressing hard against the nub, teeth capturing it lightly, pressing down a little harder every time Cas bucks.

“Yes!” Cas all but screams, living for the flash of pain amidst the pleasure as Dean bites down even harder. “Yes, Dean, fuck, don’t stop, never stop.”

Dean bites and licks, leaving hickeys that’ll be there even by next week, and Cas just wants more, wants everything, wants all that Dean can give him right now. This goes on and on, Cas thrusting and Dean playing with Cas nipples, the wall cold behind Cas’ back, hard and unforgiving and fucking perfect.

After a while – or maybe no time at all, the concept of time is subjective when you’re so hard it fucking aches – Dean pulls off with an obscene kind of noise.

“Why –“ Cas mumbles incoherently.

Dean mouth is against his skin. “Need to kiss you again,” he says by explanation and, oh, ok.

Cas smashes his mouth against Dean’s, teeth clanging together and lips crushing, knowing there’s no chance of him coming out of this looking anything other than like he’s just been fucked in the fucking janitor’s closet. He pushes his hips down harder, Dean hard dick grinding into his ass in a way that makes him groan deep in his chest, hear it rumble out into the panting silence they’re protected in.

He feels close, heat in his stomach and tingling underneath his skin, so close but not quite there. “Dean,” he pleads, voice wrecked and hips losing their rhythm under the weight of how fucking fucked he feels. “Dean, I’m close, please, please, touch me.”

“Yeah,” Dean replies instantly, and Cas would be more surprised at the lack of teasing, would figure out it mean Dean was close too, but he’s too hard and too fucking close, damn it, to notice anything at all. “Yeah, ok baby.”

Dean takes one hand from the back of Cas’ thigh and Cas keeps them upright by tightening his legs, thighs constricting around Dean’s waist, shaking and shuddering. He licks a strike up the palm, looking at Cas while he does, making Cas’ head thunk backwards once again onto the hard, cold brick. He wraps it around Cas’ dick, strokes and pulls at it, rubs a thumb across the head whenever he wants to make Cas arch especially hard, and it’s to the same rhythm as the roll of his hips, the grind of his erection against Cas’ ass.

It’s all too much and Cas can see stars, can see the name Dean Winchester in bright lights whenever he blinks. He can feel his orgasm pooling in the pit of his stomach, tingling in his skin and making him push down harder, lick further into Dean’s mouth and whisper ramblings that probably aren’t even words into Dean’s mouth.

“You gonna come for me again, baby?” Dean asks, voice low and gruff, hand holding on tighter, stroking up and down faster.

He flicks his wrist and sucks at Cas’ neck, bringing up a hickey that Cas knows he’ll regret later but wants so much now, wants so fucking much he arches his neck more, offers more skin to be marked as Dean’s property. Dean takes it with a groan in the back of his throat, with the stuttered rut of his hips upwards, the way the hand on Cas’ thigh is digging crescents into his skin with his nails.

“C’mon, baby, come for me. Keep moaning, sweetheart, so loud, anyone could hear and wander in, find you here with me, my hand around your dick and your fucking beautiful nipples all red and sore for my mouth.” His words are barely coherent, too lost into Cas’ skin as he jacks hard, thrusts even harder. “Love you like this, darlin’, all hot and panting, wanting my cock so bad. You do, don’t you? You want it so much you can’t breathe, you said, so c’mon baby, take it, take all of it.”

And that’s when Cas comes, with Dean’s words in his ears, Dean’s hand on his cock, Dean hard against his ass. He comes so hard he nearly fucking blacks out, thighs tightening convulsively around Dean’s waist, fists in Dean’s hair, mouth biting down onto Dean’s lower lip, not even bothering to soothe the sting with the swipe of his tongue. His boxers are sticky and his stomach has traces, but right now he doesn’t care because it’s one more thrust down and then Dean is coming too, shaking and shuddering through it.

Dean holds Cas up for as long as he can, but after a while it’s like his legs just give out beneath him because he crumples to the floor, taking Cas with him, laying them so that Cas is straddling Dean’s hips, mouth pressed against Dean’s chest. They breathe heavily, the rise and fall of Dean’s chest against Cas’ own, the sound of voices just outside, totally unaware. The thought sends a thrill through Cas’ skin, makes his dick want to twitch with interest, and he may be eighteen but holy shit he’s not getting it up again that fast.

They lay for a while, strangely intimate. Even though it’s not at all cuddling, more keeping skin on skin while they catch their breath, Cas gets the impression that this isn’t something Dean does often, not something he allows to happen. He’s not sure why he thinks this, but then Dean’s hands start trailing up and down his arms and all thoughts vanish as he leans into the touch.

“You gonna tell me to fuck off again?” he asks, and maybe he was supposed to sound derogatory and cruel, but it comes out softer, almost – almost actually hurt.

Cas lets himself just breathe for a second. “No,” he says hesitantly, after a little while. “I think you and I both know that’s not going to work for me.”

Dean huffs. “I thought you said I was an asshole and I should never touch you again,” he persists, the fucking jerk, but his hands keep touching lightly to Cas’ skin, making him feel warm even as the air is cool, making him feel secure even though anyone could walk in at any time.

“I don’t want to want you,” Cas explains acknowledging to himself at the same time that he’s in this now, no turning back. “But I can’t help myself so – so I’m not going to tell you to leave me alone.”

Dean inhales sharply, softly, a catch under his breath that Cas feels in his chest. Dean sits up then, taking Cas with him, manoeuvring it until they’re both sat away from each other. He gets up and finds their clothes, hands Cas’ to him once he stands up, and then dresses himself at the same time. When they’re both back to clothed, button on Cas’ shorts hanging off slightly, faint rip along the hem of his sweater, Cas stops and looks up at Dean.

“So –” Dean starts, but Cas has got something to say.

“Please don’t tell anyone.”

Dean’s brow furrows. “What?”

Cas swallows, hand rubbing absently at the hickey on his neck, thinking about how he’s meant to hide it from people outside. And they’re the reason Cas is going to keep this quiet; the people outside. He doesn’t want to be the guy who slept with the new kid, doesn’t want to become subject of gossip. He is entirely content with his quiet life with his friends and his sister, doing his work and getting out of this small town for better things as soon as possible. He wants to keep to his unassuming life, and if people knew what he’d just done, there’s no way in hell he’d be allowed to.

He knows that he should explain all of this to Dean, but the words coming out his mouth fail logic, disregard rationality and decide to be rude and incoherent instead.

“You’re an asshole and I’m not so I’d really appreciate if we could keep this just between us, ok?”

Dean blinks. “Ok,” he says after a while, eyes hard and leather jacket back on. “Fine, princess, have it your way.” He goes to the door, has a palm curved around the handle, but just before he opens it he turns around to look at Castiel. “Better give it a few, sweetheart. Don’t want anyone knowing you’ve been fucking the school jerk in the janitor’s closet, right?”

With that he leaves, slamming the door behind him. It rattles in its hinges and Cas winces, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to make it look less like sex hair. He gives it a few minutes, hating himself for acting like such a dick, and then walks out of the room with a long exhale. In the hallway he sees Anna, leaning by the open doorframe of the cafeteria. She notices him immediately, rushes over, eyes wide.

“What happened?” she demands to know.

Cas winces again. “You don’t want to know,” he replies, and her eyes go wide before she frowns deeply.

“Cas!” she admonishes, far too loud and forcing Castiel to shush her. She carries on regardless, but lowers her voice to a hiss to do it. “What the hell? How do you go from him hitting on me to making out with him on school property?”

Cas shrugs slightly, ducking his head. “I don’t know,” he answers honestly, albeit deciding to keep out the part where they did decidedly more than just make out. “It just seems to keep – happening. You can’t blame me, ok! I’m weak and he’s really, really hot.”

Anna scoffs. “He’s also a major asshole who you were freaking out over just this morning!”

“Yeah, well,” Cas mumbles, flushing red. “He promised not to tell, ok? So it’s – it’s fine. Everything’s fine. Well, except for my boxers. Those are kind of ruined.”

Anna swats his arm. “Castiel James Novak I do not want to hear these things!” she says, scowling at him. “Now go clean yourself up, take a long, hard look in the mirror and for God’s sake, Cas, cover up that hickey! It’s the size of freaking Canada, Christ.”

Cas blushes even further, hand moving to cover the spot. He hurries to the bathroom, cleans himself up abysmally, because, surprisingly, school restrooms were not invented to clean up in after homosexual encounters in janitor’s closets. The piss poor job has him feeling dirty all day, and as punishment for being a pushover in the face of a really hot guy, Anna refuses to clean them. This leads to the most awkward conversation Castiel has ever had with his brother Michael, because he has no idea how to use the washer and Michael will never just take I just need to wash something as an answer.

When Cas yells I came in my goddamn underwear, alright! eventually, he’s not sure who blushes more: him or his brother. Anna definitely laughs the hardest, though.


Weeks pass. Cas spends most of it blushing whenever Dean looks at him, having Anna frown at him in disappointment, and making out with Dean in every available and empty room. They rut in empty classrooms, share messy hand jobs in the bathrooms when it’s empty, use Cas’ free periods to drive off somewhere and indulge in blow jobs in the back of the Impala. Castiel finds that sex with Dean is better than he ever imagined it could be, and he’s pretty sure that if it were any other eighteen year old boy he was fooling around with he wouldn’t be coming anywhere near as often or as hard as he is.

Still doesn’t mean he’s willing to admit out loud how much he likes being Dean’s sexual plaything. There’s the whole thing about not becoming the subject of overwhelming rumour mills that makes him stop from ever looking as though he even knows Dean’s name in public.

Just over two weeks after the janitor’s closet incident, Cas is in his Physics class on a Thursday afternoon, sitting at an empty desk because his lab partner – Chuck – is away that day. The teacher starts writing on the board and Cas diligently copies the notes into his book, hand scrawling fast to keep up because Physics is really not his subject.

The class is only about ten minutes in when the door opens and Dean walks in, charming the teacher with a smile. She tries to frown at him but isn’t even able to – fucking Dean Winchester and his fucking eyelashes and freckles and smile – and she tells him to take a seat and catch up.

Cas looks around. The only available seat is beside him. Fuck.

Dean sits down next to him at the table at the furthest back of the room – Chuck’s insistence, not Castiel’s – and smirks. “Hi there,” he greets, lascivious eyes trailing over Cas’ body.

Cas bristles. “I didn’t even know you were in this class,” he mentions, because he didn’t. The semester’s been going for almost a month now and Dean hasn’t shown up to this class even once. “Decided to get your lazy ass out of bed, for once?”

Dean frowns so quickly Castiel thinks he must have imagined it, quickly schooling his features back into a smirk. He leans over to Cas, reaching with one arm over him to grab some papers they’re meant to be filling out as pretence, and his mouth is right beside Cas’ ear when he whispers, “I thought you liked my lazy ass. Pretty sure just yesterday you were grabbing onto it for dear life while I gave you a hand job in my car.”

“Shut up!” Castiel says, blushing red and looking around to see if anyone else heard. From the looks of it they didn’t, but that doesn’t stop him from turning back around to glare at Dean. “We’re in class, asshole. Now is not the time for this shit.”

Dean winks. “It’s always the time, babe,” he murmurs, eyes on Cas’ lips. Then he simply pulls back, lets a smug smile linger on his lips, and starts copying Cas’ notes.

Cas isn’t petulant enough to not allow Dean to do so, but he does huff loudly and pointedly ignore him in favour of watching the teacher. It goes on like this for about ten minutes, Cas pretending Dean doesn’t exist and Dean chuckling under his breath all the while. Just when Castiel thinks he’s safe from any kind of lewd intentions, Dean’s thigh presses up against his own, from the top right down to the knee, a hot and insistent pressure that Cas can feel even through his pants.

“Stop that!” he hisses, glaring at Dean. Dean just raises an eyebrow like Castiel gave him a fucking challenge. He shifts his chair closer, looking over Cas’ shoulder just so that he can breathe hotly against Cas’ ear, knowing by now that this only makes Cas shudder and weaken, make his legs fall open wider instinctively. He chuckles again and Cas growls in the back of his throat. “Dean, I said stop it!”

“I’d stop,” he murmurs, inching closer, hand coming underneath the table to cup Castiel through his pants, “if you weren’t so damn hard for me, baby.”

And fucking damn him, he’s right.

Cas whimpers. “Dean, please, we’re in class, we – we can’t –“

“Shh, shh.” Words pressed against his skin, Dean’s hand tightening slightly, allowing pressure for only so long before releasing again, making Cas squirm, uncomfortable and needing. “Need to keep quiet, ok darlin’? Can’t have anyone else knowing how pretty you sound when I’m gettin’ you off, can we? Can’t have anyone knowing that nice little Castiel Novak is getting jerked off through his pants in class, huh?”

Dean,” Cas tries again, but this time it’s less of a warning and more of a moan. When he shifts forwards slightly in his chair he knows he’s lost entirely, because he’s chasing Dean’s hand, needing it on his cock. “Oh, God, Dean, just like that.”

Dean laughs breathily and darts his tongue out to lick surreptitiously at the shell of Cas’ ear. “Such a good little boy, ain’t ya, Cas?” he murmurs, making Cas whimper and his hips buck. “You’d let me do anything, wouldn’t you? Such a good little angel for me.”

“Yes,” is all Cas can breathe, head hunched over, hands gripping tightly onto the table’s edge. “Yes, Dean, fuck, just don’t stop.”

“Couldn’t even if I wanted to,” is Dean’s reply, and then his hand starts working double time.

He grips and moves it, running over Cas’ painfully hard dick fast and sure, making Cas squirm in his seat, his chair scraping noisily across the linoleum floor. He stops whenever anyone looks their way, hand still on Cas’ cock but no longer moving, letting Cas breathe just long enough to alleviate any of their classmate’s suspicion before starting up his movements again.

“I think you like it like this,” Dean mutters hotly into Cas’ ear, so calm and collected like he’s talking about the fucking weather. “Think you like it out in public, huh baby? Like it when you have to keep all quiet so no one knows what I’m doing to you. Turns you on, doesn’t it?”

And fuck him, he’s right. Cas had never in a million years believed himself to ever be a fan of exhibitionism – too polite for that; too conscientious – but he finds that here, in class, Dean’s fingers moving over his dick, he’s hotter than he’s ever been before. He’d always thought himself fairly vanilla, thought sex for him would involve a bed and nice guy who says I love you before Cas even considers letting him touch him. But clearly that’s not the case, because there is nothing loving about Dean Winchester, and so far they’ve not once done it in something that could even resemble a bed.

The pen is Cas’ hand snaps in half from how tight he’s holding it, and Dean only laughs again. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” he says, pressing a quick kiss to the spot underneath Cas’ jaw that makes his toes curl and his skin tingle. “I like it, too.”

It’s those words that have Cas coming in his pants for what is probably the seventh time that week. Dean’s hand takes him through it, still squeezing intermittently, still breathing hotly against Cas’ skin. All Cas can do is let it take him, feel his boxers getting sticky and the faint layer of oncoming regret buzzing underneath his orgasm. It’s fucking stupid how delirious Dean can make him feel, how it all it takes is Dean’s hands and Dean’s words and he’s letting himself get fucking jerked off in class. Castiel has no idea what happened to the him of last year, because that nerdy guy would consider this akin to burning the fucking school down, and now all he can think of is the next time Dean’s in class and he can do it again.

He opens his eyes slowly, looks over to see Dean now back to writing casually, like he hadn’t just been touching Cas’ cock and murmuring filthy things. Cas fidgets uncomfortably, horribly sticky boxers already making him uncomfortable, and he glances around to see if anyone’s looking at them strangely, if anyone had noticed.

Thankfully, they haven’t.

“You are such an asshole, Winchester.”

“As you keep saying, baby.” A pause, Dean looking at Cas from the corner of his eye with a lazy smirk on his lips. “Doesn’t stop you from wanting it though, huh?”

Cas scowls. “Don’t talk to me,” he warns, and turns his back on Dean before he can say something else smarmy and irritating.

He studiously completes his work, copying out symbols and equations that make absolutely no sense to him, and when the bell’s about five minutes away from ringing, the teacher calls an end to the class, saying that she has an assignment for them. A collective groan is emitted from the class, and the teacher just rolls her eyes. She explains that they are to work in pairs to create something mechanic, something technological of their own creation that they must build from scratch. Cas’ heart sinks because he sucks at shit like this; never has been able to get the hang of wiring down enough to get him the A he so desperately needs to get into Columbia.

It sinks even further when she announces the next part: they’re partner is the person they’re sitting next to.

Shit, Cas thinks. He’s going to have to work with Dean. If Chuck hadn’t been fucking ill that day – probably just skipping anyway, lying bastard – then this would all be fine. Hell, Cas would still probably fail because Chuck is about as talented in this subject as Cas is, but at least he wouldn’t have to pair up with the fucking asshole who won’t stop freaking groping him.

He turns to Dean with a wary expression. “I guess we’re working together,” he says, and Dean smirks.

“I guess so,” he replies. “Sure you don’t mind working with an asshole on this?”

Cas tightens his lips so as not to give the automatic answer of no. “It’ll be fine,” he lies. “Just – just let me handle it, ok? I mean, I know I’m not great at this class, but I must be a damn sight better than you so – so just leave it to me. We can work at it together every once in a while but I’ll do most of the work.”

Dean’s face hardens at his words and he hastens to get out of his seat. He pauses by the side of the table, staring at the top of it and not meeting Cas’ eyes for some reason, and then he taps his fingers over the paper he’d been using to write on. To – to write on? He’d actually been doing work?

“Sure thing, princess,” he spits harshly. “Wouldn’t wanna hurt that perfect GPA of yours with my stupidity, huh?” He glances up at Cas’ eyes, then, and there’s none of the familiar teasing or mirth, just low level anger and a glimpse of hurt. “See you round, babe.”

Cas can only stare after him in shock. What the fuck? What did he do? He basically just offered to do the entire project, and Dean is actually mad at him?  He would have thought that with Dean being such a fucking slacker – never turning up to classes, barely ever actually being in school even – that he’d appreciate the gesture and be glad to not have to do the work.

Except when Cas looks down at the work Dean had done, he sees it completed totally and accurately. He sees a list of equations that Cas couldn’t even begin to understand written out in full, explained and answered perfectly. The realisation hits Cas like a freight train: Dean is good at Physics. Dean is – Dean is actually smart, and Cas just insinuated that Dean was an idiot without any knowledge to back it up other than the way Dean smirks and the way he acts in public.

Shit, he thinks again, this time for different reasons. Maybe Dean isn’t the biggest asshole in this messed up thing of theirs, after all.


They’re in the backseat of Dean’s car – and Cas has by now been told by Dean that it is a 1967 Chevy Impala, and that she is Dean’s baby, apparently – and Dean is pulling off of Cas’ now soft cock with a sloppy pop, wiping his chin with the back of his hand and sitting up. The place they went to the first time has somehow – inexplicably – become their place, because they seem to go here at least three times a week, if not more, to have mind blowing sex. Cas is still in the recesses of his orgasm, head buzzing and voice sore from screaming Dean’s name, and he feels weightless and lazy, slipping so that he’s basically lying down on the car’s upholstery, not caring at this stage in their fooling around that his cock is still out and his shorts are simply bunched around his ankles. It helps that Dean, too, has his dick hanging out the flap of his boxers, jeans around his knees and shirt rucked up under his armpits.

Dean rearranges his clothes after a while, looking down like he hadn’t even noticed he was indecent, and when he’s done and proper he steps out of the car. Cas waits a second or two before doing the same thing, taking the time so as not to seem eager, like he craves Dean attention quite as much as he does.

Because he does. He’s got it bad, and he absolutely fucking hates it. He hates that he can’t get through a school day without getting off with Dean at least once, hates how weekends drag so fucking long for him because he doesn’t have Dean’s number or his address and it means he has to jerk himself into a fucking early grave to get rid of the hormonal itch under his skin. And even then it’s not enough, because it’s not Dean. Dean’s not there to murmur filth in his ear, to call Cas a good boy and call him baby. He needs sex more than he ever imagined he could. He’s not yet willing to admit that it’s not just sex he needs, but sex exclusively with Dean. He won’t admit it because Dean’s still an asshole and Cas refuses to be the dumbass who falls for the bad boy.

The air is cool against his skin because it’s a Friday night and it’s starting to turn into fall. Dean had asked Cas while they were in school if he’d meet him tonight to hook up, because apparently there were no good parties and Cas was an easy lay, and he didn’t want to waste his Friday night. Castiel had been indignant but agreed anyway, because at this point he’s fucking powerless to control it.

He walks up to Dean and sees the filter of smoke coming up from his cigarette, sees it between Dean fingers as he blows smoke out of his mouth. Cas stops when he’s beside Dean, almost shoulder to shoulder, and when Dean turns to smirk at him, Cas scowls harshly.

“That’s a disgusting habit.”

Dean shrugs. “We all die someday. No point trying to prolong the inevitable.”

“That’s a rather morose way of looking at things.”

“I guess it is,” he acquiesces, chuckling under his breath and knocking his shoulder against Castiel’s. “You wanna try?”

Castiel shakes his head severely. “No thank you,” he affirms. He has never once in his life had a cigarette – not once had the urge to try something so abysmally pointless and stupid, not once seen the appeal to look ‘cool’ to his peers by trying something dumb and reckless. There is a multitude of statistics on death rates caused by smoking, and Castiel is adamant that he does not want to become just another statistic so he can fit in with the popular crowd.

“Oh c’mon, baby,” Dean coaxes, and the way he smiles and circles oen of Castiel’s wrists with his fingers loosely has Cas’ resolve crumbling slightly. “It’s one drag, how damning could that be?”

Cas grumbles. “Smoking is disgusting,” he carries on, trying to convince himself now more than anything. “It doesn’t look cool or smell nice or taste nice. There’s no point to it at all.”

Except he’s lying. Because Dean is stood in a leather jacket, the night sky his backdrop, and the smoke swirling away from the cigarette in his hand is making Cas struggle to take his eyes away. He puts it down to the whole ‘bad boy’ image thing that he’s somehow been dragged into, because watching Dean put the cigarette between his lips and inhale deeply, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he blows out smoke rings and smirking around the trick, has Cas feeling hot and heavy. Inexplicably, all he wants to do is kiss Dean and see if it tastes as bad as he’s always imagined it would.

“I don’t think you mean that. I think you secretly like it.”

“What – no! Of course not. It’s putrid and it makes you look like an idiot, Dean.”

Dean smirks. “Just try it. I promise I’ll let it go if you just try, Cas.”

 “No, Dean,” Cas starts to protest. “I’ve never done it before so I’ll just cough and embarrass myself. I – I don’t even know how to smoke.”

At this, Dean’s smirk turns almost feral. “Oh, it’s easy,” he says, turning to face Cas full on, moving into Cas’ space with his lips just a breath away from Cas’ own. “You just put it in your mouth,” he explains, bringing the cigarette up to Cas’ lips, pausing to allow Cas to open up. Cas does, for some reason he can’t explain, and his eyes are locked with Dean’s when Dean places the cigarette on the just of his lower lip and he closes the top one down onto it. “Good boy, just like that. And now you do something that I already know you’re real good at, baby; you just gotta suck.”

He winks at the end of the sentence, and Cas’ heart is hammering in his chest. He inhales anyway, feels the smoke fill his mouth, sink down his throat. It’s a fucking struggle not to cough, feeling something so unnatural filling his senses – something he’s not used to and never expected to try – but he manages it. He breathes in just the once, and then brings his hand up to his lips, puts the cigarette between his fingers and takes it back out of his mouth. He lets it fall to the ground and stamps on it with the toe of his shoe. He blows out deeply, smoke filling the air between the, Dean still so close that they’re almost shotgunning, and Dean smirks even as he is encased with the vile smoke.

“Not too bad, huh?” he asks, and Cas shakes his head.

“No, I guess not,” he allows, and takes another step forward, pressing against Dean with his whole body and kissing him deeply. He pulls back after a while and looks Dean in the eye, says with a smirk, “You do taste horrible, though.”

Dean just snorts. “Somehow I don’t believe you.”

Cas just shrugs, smiles slightly, and leans back in to kiss Dean. It takes a few seconds for Dean to turn back around to Cas and push their bodies together entirely. When he does, he slips his tongue into Cas’ mouth, bites down on Cas’ lips and brings a hand up to either side of Cas’ jaw so he can brush his thumbs across the juncture. His hips start rocking a rhythm out against Cas’, and Cas can already feeling himself getting harder which is just fucking ridiculous, because he only just came like, five minutes ago, but feeling Dean getting hard too, knowing it’s because of him, he can’t help himself.

He pulls away after a few seconds, breathless, eyes heavy and his hands fisted into the lapels of Dean’s jacket. He looks up underneath his lashes, finds Dean looking down at him too, smile lazy and crooked, eyes lidded and piercing. Cas can already feel the blush creeping underneath his cheeks because this is – this is just kissing, because they’ve already had sex and now they’re in the afterglow and they’re just fucking kissing through it, like maybe they’re a couple or some stupid shit like that.

Cas quickly shakes himself out of it and steps back and out of Dean’s reach. “Uh, actually there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean asks, raising an eyebrow and taking out a new cigarette, putting it between his lips and lighting it, breathing in deeply once he has. “What’s about?”

“The project,” Castiel answers. “Our project. The Physics one. I know I said I’d do it alone, but – but I could really use some help, and I realise that you are far better at the subject than I first anticipated. Which was wrong of me, I know; never judge a book by its cover and all that. So, um. How about we meet up at the library and do the work this Saturday maybe?”

Dean doesn’t answer straight away and Cas starts to worry. Is he being too presumptuous? Perhaps Dean would construe that as a date or something. Then he remembers that not ten minutes ago Dean was sucking Cas’ brain out through his cock, and thinks that maybe they’ve moved past presumptuous.

He watches Dean, waits for his reaction. All he gets for a few long minutes is Dean inhaling and then exhaling clouds of smoke, fingers locked delicately around the cigarette and eyes focused on nothing in particular, harder than they were just moments ago.

“Can’t,” Dean says eventually. “I’m busy.”

Cas can’t help himself before he asks, “Doing what?”

“Just,” Dean starts, mouth a harsh set line and eyes narrowed. He breaks off after the word, glances to his left, to where Cas is standing, arms curled around himself to keep warm from the wind, and his shoulders visibly deflate, tension leaving them for some reason that Castiel doesn’t know. “I promised my little brother I’d hang out with him.”

“Oh, ok. That’s fine, we can do it another time.”

“Or we could, I don’t know, do it then anyway?” he offers hesitantly, side eyeing Castiel, looking almost fucking nervous. “I mean, you could come to ours and we could do it there? I think Sammy’d be ok if you were there while we hung out, he’s a cool kid.”

The way Dean talks about Sam reminds Castiel of the way his older brothers talk about him and Anna. They are the youngest Novaks, the babies of the family who are doted on by Michael and Gabriel – even Luke on occasion, but never say it out loud or he will hold you down and sit on you. Cas and Anna were basically raised by their brothers, with no mother and a M.I.A father, and Cas has always understood that their fierce protectiveness stemmed from the fact that Cas and Anna were, for all intents and purposes, their children, because they were the ones to put them to bed after a nightmare and to scare away the monsters underneath their beds.

He wonders if perhaps Dean and Sam seem to be so close because maybe – maybe Dean raised Sam in the way Michael and Luke and Gabriel raised Cas and Anna? Castiel has never heard anything of Dean’s father or mother – never heard either one mentioned, even though Dean sometimes brings up Sam – and thinks, what if?

He decides not to ask, if only because it’s too personal. He’s not anything to Dean more than a warm mouth and a compliant body, and he thinks that Dean won’t want to discuss something as personal as family with him.

So, instead, he just says, “Yes, ok. That sounds nice.”

Dean’s smile is barely there before he suppresses it away again, but Castiel sees it. He sees it and lets it sink underneath his skin, settle in his bones, make a home in there because he made Dean smile just by agreeing to go to his house, agreeing to spend time with him and his brother where – clearly – the sole object wouldn’t be sex. He doesn’t want to feel happy because of this, but he does, and there’s not enough willpower in him to stop it.

“Good,” Dean says, taking a final drag of his cigarette and then crushing it under his boot. “Now c’mon, let’s take you home.”


Cas is sitting in his car outside an apartment complex on a Saturday morning. The radio is playing softly in the background, but what he’s most focused on is the way his hands are wringing in his lap and how his breathing is erratic and laboured. All in all, he’s really fucking nervous, because he’s sitting outside the apartment complex where Dean lives. He’s waiting to have to go up and press the buzzer and go into Dean’s home.

He takes a deep breath, takes his keys out of the ignition and steps out of the car, locks it behind him and puts the keys into the pocket of his hoodie. He walks over the street to the building’s door, scans the list of names on the side until he finds Winchester, and presses the button, holding his breath while he does so. Eventually, after a long buzzing and an even longer silence, the metal box crackles into life and there’s the sound of a voice.

“Hello?” it says, and it’s not Dean, sounds too young, and Castiel presumes it must be Sam.

“Oh, yes, um, hi,” he replies, skin burning and feet itching to just run away. “I’m here to see Dean?”

The voice sounds bright when it replies. “Oh, hi! You must be Castiel. Hang on a sec, I’ll just buzz you in.”

This is followed by another buzz and then the door clicking. Castiel pushes at it and finds that it opens, so he steps through and begins to climb the stairs to the Winchester apartment on the third floor. The elevator is out of order. When he gets to the correct floor, he hesitantly walks to the door labelled 3B, still really nervous because this isn’t meeting Dean in some sordid corner so they can get each other off, this is meeting his family and spending time together where they’ll actually just talk. He’s scared and anxious but somehow, stupidly, he really wants it, too.

 He knocks on the door and breathes slowly until it opens. When it does, Castiel sees a young boy – probably around fourteen – with floppy hair and bright eyes, smiling so widely he has dimples on his cheeks. He looks up at Cas from beneath his bangs, and he’s not looking up too far, Castiel notes, and absently thinks that someday he is going to be mammoth.

“Hi!” the kid says, breaking Cas out of his reverie. “I’m Sam, Dean’s brother. Come in! Dean’s in the shower right now but you can come in and I can get you a drink or something, yeah?”

“Um,” Cas starts, slightly caught off guard by Sam’s smiles and the way he just seems so nice, and all Cas wants to do is cuddle him because he is absolutely freaking adorable. He restrains himself, though, because he’s pretty sure Sam is a freshman and therefore probably fairly averse to being cuddled. “Yes, yeah, sure.”

Sam beams. “Awesome.”

He walks off then, looking behind him just once, seeing Cas still stood in the doorway hesitantly, and he rolls his eyes and gestures for Cas to follow him with the tilt of his head. Cas does, following Sam through the apartment, seeing it small and somewhat cramped, hearing the spray of a shower he presumes Dean is taking – and he really needs to quell that image before it flourishes, because he’s not sure how Dean would take Cas popping a boner in front of his little brother. It’s clean and tidy, a narrow hall leading to a small kitchen, two bedrooms and the closed door of a bathroom. He wonders if perhaps Dean and Sam share a room, as there are only two, but before he can ask he’s in the kitchen and Sam is pushing him into a chair beside the wooden table and verbally assaulting him with drink choices.

“So, what do you want? We’ve got tea and coffee and juice and milk and soda and, you know, I could like, make you something, if you want, it wouldn’t be a problem , I –“

“Soda’s fine, thanks,” Cas cuts him off with a small smile.

Sam smiles in return. “Yeah, sure, no problem.” He pours a drink for Cas and one for himself, and then he places them both on the table before taking a seat too. He takes a pull of his own drink, and Cas uses the silence to do the same, and when he sets the glass back down he turns to Cas with some kind of determination in his eyes. “So you’re Dean’s friend, right?”

Castiel begins to wonder how you explain fooling around with someone you severely dislike to a fourteen year old. Then he realises that, actually, you don’t, and so he chooses to take the easy route and just lie instead.

“Yes, he’s in my Physics class.”

“Dean’s real good at Physics, you know.”

“Yes, I do. I’m rather glad that I have been paired with him on our latest project. I am absolutely hopeless at Physics, so it’s nice to know I might not actually fail this assignment.”

Sam chuckles under his breath. “I’m sure you’re not that bad,” he says, and doesn’t let Cas protest before he continues. “But yeah, Dean is totally smart. He can fix the car up no problem and I swear if it weren’t for him our electrics would have cost us a bomb in repairs over the years.”

Cas smiles indulgently. “That’s nice.”

“Yeah, it is. He’s an awesome big brother. Even if he can’t cook worth a damn and his music taste is terrible. Does he make you listen to AC/DC too?”

“Well, yes, sometimes, but –“

“I mean, they’re not that bad, I guess, but I wouldn’t choose to listen to them. He’s great though, right?”

Cas blinks. This entire conversation is beginning to feel like a, well, an assault. Why is Sam waxing lyrical about his brother? Cas understands that Dean talks about Sam with reverence, but that’s an older brother thing. Castiel is the youngest – along with Anna – and he knows that while he loves his brothers, sometimes he wishes they were less protective. So, unless Sam really enjoys the kind of overbearing presence that an older sibling usually holds, Castiel has no idea why he’s doing this. He decides to ask.

“Sam,” he starts cautiously. He sees Sam’s lips tighten shut before he begins biting at his bottom lip nervously. “Is there any particular reason you are talking about your brother like this?”

Sam blushes bright red, right up to the tips of his ears. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Cas frowns. “You keep talking about how great he is. Why?”

Honestly, Cad doesn’t mind. He does, however, find it difficult to reconcile the Dean that Sam speaks of so cheerfully with the sullen teenager he knows. To Castiel, Dean is someone who smokes because he’s dying anyway, someone that hits on his sister and then holds him up against a wall and ruts against his ass. Dean is not – not great, or the hero that Sam appears to worship. Dean is an asshole who Castiel refuses to like.

“I want you to like him.”

“What?” Cas’ brow wrinkles in confusion. What?

The blush on Sam’s face still hasn’t subsided and he’s still chewing on his bottom lip anxiously. “I know that you and Dean are, um, fooling around.” Now Cas is the one blushing. Sam is a baby, he shouldn’t even know what fooling around is, let alone who is brother is doing it with. “But he’s invited you to our place and even though he hasn’t said anything – I mean, it’s Dean, he never would – I know that he likes you.”

“He – he doesn’t like me.”

Sam shakes his head. “I know my brother, Cas. He likes you.”

Cas is about to deny again, because Sam is talking total bullshit. Dean Winchester does not like him. Of course he doesn’t. Castiel is a shy little nerd, but he’s willing – oh so fucking willing – to sleep with Dean on a regular basis. Dean may like how easy Cas is, but he definitely does not like Cas in himself. He opens his mouth to say all this – maybe a little less explicit, Sam is only fourteen, after all – but then Dean walks through the kitchen door, shirtless with sweatpants, hair damp and rivulets of water pooling in the dip of his collarbone. Castiel licks his lips and stares, and it’s only when Dean clears his throat that Cas’ head snaps up.

“I didn’t expect you this early,” Dean says, eyes flickering back and forth between Sam and Cas.

Cas shakes his head. “It’s fine,” he says lamely, and a lull of silence falls. He breaks it by adding, “I met Sam.”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

Silence comes again after that. It lasts and lingers, Dean and Cas awkwardly staring at one another, Cas struggling to keep his eyes from falling to the contours of Dean’s chest, the muscles of his stomach, the loose crotch of his pants. He looks – looks so human. There’s not leather jacket and no smirk, just Dean having showered, standing in his own kitchen doorway, looking just as caught out as Castiel feels. All Castiel wants to do is kiss him, but Sam is right there and Dean probably wouldn’t appreciate it, either.

After a while Sam clears his throat and follows it with a soft laugh. “Don’t you two have a project to be getting on with?”

“Yeah,” Dean breathes, almost absent. Then, he shakes his head and starts again. “I mean, yeah we do. C’mon Sammy, Cas, we can do it in the living room.”

Sam smirks. “You sure you want me there if you’re gonna do it in the living room?”

Castiel chokes on air. “Shut up, Sammy!” Dean barks, flush crawling up his chest. Huh, Castiel thinks, who knew Dean Winchester could blush? “Now get your ass into the living room before I kick it in there, alright?”

“Whatever, jerk,” Sam murmurs, smirking still and leaving the room, leaving Cas and Dean alone in the kitchen.

“Bitch!” Dean yells after it, and the sound of laughter filters from the hall. The snick of a closing door indicates that Sam is safely inside the living room, presumably out of earshot. Dean swallows thickly. “So, uh. That’s my little brother. He’s a dick.”

Cas smiles softly. “No he’s not,” he says. He likes Sam already. Despite his misguided intentions and apparent desire to embarrass the two of them as much as possible, he’s kind and sweet. Castiel likes him, and feels strangely disappointed that after his and Dean’s – something, inevitably ends, Cas won’t really be able to see Sam anymore.

“Yeah, well. He is a little bitch, you gotta admit that.” Cas just laughs softly and stands up. Dean stands up straighter and cocks his head in the direction of the living room. “C’mon, we’ve got a project to do.”

He walks away then, and Castiel follows him. They end up in a small room, possessing just a battered old couch and a TV, looking cramped but cosy. Sam is sat on the edge of the sofa, a book in his hands that looks far too advanced for someone his age. Dean picks up a t-shirt from the edge of the couch and pulls it on, it sticking slightly to his still wet skin. Castiel’s mouth feels dry and he really, really wants to lick the water off of Dean, but now if not the time. Dean sits on the opposite edge of the couch, shoving at his brother playfully and making him drop his book. Cas smiles at the scene and realises there’s not enough room for him to sit on the couch too, so he takes a seat on the floor, cross-legged, just beside where Dean’s feet are planted on the floor.

The room goes oddly silent when he does this. He swivels round slightly, finds Dean staring at him, mouth parted for some reason, and Sam smiling softly, shyly, like he’s happy but now willing to show it just yet. Castiel is confused, and then Dean speaks.

“TV?” Cas just nods and he picks up a remote from underneath the cushion. He turns it on and the image flickers into life after a few seconds, illuminating the screen into what looks like a hospital drama. Sam groans loudly and Dean throws his head back in laughter. “Bad luck, Sammy.”

“Cas is the guest!” Sam proclaims, and Cas turns to look at him confusedly.

“Why does that matter?”

Sam splutters slightly. “You don’t honestly want to watch this crap“ – an indignant language! from Dean that Sam ignores – “do you?”

Cas turns back to the TV. The screen shows a man with dark hair kissing a young female intern very enthusiastically in what looks like a supply closet. It reminds him, oddly, of all the times Dean has pressed him up against a wall in a small room at school, and he wonders if perhaps Dean learned his techniques from this show. He still has no idea, what it is though.

“I don’t know what this is,” Castiel admits.

Sam buries his head in his hands and Dean’s eyes go wide with shock. “You’re kidding, right?” Dean asks. Cas shakes his head and Dean smiles slightly. “Aw, man, you’ve been missing out. Dr. Sexy is the best TV show in the freaking world.”

“Lies!” Sam shouts in the background. “It’s awful and you only like it because you’ve got a crush on Dr. Sexy!”

Dean shrugs. “Yeah, he is pretty hot. Have you seen those cowboy boots? Oh man, so hot.”

Sam scrunches his nose up. “Gross, dude. I don’t want to hear about what weird ass fantasies you’re making Cas play out for you.”

“Sammy!” Dean yells, and Castiel’s face is burning so hot he thinks it’ll sear his skin off. “Do not make me pound on you!”

“Sorry,” Sam replies, face straight and solemn and he totally doesn’t mean that, there is no doubt something about to follow that’ll have Cas shrinking into himself. “I know you’d rather pound into Cas.”

Wow, Cas thinks, smiling and watching Dean chase Sam around the room. Fourteen year olds know way more than they should do, nowadays.


It’s around 5 in the evening and the three of them are still sat in the Winchester living room. Dean is on the floor with Cas, by now, and they’re hunched over spread out piles of paper and folders – all Cas’, of course, because Dean has barely turned up to enough the semester to know what classes he’s even in – and Sam is lounging out on the couch, by now having gained control of the TV enough to turn off Dr. Sexy. After about ten minutes of that show Cas found himself whole-heartedly agreeing with Sam on its quality. He’d voiced this opinion and Dean had called them both heathens.

Cas sits up and stretches, his back aching and half of their project done – mostly thanks to Dean – and when he does, Dean peers up at him and then sits up too.

“Enough for one day?” Dean asks.

Cas nods his head emphatically. “I think so.” He stands up and stretches even more, opening his eyes and catching Dean staring, realising it’s because his t-shirt must have ridden up slightly. He blushes and looks to Sam. “What time is it?”

“Five,” Sam answers, looking highly amused. “You should stay for dinner.”

“I –“ Cas starts. Shouldn’t, he thinks, but then he looks over to Dean. Sees him smiling slightly, small and so out of place against his lips that Cas’ breath catches in his throat. He’s powerless against his own will. “Yes, ok. That sounds nice.”

Dean’s smile is so bright it’s blinding, and Cas kind find it in himself to regret the decision even a little bit.

They eat spaghetti – which Dean cooks, must to Cas’ amazement – and sit around the table for hours. They eat and talk, Castiel watching the easy banter between Sam and Dean with amusement, joining in himself on occasion. Sam smiles at him so warmly whenever he does and Dean – well, Dean does too. He looks at Cas like he’s never looked at him before, open and fucking affectionate, for all that Cas thinks that to be an impossibility. They continue to sit at the table for two hours after they’ve all finished, and it’s only when Cas phone beeps with a message from Michael asking if he’s coming home anytime soon that he decides he should probably go and leave Sam and Dean on their own to hang out.

He stands up and says he’s going now, thank you for the meal and he’ll take the project home with him and review what else they need to do. Sam stands up, too, and tells Cas it was nice to meet him before going to his room, muttering under his breath about privacy and a coward jerk. When he’s out of the room, Dean stands up and rubs a hand over the back of his neck, looking down at his feet sheepishly.

“Sorry about Sam,” he offers.

Cas shakes his head. “There’s no reason to be,” he assures, absolutely truthful. “I had fun today.”

Dean smiles. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Cas smiles back.

Dean walks Cas out to his car, despite Cas’ protestations that it’s fine and he doesn’t have to. Dean just shakes his head and herds Cas out of the apartment, chats to him about nothing much at all as they walk down the stairs and over the street to where Cas’ car is parked. Cas opens the car with two twists of the key, opening the door and then lingering, smiling at Dean.

“See you at school,” Cas says as way of goodbye.

“Yeah,” Dean replies, leaning forwards to press one soft kiss to the corner of Cas’ mouth before pulling away. “See you at school.”

He walks away then, back into his apartment building and back up to his brother. Cas slips into his car and turns the ignition on, pulling away and about to drive the ten minutes back to his own house where his family waits. The smile that sits on his lips feels permanent.

It’s not until he’s a few blocks away that he realises Dean just kissed him goodbye and he just met Dean’s family and, for all intents and purposes, they just went on a freaking date.

At this point he has to pull over and hyperventilate, because this thing with Dean is spiralling out of control. He hates Dean. Hates him. He’s an asshole and a player and Cas only wants him for sex, and Dean feels the same vice versa, right?

But he can still feel the press of Dean’s lips against his own, the feel of Dean’s thumb tracing over the underside of his wrist. It’s a feeling he can’t shake and, in all honesty, he doesn’t want to.

He is so, so fucked.


By Monday, Castiel’s head is still messed up. He hasn’t seen nor spoken to Dean since that Saturday – no cell number to contact him with, and that’s why it’s so weird that they seem to be fucking dating right now – and it’s not until lunch that he does see him.

Or, well, less sees him, and more is pulled into an empty, darkened classroom by him and sat down on the edge of the teacher’s desk.

“Hi there,” Dean murmurs, smirk in his voice and hands already slipping underneath Cas’ sweater.

Cas laughs softly, lifting his arms to allow Dean to take off the top. “Hello, Dean,” he replies. “I haven’t seen you all day.”

“Yeah,” Dean says absently, mouth pressing light, open mouthed kisses to Cas’ neck. “Was busy. Here now, though, and the door’s locked and the curtains are closed and why are you still not naked, baby?”

Cas laughs again, feels the worry fade away from his body with each touch of Dean’s fingers to his skin, with each press of Dean’s lips against his neck and jaw and mouth. He uses his own hands to take off Dean’s t-shirt, kicking off his shoes while he does it so that he can take his shorts off straight afterwards. Dean quickly shucks off his jeans before diving back into Castiel, fitting in the slot between Cas’ legs, kissing him deep and filthy, pushing their hips together tantalisingly.

Dean’s kisses become deeper, longer, more tongue and teeth, his hips working faster and his erection pressing hard against the tent in Cas’ boxers. Cas meets him thrust for thrust, hands raking blunt marks into Dean’s back, and it’s great and hot but he also wants more, more, more. He pulls back reluctantly and is met by Dean’s confused gaze.

“Can we –“ Cas starts, cutting himself off and pulling his bottom lip between his incisors. Dean is no longer rocking his hips now, he’s just looking at Castiel imploringly, uncomprehendingly. Cas breathes in deep and just says it. “Do you think you could fuck me, please?”

It’s like all of Dean’s breath rushes out at once. Cas wants this, so much, so freaking bad. He wants to have Dean finger him open, wants to have Dean pushing into him, feeling open and filled up at the same time, fucked into by Dean’s dick and bent in half. He wants Dean’s marks on him, wants Dean’s mark inside of him. He knows it’s stupid to want this now, during a school lunch period, in an empty classroom with his classmates roaming the halls just outside. He knows it’s idiotic and reckless and so not him, but he wants it anyway.

He wants Dean anyway.

“You sure you want that?” Dean asks, breathless even as his hands grip convulsively against the backs of Cas’ thighs. Cas can only nod and hold his breath while he waits for Dean to answer. “Oh, fuck. Fuck, yeah, Cas, we can. God, baby, want you so bad.”

Dean’s hands are at the waist of Cas’ underwear, pulling them down past his knees and then letting them drop to the floor. He works on his own next, stepping out of them and pressing back into Cas, his cock hard against his stomach, pressing hotly against Castiel’s and eliciting loud moans from both of them. Dean’s fingers curl around the backs of Cas’ thighs, pulling slightly and making Cas shift forwards, so that his ass is perched right on the edge and Cas has to wrap his legs around Dean’s waist to keep upright.

“Dean,” Cas breathes, eyes closed as Dean sucks more marks into his neck. “Dean, please, soon, we don’t have much time.”

“No, Cas,” he affirms, and Cas accidentally lets out an almost petulant whine. Dean chuckles slightly under his breath, breaking and catching in his throat when Cas rolls his hips as motivation for Dean to get a fucking move on. “Cas, no. I’m gonna take my sweet time, ok darlin’?” Dean moves his lips to the spot underneath Cas’ jaw that makes his toes curl and his cock twitch against his stomach, and his next words are pressed against Cas’ skin. “You deserve that, at least.”

Cas’ breath hitches. He stops the movements of his hips, goes all but still in Dean’s arms, and after a second he opens his eyes to find Dean staring straight at him, a vulnerability hiding in his irises but Castiel is close enough that he can see it. His hands move to cup Dean’s jaw.


Dean smiles briefly before kissing Cas again, slower than before. He slips his tongue in, curls it around Castiel’s, starts rolling his hips slowly and fluidly, taking his time even though they really do have to be fast, because lunch will be over soon.

The thought makes him want to burst out laughing. Lunch will be over soon. Holy shit, he’s about to lose his virginity during lunch hour. How is this his life?

Dean growls in the back of his throat and presses even closer, like he wants to actually sink into Castiel’s skin, and Castiel realises that if this is his life, then he’s pretty damn happy about it.

“Can’t believe this is happening, baby,” Dean murmurs, hands skirting down Cas’ side, one holding onto one of Cas’ thighs and keeping his legs in place, the other dropping to his cock, brushing over it agonisingly lightly, dropping behind and stroking over the cleft of his ass. “I’m gonna be the first one to fuck your pretty little hole, aren’t I? No one else has ever touched you like this before, have they?”

“No, Dean,” Cas answers, eyes closed and pushing his ass down, trying to get to Dean’s fingers. “Just you, Dean.”

Dean’s growl sounds almost feral. “Fuck, baby, I’m gonna make you feel so good. Gonna fuck you nice and hard, have you feeling me for the rest of week. You want that, don’t you? Want to think about me fucking that tight hole of yours whenever you sit down?”

“Yes, Dean, please, please, Dean. Fuck me.”

“Yeah,” Dean mumbles, voice slurred with want, bringing his fingers back up and putting them into his mouth, sucking obscenely and making Cas’ dick twitch, hard, against his stomach. He pulls off them with a pop, trails them back down, circling one at Cas’ hole teasingly. “Yeah, ok angel. Just gotta get you ready for me first.”

He pushes in then, and Castiel inhales sharply. Dean only goes up to the knuckle, moving it in slowly. It feel – weird, mostly. It doesn’t hurt exactly, but it’s not exactly comfortable either. Doesn’t stop him from grinding down onto it slightly, enjoying the shot of pleasure and pain that shoots through him when does, because Dean’s finger is in his ass and holy fucking hell he might come from that anticipatory thought alone.

“More, please,” he asks, and Dean breathes out a laugh.

“You sure you can handle that, sweetheart?”

Cas nods. “Yes,” he says, and then adds on, “please.”

Dean’s head falls against Cas’ shoulder and he snuffs laughter into the skin there. Still, he pushes the first finger in to the hilt, going slow enough that Cas could tell him to stop if he wanted to. Except he doesn’t want to, because the drag of Dean’s fingers inside of him, pushing in and then out, is making him harder than he thinks he’s ever been before in his life.

This goes on and on, the slow, sweet drag of Dean’s finger, the eventual adding of a second. Cas’ breath hitches with each push and pull, moans erupting from his chest because shit, he had no idea it could feel this good. He’d only ever done anything with Dean – always too busy before, too conscientious – and this is further than they’ve ever gotten. Before was hand jobs and blowjobs and frenzied rutting, but this is kissing while Cas wraps his legs around Dean’s waist, Dean’s fingers inside of him and holy shit this is going somewhere that makes anticipation buzz through Cas’ skin and makes him grind down onto Dean’s fingers, focusing on the pleasure that edges the pain, needing more right fucking now.

“You can – ah – put another in, Dean. I’m not going to break.”

Dean’s breath stutters out of him. “God, baby, so perfect. Knew you’d be like this, all needing and slutty. I want you so bad, Cas, you have no idea.”

“I know,” Cas breathes, hands fisted in Dean’s hair, mouthing the words against Dean’s lips. “I want you, too. Please, Dean, I need you soon.”

Dean just moans loudly and starts scissoring, almost fucking brutal in his ministrations. Cas takes it all and begs for more, moans happily when Dean slips in a third finger, chokes out of breath when Dean crooks them and hits his prostate.

“There, baby?” Dean asks, voice mumbled and fingers keeping up a brutal pace.

“Yes, Dean, right there, oh God please don’t stop.”

“You’re so wet for me, babe,” Dean slurs, one hand starting to jack Cas off while the other pushes in and out of him. “You want this so much, don’t you? Fuck, I could come just watching you like this, you know. Just watching the way your eyes close and mouth looks so fucking wrecked. I could come right here on the spot with my fingers up your ass and kissing you ‘til I can’t breathe no more.”

Soft sounds are falling out of Cas’ mouth, reedy little ahs and hitches of breath. He listens to Dean talk and feels need coursing through his body, and it’s not longer before his head is against Dean’s shoulder and he’s so goddamn ready he needs Dean fucking him yesterday.

“Now, Dean,” he asks. “I want you to fuck me now, please, I’m ready.”

Dean pushes in a few more times, crooking his fingers and swallowing Cas’ breath, and then he pulls all three out at once, scissoring harshly on their way out. He quickly pulls Cas forwards again after, lining the head of his cock up to Cas’ hole, nudging it and making Cas clutch even harder at Dean’s skin, rake marks into it that won’t fade for weeks.

Dean pulls away only to reach to his left, to pick up a little bottle of lube that he carries around with him – because he’s a fucking slut, but apparently so is Cas, so he can’t really complain, especially not right now – and a condom. He slides the condom on, applies the lube over his cock and to Cas’ hole, and when everything’s as it should be he gets back to Cas’ mouth.

“Tell me if it hurts,” Dean says, kissing Cas in between syllables. “Tell me if it hurts too much and I’ll stop, ok?”

Cas nods frantically. “Yes, Dean. Just fuck me.”

Jesus, darlin’, you’re gonna be the death of me, I swear to God.”

He punctuates his sentence by pushing in, inch by inch, slow and almost frustrating. Cas feels himself stretch around it, accommodating and wanting, hurting but still needing. Dean stops about halfway in, breathes deep and laboured, Cas doing the same. He mouths at Cas’ neck and Cas’ stretches to allow him more skin to bite and suck at, knowing he’ll have hickeys and loving it anyway. He stays there for what seems like a long period of time, and eventually Cas feels himself clenching less, feeling less uncomfortable, too, and he starts to grind down onto Dean’s dick softly.

“More, please.”

Dean chuckles. “So damn bossy, Cas.” He goes in further anyway.

He buries himself into the hilt, balls slapping against Cas’ skin, hips flush against Cas’ thighs. His hands clutch convulsively at Cas, one at his waist and the other holding up one of his thighs. Cas’ hands are still buried in Dean’s hair, angling him for kisses when he needs them, keeping him there so they can breathe into each other’s mouth when sensation overwhelms him.

“This is – this is – oh God –“

“Am I hurting you?” Dean’s tone is laced with concern, and Castiel would focus more on how fucking weird that is, if it weren’t for how fucking good he feels right now.

“No, it’s – it’s slightly uncomfortable but – fuck, Dean if you don’t start moving I think I may kill you.”

Dean begins to laugh, but it cuts off when Cas pushes down. “Man, you’re pushy.”

Cas whines throatily. “Just move, Dean.”

“Yeah, yeah, ok,” Dean mumbles, starting to thrust in and out shallowly.

Cas moans at the feel of it, more vocal in this instance than ever before, and he meets Dean’s pushes in with a roll of his hips against it. He wasn’t lying when he said that it didn’t hurt – sure, it’s not the most comfortable thing he’s ever done – and he wants Dean to push in harder, to hear the smack of skin against skin, the snap of Dean’s hips against Cas’ thighs. He wants it delicious and filthy and he says about as much aloud to Dean.

Dean’s answer is to give him what he wants. He pulls out almost entirely and then slams back in, the snap of hips and skin resonating deep into Cas’ bones and bringing him closer to the edge. Dean fills him up so big, and he always knew Dean was packing – had already had the evidence in his hands and mouth – but with him inside of Castiel, he just feels infinitely bigger, and fucking better as well. Dean continues to move in and out, fast and hard, taking Cas’ loud groans as all the acquiescence he needs that Cas wants this. Because he does, oh so fucking much, and he’s losing his virginity and it’s going to be over embarrassingly quickly, but who the hell cares, anyway, because he’s eighteen years old and he’s giving it up to Dean freaking Winchester, for Christ’s sake.

“Dean,” he murmurs, mouth sloppy where Dean licks into it, thrusting hard still. “Dean, touch me, I’m so close, fuck.”

Dean hums his agreement. “Hm, me too baby,” he slurs, taking the hand he’s got on Cas’ waist and moving it round to Cas’ dick, jacking him off with sure strokes that match the rhythmic snap of his hips. “God, you’re so perfect, your ass is so tight I wanna fuck you for hours, sweetheart, get you writhing and begging. Wanna spread you out and leave hickeys all over your gorgeous body, wanna bend you right in half and play with that pretty little hole of yours. You’d let me, right baby? You want this as much as I do?”

Shit,” Cas almost yells, feeling on the edge, the precipice, ready to tumble over. “Yes, Dean, fuck, I want that so bad. Next time, God, next time.”

Dean drives in once more, burying himself fully, thumb brushing over the tip of Cas’ cock, mouth forming a broken Cas, and that’s when Cas comes. He spills over Dean’s hand, some on his stomach, hot even against his feverish skin. He keeps his eyes open during it, wanting to see Dean come, too. Which he does, about ten seconds later, fucking in frenetically and without any finesse, Cas clenching around his dick with as much control as he can considering he’s still blessed out from his own orgasm. He keeps his eyes open as well, just watching each other until they can’t anymore, until Dean’s eyes slam shut and he pushes forward to tongue fuck Castiel once again.

Cas lets him, of course, arms around Dean’s neck, stroking lazily at the short hairs at the back of it, feeling hot skin against hot skin, Dean still inside of him, soft now but not wanting him out just yet. Dean pulls away after a minute or two, leaning their foreheads together and panting into each other’s mouths.

“You ok?” he asks after a little while, and Cas can’t help but breathe out a small laugh.

“I’m fucking fantastic,” he answers, and is rewarded for his honesty with a small smile from Dean.

Dean pulls out after that, and Cas winces. Dean chuckles, murmurs sorry, it’ll be like that for a while, and takes the condom off his dick to throw into the trash can, picks up both of their clothes, pulling on his own boxers and then setting the rest on the desk beside Cas. He picks up a piece of cloth from behind Cas and wipes him down, throwing it in the trash after, too, and then picking up Cas’ boxers and slipping them back on for him.

He steps back and allows them both to get redressed, Cas trying to smooth out his hair and Dean ruining it by fluffing his hands through it whenever it seems to regain any kind of normalcy. Cas grumbles when he does this, and Dean just replies, “Dude, it’d be weirder if you didn’t have sex hair, trust me.” Cas flushes beneath a smile and Dean pushes him up against the wall and starts kissing him.

It’s a lazy kind of kiss: tongue and lips, unhurried and messy, no end in sight, just the feel of Dean’s skin underneath his palms, of Dean’s hands cupping his jaw. They keep it going for far longer than they should, and Castiel thinks that this is them in the afterglow. Eventually, Dean pulls away only with his mouth, keeping his body in place so it still crowds Cas against the wall.

Cas thinks of something. “Oh, I need to talk to you about our project.”

Dean chuckles and presses another kiss to the corner of Cas’ lips. “Really, Cas?” he asks, slight incredulity in his tone. “You wanna talk about that now?”

“All things considered, we are at school currently. Therefore it’s actually more appropriate for us to discuss our upcoming school work instead of, I don’t know, fuck on a teacher’s desk.”

Dean laughs again. “You got me there, I guess,” he mumbles, nose pressing along Cas’ cheek, almost reverent. “Go on then, shoot.”

“Well, we still have rather a lot to do. And whilst spending the day at your place with your brother was fun, it was not particularly conducive to a good work ethic. I’m pretty sure we spent more time talking than actually working, so I was thinking we should go to the library next time, get some real work done. This weekend, perhaps?”

Dean goes stiller and stiller as Cas speaks, and by the end of it he’s pulled back entirely, leaving Cas slouched against the wall alone. He stands a few feet away, rubs a hand over the back of his neck and looks down at his feet.

“Sammy’s got football practise on Saturday, I can’t.”

Castiel is nonplussed, not understanding what has Dean acting this way. “That’s fine, we can do Sunday if that’s better for –“

“I can’t do Sunday either,” he interrupts. “Sam’s got his tutor and there’s stuff I need to sort out at – at the bank.”

“Oh,” Castiel breathes, frowning. “Couldn’t – couldn’t your dad do that stuff? Or your mom?”

Dean’s head snaps up. “No,” he grits out, and Castiel frowns even further. “I have to do it.”

“I don’t see why, Dean. Sam is your brother, not your child, surely your one of your parents should be doing these kinds of things instead of you.”

A muscle in Dean’s jaw twitches and he shifts from foot to foot, a hard set to his shoulders. “I said no, Cas. It’s my job. Drop it.”

“No,” Castiel pushes, feeling brash and rude, not understanding why Dean is pushing him away, why Dean is obviously hiding something. “How can it be your job? You’re not the parent. Shit, you’re barely a functioning teenager. How are you being put in care of a fourteen year old when you can’t even show up to school on time and finish your work? How the fuck does that make sense, Dean?”

“What the fuck do you know, Cas?” Dean erupts, red in the face, rounding in on Cas with his hands in fists. “You’re just a little slut, a dirty little whore who gave it up in a school classroom to someone you don’t even like. You’re boring, Castiel. You’re a pretty little nerd who was barely worth my time, and now I’ve got what I wanted and I’m done with you. I’ve got nerdy little Castiel Novak’s virginity and you ain’t getting it back, sweetheart, so you can stay the fuck away from me for good. That’s all you’re worth, anyway, what more could I want from you?”

Castiel looks at Dean, the anger in his eyes, the way his Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he swallows convulsively. He glances over to the desk, thinks of not five fucking minutes before, when Dean had kissed him, spoke of next time, made sure it didn’t hurt. He feels his jaw clench as he realises that was an act, all a fucking act and now that it’s over Dean’s back to being the asshole Cas somehow momentarily forgot he is.

“I –“ Cas starts, soft and slow. He’s not sure whether he’s going to shout or yell or curl up on himself, but before he’s got the chance to decide Dean is unlocking the door, storming out without even glancing back once. Once he’s gone, Castiel is left alone, slumped against the wall, shame crawling up his spine, face burning with anger and hate and so much fucking shame he has no idea how he’s going to walk back into those halls.

Today, he lost his virginity. He lost it to an asshole who was using him the whole time, and it wouldn’t even be that bad if Cas hadn’t somehow begun to think that there was more between them. Dean gave him hope that maybe there could be, but now he realises it was an act. Who knows, maybe Sam’s in on it, too. Maybe they make a team, one where they both make the person in question feel special, enough so that said person will give it up at the next available opportunity.

He hates himself for falling for it.

He also hates himself for how he was falling in love with the person Dean was pretending to be. Except he’s not sure how to undo it, either.


Cas is curled up in bed, sheets tucked under his chin and face buried into the pillow. He’s been here since he got home, hasn’t spoken to anyone the whole time. Michael had come in to ask if he wanted dinner, Luke to ask about dessert. Gabriel had called his cell phone but he let the phone ring through to voicemail. In the car Anna had tried to talk to him, but he’d just turned the radio up loud enough to discourage any kind of conversation, and she got the hint quickly enough.

Now, he’s in bed. He feels stupid and angry and above all numb, and he hates that he’s become the high school cliché of crying over a boy who doesn’t want him back. He hates that he fell for Dean’s sweethearts, and his relationship with his little brother, and he hates, hates, hates that he gave it up so willingly, wanted Dean so bad, and Dean only wanted Cas as quick and easy as he could fuck him.

The door creaks open and Anna pops her head around.

“Hey, Cas,” she whispers, and gets no reply. She walks into the room regardless, dressed in pyjamas so Cas assumes it’s night time. She comes over to his bed, stands beside it, and hesitates a second before she crawls in next him and snuggles up against his back. Her voice is muffled by the cloth of Cas’ t-shirt when she speaks next. “I don’t know exactly what happened today, but I know it must involve Dean and it must be pretty bad.

Cas doesn’t say anything and she breathes deep and slow, and Cas’ eyes fall closed. Anna is his sister and he loves her and he wants to tell her, but –

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, love. But I’m going to stay here just in case you do.”

He drops a hand to hers to curl their fingers together. “Thank you,” is all he can find it in himself to whisper, and he falls asleep to the feel of his sister being there for him.


Days pass. Cas eventually manages to tell Anna what happened, and she hugs him tighty afterwards and whispers that it’s going to be ok, hon, I promise into his hair. She promises not to tell Luke or Michael or Gabriel, because any of those three would take it as war and Castiel really doesn’t want a scene. He wants to slink back into his previous life, pretend that Dean never happened to him, try to forget and move on and stop being so fucking idiotically in love. It’s not going particularly well, but at least Dean hasn’t shown up to school since. Not even once.

He feels hopeless, and hurt, and everyone’s worried about him. His friends look at him anxiously when he doesn’t eat the food on his plate, his sister telling them he’s just sick. She’s the only who knows – Anna – and Castiel plans on keeping it that way. He doesn’t want their pity, or for anyone to shout at Dean: he is going to forget. He is going to get over this.

On Friday, Castiel is sitting on the bleachers, waiting for Anna to finish off too. He remembers just a few weeks before how he’d been doing exactly this when Dean sat down next to him, asked him to go for a drive, ending up with Cas giving his first blowjob in the backseat of a car. This is the first Friday in weeks where he hasn’t just gone out into the parking lot and leant against Dean’s car, waited for him to come out of wherever the hell he spends his time so that they could go off and fit into their routine. In fact, he almost did do that, with one foot on the gravel before he realised there was no big, black car there, and even if there was he’s not welcome in it anymore.

It’s colder now, has slipped from September to October without him noticing, but he’s still sitting outside because he likes it here. There’s homework settled on his knees, a pen between his fingers, but he finds that he’s more inclined to just closing his eyes and tipping his head backwards, pretending that he’s still just Castiel Novak, nerd, friend, virgin.

There’s a creak next to him of someone sitting down. A part of his heart leaps, thinking it’s Dean, hoping it is so fucking much. Except of course it’s not, and when he opens his eyes it’s to find floppy hair and dimples and a gangly frame.


Sam smiles wanly. “Hey, Cas.”

“What are you doing here?” Cas asks. He wants to shout. He wants to yell. He wants to demand whether Sam was in on it, whether he helped to manipulate Cas into letting Dean into his pants. He wants to do this so bad, but there’s also the part of him that’s weary and tired, that just wants to give up and let go of any lingering anger.

“Just –“ Sam starts softly, and then trails off. He inhales sharp and quick, hands fidgeting in his lap and feet curved inwards. He shrugs softly, just once. “Just wanted to talk to you.”

“I can’t imagine what we could possibly have to talk about.”

Sam shrugs again. “I figured out what my brother did to you,” he admits, and ah, he wasn’t in on it. Perhaps he was just as clueless as Cas, perhaps he looks at his brother through such rose tinted glasses that he couldn’t envisage his hero older brother doing something so horrible. “Thought maybe I could explain.”

Cas snorts derisively. “What is there to explain?” he asks, incredulous, and Sam winces slightly. “Your brother made it clear from the start that all he wanted was –“ he pauses, looks over, realises Sam is still practically a child and rethinks his exact wording “– a no strings attached relationship. I should have known better than to fall – to become too close to him. I just want to forget about the whole ordeal, honestly. Pretend it never happened.”

“But –“ Sam mutters, and when Castiel looks over to him his head is hung. There’s a light blush on his face and he’s biting his bottom lip, looking young and sad and frustrated. He huffs out a sharp breath, snaps his head up and looks directly at Cas. “Look, there’s some things you should know. Dean’d go crazy if he knew I was about to do this, but – but he likes you, Cas. I know he does.”

There’s silence. Cas has no idea what Sam is about to say – how he could possibly rationalise Dean’s behaviour. Dean is an asshole and a manipulative user, what in the hell could make that better? Sam twitches and exhales slowly, eyes sad and Cas can’t look away, can’t walk away, never mind how much he knows he should. He wants to hear this. Needs to, really.

Cas nods once, and Sam smiles briefly in return, a fleeting curl at the corners of his mouth.

“Look,” he starts, voice calm. ”I know my brother seems like an asshole. I get it, I really do: he’s got the car and the attitude and the sexual history to compensate for the title. I know he seems dismissive and rude and you probably hate him for everything he’s done, but there’s a reason, ok? I promise you there’s a reason.” Sam pauses to breathe, and Castiel can only blink. “Two years ago our dad walked out on us. Just left, in the middle of the night, and the only things he gave to us before he went were the keys to the Impala and a shitload of debt. Our mom died when I was just a kid and we didn’t know anyone to help us out – dad had made pretty damn sure by that time that no one would even speak to a Winchester anymore – so Dean had to start supporting us. We moved here because the apartments were cheaper and Dean’s never here because he’s always working. He does shifts whenever he can, anywhere he can, and he won’t let me help out, so that usually means cutting school.”

He stops there, maybe just to pause for breath, but Castiel feels like he can’t breathe anymore. He – he had no idea any of this. Sure, when he’d gone to Dean’s place he’d wondered at the two bedrooms, wondered about where their parents were the entire day, but he never even considered that Dean had to play a father at eighteen years old.

“It’s why he keeps himself so distant,” Sam continues, voice so small that Cas strains to hear it above the winds. “He doesn’t want anyone to know. He doesn’t want their pity or their sad looks and – and neither do I, to be honest. But that’s why he acts like such an asshole, Cas. But he wasn’t always to you, right?” Castiel is shaking his head before he even knows what he’s doing. “You’re the first person in years that he’s invited round to wherever we live at the time, so – so that’s gotta mean something, right? Look, Cas, I know you might not believe me here, but I’ve seen the way he looks at you. I’ve seen the way you look at him, too. He likes you, Cas, but he’s scared.”

Cas feels like his skin is too tight, like everything he’d though he’d ever known has now been proved wrong. He had no fucking idea that Dean went through any of this, that he was failing senior year to make sure his little brother didn’t have to work. And he’d – he’d –

“He yelled at me because I asked why he had to look after you.”

He realises that whilst Dean had no right to talk to him like that, Castiel also had no right to insinuate that what Dean was doing was wrong. It would have helped if he’d fucking known though; if Dean had let him in far enough to be told.

“You gotta make things better,” Sam pleads, and Castiel looks up at him and sees the hope in his eyes. He can feel it himself, too.

“Ok,” he breathes, and Sam’s shoulders lose some of their tension. “Ok, I want to. But he hasn’t been at school for days, Sam, how am I going to?”

“There’s a party tomorrow night.”

Cas nods. “Yes, Ruby’s. So?”

“I’m staying at my friend Andy’s that night,” Sam adds, and when Cas doesn’t quite catch on, Sam rolls his eyes. “So, Dean’s going. And you should too. He won’t show his face here for at least another week, and I want you sorting this sooner rather than later.” He stops for a second and bites his lip. “I just want him to be happy, Cas. I think you can make him happy.”

Cas swallows heavily. “Yeah,” he replies absently, stomach lurching as he thinks about having to talk to Dean, actually talk to him, not just spread his legs and pretend like that’s all he wants. He’ll have to yell at Dean, call him an asshole because he is, fuck, he is. But he’s also an asshole that Cas is in love with, somehow, and he wants to make this better. “Yeah, ok, I’ll go. Anna wanted me to go with her anyway and I’d said no before, but – but now I’ll go. I’ll talk to him.”

 “Thanks, Cas,” Sam says, and his smile holds hope in its corners. He stands up then, giving Cas one last wave before he walks away, and Cas stays there for a little while, thinking about what he’s going to do, what he’s going to say.

Whether he’ll be able to fix this. Whether Dean will let him.

He hopes so, too much to be good, and he goes home with a smile on his face for the first time in a while. None of his family comment on it, but they’re all smiling a bit more, too.


The party’s already going properly by the time Cas and Anna arrive. Michael drops them off and tells them to be safe and call if anything goes wrong! Cas smiles because he loves his brother, but man is he overbearing sometimes. Luke and Gabriel are a lot easier: more likely to toss you a condom than lecture you and never leaving your drink unattended. It’s dark out, around 10, and they’re so damn late because Anna insisted on changing her outfit at least ten times, much to Cas’ increasing chagrin.

He just wanted to get there, to talk to Dean and to get back what he lost. Wait, no – to get back more than what he lost. He wants more now, and he thinks that maybe Dean does too.

They walk through the doors and are immediately assaulted by a loud buzz of chatter and thumping music. Cas winces slightly – he doesn’t enjoy parties, never has done – and scans the room hastily, finding no signs of Dean. Maybe he’s not here yet. Maybe he’s in the bathroom.

“Cas!” Anna shouts, right next to his ear. Cas startles and turns to her, and she smiles kindly at him. “He’ll be here, hon. Don’t worry. Get a drink, calm down, stop fidgeting so much!”

Cas smiles at her. “Thanks, Anna. Don’t feel like you have to wait around for me, I’ll be boring and just look for him. Go have fun, I think I can see Alfie over there, isn’t he the one you have a crush on?”

“What?” she squawks, blushing bright red. “What – Cas – no, shut up!”

Cas’ smiles widens. “Sure, Anna, of course you don’t like him,” he says, and she gets even redder. He chuckles softly, leans over to press a kiss to her cheek and pushes her lightly in Alfie’s direction. “But I’ve heard he likes you too and I’m pretty sure you should go hit on him right now.”

“I –“ she starts, and then stops, smiles. “Thanks, Cas. Good luck!”

She walks off, and Cas spares a minute to watch her sidle up to Alfie. He’s all dimples and light brown hair and his smile when he sees Anna is almost blinding. Cas feels himself grinning too, because Alfie is adorable and they like each other, and he wants his sister to be happy. He stops when they go to the drinks table to get something, and he turns his attention back to the crowd. His eyes skate over the mass of people dancing, not finding Dean amidst it. There are huddles of people dotted around the room, but Dean is not in any of those groups either. He keeps looking and looking, occasionally glancing back at the door to see if he’s coming through there instead, maybe, just turning up late.

It takes ten minutes and a pulse that quickens by the second to find him.

When he does, he wishes he’d just stayed at home instead.

Dean is sat on a couch at the back of the room, shadowed by partial darkness but Cas can see it clear as day. There’s a girl sitting astride his lap, making out with him almost furiously, and Cas can see the way Dean’s hands are underneath her t-shirt at the small of her back, how those palms that use to sit warm against his skin are touching someone else. His heart drops to the bottom of his feet and his throat closes in on itself. He can’t breathe, skin too tight and choking on seeing Dean with someone else, seeing him kiss and lick and hold onto someone that isn’t Cas. It hurts physically, like a kick in the gut or a punch in the nose. Blood pounds in his ears and his heart hammers against his ribcage and the room is too small, too many people, and Dean is over there, so close and so far, with a girl in his lap and her tongue in his mouth. It takes all Cas has in him not to throw up. There’s jealousy burning up his spine, spite in his skin, and he wants to get the fuck out of there as soon as possible.

But first he needs a drink.

He walks over to the drinks table, careful to avoid where Anna and Alfie are tucked into a corner, just talking. He doesn’t want to talk or explain or have to think. He wants to get as hammered as fucking possible and forget this night by the morning.

He downs on drink. It burns the back of his throat and tastes like bile in his stomach, but he doesn’t care. He downs a second and third and fourth consecutively, barely pausing for breath. By the fifth, his limbs feel lighter and he’s dizzy, the room swaying around him. He smiles lazily, drunkenly, thinking about what he can do next, what else can help him forget. He tries to take a step forwards but somehow twists his foot around wrong, and then he’s stumbling.

Not too far, though. He lands on something solid, tall, smiling down at him.

“Hi there,” the something says. No – not the something. It’s a boy, a man. He looks older, not Castiel’s age, probably in college. He’s got blond hair and British accent, hands around Cas’ waist to hold him up. Cas’ t-shirt is riding up slightly, so this guy’s hands are on his bare skin, and his thumbs rub concentric circles against his hipbones. It feels nice. “Had a little too much to drink?”

Cas shakes his head emphatically. “No such thing,” he replies, thinking not in cases like this. The guy chuckles.

“A man after my own heart,” he murmurs, moving Cas so that he’s standing straight again. His hands don’t leave their place around Cas’ waist. “I’m Balthazar, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

“Cas,” Cas responds. He waits a second before he goes with his impulse. “Would you like to dance?”

Balthazar chuckles under his breath. “Someone doesn’t hang around,” he murmurs, but his hands on Cas’ waist are firm and unyielding. Cas feels wanted. Somebody wants him. What more could he ask for? “But yeah, ok. Lead the way, kid.”

Cas does. He takes a hold of Balthazar’s hand, leads him into the throng of people and then lets go. He immediately looks up at Balthazar after this, shoots him a flirty smile before turning around quickly, stepping backwards so that his ass is against Balthazar’s groin. Balthazar’s hands go to his waist – almost instinctive – and they hold on tight. Cas begins to grind backwards, paying more attention to the roll of this guy’s hips than the actual rhythm of the music. The song is bass heavy and probably popular, but Cas cares more about the way he can feel Balthazar getting hard against him, the way it makes him feel wanted; worth something.

Balthazar gets harder and harder with each grind of Cas’ hips, his ass pressing against the hard on in Balthazar’s jeans. It goes on like this for some time, the hardness never faltering, the hands on Cas’ waist gripping convulsively and breath hot against the back of his neck.

The song changes and Cas decides to go with his impulses again. He turns around, Balthazar’s hands still at his hips, and he smiles once, filthy and flirty, before leaning up and kissing him. He wastes no time before he slips his tongue in, rolls his hips to feel how hard Balthazar is. He wants to feel it, know it’s there, there for him. That someone, at least, wants him, and he’s going to give it to whoever that person may be, because he’s wanted, damn it.

His hands are at Balthazar’s jaw, mouth being bitten, eyes screwed shut. He tells himself this is the same as with Dean – no, better – and he starts thinking about where they can go next. There are plenty of bedrooms upstairs, he’s sure. Ones where he can be pushed down somewhere, bent over something, fucked by someone who’s hard for him and who wants him. He knows that it’ll only be that – a quick fuck from a college kid – but he doesn’t even care anymore. He’s given it up already, and if the first was on asshole, don’t they always say start as you mean to go on?

He kisses fiercely, barely pausing for breath, about to pull back and suggest they take this somewhere else, when there are hands on his arms that are pulling him backwards.

“What –“ he mumbles, almost tripping over his own feet. He looks up at Balthazar confusedly, wonders whether he pushed him off, and then decides no, he wouldn’t: he can see the way the denim around the guy’s crotch is straining. He blinks heavily, mind addled from alcoholic and the way his hips had been moving against Balthazar’s and turns to his left. “Oh.”

Oh. Dean.

His eyes are angry, hands as fists, and where’s the girl now? Cas blinks against his angry stare, unable to look away. To walk away.

“What the fuck are you doing, Cas?” he yells, loud enough to be heard above the music. Several people in their vicinity turn to stare.

Cas laughs hollowly. “What does it look like I’m doing, Dean?” he asks, voice loud and a smile on his face that he knows is cruel and mocking. “Go back to your girl, asshole. I’m busy.”

He turns back to Balthazar then, hands already on his jaw, leaning up to kiss him again, but he’s stopped before he can manage it by Dean’s hands yanking him back around, clamping down hard on his arms and keeping him in place with an angry stare.

“Stop it, Cas!”

“Why?” Cas yells back, suddenly rounding in on Dean, wanting so much to punch that fucking face of him, hating him so fucking much. “I thought this was what I was? A slut, a dirty little whore. Just like you said, right? I gave it up already, what the hell’s the point in holding back now? If someone wants me, well, I’m theirs.”

In the background, Balthazar throws his hands up, mutters that he’s out and he never meant to get between Romeo and sodding Juliet. He walks off then, but neither Cas nor Dean notice, too wrapped up in the atmosphere of hate and anger that emanates from the both of them The music is off by now, and people around them are staring, confused, because since when the fuck did these to even talk?

Cas, don’t fucking talk like that!” Dean shouts, rubbing a hand over his face. “Just – just stop, ok!”

Cas takes a step forward, jaw twitching, hands as fists. “Why the fuck should I, Dean?” he asks, voice deceptively low and calm, anger in the undertones of his voice. “I come here to talk to you and you’re making out with some girl? Fuck that, asshole. If you don’t want me, fine. I can find someone else that will. I’m a slut, remember? Why stop with just you, might as well give a few others a go.”

Dean stops, eyes softening just slightly, jaw twitching. He brings his hands up and then aborts the movement, runs shaky fingers through his hair and breathes deep and slow.

“Can we – can we go talk about this outside, please?” he asks, glancing around. Cas does so too, and notices that they’ve incurred a pretty big crowd. One of which is Anna. She looks sad. “I don’t want to do this here.”

Cas nods, just once. “Fine,” he spits out, and doesn’t give Dean time to do or say anything before he stalks out of the room.

Outside, the fresh air hits his skin like redemption, brings goosebumps to the surface of his skin and he closes his eyes against it., feels himself sobering up, sadly. He feels Dean’s presence beside him after only a second and he opens them again, finds Dean staring resolutely ahead. He inclines his head, just so, and starts walking, and Cas follows, eyes trained on Dean’s back and hating, hating, hating so fucking much.

They reach the Impala after a short walk and Cas sits on the hood, petulantly hoping his jeans scratch the paintwork. Dean stands a few feet away, looking down at the floor like it’s going to do the talking for him. He takes a few breaths, decides he best talk for himself, and then does.

“My mom died when I was a kid,” he begins, eyes still on the floor and voice so quiet Cas has to strain to hear it. “My dad, he – he never really got over it. Drank a lot. Barely ever came home. I raised Sammy myself, using what little money I could scrounge out the bottom of dad’s pockets to do it. When I hit sixteen he – he left. Walked out on us. Things got tougher and Sammy started growing so fast and I couldn’t afford to pay for everything so. So I had to move us around a lot. Get extra jobs, skip out on school. I was never really going anywhere, anyway – Sam’s the smart one, and I’m gonna make damn sure he makes something of himself. But – but it makes it hard, for me. To get close to people. I don’t want their pity or their fucking charity, you know? So I don’t give them the chance. I fuck them and I show them a good time. I make sure they come and then I get the hell out of there before anything can get real.”

He pauses, breathes, finally looks up. Cas is frozen on the hood of the car and Dean is – Dean is talking, for fuck’s sake. Castiel didn’t even think him capable. Castiel is stuck on Dean’s eyes, so far away, and it’s dark outside, but the green seems to shine through, sink into Cas’ consciousness like that colour was made for him to look at. He swallows and allows Dean the time to continue.

“But then you came along.” He smiles ruefully, takes a hesitant step closer. “I never, ever let anyone get close to me, Cas. Never. But then you fucking happened to be at my new school. With your fucking khakis and small smiles and annoyingly blue eyes. And you didn’t take my shit, not even once. You talked back and called me an asshole – which I deserve, I know that – and you were so fucking beautiful I never even had a chance.” A few more steps forwards. Cas’ legs unconsciously fall apart, allowing Dean to step into the gap between. His hands come up to Cas’ jaw, slowly, like he thinks Cas might spook. With every second that Cas just looks at him, doesn’t move away, he gets closer and closer, mouth so close to Cas’ that the words he speaks are told into Cas’ skin like a prayer. “I fucking fell in love with you, Cas. And I have no idea what to do with that.”

Dean’s hands on his skin, fingertips callused and hard and oh shit, how did Cas ever even think he could live without this. He brings his hands up too, places them over Dean’s, laces them together and smiles.

“Me too, Dean,” he murmurs. “Shit, I love you, too.”

Dean smiles, big and happy and blinding, and kisses him.

It’s hot and heavy almost instantly, like Dean is trying to chase the taste of Balthazar out of his mouth, replace it with himself. Cas loves this; feeling possessed, feeling owned by Dean’s mouth and hands and everything. He loves the way Dean starts to press him down onto the bonnet of the car, starts rolling their hips together already, because they may just have said I love you, but they’re also horny eighteen year old boys and it ending here was inevitable anyway, really.

Cas is breathless, hands under Dean’s t-shirt and kissing hot and feverish. He starts whining desperately in the back of his throat, wanting so much that his hips jerk upwards. There’s the sound of giggling from not far away, of people stumbling over themselves. It breaks Dean and Cas out of each other, pulling away panting, still smiling like they can’t control it.

“This is more public than even we’re used to,” he comments, chuckling, and Cas laughs as well. “How about a bed this time, baby?”

And fuck, it’s stupid how quickly that last word goes straight to his dick. “Yes, please,” is all he can reply before he pushes Dean off, hops onto the ground and goes round to the passenger’s side, waiting for Dean to unlock it. Dean does so with a laugh that sounds fucking fond, and Cas clambers inside. He sends a quick text to Anna telling her that he won’t be home that night, and he gets a fucking winky face in response, because Anna is a lecherous jerk. He laughs aloud when it comes through anyway, and Dean drives through the night streets, taking them back to his place.

They stumble in and crash into walls on their way to Dean’s room, too caught up in kissing to care that they’ll have bruises by the morning. They’re also too caught up to notice when Sam pokes his head out of his bedroom door, smiles happily before grimacing because gross, he never, ever wanted to see that much of either Cas nor Dean, thanks very much.



It’s Friday afternoon and Cas is sitting on the bleachers. Someone sits beside him, and he doesn’t even bother to turn to them.

“Wanna go for a drive?” Dean asks, voice right beside Cas’ ear.

Cas snorts and shoulders him away, continuing with his homework. “No thanks,” he answers. “I think your brother will actually kill us if he finds more spunk on the backseat of your car.”

Dean huffs. “Fine, we’ll take yours.”

“I’m not sure Anna would appreciate it either,” he remarks, smile tugging at his lips, happiness in his chest. “Plus, I’ve got homework to do. As do you, asshole, so get to it.”

Dean groans, slumping down to sit right next to Cas, burying his face in Cas’ neck. “Don’t wanna.”

“Well, you have to,” Cas counters, laughing and moving Dean’s face out of his neck, because Dean is pressing light kisses there and it’s really, really distracting. “You’re going to get a proper education if it kills me, Winchester.”

Dean bites once at his neck before leaving off entirely. “Fine, fine!” he exclaims, throwing his hands up but smiling. “Jeez, you’re like a freaking slave driver, babe.”

Cas just smiles sweetly and pointedly gets on with his own work. Dean huffs out a laugh and gets his own bag, pulls out his work. He rests the books on his knees even as he shuffles closer to Cas, keeping their thighs touching as they both go about their work.

Because Dean actually works, now. He actually can. After they’d become ‘official’ – i.e. whenever they fooled around at school and Cas came out of some cupboard somewhere with hickeys on his neck, people could put a name to the teeth and expect it to be like that tomorrow as well – Cas had spoken to his brothers about Dean’s situation. He’d told Dean what he was going to do beforehand, and as much as Dean protested, Cas was resolute that something that do be done. He’d told his brothers about how Dean can barely support his little brother and himself with the work he does, and even that is with skipping the majority of school. The Novaks’ immediate reaction was that they could help.

Now, Castiel’s family may not be extravagantly rich, but they have enough money to be able to sponsor Dean. This essentially entails giving Dean money so that he goes to school, works on his Physics, gets himself good enough grades that he can go to college. Dean is smart as hell, a fucking whizz with technology, and he can go somewhere, if only he lets himself be helped. It takes a lot of coaxing – pleading from Anna and Sam, persuasive blowjobs from Cas – but eventually Dean agreed. He kept his Saturday job to help out, never wanting to be too reliant on the Novaks, but now he gets to go to school, to be in every lesson and to utilise his education like he should do. He doesn’t like school, that much is clear, but he likes learning, and that’s all that matters.

He’s grateful for everything the Novaks are doing for him, and he shows it every time he humours Cas’ insane family, every time Gabriel pulls a prank on him and he doesn’t just punch him in the face. He also shows it when he kisses Cas just because, twines their fingers together as they walk down the hall.

Maybe he’s grateful for Cas, too, not just the help he entails. When Dean smiles at him sometimes, he thinks that he might be onto something there.

Apparently, they are sickeningly adorable together, too. According to Anna and Sam and Chuck and Charlie and pretty much every person they come into contact with, ever. Cas can actually concede, because he does realise that holding hands and making out under the bleachers and stealing food off of each other’s places is pretty sickening. He can’t find it in himself to care, though, especially not when Dean grabs him around the waist and kisses him until he’s breathless, out in the open, showing everyone that Cas is his and he is Cas’. Cas never thought he’d be one for PDA, but being marked as Dean’s in front of the entire school? It’s pretty fucking awesome.

The bell rings distantly and Cas begins to pack his stuff away. Dean does as well, and when they stand Dean fucking takes Cas’ books and won’t give them back, insists on carrying them because somehow Cas is the maiden girlfriend in this relationship. Dean says it’s because he’s the bottom, Cas says it’s because Dean has a psychological need to be needed. Dean laughs and tells him to fuck off, and more often than not in ends in the fucking.

And yes, Cas does usually bottom. He knows what he likes, so sue him.

They get into the parking lot as people are filing out, standing by Cas’ car, and Dean shoots smiles and high fives at his friends – Victor, Bela, Benny, more than Cas can remember the names of. He has friends now, too. He’s opened up and made friends and people know he’s not actually an asshole. Or, well, he is; just not quite as much as people previously thought. Sam comes out of the school after a while and Dean murmurs goodbye in between kisses. Eventually, Cas has to physically shove at his chest to make him go drive his brother home, only succeeding because he promises he’ll stay the night at Dean’s that evening. Dean presses one last kiss to his lips before darting off to his own car.

Anna comes up beside him and smiles kindly. “You’ve got him so whipped, I hope you know that,” she says, and Cas smiles because yes, he does know that. Then he thinks, and –

“Did I – did I tame a bad boy?” he asks astoundedly.

Cas watches as Dean herds his brother into their car, smacking at the back of his head when Cas hears snippets of him teasing Dean for being in love, drawing out the syllable and making Cas smile even bigger. When Sam is in the car, Dean turns around, catches sight of Cas and beams, bright and happy and open.

Anna snorts. “Yeah, Cas, I think you did.”

Dean gets into the car and Cas keeps on watching. “Well,” he breathes, seeing Dean drive out of the parking lot while he and his brother snark at one another inside the car. “Go me.”

“Yeah, Cas,” Anna mutters, pressing a kiss to his cheek that aches from smiling so hard. “Go you.”