“Explain to me why we’re doing this again?”
Castiel was apprehensive. How could he not be, with that blinking light mocking him. Reminding him that he was being recorded. But this was Dean asking him for something, and, try as he might, Castiel found it hard to say no to Dean when the hunter was looking up at him from his bed, cocksure smile in place.
The camera was positioned several feet away from the bed. Dean had rushed into the room excitedly thirty minutes prior with a few candles tucked under his arm and the camera cradled in his hand.
“Tonight’s the night,” he had said as he set up the camera and lit the candles. Sam and Kevin were out --gone off to see an arthouse film or something-- Dean had said, so Dean reasoned that it was the opportune time to film the two of them engaging in sexual relations.
Dean sat up on his knees and wrapped his hands around Castiel’s bare waist. “We’re doing this, Cas,” Dean said, “because it’s hot.” He drew his hands downwards, palms firm against the dip just above Castiel’s rear. He brought his mouth close to Castiel’s ear. “Remember the pizza man,” he asked, his wet lips skirting against the sensitive skin of Castiel’s ear lobe.
Castiel nodded dumbly, arching into the warm and solid heat that was Dean. He remembered not understanding the dynamics in the film, how he had conflated love and sex, but most of all, he remembered how his body had reacted, responding to the images of flesh on flesh.
“Well,” Dean continued, licking his way down Castiel’s neck, “think of how hot it would be if we could watch ourselves going at it.”
Castiel had to admit that he found the idea appealing. Being with Dean was amazing, and the ability to view their lovemaking would perhaps yield several advantages. For one, he would be able to, from a slightly more objective vantage point, see what pleased Dean most. And secondly, he would be able to just take in Dean. Watch how his body moved with Castiel’s, how their skin met, how they grappled for each other in the throes of passion, how he, Castiel himself looked when climax overtook him, when the only thought coursing thorough his mind was Dean. Had he still been an angel, he would just transport himself and Dean back in time and watch themselves having sex in person, but that was no longer a possibility.
So Castiel tried to ignore the camera and seep himself in Dean’s touch, in the other man’s soft sighs, in the way his full lips trailed across Castiel’s abdomen, leaving his skin ablaze in their wake.
But out of the corner of his eye, he saw the blinking light of the camera. His gaze lingered on the machine; he felt like he was under a magnifying glass, and he could almost hear the light as it pulsed on and off, on and off, on and off.
Castiel could feel Dean’s exasperation as the hunter repeatedly grabbed Castiel by the jaw and returned his gaze back onto Dean.
“You’re camera-shy,” Dean said finally after his third attempt to regain Castiel’s attention. His voice had a hint of humor to it, and when Castiel turned to face him, he didn’t find frustration on Dean’s face. His eyes were alight with amusement and he was looking up at Cas much in the same way he did when he watched Cas try new food.
Castiel nodded. “Sorry,” he said.
“Don’t be,” Dean said, giving Castiel a quick peck on the lips. He climbed out of bed and made for the camera, which he removed from the tripod and placed in his dresser drawer. Dean came to a halt at the foot of the bed, and, instead of climbing back in, he grabbed Castiel by the ankles and dragged him down across the sheets. Camera instantly forgotten, Castiel shut his eyes and gave himself over to the slick heat of Dean’s mouth.
* * *
After the incident with the camera, Castiel decided to ask an expert for advice on his and Dean’s foray into filming their escapades. While Dean and Sam were out questioning civilians for a case, he had Kevin take him to a sex shop. Kevin took him begrudgingly, and only after Cas traded a week’s worth of his TV hours. Unfortunately, that meant more hours of reality shows on MTV—“if I can’t live like a normal teenager, I should at least be able to watch TV like one,” Kevin had told them when Castiel and the Winchesters complained about Kevin’s viewing choices.
Castiel was almost certain that Dean secretly liked those shows, so it wasn’t completely unfortunate. It just meant less Discovery Channel for a week, which Castiel could put up with, especially if it was for Dean.
Kevin opted to stay outside of the shop. “I’ll wait for you here, man,” he had said and gave Cas a light push towards the store’s door.
Castiel took his time walking through the store, small as it was, stopping at displays to examine the various items. He could only guess what they were for. He approached the store’s clerks, a young man with dark, heavy slicked back hair and a young woman with long blue hair and several piercings on her face.
They both turned to greet him with warm smiles. Castiel placed both hands on the edge of the checkout counter and spoke. “I would like some advice and perhaps some merchandise that would aid me in producing a pornographic film with my boyfriend. He is very adamant.”
Both of the clerks gaped at him, and after a moment the woman moved from behind the counter. “We’d be happy to help you,” she said. “I’m sure we can find some things that’ll help make your cinematic debut memorable.”
Castiel wanted to inform the woman that his film with Dean would not be showing at the cinemas, but before he could say anything, he was whisked towards a display case with a basket thrust at his one hand and the clerk leading him by the other.
* * *
Roleplaying, the lady from the store had called it. “You’ll be too caught up in the role you’re playing to notice the camera,” she had reasoned, and it had made sense in the store, but now that Castiel was standing in Dean’s room, wearing the hard leather chaps with nothing beneath them, he felt a little ridiculous.
Not to mention cold. The boots he had donned, the thin leather bolo tie, and the tawny cowboy hat did nothing to deter the chill that ran down his spine. He sat on Dean’s bed and wrapped himself in a throw blanket as he patiently waited for Dean to return from his shower. Castiel long-since moved his things into Dean’s room, the few things that he had, since he often found himself crawling into Dean’s bed at night anyway.
After another half hour, the doorknob began to turn and Cas threw the blanket off of him. He rushed to pose seductively on the bed, like some of the men in the magazines the clerk had urged Cas to purchase. He braced both hands behind him and parted his legs. Instantly, the cold dissipated and desire coursed through him at the thought of the thrill he knew the older Winchester would feel at the sight of him.
Instead of getting a grateful Dean, the door opened and revealed a very baffled Sam, whose bafflement quickly turned to shock and disgust as he took in the entire scene.
“Ew! Gross, Cas!” he yelled as he shielded his eyes.
Castiel scrambled for the throw blanket again and wrapped it around his torso.
“Is this what you and Dean do at night?” Sam asked, incredulous. “Play cowboys?”
Dean finally appeared at the doorway, peering over Sam’s shoulder and taking in the scene before him—Castiel’s clothing (or lack thereof), Sam’s mortification, and the camera that was propped up on the tripod. Even from where Castiel was sprawled across the bed, he could see the way Dean’s eyes darkened. He pushed past his brother and made for Castiel.
“You might want to make your exit now, Sammy,” Dean said, grabbing Castiel’s hat and affixing it atop his own head.
Castiel heard the door shut. He barely had the chance to greet Dean as the other man pinned him against the bed and started to tell Castiel exactly what he was going to do with him.
Cas came three times that night.
Unfortunately, he forgot to turn on the camera.
* * *
Castiel’s second attempt included handcuffs. The suggestion came from Sam, who had given it begrudgingly after Cas attempted to delve into his and Dean’s sexual experience in depth. Castiel was telling Sam how he would come multiple times when he and Dean were together, while Dean managed to hold off his climax for a long time.
“Is this normal?” Cas had asked, with some concern. “Should I go to a doctor? Should Dean?”
Sam had held a hand up to him and motioned for him to stop. “Please, dude. I don’t need to hear about my brother’s sex life.” He rustled through his nightstand’s drawer and threw something heavy that glinted as it sailed towards Cas.
“Handcuffs,” Cas said, holding the pair of metallic restraints in his hand. “Do I want to know why you have these?” he asked.
“No,” said Sam, ushering Cas out of his room as he spoke. “Use them. Put them back. And never bring it up again.”
Of course, when Cas was practicing with the handcuffs, acting out how he would pull out the restraints, seductively, maybe from his pants, things went south, and somehow, he found himself handcuffed to Dean’s nightlamp.
What his brothers and sisters would say—Lucifer, struck down by God, Gabriel, struck down by his powerful brother, and Castiel, felled by a clunky, garish, thrift-shop lamp.
That was how the hunter had found him several hours later, defeated, with Cas perched on the ground, cuffed hand raised above his head and the chain leading up to the other cuff where it was clasped around the narrow middle of the lamp.
For a moment, Dean just laughed, deep-bellied. He actually went as far as clutching his stomach and nearly fell to his knees. Cas had half a mind to smite Dean’s ass, lovely as it may be, but then he remembered why he couldn’t disentangle himself from the lamp in the first place.
“It’s not funny,” Cas growled.
Dean approached him slowly, palms open in question. “What,” he paused for emphasis, then continued, “the hell, Cas. What happened?”
He came to a crouch near Cas, and examined the handcuffs, pulling at them and inspecting the key hole. Freshly showered, Dean smelled of his body wash, pine wood, and Cas inhaled deeply, letting the familiar scent envelop him. The heavy sigh of contentment he let out surprised him.
“I thought we could try something new,” Cas said. With his free hand, he motioned to the camera perched atop Dean’s dresser. “And film it.”
Dean was looking down at Cas with bemusement. It was one of his favorite expressions, one he seemed to reserve for the fallen angel. Castiel never ceased to be charmed by that look, the look of surprise and fondness that passed over Dean. Castiel suspected that few things in life ever surprised Dean, and he was glad that he could be the person in the other man’s life to do it. To bring him something new. Something that could make him smile.
“Key?” Dean asked.
“Sam didn’t give me a key,” Castiel said, which, in hindsight, was very irresponsible of Sam.
“Sam?” Dean asked, eyebrows shooting upwards. “Please don’t tell me these are his?”
Castiel refused to meet Dean’s eyes and that seemed to be answer enough.
“Okay then,” Dean said. “Lucky for you, I can pick locks.” He stood and rummaged through a trunk that stood at the foot of his bed. When he came back, he had what looked like a lockpick in hand.
“No way I’m asking my brother for the key to a pair of handcuffs my boyfriend borrowed to spice up our still-in-production porno,” Dean continued.
“But you’ll ask him to buy you pornography,” Cas countered. Try as he might, there were some things that he just did not get about Dean and Sam's relationship. Castiel didn’t understand why Dean would be reticent to talk about their present situation with Sam. The younger Winchester had seen worse, and Castiel suspected he would continue to do so.
Dean set to unlatching the cuff linked to the lamp, making quick work of it. The metal unbuckled with a sharp click and slipped off the furniture. Dean brought his hand to Cas’s, encircling the area just above where the cuff was clasped.
“Your wrist feeling okay?” Dean asked.
“Fine,” Castiel said. He hadn’t tried to force his hand through the cuff. He knew Dean would find him eventually.
“Good,” Dean said, and he smacked the unlatched cuff around his own wrist, the lock mechanism soundly clicking in place.
“Dean?” Cas asked, confused. “What are you—”
Dean silenced him with a kiss, sweet and slow, like melted sugar. He interlaced the fingers of his cuffed hand with Castiel’s, the chain clinking brightly as it folded.
“Why don’t we just stay here a while?” Dean asked, and he rested his forehead against Castiel’s.
Cas didn’t know if Dean meant, here, as in on the floor in Dean’s room, or if here was something bigger, the here that existed where the two of them were bound together.
He liked to believe that Dean meant both.
* * *
Kevin was still a little cold towards Castiel. The fallen angel understood. He understood more now that he was human, what it felt like to have your life dictated by another, to have your life endangered by something that was out of your control. How frustrating it was when you just wanted to live out your life, safe with the people you cared about, but knowing that it wasn’t a possibility.
Kevin wasn’t rude to Castiel. He always made sure that Castiel’s burgers were cooked rare and Kevin was a welcome conversationalist when the brothers were in one of their I-hate-my-brother-and-he-ruined-my-life-moods. He was also an exceptional Battleships opponent.
Still, there was a wall that remained between them. They weren’t chummy. Not in the way that Kevin was with Garth. Or the way Charlie was with Cas.
Which was why Cas was surprised when Kevin approached him one day and said, “It’s all about the mood, man. You have to set the mood.”
They were currently staying at a motel, a case in Louisiana taking them far from the bunker. They were in his and Dean’s room, doing some research online while the brothers were out questioning people. Kevin and Sam typically roomed together, an arrangement which both boys found satisfactory since they both liked to listen to classical music late at night and they frequently engaged in what Dean called “let’s make the world more PC campaigns.”
Castiel looked around the shabby motel room.
“How would I go about setting the mood in here?” he asked.
“The usual, I guess. Get some candles, dark chocolate, satin sheets. Have some light jazz playing in the background.” He looked at Castiel over the top of his laptop. “Keep in mind, my idea of what helps set the mood comes from internet porn.”
Castiel found that, as little regard some people had for the internet, it had often proved to be a reliable resource. It was how he found out that massaging a little bit of lemon juice into your scalp could get rid of dandruff. Dry scalp was something he had to deal with now that he was human.
“Will you help me acquire these things?” Castiel asked Kevin.
Kevin stretched his neck from side to side and stood. “Sure,” he said. “It’ll do us both some good to stretch our legs.” He grabbed the keys to the Volvo, what used to be his mother’s car, and headed for the door. “Anyway, we’re do for a run. We’re out of jerky.”
After three hours, two trips to two specialty shops and one trip to Linen & Things, Castiel was ready to “set the mood.” He had purchased an assortment of dark organic chocolate, a bottle of massage oil, dark green satin sheets, and what Dean would probably call an ass-load of candles, the special kind that made a crackling noise as it burned.
Castiel arranged the items around the room with care, lighting each candle slowly, placing the oil and the chocolates on the table beside the bed, and trading the rough cotton bed sheets for the satin ones. Before he left, Kevin helped Castiel find a playlist online, one called “Sexy Time Music for Sexy Bastards,” which Castiel set to play on a loop.
The last thing Castiel did was change out of his clothes into a pair of black slacks and his dark blue button down—what he considered his date night outfit.
The camera was already in place AND recording. He wasn’t going to make the mistake of forgetting to turn it on again.
Castiel waited. He ate three chocolates while he waited and found that he liked the coconut filled one’s the most. The playlist cycled through once and was halfway through its second loop when something, no someone, two someones barged through motel door.
The first person was Dean, a very angry looking Dean. Every inch of him was covered in a black ooze, slightly similar to what the Leviathan blood had looked like.
Castiel’s first instinct was to panic. There was no way he could protect Dean or Sam and Kevin now, not from Leviathan. Not like he could before. He turned to the second person who had barreled through the entrance, a very clean looking Sam.
“He’s fine,” Sam said, reading Cas’s thoughts immediately. “And it’s not Leviathan. He slipped into a swamp.”
Dean headed straight to the bathroom, paying no heed to the candles and the music and Cas. Sam, however, took notice. Thankfully, he said nothing about it, but he gave Cas an exaggerated eyeroll.
“I didn’t slip, Sam,” Dean said, his irritation palpable even through the half ajar bathroom door. “Some clumsy hulkish freak pushed me in with his long spastic arms.”
“Hulkish isn’t an adjective,” Sam said. “And he definitely slipped,” he added, but said it loud enough so that only Cas would hear it. He grabbed a piece of chocolate from the bowl, and took a small bite.
“Hm,” said Sam, appreciatively. “Are these organic?”
Castiel grabbed the bowl of chocolate and stormed towards the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He plopped down on the toilet seat, cradling the bowl in his lap. There was steam emanating from the shower, climbing over the shower curtain. He tapped on the shower curtain to notify Dean of his presence.
“Are you alright?” Castiel asked, cautiously.
A loud sigh came from behind the curtain. After a moment, Dean pushed the curtain a quarter of the way open. Castiel raked his eyes up and down Dean’s body, which was mostly clean. They had been together for six months, but Castiel never grew tired of looking at Dean. Of following the curve of his back or the clenching of his leg muscles or the swell of his cock, long and heavy and always demanding Castiel’s attention.
Dean let out another sigh as he pushed his hair back out of his eyes and moved to the left so that his head was no longer under the shower’s heavy spray.
He gave Cas a leveled look and then said, “I slipped.”
Castiel gave Dean a small smile. He looked down at the bowl of chocolate, the candy now coated with a slight sheen from the heat. He grabbed one and held it out to Dean, bringing it close to the hunter’s lips.
“Chocolate?” he asked.
Dean leaned forward and let his lips close around the chocolate. He sucked on the confection for a moment, before biting into it with earnest. A trickle of caramel filling lingered on his lips as he pulled back and he drew his tongue over it thickly with a languidness that pained Castiel.
Castiel almost moaned at the sight of it.
“You know what would make this taste a thousand times better,” Dean asked, licking his lips.
“If it were pie,” Castiel deadpanned.
Dean’s mouth quirked upwards. “No,” he said, reaching out the bowl and setting it in the sink. He pulled Castiel up off the toilet seat by grabbing the other man’s collar. “It would taste better if you were in here with me.”
The logic behind Dean’s reasoning was not sound, but Castiel found himself undressing anyway, and, between the two of them, they finished every last piece of chocolate, emerging from the shower an hour later, sodden and pruned, but satisfied in every way possible.
* * *
“So, how’s my favorite fallen angel,” Charlie asked when she appeared on the screen. She had on gloves, thick knitted ones and a wool beanie. She was staying in a cabin out in New Jersey, scouting new grounds for the next LARPing event. There was a fire crackling behind her, but it must not have been doing a good job of keeping the room warm.
Castiel must have made a face, because Charlie quickly apologized. “Sorry,” she said. “Too soon?”
It had been eight months, but Castiel still ached for his powers. There were times when Dean would say something like, “let’s hightail it out of here,” and Cas would unconsciously reach his hand out to Dean, ready to blink them out of wherever they were.
But Castiel liked Charlie, so he told her that it was fine. “Have you finished this month’s book,” he inquired.
He and Charlie had started their own book club. They read a new book every month and talked about it over the internet or in-person, if they managed to end up in the same state. Their theme was mysteries, and Castiel surprised himself by how caught up he became with the thrillers they read. He was also embarrassed at times, because in their discussions, Charlie would often say something about how obvious it was that Person A was the killer, while Castiel would be at the edge of his seat till the last few chapters of their books.
But that changed as Castiel read more, and he soon found himself nodding along with Charlie when she said things like, “There was not one iota of suspense in that heap of M. Night Shyamalan trash.”
Dean encouraged their club, and he would often accompany Castiel on his book excursions, picking out a book of his own and reading it while Castiel searched the stacks. There were many nights when Cas would stay up late, biting his nails as he powered through one more chapter, and Dean would nestle his head comfortably in Castiel’s lap. Castiel tried really hard not to gasp too loudly at plot twists when Dean fell asleep in that position.
“Not yet,” Charlie said in response to Castiel’s question. “I’ve been busy organizing our next event.” She brought a mug to her mouth and took a long drink. “You’d think nerds would be quick about responding to emails, but, not the case.”
She took another long swig of her drink, tea by the looks of the little sachet tag hanging off the side of the mug. “So, what’s up,” she asked.
Castiel took a deep breath. “I need help making a sex tape.”
Charlie was mid sip when Castiel spoke and she choked on her tea, coughing and sputtering some of the liquid on herself. She brought a gloved hand to her lips and wiped her mouth.
“Dude,” she said. “Not cool. Warn a girl before you announce something like that. I don’t have my keyboard protectant on.”
“Apologies,” Castiel said, meaning it. He had spilled water on Sam’s laptop once and the younger Winchester had not been happy about it.
“So, say again?” Charlie prompted, after she set her mug down somewhere out of the screen’s frame.
“Dean and I are attempting to make a sex tape,” Cas said. “But our numerous attempts have not ended in our desired results.”
“Okay,” Charlie said. “Walk me through this, Cas. What’s been happening?”
Cas explained each of his and Dean’s botched attempts of taping themselves. “What can I do?” he asked. “What’s left?”
Charlie cleared her throat and readjusted her beanie, bringing it down over her ears. “Plenty,” she said, matter of factly. “But you probably shouldn’t try anything too advanced. Have you tried taking dirty?”
Castiel shook his head. “But I am familliar with the basic concept. I should tell Dean that he looks good and that I want him to have sex with me, correct?”
“Um, sort of,” said Charlie. “More like you tell him how much you want him, use a lot of euphemisms. I know you’re not at the top of the class when it comes to wordplay, but that’s kind of what dirty talk is.”
“Can you give me an example?” Cas asked, ever the apt student.
Charlie cleared her throat. “This is growing increasingly awkward.” She bit her bottom lip and appeared to be in thought. “Okay, so, something like, oh, poor me, this barrel of beer that I randomly have in my living room is so hard to open. If only I had a big, long, hard rod to help me open it.”
Castiel contemplated the statement for a moment. “So,” he said, nonplused, “the rod is referring to a man's penis.”
“You hit the hammer right on the nail,” she said, with a snicker that reminded Castiel of Dean.
“Do you think Dean would enjoy that?” Castiel asked.
“I don’t know, dude,” Charlie said. “Wouldn’t hurt to try.”
* * *
Castiel set up the camera again, hoping it was for the last time. He had just pressed the record button, when Dean walked into the room.
“I feel like that camera’s a third roommate,” Dean said, smiling at Cas. He pulled Castiel flush against him. “So, hot stuff,” he said, “what have you got planned for us tonight?”
Castiel ground up into Dean, moving his hips in slow circles as he brought his lips to Dean’s. Dean’s mouth parted and Castiel took the opportunity to slip his tongue inside. He sought out Dean’s tongue with his own, and after a brief tango for dominance, Castiel pulled back, only to dart forward to catch Dean’s searching tongue between his lips.
Dean had started to thrust against him, and Castiel turned to slot his ass against Dean’s hardening cock. He felt Dean through the thick fabric of his jeans and moaned loudly, desperate to feel Dean now, but not wanting to rush things for the sake of the video.
“So good, Cas,” Dean whispered against his ear. “You’re so good. Want you so bad.”
Castiel brought a hand up to the back of Dean’s head and clutched at his hair. He made a low keening sound, and jutted his rear out a little as he drew it up and down across the hard line of Dean’s cock. “I want you too,” he moaned.
“I want you to drive into me,” Cas said breathily, “the way you drive the Impala into a parking lot.”
“Oh yeah?” Dean asked, gripping Castiel by the hips and rubbing up against him. “I— wait. What?”
“I need you to screw me,” Castiel continued, “as if I were a potato in a 5th grade science fair and you were a lightbulb.”
“What,” Dean said, again, pulling back a fraction. “Cas, what are you saying?”
“Slap me like you’d slap a stick of butter onto a steak,” Castiel moaned, reaching backwards to a retreating Dean.
He turned around when he couldn’t grab a hold of the other man, and he found Dean looking very rumpled, very aroused, and a little confused.
“What the heck are you going on about, Cas?”
Castiel clenched his jaw and cast his eyes downwards. He had embarrassed himself, again.
“Were you— Cas, were you trying to talk dirty?”
Castiel risked a glance upwards, and then nodded slowly.
Dean chuckled. He brought his hand up to Castiel's cheek and stroked it lovingly. “Well,” he said, moving his hand to Cas's shoulder and nudging him so that the backs of his knees hit the side of the bed. “How about, for this round, you listen up, take notes, and next time,” and he pushed Cas onto the bed, “you be the one to dole out the lesson.”
Castiel nodded dumbly as Dean crawled up onto the bed. He brought his head down and caught Castiel’s lips in a deep and languid kiss.
“You’d like that, baby?” he asked, skirting his lips against Castiel’s neck. Castiel nodded desperately and reached out to Dean, wanting to pull him closer, but the hunter caught his arms and pinned them above Castiel’s head.
“You want me to teach you a lesson?” Dean asked. “You want me to fuck you like the world’s about the end?” And then he did press against Castiel, grinding down so that their hardened cock’s aligned. Castiel groaned, desperate for more contact. He needed to feel Dean’s heated skin against his.
“Like your salvation lies at the end of my cock?” Using one hand to keep Castiel’s wrists bound above his head, Dean brought the other one down to the other man’s pants, undoing the button and the zipper with two easy flicks of his wrist. He pulled down Castiel’s jeans down to his knees, dragging Castiel’s boxers down along with them.
Dean’s hand hovered over Castiel’s cock, which was hard and at full mast. “Fuck,” Castiel whispered, the word spilling out unbidden, curse words still feeling slightly foreign on his tongue. “Please,” he begged.
“You have a dirty mouth,” Dean said, pulling his hand back entirely. He sat up, shifting so that he was positioned just above Castiel’s chest. “I might need to rinse it out.”
He rubbed his still jean-clad front against Castiel’s face, and Castiel opened his mouth wide, planting it around the defined bulge beneath the fabric.
“How about a load of my cum,” Dean asked, finally undoing his own jeans, pulling the fabric and his briefs down mid thigh. His cock sprang free and he brought it close to Castiel’s mouth, holding it inches away. “Would you like that, baby? Some of my hot cum to rinse out your dirty mouth?”
Castiel moaned again, opening his mouth wide as he nodded fervently, and Dean finally gave him what he was craving. He swallowed Dean down eagerly, pressing his tongue against the underside of Dean’s cock. He hummed around the hardened length as Dean began thrusting into his mouth, a slow, methodical rhythm that made Castiel arch up off of the bed as he chased down all of Dean.
Dean eventually pulled back, his cock slipping out of Castiel’s hungry mouth with a slick plop. He made quick work of ridding himself and Castiel of their jeans. He didn’t keep Castiel waiting for long, and he quickly replaced his length with his fingers, which Castiel sucked on eagerly.
“That’s right,” Dean said. “Get ‘em nice and wet for me.”
Dean brought down his fingers and teased Castiel’s entrance. “You’re gonna open up for me,” he told Castiel, as he pushed one of his fingers in.
“But you’re always open for me, aren’t you, baby?” Dean asked, pushing another finger in and thrusting into Castiel with more force.
Castiel clenched around Dean’s fingers, desperate to take in more of the other man. He nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, Dean,” he said. “I’m always open for you.”
“That’ right,” Dean said, and his thrusts grew harder and faster. “You’re like a 24-hour diner. Open all night. And I’m gonna drive right through you.”
Castiel’s eyes snapped open and he looked Dean in the eye. “You’re making fun of me,” he said.
Dean had a mischievous glint in his eye, but it quickly turned somber at Castiel’s words.
“Never,” he said, and he replaced his fingers with his cock, driving right into the other man while their eyes were still locked on one another.
Castiel’s insides were on fire; he wanted to touch every inch of himself, every inch of Dean, and he spread his legs wide, bringing his legs up for Dean to latch on to his ankles as the hunter plowed into him. Castiel fisted his fingers into Dean’s sheets as he moved in tandem with Dean, tilting his hips up whenever Dean bore down on him. He flexed his muscles, tightening his hold on Dean’s cock, gripping it firmer as the other man took him hard.
He screamed out Dean’s name, his voice breaking half-way through it, as the other man quickened his pace and set a rhythm that had his balls slapping against Castiel’s ass. Castiel licked his lips and pleasure rolled down his spine at the thought of it, at the thought of how he would look.
Dean suddenly disentangled himself from Castiel, pushing Cas down onto his front without a word. He drove right back into Castiel, holding the other man down at the shoulders as he fucked him.
“Do you know,” Dean said, punctuating the words by a hard, sharp thrust, “how much,” and he thrust into Castiel again, making the bed frame and nightstand rattle, “I love it,” and everything shook again, and Castiel swore he wanted nothing more than to be fucked by Dean forever, “when your voice breaks like that?” and Dean thrust into Cas one last time, coming balls deep inside of him, cum coating Castiel’s insides. Castiel came at feel of Dean’s seed and the sound of his groan, deep and guttural, and very much the sound of someone who had just staked something as his.
Dean stayed buried in Castiel as they both caught their breaths. He slowly slipped out of the other man, and Castiel moaned at the loss of contact. He turned over and faced Dean who was looking down at him with a warm smile.
“Learn something?” he asked.
“Always,” Castiel replied, satiated and content, and finally, finally caught on film.
* * *
A week later, Dean and Castiel were in bed, their attention raptly fixed on Dean’s laptop screen. Castiel’s cheeks flushed at sight of himself face down as he repeatedly took Dean’s cock. He flushed even further at the sound of himself screaming Dean’s name like a banshee.
“I really love it when you do that,” Dean said, mouthing the words against Castiel’s ear as he drew his hand down Castiel’s pajama clad thigh. Castiel parted his legs further, giving Dean easy access as the other man’s hand trailed up his thigh to the inner seam of his pants.
That was when Sam came into their room, complaining loudly about Dean eating the last bag of popcorn. The younger Winchester came in just in time to hear Dean’s bear of a groan as he came in the video.
“Really, guys,” Sam said, incredulous. “Like, you’re always doing it. Always, always, always.” He threw his hands up in defeat. “Just, for my sake, lock your doors. Please.” he said, shutting the door behind him, and then, slightly muffled, “That’s what locks are for.”
Dean ignored Sam, and Castiel felt momentarily guilty. Sam did have the misfortune of walking in on them at the most inopportune moments.
But Castiel quickly forgot about Sam as Dean hit the replay button, and his own voice came out clear through the speakers, begging Dean to drive him like the Impala.
Castiel would make sure to come up with better lines for next time, but, all things considered, he thought he had fared well.