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Trouble in the Dark

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It’s the perfect opportunity, Dean had reasoned with Sam. He’s only in town for a week and Sam had promised to show him around. A college party probably packed with hot chicks? Perfect opportunity.

“Dean, I’m in grad school now,” Sam had answered, rubbing his temples and ignoring the way his brother grinned at him. “Parties aren’t really like that. It’s low-key. Tame.”

Dean had just rolled his eyes and promised not to embarrass him. He really isn’t planning on it, even if he had brought the world’s cheapest whiskey as the host gift Sam insisted he buy. Of course, Sam told him to bring nice wine, but Dean said fuck it to that. Number one, wine is for girls and number two, he has $60 to his name and he needs most of that for gas. He bounds up the porch steps of the off-campus house and pounds on the door.

A petite woman with dark hair opens it after a minute, brown eyes widened before they narrow into a squint at Dean. “Yes?” she asks, glancing down at his outfit—carefully paired ripped jeans and Metallica concert tee—with a nasty curl of the lip. Her own outfit is much classier, a shiny red silk blouse tucked into black slacks.

“Hey there,” Dean says, laying on the charm because it’s a habit by now. “Brought a present,” he says and shoves the plastic bottle into her hands.

She stares at him. “I’m sorry,” she says, not sounding sorry at all. “This is a closed party.”

Dean flashes a smile at her. “I got an invite,” he says.

“Okay, where is it?”

Dean falters because he wasn’t actually expecting to need a physical invite, he thought Sam’s reluctant invitation was enough. Luckily, at this moment, speak of the devil, Sam appears behind the woman. “It’s okay, Ruby,” he says, “this is Dean.” And then he frowns at Dean. “Dude, what are you wearing?” he asks. “I told you to dress nice,” and then he gestures down at his own prissy polo and khakis and Dean rolls his eyes because he wouldn’t exactly call that nice.

“This is your brother.” Ruby states, glaring at Dean and then looking down at the whiskey.

Sam looks at it and takes it from her. “I’ll put it in this kitchen,” he says, face flushing. “He won’t be a problem,” he adds, looking at Dean significantly and grabbing him by the shoulder, dragging him in, and starting down a hallway.

Dean just smiles his cocky smile through the whole thing and when they arrive at the kitchen, Sam puts the bottle down and spins on Dean. “I told you this isn’t like a frat party,” he says. “It’s a mixer for the law school and the related programs.”

“I saw a beer pong table out there.”

“That’s about as crazy as it gets,” Sam says and sighs.

“Who’s the Ruby bitch at the door?” Dean asks.

“This is her house. She’s one of the graduate teaching assistants so, please,” Sam says, “don’t get us kicked out. She’s in with all the professors.”

“I promise I won’t embarrass you, Sammy,” Dean says and yeah he’s maybe regretting this already. Nothing as welcoming as a snooty host and a brother who thinks you can’t control yourself for an evening.

“It’s Sam, not Sammy,” is all Sam says in reply and then he leads them back into the main room where the majority of people are mingling with their wine glasses and their button-ups and uncomfortably stiff pants.

Sam suddenly snickers, looking at the door and Dean looks at him. “Looks like you’re not the only one who didn’t get the memo about dress code,” he says and Dean looks around for someone else underdressed in jeans. Instead, he sees a gorgeous man at the front door, shrugging off a tan jacket and looking awkward in a black suit and tie, stiff with the buttons all the way up to his neck and tie pin-straight. Dean doesn’t miss the subtle look of horror in the man’s wide eyes as he takes in the blouses and polos and khakis.

Dean runs his hands through his hair because holy shit, yeah. Hot.

The man looks towards them and his eyes flick from one brother to the other, glancing down at Dean’s outfit and then he’s approaching. Dean sucks in a little breath and Sam glances at him and steps forward. “Castiel, hi,” Sam says and they shake hands.

“Where’s Jess tonight?” Castiel asks, glancing at Dean and the look is the same kind of disregard that Ruby had given Dean. What a dick.

“Had to work,” Sam says cheerfully, unaware of the way this Castiel is looking at Dean. “This is my brother,” he says, gesturing at him. “Dean, this is Castiel. We met during undergrad.”

“Oh,” Castiel turns to Dean, a new expression on his face. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Dean,” he says, extending a hand.

Dean flashes his winning smile. “All terrible, I’m sure,” he says, rolling his eyes at Sam.

Castiel frowns and he pauses, hand still clasped in Dean’s. “No,” he says slowly, glancing between the two brothers. “Sam said you practically raised him, that the only reason he ended up in Stanford is because of you.”

Dean drops his hand and shrugs. “Sam could have made it here without me, I just made sure he got fed. Not a big deal. Sammy’s the brains, I’m just a measly mechanic,” he says.

“Well, I’m pleased to meet you, Dean,” Castiel says. “I know nothing about cars.”

Dean frowns. “Yeah, because that’s the only topic I’m able to talk about.”

Castiel just stares at him for a second. “I…only meant that it’s a complicated and respectable job.” He says, glancing at Sam, who’s looking at Dean with murder in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Dean says, pushing his hands into his pockets. “Sure.” He’s annoyed for no reason but this Castiel guy saying that stuff about Dean and Sam’s childhood has him on edge. What is Sammy saying about their family to other people?

Castiel turns back to make small talk with Sam and Dean finds himself growing bored very quickly and wanders away.

He watches the beer pong game go on for a few minutes, intending to join on the next round. He even agrees to be someone’s teammate but he’s having trouble concentrating and he’s about 95% sure it’s because at some point Castiel removed his suit jacket and is walking around with his sleeves rolled up, tie loosened. Sam and he seem to know each other well because they spend a good amount of time speaking to each other and Dean isn’t jealous of that, he definitely isn’t.

Except Castiel is hot, with his muscular forearms and his bright blue eyes.

They occasionally make eye contact from across the room and Castiel keeps flashing him these small smiles and that’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back, leading to Dean reneging on his beer pong promise and escaping to the kitchen.

He’s reaching for his booze in the middle of all the wines when he feels someone watching him from the doorway and looks up to see those blue eyes again.

“Hey,” he says uncertainly. “Where’s Sam?”

Castiel shrugs. “Discussing some case with another guest,” he says.

Dean raises the whiskey bottle. “Wanna join me? This party’s too sober.”

Castiel smiles and he reaches for another bottle, a fancy looking wine with lots of Italian words. “Wanted to try this,” he says, searching for a corkscrew and making a happy sound when he finds it in a drawer. He grabs two glasses and pours some in each, handing Dean the second. In a move that surprises Dean, Castiel drains the glass in one gulp.

Dean takes a sip from his own and grimaces; he doesn’t mind wine occasionally, but this stuff is dry. Castiel smirks at him as Dean cracks open the whiskey and washes it back. “That is vile,” Dean says.

“That is a $200 Merlot,” Castiel answers, pouring himself some more and Dean’s eyes widen.

“Is that what Sam meant when he told me to bring a nice wine?” he asks. “Because I couldn’t even afford a glass of this stuff.”

Castiel shrugs and looks a little self-conscious. “No, I, uh, obviously thought this party was a bigger deal than it actually is,”

Dean laughs. “What’s with the tux?” he asks. “Like, have you never been to one of these before? Didn’t know the dress code?”

Castiel shakes his head. “I’ve known Ruby since undergrad and have been to my share of her parties. But the invitation said it was a mixer. The ones hosted by the social work professors are a bit fancier. More like networking events than…beer pong competitions.” When he says that he eyes the beer pong players with disdain, despite the relative tameness of their game.

Dean stops. “You’re in the social work program?”

Castiel nods and Dean smiles shyly down at his feet. “If I…if I had the money to go to school, that’s what I’d wanna do,” he says with the shrug of his shoulders.

“You should do it.”
Dean looks up and Castiel is smiling gently at him over his wineglass. “Nah, I just told you I can’t afford fancy wine. I can’t go to school.”

“You put Sam through his undergrad studies.”

“Sam had a lot of scholarships.”

Castiel shrugs. “You’ll get scholarships too.”

Dean laughs at that. “Nah man, Sammy didn’t get scholarships because he was poor, he got scholarships because he was smart.”

Castiel frowns at him. “I’m sure it was a combination,” he says. “And besides that, you are just as smart as your brother.”

Dean glares at him and he’s about to argue when Ruby walks into the kitchen and eyes the bottle next to them.

“You guys drinking this?” Ruby asks, eyebrows raised and before Castiel can say anything, Dean says, “Nah, take it,” and Ruby is off with the bottle, stopping to fill several guests’ glasses.

Castiel looks painfully at Dean, who laughs and grabs the bottle of whiskey and offers it to Castiel. He sighs but takes it, grimacing as he takes a swig.

They pass the bottle back and forth for a few minutes until Castiel sways on his feet and Dean snickers. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s find somewhere to sit.”

Except that’s easier said than done. The party is a lame one, but there are enough guests to occupy most of the seats. Dean tugs Castiel along by the arm from room to room, trying to find a quiet spot. Dean knows he’s touching too much, that Castiel is likely only tipsy, not drunk and is perfectly capable of following behind him. But what can Dean say? Castiel is attractive and Dean can feel the muscles of his forearm beneath his fingers and knows Castiel is letting himself be led.

Sam raises his eyebrows at Dean when they pass through and Dean pointedly does not look at him. Dean hasn’t been particularly vigilant about hiding his sexuality since their father’s death and doesn't really think Sam would care. But he’s never said anything, and he doesn’t know how much Sam knows.

They end up on the back staring out at the forest behind the house and then Castiel raises his eyebrows in a silent question. Here’s the point of no return, Dean thinks, and he flashes Castiel a smile and steps off the porch and into the woods.

Castiel seems to know where he’s going and Dean pauses, letting Castiel catch up and led them and then Castiel is pushing back a branch and there’s a small clearing, tall grass and wildflowers growing in the wild area.

“You bring all your dates here?” Dean asks with a smile.

Castiel drops to sit in the middle of it all and when Dean joins him, Castiel says, “I’ve escaped from a fair amount of Ruby’s parties.” Castiel taps his hand on his knee as he looks around at the woods surrounding them. “If I’m going to be honest,” Castiel finally says, “I don’t fit in well at the social work mixers either.”

Dean turns to stare at him and Castiel shrugs. “I’m no good with people,” he says. “You’d fit in well though. You’re charming.”

Dean finds himself blushing at that and he takes another drink from the bottle and passes it to Castiel. “You sure?” Dean asks. “You mean those baby blues don’t knock every woman on her ass?” Great, now he’s flirting.

He sees Castiel duck his head and smile as he takes another sip from the bottle of whiskey. After Castiel passes the bottle back to Dean, he leans back, stretching himself down over the grass. Dean hesitates for just a second before following him.

Above them in a small patch of sky, surrounded by the tops of trees but clear and bright with stars.

They’re laying side by side, shoulders and elbows touching, legs splayed out, staring up at the sky. Castiel speaks after a second. “I was raised in a frigid household,” he says. “Religious, impersonal, devoid of emotion. We lived in the country and I often spent my summers stargazing. It’s comforting.”

Yeah, Dean gets that, he definitely gets that. Before booze and sex and drugs, Dean often took Sam out to see the stars, reveling in the way the boy calmed down, in the way that he knew most of the constellations, learned from books too advanced for Dean. It was always quiet moment in their tumultuous childhoods.

“Is that why you chose social work?” Dean asks suddenly and Castiel turns to look at him.

“Is that why you did?”

“I picked cars,” Dean answers grumpily even though it isn’t true. Fixing cars was just one of the only things his dad chose to do with Dean, one of the only ways that he excelled at instead of Sam. Cars were less of a choice than the only marketable ability he knew.

Castiel drops it, and Dean looks back up at the sky. There’s the North Star, there’s the big dipper, there’s Pegasus, there’s Castiel’s hand in his own, there’s Hercules.

Castiel grips his hand tightly and Dean lets his head drop to the side and he sees Castiel’s blue eyes staring at him, their faces just inches from one another. Dean glances down at Castiel’s lips for just one moment and then Castiel is shifting closer, reaching awkwardly to cradle Dean’s face with his dirt dusty hands and their lips touch, just a brush at first, then a hard press.

Dean’s head spins when he closes his eyes so after a minute of vertigo and a churning in his stomach that is half to do with the butterflies and half with the shifting ground beneath him, he opens his eyes and drops his head back to rest on the ground. Castiel follows his mouth for a brief second and then he pulls back too.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” Castiel murmurs, gazing down at Dean and the words feel like lead in Dean’s stomach.

He shakes his head and Castiel sighs at that, a frustrated thing but he kisses him again, gentler this time but just as consuming.

Castiel shifts, pushing up and over so that he’s leaning halfway above Dean, braced up on one arm with his other hand tracing invisible paths across Dean’s temples. Dean reaches up to bury his hands in Castiel’s hair, fingers curling around the locks at the back of his neck and he opens up for Castiel, who pushes into his mouth softly, gently, sliding his tongue slowly against Dean’s own.

Castiel lowers himself onto Dean, pressing Dean’s legs open with a thigh and pushing up, pressing against Dean through his jeans. Dean ruts up against the solid pressure of him and he can feel Castiel hard in his fancy tux pants.

After a minute, Castiel says, breathless above him, “Are you too drunk for me to suck you off?” and all the blood that wasn’t already rushing down to Dean’s cock is now doing so.

“Fuck yeah,” Dean says and then when Castiel pulls back, he struggles to grab Castiel’s shoulders. “I mean no, not too drunk,” Dean says. “Just–please do it.”

Castiel laughs quietly at him and then his fingers are pushing up his t-shirt, following the fabric inching up with his mouth, dropping wet, open mouth kisses up Dean’s chest until he reaches a nipple and circles it. Dean gasps up, one hand coming up to cup the back of Castiel’s head and the other grabbing at the material at the back of Castiel’s shirt.

Castiel laughs at that, breath puffing across Dean’s nipple and that has Dean pressing up against Castiel’s lips. Castiel kisses down Dean’s stomach, alternating between nuzzling and nipping at the expanse, tongue connecting freckles like constellations.

The click of Dean’s belt is loud in the woods and Dean is breathing heavily, anticipation curling his toes and winding his muscles. When Castiel unzips his fly and pulls him out of his jeans, hand curling around his base and holding him there, Dean throws his head back and gasps, not caring about the wanton sounds that drop from his lips like honey.

Castiel, infuriatingly smug doesn’t give Dean what he wants, instead trailing down Dean’s dick with sloppy, open mouthed kisses down the side.

Dean almost launches himself off of the ground in eagerness and he can feel it against his skin when Castiel laughs at him, tongue laving over the sensitive skin. And then finally, Castiel takes mercy on him and slowly drags his tongue up the length of Dean, circles the tip of him and then sinks down, tongue flat and teeth tucked. He pumps Dean with a hand on the length that he doesn’t have in his mouth and every time he pulls off Dean’s cock, he tongues at the head, swirling and sucking hard.

He pulls off for a second to bring his hand to the head and collect pre-come in his palm to make the jerking easier and when Castiel’s mouth is back on him, Dean’s thrusts up into his wet fist and mouth.

Castiel moans when Dean does that and Dean lets out a strangled gasp, the vibrations adding to the sensations and Castiel manages to smile smugly up at him with his lips wrapped around his dick, moaning louder this time and watching as Dean throws his head back and gasps up at the night sky.

Castiel’s free hand intertwines with one of Dean’s and it all feels terribly romantic despite the fact that Dean’s laying in the dirt in the woods with a guy he didn’t know an hour and a half ago.

When Dean comes it happens suddenly and with their eyes and hands connected, green on blue, freckles on tan. Castiel is a good sport considering the lack of warning and Dean’s come pumping down his throat. He crawls over on Dean when Dean’s coming down and kisses him and Dean can feel himself on his tongue, bitter and heavy. After a minute, Castiel collapses into the dirt beside Dean and they breathe together, staring up into the stars.

Dean looks over when he hears a quick hiss and Castiel has pulled a joint out of nowhere and is lighting it. He takes a hit and then holds it over to Dean, head dropped over to the side to look at him, eyebrows raised in question.

Dean takes it and chuckles. “Didn’t think you grad students partied like this,” he says before taking a draw from the end, pulling the smoke into his lungs and holding it there for a few seconds.

Castiel laughs. “We grad students need it the most.”

Dean nods solemnly and they pass the joint between them in silence until Dean’s head feels light and his limbs loose.

When Castiel has his next hit, he suddenly looks thoughtful and as he lets it out, he says, “Sit up,” in a voice that commands.

Dean scrambles to do so and Castiel pulls him forward on his knees so that he’s straddling Castiel’s lap. Castiel puts the joint to his lips and pulls the smoke into his mouth and then he’s taking hold of Dean’s chin and angling his mouth and sealing his lips over Dean’s, pushing his tongue and smoke into it.

Dean is giggling into the kiss, too high and drunk to do it properly and he lets the smoke out but Castiel doesn’t complain, instead pulling him down to grind into his lap and Dean can feel his erection through his jeans. Dean drops his hand and fumbles with Castiel’s belt buckle and Castiel has to help him, untucking his shirt and pulling himself out of his boxer-briefs. Dean finally gets his hand on Castiel’s cock, jerking him lightly and grinning down at him at the way Castiel’s eyelashes flutter and he gasps and thrusts under him.

Castiel isn’t happy with the loose grip Dean’s using and he makes this known by groaning in annoyance and putting his hand over Dean’s, gripping harder, fucking himself tightly with both of their fists.

Dean finds himself speaking, low and into Castiel’s ear. “Come on,” he says, goading. “Show me how hard you’re gonna fuck me later.”

Dean feels himself blush when Castiel looks up. “Maybe,” Castiel says, playful edge to his voice. “If you want me to fuck you, you should show me how much you want it.” Dean moans at that and Castiel lets go of Dean’s hand, leaving Dean to jerk him on his own. Castiel lifts his other hand to his mouth and takes another hit from the joint, tapping off the ash that burned away while they were occupied. Castiel reaches up to grab Dean by the back of his neck, pulling him down.

Dean takes it right this time, pulling it down into his lungs and when Castiel leans back, Dean catches his eyes before exhaling and then he‘s shuffling off of Castiel’s lap to bend over him, taking the head of his cock into his mouth.

After just a second, he releases it with a pop and smiles apologetically up at Castiel. “Mouth’s a desert,” he explains, giggling, the whole situation seeming hilarious and he instead starts stroking Castiel and tonguing at the tip, staring up at him, occasionally letting laughter bubble out of his mouth.

Castiel continues to puff on the joint, hand reaching out to trace Dean’s jawline, throwing his head back as Dean strokes and licks him to the edge and then he gasps out, “Dean,” and Dean, slack-jawed and twisting his grip at the head, obediently waits for Castiel to come.

Castiel does, streaking across Dean’s face and into his mouth. Dean licks his lips and then reaches up to collect the rest, greedily licking at his fingers. “Jesus, Dean,” Castiel says, dropping his head to the ground. “You’re wonderful.”

Dean scoffs. “Nah,” he says, tucking Castiel back into his pants.

Castiel frowns at that. “You have such low self-esteem,” he says. “I wish you had someone in your life to tell you of your worth.”

It’s all too much. Dean doesn’t know Castiel and Castiel doesn’t know him. “Well,” Dean snaps. “She died when I was four and my dad did a crappy job of replacing her so here we are.” He holds his hand out for the joint. “Let me hit that before you finish it.”

Castiel hands it over silently and Dean takes a long hit, coughing when it burns his lungs. “You don’t know me,” Dean says, wheezing through it. “Don’t try to psychoanalyze me.”

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel says quietly and Dean shrugs, handing the joint back and Castiel puts it out on the ground. There’s a long moment of awkward silence before Dean speaks.

“Well, I guess I should find Sam,” Dean says and Castiel just nods, silent.

They stand up and head back through the trail to Ruby’s house, leaning heavily into each other and now that the sex haze has worn off, Dean thinks he’s pretty damn smashed. These days it’s hard for him to get drunk because of his tolerance but the weed has mellowed him out and his head is spinning.

It’s all fun and games until Dean leans over a bush and hurls the contents of his stomach back up. He feels Castiel’s warm hands making circles on his shoulder blades and then when he’s done vomiting, he feels hands in his hair, massaging his forehead and temples and giving him something else to concentrate on.

When he can finally stands up he feels much more sober and Castiel is smiling sympathetically at him. Castiel tilts his head thoughtfully. “I would kill for a milkshake right now,” Castiel says.

Despite Dean’s long standing rule of immediately getting about 300 miles of space between all the men he’s hooked up with, he finds himself smiling. “Man, that sounds like heaven.”

That’s how they end up stumbling into the parking lot of a McDonalds Castiel insisted he passed right outside of Ruby’s neighborhood.

Castiel kisses him once again before they enter, pushing Dean against the side of the building and sliding his tongue along Dean’s. In the dim light of the parking lot, Dean glances his eyes around as they kiss, making sure no one is around to see, and then Castiel’s hand fists in the collar of Dean’s shirt and he moans at the rough hold.

“Relax,” Castiel says, smirking as he pulls away.

They both squint as they enter into the bright chain restaurant and as they order, Dean notices the cashiers exchange a glance that tells him that the smell of liquor and weed between them is strong. He doesn’t really care.

They’re seated at a table, smiling goofily at each other over their milkshakes when Dean’s phone vibrates suddenly and he digs it out of his coat and glances at it. Where are you? I’m about to head home, Sam’s text says.

Dean grins and types back. Don’t wait up. I’ll get a ride home in the morning. He glances up at Castiel, at his blue eyes shining the florescent lights of the McDonalds, small smile on his face as he nods along to the pop music flowing from the speakers. He erases the last three words and writes instead, tomorrow night.

Please don’t tell me you’re hooking up with one of my classmates, is Sam’s immediate response.

Dean reads that text out to Castiel, who laughs and Dean is trying to decide what to reply when a second text comes in. Did you see Castiel before you left? He’s supposed to give Meg a lift and his car is here but he’s not answering his phone.

Castiel shrugs as he slurps up a big gulp of his strawberry milkshake through his straw and yeah, Dean’s dick is still on about those lips. “Meg’s ditched me plenty of times,” Castiel is saying when Dean starts concentrating with his ears instead of his crotch. “She can call a taxi.”

Dean fiddles with his phone in both hands. “What should I say?”

Castiel seems to understand that he’s not just talking about what to do about Meg and he smiles gently at Dean. “Whatever you feel comfortable telling him,” he answers. “I’m here or I could be somewhere else.”

Dean nods and Castiel stands up, leaving him alone to decide in private. “I’m going to get fries,” he announces, pulling his wallet from his back pocket and grabbing his milkshake to sip on as he waits. Dean watches him for a moment and before he can work himself into a panic about it, he snaps a picture of Castiel leaning against the counter, milkshake at his mouth and looking over at Dean. He tilts his head to the side when Dean lifts his phone to take the photo. Dean looks fondly at it before sending it to Sam, along with the caption, yes to both.

Hey, it’s not the most dignified way to come out but when has Dean ever dealt with anything involving his feelings in a mature way? For now, Dean is here in this McDonalds with the glow of the golden arches shining on his face through the window and Castiel is approaching with a frankly frightening amount of fries piled onto a tray, and Dean finds himself smiling.