If you'd asked him a year ago if Dean Winchester entering his life was the worst thing to ever happen to him, Castiel would have been inclined to agree. Nearly everything the younger man did irritated him; between asking Castiel to get his coffee on the first day like he was a handmaiden at his beck and call, referring to him as every other name besides his own, stepping on his toes with the weekly spreadsheets, and every other thing Dean had ordered him to do since, he was fairly certain hate wouldn’t have been a strong enough word.
But somewhere along the way, the air shifted between them. The nicknames Dean cooked up started becoming more endearing than a nuisance. He started taking his advice on the spreadsheets and relaying his ideas to the big bosses. Sometimes, on the mornings he’d needed it the most, Dean surprised him with coffee he’d brought from home. Coffee turned to food. Food turned to sharing lunch. Sharing lunch turned to something weighty and undefinable.
Oftentimes they’d steal moments between meetings. Spend lunches together in Dean’s corner office with the view where Dean would get down on his knees for him in his expensive tailored suit pants and suck him off fast and dirty. That was until a couple of months ago. They had privacy here in Dean’s bed that they didn’t have in passing trysts at the office. A safe bubble where they could pretend what they had together was sacred. No prying eyes. No one to hear them. And yet, Castiel was dead-set on extracting as many noises from Dean as he could swallow tonight.
“Fuck, Cas. Please,” Dean begged with a whimper as Castiel took him down the back of his throat once more.
His body was shaking. His plush lower lip trembled precariously between his teeth, trapping an indecent moan from tumbling out. Flushed skin burning like fire under his palms against the cool grey sheets. Castiel had spent longer than usual opening Dean tonight solely for the fact they had the time to do so. He wanted to savor this for however long he had to wait until they could do it again. To his surprise, Dean was much the same way; much like him in more ways than he’d initially cared to realize.
He swirled his tongue around Dean’s swollen cock head as he plunged his fingers in deeper. The way his tight ass swallowed them, Castiel could tell he was desperately eager to take him and the way his own cock responded with interest reminded him just how desperate he was for it too.
The worst part was, in the moment, Castiel couldn’t find it in himself to feel guilty about this.
About any of it.
Castiel hummed around his length, cutting him off, and Dean’s hips chased the vibration.
“Need it,” he stammered between gasps, “Neet it now.”
By just how wrecked he sounded, Castiel could tell he was getting too close to the edge. He came off with an obscene pop, silvery line of spit strung from his swollen lips to the tip, and raked his gaze over Dean’s body sprawled out beneath him. He was a vision like this. Smooth cock leaking onto the soft skin of his abdomen, hands twisting in the sheets. Wide-eyed, blown pupils. Spit-slick, reddened lips. Eyes only for him. Like his life, the entirety of his being, was reduced to this one moment. His body left in his capable hands. Like he’d cease to exist if he wasn’t fed Castiel’s aching cock one way or another. He couldn’t tell if it was naivety or libido, but whatever it was he couldn’t get enough of it.
“What do you need?” He asked, teasingly trailing wet, open mouthed kisses along the strip of hair running along Dean’s navel. Up the soft skin of his abdomen until he reached his nipples and coaxed them between his teeth.
“You know what,” he said distractedly, sinking his fingers into Castiel’s mess of hair. He mewled when Castiel circled the hardened nub with the tip of his tongue, green eyes fluttering closed.
“Mmm, I might have an idea,” Castiel purred against his bobbing throat, “But I want to hear you say it.”
“Need you… Fuck!” he gasped when Castiel pressed into his prostate with the pads of his fingers. “Need your fuckin’ dick inside me like yesterday, dude.”
“Dude?” Castiel grinned against his throat and sat back on his heels, reaching across to the nightstand. Dean whined from the distance between them, the loss of his fingers. “Relax,” he chuckled, “I’m just getting a condom.”
“Don’t need one,” Dean protested as he adamantly wrapped his legs tighter around Castiel’s hips to keep him where he belonged. “Want to feel it when you come in my ass.” By the hungry look in his eyes, he meant every word.
Swallowing a low groan in his throat, Castiel released the foil packet and grabbed the bottle of lube instead. It was in this moment in particular, Castiel thought to himself, if he were going to feel shame at all it should have been now, but the feeling was so fleeting it hardly even crossed his mind.
“Turn over,” he directed, voice hoarse and gravel. Dean was quick to comply, spreading his knees and propping his ass in the air without even needing to be told. The sight alone made him weak. Uncapping the bottle, Castiel warmed the lubricant on his fingers, absently stroking himself as he catalogued every inch of the man on his knees. The freckles that danced across his broad shoulders. The way his hole contracted and released in anticipation. The way his cock was drooling precum onto the 1,000 count Egyptian cotton sheets underneath him.
Once fully slicked himself, he wiped the remainder along the crack of Dean’s awaiting ass and smirked when Dean whimpered even at this. He was always incredibly responsive, but tonight he seemed especially so.
“Someone's needy tonight,” he noted.
“Yes, sir,” Dean gasped, spreading his cheeks further with his hand. “Want you to fuck my hole good, Cas. You’re the boss tonight,” he quipped with a breathless chuckle.
“But what would the people at the office say?”
“Dude.” Exasperatingly, Dean groaned at another one of his lame jokes. “Just shut up and fuck me.”
“Are you sure you’re ready for me?” he asked while suppressing a small laugh at Dean’s expense.
“Born ready, Asshole.”
Scooting forward on his knees, Castiel teased the head of his slick cock against Dean’s rim just to watch him squirm impatiently in the sheets. He often wondered if Dean was like this with all his lovers or if it was something they shared together because Castiel knew for a fact he’d never felt this way with anyone else before Dean. This addictive thrill of just... being present. Being alive.
“Cas, I swear to fuckin’ God--” he started, but it quickly transformed into a quivering moan as Castiel began to press himself in. Inch by inch. Dean’s jaw hung slack as Castiel sank in to the hilt. When he was fully seated, he leaned down and placed soothing, gentle kisses along Dean’s spine while his hips allowed him to adjust to the girth.
Dean fisted his heavy cock hanging between his legs as Castiel set a slow, steady pace. When he began picking up speed, he dropped it in favor of bracing himself against the headboard.
“Yeah, Cas, give it to me. Fuck me so good,” he panted. His knuckles turned white, fingers tightened around the solid stained wood. “Wanna feel your dick in me for days. Wanna think about this during my meeting with Adler.” He half snickered, half moaned at his own rambling, but it worked. Castiel was giving him all that he wanted and more. So much so that Dean lost the ability to form words. Anything not to have to think about Zachariah Adler at present.
It was insistent and unrelenting and exactly what Dean had been begging him for all night. All week actually, if he spent any time considering the subliminal way Dean always looked at him at the office. Like he was prey. Castiel’s fingers were painting bruises on his sharp hip bones under his tight grip. The way his balls slapped against Dean’s ass was practically pornographic. The headboard rattled and shook against the wall and Dean met every thrust with a determined backwards thrust of his own in a desperate attempt to take Castiel even deeper. Hold him there for longer.
With a rough grunt, Castiel wrapped his strong arms around Dean’s middle and heaved him upright to impale him properly; the way they both wanted. They moaned in unison at the new, deeper angle as Dean sunk down on his cock and Dean craned his neck to rest on Castiel’s shoulder as he thrust upwards into him. Dean’s breathing was coming out in quick, hot bursts against Castiel’s ears when he ran his tongue along the shell of it and took the lobe between his teeth. From this angle, he was mesmerized by the way Dean’s cock was jumping between his thighs as he pummeled him.
“Cas, I,” he stammered as Castiel pushed a moan from his chest, “I lo--”
Castiel cut him off with a searing kiss to show him he knew, to show him he felt it too. Possessively curling a hand around Dean’s exposed throat, he effectively stopped the words from leaving his tongue. “Touch yourself for me,” he growled instead.
Feelings weren’t allowed here. Feelings made everything messier. This was about fucking. Those were Dean’s own words and despite how desperately he felt for this man, he wasn’t about to let Dean mess whatever this was up. He needed this too much. Needed him. The thought alone scared him to death.
“Yeah, yeah, okay,” he babbled, fully aware and utterly aroused by the fingers pressing into his jugular, until the redirective finally registered. Without another word, Dean spit into his palm and jerked his cock nearly in rhythm with Castiel’s sharp, quick thrusts. The head of his slicked up cock barely peeked through the eye of his fist the closer he got to the edge. Castiel was nailing his prostate directly from this angle and the few words he attempted were a jumbled incoherent mess.
Dean’s cock was leaking over his fist and Castiel didn’t know how much longer he could keep up this pace, but the answer came suddenly Dean was coming with a crying shout, back arching against his chest. His cum shot over his hand and thighs as he took Castiel’s cock through the entire ordeal. The muscles of his ass clenched and stroked him as it slid inside him as deep as he could go. He bit down on his shoulder and rocked into him until he felt skin break. Not so long after Castiel was coming too; hot, thick ropes painting the inside Dean’s ass as they continued to milk each other through the motions.
When he finally slowed, Dean craned his neck back to lock their lips in a deep, hungry kiss like he was still searching for any salty bitter trace of himself on Castiel’s tongue. For him, the only thing he wanted to taste was Dean, whatever form that came in. Not wanting to exit him yet, Castiel clung to him, holding his back against his chest as he departed from Dean’s lips and kissed along the hinge of his jaw, down the line of his traps, and licked the sweat beading on the nape of his neck. He nibbled the skin there and lazily smirked when Dean sighed into it.
“You’re going to have fun cleaning yourself out later,” he teased as he caught his breath and hooked his chin over Dean’s shoulder. He could have sat like that forever. Dean in his lap, pressed against his chest, as he plugged him up. But they didn’t have forever.
“Don’t care.” Dean was too weak to open his eyes, his chest rising and falling with each labored breath. “Fuckin’ worth it,” was all he said in return.
After another savoring moment, Castiel carefully extracted himself from Dean and laid the other man down on the bed as he went to the ensuite to get a warm, wet cloth. He noticed himself in the mirror then, hair sticking every which way, skin flushed and gleaning sweat. More importantly, no marks. Though he couldn’t say Dean’s neck and shoulders were faring quite the same way. He ran the water till it was hot and returned to the bedroom. Gently, he cleaned Dean’s thighs and hands and wiped his softened dick down before tossing the cloth aside and joining him in the bed again.
He’d barely laid himself down before Dean was collecting him in his arms almost as possessively as Castiel had gripped his throat. More so, the longer he’d held him there.
Against every fiber in his being screaming at him to stay right where he was, Castiel looked to the nightstand cluttered with photographs and old books and found the time. It was nearly 9’oclock. “It’s getting late,” Castiel murmured against the top of Dean’s head, “I should be getting home soon.” His hair smelled like citrus and musk and altogether entirely Dean. He could’ve gotten lost in the scent if only he allowed himself to stay.
“I know.” If anything, the statement caused Dean to latch on more firmly. “Wish you could stay,” he said meekly, catching Castiel’s eyes as he said it. To show him entirely just how much he meant it. Meant the words he’d tried to say before.
Cas, I love you.
“Me too,” he admitted softly, running his fingernails through Dean’s short crop of hair the peculiar way Dean liked. “But then, I’d never leave.”
Dean threaded the fingers of his free hand with Castiel’s where it rested on his chest, pondering the sentiment. “I’d never ask you to. Leave, I mean.”
“It’s just… Every time you come over, I dunno, I kind of hate it when you go after. The bed’s too damn big and there’s always too many damn leftovers.”
He thought of the mess of Chinese takeout they’d left abandoned on Dean’s counter before all this that had probably gone cold by now and he snorted. “But you wouldn’t ask me to leave.”
“Eventually. Couldn’t handle you everyday,” he ribbed. “Just, I dunno. Want to fall asleep and wake up to your ugly mug one of these mornings without you needing to rush home. Make you some breakfast and get you your friggin’ coffee so you’re not such a bitch.” Sheepishly avoiding Castiel’s eyes, he added, “...But I’m not gonna ask for the moon or whatever. I can deal. Just… I mean it, y’know?”
Castiel did know. They’d had this conversation more than once and every time they did Castiel promised “soon”, but it had been months and he was still making hollow promises. Frankly, he didn’t know what anyone saw in him.
“You think I’m a bitch?” he asked instead, lips curling into a small smile as he looked to Dean then. He never really was a morning person and that quirk extended to the office. Especially early morning department meetings.
“You know I do,” Dean teased back, leaning in for a slow kiss, that quickly deepened to something more.
Castiel moaned into it, but forced himself to part. “Dean--”
“One more time,” he urged. He slid his hand down the firm muscles of Castiel’s stomach to cup his cock and balls in order to convince him. “I’m still stretched. It’ll be quick.”
Castiel knew he was supposed to object, he just wasn’t sure how when Dean touched him like that, and looked at him like that, and kissed his neck like that. “You’re a siren.”
“I’m your siren,” he quipped, stroking him patiently, insistently.
Castiel groaned as he twisted his wrist. “You know, I’m older than you. What makes you think I can even get it up again?”
“Past experience,” Dean mumbled next to his ear, devilish smile evident in his tone.
And as if Dean’s touch were dark magick, Castiel came back to life.
Distractedly, Castiel almost missed it when the light turned green, head still swimming in the clouds on his drive across town. He was alerted by an obnoxious horn blaring from behind his old Cadillac, the only other one on the road at this hour. “Yeah, I got it,” he irritably muttered aloud as he pressed his foot to the gas, shaking himself out of it.
He was stalling, really. Taking his time driving home. The radio was pointedly off and staying that way and the ride home was quiet. He’d dozed off after the second round and only come to again when it was pushing midnight. He chastised himself the entire way out of Dean’s apartment, but only because he felt like he should be punished, not because he actually regretted anything they’d done together. Based on the time on his wristwatch, he’d make it home just after midnight. All his planned excuses flew out the window as he slowed to another stop just before his house came into view.
He couldn’t wait forever.
Pulling into the driveway, he cursed himself under his breath as his headlights faded and the engine ticked under the hood. There was a light still glowing in the living room, the flickering of the television screen through the veiled curtains. She’d waited up for him.
He sat there for a few moments more even, head falling back on the seat as he closed his eyes, mustering up the courage to open the car door. It was quiet out here in the car and no one expected anything from him out here. Just the gentle summer breeze blowing through the rhododendron blooms. The sweet smell carried through the crack in the window as Castiel inhaled deeply through his nose. His hand found its way into the inner breast pocket of his trench coat on automatic impulse and he clasped the gold band, toying with it between his fingers before slipping it on the third finger of his left hand. Instantly, he felt heavier than he had all day.
Gathering his briefcase from the passenger seat, he sucked in one last breath and decided it was time to get out. 12:05AM. His dress shoes dragged and scuffed all the way up the front walk until he reached the front door. It was unlocked. Undoubtedly for him.
“Hannah?” He spoke softly as he shrugged out of his trench coat and hung it by the door. “Are you awake?”
He toed off his dress shoes and neatly lined them up on the mat. The television set was on low in the other room. One of those love line commercials they only played at this hour of the night. He rounded the corner to the living room expecting to find his wife asleep on the couch, but the room was barren. She must have been watching one of those terrible romances she always insisted on that Castiel still never really understood despite how many she forced him to endure. They reminded him of that show Dr. Sexy that Dean was obsessed with. At least he could understand that one when Dean talked about it. Or maybe he just paid more attention.
Entering the kitchen off the living room, there was a light left on over the sink. A foiled casserole dish sitting on the stove. Lasagna from the smell of it. It was still warm, and Castiel hissed as he realized that only after touching it. He sucked the pad of his thumb into his mouth and furrowed his brow, turning to head down the short hallway to the bedroom.
“Hannah, you in?” She must have been, her Prius was in the driveway.
When she finally answered, he sighed in vague relief.
“Cas, honey, is that you?”
The bathroom, he figured. It was the only room he hadn’t checked. “Who else would it be,” he called back as he made his way towards the bathroom.
“It’s so late, I couldn’t sleep. I was starting to worry about you,” she said, “How come you’re home so late?”
“Just my lucky day, I guess,” he joked with barely concealed contempt for himself.
“Did that bastard have you working all this time?”
He came to slouch against the wall next to the bathroom door as he heard her moving around from the other side. The tell tale squeak of the shower starting and then the click and creak of the door handle. Castiel fought the urge to correct her, settling instead to sheepishly admit, “I fell asleep.” It wasn’t technically a lie.
“Well, I’m glad you’re home now.”
“Me too,” he lied outright.
Her face peeked through the crack in the door full of concern, but it quickly dissipated into a flirtatious smile, appraising his mussed appearance. Slipping her hand through the crack, she pulled him into the suddenly cramped bathroom.
“You're in a good mood,” he noted. In stark contrast to his own at present.
The bathroom was quickly steaming up causing the air to feel thick and heavy. She had a towel wrapped around her and nothing else. Reaching up to his collar, her fingers worked to undo the knot in his tie.
“Hannah, what are you doing?” he groaned as she tugged at his tie and slid it off. She went for his belt buckle next, sly smile never leaving her face.
“It’s been a while,” she said, setting her sights on his shirt buttons.
“It hasn’t been that long,” he argued.
“Well, long enough,” she countered. “Besides, I know that place has been wearing you down lately with all the long hours. You want to hop in with me?” She angled her head towards the shower, steam billowing the curtain as it heated up to near scalding.
Castiel followed her sights and froze.
He should say yes. He knew that.
It had been two months and four days. Not since things with Dean had started becoming more frequent. Not since he started ‘working late’ and got home most nights after Hannah had already gone to bed. Not that he was complaining. But in the moment, in some sort of fucked up twisted sense, it felt like in doing so he would be unfaithful to Dean.
She was staring up at him with those silently pleading blue eyes, one’s he used to get lost in before all he saw was green, and all he had to do was follow through to make them stay green indefinitely, but for whatever reason, he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
“Soon,” he promised her too. “I’m exhausted, but I think I’m going to get some of that lasagna before bed.” When her face fell, he added, “I’ll make you a plate for when you get out?” He gave a weary attempt at a smile and promptly left the bathroom.
He took the opportunity to change into his pajamas in the bedroom before he returned to the kitchen. And alone here, he could smell it. Smell Dean, his cum leaving traces on his skin. With a paper towel, he attempted to wash his stomach from the way Dean rode him the second time around, but it struck him then he really didn’t want to get rid of it. He didn’t really want to be here at all. How soon was now, in actuality?
He served himself a square of lasagna and cut one for Hannah, leaving it on a plate by the stove. Making his way into the living room, he sat on the couch and calculated, pretending to watch the soap drama Hannah must have DVR’d unfolding on the television screen.
No wonder she was always horny, Castiel idly thought to himself as the nearly shirtless man stood out in the rain outside his love interest’s house, professing his undying love for someone he barely even knew.
It wasn’t long before Hannah joined him on the sofa. They ate in strained silence, aside from Castiel assuring her the lasagna turned out just as good as it always did despite the fact he knew Dean’s was better and Hannah attempted to ask him about work. He deflected as he usually did, and he tried to work up the nerve to tell her he was leaving. Leaving her, the house, the dog. He was always more of a cat person, really. He could start a new garden anywhere. Dean had a lovely terrace suitable for herbs. Dean made his coffee better. Dean thought his bitchy morning personality was endearing. More importantly than any of that, Castiel loved Dean. He really did. Even if he wouldn’t allow himself to say it because saying it made him a bad person. And once upon a time, he’d loved Hannah too, but not in the same way. He didn’t know what he was missing until he found it in Dean.
But none of this left his lips. He took another bite of the mediocre lasagna instead. For whatever reason, Chinese takeout always made him hungry again later.
After another tedious lull in conversation, Hannah set her plate down on the table. She turned her body to face him and he tentatively placed his half eaten lasagna on the table too. She seemed nervous which only served to make him nervous in return.
“Hannah?” Castiel tilted his head and squinted at her. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
She breathed deeply to ground herself, closing her eyes. And then just as abruptly as she’d never said anything at all, she announced in one fell swoop, “I’m pregnant!”
Castiel’s eyes opened wide, then his eyebrows pinched. Processing. His mouth flapped like a fish on dry land, throat feeling much the same, and then he frowned. Processing still. Suddenly, his mouth felt bone dry. He could hardly swallow. “You’re… pregnant?”
“Yes!” Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle what Castiel presumed was an overexcited grin. “We’re pregnant,” she corrected emphatically as she started tearing up.
“Um… What- What is it? How long?” He asked, mind and body still in shock. How was this possible was a more apt question.
“I don’t know yet, it’s too early to tell. I’d wanted to tell you a couple weeks ago when I missed my period, but I wasn’t sure how, and then with the new project at work you haven’t been around much, and well, I wanted to make sure it would stick this time--”
Her voice kept playing, but all Castiel heard was the faint buzzing of static from the television set. He registered her staring again when her voice cut out. That same familiar stare, the one that made him feel all the guilt he never felt at Dean’s, and he looked up from his lap to meet it. With as much enthusiasm as he could muster, he smiled a watery smile at her. The corners of his eyes prickled with moisture, but he wasn’t sure what this feeling was.
“Hannah, that’s… this is…” He swallowed thick, throat still too dry it was painful. “This is wonderful news,” he said, but it was just as vacuous as his promises.