The drive home from work is one of Dean’s favourite things. He loves to sit in the driver’s seat of his Impala, music cranked up to eleven and windows open to the breeze. He loves to lean back against the leather and smell it mixing with the green outside, the scenic route back to his city apartment from his job at the local police station.
He especially loves it on Friday nights, because it means he’s got a whole weekend to himself ahead of him. He can call Sammy and Jess in California, he can hang out with Victor at a seedy bar. Hell, he can get laid if he wanted to, find a pretty little omega to suit his alpha needs: the possibilities are endless.
On this Friday night, it’s nearing midnight and Dean is driving past this big, open field. It’s one he sees on every drive home from work, and it’s familiar to him by now. There’s the gap in the fence, somewhere around the middle, where the wood has broken and fallen in. There’s the trough in the lower right corner, tipped over with the residuals of last feeding time in it. And there’s the smell, of grass and ozone and omega in heatand –
Wait. That last one isn’t normally there.
Omega in heat?
Dean slows the car to near crawling pace, sniffing the air around him. There’s definitely the scent of omega, sweet and cloying, itching under his skin and making his hands grip the wheel so tightly, his knuckles turn white. Each omega’s heat has a different smell, each one being attractive to different alphas and betas, but this one is like fucking Christmas morning for Dean, and he can’t get enough of it.
But it’s not like he’s going to follow it. He’s not one of those asshole alphas, the ones who assume any omega in heat is up for the taking. Omegas are people, even if some of the dicks in society don’t totally get that yet, and Dean’s not gonna go all caveman and storm up to claim something that probably doesn’t want to be claimed. Not by him, at least.
So he keeps driving. He pushes his foot back on the pedal and moves on, thinks he can keep on smelling, can use it for later when he jerks himself off and creates a fantasy where he found this omega, fucked them through their heat. But a fantasy is a fantasy, and reality calls for him keeping his head and keeping driving.
He gets forty, maybe fifty yards down the road, until he’s forced to slam the breaks on.
That’s not just an omega in heat. That’s an omega in fucking distress. Dean can tell from the shift in scent, the underlying panic that has Dean gritting his teeth and clenching his fists. An omega is in need and Dean’s alpha instincts kick in instantaneously, telling him to find the threat and destroy it, find the victim and save it. He’s helpless against the onslaught of his impulses, and that’s why he takes the keys out of the ignition, steps out of the car and jumps over the fence and into the field, fucking runs as fast as he can in the direction of the smell.
The night is dark and the only sounds are the wind roaring and Dean’s feet pounding against the soft dirt. The need to find and protect and save is enough to have him running twice his normal speed, feet a blur and teeth already bared to fight. The fast pace he’s set up allows him to move quickly and efficiently, coming to a small clearing in the midst of huddles of trees in only five or so minutes.
He stops there, the smell at its strongest, and looks around.
There are shadows and slivers of moonlight on the floor, and Dean feels a growl rumble in his chest as he searches for danger. His eyes dart left and right and up and down and he sees nothing, right up until he hears a muffled cry from behind him. He shifts on his feet and turns around, spots two figures nearby and storms over.
On the floor, there’s a smaller person. Male. Omega. His legs are tucked up against his chest and his face buried in his knees, desperately trying to shrink into himself, make himself smaller and less of a target.
A target for the fucking asshole who’s standing over him. Male. Alpha. His legs are parted in a wide stance, one hand curled by his side and the other petting through the omega’s hair. It’s anything but a soothing or placating gesture, if the words spilling out of the alpha’s mouth are anything to go by.
“C’mon, baby,” the alpha croons, and the endearment has Dean all riled up, teeth out and leaning back on his heels, ready to pounce, “stop acting like you don’t want this. You’re a fucking little omega whore, don’t act like you don’t want any knot that’s offered to you. You’re just a little slut and I’m willing to overlook how much you disgust me to give you what you need.”
It’s no secret that there are still many people, predominantly alphas, who despise omegas. They see the group as below them, weak and feeble, despite the fact that many omegas are perfectly capable of looking after themselves. Dean has never been one of those assholes, being raised by a beta mother who bore two alpha sons and taught them common decency enough to know all people deserve equal treatment, and he’s not going to stand idly by while there’s an omega in danger.
“Please, don’t,” the omega begs, and Christ, it’s a kid, probably in his first heat, can’t be older than seventeen. “Please leave me alone, I just want to be left alone. Please don’t hurt me, please, please.”
The alpha snorts. “Fucking liar,” he mutters, and the hand in the omega’s hair turns into a fist, yanks the kid’s face out of his knees. The boy is crying, tears streaking his cheeks, and Dean can’t help but notice the bright blue of his eyes, the pretty pink of his lips. “You’re just another whore omega, aren’t you? Just another little slut who begs. Well, you can keep on begging, baby, it won’t do you any good.”
Dean growls, and it’s loud enough that both the omega and the alpha turn to look at him. The omega’s eyes are wide, tinged with fear and panic and, as he looks Dean over, maybe a little bit of hope.
The alpha, however, merely looks angry.
“Get off him,” Dean warns, voice low as he takes three steps forwards, calculating position for if a fight is necessary. “Now.”
The alpha sneers, turning back to the omega before he even talks. “This one’s been taken, man,” he says, all casual, like he’s not got some poor omega in his hands, like he’s not about to fucking rape someone, just because the hierarchy said it was ok, at one point. “Move along and find your own whore.”
Dean takes another step forwards, eyes focused on the omega. The alpha’s hands are on the omega’s face, thumb pulling the bottom lip down roughly, nails digging in to cut cheeks. The smell of the omega is overwhelming here, and Dean could lose control, if he let himself. But, of course, he won’t; the omega needs help.
“I said get off him now,” Dean yells, and the omega’s eyes go wide and his jaw slack. His hands stop pushing at the alpha’s chest and his feet stop kicking, and Dean feels proud that the kid seems to actually trust him. “Don’t make me ask again, ‘cos I won’t.”
The alpha stills, lets loose the omega’s face and turns slowly. He raises up from his haunches and walks over to Dean, right up in his face. He casually looks Dean over, head tilting down and then up, and all the while the omega is just sitting there, watching. Dean wants to tell him to run while he can, but the words stick in his throat.
They taste like selfishness.
“You don’t have anymore of a right to this little bitch than I do,” the alpha protests.
“You don’t have any fucking right to take him if he doesn’t want it, asshole.”
The alpha chuckles and casts a glance behind him. “Please, the little whore’s begging for it. He wouldn’t be out in heat if he didn’t want to be fucked by any knot willing to touch a disgusting thing like him.”
Dean feels the growl rumble in his chest before it even breaks out of his mouth. His hands fist without his consent and his teeth bare and, before he even knows what he’s doing, he’s jumping on this alpha and shoving him to the floor, punching his jaw and letting his inner alpha take over.
Somewhere between the fifth catch of claws on Dean’s cheek and the seventh hit of a knee to his groin, Dean manages to win. The alpha is bruised and battered and he still looks angry, but his shoulder is clearly dislocated and his ankle might be broken, from the way he’s limping. He stalks off into the woods as Dean stands, body sore but fine, mostly. Dean takes a second to enjoy his victory, before he hears a distressed whimper to the side.
The omega is slumped back against a tree, cradling a wrist in one hand. He’s looking at Dean with wide eyes, a flush on his cheeks, and now that the danger’s gone, the smell in the air has lost its panicked edge. Now, it’s simply sweet and strong and oh so fucking intoxicating.
“Are you alright?” Dean asks, clearing his throat and kneeling beside the omega. He’s reluctant to touch the omega, reluctant to scare him, and the kid just nods silently and cradles his wrist to his chest. Dean breathes through his mouth to keep from doing anything stupid. “Ok, ok. Uh, what’s your name?”
There’s a pause. A long one. The omega lets his eyes wander over Dean’s face, like he’s searching for something. It’s not uncommon for omegas to distrust alphas – and for good reason, too, if that last one was anything to go by – and Dean knows he comes across as a definite alpha, so this kid might be wary of him, too.
“Castiel,” the kid murmurs, quietly, eventually. “My – my name is Castiel. Cas.”
Dean nods. “Right. Cas. I’m Dean.” An awkward pause. “Nice to meet you.”
The kid cracks a smile. Only small, only slight, but Dean thinks it’s absolutely fucking beautiful.
“Thank you for helping me,” Cas says, eyes flickering from Dean’s face to the dark forest around them. “I – I don’t know what I would have done, if you hadn’t –”
He cuts off before he finishes the sentence, and Dean can’t blame him. Dean can imagine what would have happened if he hadn’t been driving nearby, if he hadn’t been an alpha whose first instinct was to protect and save. That other alpha would have hurt Cas, knotted him, left him bruised and battered on the dirt floor and not given a fucking damn.
Dean feels sick even thinking about it.
“It’s fine,” Dean assures, “don’t mention it.”
They both fall silent again, Cas holding his wrist, Dean biting his lip nervously. Dean has no idea where to go next, but he knows he can’t just leave Cas. But there’s also a part of him, an impulsive part, that knows being around this kid won’t stay safe for very long, because he just smells so damn amazing, and Dean’s will power was never any good.
“You don’t have to stick around, you know,” Cas mumbles, shifting nervously, gaze caught by the tree trunk to Dean’s left. “You’ve helped me and I’ll be fine now. Thank you.”
Dean frowns. “How old are you?”
“Sixteen,” Cas admits after a small hesitation. “Sixteen last week, actually.”
Dean’s frown deepens. “This your first heat?”
Cas gasps, almost inaudible, like maybe he’d thought Dean didn’t know. But of course Dean knows, fuck, it’s all he can think about. It’s the reason he’s got an uncomfortable and totally immoral hard on straining against the zipper of his jeans.
“I –” Cas starts, voice cracking like he’s about to lie. All Dean has to do is raise one eyebrow, purse his lips, and Cas’ shoulders sag, defeated. “Yes, it is. But I can handle it, it’s fine. That, earlier, that was just – just a momentary lapse in my abilities. I can usually run much faster.”
Dean pauses. He figures Cas hasn’t got a home, what with the dirt smeared on his clothes, the overstuffed bag sitting beside him on the floor. He wonders why, how, but knows there are more pressing issues than his nosiness right now. He looks over Cas’ face, sees an indignant pout on his lips, a stubborn set to his jaw. Dean has no doubt that Cas wants to be left alone for this, but there’s no way in hell he’d be able to look after himself properly.
Too young. Too small. Too goddamn pretty.
“You got anywhere to stay tonight?” Dean asks, and a full twenty seconds pass before Cas reluctantly confirms what Dean already guessed with a shake of his head. Dean bites the inside of his cheek and stands back up. “C’mon, then. You’re coming home with me.”
Cas’ eyes widen and it’s almost comical; those big baby blues getting even bigger, pink lips parting on a little surprised noise. Dean feels a smile twitch on his face and his dick twitch in his jeans.
It’s an uncomfortable combination for a twenty-eight year old police officer to encounter.
“I thought,” Cas whispers, eyes fixed on his shoes. He stills and quietens, bites his lip and refuses to look up at Dean. His next words are barely even audible. “You helped me.”
Dean’s face twists in confusion. “What?” he blurts out, and Cas looks up at him with panicked eyes, and oh, oh. “Fuck, no! No, you don’t have to – shit, Cas, I’m not gonna make you sleep with me! I’m a damn police officer, alright? I wouldn’t feel comfortable leaving an omega in heat out here in the open. You need to be somewhere safe.”
“Oh,” Cas breathes, then again, “oh, ok.” He stands up, and Dean can see from here that he’s got a bit on Cas in terms of height, figures Cas probably hasn’t finished growing yet. He wonders if he’ll still be taller than Cas when he’s all done. Cas frowns and peers up at Dean. “Do you have ID?”
Dean starts for a second, before he lets out a chuckle. Smart kid.
“Yeah, I do,” he replies, hand delving into his jacket to pull out his badge. He shows it to the kid and the kid seems satisfied, so he tucks it away again and fixes Cas with a look. “We good now? You gonna do the smart thing and stay somewhere safe until your heat is over?”
Dean’s still wondering if he’s even gonna be safe, especially considering the close quarters his apartment will necessitate him to keep with Cas, but it’s not like he could leave him. He’s the safer bet, anyway. Dean may be an asshole, sometimes, but when it comes to omegas and consent, he was taught right.
“Yeah,” Cas mumbles, eyes downcast and lips in a tight line. “Yeah, ok.”
Dean smiles, placated. “Right choice, kid,” Dean says, and ignores Cas’ glare at patronising nickname. “Now pick up your crap, my car’s nearby and my place is even closer.”
It’s a long walk back to the car, an even longer ride home with Cas smelling so damn perfect so damn close, but eventually they make it.
“Well,” Dean hedges, ushering Cas into the narrow hall, closing the door behind them. He looks sheepishly around the mess, the clothes in the corner, the dishes in the sink, the magazines on the coffee table. He rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “It, uh. It ain’t much, but it’s home, right?”
Cas nods silently, following Dean’s lead through to the living room. He drops his bag beside the couch when Dean tells him to, takes a seat on the armchair when Dean tells him to, and Dean tries, really, really hard not to imagine Cas taking orders so well in other situations, but it’s a losing battle.
“Will I be on the couch?” Cas asks.
Dean stops. He hadn’t actually thought this far ahead.
“Uh, no,” he stammers, watching Cas look at him speculatively. “You can take my bed, I’ll sleep on the couch.” Cas opens his mouth as if to argue, but Dean just cuts him off with a shake of his head. “Kid, in your, uh, condition, you kinda need something with sheets that you can toss and turn in, if you know what I mean.”
Cas blushes bright red, and Dean is ashamed to say he finds it equal parts adorable and sexy. There’s something about Cas’ innocence, his naivety, that Dean wants to take, hold as his own, destroy with his own two hands and the press of his mouth against pretty, young skin.
Dean shakes himself out of it and listens to Cas’ answer.
“Right,” Cas mumbles, looking down at his feet, hands fidgeting nervously. “Yeah, that makes sense, I guess.”
The apartment is quiet, almost one in the morning now, and Dean needs to come up with a plan of action here. Sam always did say he was crappy at thinking things through, and the little bitch might just be right.
“You could do with a shower,” Dean notes, and Cas doesn’t protest. Can’t, really, because he’s pretty much covered in dirt and mud and day old funk. “Shower’s over there, clean towels are by the sink.” Cas smiles and bends down to pick up his rucksack, and Dean grimaces at what’s inside. “No, leave that with me. I’ll throw that stuff in the washer, it needs it. I’ll lend you something of mine to wear for the night, yeah?”
Cas looks at Dean for a long time. Long enough for Dean to get uncomfortable, bite out a, what?
“Why are you doing this for me?” Cas asks, and Dean doesn’t have the answer right away, so Cas carries on. “I mean, I understand that you’re a nice person, but this is – this is so beyond the call of duty.”
Dean shrugs. “You’re a kid, You’re in heat. Couldn’t leave you out there, to the mercy of some of assholes who prey on pretty little omegas who’re vulnerable.”
Cas smiles again. It’s only the second one Dean’s ever gotten out of him, and he thinks this one is even prettier than the last. He enjoys it right up until Cas clarifies why it’s there.
“You think I’m pretty?”
Now, it’s Dean’s turn to flush. “I, uh. I –,” Dean mumbles, stuttering and blushing. Cas laughs, and yeah, ok Dean does appreciate how pretty it sounds, but he also feels he should fix Cas with a glare, for principle’s sake. “Just go take your shower before I change my mind.”
Cas smiles gratefully, a small twitch at the corner of his mouth, and then turns on his heel and walks in the direction of the shower. Dean snaps into planning mode the second the door snaps shut behind the kid, throwing the rucksack beside the washing machine, dragging the extra blankets from the linen cupboard and putting them on the couch. He leaves clean clothes outside the door, calls to Cas to let him know they’re there, and then runs away before he can be too close for too long to where he knows Cas’ naked body is, hole probably leaking a little, body wet all over.
Shit, he needs to fucking take his mind off things.
He steps into the kitchen and pulls out his cellphone, punches in speed dial one and waits on the ringing. He watches the clock the whole time, thankful for the two hour difference between Kansas and California, meaning it’s still 11pm on a Friday night, early enough for them to still be up.
It picks up on the eighth ring.
“Hello?” comes Sam’s voice, and yeah, ok, he does sound kinda tired, but this is important.
“Sammy!” Dean replies, voice just this side of frantic. “Dude, I am so glad to talk to you.”
There’s the sound of covers being thrown back, a female voice muffled so that Dean can’t tell what she’s saying, and then footsteps padding across wood. Dean bites back a laugh, thinking about how Sam and Jess are going to make awesome old folks, because they’re basically there already. College is wasted on those two, really.
“Dean, it’s 1am where you are,” Sam says, voice slow, a break in between words to yawn quickly. “Why’re you calling so late? Are you drunk?”
Dean rolls his eyes. “No, I’m not drunk. But, hey, it’s nice to know my brother thinks so highly of me.” Dean grumbles, but Sam just chuckles, and Dean figures he may as well just do what he called for. “I, uh. I kind of, sort of, might have, done something a little stupid.”
Sam sighs, like he’s the most put upon brother in the world, and Dean just takes a seat at the kitchen table. The bonus part to having a lawyer in the family, is that they can always be around for legal advice.
Or, as in this case, advice on how to keep yourself from fucking an underage omega on your apartment floor.
“What’d you do?” Sam asks, sounding weary. “Please tell me I’m not gonna have to drive to Kansas to bail you out of jail. I thought we got over that when you joined the damn force.”
“No, bitch, I’m not in jail,” Dan replies, irate and fucking horny. He’s fidgeting in his seat, leg bouncing up and down frantically, all because there’s a sixteen year old omega in his shower, so close and still smelling so good, even if just faintly. “I brought an omega home.”
There’s a pause. “Ok,” Sam says, voice slow and tired and why does he sound like he’s putting up with Dean right now? “I’m not really sure what the problem is here, man. You brought home an omega. That’s nice for you, I hope the two of you have a great time doing, uh, that, but why did you feel the need to call me?” He pauses again, and Dean can imagine the contemplative bitchface. “Are you trying to gloat? Because you know I’m happy with Jess, and she’s a beta, and I was never super into omegas, anyway, not like you are, and –”
“Sammy!” Dean hisses. It’s the only way to shut Sam up and not rouse Cas’ suspicion by being too loud. Sam goes quiet, thankfully, and Dean breathes in, and out, deep and slow. “That wasn’t the end of the damn story! I brought an omega home, yeah, but – but, uh. He’s in heat. His first one. He’s sixteen.”
This time, the pause is a lot shorter than Dean would have liked.
“Are you kidding me, Dean?” Sam screeches, making Dean wince and pull the phone away from his ear slightly. “What the hell is wrong with you? What, you bring him back so you can ‘help him’ through it? God, Dean, I thought mom taught us better than to think omegas are sexual property.” Sam lets out a hollow chuckle, and Dean grits his jaw. “I really thought you were better than this, Dean.”
“Screw you,” Dean says. There’s no real heat, though, because he can totally understand Sam’s confusion. It’s not like Dean’s particularly forthcoming with his words, so Sam is bound to get the wrong end of the stick. “It’s not like that, alright?”
Sam scoffs. “Oh, yeah? Then how about you tell me what it’s like, Dean, because right now, I’m just thinking you’re a pretty bad person.”
“Look, ok, there’s an explanation.” Dean pauses, waiting for Sam to interrupt with something disbelieving, but when it doesn’t come, Dean steals himself to speak. “I found him in the middle of nowhere. I – I smelt his heat, first, and was gonna leave him alone, but then I smelt distress and I just couldn’t, so I followed him. Found him in this clearing with some asshole alpha towering over him. Shit, Sammy, the kid looked so fucking scared, and I – I had to help him. I chased the alpha away and the kid still looked scared and I’m like 99% sure he was sleeping out there in the open, so I – I gave him somewhere to stay. Somewhere to be safe.”
Dean feels as though he’s explained himself adequately. The situation is weird at best, totally messed up at worst, and Dean rubs one hand over his face, knuckles his tired eyes. The shower is still running in the room behind him, and Dean wonders why the hell the kid’s taking so long.
“Oh,” Sam breathes, a little puff of sound. “Oh, ok. I – I guess I owe you an apology, then. That’s a pretty decent thing to do, Dean.”
Dean preens, can’t help himself, and grins a little. “Yeah, well, I’m a good guy, you know?” he says, and gets an amused hum in return from Sam. “Couldn’t just leave him out there, smelling like that, knowing there are a whole bunch of alphas around who weren’t taught as good as us.”
Sam hums thoughtfully, and there’s the noise of his index finger tapping against his cell phone. He always does that when he’s thinking, or biting his tongue to keep from saying something. Dean just waits for it to inevitably spill out.
“Why’re you calling, then?” Sam asks, probably a furrow between his brow. “I mean, well done, you’re a great guy for taking this kid in, but I’m guessing there must be a problem, if you called?”
Dean bites the inside of his cheek. “Uh, I guess you could say there’s a problem,” he mutters, shifting in his chair and sighing heavily. “The kid, he – he smells really fucking good to me. Like, absolutely fucking amazing. I’m having a really hard time keeping from pounding his sweet little ass every time he’s nearby.”
Sam’s splutter of indignation is expected, but it still makes Dean crack a smile.
“Gross, Dean! Do I have to teach you overshare every damn time we talk?” Dean just laughs – cackles, Sammy would call it – and lets it linger and fade while Sam thinks of what to say next. “Well, I mean, you know what some people say about smells.”
Dean scowls. “Sammy –”
“Oh, c’mon, Dean, you can’t just ignore it if it’s there!” Sam protests, and Dean just buttons his lip, glares at the mark on the kitchen wall, just beside the oven. “I mean, what if he’s your, y’know.” He pauses, maybe waiting for Dean to finish it. But Dean won’t. No, he won’t, it’s not true, it’s not true. Sam sighs and says it anyway. “He could be your mate, Dean.”
There’s a theory, ancient as it is, that omegas in heat smell the best to their mate. They say it’s an attraction technique, but because it’s not true in every case, and there are mated pairs who actually can’t stand one another’s heat scent, a lot of people disregard the theory. Dean has always been one of those people, and he’s not looking to change that now.
“I don’t believe in that crap,” Dean replies, gruff voice as he stands and walks into the living room, taking a seat on the couch. “It’s a load of romanticised bull. You don’t believe in it either!”
“I don’t know, man. I mean, I guess I could believe in it, if I’d seen it. Neither me or Jess go into heat, but if one of us were an omega? I actually quite like to think that we’d smell best to each other.”
Dean scowls. picking at a hangnail on his thumb. It’s bullshit. Total bullshit. The kid just smells good because he’s pretty, right? It’s just the added intoxication of the kid being exactly Dean’s type, and being in his first heat. That’s all it is. All it can be. Obviously.
“I don’t know anything about the kid,” Dean mumbles, and how can it feel like a losing battle, when the kid is decidedly not his mate? “I just brought him in to be safe, ok? And the only reason I’m losing my damn knot over him, is ‘cos I haven’t got laid in a few weeks. It’s fine. I can control myself. This doesn’t mean anything.”
“Ok,” Sam breathes, placating, and he follows it with a small hum of disbelief. Dean catches it, Sam meant him to, but he doesn’t comment on it. “Alright, I believe you. You’re just horny. Which is, uh. Really gross. So I’m gonna go now before you take this opportunity to make me throw up my dinner.”
Dean grins. “Aww, c’mon, Sammy. You really don’t wanna hear how I get my knot off?”
Sam lets out an undignified squeak and Dean laughs loudly. He’s about to say something, to gross his brother out even more, but then the line goes dead. Sam always did have a knack of knowing exactly how his brother was going to torment him, and he developed pre-emptive methods of stopping it.
A smile lingers on Dean’s lips as he looks down at his phone. Sam’s wrong. Of course he’s wrong. Cas is a kid, a little runaway twink that Dean’s alpha instincts are forcing him to protect. He’s not Dean’s mate. That’s just ridiculous.
But – but, maybe, it could be nice.
Whoa, no. Dean shuts that thought down the second it enters his brain. No, no, no and no. Not gonna happen, Not with jailbait. No way in freaking hell.
“Are you alright?”
Cas’ voice startles Dean so much he jumps out his skin, drops his phone on the couch beside him. Dean curses and looks up, scowl on his face that immediately alleviates the second he lays eyes on Cas properly.
Cas is wearing a pair of Dean’s pyjama bottoms, plaid and thin cotton, hanging low on his hips. Dean notices that he’s had to fold the waistband over a few times to make them fit, even barely, and that just draws Dean’s attention the narrow contours of his body, the jut of his hip bones from beneath smooth skin.
Then, factor in Cas’ t-shirt. Or, well, Dean’s t-shirt, to be more precise. It’s a big one, too big on Dean, even, but on Cas’ skinny, boyish frame, it hands even looser. One side has slipped down over Cas’ shoulder, revealing a bony little curve, small and soft looking. But, where the t-shirt is definitely too wide, it’s also too short. It sits just shy of the waistband of his pants, shows hips and stomach and this faint little trail of hair leading down.
Dean’s mouth is already watering, and his dick is definitely perking up.
“Uh,” he stutters, voice choked and rough. He clears his throat and shakes his head, wills his cock to calm down, he’s not going to take advantage of this kid. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, man. How was your shower?”
Cas beams, shuffling on his bare feet. “Good,” he answers, voice soft and happy, low and bright. “It was really good. Thank you. For everything.”
“Don’t mention it,” Dean mumbles, ducking his head to hide his blush. When he looks back up, Cas is still silent, chewing his bottom lip viciously, drawing wells of red blood from the pretty pinkness. Dean frowns at him. “Why do you look so nervous? You – you don’t still think I’m gonna hurt you, do you?”
“No!” Cas assures, shaking his head hurriedly. There’s a furrow between his brows, a frown on his face, and he keeps letting out these little noises, little sighs of impatience and annoyance. “No, it’s not that.”
Dean nods slowly, eyes roaming over Cas, trying not to appreciate how much he likes seeing Cas in his clothes. Alphas are known to be hugely possessive, obviously, so a gesture like sharing clothes could be seeing as a mark of ownership.
If they were mated, that is. Or even dating. Which they’re not. Dean just picked this kid up to keep him safe.
Dean wonders at how many times he’s going to have to tell himself that before it starts ringing true.
“Sit down, Cas. You’re making me nervous.” Cas blinks, and then obediently moves to sit on the armchair opposite Dean’s couch. He brings his legs up onto the cushion, folds and crosses them, rests his hands in his lap. He looks the picture of innocence. Dean wants to fuck that away. “Now tell me what’s wrong. I mean it, Cas, you gotta be honest with me here.”
Cas frowns some more, lets the order hang in the air for a little while. Dean knows that Cas will answer him, eventually. The kid doesn’t seem to like disobeying orders, especially Dean’s.
“I want to tell you why I was – why I was out on my own. What happened to me.” His eyes flicker to Dean, a hint of shame in his irises. “You deserve that, I think.”
“You don’t have to.” Dean’s voice is small. He doesn’t want Cas to feel obligated, just because Dean’s being a good samaritan. “Honestly, Cas, it’s fine.”
“No,” Cas responds, frowning again, looking down at his lap. “No, I – I think I want to tell you. If that’s alright?” Dean just nods mutely, catching Cas’ eye, and Cas nods to himself. “Ok. Good.” He stops again and breathes in deeply, in and out, a few times more, before he opens his eyes again. “I’m the only omega in my family.”
Dean nods, breathes, “Ok.”
“My sister Anna is a beta. My brother Gabriel, too. And my other brothers, Michael and Luke; they’re alphas. I’m the youngest, and the only omega.” Cas stills there for a while, and Dean can only wait, wondering where this story will go. “My family are quite rich, fairly high society. And – and in higher class families, the omegas are married off.” Dean’s eyes widen, and Cas won’t look at him. “We found out that I was an omega when I was twelve, and my uncle Zachariah, who looks after me, figured he could make some money out of me.”
“Fuck, Cas.” Dean can’t think of anything else to say.
“It’s alright,” Cas says, giving a wan smile that Dean can’t even try to reciprocate. “He picked someone, as well. A man called Mr. Crowley. I was set to marry him on my sixteenth birthday, set to become his, to bear his children and follow him around like a devoted puppy. But, I – I couldn’t bring myself to. And all three of my brothers were away, didn’t know that Zachariah had made the deal, and Anna doesn’t live with us anymore, and she couldn’t help, and – and I didn’t know what to do.”
The room goes silent, for a minute, until Dean speaks. “So you ran away.”
Cas screws his eyes shut tight and nods. “Yes,” he admits, sounding pained. “I had no other option. I only met Crowley for the first time a week before the wedding, and he – he wouldn’t stop touching me. He kept putting his hands on my waist and kissing my neck and it made my skin crawl.” Cas hangs his head, ashamed. “I couldn’t do it. I had to run away. I brought shame on my family.”
Cas looks so small, feet tucked underneath his knees, staring down at his feet. His hands fidget in his lap, bottom lip caught between his teeth again. Dean feels something akin to rage coursing through his body, thinking about Cas having to go through that, feeling so hopeless that he ran away and lived on the streets for a week. He feels muscles twitch in his jaw as he makes himself talk.
“You have absolutely nothing to be ashamed about,” Dean insists, and Cas’ head snaps upwards, blue eyes wide and staring straight at him. “Your uncle’s a dick and that Crowley guy’s a dick and you shouldn’t have had to go through any of that. Shit, I didn’t even know stuff like that still happened!”
Cas shrugs, one shoulder lifting up and then dropping back down. “It’s not as common nowadays,” Cas explains. “Most people don’t actually want to sell their young omegas. But, of course, there are exceptions.”
“I am so sorry you had to go through that.” Cas looks at Dean. Looks and looks and fucking looks, making Dean shift, uncomfortable. Cas is very good at the whole unnerving through staring thing, pretty much has it down to an art form, and Dean doesn’t know what he’s done wrong this time. “What?”
“Thank you,” Cas says simply, voice barely above a whisper. Dean blinks back at him, shrugs and clears his throat, tires to play it off. Cas just shakes his head, stands up, walks over to Dean and pulls him up to standing, leans up on his tip toes and winds his arms around Dean’s neck. Dean’s arms go around Cas’ waist instinctively, and Cas whispers the next words against Dean’s skin. “No, honestly. Thank you, Dean. I – I don’t know what I would have done, without you.”
“Don’t think about that.”
Dean murmurs his reply, the words spoken into the soft hair at the top of Cas’ head. This close, Dean can smell Cas properly. He can smell the soap on his skin, the sweet smell of natural omega, and the undercurrent of his heat, getting stronger and stronger as he creeps into his next wave of hormones.
Dean pushes him away gently, and Cas peers up at him, arms going lax by his sides. “What is it?”
“I, uh. I think it’s best if you keep your distance, for a little while.” Dean’s really trying his best not to blush here, and Cas appears to be failing miserably at the same pursuit. “I mean, I’m a nice guy, but you’re still an omega and I’m still an alpha, and we don’t really wanna test this, do we?”
Cas shakes his head, but it’s slow and considering. “No, I – I guess not.”
Dean nods, once, perfunctory, and steps around Cas. He walks into the bedroom, beckoning Cas to follow him, and Cas trails in behind, fidgeting in the doorway while Dean changes sheets and fluffs pillows. Dean readies the room as best he can, not taking too long, and when he’s done, he turns back to Cas, a grimace on his face, because he knows what he has to do next.
“So, uh, you’ve never been in heat before, right?” Dean asks, and Cas blushes, shakes his head. “Right, well. What do you know about it, then?”
Cas bites his lip and takes a seat on the edge of the bed. Dean follows suit, leaving enough room between them to allow himself the sanctity of control. Cas’ eyes dart around the room and he fidgets, ass shifting against the bedspread and, fuck, Dean’s trying not to imagine that perky little ass shifting nervously in his lap.
“I don’t know that much,” Cas admits sheepishly, looking up at Dean fleetingly, training his eyes back on his hands straight after. “My uncle wanted me to be as naive and innocent as possible, so he kept me sheltered and I never really was able to find anything out about how omegas go into heat, or anything like that.”
“Why’d your uncle do that?”
“Innocence sells for a higher price.”
“Oh, ok. I – I guess I can understand that, sick as it is. Sorry, sorry, carry on.”
“I don’t know much, other than that I won’t be able to control it. And – and I’ll need something, to, um. To satiate myself.”
Dean can’t help but laugh at Cas’ words. “Satiate?” he asks, incredulous. Cas goes bright red and flops down on the bed, burying his face into the duvet and swatting one hand in Dean’s direction. “God, Cas. Way to make sex sound fucking robotic.”
“Excuse me,” Cas starts, lifting his head slightly to glare, “for never having had any experience.”
Dean’s laughter dies. “Wait, never?” Cas frowns and shakes his head, shrinking in on himself a little more. “You’ve never, like, touched yourself, or anything?”
Cas makes a noise like he’s in pain, burying his face back into the bed. Dean can see that the tips of his ears are tinged crimson, that the back of his neck is flushed red. Dean can only blink in surprise, trying to figure out how the hell he’s supposed to handle this situation.
“My uncle was very strict,” Cas explains, voiced muffled by bedsheets. “He insured that I was wholly innocent for when – for when someone, like Crowley, wanted me.” He pauses, and peeks out at Dean with one eye. “Crowley was supposed to be the one who taught me everything. That’s why we were getting married just before my first heat.”
“Fuck,” Dean breathes, and then winces at the use of the cuss. Cas, thankfully, doesn’t notice, seems to be content to simply burrow into the covers, like they might swallow him up and this whole awkward situation will disappear. “Right, well, ok. I guess, uh. I guess I’ll teach you, then.”
Considering the speed with which Cas’ head snaps around to Dean, Dean’s surprised he doesn’t hear it crack.
“You – You’ll teach me?”
Dean’s eyes widen, understanding, and he clears his throat. “No! God, no, not like that, don’t worry. I would never take advantage or hurt you like that, I promise.” Cas seems pacified. Or, at least, Dean thinks he does, because the tight tension leaves his shoulders. His face is oddly blank, though. “I meant, like, tell you what to do and then leave you alone to do it.”
“Oh, ok.” Cas doesn’t sound disappointed, Dean’s just projecting. “So, what – what is there that I don’t know?”
Dean huffs out a laugh, pulls at Cas’ wrist until Cas is sitting back up again. He nudges Cas’ shoulder with his, makes it so that Cas lets out a little laugh, too. He wants Cas relaxed for this. He wants to make sure that Cas understands that being an omega isn’t a bad thing, that he can go through heat and not have to hate himself for it.
“Well, from experiences I’ve had with past omega partners, it’s gonna get real bad the second you relax.” Cas immediately tenses up, and Dean squeezes his shoulders once, lets go before he can linger. It had the desired effect, though, when Cas’ shoulders loosen. “Like earlier, in the shower, did you find you were getting a little more, uh, antsy?”
Cas bites his lip and wriggles his hips. “I, uh. Yes.”
Dean doesn’t ask what he did to himself because of that, because that’d just be asking for his dick to chafe even more against his denim jeans.
“Right, so, yeah. When you try and fall asleep you’ll feel yourself getting worse and worse, and you can’t just ignore it. If you ignore it, your body kinda revolts against you. Seriously, it’s not pretty.”
“Ok, so what do I do?”
Dean stands up, walks over to the wardrobe and reaches up to the top shelf. He brings down a small box, objects inside making it heavy, and he sets it down on the bed, just beside Cas, as he continues to stand up by himself.
“That box is your friend,” Dean announces, and when Cas just peers up at him in confusion, Dean rubs a hand over the back of his neck and explains further. “So, you know I said I’ve been with an omega before during their heat? Yeah, well. Her name was Lydia, and I bought some extra, uh. Some extra stuff to help the process.”
Cas’ brow is still furrowed, and he still looks entirely perplexed, and Dean can’t believe he might have to actually say these words out loud. For all that he is sexually immoral and ambiguous, he really, really, does not want to have to have this conversation with a sixteen year old.
“What kind of stuff?” Cas asks, all innocence, and that damn fucking kid is going to make him actually say it.
Dean sighs and hides his face in his hands. “Stuff. Like, toys.” Dean chances a glance at Cas, and finds him to still look confused. Dean huffs an irritated noise and throws the lid off the box. “Like that, you see?”
Cas gasps, and it’s so fucking adorable: the way his eyes go all wide, his jaw dropping. There are toys inside the box, a fuckload of them, ranging in size and colour and usage. Dean’s not exactly a newbie to this whole omega-heat thing, but Cas is, and this box is pretty much all he needs to know in order to get through it.
“Oh,” Cas breathes, eyes fixated on what’s in the box, “toys.”
Dean clears his throat and adjusts his crotch surreptitiously. Cas licks his lips slowly, fingers itching in his lap. Dean’s willing to bet that Cas never even thought about sex before, at least not in the capacity of anything good, but this box might just be changing that.
Dean feels inexplicably proud.
“Yeah, toys,” he reiterates, watching Cas drag his gaze from the box and back to Dean. “They’re all clean, don’t worry. Haven’t been used in years, anyway. So, uh, I’m assuming you know basic mechanics? Please tell me I don’t have to teach you that, too, ‘cos I think both of us might die of embarrassment.”
Cas chuckles and ducks his head. “No, that’s – that’s fine. I know, um, where everything goes.”
“Right.” Don’t come in your pants, don’t fucking do it. “That’s good.” He’s a kid, ok, it’s not his fault he’s so damn innocent. Also, you shouldn’t be fucking getting off on that, you pervert. “I guess I’ll just leave you to it, then?”
Cas nods, eyes swiveling back to the box. Dean figures he’s not gonna get any more words out of the kid, that he should probably just leave and let Cas get on with it.
So, he backs out of the room, tries his hardest not to imagine exactly what Cas is doing in there, how many items of clothing he’s lost, which toy he’s decided to use. He goes about setting up the sheets and pillows on the couch, sheds his jeans and his jacket, climbing into his makeshift bed in just a pair of briefs and a t-shirt. He picks his iPod up from the coffee table – Sammy bought it for him, couple of Christmases ago, and Dean reluctant to admit that he actually likes it – and places the headphones in his ears.
It’ll be easier to fall asleep if he can keep it to just imagining, not hearing it, too.
It’ll also be easier if he can’t smell Cas.
An omega’s smell heightens during gratification, and given the fact that Dean’s been struggling to resist it so much thus far, he’s fairly certain that smelling it for real would be the end of him.
To remedy this – as much as is possible – he lies on his stomach, buries his face in the pillow and simply smells his own laundry detergent. Metallica blasts in his ears and yeah, ok, maybe his cock is really fucking hard, tenting his boxers and somewhat painfully squashed against the couch. But all he needs to do is fall asleep, and it’ll be fine, it’ll go.
He closes his eyes, and hopes for the best.
Dean wakes up in darkness.
He comes to consciousness with a jolt, eyes widening and adjusting to the dark. The material underneath him scratches his skin uncomfortably, and it takes him a few seconds to figure out that he’s on the couch. After another initial bout of confusion, he eventually remembers also why he’s on the couch.
It explains the hard cock in his boxers, too.
And – oh fuck, he’s popped a fucking knot, too. He hasn’t fucking done that since he was going through damn puberty, fuck, what is this fucking kid doing to him?
He presses the heel of his palm against his cock, pushes it and wills it away, futiely. He gives up after a minute or so, decides to ignore the way it aches andneeds, and sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the couch so the soles of his feet touch the floor.
He reaches for his cellphone from the coffee table, clicks on it and has it blinking 3:32am back at him. He drops the phone on the floor, groans and cracks his knuckles over the backs of his eyes. The wood beneath his feet is cold as he stands up to get a drink from the kitchen, taking one or two steps in that direction, before he’s forced to pause.
There’s a noise coming from his bedroom.
Which isn’t entirely unexpected, to be honest. There’s a teenage omega going through his first heat on Dean’s bed, fucking himself with fingers and toys as he writhes on Dean’s sheets. Of course he’s going to make noises, of course he won’t know to keep himself quiet. Dean’s half concentrating on hoping his neighbours don’t complain, and half concentrating on delving his hands into his boxers and wrapping his hand around his cock.
“Ah!” The noise comes again, high pitched and short, fleeting. Dean closes his eyes and grits his jaw, hand tightening around his dick, standing in the middle of his apartment like a fucking creep. “Ah, fuck, please!”
Dean knew Cas would beg. He knew Cas would sound so pretty when he did it, little moans catching in his throat, breath hitching in the prettiest way. Shit, Dean’s hard, and he needs to sort this mess out somewhere else, not start jerking off with his ear pressed against the door like some peeping tom.
He lets out a tiny growl, rumbling from his chest, and starts making towards the bathroom again.
He stops when yet another noise comes from his bedroom.
“Please, please,” Cas is begging, and it’s so perfect, so pretty, but what makes Dean really stop, makes his heart pound, is the following, “please, Dean!”
Dean’s throat goes dry and he chokes on air. He did not just hear that, he’s imagining it, he’s projecting. Cas is just choking out words, moans and pleas and none of it makes sense, he’s in heat, for God’s sake, his words aren’t going to make sense.
Dean’s still rooted to the floor, though. He can’t move a muscle.
The noise in the bedroom continues, softer now, less words and more panting. Dean finds his feet padding over to the bedroom without his consent, finds his hand wrapped around the door handle and pulling it open before he can remind himself what a hugely fucking bad idea this is.
The first thing Dean sees inside the room is the lamp on the bedside table. It’s lit dimly, the light shining through the shade enough to illuminate the room, just slightly. Dean takes a long while to stare at the object before his gaze lands on the bed.
Cas is in the middle of it. Totally naked with his legs spread wide, knees in the air, feet flat on the sheets. There are a few toys beside him, but none of them look used, which is probably due to the fact that Cas has four of his own fingers buried in his ass, pushing in and out of his puffy, abused hole like there’s a prize far enough.
Which, to be fair, there kind of is.
Cas’ eyes are screwed shut, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. He’s got one hand on his cock, hard and leaking onto his fingers, pumping up and down, wrist twisting. If Dean didn’t know any better, he’d assume the kid was a fucking veteran at this kind of thing. But, as he does, he figures the kid is just a quick learner.
Fuck, that is hot.
Dean hasn’t been noticed yet, Cas is too far gone, and Dean should just step back out of the room, shut the door quietly and pretend this never happened. He should, he should, he knows he fucking should, but instead of doing that, he finds himself taking the opportunistic route.
“Need any help?”
He keeps his voice low and quiet, maybe half hoping that Cas won’t even hear. It’s only half a hope, though, and the way his stomach lurches and his skin tightens when Cas’ eyes blink open, when his head snaps towards Dean, are all very big indications that Dean really had no choice in the fact that the night would inevitably end here.
“Dean,” Cas breathes, and he hasn’t even stopped fucking himself with his fingers, thrusting up into his hand. “Dean, oh, please, need you.”
The words go straight to Dean’s cock, already hard as it twitches, almost painfully, in his briefs. He quickly whips his t-shirt off, throws it into the darkened corner of the room. He crawls onto the bed and Cas sits up against the headboard expectantly, holding the hand that’s not in use out to Dean.
Dean fits his temple against Cas’ palm, moves forwards until he’s kneeling in between Cas’ legs. He brings his own hands to Cas’ waist, fits a thumb on either side of Cas’ ribs, settling in the dip between bones. He leans down to put his lips less than an inch away from Cas’, and Cas’ eyes are wide and blue and trusting.
“Heard you scream my name,” Dean mentions, almost growling when Cas whimpers and nods frantically, body jerking as he fucks himself. “Why’re you screaming for me when you got all these toys, sweetheart? Are you even using them?”
Dean is close enough to hear the tiny hitch in Cas’ breath, the way it catches in his chest and makes his body jerk. Dean smirks and leans a little closer, brushes his lips lightly over the corner of Cas’ mouth. Cas’ skin is like a furnace, burning hot, but that’s just a side affect of heat – being literal, annoyingly.
“Didn’t want,” Cas starts, words cutting off when he twists his fingers and lets his eyes flutter closed, only opening them again when Dean bites his jaw, “I – I didn’t want the first thing inside of me to be – to be fake. Wanted a – a knot. A real one. Yours.”
Dean growls, low in his chest, and shoves the toys off the bed. “Really, darlin’?” Dean croons, using his hold on Cas to slide him down, so that he’s laying on his back with his legs still spread wide. Dean sits on his knees in between, hands moving up and down Cas’ sides in a soothing motion. “You that desperate to be knotted? Want me to fuck you and breed you, bitch?”
“Yes!” Cas whines, loud and unabashed. “Please, Dean, wanted you so much, kept thinking about my fingers like – like they were you. Haven’t been able to get off on my own, I need you, please.”
Dean loses it then, smashing forwards to kiss Cas. He uses tongue and teeth from the start, biting at Cas’ bottom lip and sucking on Cas’ tongue. He positions Cas so that he’s lying properly beneath him, slots their hips together, feeling Cas leak onto Dean’s boxers and having his hips stutter because of it.
“God, I want you so much,” Dean admits, kissing a trail down Cas neck, nipping the skin along the way. “Popped a knot in my fucking sleep, just imagining you in here, fucking yourself. The things you do to me, kid, can’t fucking take this.”
“I’m sorry,” Cas almost shouts, arching his body into Dean’s touch, tilting his hips up for friction that Dean’s not willing to give him yet. “I don’t mean to, I – I can’t help it.”
Dean hums, dropping his mouth to Cas’ chest, breathing over a nipple. It hardens under the attention, pink nub perking up, making Dean smile. He looks down to Cas’ hands, still furiously working on himself, and he bats them both away. Cas whines, but complies, letting Dean pin his arms to the sheets on either side of him.
“You need me to get you off, right?” Dean asks, and Cas nods, barely breathing. Dean smiles and kisses Cas’ mouth. “Good, ‘cos I can do that. You just gotta let me do it my way, yeah? You gotta do exactly what I say and let me help you through this.”
Cas bites his lip and nods, slowly. Dean slowly lets go of Cas’ wrists and Cas keeps them where they are, flat against the bed. Dean wonders, absently, if there’s anything he could use in the house to tie Cas down, but then realises he doesn’t have the patience to go searching for it, anyhow.
Dean leans down to Cas’ chest once again and breathes in. God, Cas smells fucking amazing; all sweet and strong and heavy. Dean wants to bury himself in Cas’ skin, wants to make it his home where he can settle and stay and feel happy for the rest of his life.
Any omega he’s been with before during their heat pales in comparison to Cas. Cas, with his desperate squirming and writhing. Cas, with his wide eyes and parted lips. Fucking Cas, with his virginity and his innocence that he’s offering up to Dean like a lamb to the fucking slaughter.
If Dean were in a better state of mind, if he were in full control of his senses, he’d be leaving this well enough alone. Not only is Cas young, he’s also recently left home, alone of the streets, and anything Dean might say or do could have negative repercussions for his psychology.
But the alpha part of him, the prominent, biological side to his nature that is being ripped forth from him by Cas in his omega glory, is telling him that Cas needs this. It’s telling him that Cas needs Dean to fuck him and claim him and take him. It’s telling him that he’d never hurt Cas, he couldn’t hurt Cas, because it is impossible to hurt your mate.
Dean decides to ignore the word again. It can’t be true. He’s just helping Cas out, right? It’s too hard for an alpha to leave an omega in need, and Cas just smells amazing and this doesn’t have to mean anything, nothing at all. Dean is sure of it.
“Dean,” Cas whines, squirming with his arms having moved to be held underneath the pillow. His hips wriggle and his body arches, and Cas is glaring down at Dean like he’s the worst person in the universe. “Dean, you said you’d touch me, please, touch me, I need you.”
There’s something very base about those last three words. Something that hits Dean at his alpha core, causes it to go into a frenzy. That’s why his response is to bite down on Cas’ nipple so hard he yelps, that’s why he catches it between his teeth and flicks his tongue against it, brutally, making Cas cry out and buck up.
“You asked for it, slut,” Dean says, affection in his voice that he hadn’t meant to allow there. He sucks a hickey on Cas’ collarbone, inhales Cas’ overwhelming scent and tastes Cas’ skin, a mix of soap and sweat and something so gorgeous Dean’s addicted to it instantaneously. He pulls off and puts his hands on Cas’ thighs, pulls them open and commands, “Spread ‘em.”
Cas opens his legs as wide as he can, watching with enraptured eyes as Dean slides down his body. Dean kisses his way down Cas’ chest, pausing at the pretty juts of his hipbones to suck a bruise on each side, blood rushing to the surface under Dean’s tongue and making Dean smile.
Dean probably shouldn’t mark, because marking is possession, and Cas isn’t his. But it’s like he’s fucking high as a kite right now, drunk on everything that is Cas, and he can’t help himself.
“What are you going to – to do me?” Cas stutters, Dean in between his legs, Cas’ thighs resting on Dean’s shoulders. Cas licks his lips when Dean looks up at him, a smirk playing around his mouth. Cas swallows and tenses his jaw. “I – I can take anything you want to give me. I promise.”
Dean chuckles, pressing a kiss to the inside of Cas’ thigh. “I know you could, sweetheart,” Dean murmurs, kissing over and over again, unable to stop himself. “I know you’re gonna be a good boy for me.” Cas preens, smiling beatifically, and Dean feels proud of him, too. “But this is about what you want, Cas. You want me to fuck you? Make you come on my cock like a god little bitch?”
Cas seems to choke on nothing, nodding and grabbing at Dean’s shoulders. Cas also appears to have lost the ability to talk, so Dean just snuffs a laugh into Cas’ thigh, shuffles down and grabs a pillow to shove under Cas’ tilted hips.
With a better view for Dean’s convenience, he’s able to see just how fucking perfect Cas is.
Cas is wet, really fucking wet, hole leaking so damn prettily. Dean can’t stop himself from leaning in, licking the rim and tasting Cas, shoving two fingers in beside his tongue. Cas may have fucked himself with his fingers, earlier, but he’s still almost virgin tight, and Dean can’t wait another damn second to fuck his pretty boy.
He comes back up to put him face to face with Cas’ mouth, kissing him softly while he pulls his fingers out of Cas’ ass. He puts his hands on Cas’ thighs and gets Cas to wrap his legs around Dean’s waist, uses the slick from Cas’ hole to lube his dick a little more.
“Please, fuck me,” Cas whispers, head thrashing on the pillow, hands still trapped. Dean takes pity on him and takes those hands out from their containment, places them on his back, between his shoulder blades, lets him touch. It’s totally worth it when Cas blinks, smiles, breathes, “Thank you.”
Dean groans and drops his head to Cas’ shoulders, bites down lightly, not enough to mark properly. He needs to remember himself and not do that, needs to remember this is just helping out, not a claim, not a claim, not a fucking claim.
“Gonna fuck you so good, baby,” Dean promises, kisses Cas’ cheek, his jaw, his neck. “Gonna fuck you with my knot and make you come all over yourself, so pretty. Sound good?”
“Yes, Dean,” Cas replies, arching up as Dean takes himself in hand, lines the head of his dick up with Cas’ leaking hole. “Please, Dean, please.”
Dean loves hearing Cas beg, loves having Cas obey unquestioningly. Cas is a virgin and this is his first heat, and Dean wants to take it slow, wants to make sure Cas is ok with everything and he can take it, but the alpha in Dean can only think fuckbreedmate and it’s difficult for him to do anything other than push in, slowly, inch by inch.
Cas lets out this noise like he’s in heaven, like feeling Dean’s knot push past his rim and stretch him open is the best fucking thing in the world. Cas claws at Dean’s back with blunt nails, rakes red marks into the skin that Dean will have for days, will treat like a reminder, a prize.
In all honesty, they should have used a condom, because Cas is an omega, and he’s in heat, and he’s highly susceptible to pregnancy in this state. Except all Dean can think, when he imagines Cas all fucked with his come, bearing his kid with a swollen belly, is, would it be that bad?
He shakes the thoughts away, blames them on the heat of the moment, and buries himself fully in Cas.
“Fuck,” Dean breathes, feeling Cas clench around him, so tight and so fucking perfect. “Shit, Cas, you’re so fucking gorgeous, so fucking amazing.” Cas whimpers and tightens his legs around Dean’s waist, silently begging for more. Dean smirks and kisses him sloppily. “Knew you’d be a slut, Cas. Knew you’d go fucking crazy for my knot, so desperate. What was I thinking, giving you those toys? They could never fill you up as good as I do, could they?”
Cas shakes his head jerkily, body seizing up when Dean pulls out of him, far enough that his knot catches around the rim, only to slam back in. Cas makes another noise, caught between pain and pleasure, and Dean hopes the edge is good, wants to make this good for Cas.
It is his first time, after all.
“Nothing better than you, Dean,” Cas admits, clinging onto Dean’s shoulder, tilting his hips so that Dean drives in deeper. Dean is pointedly avoiding Cas’ prostate, for now – he wants to make Cas scream when he chooses, and he’ll get there eventually. “No one – no one else could make me feel like this.”
Dean grunts, drives in hard, kisses Cas with teeth and tongue and intent. “Damn right, sweetheart. I’m the only one who can make you feel this good, the only knot you’re ever gonna need. You don’t want anyone else, do you? You don’t want fucking Crowley or that alpha from before, you just want me, right?”
Cas’ eye screw shut, trickle of sweat trailing down his temple that Dean licks away. The smell is overwhelming now, sinking into Dean’s pores and making his thrusts frantic, his fingers on Cas’ hips grip so tight, he’ll definitely leave bruises.
Usually he can control himself, but he finds that here, with Cas, he just fucking can’t.
“Only you, Dean,” Cas whispers, pretty eyelashes fluttering against his high cheekbones, pink lips kissed red and swollen. “Only ever want you, Dean, please.”
Hearing Cas promise all these things, hearing him submit to Dean’s hands and Dean’s lips and Dean’s possession, and Dean’s not sure he can last much longer. His hips are already stuttering, his lips mouthing at Cas’ jaw insistently, and he knot is swelling, threatening to burst.
Dean’s never actually knotted in someone before. It’s too intimate, and he’s never really been close enough with any of his previous partners to even want. But he wants to with Cas, so, so much, can’t imagine pulling out, can’t imagine coming anywhere but in Cas’ pretty little hole.
“Open your eyes, Cas,” Dean coaxes, and Cas’ eyes spring open. Dean smiles and rewards him with a kiss. “Good boy. Wanna see you looking all pretty when you come on my knot, yeah?”
Cas’ head gets stuck between a nod and a thrash, hitting back against the pillows when a moan rips past his lips. Dean looks down and sees how fucking far gone Cas is, already, how much he’s getting off on Dean’s knot dragging along the inside of his hole. He decides to make it even better for the poor kid.
He grips his hands tighter on Cas’ hips, tilts them upwards, just slightly, and slams in, hard.
Cas lets out a choked off moan, body going lax and eyes so fucking wide they could pop out of his skull. Dean smiles to himself, kisses Cas’ pliant mouth, and starts jarring the head of his knot against Cas’ prostate on every thrust.
“Dean,” Cas whimpers, whines, moans like it’s a fucking prayer. His hands scramble for purchase on Dean’s sweat slicked back, his hips tilted and his cock rock hard and leaking against his tight stomach. “Dean, please, oh, right there, gonna come, can’t – can’t hold it back anymore.”
Dean smirks, holding Cas up and fucking into him so hard, the bed crashes against the wall behind. “Yeah, c’mon, slut, come for me, be a good little bitch and come on my cock.”
Cas whimpers and doesn’t touch his cock, like a good boy, and comes all over his stomach, just ‘cos Dean told him to.
Dean hangs on in there, fucks into Cas and hits his prostate while Cas covers himself in streaks of translucence. Cas comes for so long, and his wide eyes stare at Dean, like he’s lost and found and overwhelmed. Dean feels like a fucking God, making Cas feel so fucking good it actually confuses him, and that’s what tips him over the edge.
His knot swells and he comes, filling Cas up with his come. Cas squirms happily, ass wriggling and clenching, milking Dean through, just like the good boy he is. Dean blows once, twice, his knot never ceasing to amaze with how much come he wants to fill his boy with, and he drops his head to Cas’ shoulder, inhales sex and sweat and Cas’ heat. It’s softer now, less desperate, but it’s still so damn sweet, and Dean loves it.
He keeps his head down for fuck knows how long, breathing in slow and deep. He knows there’s no point pulling out, his knot will just catch on Cas’ rim and be painful for him, so he stays where he is. He would never want to hurt Cas, would never do anything except protect him. After a while, he decides it’s time to resurface.
He lifts his head, looks straight at Cas, says, “Oh.”
Dean’s never mated before. Sam has, with Jess. His mom did, with his dad. Dean’s asked about it, just because it’s always interested him. He’s asked how they know, what are the signs, how can they even tell. Their answer was always, unanimously, a resoundingly unhelpful, you’ll know when it happens.
Dean always thought that was bullshit. Now he’s not so sure.
“Oh, fuck.” Dean’s stuck where he is, buried, soft, inside of Cas, their mouths inches apart, knowing he’s mated to a fucking child. “This can’t be fucking happening.”
“Dean,” Cas starts slowly, fingertips tapping against Dean’s back. “Dean, are we – did we – are you my mate?”
Dean makes a pained noise in the back of his throat, his arms aching with the effort of holding himself up. He rolls them over so that Cas’ back is spooned against his chest, so it’s intimate and quiet and, fuck, there’s no getting out this, is there?
Fuck, Dean doesn’t even think he wants to.
“I think so, Cas,” Dean whispers, and he knows he can, Cas is his mate, so he presses his lips to the back of Cas’ neck. “Just my fucking luck to mate with a little brat, huh?” Cas makes an indignant sound, playfully swatting his hand back and hitting Dean on his side. Dean chuckles, nuzzling the back of Cas’ head, feeling at home, and sighs happily. “Gotta admit, I didn’t see tonight going this way.”
Cas lets out a huff of laughter. “Me neither,” Cas admits, sounding far off and dreamy, absolutely adorable. “I thought I was in for a night of fighting off alphas and running for my life. Actually, I thought I was in for a whole week of that.” He turns his head, looks at Dean as best he can, and smiles, small. “I’m very glad I met one alpha I’m not afraid of.”
The flush that rises on Dean’s cheeks is both unwarranted and unstoppable. Dean smiles back, kisses Cas sloppily and lazy, and raises one hand to brush the hair from Cas’ forehead, to tuck it back and see the happy blue of his eyes properly.
“Guess I’m stuck with you now,” Dean says, faux put upon, just to make Cas laugh. Dean thinks that he couldn’t have accidentally mated with anyone better, or more perfect. “It’s all gonna be alright, you know. I’m gonna help you find your brothers and your sister, you’re gonna move in here. We’re gonna be happy.”
Dean doesn’t know why, but it feels like he’s telling the truth. They should just be promises, hopeful, if not empty, ones. But, somehow, Dean feels like he’ll be able to make this all come true.
He’ll do it for Cas.
Especially, when Cas looks at him, just like that, like Dean hung the fucking moon. He hasn’t done anything to deserve it yet, but he’s going to.
They will be happy.