This isn’t the first time Dean has picked Castiel up for lunch. He swings by a couple times a month when both their schedules allow it; it’s sort of a tradition. Dean will show up, sneak into the back of the class into an empty seat, and listen to whatever Castiel is lecturing on that day. Students usually ignore him, save for the nosy ones who have crushes on Professor Novak and send pointed, curious glances in Dean’s direction.
He usually answers those with a wink and a smile.
Today’s a little different, though. Dean’s long-time girlfriend Lisa dumped him last night, packing up her and her son Ben and stomping out of the door yelling about closet cases and Dean being the biggest idiot on the planet. One of those things is totally true, but Dean’s been scratching his head over the whole closet case thing. Ben had sent Dean a shrug and a reassuring smile, and even in Lisa’s fury she promised Dean that he can still hang out with Ben, but he better get his head out of his a-s-s. (Cute that she spelled it out, but Ben is eleven years old and definitely knows how to spell ‘ass’.)
Castiel doesn’t know yet that Dean is freshly dumped. As Dean settles into the desk with its chair pinned up against the wall, he wonders what Castiel will say. Dean and Lisa had been together for five years and he thought they made a pretty good team - and he loved the hell out of Ben - but Castiel had never seemed overly fond of Lisa. Well- in general, Castiel never seemed fond of any of Dean’s girlfriends.
But Dean attributes that to Castiel’s slightly prickly personality, the fact that Castiel can be a bit staunchy and judgy. He’s been that way since they were teenagers. Dean’s immune to it now. And no, before you ask, he’d never ask Castiel to be falsely polite or sweet to his significant others. As far as Dean is concerned, he and Castiel are a package deal. If his significant others didn’t like Castiel, they simply got the boot. Dean’s not about to throw twenty-five years of friendship away for anybody.
Anyway, back to present.
Typically Dean only shows up in the last five minutes of Castiel’s lecture. He teaches sexuality… something or other, gender studies, Dean’s never really paid attention to specifics because it all, admittedly, goes over his head. Not that he’s close-minded or anything, he knows to respect people’s individuality and all that jazz, but sometimes he just … doesn’t feel smart enough to discuss it, alright? But he’s not an asshole. Just for the record.
Today there’s about ten minutes left of Castiel’s lecture. Castiel catches his eye when he enters and the only notion of him acknowledging Dean is a slight tightening on his normally serious face. It’s a good tightening, by the way- the kind that means he’s fighting a smile. He’s got an image to uphold or whatever, uptight professor that doesn’t even smile when he cracks a joke. Dean thinks sometimes Castiel makes his students uncomfortable with his odd delivery of humor, but then there’s always at least a dozen kids with big dopey crushes on him, so Dean figures it’s not too bad. Castiel has a specific, unique charm about him.
That’s probably why Castiel has been mostly single for the entirety of their friendship. Dean tries not to think about it too much; he thinks Castiel has only had one serious boyfriend and then a few flings here and there. Not that he’s keeping track. But Castiel always avoids the topic of commitment and ~future~ so Dean doesn’t ever push. Castiel seems perfectly content to be single, heading towards tenure with the university, and he’s such a workaholic he probably would scare off any potential suitors. That and the fact that Castiel’s spare time is always spent with Dean, watching a game or cooking a meal or doing whatever house repairs need to be done (Dean bought a fixer-upper three years ago and it’s not a total shithole so he’s been comfortably doing work on it when inspiration hits) so really, Castiel is just simply too busy to have a significant other.
Once again, it doesn’t seem to bother Castiel, so therefore it doesn’t bother Dean.
Besides, whoever Castiel gets into now would have to go through a huge process to get through Dean first. Castiel’s last boyfriend was less than stellar. Dean hated him, but Castiel seemed oblivious to his bigotry. That was the year Dean only saw Castiel a grand total of four times, and for less than an hour each. It’d been rough on their friendship. He doesn’t know what caused them to break up, but as soon as Arthur was out of the picture and Castiel had shown up on Dean’s doorstep red-faced and holding a 32-bomb, Dean had decided that he wouldn’t let anyone else steamroll his best friend.
“The power of consent is critical, not only in an intimate setting, but in all walks of life.”
Castiel’s voice brings Dean back to the present. He seems to be wrapping up today’s topic, which looks to be consent.
“For this final segment I would like a volunteer to come up. I would like to demonstrate that asking for consent is not a turn-off, nor should it be any sort of deterrent to any future intimate arrangements. If your partner gets annoyed or irritated by your press to consent, then it is safe to say that you probably shouldn’t have sex with them.”
Dean rests his elbow on the desk, resting his cheek in his hand. Interesting topic. One that Dean is totally familiar with, if he says so himself. Not only from personal experience, but Castiel has brought it up a few times over the past weeks in preparation for this specific lecture, asking Dean a few probing questions to get an outside opinion on how exactly he should address the topic. Dean’s always happy to help Castiel put together a lecture, even though he doesn’t really know how much help he actually offers.
Dean’s elbow slips off the edge of the desk and he bangs the side of his hand on the surface. Wincing and sitting up straight, Dean looks towards the front of the class where Castiel is standing next to his podium; today Castiel is wearing a navy blue suit with a blue and purple checkered waistcoat topped off with a purple bowtie. His hair is fucked up like usual and as Dean really absorbs his appearance, he wonders why Castiel doesn’t wear rich colors like this more often. They look good. He can see the blue of Castiel’s eyes from here.
“That’s me,” Dean belatedly replies.
A few students snicker.
“Please come up and help me with the demonstration.”
Unwilling to embarrass himself in front of a class full of twenty-somethings, Dean shrugs and stands up. He walks down the steps towards where Castiel is standing and once he’s at Castiel’s side he sends him his usual smug, charming grin. “Don’t wanna put one of your cute students on the spot?”
There’s a ghost of a smile on Castiel’s face as he puts a hand on Dean’s back, “Class, this is Dean. Some of you have seen him before.” He offers no more explanation as to the nature of their relationship.
Dean turns his smile to the class and nods his head, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He’s glad he wore clothes that don’t have oil stains on them. He looks like a delinquent standing next to Castiel; his jeans are soft from wear and fit him snugly, a tear in the right kneecap. He’s wearing an old black Zeppelin shirt with a green flannel over it, buttons undone and sleeves rolled up. Castiel never minds that Dean’s dresses down so casually for lunch.
“In any setting, with any person, no matter how well you do or do not know them, consent is crucial. You can lay out your terms in bullet-points,” some of the class groans, “or you can have a candid conversation. Depending on how you are and how you think your partner might be, either way works. The nature of your relationship dictates how you talk about moving forward. If you are in an unconventional relationship - for instance, a BDSM relationship - then the bullet-point method might be best. BDSM relationships require intense and explicit communication. Or, if your first date with someone has gone particularly well, simply asking ‘do you want this?’ will suffice. A yes or no question won’t dampen the mood. But there is a third option, one perhaps a little less common, that I would like to demonstrate today.”
Dean’s been letting his gaze wander the whole time Castiel has been talking. Every student has their attention on him; some are writing notes, some look a little dazed and hungry, but everyone is paying attention to Castiel. He wonders if all of his students are this good, or if this is a rare bunch. Then again… with a professor like Castiel, Dean supposes he would have paid extra attention in class, too. Castiel seems like the type to slap a desk with a ruler if he catches anyone goofing off.
“In this scenario, Dean and I have just got back from a date,” Castiel says. Dean’s attention moves towards him, listening curiously. His hands are still in his pockets, but he turns his body a bit more towards Castiel to show he’s tuned in to the conversation and ready to be used as a helper. Castiel is still looking at the class. “Dean and I have known each other for a while, but have not quite gotten to that stage in our relationship. Both of us have thought about it, but actually getting to that point has been difficult. Normal seduction wouldn’t work on a man like Dean; he’s a man of needs, of vices. He’s a very physical lover and almost always ‘ready to go’ - whereas I am more emotional and require a bit more TLC before getting intimate. In order to get his attention in a way that satisfies both of our needs and wants, I must think about how I would not only ask for his consent to go further in our relationship, but also pique his interest in the scenario.”
Dean reaches up idly to scrub a hand over his mouth, thinking about Castiel’s words. He’s far past ever being offended by how Castiel picks apart his personality and quirks (mostly because Castiel is always frigging right), and given the topic of discussion, Dean can’t be bothered by Castiel talking about him candidly to his class. Dean’s just really interested in Castiel specifically pointing out the differences in their game. Dean’s never really thought about Castiel flirting or seducing or anything like that; nerdy Castiel who sometimes has terrible social clues and hates making small talk with strangers. Imagining Castiel going to a bar to pick up a fling doesn’t register at all in Dean’s mind because Dean knows that Castiel doesn’t do that. Wouldn’t do that.
So Castiel having a more emotional reaction to potential intimacy makes sense. Not that they have sleepovers and stay up talking til the wee hours of the morning about what their sex preferences are, but Dean has known for quite a while that Castiel doesn’t throw himself into bed with people. Dean’s not even entirely convinced that Castiel and Arthur had sex - or if they did, Dean’s got a suspicion that it sucked terribly.
Dean’s totally opposite, of course. He’s got a dick, and if someone wants him to stick it in them or vice-versa, he’s down. Over the past five years he’s been with Lisa and the sex had been fantastic (she’d been so bendy) but now that he’s staring at bachelorhood at forty years old, Dean figures hanging up his slutty panties will probably be for the best. Slow down or whatever. Focus on finally finishing up his fixer-upper house or something.
“Professor,” a student raises her hand. “May I ask what your sexual identity is?”
Dean’s attention snaps back to present.
“You may,” Castiel replies. “I am demisexual, and consider myself non-binary.”
Dean tries to wrack his brain for definitions on both of those things. A few students look incredibly interested, and a few even blush. Why would they blush? Non-binary? Demi… Dean hopes there aren’t equations dancing around his head as he tries to flip through his mental catalogue. Squinting into the distance, Dean tries to think about things that would lend to the definitions. Given the topic discussed, Dean’s pretty sure being demisexual means that one needs a close relationship with someone before venturing into sexual territory. Actually- yep, yeah, that makes sense. Castiel literally just said he needs an emotional connection before getting freaky. And that lines up with what Dean knows about Castiel.
“And Dean,” the same student speaks, “what is your sexual identity?”
Oh, Dean knows the answer to this. He and Castiel had discussed it at length, but it’s a different thing to say the terms to people. He glances towards Castiel, who gives him an encouraging smile, and Dean sends a charming smile to the girl. “I’m bisexual. And, uh-... cis.”
Castiel nods. The girl seems satisfied.
“Moving on,” Castiel says, wrangling the now-rowdy class. His and Dean’s answers to that question seems to have put the students in a tizzy. “I am going to elaborate on the phrase, ‘consent is sexy’. Feel free to take notes, but pay close attention. Dean,” Castiel turns towards Dean, causing the other man to face him as well on instinct. “Are you ready to begin?”
“Sure,” Dean says, suddenly feeling like he has no idea what he just got roped into.
“You look different today,” Castiel comments, like they don’t have an audience. “Is everything ok?”
“Uh,” Dean’s gaze cuts towards the crowd. “I mean- yeah I’m cool. But uh, somethin’... happened last night.”
Castiel’s gaze turns concerned. “Lisa?”
“Cas,” Dean lowers his voice a little. “Don’t really wanna talk about it in front of your students… who are taking notes.”
Shaking his head a little, Castiel offers an apologetic smile. His eyes are so blue. “Did she leave?”
Dean’s heart squeezes, but probably for the wrong reasons. He can never hide anything from Castiel. He knows better. But he’s not quite sure about all these kids learning about his relationship failings. Blessedly, the class is silent. “Uh. Yeah.”
Castiel reaches a hand up to rest his palm on Dean’s shoulder, squeezing warmly. Firmly. Have his hands always been that big? “I’m sorry to hear that, Dean.” Dean opens his mouth to downplay it, but Castiel continues with, “She doesn’t know what she’s leaving.”
Dean snaps his jaw shut. “Um.”
Castiel’s thumb presses into the meat of Dean’s shoulder. “You’re a good man, Dean. A good boyfriend. A good father figure.”
Tensing his jaw a little, Dean is finding himself getting antsy. Are they going to demonstrate consent, or is Castiel gonna therapize him in front of sixty students? Castiel’s hand starts to trail lower on Dean’s arm, fingers skating over his elbow. Goosebumps spring up on his skin wherever Castiel touches.
“May I hug you?” Castiel asks. He doesn’t have to ask, but considering the topic of discussion, Dean nods permission. When Castiel hugs him it feels… incredible. They don’t embrace often; hell, they don’t even really touch often outside of back-pats and shoulder-claps, fairly standard bro physical communication. It’s been a long time since they’ve shared a hug, and Dean finds himself melting into it. “Consent goes down many roads. While the topic at hand is, decidedly, unsexy, offering physical comfort is doing wonders for Dean. He is bodily relaxed, and his mental state is stable.”
Dean can’t even be bothered by Castiel narrating the situation to the class. He’s still pressed against Castiel’s broad, solid frame, wondering when his nerdy friend packed on so much muscle. He didn’t think daily jogs were all that beneficial, but the evidence is - literally - stacked against him.
They pull apart mutually. Castiel’s expression is soft, and Dean knows he’s sorry that Lisa left him. But there’s something else in his gaze, too- a look that Dean has never seen in his best friend’s eyes before.
Castiel’s hands slide down Dean’s arms to his hands, threading their fingers together. Dean’s breath trips up in his chest, cheeks flushing softly. Alright. He can do this. It’s all part of the presentation.
“I would love to relax you,” Castiel says. His deep voice is soft, but it carries around the room. The class is so silent, you could hear a pin drop. “Would you let me help ease some of that tension?”
Dean nods, not trusting his mouth.
Castiel continues. “I would love to give you a massage, Dean. Press my fingers into every tight spot in your body. I would love to feel you melt underneath me. Would you let me?”
Dean nods again.
“Use your words.”
“Yes,” Dean replies automatically, the syllable sounding a little choked.
Castiel’s hands let go of Dean’s so they can instead cup his face, blue eyes dark, heavy, and searching. “What would you like after the massage, Dean? Would you like to take a bubble bath? I could wash your back for you. Shampoo your hair.” His words are totally innocent, but heat is starting to unfurl in Dean’s gut anyway. He nods again. The tiniest of smiles curls on Castiel’s lips. “You’d be so relaxed for me, wouldn’t you? I would help you dry off. We could go to the bedroom and get ready for bed.” Dean lets out a negative noise that he doesn’t register until after it happens. “No? You wouldn’t want to get ready for bed?” Dean shakes his head. Castiel’s hands are so warm cupping under his jaw, his thumbs lightly stroking over his cheekbones. His bent elbows are between their bodies, pressing against Dean’s chest, and Dean’s own hands twitch minutely before lifting to rest gently on Castiel’s waist. “I respect you telling me no. What would you like to do instead? Anything you like, Dean.”
Suddenly Dean’s throat is too tight to swallow. Is he allowed to say anything other than yes or no? He’s unsure and he doesn’t want to fuck up Castiel’s presentation. But Castiel’s gaze is searching clearly waiting for an answer, so Dean licks his lips and clears his throat so he can reply.
“We could get in bed,” he says, voice thick. He clears it again. “But I wouldn’t wanna sleep.”
Castiel’s smile is sharp, an eyebrow raising as his grip on Dean’s jaw tightens ever so slightly. He loosens it just as quickly, dragging his hands down the curve of Dean’s neck. “Of course you wouldn’t want to sleep. You know of better activities to do in bed, don’t you?”
Dean nods. After a beat: “Yes.”
“Then I would love to continue touching you,” Castiel says. His voice is rough, the cadence changing slightly. The world around them gets reduced to just the two of them. “I would love to worship you, Dean. Praise every inch of you that she took for granted.” Heat drops from Dean’s gut to his dick. “Would you like me to?”
“Yes,” Dean’s voice is weak, and so are his knees. He grips tightly to Castiel’s waist, caught in his orbit.
“Good,” Castiel says. “Good boy. I could guess what you want me to do, but I would love for you to tell me. I want your permission and your ideas, I want to do anything and everything you want me to.”
Dean nods. “Touch me.”
Castiel’s hands stay where they are, but they don’t need to move. “With my hands?”
Licking his lips, Dean nods. “Yes. And…”
“And?” Castiel prompts. His cologne is incredible, Dean notes deliriously. How has he never noticed how Castiel smells, before? An almost feminine musk, a touch of patchouli. Not masculine at all, not by traditional fragrance standards.
Suddenly Dean remembers that Castiel prefers women’s athleisure wear to relax in. Occasionally wears lip gloss. Has a few dresses tucked away in his closet.
Dean’s seen him wear a dress once. He’d dropped by Castiel’s house without calling beforehand and Castiel had answered the door wearing a pretty powder blue sundress, looking totally unbothered by Dean discovering him dressed like that. They’d sat on his couch and watched the football game like normal. It hadn’t registered as anything weird, to Dean. Castiel looked… pretty. And comfortable. So Dean didn’t bring it up.
He remembers what Castiel’s lips look like with a glossy sheen.
“And your mouth,” Dean finds himself saying.
“Good,” Castiel says. “Consent is saying yes, but full consent is knowing what you want and asking for it. A volley back and forth between the two of us… suggestions made, yes or no questions as the follow-up. I want to touch you with my hands and mouth, Dean. I want to stroke your skin and kiss your freckles. But I want to do so much more to you, for you. Will you let me?”
Dean resists a whimper, but it still comes out anyway. “Please.”
Castiel’s hands move from the sides of his neck over his shoulders, down towards his waist where he wraps his arms around Dean’s body and pulls him forward, pulls him flush against him. “Saying ‘please’ is the best form of consent. It lets me know you want it… but it also lets me know you need it. You sound so pretty when you say ‘please’, Dean.”
Dean’s brain is starting to get a little foggy from Castiel’s almost clinical words delivered in that thunderously low voice of his.
“I want to suck your cock,” Castiel says brazenly. Dean presses his tongue to his cheek. “I want to swallow you whole. I want to get you so wet we’ll have to change sheets when we’re done. Will you let me?”
The tone’s changed. It’s gone from ‘would you’ to ‘will you’; from the hypothetical to the potential and it ricochets through Dean’s body. Castiel is actually asking him for permission to do these things, he realizes. It should be embarrassing. It should be weird. Castiel is his best friend; they went through awkward teenage years together, partied through college together, turned into adults together. Dean’s shared with Castiel things he hasn’t shared with anyone else, values him above all else, and- oh.
Castiel is his best friend.
Castiel is… his everything.
Quit being a closeted idiot! Get your head out of your ass. It’s so infuriating to see you be so dumb!
Lisa left him because of Castiel.
It’s always been Castiel.
The realization has Dean clutching at Castiel’s biceps suddenly, pressing closer to stave off the risk of just falling on his face.
“Please, Cas,” Dean whispers.
“I will take such good care of you, Dean,” Castiel promises. One hand lifts from Dean’s waist to reach up and card through his hair. “Will you let me?”
Dean nods, closing his eyes and absorbing being so close to Castiel; registering their physical closeness and the way Castiel is catering to him.
A silence settles in the room. After a few moments Castiel gives Dean’s waist a squeeze and then pulls away, the cold air making Dean realize he’s definitely got an erection. Castiel turns away from him to address the class, and Dean turns on heel to face the whiteboard, rubbing his hands furiously over his features.
They just softcore-porned a class to explain sexy consent.
Dean doesn’t hear whatever Castiel says. The class is dismissed and Dean doesn’t uncover his eyes until he’s sure they’re alone.
“Are you alright?” Castiel asks, back at Dean’s side, hand between Dean’s shoulders. “I suppose I should have thought about how unconventional that was.”
“You gave me a boner in front of your class,” Dean says, letting out a delirious laugh. He drops his hand from his eyes and turns towards Castiel. “You’re such an asshole.”
Castiel smiles beatifically. “You gave me consent to do it.”
Dean laughs. “Yeah, I guess I did.” Exhaling, Dean leans his hip against Castiel’s desk, running a hand through his hair and trying to get his body under control.
“Lisa really left?” Castiel asks softly.
Dean nods, and then snorts. “Yeah. And y’know what? It took your little consent is sexy demo for me to realize why she left.”
Castiel doesn’t look surprised. Or embarrassed. Or sorry.
Dean rolls his eyes. “You got my consent for this shit, but you’re still an asshole.”
Castiel’s pink lips stretch in a small, satisfied smile. “Shall we continue the lesson later?”
Straightening, Dean pokes his finger into Castiel’s sternum, doing his best to glare. “This has to be the stupidest way I’ve ever entered a relationship.”
“There’s nothing stupid about consent,” Castiel says gravely.
Dean throws his hands up into the air. “Not what I mean.” He points an accusing finger at Castiel. “You better be at my place when you’re done here today.” He leaves without waiting for a response, but feels Castiel’s gaze burning into his back.
“Yes, yes, yes, yes-”
Dean’s on his stomach on his bed, rumpled sheets tossed haphazardly around him. His skin is flushed, a thin sheen of sweat glistening by lamplight, fingers twisting in the duvet and toes curling. Castiel is tongue-deep in his ass and he is so wet, dripping from spit and lube, asscheeks spanked pink and tender. His body is wrought with tension, a livewire ready to snap, and Castiel has been eating him out for the better part of an hour. He has no idea how Castiel is so patient, no idea where Castiel is pulling these massive reserves of stamina from, but he is far from complaining.
“Please,” Dean finally begs. His hole flutters and tenses, loose and sloppy. “Please, Cas, fuck-”
“Tell me what you want,” Castiel says. He starts arranging Dean’s body, spreading his knees further apart, sliding a pillow under his hips. He adjusts Dean’s cock so it’s trapped between his stomach and the pillow, Dean groaning at the pressure.
“Fuck me,” Dean says, voice nearly gone from all of the moaning. “I want your cock, please, Cas, fuck me.”
Castiel’s cock, slick with lube, slaps against Dean’s hole. He grinds it forward, the length of it sliding along Dean’s crack and down over his perineum, nudging his heavy balls. Dean whines, he freaking whines and arches his spine, trying to cant his ass towards Castiel’s cock.
“Put it in,” Dean gasps. “Fuck me, fuck me, Cas please-”
The head of Castiel’s cock catches on Dean’s rim before pushing in. Castiel seats himself in one solid, paced thrust, and Dean feels their balls brush as Castiel adjusts his own legs. His fingers are brands on Dean’s hips and his ass is already marked up but Dean thinks he wants Castiel’s fingerprints on every inch of his body. Castiel fucks him slow and dirty, draping himself over Dean’s back so he can murmur into his ear.
“You looked so good today,” Castiel praises. “So good for me in front of my class. They were on the edge of their seats. You loved it, didn’t you? Loved me claiming you in front of them. Telling you what I want to do to you… what I’ve wanted to do for years. I could have dropped to my knees for you right there, Dean… you looked so pretty, I wanted to reward you. Show the whole class what you deserve.”
Each word ramps up Dean’s heart rate and he squirms under Castiel, thrusting against the soft pillow. Imagining Castiel fucking Dean over his desk while sixty pairs of eyes watch has Dean letting out a needy whine.
“Woulda let you,” Dean finally gasps. “Fuck, Cas, woulda let you do whatever you want to me…”
Castiel’s teeth nip at his ear, and he knows the man is smiling. He then pulls back and picks up the pace of his fucking, slamming into Dean so hard Dean has to lift an arm above his head to press his palm against the headboard to keep himself from smashing into it. Castiel’s grip on his hips is tight, balls swinging heavy, and the way he draws Dean’s ass up has Dean losing all contact with the pillow. Castiel’s cock hits his prostate on every thrust, and Dean’s pretty sure he’s never come without his cock being touched, but he supposes today is a day for firsts.
“Cum in me,” Dean finds himself babbling. “Please, Cas, fill me up, wanna feel it, please cum in me, wanna feel it so bad…”
“You want my cum?” There’s a smile behind Castiel’s bone-deep voice. “You want me to fill you up? Do you want to be my cockslut, Dean?”
“Please,” Dean’s crying. Tears are streaming down his face and he’s never been this wrecked before, never felt this way before and he’s riding the waves as they crash over him.
Castiel drapes over Dean’s body again, his voice directly in Dean’s ear. “You are mine.”
Dean’s orgasm sweeps through him so violently he screams. His cock throbs and pulses, balls draw tight, and he feels his heartbeat in every gush as he spills rope after rope of cum on the squished pillow beneath him. His ass contracts tightly around Castiel’s cock and Castiel pulls out, letting go of all contact with Dean’s body; he falls onto the cum-stained pillow and can’t even be bothered by it when he feels the splatter of Castiel’s cum painting across his back. Down his spine, in his wine-glass dimples, over his pink cheeks, and one last, final spurt directly over his hole. Castiel fingers his cum into Dean’s ass, the extra stimulation wringing a bit more from Dean’s cock, and then Castiel stops, two fingers snugly resting inside Dean’s hole, trapping his spunk inside.
Nothing but their haggard breath fills the room for a solid thirty seconds.
Cleanup is a daze. Dean definitely doesn’t help, but the next time he registers any sort of sanity he can tell he’s on clean sheets and Castiel is curled up behind him, pressing worshiping kisses across the back of his neck and expanse of his shoulders.
“Shoot,” Dean finally says. He coughs. His voice sounds like it went through a cheese grater. He can’t help the little smile on his lips, though, when he says, “So. Wanna be my boyfriend or whatever?”
Castiel hums thoughtfully, but Dean knows better than to feel any sort of trepidation over the fake hesitation. “Say ‘please’.”
Dean rolls his eyes. “C’mon, seriously?”
“Consent is very serious,” Castiel deadpans.
Squirming around until he can face Castiel, Dean reaches up and plugs the man’s nose, causing him to splutter a little and swat Dean’s hand away. Dean grins wolfishly. “Please?”
Castiel rolls his eyes. “I’m suddenly less inclined to say yes.”
Dean also rolls his eyes, before pitching his voice and writhing his body against Castiel’s, “Please, professor, please be my boyfriend? Please fuck me every day til we get too old to get it up, or die?”
“Very romantic,” Castiel says, even though the corners of his eyes are crinkling.
“We’ve basically been in a relationship for twenty years without our own consent,” Dean points out. “We’re, like, really stupid.”
“I have a PhD,” Castiel bristles.
Dean twists his nipple, “Be my fucking boyfriend, you pompous ass.”
Castiel laughs and catches Dean’s wrist, threading their fingers together and pulling him close. “Yes.”
They settle down under the sheets. After a few minutes, Dean says, “If you ever need help with future lectures, uh, you can consider this a blanket ‘yes’.”
“I’d rather not get arrested or fired for public indecency.”