"I do not understand the necessity of this," said Castiel, and Dean wondered for the twentieth time that day what he was doing sort of dating an angel (the first time was when he woke up and saw the protective sigils sewn into the leather seats of the Impala, the nineteenth time was when he looked in the mirror and thought shit, that hickey better not be glowing).
"Come on, Cas, phone sex is something we humans do. It's, uh, part of our cultural tradition," Dean said, settling into a comfortable position on the bed. He spread his legs real good and let his handle settle casually on his package. The rough seam of his jeans rubbed his sore fingers, blackened from the ashes of the day's work.
"I do not understand," Castiel repeated.
"What's not to get?" Dean asked. "You talk dirty to me and I'll listen."
"You can tell me how much you want to smite me for all my naughty sins," Dean offered helpfully.
"I have no desire to smite you, Dean."
"Dude, just play along." Dean lowered the cell phone between his legs and unzipped his jeans loudly. When he brought his phone back to his ear, he listened carefully. Bingo. The stuttered breathing on the other end definitely wasn't his imagination. Castiel the angel might have been all high and holy, even in the middle of fucking, but Jimmy Novak's body was a slut for it.
But Castiel was still quiet, so Dean changed tactics. He dropped his voice into a conspiratorial hush and said, "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. When I was in high school – well, one of them anyway, Dad enrolled me in a lot of high schools – I sucked off Lee Rivera in the change rooms after school. He was so big and I nearly choked, but it was so good. I couldn't look Dad or Sammy in the eye when I got home, but I jerked off thinking about it that night. Twice." Dean grinned.
"Dean, I am not a Catholic priest. I do not need to hear your confession. You seem to be confusing your religious authorities," Castiel said irritably, and Dean finally groaned, not in a sexy way.
"So you really aren't up to this, huh?"
"I just do not see the point," Castiel said. "Why would we engage in sexual intercourse over a cellular device when I can instantly appear at your side?"
"Hey, I'm not slamming instant teleportation. That's a neat trick you angels got," Dean said. He paused for a moment, listening to footsteps approaching the hotel room door. Sam wasn't supposed to be back from the library for a while -- Dean knew because he made up a fake legend for him to research. Maybe Sam had caught on and was coming back to tell Dean just how immoral it was to lie to your brother for the purposes of having sexy alone time with your divine sort-of-boyfriend. But the footsteps passed the door without stopping, and Dean said to Castiel, "But I want to hear your voice, you know? I want to--" And here he stopped before he could go into mushy shit. "I just want to," he said.
Castiel sighed, long-suffering. If he was like this all the time in Heaven, no wonder none of the other angels seemed to like him. "Very well. As a favour to you. What do you want me to say?"
"Anything. Just make me come. If you can, even." Dean smirked and put his hand back south. He lifted his hips and started peeling off his jeans and his boxers.
"I am an angel of the Lord," Castiel said. "I think I can manage."
"Okay then. Give me your best shot." Dean wrapped his hand around his dick and waited.
"-------------" Castiel said, and holy fuck, what was that? Dean's entire body tensed like a tightrope, toes to thighs to chest to neck muscles. His mouth fell open, slack, and then he was gasping, struggling to breathe. The air in the room had been sucked out by a vacuum and the vacuum was him, his body, taking it all in with fierce determination. He bucked his hips once, and then twice, and sweat gathered at the nape of his neck. He flung his arm out on the pillow, fingers spread with as much space as possible between them, heat burning the ash stains into little marks that looked like writing, except that Dean couldn't possibly read them; he couldn't possibly do much of anything as his brain got tighter and tighter, and he could feel Castiel's small, satisfied smile. Smug bastard. God. He threw his head back and shouted.
And then he came. A rush of tension, a train wreck of an orgasm. Tears were leaking out of his eyes as his hips snapped forward, straining against the empty air as ropes of semen flew onto his chest. He grabbed onto the bedpost so hard that he could hear the cheap wood snap, and there was pain beneath his fingernails and sweat stinging his temples and still he was spasming, to the point where he wasn't sure if he could bear it anymore; people had died like this, he was sure of it. Shuddering, senseless, skin heated to the touch, and he wanted to be touched now, wanted Castiel to be here instead of wherever the fuck he was –
And then Castiel was there, thank god for Kefitzat Haderech, thank god for angelic mojo, thank god for whoever had invented sex because, wow, okay, this. Dean shuddered into his pillow and reached for Cas.
"Did I perform to your satisfaction?" Cas asked.
"I'm..." Dean paused and caught his breath. He buried his fingers in Cas' hair and pulled him close. "I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to abuse Enochian like that."
Castiel's eyes were bright and amused. "I believe it is the least of our worries."
"Yeah, guess so," Dean said. He yawned. Sex over, time to sleep.
"I just wanted to."