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Boys of Summer

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It must be the sprinklers that cover his approach because it isn't until Dean is right there that Castiel looks up from his book to find all of that tanned, freckled skin looming over him. He blinks and swallows, his mouth suddenly dry, lips too sticky with the homemade lemonade he's been downing.

"Uh. Hello."

Dean smirks at him, eyes heavy-lidded and mouth half-cocked, and Castiel hates how his body responds to that look. "Hey, Cas," Dean drawls, vowels lazy. He scrubs the back of his hand over his forehead, pushing sweat-damp hair back, before hooking his thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans. Castiel absolutely does not follow the faint difference in tan at Dean's waist. He doesn't. "Thought I'd take a break. Can I get some water?"

"Some--" Castiel stands and tosses his book on the porch swing. "Some water, sure. I can get you some water."

He opens the screen door and leads Dean down the hallway to the kitchen, happy his aunt and uncle are gone. They adore Dean, and his aunt would tease Castiel mercilessly if she were here, knowledge and amusement shining in her eyes. Castiel loves her, but he doesn't need his unrequited crush poked at.

Crossing to the sink, he grabs a clean glass from the drying board, fills it with water. He turns around and offers it to Dean, who’s a lot closer than Castiel was expecting. He tries not to watch the long line of Dean's throat as he tilts his head back to drink, tries not to stare as his Adam's apple bobs. He can't help it, though; he's only human.

Dean finishes drinking and looks at Castiel, his eyes bright and so green in the light falling through the window above the sink that Castiel can't think of anything else until Dean is stepping closer, crowding him back against the counter.

Castiel goes stiff and still as Dean reaches around him to set his glass down and then Dean's pulling away but he's not pulling back, he's shuffling forward, those eyes watching Castiel through his eyelashes, lips full and pink, and Castiel's heart is racing in his chest and all he can think is, My shirt is stuck to my back.

But then Dean is leaning in, leaning closer, and his lips are on Castiel's and any thoughts Castiel had are obliterated, completely destroyed by that mouth and the smell of Dean so near. Dean's fingers graze his waist and Castiel groans, would be embarrassed for himself except Dean seems to think it's an opportunity, a chance to press forward with his tongue, a teasing flick. A promise of more.

Dean's mouth is cool like water and Castiel is drowning in it, drowning in him, lost already. Lost from the start, since his uncle said, This is Dean, he helps out around here, and Dean had smirked--that glorious, infuriating smirk--and shook his hand and called him City Boy, voice wrapping around Castiel like molasses, sugar spinning through his veins.

Castiel's hands find Dean's hips, slide across his sweaty skin. He'd be surprised at his own audacity, but Dean presses closer, hips against hips, and he's kissing him harder and maybe Dean is trying to drown, too.

He tugs at Castiel's shirt, fingers tangling in the hem, and Castiel knows what he wants, can hardly believe he wants it. Lets Dean pull at his clothing and kisses him until he has to step back to pull it off. Dean drops it unceremoniously on the floor.

He's staring, and Castiel wants to cover himself, knows he's too pale and too skinny and too everything that is not enough in the face of Dean's summer perfection. But Dean's looking at him with eyes gone wide and luminous and he's reaching for him with reverent palms and Castiel is shuddering beneath his touch.

Leaning in, Dean drops a kiss to Castiel's collarbone, one in the center of his chest, one against the mole Castiel has always been self-conscious of. He trails kisses across Castiel's skin and Castiel doesn’t know what to do, doesn't know where to touch, can only lean against the counter and stare as Dean makes him even more his own than Castiel already was.

And then Dean's dropping to his knees, pressing his face to Castiel's cock through his shorts. Castiel gasps.

Dean looks up at him--there's that smirk again--and reaches for his fly, unbuttons and unzips it. Slips fingers between the waistband of Castiel's underwear and his skin and urges Castiel's hips forward so he can pull the layers of clothing out of the way.

Castiel's heart thunders in his chest and his back is hot with the sun coming through the window and all he can think is fuck and please and let me not be dreaming.

Dean pushes him back against the counter with gentle hands, licks his lips and leans in, noses at the base of Castiel's cock, lips moving against the hot skin there.

"Touch me," Dean says, words caught between Dean's mouth and Castiel's body. "Please, Cas, I want--"

Castiel reaches for him, fingers sliding against Dean's hair, and Dean sighs, breath tickling, before he moves back, following the line of Castiel's cock with his tongue.

It doesn't feel like Castiel thought it would, not at all. It's better and more and everything, Dean's perfect lips--lips that have haunted Castiel's dreams for the last two weeks--wrapping around his cock like they were meant to be there, Dean's eyes fluttering shut like he agrees. Dean's mouth is sure and certain against him, and Castiel feels full and bright and glowing, lit up with gold like the kitchen. He's never felt anything like it.

Dean pulls back until just the head if Castiel's cock is in his mouth and sucks at it, flicks is tongue against the slit. Castiel moans and Dean opens his eyes and looks up at him, pinning Castiel there with that stare that Castiel has never quite been able to read before. He think he can read it now, sees himself, his feelings, reflected there. Like Dean is holding a mirror up, saying yes, me too.

"Dean," Castiel says, fingers curling against Dean's scalp. He's got nothing to add, just wants Dean's name on his lips as surely as he's already on Dean's tongue. "Dean."

Dean groans around him, eyes hot, and sucks him down again. Begins moving slow and steady, and Castiel feels pulled to him like Dean is the moon and Castiel is the ocean and all he can do is roll with Dean's gravity.

He grips the counter behind him, wood digging into his fingers as he tries to ground himself, keep himself from flying to pieces under the focused application of Dean's lips and tongue, the barely there knowledge of teeth as Dean takes Castiel as far as he can, throat working around the head. He can't help the way his hips twitch, or the way his hold on Dean's hair tightens, but Dean just looks up at him, a smile in his eyes, and continues to suck.

Castiel wishes he could hold on longer, wishes that he could make this moment stretch taffy-like and infinite into the future, that he could always be here with Dean in the clean light of the afternoon, but he can't and before he knows it he's coming, trying to keep his eyes open because he doesn't want to miss anything as Dean swallows him down. He isn't entirely successful, feeling crashing over him, pulling him under.

The next time he opens his eyes, Dean's smiling up at him. He ducks his head when he catches Castiel looking, and Castiel wants to touch his cheek, wants to run his fingers over the freckles dusted there, to feel the brush of Dean's eyelashes against his skin. Wants to taste Dean's skin, taste Dean. He wishes he knew how to get what he wants.

But then Dean's tilting his head and looking up at him, mouth curved in a half-smile before he leans in and presses a kiss to Castiel's softening cock.

Dean's lips linger there against him, soft and smooth and hot, and then Dean's rising from his knees, rising until they're face to face, stepping closer until they're chest to chest, Dean's summer-soaked skin against his.

He tastes like what must be Castiel and feels like heaven, smells like sunshine and sweat and freshly cut grass, all of the good things that Castiel has always wanted and never felt like he deserved. Lazy days and happiness and freedom to sit and breathe and just be.

"Cas," Dean whispers against his mouth. "Cas." His tongue glides between Castiel's lips and Castiel shudders at the name, at the feel, at Dean pressed so close. He shudders and fits his hands against the small of Dean's back, fingers spread on damp skin, sliding low to the waistband of Dean's jeans, the beginning curve of Dean's ass.

Dean pushes forward against him, sneakered feet tucked between Castiel's bare ones, cock hard against Castiel, and Castiel wishes that he were naked, that they both were. That there was nothing but smooth glorious skin and nothing between them but air.

Dean's arms fit around his waist, hands gliding across Castiel's sweaty back, the light scratch of his fingernails pulling a shiver from Castiel's bones even though he feels like he's burning up, like he's going to combust right here in the kitchen, leave nothing but soot and ash in the shape of a boy who wanted too much. He doesn't, though; Dean pulls him apart and holds him together. Kisses him like he lost a part of himself and thinks Castiel might have taken it.

Castiel clutches at his skin, pulls him close, forgets himself in those long moments with Dean's tongue twisting against his, and lets himself want. Lets himself have. Revels in it because Dean could pull away at any moment, leave Castiel with nothing but the lingering taste of himself and the summer-hot feel of Dean's body.

Dean doesn't, though, doesn't seem ready to pull away at all. Not anytime soon, anyway. He rocks his hips against Castiel, pins him there between his body and the counter. Kisses and touches and holds Castiel until his breath his coming in soft little pants against Castiel's neck where Dean is hiding his face, lips slack and slick against his skin.

He comes with a groan, a whimper, a sound that seems pulled from the very core of him and comes out in the shape of Castiel's name, perfect and shuddering and new. Castiel doesn't think he's ever heard his name like that, doesn't think he's ever heard anything like that, like Dean's voice saying his name in this moment, sound caught against the line of Castiel's collarbone.

Castiel stands there in the sun, Dean's skin pressed heavily into his own, and wonders what just happened, wonders what it means. Can barely dare hold out hope that what Dean sees is the same thing he does. But oh, oh, he wants to. If he could have this, if he could have this one shining moment here with Dean, with Dean's arms around him and Dean's mouth against him and Dean taking up his personal space like he owns it, like it's his, if Castiel could keep this, he thinks he could be happy.

Dean moves to pull away, and Castiel doesn't mean to protest, doesn't want to cling or ask for things that aren't his to ask for, but his mouth falls open and a sound falls out, soft and monosyllabic.

Lifting his head, Dean's temple brushes against his and then Dean's lips are fitting themselves over his and Dean is breathing yes into Castiel's skin, into his bones. Breathing light and life and yes's that make Castiel's heart race and his fingers twitch and make it hard, so hard to let Dean go.

Except Dean doesn't go far, only puts enough space between them to pull Castiel's underwear, his shorts back up, tuck Castiel away. He leans down and grabs Castiel's t-shirt, turns it right side out, leans in and kisses Castiel like it's already habit when he hands it back to him.

Castiel doesn't know what to do, so he stands there and watches Dean move with his young summer grace, watches muscles he's felt under his hands--muscles he wants to feel under his mouth--and wonders if maybe this really is the beginning.

Dean frowns down at himself. "I guess I didn't really think that out, did I?"

Castiel blinks. "What?"

"I, uh--" Dean blushes. Castiel doesn't think he's ever seen Dean blush before. It's distracting. "My pants, they're a little, y'know, uh. Sticky. Should've tried to wait instead of just--" Dean squeezes his eyes shut, face creasing, and Castiel wants to reach out, smooth the wrinkles out with his thumb. "You drive me crazy, Cas."

Castiel's heart trapezes behind his ribs. "I--What?"

Dean grins, lopsided and beautiful. "You drive me crazy." He shrugs. "That's all."

The few feet between them seem like miles, suddenly, the distance too great. Castiel isn't sure he can cross it, yet. "Me?"

Dean rolls his eyes, but Castiel can see affection there, affection and good humor. He can feel a smile curling at the corners of his lips.

"Yeah," Dean says, stepping close, fingers gentle on Castiel's waist. "You." He kisses Castiel, lips soft and sure and practically chaste, before pulling away, gesturing to himself again. "This is gonna be real uncomfortable soon. I was thinking--" he rubs the back of his neck, and Castiel realizes with a flash of insight that Dean is nervous "--I was thinking maybe heading down to the pond? Taking a dip? If you wanted to come, too, that'd be--mmmph."

Castiel likes the way Dean's mouth feels against his, words stoppered by Castiel's tongue.

Dean beams at him when he pulls away. "You'll wanna grab plenty of sunblock," he says. "Don't wanna burn you to a crisp."

The urge to cover himself comes back, and Castiel moves to slide out from between Dean and the counter, but Dean stops him with a sigh, a hand on Castiel's hip.

"You know I didn't mean it like that," Dean says. "I just want an excuse to touch you more."

Castiel stares at him, wants to say, You don't need an excuse, but finds all of his words caught in his throat with his heart. It doesn't matter, though, because Dean is kissing him and shoeing him away, telling him to grab his sandals and his sunblock and meet him on the porch.

Castiel grins and goes and hardly knows what's happening except that Dean kissed him and sucked him, came against him, likes him and wants him and is now, right this moment, waiting for Castiel on his aunt and uncle's porch.

If this is a dream, Castiel desperately doesn't want to wake up.