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Fools Rush In

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In the weeks leading up to Cas and Dean's road trip, Anna settled into a routine. Reassured that her employment prospects at Impala Records were long rather than short term, she formally quit Well Bread and set her mind to improving the record store, with Dean's blessing. Unlike him – and, apparently, unlike the store's previous owner – she had enough experience working in retail, and enough of a native eye for structure, to see the faults in the layout. She moved shelves and repositioned displays, trying to find the best fit for the space; but when Dean finally let slip that Castiel was, indeed, independently wealthy, a whole new range of possibilities opened up.

She hadn't spoken to Gabe since that night in the taxi, except to reply to his text messages – which, she was delighted to note, had become both respectful and flirtatious. Though she'd briefly entertained the prospect of ignoring him forever, he seemed so genuinely repentant – and was, damn his eyes, sufficiently attractive and funny – that she'd decided to give him another chance. Not that he knew it, of course; he deserved some measure of coolness from her after his initial bad behaviour, and her replies thus far had been more polite than heartfelt. Now, though, as her new idea began to take shape, she broke her self-imposed rule about being the one to initiate contact, and sent him a message.

Feel like working on a design project with me?

His response was instantaneous: where & when?

Grinning, Anna let a few minutes go by before responding. Come by the store at 5. We can talk.

Her phone beeped moments later. See you then :)

Satisfied, she checked the clock – it was nearly lunch time – and was on the verge of heading next door when Charlie entered, saving her the trouble.

'Lunch?' she asked.

'Lunch,' Anna agreed.

Her friend cocked a thumb at the ceiling. 'Any word from upstairs?'

'Not in the last hour or so. Why?'

'Nothing. I just thought I heard banging, is all.'

Anna raised her eyebrows. ' Banging banging, or just a loud noise?'

Charlie considered the question. 'Probably just a noise,' she admitted. 'I mean, if they finally decided to, you know, it'd probably be a lot louder.' She hesitated, then said in a rush, 'Do you really think they're in love?'

'What?'

Charlie looked embarrassed. 'Well, it's just, you read these stories about how people form super intense connections in high-pressure situations and they think it's love, but then it doesn't last afterwards, and they're both so nice, and they're neighbours, and I really don't want them to break up, but this whole time they've been together things have been kind of, well, insane, and now that it's starting to settle down, I keep worrying it's going to go wrong, and I know it's not my business, but they're sort of our bosses and they're your friends and it makes me anxious, and, well. You get the idea.'

Anna thought back over the past two weeks, and said, 'You've never really seen them together, have you? I mean, you've met them both, but not as a couple?'

'I guess,' said Charlie, then blinked. 'Actually, yeah. You're right. I haven't.'

'Well, then. That explains it.'

'Explains what?'

'The doubt. You haven't seen the way they look at each other.'

Charlie made a face. 'All couples look at each other.'

'Yeah, but –' Anna paused, trying to explain. 'OK. My mother is a photographer. She takes wedding pictures, mostly – shoots with families, with couples, domestic occasion stuff. And for years, I used to help out. I'd carry her equipment, help stage the shots, that sort of thing, right up until the end of school. I think she was hoping I'd take after her, want to go into business, and I liked it fine, but it wasn't what I wanted for a career, you know? Anyway.' She waved a hand at the segue. 'The point being, when you do that sort of work, you see a lot of happy couples, or couples who are meant to be happy, and after a while, you kind of get a feel for which ones are really solid. It sounds corny, but it's kind of alchemical – just something in how they move together, how they look at each other, how they talk. I'm not saying everyone needs it to be happy, but it sure as hell helps.'

Charlie gave her a doubtful look. 'And Cas and Dean have it?'

Anna's reply was forestalled by a sudden shout from the stairwell.

'Dean, be careful!'

'Dammit, Cas, I'm fine!'

There was a thumping sound. Both women turned, watching as a barefoot, bare-chested Dean Winchester came downstairs, his palms braced against the walls. Except for a small patch over his bullet-wound, he was now bandage-free: the strips on his stomach were thickly scabbed, while the cigarette burns and the cuts on his arms had turned to fresh, pink scars. He was sweating with the effort of walking unassisted, but though Cas hovered protectively behind him, he didn't intervene. There was a horrible moment when Dean's hand slipped on his weak side, and Anna almost lunged forwards, convinced he was about to fall, but he somehow caught himself and kept going, alighting with a grin of triumph.

'There!' he said, chest heaving only slightly. 'I am officially handi-capable.'

'And your side's OK?' asked Cas concernedly, running his fingers down Dean's ribs to the gauze – missing, though Anna and Charlie did not, the way his touch shivered his lover. 'You haven't pulled it open?'

'No,' said Dean, voice only a little hoarse. 'I mean, I might need a bit of help getting back up again, but otherwise –'

Cas kissed him before he could finish, and Anna blushed to the roots of her hair, because even though they didn't grab each other, or draw it out beyond a few moments, the gentle intimacy between them – Dean leaning into Cas; the way Cas touched his jaw – made her feel as though she'd caught them in bed together. And when they pulled apart, smiling at each other, there it was: the look she'd tried and failed to describe to Charlie, love in their eyes and the air between them, soft and electric and so self-contained, they were practically wrapped in a bubble.

'Nearly better,' Dean said breathlessly.

'Nearly better,' Cas agreed.

And only then did they seem to realise they had an audience; they looked at Anna and Charlie, and Dean waved, and Cas said, 'How are you both?'

For the next few minutes, they all talked about the stores, the news, the weather. Anna invited them both to lunch, but Dean shook his head, saying, a little sheepishly, 'I think I might need to lie down,' and suddenly Cas was looping a careful arm around his waist, muttering fond imprecations as he helped Dean back upstairs.

Charlie watched them go, open-mouthed. 'Oh,' she said. 'Is that what you were talking about?'

'Yeah,' said Anna. She felt an unexpected pang, and then her heart sped up at the thought – completely unbidden – that Gabe might look at her that way, too. One day. If he ever pulls his head the whole way out of his ass. 'Yeah, it is.'

'Then I totally get it. They're like –' she tilted her head, considering, '– I don't know, I'm not not good with metaphors. But you're right. You know it when you see it.'

'You really do,' said Anna, grinning.

And then they went to lunch, and all was right with the world.

 

*

 

Three and a half weeks after Lassiter shot him, Dean eased himself into the Impala, rolling his eyes as Cas asked, for the fiftieth time that morning, whether he was sure he wanted to drive the first leg of the road trip.

'You'll use more energy in the city,' Cas pointed out, dumping a bag in the back seat. 'More gear changes, more breaking, more corrections.'

'Will you quit fussing already?' Dean said, outwardly exasperated and inwardly delighted. He'd gone his whole life without anyone taking an interest in his well-being, and as much as he loved the banter of pushing back against Cas's concern, he also loved that it was concern, and real, and for him. 'I'm driving, you're passengering, and that's final.'

'I love it when you take charge,' said Cas, grinning, and sat without a further word of protest.

Gingerly, Dean buckled up. The last of his scabs were finally, thankfully, gone, but the new skin beneath was sensitive, and he didn't know how they'd fare against the belt. But though he braced for discomfort, there was none, and he heaved a small sigh of relief.

'Call when you've arrived,' said Anna. She stood on the pavement, arms wrapped around her torso, and bent to the rolled-down window. 'Otherwise, I'll worry.'

'You always worry,' said Dean, but he didn't mind that, either.

'True,' she said – and then, with a mischevious look, 'You know my friend, Gabe?'

Dean raised a suggestive eyebrow. 'Your friend ?'

Anna blushed. 'Oh, shut up. Anyway, he's studying design, and while the two of you are gone, we're going to be working on something for the store. A surprise, for when you get back.'

'Thank you,' Dean said, touched.

Anna leaned in and gave him a peck on the cheek. 'You're welcome.' She straightened, and wiggled her fingers in farewell at the both of them, which gesture Cas returned, while Dean contented himself with a thumbs up.

And then he turned the key in the ignition, and they were off.

Despite his protestations, he'd been worried the driving would tax him – pottering about at home was one thing, but driving for hours on end was quite another. It would take four days to reach Sam in California, and that meant he had to pace himself. But though he was aware of his body, of the heavy steering and sticky gears, the exertion energised rather than drained him. It felt good to be doing something again, and there were few places he felt more comfortable and at home than behind the wheel of his car. Any other day, the stop-start traffic heading out of Monument would have annoyed him, but today, he couldn't stop smiling.

Beside him, Cas reached over and started fiddling with his iPod, linking it up to the car speakers through a converter cable. At Dean's inquiring glance, he blushed and said, 'I, ah, made us a driving playlist.'

The opening chords of Life is a Highway filled the car. Dean looked at Cas with frank surprise.

'A driving playlist?'

If possible, Cas's blush deepened. 'If it's not any good, we can –'

They were stopped at a set of lights, so Dean had no hesitation in leaning over to kiss his cheek. 'It's perfect.'

The list was a mix of Dean's favourite songs and some he suspected Anna had helped pick out, but which he nonetheless enjoyed. Better still, and for all that he'd once professed musical ignorance, Cas sang along to a surprising number of tracks, haltingly at first, but his voice grew stronger as Dean joined in, too, and before long they were cruising down the interstate, belting out the lyrics to Bohemian Rhapsody. When the song came to an end, they both burst out laughing, and as he looked at Cas, Dean felt his heart catch in his throat. Gone was the awkward hunching and uncertainty, the visible self doubt. Cas was comfortable and confident, eyes crinkling with happiness, one elbow resting on the open window. Long gone, too, was his anonymous suit and tie, today replaced by one of Dean's many AC/DC t-shirts worn over a dark blue Henley and black jeans. He looked vital and gorgeous, and when he smiled back at Dean, it was difficult to remember how to breathe.

'How's the driving feel?' Cas asked.

Dean gulped, trying to ignore the rising heat in his body. Since the day he'd told Cas he wanted to wait, he hadn't so much as brought himself off, partly because of his injuries, but mostly because it would have felt like cheating, and after weeks of abstinence, he was having trouble separating tenderness from lust. Everything felt sensitive, scars and unmarked skin both, and whenever Cas touched him – or looked at him, even – his all-over sense of bodily intensity was magnified a hundredfold.

'Fine, I think,' he said, forcing himself to consider the question. 'I mean, I can feel it in my muscles, but in a nice way, you know? Like exercise.'

'Well, good. But if you want to swap over early –'

'– I'll let you know. And I will, Cas. I promise.'

But in the end, he managed it: they took a break after three hours, grabbed some lunch at a diner somewhere near Pittsburgh, and then resumed with Cas behind the wheel. Apart from the photo Anna had taken, it was the first time Dean had seen his lover drive the Impala, and he was so turned on by the sight, he forgot to issue the usual warnings about how to treat the car. Which was no big loss, it turned out, as Cas seemed to know exactly what he was doing. He gave the dashboard a friendly pat, turned the key, and didn't stick so much as a single gear change, guiding them back onto the road as easily as if he'd never driven anything else. Unable to help himself, Dean groaned low in the back of his throat, though Born to be Wild was playing so loudly, it was doubtful Cas heard him.

They switched over again near Columbus, but though Dean had originally planned to drive the last leg himself, when it started to bucket down rain, he asked Cas to take over. As confident a driver as he was under normal circumstances – and as good as he was feeling – he still didn't want to risk not being able to control the car if they hit a puddle and fishtailed. It kept on raining the rest of the way across Ohio and into Indiana, and didn't let up until they were practically in Indianapolis, where Cas had booked them a room for the night in an actual hotel. Dean was childishly excited about that; he'd stayed in plenty of motels and cheap, scuzzy places, but Cas had shown him photos of their destination, and it was all big white towels and blankets that looked like woven gold.

'Does this make me your kept man?' he'd asked, when Cas made the booking. 'Because if so, I am totally cool with that.'

Cas smiled slyly. 'Generally speaking, kept men pay their way with sexual favours. But under the circumstances, you can just sit there and look pretty.'

At the time, Dean had laughed. Now, though, with the engine vibrating through the seat, a clear evening sky ahead of them and the ruffling breeze from the open windows making a mess of Cas's hair as well as his own, it was a different story. The arousal he'd felt earlier was nothing compared to what he felt now, and even though they were nearly at the hotel, as they drove past an open field, he couldn't help fantasising about Cas just pulling over, yanking Dean out of the passenger's seat and pushing him up onto the bonnet, grabbing him close as he wrapped his legs around his waist and –

He gripped the seat, staring out at the highway, and tried to still his pulse against a realisation that was all the more urgent for being belated. Discreetly, he ran a hand across his stomach, fingers probing the edges of his injuries. The new skin where Meg had stripped him was taut, but not sore, and when he pressed the stippled, wonky star where the bullet had hit, there was no more pain than if he'd been pushing a bruise. He swallowed sharply – his throat was long since healed – and let his hand wander upwards, lightly touching the lines on his arm, the circular cigarette scars. They no longer hurt, and for the first time, it occurred to him that each burn commemorated a place where Cas had kissed him, Cas had bitten him. Meg had left her marks as a punishment, but as he glanced at his face and throat in the rear view mirror, all he saw was a guide for Cas's mouth to follow, and at the thought of his lover reclaiming him, he became almost painfully hard.

'Cas?' he said, voice shaking a little.

'Yeah?'

'I'm better.'

'You're –' Cas almost swerved the car off the road, correcting himself just before they hit the hard shoulder. 'Shit!' And then, glancing at Dean more carefully, 'Better as in better ?'

'Yeah.'

Cas opened his mouth. Closed it again. Glanced at the GPS he'd mounted on the dash, and noted the twenty-five minutes remaining until they reached the hotel. 'You're sure? You're really –'

'I'm really sure,' said Dean. He was breathing hard, hypnotised by the muscle working in Cas's jaw, the way he suddenly gripped the wheel like his life depended on it. The silence stretched for two seconds. Three. Then:

' Fuck. ' Cas groaned, hitting the accelerator. 'Oh, god. Fuck. Fuck !'

' Drive ,' said Dean. 'Don't talk. Just drive.'

 

*

 

Reaching the hotel was one thing; actually getting into their room, Cas realised, was another. Pulling up in front of the building, a valet arrived to take the Impala to an underground garage while a porter grabbed their bags, and it was a sign of how distracted Dean was that he didn't so much as protest. Cas, for his part, could barely think straight; he checked them in on autopilot, trying desperately not to groan in public as Dean slid an arm around his waist, smiling politely as he took their room key, following the porter into the lift, up five floors, and along a seemingly endless corridor to their suite. At the door, he pulled his wallet out, grabbed the first note he found there, which was a fifty, and shoved it into the porter's hand the second their bags were inside. The man looked stunned, and even moreso when Cas shut the door in his face without another word.

And then they were grabbing each other, kissing hungrily. Cas shoved Dean up against the door and sucked his bottom lip until they were both moaning, grinding against each other, hands under shirts and roaming without hindrance. Cas pinched his lover's nipples and bit his neck, whining deep in his throat as Dean's fingers chased up his back, nails digging into his shoulders.

' Jesus fuck ,' Dean gasped, as Cas ripped his shirt up over his head, 'tell me you know where the fucking lube is, tell me you packed it –'

'I do. I did,' Cas growled, sucking the sensitive skin below Dean's ear. 'Soon.'

'Screw soon.' Dean grabbed the hem of Cas's shirt, shoving him backwards as he pulled it off, then dropping to his knees as he bit and kissed his way down Cas's stomach, pulling his jeans open and down and taking him in his mouth. He swallowed him deep, tongue working sinfully, then pulled back and said, ' Now .'

Cas shoved his finger's through Dean's hair, gripping and pulling him upright, mouths melting together, one hand working at his fly as the other held his head. They were stumbling through the room, an awkward dance as they kicked their shoes off – each tugged at the other's jeans, shedding pants, socks and boxers almost at once – and suddenly they were naked, falling backwards onto the bed with Dean above and Cas beneath. Gripping his lover's arms, Cas rolled them over, pinning Dean with his hands and mouth. Dean bucked his hips; they were pressed together, hard and aching and slick with spit and precum, and as Cas reached down and stroked him, Dean pushed his head back into the mattress, biting his lip as he moaned.

Cas leaned back a little, savouring the sight of Dean spread out beneath him, then put his mouth to his lover's ear and whispered, 'I'm going to take my time with you.'

Dean whimpered. 'Oh god, Cas, baby, please, I need you, I need you to do it now , I can't –' Cas kissed him, hard and hot, his body arching into Dean's; he curled his hand at the root of him, his touch sliding up and down, thumbing gently at his foreskin – and then he let go, his fingers tracing up to tweak his nipple. Dean shuddered beneath him, gasping into his mouth, and Cas was so hard, it was almost impossible to keep control of himself. Dean reached up to cup his face, those clever fingers sliding from jaw to collarbone, every touch begging him closer, his whole body writhing up against Cas with an almost insatiable urgency. Cas trailed his lips down the column of Dean's throat, biting at his pulse-point, sucking his nipples, peppering him with kisses, down to take him in his mouth. He groaned at the taste of him, at the way Dean wantonly arched his back and fucked his mouth, hands digging into Cas's hair as he writhed and begged. He was incoherent with pleasure, the words reduced to little more than a string of gasps, voice hitching with every motion of Cas's tongue.

'Fuck me Cas god please fuck me I need you I need to feel you please, oh, fuck, yes, I –' He tapered off into panting, and as before, Cas chose that moment to stop, to pull back, as much because he was in danger of coming as because he wanted, needed to stretch this out, this moment he'd been dreaming of for what felt like forever, and which he never wanted to end. But the look in Dean's eyes as he sat up, straddling him – the lust, the love, the tilted curve of his throat, lips parted in a wordless plea – almost undid everything. God, he just wanted to bury himself in him, over and over, and –

Dean reached up and took hold of him, stroking hard and fast up Cas's shaft. The effect was electric: Cas let out a sound he hadn't even realised he was capable of making, and suddenly Dean was sitting up under him, one arm wrapped around his waist as Cas dug his fingers into Dean's back, head bowed over his collarbone as he bit and sucked his throat. Dean shifted slightly, changing his grip, and suddenly he was gripping both their cocks together, panting as he pumped. They were slick in his fist, and then he was nipping at Cas's jaw, up to the lobe and around the shell of his ear, whispering please between each bite, and Cas couldn't take it any more.

'OK,' he moaned. 'I'll get – I'll – ah, fuck – lie back, wait –' and somehow managed to extricate himself and stumble over to his bag, upending the contents as he searched for – and, mercifully, found – the lube. He turned back, struggling to get his breathing under control, but Dean had risen and followed him, and as his lover slipped his arms around his waist, kissing him deeply, he realised he was lost. He pushed Dean over to the bed again, but this time, Cas turned at the last moment and sat first, pulling his lover after him. He lay back, supported by the pillows, and guided Dean to straddle him, squeezing the lube onto his fingers.

'Oh,' said Dean, eyes widening as he realised what Cas wanted. He spread his stance, breathing hard, and groaned as Cas reached under and slipped first one finger into him, then two, wriggling as Cas slicked himself with his other hand. Dean pressed down against his fingers, but Cas couldn't wait; he pulled them out, guided Dean forwards, gripped his hips with both hands, and thrust his cock up into him.

'Oh, fuck ,' Dean whispered. He leaned forwards, gripping the headboard, and started to roll his hips in time to the guidance of Cas's hands, shuddering all over when Cas let go on one side in favour of stroking his shaft. They were both gasping, both so close to the edge, it seemed impossible they hadn't already tipped over. Dean shut his eyes, but when Cas rasped out, 'Look at me!', they snapped back open, green as emeralds. They stared into each other, sweating and desperate; Cas began thrusting his hips, pulling Dean onto him, deep and hot and tight.

'Cas,' Dean moaned. 'Cas, Cas, Cas, oh, fuck –' He was trembling, every muscle tense; Cas arched his back and cried Dean's name, and suddenly they were both coming at once, Dean spasming around him as Cas bucked and gasped. Raising his hand, he licked it clean of what Dean had spilt, savouring the look of wide-eyed ecstasy on his lover's face. And then Dean slipped free of him, stretching out along Cas's length, and kissed him deeply, still grinding up against him in the aftermath of his climax. Impossibly, they were both still semi-hard, and as he pulled Dean down beside him, Cas couldn't stop stroking his sides, his hips, fingers running over his scars as though he could erase them.

'God, I love you,' Dean whispered, curling one hand against the curve of Cas's neck, thumb stroking his Adam's apple.

'I love you, too.' He leaned in, kissing Dean back against the pillows, feeling both their bodies respond, and murmured, 'And I've got all night to prove it.'

Dean shivered against him. 'You do?'

'Let's put it this way,' said Cas, and paused to suck the edge of his jaw, a slow, languid bite that not only left Dean gasping, but rendered both of them almost as hard as they'd been a minute earlier. 'Until or unless you tell me to stop –' he moved his mouth to his earlobe, '– I won't. We have all night. I plan to use it.'

'You're going to kill me,' Dean breathed, but as Cas bit him again, he arched his body up, needy as ever. 'God, but at least I'll die happy.'

'Tell me what to do,' Cas whispered, reaching down to stroke him. They were both already messy as hell, slicked with semen and spit and lube, and were only going to get messier. 'Tell me what you want.'

Dean didn't hesitate. 'Fuck me,' he said, hoarse with need. 'Don't stop.'

'I won't,' Cas promised, smiling.

And he didn't.