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Windsor Knot

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They have forty-five minutes, maybe an hour tops, if Sam decides to be generous and pick up lunch on his way back from the library. Dean’s not counting on it, considering the mood he’s been in.

So, forty-five minutes, and Dean’s not going to waste a second.

Neither is Cas, apparently; Dean hasn’t even got the door closed before Cas’ mouth is all over his, biting his lips, sucking on his tongue, hands pulling at the hem of Dean’s shirt until the stitches start to pop one by one like bubble-wrap.

“Easy – fuck, Cas,” Dean squirms away, prying Cas’ fingers from his shirt, kicking off his boots as he backpedals into the room with Cas still bearing down on him like a shark. “Get your clothes off, I gotta get the stuff.”

Stupid, to leave the lube in his goddamn shaving kit, but they’d had to run out of their last dive motel with a posse of hungry vamps their asses and he’d barely remembered to grab everything as it was. He tosses his shirt off into the bathtub, fumbles the KY out from under his razor, and when he turns around, Cas is there – backing him up against the bathroom counter. He’s nearly naked, but there’s one thing he’s forgotten.

“Tie, Cas,” Dean manages, around hungry, bruising kisses. Cas is fucking relentless once he gets going, unstoppable, almost; not that Dean cares. He’s never shied away from the rough stuff and Cas always stays just on the right side of careful enough to make sure Dean doesn’t come out broken. “You’re still wearing your tie.”

Cas pauses just long enough to look down, like he can’t honestly figure out why the damn thing’s still around his neck, but when Dean reaches out to loosen the knot and pull it over his head, Cas pushes his hands away, forcing them back to the counter.

Dean laughs, swipes his tongue along the rasp of Cas’ stubble, “Gonna leave it on, huh? Gonna wear your tie while you fuck me Cas – is that the game we’re playing?”

“I am not playing games.” Cas pulls him away from the sink, spins him, then it’s a game of tug-of war back to the bed – Dean putting just enough fight into it that it doesn’t look too much like he gets off on being manhandled, even though he’s pretty sure Cas has his number on that. When he hits the edge of the bed, he lets himself fall, pulls himself across the bed with his elbows as Cas grabs his ankle, barely giving him enough time to open the button on his jeans before he’s yanking them down. They end up somewhere on the table in the kitchenette.

“Dude!” Dean laughs, and Cas silences him by biting his lower lip and pinning him back to the bed. Dean wraps the stupid fucking tie around his fist, hooks his leg around the back of Cas’ thigh and tries to flip them over, but Cas is an immoveable object against Dean’s unstoppable force. Dean’s not to be deterred though; as much as Cas likes to look stony-faced, likes to be the Thing which is Great and Unfathomable, Dean likes just as much to rail against him and see just how far he can push before Cas pushes back.

“I think I should fuck you with the tie on.” The words come out half-garbled because Cas just won’t leave his mouth alone, but their meaning gets across by the way he groans and rubs himself against Dean’s stomach, leaving long, wet smears on the skin. Dean gets one hand down to his ass, squeezing as Cas’ stubble burns against the side of his neck, followed by a scrape of teeth.

“I think you should stop talking about it and just do it.”

Cas never closes his eyes, not when Dean fingers him – deep, slippery and a little too eager if it was anyone but Cas – or even when pushes himself down on Dean’s cock – all in one long application of weight and counter-weight – though his eyelids flutter down, once, and almost close, leaving Dean with a sliver of blue to stare into while the pressure builds up in his chest. It’s fucking unnerving the way that Cas’ eyes never leave him, but it’s also kind of disgustingly addictive, watching Cas watch him and wondering what the angel sees, wondering why it doesn’t scare the ever-holy fuck out of him.

When Cas says his name, it’s all gravel and broken glass. Dean fists his cock in one hand – letting Cas’ movement do most of the work for him – and the tie in the other, trying not to pull too hard, because there are a lot of kinks he’s willing to try out, but that’s not one of them. He can feel his orgasm running him down in the way his toes tingle and heat pools at the base of his spine. Cas is close too, tongue skimming over his lips, mouth slack when he pants for breath, his cock making a slick mess in Dean’s hand.

If the tie has one benefit, it’s that it’s the perfect way to reel Cas in for a messy, slack-mouthed kiss as he comes all over Dean’s stomach.

While they’re catching their breath, Dean looks at the clock and cracks a grin, brushing his lips against the mess of Cas’ hair. “Think we’ve got time for another round?”

Cas huffs against his shoulder, “You’re wearing the tie this time.”