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A Redefining Phrase

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Dean decides to mention it in passing during breakfast.

They’re holed up in a cabin the woods, because Sam is an asshole who decided to send them on a wild-goose chase, telling them about some bogey case involving a somewhat catastrophic ghost scaring away visitors.

Dean realized it about an hour into their stay; the EMF meter was giving them zilch, none of the research Castiel brought up on the laptop mentioned anything about a gruesome murder, and from the looks of it, nothing was even remotely wrong with the place.

Best vacation spot ever, one commenter going by mommyoftommy wrote on Google reviews, giving the cabin 5 out of 5 stars.

If you want a perfect, secluded honeymoon, this is the place to go! was written enthusiastically by sexandthecity77 .

And then, the most recent review: Have fun. ;)

Dean goes batshit because the user is going by sammylovesdestiel and what the ever living fuck.

At first, he’s livid because Sam just wasted their fucking time, but when he looks over to see Castiel wrapped up in a fuzzy blanket, sipping at a steaming mug and staring out the window, Dean’s seething blood cools, and he says, “Goddamnit.”

Sam set them up, because of course he knows they got together less than a week ago, probably heard them babbling their need and uncontained want listlessly through the thin-as-ice walls, heard Dean coming apart under Castiel’s hands, heard the obvious tell-tale signs of finally.

Have fun.

This is their first vacation together as a couple, apparently, and since they’re stuck here—basically, because Dean spent a couple grand to sweep the “haunted” cabin from under another couple’s feet, so yeah, they have to stay, duh—Dean is deciding to make the best of it.

So yeah, they livened up the place with a roaring fire and made love in front of it, and Castiel was strung out across his chest snoring softly and Dean had nothing to complain about.

Now, Cas is reading the paper someone left on the porch, hair wild, clad in Dean’s boxers and a ratty t-shirt, and Dean just decides to mention it.

“I’m in love with you.”

And Cas just looks up at him for a moment before resuming his read of the paper and says, “Duh.”

The rest of the day, Dean is reeling, because he’s spent the entirety of the past week worrying about saying it, because he feels it and it had to come out because he does love Castiel, but how?

How?

And now he has, and everything is okay, and Castiel wants to watch TV with him, Dorito dust on his fingers.

Dean settles down next to him and plucks a chip from the bag, slinging an arm around Cas’ shoulders and they watch Friends.

-

Again, Dean has this urge, cause they’re in a Gas-n-Sip off route 43 and while Castiel examines the different options of beef jerky, he recalls not so long ago the freshly human Steve behind a very similar counter in that bright blue vest.

He comes up behind Cas, hand on his waist, and just stares at the tip of his ear, which is smooth, and has a wisp of hair curling over it, and he says,

“I love you.”

And Castiel’s shoulders melt, and he leans back into Dean’s body with a sigh and they stay like that, both pretending that they’re deciding between original jerky and jalapeño.

The clerk eyes them with a smile.

-

They’re at a park in Sioux Falls, and it’s a surprisingly sunny day.

Claire and Alex are bumping a blue volleyball back and forth, and at some point, Sam jumped in and is now whooping their asses.

“Totally unfair! You’re fucking seven feet tall!”

“Watch the language, Claire,” Jody chastises, but she smirks over her sunglasses and carries on reading her book.

Dean is laid back on a blanket, grass poking delicately up into his t-shirt and itching his skin, but he forgets all about that and the blazing sun when Castiel rolls over and tucks a dandelion behind his ear.

“Whatcha doin?” Dean asks, squinting.

“It looks cute on you.” Castiel’s lips smooth up into a soft smile, and he laughs when Dean rolls his eyes.

They’re in public, and there are children bounding across the field all around them, and Sam is right there with that fucking smirk, but Dean throws caution into the wind and kisses Cas deeply, licking into his mouth, tangling their fingers together.

It’s so good and right and pure, and Dean murmurs,

“I’m crazy for you.”

Cas just grins and sucks a proper hickey into his neck.

Sam starts whooping and Dean is up in a flash, sprinting, and tackling his stupid moose of a brother to the grass.

-

“Fuck, fuck,” Dean hisses, hands trembling violently.

His leg is split wide open from the werewolf’s claws, and although Sam is taking care of the monster just fine, Dean is feeling woozy and there’s lots of blood and-

-And Cas is at his side, saying his name frantically, crowding Dean back into his chest.

“Stay with me, Dean. You’re going to be okay.”

Dean lets his body go limp, and he feels numb from the blood loss. “Mmph, yeahh. Feel fine. Good.”

Lips at his temple speak to him, but Dean is too tired to keep his eyes open any longer.

“Need ya, Cas-b,” Dean slurs, smacking Castiel with a bloody hand, and somehow it lands on his left shoulder, although half of the blood is sticky on Castiel’s t-shirt, but he laughs hysterically anyway before promptly passing out.

-

Everything’s okay, and he’s gone through worse, but this time he has a heavy worrier at his side, touching him constantly, asking if he wants anything, or if he needs assistance in the bathroom.

“Nope, no, all good there,” Dean says.

He cringes at he goes to sit on his bed, memory foam welcoming him, and Castiel sighs, wrapping him up in the covers, but leaving his heavily bandaged leg exposed. Underneath, Dean’s skin is raw and there are at least forty stitches prying his skin together. It fucking sucks because the damn wolf clawed over his kneecap, too, so he isn’t able to bend his leg.

Fortunately, the pain killers really put his mind into a comfortable, fuzzy spell that makes him not care too much about it, and he makes sarcastic kissy sounds as he forces Castiel into the bed with him.

“Stop worrying,” Dean insists, pulling Castiel to his side, ruffling his hair, letting his fingers slide over smooth, tan skin. He turns his head as much as possible, and grins.

“Yeah, right.” Castiel is huffing, whining, but he manages to stave it off momentarily to work Dean’s shirt off and get his hand wrapped around Dean’s cock before starting up again.

“You’re not even hard.” Cas frowns.

“Fuck. Sorry. It’s the pain killers.” Dean’s somewhat aroused, because it’s Cas, duh, but the downstairs neighbors aren’t getting the memo.

“I wanted to make you feel good.”

“I’m fine, really. I barely even feel the pain.”

“Or anything else,” Castiel complains.

“Maybe you could just… Just touch me?” Dean feels the dimmest spark of embarrassment, not sure of the words, because he’s not trying to be sexual, mostly because it wouldn’t get them anywhere, but Castiel is a fucking dream come true, and he understands.

Dean lets his eyes slip closed while Castiel’s gorgeous hands swipe over his chest and arms, massaging gently, and then he does this thing where he runs his fingertips over Dean’s face. His lips, eyebrows, the bridge of his nose, and behind his ear.

On the verge of sleep, Dean mentions,

“You know I really, really like you right? Like, like like you.”

Castiel chuckles above him, and soft lips settle over his own, and it’s not even a real kiss, just the pressure of the touch, and Dean wants him forever and ever.

-

Stupid fucking crutches.

Stupid fucking Sam and his puppy eyes.

Stupid fucking werewolves.

But, Dean likes the feel of the setting sun and the cool metal at his back and the beer in his hand and, of course, Castiel’s hand in his own.

They’re somewhere in the fields beyond the bunker, far from where he’s been confined for what feels like years, but still in the sanctity of privacy.

While Dean is laid back on the Impala’s hood, Castiel is simply leant up against her, squinting up at the sky. He has a literal juice box in hand, and Dean starts up the jokes and laughter from earlier.

“It tastes good, Dean!” Castiel has his eyes narrowed, but his lips give him away.

With meticulous fragility, Cas sets his juice down and moves towards him. He carefully pushes Dean’s injured leg to the side, and then the other and settles between Dean’s legs. A bandage still adorns the leg heavily and Dean is only just now starting to taper off the pain medication at both Sam and Castiel’s insistence, but the werewolf’s souvenir is healing, and soon it’ll just be another scar to add to the list.

“I wish I could heal you,” Castiel says, not for the first time, hands flattening on the hood next to Dean’s hips.

His head is haloed by the sun, and there’s something angelic that lingers over Castiel.

Dean props himself up, denying Castiel’s hand, sitting up on his own. “Cas, stop. I’m fine. I don’t want you thinkin’ like that.”

Stubborn, so stubborn, Castiel’s forehead crinkles, bringing along that smudge of anxiety between his eyebrows. Dean smooths it out with his thumb, Castiel shivering when the edge of his bottle knocks into his cheek. “Still.”

“Just… come ‘ere.”

Castiel can’t get too much closer, but his strong fingers wrap around Dean’s hips, and he’s sliding into the sturdy weight of Cas’ body and suddenly things heat up. “Mmhmm? What was that?”

A shuddering breath leaves him. “Nothing.”

“Ha, that’s hilarious.” Castiel certainly has an advantage here, and he takes it, because he knows Dean is on the verge of begging. They’ve been left dry for almost a month now while Dean’s body was left limp and uninterested.

Now, going on half a pill at night, Dean is electric.

“I want…”

“Yes?”

After months, Dean still blushes furiously. He’s no virgin, and he’s no clean talker, but somehow, telling Castiel just how bad he wants him makes his heart skip a beat. Castiel noses at his neck, like he knows it’s easier for Dean to say it to the graying sky.

“I want you inside me?”

Dean says it like a question, and Castiel kisses his neck slowly, one hand on his thigh, the other sliding up to cup his cheek. “Yes?”

Yes,” Dean says, a little stronger this time, and Castiel’s laugh is simple and precious.

“I would like that.”

Dean laughs too, tipping his head back.

“Would you like to go back to the bunker?” Castiel asks, pulling away, tilting his head.

“No.”

This is the right answer, apparently, because Castiel smiles. “Okay. Would you mind waiting?”

“What, are we doing it on the hood?” Maybe some other time Dean would be thoroughly turned on by that, but with his leg and the way Castiel is looking at him and making his heart ache, he wants to be as close to Castiel as possible, and nothing impersonal is going to satisfy him tonight.

“Of course not,” Castiel says, handing Dean his crutches. “Tonight, at least.”

Another blush rises inside of him, and Dean hobbles to the car, opening the back door, settling slowly on the seat. “So, the backseat?” He asks, his leg straightening outside of the car.

“No, not that either. I was thinking… out here?” Castiel gestures to the field, towards a single tree just beginning to feel the craving of summer. It’s too dry out here for it to become anything resembling green, but it’s still a nice sight to see in the depths of land sprawling out in every direction, plain and a little ugly.

Dean’s skin sparks with heat, but also with something resembling the tangible attraction he feels for Castiel. It’s dancing on his skin, and fuck, he loves him.

“Okay. As long as we’re not just getting naked in the dirt.”

“I promise to make it as comfortable as possible.” Castiel steps forward, taking Dean’s face in his hand, kissing his forehead.

Dean doesn’t like to sit up when his leg is unable to bend comfortably, so his back rests on the seat while he waits.

Sam texts him, saying, You guys okay?

Perfect, Dean answers, and he adds a winking emoji, along with heart eyes and a suggestive smirk.

Oh Lord. Okay, just, be safe. In every way.

Always am, Sammy, always am

Finally, after about ten minutes, a hand comes to rest on Dean’s knee and he smiles kookily at Castiel, excited, ready, in love.

“All good?”

“All good,” Castiel answers, offering his hand.

Dean flushes again when Castiel insists on sweeping him up into his arms, like Dean’s a fucking bride, leaving the crutches in the back seat, and he could cry at the sight as Castiel walks.

The sky is awash with the last dredges of sun, marking the sky orange and purple, but the moon is already taking up the entirety of the expanse above them so it’s significantly night. At the base of the tree is a litany of candles, their flames wavering, and a comfy set up of blankets and even a couple pillows.

“Holy shit, Cas,” Dean says, and he’s blushing, an insane amount, but yeah, he fucking loves this. “You plan this?”

“A bit.”

When they get to the blankets, Castiel sets him down softly, and it’s as thick as a bed, and the sky is right there and the amount of candles whispering around them really gives off a romantic vibe that Dean is not so secretly loving.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but this is… perfect.” Dean folds his good leg up to his chest, and looks over to where Castiel is reaching into a basket he didn’t see before. “And-- fuck, you’re kidding.”

There’s a majestic pie in Castiel’s hands and Dean is the luckiest bastard in the world.

“Oh God,” Dean says, reaching for the pie and the fork Cas offers, digging in quickly, just for a bite. “Sooo good, this is the best day ever.”

“I’m very pleased you are enjoying it so far. I was… concerned, at first. I didn’t know whether you would be happy with me or not.” Castiel settles on the other edge of the blankets, cross-legged, eyeing Dean with a loving gaze that makes his stomach flip.

Dean slides the fork into the pie carton before setting it down behind a line of candles. Pie isn’t his focus tonight, would never measure up to the sight before him.

“I’m serious, Cas… Thank you. This is- nobody has ever-” Dean shakes his head. He’s never been too good at words, and he’s at a complete loss for any that could explain what he’s feeling.

“I believe I understand,” Cas says, slipping off his shoes. “And you are welcome. Always.”

Dean swallows, not exactly nervous, but the anticipation is making everything inside him step up to race, including his heart. He straightens his leg, staring, waiting.

Castiel keeps their eyes locked, and it’s unbelievably sexy when he smirks and tugs his jacket off. Dean goes to remove his own, but Castiel’s eyes flash. “No. I want to.”

“O-okay,” Dean stammers. As if this is their first time, as if he hasn’t felt Castiel’s lips on his skin, his tongue, his hands. As if this is new, but in some way, it is. Feeling Castiel take him apart by simply looking and taking off his clothes explains everything to Dean—

He’s never going to be bored of Castiel, of sex with him, of deep kisses or light pecks or those fucking blue eyes that continually knock him off his feet.

Dean’s breath comes out through his parted lips when Castiel edges closer, fingers slipping his buttons undone, his tan chest gleaming in the candlelight. His blue shirt hangs open, but Castiel doesn’t seem to be quite as interested in the task of undressing himself as before.

“You’re beautiful, Dean Winchester,” Castiel says quietly, words revered, as if his breath is slipping away from him.

“No,” Dean automatically breathes out, because that’s what he’s been saying for so long, but he’s almost forgotten the dark that washes over Castiel’s face when he denies himself.

Castiel is suddenly there, breath sweet like apples, and he takes Dean’s face into his hands. “How many time do I have to repeat myself? How many times must I present to you the abundance of evidence that proves your worth? Your beauty?”

Turning his face away, Dean picks at his jeans, scratching an itch at the beginnings of where his bandage weaves around his knee. “Cas, just- you don’t have to-”

“I don’t have to?” Castiel’s gaze darkens, not in anger, but in the way where Dean knows he’s about to be lectured. “Dean, you can’t make me do anything. No one can make me do anything not of my own volition, and this is something I yearn to do. To tell you, over and over.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say, but the seriousness across Castiel’s face, and the deepening affection within his words bring tears to his eyes. “I just- please, Cas…”

“What do you want, Dean?”

He swallows his denial, because Cas doesn’t want to hear it and he’s done repeating it to himself. If Castiel believes this with everything inside of him, it can only mean exactly what Dean feels for him too.

“Love me?”

Everything softens again, and the air is delicate when Castiel pushes forward to slot their mouths together. Dean moans, having missed the spin of arousal deep in his belly, the way just a kiss can stir his cock.

They fall back, and Dean knows he’s safe, Castiel placing his injured leg on a pillow and settling between his hips. Their clothed erections bump together, and he hisses, gripping Cas’ shoulder. “Feels so good already,” he admits, grinning. “Fuck, I missed you.”

“You have me, always,” Castiel whispers, and their kiss becomes the perfect sort of sloppy, wet, hungry.

Hiking Dean’s other leg up to settle over his hip, Castiel rocks them together, groaning deeply. The timbre of his voice shoots arousal down Dean’s spine, and he wraps an arm around Cas’ neck. They move, breathing heavily, and when Dean starts to get real close, Castiel pulls away.

Dean whines, quite uncharacteristically, but they’re literally in the middle of nowhere, and they haven’t had sex in over a month.

He’s not disappointed, though, when Castiel tears his shirt back from his body, and fuck, his shoulders are so fucking lovely, and strong, and Dean wonders why he used to think Cas was skinny.

Incredibly, making him gasp, Castiel is leaning back in and latching to his neck, sucking hard, nibbling on Dean’s skin, and his cock is aching in the confines of his jeans. He hates it, hates the clothes, the barriers, between him and Cas.

“Take it off,” Dean gasps, breathing hard, and he grits his teeth when he flexes his injured leg, pain flaring from the fragile spot.

Castiel backs up immediately, scanning his leg. Looking back at Dean, he runs a hand through his hair, looking utterly debauched already. “Perhaps we should wait-”

We’re not fucking waiting, Castiel,,” Dean downright hisses, gripping Castiel’s shoulders and pulling him right back in.

He smashes their lips together and kisses him so deeply that their teeth knock, and Dean goes for Castiel’s zipper, tugging it down roughly, urging him to be rid of them. “Come on, Cas,” he says.

“Are you sure?”

Dean groans with the ultimate annoyance, because fuck yes he is sure. He answers by ripping at his jacket, chest bumping against Castiel’s as he sits up, tugging it free, and he’s onto his shirt until his hands are wrenched away.

Castiel’s lips are at his ear, and his tone is dangerously even when he whispers, “I told you I would be the one undressing you, Dean.”

“Then fucking do it.” Dean lies back, smirking, knowing he’s probably going to get the bitchiest look, and yep, there it is, but Castiel is determined and he devests Dean of his flannel and t-shirt so quickly he hears a hearty rip that makes a laugh burst from his chest.

“There ya go,” Dean says, grinning, and Castiel sighs, rolling his eyes.

From there, Castiel makes it his mission to lave at every inch of Dean’s skin, rolling one of his nipples, making it perk up. He sighs, and that hint of roughness he craved earlier dissipates, and the firm taunt of needing Castiel covering him from head to toe, being inside of him, grows stronger again.

The heel of Castiel’s palm rubs his, ever so slowly, through his jeans. Dean’s laugh merges into a moan, and his fingers bump along the muscles on Castiel’s stomach.

“Please,” Dean starts to beg, and he knew he’d be doing that by the end of the night, and here they are and his voice is submissive, pleading, knowing Castiel will be there every step of the way.

Castiel runs a hand through Dean’s hair, pushing it back from the thin layer of sweat gleaming on his forehead. He leans forward, slowly, and kisses the apple of Dean’s cheek, then the corner of his lips. His hands run down to Dean’s jeans, unbuttoning, unzipping, and once Castiel yanks them down his thighs, stopping precisely at the moment where his bandage begins, Dean lets out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding.

His cock is still uncomfortable in his underwear, but it’s breathable, and now he’s sweating more, ready, swirling his hips up to gain traction, to feel Castiel against him. Dean laughs again, though, when he lifts his head up to see Castiel gingerly trailing his jeans down his injured leg, perfectly avoiding bringing further pain to Dean, and once it’s pulled off his foot, along with his sock, it’s off with the other leg too and Castiel kisses the bandage.

The pressure on his stitches doesn’t hurt, and rather, Dean can imagine that Castiel still has his grace and it’s washing over him, numbing his leg so he can enjoy a through love-making. It’s not some one night stand, and simply calling Castiel a good fuck is just… wrong. It hurts his head, and Dean’s heart aches.

“Come here, Cas,” he says, and Castiel does, his body covering Dean’s without even touching him. “Take it all off. I wanna feel you.”

It’s a quick succession of Castiel pulling at his own jeans, rolling his underwear down with them, and he’s gloriously naked, his fucking gorgeous cock curved up to his stomach. Dean’s whole body heats up like an electric shock; knowing that he is the reason for it, that they haven’t even really touched, and Castiel is still rock hard for him.

He’s the same though, and together they pull his own briefs down—of course, being careful of his leg—and when Castiel rolls his body against Dean’s their cocks sliding together on their own, his moan staggers out loudly.

The night air is a bit chilly around them, but Castiel is so warm, and the way he’s looking at Dean now makes him forget that they’re even outside.

“Touch me, Cas, please, I need you so bad,” Dean begs, cradling the back of Castiel’s neck, biting his lip.

Castiel complies, smoothing his hands down Dean’s body before lowering his head and dabbing his tongue in the precome already built up at the head of Dean’s dick.

He jerks at the simple touch of Castiel’s tongue, gripping his lover’s hair, and it earns him a smirk. Dean’s continually teased for a moment, Castiel dragging just the tip of his tongue up Dean’s cock, alongside a gorging vein, and just when Dean is about to complain and whine, Castiel takes him all the way down his throat.

“O-OH, holy f-fuck.” Dean thrusts unintentionally, and Castiel splays his hand across Dean’s belly, keeping him grounded in the soft adornment of blankets and covers. His cock throbs in Cas’ mouth, and it’s practically bumping the back of Castiel’s throat, but his fucking perfect angel just moves up and down, his other hand coming up to grip the part of Dean’s cock that won’t fit in his mouth.

“You’re so fucking perfect, babe, so good, oh!” Dean’s words fail once again when suddenly Castiel’s hand moves and a finger is dragging from his balls to his puckered hole.

His body starts to shake, because it feels so good, but it’s not enough, and there’s almost a burn to it.

“C-Cas, you mind-”

God, it’s like Castiel can read his thoughts, because he’s popping off of Dean’s dick to reach over and grab a bottle of lube. Dean pants, thankful for the cool night air, and he keeps his hand locked on Castiel’s shoulder, the other gripping the blankets, as a generous amount of lube is spread over four of Castiel’s fingers.

“Okay, okay, yeah, perfect,” Dean babbles, fingers flexing, thumb pressing on Castiel’s collarbone. “Fuck, babe, open me up, come on.”

Castiel’s cock drags heavy in the crease of his hip when he reaches to kiss Dean’s jaw, and it distracts him enough that he gasps when Castiel’s fingertip presses into his hole, just barely. “Yes,” he breathes, head resting back on the pillow.

Leaving one more swift kiss to his neck, Castiel slides back down to finger Dean slowly, pressing an entire finger up into him, and leaving it there until he adjusts. It burns, of course, for awhile, because it’s been awhile, but once Cas starts to add more lube, pluck in a second finger and open him up, he’s starting to sweat again, hips moving down onto Castiel’s fingers.

“Another,” he says, and Castiel obeys, shoving three inside of him, spreading them.

Dean is grateful, aching, when Castiel sucks on his cock again, sparking him to complete hardness again, having gone a little soft. It’s so exciting, and he’s so full of love for Castiel. His mind races, thinking of how well they seem to fit together. How Castiel understands when Dean can’t speak his thoughts. He’s gentle, but he isn’t afraid to manhandle Dean. But even that’s to the perfect degree, and Dean is so tired of not having Castiel inside of him for one more second that a tear rolls to his temple.

“Okay. Okay, Cas, I’m ready. Please, get the fuck inside of me.” Dean runs his hand over Castiel’s face when he pulls off of his dick again, blue eyes wide. The candles flicker onto Castiel’s face, and yeah, he’s so damn beautiful, angelic. The hovering, depleting grace holding on inside of him hasn’t left yet, and Dean prays it never will.

Even if Castiel is human for the most part, the tiniest bit of grace he still harbors connects them in an even more profound way, Castiel’s own words. Dean doesn’t doubt that some of Castiel lives inside him, maybe even weaves into his soul, and having that connection makes him blush when he’s all alone, making pancakes or nursing a beer.

But, if that grace eventually fades away, Dean will still be left with what matters the most—

Castiel.

There’s an elegant precision in the way their gazes lock for a moment, and Castiel smiles at him.

“I love you, Dean.”

Dean stills for a moment. Then, with a smirk,

“Duh.”

 

-

Castiel says they don’t need to use a condom, that his grace can still keep them both safe, and Dean is so fucking grateful for it.

He watches, perched on an elbow, as Castiel slicks up his cock with lube, a noise escaping his lips as he fucks his hand a few times, and then his eyes are opening and he’s looking at Dean.

“I’m ready,” Dean says in answer to the question he knew was coming, because Cas is just that fucking thoughtful.

Castiel’s expression softens even more if possible, and he lets go of himself to cover Dean again and kiss him breathless. Their lips move over and over and Dean just smiles.

Finally, finally, Castiel is propping up his good leg, stuffing a pillow beneath his hips, making sure his other leg is at a comfortable angle, and then he’s pushing into Dean.

Moans escape them both, but Dean feels like Castiel’s grace itself is consuming him from the inside out, and his hips roll up, pushing Cas even deeper inside of him.

“You feel so good, Dean,” Castiel says, nosing his hair, breathing hard.

Castiel stills once he bottoms out, and Dean pulls him down again, feeling the urge to kiss him, show him that yes, this is exactly what he wanted, needed.

“You good?” He somehow manages to say between the press of their lips, shivering with a spark of arousal when Castiel twitches inside of him.

“More than that,” Castiel answers, biting at his bottom lip, ever so gently, before pulling away and then gliding back in.

Dean’s body rolls again, and it tenses, and his leg should probably be hurting like hell right now, but by the grace of what can only be Castiel, all he feels is a climaxing pleasure, and Castiel’s heated skin, his cock, inside of him.

His own dick hardens even further, if possible, and he says, “Move, Cas.”

Castiel doesn’t hold back, and he yanks Dean’s good leg up even higher, beginning at a medium pace, thrusting into him. For a few moments, Dean just lets himself feel it all, head digging back, hand latched to the back of Castiel’s neck, and when Castiel’s palm swipes over where their bodies meet, he gasps, eyes fluttering open.

The sky greets him, chock full of stars, the moon in the distance, a red twinge of flame at the corner of his vision, and then Cas, moving above him, lips parted, breath stuttering. His hair is a mess from Dean’s hands, and his mouth is red from sucking his cock and Dean thinks, my angel.

“H-hey, look at me,” Dean says, cupping Castiel’s cheek, and he smiles around another gasp when blue eyes meet his. “You’re beautiful, too.”

Castiel brings them even closer together, and if it weren’t for the night air pressing around them and slipping between their bodies, Dean would suffocate in their own sparking heat. But here, it’s perfect, and their mouths bump together.

Then, abruptly, Castiel’s cock nails his prostate and his hips leave the ground. “F-fuck, that- that-”

Castiel has a new mission apparently, determination setting on his face, and he somehow revs harder into Dean, faster, cock jabbing right against his prostate, and the building orgasm inside of him piles up higher and higher.

“Yeah, oh, fuck, Cas, I’m c-close.”

“Come for me, Dean,” Castiel says, squeezing his thigh before gripping Dean’s cock in his hand.

A couple more thrusts and a quick slip-n-slide through Castiel’s hand and Dean is done for.

The orgasm hits him hard, and Dean straightens, eyes wide, blinking rapidly, a perfect sound hollowing his throat, and it takes over his whole body. His cock spasms, and come paints his stomach, along with Castiel’s.

While it rolls through him, Castiel bends him just a tad more, Dean complying, and thrusts. It takes just a moment longer for him to follow Dean, and it shudders through Castiel’s body. Dean swears he sees his eyes brighten to an impossible blue as he feels hot come inside of him, and then Castiel is collapsing onto him.

For now, the weight is welcome, as Dean breathes heavily, hand in Castiel’s hair. Their combined sweat and the come between their stomachs dries quickly in the night air and too soon, he’s shivering.

“Should we g--”

“Here,” Castiel says, reaches over and grabs a few more blankets that are folded up. Dean hadn’t even noticed those before, so he’s completely relieved when Castiel drapes them over their bodies. He produces a wipe from the basket and cleans them carefully, before throwing it somewhere.

Castiel slips out of Dean, grabbing another wipe to clean up down there, and discards of it too.

Dean smiles sleepily up at him, and he shifts, taking Castiel’s face in his hands.

“I love you,” Dean says.

“I love you too,” Castiel answers.

Once again, they’re kissing, and it feels so, so good.

-

In the mirror, Dean can see the bruises blossoming over his chest.

Two of them pepper his collar bone, and- damnit, Cas- one appears right under his jaw.

If he just tilts his head forward until it disappears, Sam will have no fodder in which to torture him with.

But, Dean’s not that desperate, and he endures the comments while their coffee brews.

“Oh no, did Cas hit you with a baseball?” Sam asks, putting on the fakest look of sympathy ever.

“Something to do with balls, yes,” Dean retorts, smirking.

Sam fake gags and bends over his oatmeal.

Dean turns to pour the coffee into three mugs, and when arms sidle up to wrap around his waist, he grins, lopsided. “Morning.”

“Good morning, Dean,” Castiel murmurs, voice deep from sleep. His lips stray over the collar of Dean’s t-shirt. “Did you have a nice night?”

“Oh, the best,” Dean says, loud enough for Sam to hear. “I’m actually a little sore--”

“Are you kidding me,” Sam hisses and before Dean has the chance to continue with some not so subtle sexual innuendoes, he hears Sam escape.

“Ah well.” Dean shrugs, before turning in the cage of Castiel’s arms.

Bright blue eyes sparkle at him, and Dean can’t help leaning in for a kiss.

“Did I mention,” Dean says, pecking at the right corner of Castiel’s lips, then the left, “that I am super-ly, duper in love with you?”

Castiel rolls his eyes and rests his hands on Dean’s hips.

“Duh.”

Dean grins.

He should have seen that one coming.