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Dirty, Sexy Love

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Their relationship is far from conventional and always has been. It had started, months ago, with Castiel picking Dean up in a club full of beautiful young things dressed in tight clothing and older men on the prowl for a night of fun. They had fucked back at Castiel’s penthouse apartment, with Dean blindfolded and tied to the bed, and the next morning had been quiet and awkward until Dean, the beautiful boy with candy-apple green eyes and lashes to die for, had excused himself and Castiel had assumed they'd never cross paths again. 

So imagine his surprise when, like some rom-com cliche, Dean had turned up in his office less than a week later as his new intern. Had they been in some cheesy romantic comedy then Dean may well have fallen into Castiel’s arms and their love story would have been history - but it was a far cry from that. Dean had gone straight to Human Resources to request a transfer, and was told in no uncertain terms to put up, shut up, or find another placement. And given that The Amara Group is widely known as the best accountancy firm in the state, Dean had little option but to keep his mouth shut and pretend he'd never seen Castiel before in his life. Which is exactly what he did, for weeks. 

Wanting to seem like the confident alpha male in his new role, and in denial about his emotional vulnerability and the side of his sexuality Castiel had been privy to, Dean all but blanked his new boss unless specifically spoken to. He was sharp in his retorts, sarcastic and witty, and soon the rest of the staff were wondering how on earth he got away with it, for in the past Castiel had never stood for insubordination. Whispers started, and Dean crushed them all whenever he could. But eventually Castiel had enough of one-word answers and deliberate avoidance, and called Dean to his office in the last five minutes of the day. 

He had come in, swaggering a little on bowed legs that Castiel remembered having wrapped around his waist as they'd fucked against his bedroom wall, but his eyes had betrayed his anxiety. He hadn't sat, had stood with his arms folded and his jaw set, but the little twitches of his lips and the speed of his breath gave him away. He was nervous and, if Castiel wasn't truly mistaken, somewhat excited for whatever he thought might happen. But his words belied whatever positive reaction Castiel was hoping for. 

“Look, this isn't working. We both know it. You want me gone, right? That's why you called me here?” Dean’s tone was fiery, worked up, and it took Castiel by surprise. “Well, sorry pal, but I'm here to stay. I'm damn good at this job and you ain't forcing me to go. I'll be more pleasant to you, I guess, I can do that. I don't want one stupid night to ruin what could be a great career move for me. But you can't fire me.” He ran out of steam, and his eyes widened a fraction. “Don't fire me.”

“I have no intent on that,” Castiel said, stung. They remained silent for a moment, watching each other. “You thought that night was stupid?”

“No! I mean, yeah, course. You didn't?”

“No, Dean,” Castiel said quietly, watching the younger man for any sign of reaction. “I really enjoyed it. I was pleased to see you again.”

“Yeah, well, whatever. Won't be happening again.” The jaw-clench again. But if Dean was so set on his words, why was his breathing laboured? Why were his cheeks red? And, as Castiel’s gaze dropped lower, why was his body so visibly responding to what he could only assume were the memories of their night together? Interesting… “If that's all, then I'm heading out. See ya, Cas.”

“Dean,” Cas tried but the younger man was already turning away, already had his hand on the doorknob. In a last-ditch attempt, he lowered his voice an octave - an echo of the dominance he had shown during their night together - and had said simply, firmly, “Dean.”

The younger man had frozen, a shudder had quaked his shoulders, and he inclined his head so they could almost look at each other. 

“Dammit. Don't do that to me, Cas. I… I can't.”

“I just want to talk,” Castiel had assured him, but when Dean turned those beautiful eyes to him and slowly licked his bottom lip in a display of his nerves, Castiel was lost. The evening had ended with them kissing, Dean straddling Cas’ lap and allowing his mouth to be ravaged, then they had continued back at Castiel’s penthouse and hadn't fallen asleep until the early hours. Dean had awoken the next day with aching thighs, sore wrists, and a sleepy smile on his lips that had lasted all day. 

And so it had gone on. They found a balance: consummate professionals at the office, and passionate fuck-buddies after hours. Dean was eager and excitable, and took to the role of Castiel’s sub with ease. He was well-behaved, obedient, but enjoyed pushing his limits. It worked, the thing they had going on. Dean was an experienced sub, had got into the scene when he was nineteen and now, five years later, was as close to perfection as Castiel can ever imagine someone being. They kept things quiet between them although the rumours of them being involved circulated thick and fast. 

It was one freezing day in January, just after Dean’s birthday, that their relationship changed forever. Dean got sick. Really sick, and Castiel found himself going out of his mind with worry. Dean had been working extra hours at a garage and salvage yard belonging to his uncle, and had caught a cold. He'd pushed on relentlessly, needing the cash, and had collapsed in the yard one evening after struggling for breath in the icy air, only being found an hour later by his frantic brother. Pneumonia had landed him in hospital, and sudden realisations of ‘more than friends’ had landed Castiel at his side. 

“I'm OK, Cas,” Dean had rasped before descending into a coughing fit, and Castiel had held his hand and helped him breathe into an oxygen mask until he had fallen into a restless sleep against Cas’ shoulder. Later that day, when Dean’s hospital room was quiet and dim and when they were alone together, Castiel told Dean he loved him for the first time. 

“I know, Cas,” Dean had smiled through white lips, then had said it back. They'd had a moment or two to kiss before Castiel was evicted by a nurse, and Dean recovered quicker than any of them expected. 

Two weeks later, Dean and Castiel moved in together and their relationship became common knowledge - Dean’s family were pleased for him and supportive, particularly his younger brother Sam who had seen Castiel’s frantic worry at the hospital and knew what they had was genuine. Castiel’s family were less enthused. 

“Always knew you'd end up with a toyboy, Cassie,” His youngest brother Gabriel had crowed over dinner one Monday evening. “Sure he isn't a bit young for you?”

Dean is young, it's true, in comparison to Cas. There are almost twelve years between them. But they only ever notice the age gap when someone else brings it up - which their friends and family rarely do these days, unless it's to make a joke at Cas’ expense. And lately, those have been few and far between. Everyone knows Dean and Cas, and knows them for what the are. But what goes on behind their closed bedroom door, on the other hand, is theirs alone. 

•••

“Dean?”

Cas drops his keys on the hallway table and rubs his temples, exhausted. It's been a long, long week and he's ready for a glass of whiskey and a nap. It's late in the evening, much later than he normally gets home, and he wouldn't be surprised if Dean is already fast asleep in bed. The penthouse is dark and silent, the only light coming from beneath the kitchen cabinets and from down the hallway, underneath their bedroom door. Perhaps Dean fell asleep with the light on. He's been studying hard for his next exam, and Cas feels a pang of guilt at the thought of waking him. He needs his rest. 

He's eternally grateful for the love Dean has given him over the last few weeks. The young man has a huge heart and seems to be able to stretch time so that he works, interns, sees his family and friends, and spends hours with Cas both in his arms and by his side. Castiel has thought endlessly of proposing, of making it all official and declaring to the world how much he adores Dean, but he's afraid of the potential rejection, fear keeping him from taking that leap. He knows Dean loves him unconditionally; the trust he's placed in Cas is evidence of that. The way they love each other is intense and deep, in and out of the bedroom, and sometimes he knows Dean finds it all overwhelming. 

He goes to sit down on the expensive couch, picking up a pair of dark-rimmed glasses before he flattens them, smiling as he pictures Dean curled up with a book, a gentle frown on his handsome face as he reads, and his heart aches with the sudden need to see him. 

“Hey, Cas,” There's movement at the door, almost as though fate was listening, and Cas glances up. Dean is leaning against the doorframe, clad only in a tight pair of black boxer-briefs and a smile hovering somewhere between mischievous and sensual. “You're home late.”

“And you have no idea how much I regret that.”

Cas crosses the room in three strides and Dean smiles for just a second before his lips are captured. Cas tilts his chin and his tongue demands entry: he licks deep into Dean’s mouth until his boyfriend is melting against him, fisting his hands in his clothing and humming happily against his lips. 

“I knew you'd be tired,” Dean breathes when they break apart. “I left dinner in the oven, I thought we could eat and then I could run you a hot bath…” He trails off, head tipping back as Cas attacks his neck with kisses and gentle nips. 

“That does sound pleasant, Dean. You're so good to me,” Cas slides a hand down Dean’s spine then cups his ass with both hands, pulling him tight against him - Dean gasps. He's hard already, aching in his boxers, and he can feel how aroused Cas is through the fabric of his expensive suit. “But I think I'd rather spend some quality time with you.” He squeezes Dean’s ass, parting his cheeks through his underwear, and his boyfriend squirms against him, trying and failing to hide his arousal. “But then again, I think you were trying to distract me, am I right?” 

He releases Dean, his hands trailing back up his spine then he spins the younger man around in his arms until Dean’s back is pressed against his chest. With deft, sure fingers he explores the planes of his boyfriend’s stomach, the dip of his hip flexors, the abs sculpted by hours in the gym, then up to his pecs and his nipples which are hardened already by the cool air in the apartment and by Dean’s desire. Castiel nuzzles, kisses, then bites the junction of Dean’s shoulder and neck, drawing a low cry from the man in his arms. With a sly smirk, he gently rubs his thumbs across Dean’s nipples, working them until Dean is writhing against him and evidently more than eager. 

“That's naughty, Dean,” Cas breathes into his ear. “I know exactly what you were up to. Walking around half naked, knowing I wouldn't be able to resist you… I think you had this all planned out.”

“Maybe,” Dean presses back into Cas’ arms. “Maybe I just missed you. And wanted you really bad. Sir.”

And that's it, that's the word. Their evening has changed: Dean wants to scene. And with him looking so perfect and acting so irresistible, who is Cas to deny him?

“Go and put your collar on,” Cas commands, his voice low and gravelly the way he knows Dean likes. “Then wait for me in our bedroom.”

And Dean goes, obedient as always. Cas watches him walk away, watches the muscles in his thighs flex and watches his ass as he goes. And thinks for the hundredth time that he's the luckiest man alive. 

He takes his time, making his beautiful sub wait on purpose. He loosens his tie, pours himself a glass of whiskey and takes a sip, puts his shoes and jacket away, then fills a glass with water for Dean for later, and makes his way slowly down the hall to where he knows his sub is lying in wait. Or rather, he hopes, kneeling in wait.