Chapter Text
Dean followed Cas through to the bathroom, so dazed with lust he could barely think straight. Though part of him still worried that this was too much, too soon as far as Cas's injuries were concerned, on some fundamental level, he also knew that trying to push the point would not only be condescending, but a sort of betrayal, as though he didn't trust Cas to know his own limits. And besides which, he wanted this so badly it was hard to breathe; pretending otherwise would have been impossible. Even bruised, Cas was beautiful, and as he shut the door and murmured, 'Take off your shirt,' Dean shivered and obeyed.
This time, when Cas undid his belt, there was no hesitation, no panic; he just let it drop with a murmured, 'Shoes next, I think.'
Dean complied, and when he straightened up again, Cas stepped in and kissed him lightly on the throat. Already hard, Dean reached down and undid Cas's pants, shuddering as he returned the favour. A slither of fabric, a half-step back, and just like that, they were both naked, pressing against each other. Dean gasped as Cas took hold of him, eyes closed with pleasure. He reached for him, too, but Cas intercepted him, tangling their fingers together.
'Not yet,' he murmured, smiling. Favouring Dean with a long, hard stroke, he let go altogether. 'Get in the shower.'
The water was cold at first, but somehow, that only aroused him more. Dean stood under the warming spray, watching as Cas withdrew small blue bottle of oil from the medicine cabinet. He must have looked surprised, because Cas said, slyly, 'I might have issues, but I was never a monk.' He stepped into the shower, and Dean was suddenly hypnotised as Cas uncapped the bottle, pouring the contents onto both their hands and setting it aside. And then they were kissing again, open-mouthed and eager. Cas pulled him close, his gleaming palms oiling a path across Dean's ass, hips, thighs, and then, finally – oh, god, yes – back to his cock again, slicking him under and around as he sucked his bottom lip.
Dean reached for him in turn, and this time, Cas didn't stop him, groaning softly as Dean sleeked oil and water up and down his shaft, across his hips, but always mindful of his back, of where the scars began. As Cas's hands moved from groin to flank to chest, pinching lightly at his nipples, Dean leaned in and kissed his shoulder, nipping the skin, his mouth moving steadily upwards, over collarbone and throat, up the curve of Cas's neck to his ear. He sucked the lobe, and as Cas ran a teasing, practised finger along his perineum, Dean gasped and whispered, 'Fuck me.'
In answer, Cas took hold of his wrists, pulling Dean's arms out and up, until they were pinned above his head, his back to the shower wall. Cas kissed him, shifting his grip until only one hand held Dean in place, the other sliding down to gently slip his foreskin back and forth. Dean moaned low in his throat and said again, more urgently, 'Fuck me.' And then, because it had to be said, 'I'm safe. I mean, I –'
'I know what you meant,' said Cas. 'I am, too. But if you want, I can get a –'
'No. Please.' He tipped his head back, quivering against Cas's grip. He looked into those fathomless blue eyes, and said, 'I want to feel you. All of you.'
Cas smiled hungrily, his bruises somehow serving to make him look wicked rather than weak. Oh, god. He's anything but weak. 'Ask me again,' he said, so close to Dean's ear that the rush of breath sent stars shooting through him, neck to nethers.
'Fuck me,' Dean panted.
Cas's reply was a gentle, teasing bite; he let his wrists go, dropping his hand to Dean's clavicle. 'Turn around,' he murmured, and as Dean obeyed, Cas let his hand move with him, fingers tracing down his spine to curve against his hip. Dean braced his palms on the tiles, shuddering as Cas kissed his back, first one, then two slick fingers slipping inside him. Every nerve was on fire, every inch of oil-slicked skin screaming to be touched, fucked, stroked, and as Cas finally withdrew his hand and guided his cock in, Dean shut his eyes and groaned. He pushed back against the hard heat, savouring the way Cas gripping his hips and held .
'Now,' Cas said, the breathless catch in his voice a turn-on all its own, 'we're going to take this slow. Nice and slow.' And to prove his point, he pulled back steadily, almost all the way out, then thrust in again with leisurely control. And again. And again. It was like nothing Dean had ever experienced, a pleasure so tormentingly exquisite, it was almost agony. He pushed his legs apart, encouraging Cas deeper, moaning when it worked, but still, Cas refused to go quickly, and even though some distant, rational part of Dean whispered that maybe he couldn't speed up without hurting himself, the rest of him didn't care. Legs and arms trembling, muscles tense as he braced against his building climax, Dean began to beg, a mumbled prayer that grew steadily louder the longer it went ignored.
'Oh god Cas please please just fuck me Cas please please please, oh, fuck –' The words caught in his throat, and Cas growled, ' Wait ,' but still didn't quicken his pace, though his breath was rapid, shallow. Dean was seeing stars, so close to release he was almost sobbing, pleading for Cas to do it, just do it , and all at once, Cas's control was gone; his rhythm changed, and he fucked him deep and fast, a flurry of thrusts as he came, and Dean followed almost instantly, his orgasm so overwhelming that he half blacked out. Trembling, he came back to himself with Cas's body pressed to his back, arms wrapped around his waist, and just at that moment, he couldn't have said which of them was supporting the other, only that they were both spent and shaking, breathing steam as the shower poured down around them.
Boneless, Dean turned in the circle of Cas's arms and held him, panting. Cas shut his eyes and nuzzled his head against Dean's neck.
'That was,' he said. 'That was.'
'Yes,' said Dean, dazedly. He lifted a hand to Cas's hair, fingers tangling in the wet, dark locks as his thumb caressed his neck. His pulse thundered; everywhere ached, his muscles still spasming in the aftershock of his climax. Despite the shower's best efforts, he was sticky with oil and salt and semen, and after a moment, remembering Cas's original overture about getting clean, he grabbed a bar of soap from a dish on the wall and started running it over Cas's arms and shoulders, working up a lather.
Cas lifted his head, and for a split second, he looked so vulnerable as to seem almost raw. 'My back,' he whispered. 'You can – would you –?'
Dean kissed him as gently as he knew how, letting his soapy fingers work steadily backwards, shoulder to spine, as Cas resettled his head on his chest. The worst scars were soft, raised ridges, the others so old and faint that, if Dean hadn't already known they were there, he wouldn't have guessed their presence. Once or twice, Cas tensed, and every time, Dean withdrew his hands to safer territory, not resuming until Cas said, 'It's all right,' or 'I'm OK. Keep going.'
By the time he reached his lower back, the water was starting to run cool. Cas straightened and chuckled. 'We should probably hurry. Here.' He pulled back a little, and held out his hand for the soap. Quickly washing himself, he did the same for Dean, and even spent as he was, the feel of Cas's clever fingers retracing their steps was enough to get him hard again. Cas was clearly appreciative, and as the last suds spiralled down the drain, he turned off the taps and stepped out.
'Um,' he said, his brow suddenly furrowed.
Dean paused on the threshold. 'What?'
'I've only got one towel.'
'That's all right,' said Dean. 'I don't mind sharing.'
Cas grinned. 'You can dry me, then. I, ah... I don't think I can bend.'
'Honestly, I'm not sure I can, either.' He grabbed the towel from the rack – it was large and white, the material rough without being scratchy – and threw it around Cas's shoulders, gently patting him dry. Cas inhaled sharply, and Dean ducked his head, abruptly overwhelmed by the strength of his feelings. How badly he'd wanted Cas before was nothing compared to how much he wanted him now, and that was terrifying. He felt shipwrecked, as though he'd washed ashore in a place to which he had no map, and when he went down on one knee, drying Cas's legs, the urge to take his cock in his mouth was almost irresistible. He wanted to taste him, make him come; wanted Cas to pull his hair and drag him to bed and bend him over, sucking and fucking and biting until neither of them could walk straight; until Dean was stretched out and screaming beneath him; until –
He lurched upright, gasping, grabbed Cas and kissed him fiercely, the towel abandoned. He felt Cas's gasp of surprise and instantly pulled back, ashamed at his lack of control, but Cas just cradled his face in his hands, pulling him in until their foreheads touched. Dean was shaking, and not just from cold.
'What have you done to me?' he whispered. 'I've never – it's never been like this, I don't –'
'Shh.' Cas kissed him, pulled him into an embrace. 'It's all right. It's all right.'
Dean shut his eyes, holding Cas as if he was in danger of blowing away. 'I don't want to hurt you,' he said, desperately. 'Cas, you need to know that now, I don't want to hurt you, but I'm not a good man, I'm not what you think I am.'
Cas's grip tightened. 'Don't say that,' he said, fiercely. 'Don't you ever say that to me again.'
'Say what?'
'That you're not a good man.'
'You don't know that.'
'I do.' Cas looked him square in the eyes, his gaze so brightly blue, it was like falling into the Mediterranean. 'If you're not a good man, no one is. Now –' and here he drew a shaky breath, '– let's go see if that chicken soup is edible.'
Somehow, Dean laughed. 'Don't get your hopes up.'
Cas kissed his nose and grinned. 'I wouldn't dream of it.'
*
The soup wasn't wholly terrible, though the salsa notes were a bit jarring. Cas tried his best to make encouraging noises, but once he realised that Dean wasn't thrilled with the outcome, either, he tactfully suggested that perhaps it just needed to simmer overnight. Sheepishly, Dean agreed; the lid went on, the heat went down, and at Cas's suggestion – the post-coital endorphin high was rapidly wearing off, leaving him tired and sore – they took themselves into the bedroom with the rest of the Well Bread goodies and the only alcohol Cas had to hand. Rather embarrassingly, this turned out to be a bottle of sweet sherry he'd once bought to cook with; Dean raised a mocking eyebrow, but pronounced it to be better than nothing, and soon they were lying in bed, trying and failing to not spill crumbs everywhere and washing the pastries down with swigs of sherry.
'Y'know,' said Dean, giving the bottle a considering glance, 'this isn't actually that bad. I mean, sure, it tastes like children's cough syrup, but I always sort of liked that stuff.'
'Your hidden depths are astonishing,' said Cas. Sitting up, he cast around for his painkillers: his face had started to throb again, and his side wasn't much better.
'Here,' said Dean, instantly solicitous. 'Let me.' And before Cas could argue, he got out of bed and grabbed them off the top of the dresser.
'Thanks,' said Cas. He popped two in his mouth, washing them down with the sherry. Dean smiled and ducked his head, brushing crumbs aside as he climbed back in beside him. Cas remembered the feel of him, the way he'd begged and whimpered and bucked; remembered, too, the gentleness of his hands on his back, and the terrified look on his face as he'd said, I'm not a good man . For the first time, he really considered what it meant that Dean knew someone like Crowley, and wondered what sort of favour the loan shark could possibly want from him. He should have felt apprehensive, or at least worried, that he knew so little about his lover, but – his lover ? The word pulled him up short, completely derailing his train of thought. Was Dean his lover? He considered the question, and decided that yes, he was; and more, that he preferred that appellation to the alternatives. Partner felt somehow presumptuous, the term implying the sort of commitment that Cas had no right to expect, while boyfriend seemed both too juvenile and too innocent.
Easing himself onto his side, he looked at Dean, amazed all over again by the sheer beauty of the man, with his delicate features and narrow hips, and a rear that was, frankly, magnificent. Sensing Cas's scrutiny, Dean blinked.
'What? What is it?'
Suddenly shy, Cas said, 'This makes us lovers, I think.'
For an instant, Dean looked stunned, and then a truly spectacular blush turned his whole face red. 'Yeah,' he managed. 'Yeah, I think it does.' A trace of his earlier worry returned. 'But, Cas, I meant what I said before. You don't know me. You don't know the stuff I've done. This thing with Crowley –'
'I don't give a shit about Crowley,' said Cas. 'I care about you.'
'Well, maybe you shouldn't.'
'Because I don't know you?'
Dean looked away. 'Because if you did, you might wish you didn't.'
Reaching across the bed, Cas tangled their fingers together. 'So tell me, and find out.'
He looked honestly scared. 'But what if you –'
'Dean.' He squeezed his hand, struggling to find the right words. 'I'm not... you know I'm not the most normal person on earth. No, don't argue with me, you know it's true. I'm damaged. Sometimes it's just less obvious, is all. And with everything going on right now, on the news –' an awful lump formed in his throat, '– it's hard. It's really hard. But being with you, I just... you make me feel like I deserve to get through this, like maybe I can get through this. And I'm not trying to say that's all this is, that I'm just using you, because I'm not, I would never –'
'I don't think that,' said Dean. 'It's all right.'
Cas felt his heart lift. 'But you see? That's just it. You're here, and you tell me it's all right , and I believe it. I believe you . So, no, I don't care what you've done in the past that you think is so terrible. I care about who you are.'
Dean looked agonised. 'Cas, I'm serious. I'm not a good person.'
'What, did you hurt a child? Beat a partner? Rape someone?'
Dean flinched as though struck, pulling his hand back. 'Jesus, no! Why would you even say that?'
'Because,' said Cas, calmly, 'those are the only truly unforgivable crimes, and I don't believe for a second that you're capable of committing them.'
'You'd forgive me murder, then?' There was a strange, hard look on his face. 'I was a soldier once, Cas. A soldier, and a police officer, and I worked for criminals. I've killed people. Sometimes I meant to do it, and sometimes I only let them die because I was stupid or slow or scared, but in the end, it doesn't matter a damn what the reason was: those deaths are on me, and you can't just sit there and act like it's OK, like I shouldn't feel the weight of it.'
This time, Cas was the one who flinched. 'Dean, I'm sorry, I didn't mean –'
'I know.' His voice was rough with emotion. 'But that's what I'm saying, Cas. I've done bad things, and maybe I'm a good person now – or at least, I'm trying to be – but that doesn't mean I always was, or that I get to pretend it never happened. And whatever this is between us, being lovers – I want it. I want you . God, do I want you.' His breath caught, and for a moment, Cas was lost. 'But if I just dump my past in your lap, then I'm not being fair to either of us, because right now, the last thing you need is extra baggage, and the last thing I need is to think about all the ways I could fuck this up. So, yeah. One obstacle at a time, is all I'm saying.'
'Meaning what?'
'Meaning,' said Dean, 'that I saw Crowley today. He came knocking when you were out, and I know what he wants from me, and it's nothing good.' Cas opened his mouth to protest not having been told this earlier, but Dean forestalled him with a shake of his head. 'I know, I should've said something. I'm sorry. I just thought you deserved some rest, is all.'
Cas's lips twitched. 'I wouldn't call our time in the shower restful.'
Dean smiled. 'You know what I mean.' And then, more seriously, 'I just think, you know, with everything else going on right now – Nevada, and loan sharks, and getting mugged – we need to be able to set it aside a little, not because it's not important, but because we are, too.'
'I can see that,' Cas said, softly.
'OK.' Dean ran a hand through his hair, suddenly at a loss for words. 'I, uh – OK, then.'
There was a comfortable silence. Cas was bone-tired; the painkillers had kicked in, and all at once, he wanted nothing so much as sleep. Awkwardly brushing crumbs from the bed, he discarded the plate and the sherry bottle, then settled back again, tucking himself up against Dean's broad, warm chest. Taking the hint, Dean carefully put an arm around him, cuddling close. They were naked, and despite his exhaustion, Cas felt absurdly flattered by the press of Dean's erection against his buttocks.
'Tell me about Crowley tomorrow,' he said, stifling a yawn.
'All right.'
Cas closed his eyes, feeling Dean shift and settle against him. His lover kissed his neck, and in return, Cas lifted his hand and kissed the knuckles.
Falling asleep, his last thoughts were of comfort, and warmth, and safety.
He didn't dream.