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A Collection of Short Stories vol. 1: The Alphabet of Shameless Smut & Sexy Times

Chapter Text

A is for Alpha/Omega

Castiel should have known that he would first scent his mate at an idyllic little bookstore.

That fact isn’t all that surprising given that Castiel is a successful author and has been writing for twenty-some-odd years and the whole point of finding a mate is to have someone you are completely compatible with – genetically, emotionally, and physically – in order to breed and further strengthen the species.

It also isn’t surprising that with that first scent of his mate – leather with hints of wildflower honey and warm pine needles – Castiel feels that very particular twinge in his groin accompanied with a preliminary gush of slick from his backside. It is instinct is telling his body to get ready.

What is surprising, and what he never would have been able to prepare himself for, is just how devastatingly handsome his mate is.

For a man who makes his living with words, he sure is having a hard time finding them at this moment.

The man behind the counter, who is scenting the air around him and may be a living and breathing version of Castiel’s idea of perfection, doesn’t seem to have that problem.

“Everybody out!" he shouts. “Out! Get out! Take your books and…” this man, his mate, steps around the counter and corrals the few patrons toward the exit. “Out, out, get out,” he’s practically snarling. Castiel can feel the slick running down the back of his thigh and he knows that his mate can smell it.

Castiel is glued to the spot and can’t be bothered to move out of the way of the frustrated folks getting shuffled through the door. Not when his Alpha is getting closer and closer and looks positively feral.

The door slams hard and the bell above it jingles. Castiel hears the bolt lock with finality and the blinds close in a rush and before he can even process what those sounds mean he feels a strong grip pulling on his arm and he’s being pressed against a bookshelf, his mate’s nose inches from his own.

“What’s your name?” the Alpha growls, his green eyes glowing wild.

“Cas-.” His voice falters when the Alpha buries his face in Castiel’s neck and breaths in deep. He clears his throat and tries again. “Castiel Novak.”

The Alpha looks up at him with a start.

“Castiel Novak? The Castiel Novak?” There is a surprising shift in the Alpha’s manner at that moment. Castiel nods and watches as his mate’s animal instincts cool off momentarily, allowing a brief look of admiration to show. “Huh, that’s really something. You’ve got your very own shelf in here.” The Alpha grins and goes back to scenting his neck and Castiel allows himself to relax into it.

“And you…”

“Dean Winchester.” He grumbles into Castiel’s throat, tonguing the sensitive skin over his pulse.

“… of Winchester Books?” Of course his mate would own the bookstore.

“The one and only… God damn you smell fucking awesome.

The urgency has calmed slightly as the two press into each other, getting to know the others scent. The Alpha licks and nibbles on the delicate flesh of the omega’s neck, no doubt selecting the place he will be marking to claim his mate.

“Are you ready to do this?”

“Like we have much of a choice…” Castiel is only sort of serious but it stops the Alpha, or Dean, in his tracks.

“Of course we have a choice. I’m an Alpha but I’m not a monster. I’m not going to do this if you don’t want it.” He looks Castiel directly in the eyes, and his omega instinct tells him to look down, to submit, but he’s quick to realize that may not be the best way to make his point to Dean. This Alpha doesn’t seem to want a lax, obedient omega to claim. He wants an omega who chooses to be claimed by him, who wants him.

“So if I said no right now, you would stop this? You would let me leave here and not chase after me?”

Instead of answering, Dean removes his hands from Castiel’s hips, takes two large steps back, and crosses his arms over his chest to punctuate his point. He swallows hard, his jaw clenches, and his cheeks are flushed red but he doesn’t look like he’s about to pounce. He looks surprisingly under control.

“You realize I didn’t actually just say ‘no,’ right?” Castiel says after a moment of waiting for Dean to come back to him.

“Uh, yeah. But I’m making a statement.” Dean shifts his eyes to one side of the store and then the other before they find Castiel’s again.

This is new and different and Castiel already loves it. He walks to Dean slowly, slick steadily leaking from his hole telling him he’s ready. Dean doesn’t reach out to him, he just stays stock-still and watches, wide-eyed as Castiel presses against him, scents his throat, then growls in his ear, “Mate me, Alpha.”

Instinct takes over. Their lips collide in a brutal kiss, all teeth and tongues, clashing and fighting for purchase. Dean pulls Castiel deeper into the store, bumping into shelves and tables and a plush leather chair. Castiel finds himself backed up against another wall of shelves. Dean pulls off his own shirt and apparently pedaling books day-in and day-out is a great way to stay in shape because when Dean’s t-shirt comes off it reveals a tanned, toned, and muscular chest and stomach, all firm ridges and valleys and warm skin. Castiel can’t help but run his hands up and down the newly exposed flesh.

Then there’s the sound of fabric tearing and buttons bouncing on the floor when Castiel realizes that Dean must have gotten fed up fumbling with the buttons on his shirt and decided to tear it off of the omega instead.

“I liked that shirt.” Castiel says, a little breathless and incredibly aroused.

“I’ll buy you another one.” Dean takes in the sight of Castiel before him. “I’ll buy you whatever you want. I’ll take good care of you, Cas, I swear. I’ll be so good to you. I’ll make you happy or die trying...” Dean mumbles all of this between kisses and suckles at Castiel’s bare chest and stomach as he works his way lower and lower down his body.

Castiel’s omega swoons at the Alpha’s words. Castiel himself knew that he is completely capable of taking care of himself; he is successful and well-off, he’ll be fine with or without a mate. But the ancient impulses inside of him are driven wild with desire at the promise of being provided for and cherished.

He knows that Dean’s Alpha needs to say those things just as much as his omega needs to hear them, and it’s comforting to know that they’re both experiencing the same propensities.

His thoughts scatter as he’s quickly turned to face the bookshelf and there is a thud behind him. He looks back and sees that Dean has dropped to his knees and is pulling down Castiel’s slacks and boxers. The breath is stolen from his lungs at the first feeling of Dean’s hot tongue licking a long stripe over his hole and up the cleft of his ass. He hears the man groan and the Alpha growl simultaneously.

He’s done for.

Dean’s hands spread his cheeks, exposing Castiel completely, but he can’t find it in himself to care as the Alpha laps up his slick and makes the most graphic and shameless sounds Castiel has ever heard.

“So good omega. You taste so…” The Alpha can’t finish his sentences and Castiel can hardly hear him anyway for the blood rushing loudly in his ears and the word Mate! that the scent of Dean’s arousal is screaming at him.

A tongue breaches his hole and Castiel lets out a lewd groan, tossing his head back, so pathetically desperate for more. One of his hands grips at the shelf in front of him while the other winds around behind him and tangles into the hair on the top of Dean’s head, grabbing and pulling and grinding him in deeper, faster, harder, anything. Dean reaches around to Castiel’s cock and grips it tight, giving it quick, short strokes that brings Castiel to the edge in mere moments.

“De- Dean,” Castiel gasps, “Dean no I- I don’t want to come on the books!”

Dean takes Castiel’s hips in a strong grip and pulls him back and down on top of the Alpha’s lap.

“My mate would worry about something like that, wouldn’t he?” Dean nips at Castiel’s shoulder and with Alpha strength and grace lays them down onto the hardwood floor in the aisle, Dean behind and curled tightly around Castiel as he continues fisting the omega’s cock with his left hand while his right is tucked under Castiel’s neck, wrapped around to his chest and tweaking the hard, pink bud of his nipple until Castiel comes with a shout.

“Damn perfect omega…” Dean says, spreading the hot mess in his hand over Castiel’s cock, earning him an undignified squeak from the omega.

“Knot.” Castiel breaths out while Dean continues to stroke him.

“Are too.” Dean bites at Castiel’s earlobe.

“No. Knot. Your knot. Want it.” Castiel is able to stammer out because yes, he already came, but that hardly matters. Being this close to an Alpha, especially this soon-to-be his Alpha, an orgasm means practically nothing if there’s not a fat knot locked inside of him to clench around and milk the sperm and hormones out of.

He is still hard and aching and Dean continues to stroke him, faster and faster and “oh, fuck, oh fuck! Oh God Dean!"

Castiel comes again, this time with a flood of slick leaking out of him as well, a desperate attempt at signaling to the Alpha to stop messing around and claim him already.

It seems to work because before Castiel has even caught his breath he feels warm fingers rubbing over his hole, slicking themselves up and pressing into him.

Yes,” Castiel hisses, the feeling of something finally inside of him relieving a little of his desperation and need. It’s not a cock, and it not a knot, but at least it’s something.

Then it’s gone, and Castiel actually whines.

“Shh shh shh, it’s okay, gorgeous omega,” is whispered in Castiel’s ear as he strains his neck, looking back to see Dean using the slick to lubricate his – holy shit – gigantic Alpha cock. Castiel gulps, and Dean kisses his cheek and directs him to look forward and relax. “I’ll give you what you need, don't worry. I just really enjoy seeing how bad you want me.”

It is then that Castiel feels the blunt tip at his hole, breaching and stretching it, and Castiel is so far beyond ready for it that his body essentially opens up and swallows Dean down in one beautifully fluid motion until he can feel wiry hair brushing against the cheeks of his ass.

Both Alpha and omega sigh in relief at the feeling of filling and being filled. Dean’s left hand slides down the slick backside of Castiel’s thigh, grips under his knee and hoists his leg up, spreading the omega’s legs before rolling his hips slowly, pulling out and then pressing back in with purpose.

Castiel isn’t a prude; he’s had sex with men before, and he’s used what he always considered respectably large dildos with inflatable knots, but this… this is new. This is filling him in ways he’s never experienced.

Yes they are mates, and they are probably experiencing something beyond the standard physical connection of sex right now – emotionally, spiritually, yadda yadda whatever – but honestly Castiel really is more taken by the how well the two of them fit together in the strictly physical sense. Dean is long and thick, and Castiel’s body is accommodating it like it's what he was designed to do. He’s able to take everything his Alpha’s got and it’s just past comfortable. He gets that stretch, that pleasant burn, that prodding behind his belly button that sends lightning bolts straight down his dick.

Dean’s pace picks up, and Castiel finds himself pushing back to meet Dean’s movements and it’s not long before he can feel Dean’s knot swelling and starting to catch on the rim with each thrust. His omega whines for the knot, and in response is the telltale carnal growl of an Alpha taking charge of his person.

Castiel braces himself for the bite.

What he doesn’t brace for is Dean’s plea for permission before the bite.

“Castiel, can I…” he struggles to speak through the jarring thrusts and his Alpha cannot be pleased with being interrupted, but Dean fights for it. “Can I bite you? Please, Castiel, may I claim you? Please, oh fuck I’m so close…”

Castiel’s omega howls and Castiel cries out yes! and Dean pushes up into Castiel one final time, his knot catching and locking them together as Dean shoots load after load of come inside of the omega. There is a piercing sensation in the muscle between his neck and his shoulder where Dean makes his mark, the feeling of which pushes Castiel over the edge, screaming into his third orgasm, finally with a knot inside of him to constrict around as he comes. Dean licks away the blood from wound he’s created, cleaning and soothing it, and growls at the sensation of Castiel clenching around him, forcing even more of Dean’s seed into him.

Finally Dean lets go of Castiel’s leg and as he lowers it the knot tugs at his rim. A little bit of come leaks out onto Castiel’s thigh.

“Careful,” Dean whispers, and he pulls Castiel closer to him, letting the omega use one arm as a pillow while the other moves continuously over Castiel’s body, exploring and appreciating every bit of sweaty skin within its reach.

“We had to do this on the floor, didn’t we?” Castiel sighs, resigned to the fact that they’re going to be spending the next few hours on the hard, dirty floor of the shop.

“Desperate times,” Dean chuckles. “Next time I knot you will be on our bed and I’ll make sure that there are snacks within reach. What do you like to eat, Cas?”

Castiel thinks for a moment before answering.

“Blackberries,” he says, “and beer.”

“Like I said – perfect.” Dean hums peacefully and nuzzles into the back of Castiel’s neck. “My omega.”

Castiel smiles, thankful that his Alpha happens to be thoughtful and sexy. That’s when he notices the very familiar books on the bottom shelf in front of him.

Novak, Castiel

“Dean you didn’t say that my shelf was a bottom shelf.”

There’s a sleepy grumble of a laugh behind him and Dean says, “I didn’t invent the alphabet, Cas. It just happened that way.”

“But still…”

Castiel reaches out and selects the first book in the first series he ever got published; a sort of goofy one called Assbutt Angels. He starts at the beginning and reads aloud until the knot goes down.

Chapter Text

B is for Breath Play

They’ve done this a number of times now, but each time Dean feels his heart rate speed up as they prepare for the scene.

This time is no different.

He knows what’s coming.

And despite his partner being an angel who could mojo him back to life without a second thought, Castiel refuses to partake in any type of breath play while Dean is bound.

Cas claims that it’s more exciting for him when he gets to watch Dean control his desire to fight him off on his own accord. Dean figures it’s because Cas wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he was ever the one to take Dean’s life away – even if he can bring Dean back just as easily.

“Be still for me now.” Cas growls, and Dean grips the iron bars of the headboard a little tighter and takes deep, regulated breaths as Cas slowly teases the plug in and out of his ass. The angel is still fully dressed except for the trench coat and overcoat which have been tossed over the desk chair, and his blue tie, which is now tied around Dean’s cock and balls in a tight, intricate little bow in lieu of a cock ring.

Many scenes Castiel designs are meant specifically to help Dean slip away – to allow him to forget real life and get lost in sensation – and let the memories of demons and monsters and endless killing fade for a while until Dean can only focus on the happy subspace created for him by the sting of the riding crop, the ache of the paddle, the helplessness of being bound, and the pleasure of release that Castiel will always provide for him. He can forget, however briefly, that tomorrow he’ll have to wake up and save the world... again.

That is, until Cas brings him back to himself with words of praise and warm sloppy kisses all over his body, and by then Dean is so drained that even the apocalypse doesn’t seem all that bad.

This is not one of those scenes.

This one is designed to keep Dean hyper-aware of his body and of Cas the whole time. He’s not allowed to waft in and out of awareness. Cas demands that Dean maintain eye contact and audibly respond when asked a question. If Dean gets too absorbed in the scene and doesn’t respond, Cas calls it off immediately and finishes Dean off with his hands or mouth so he is never left wanting – so Dean doesn’t feel as if he deserves punishment for not being able to finishing the scene.

So here they are, safe in Dean’s room in the bunker. Dean lies on his back, head and shoulders propped up with pillows and his arms above him holding onto the metal bars of the headboard. Cas is kneeling between his spread legs. There is nothing restraining him besides his own willpower. Castiel won’t even rest half of his body weight on Dean to keep him still. He has to do this all on his own.

“You are doing very good.” Cas presses the plug into Dean’s ass and leaves it. It’s one of the thinner ones that they use, but it’s curved and Cas knows right where to stop so that it presses firmly against Dean’s prostate. “Tell me, Dean, what is your safe word?”

“Pudding.” Dean almost chuckles saying it.

“Good. And if you are unable to speak, what is your nonverbal cue to end the scene?”

“I’ll let go of the headboard.”

“Exactly. Letting go with just one or both hands will call off the scene immediately. You will not be reprimanded in any way for ending the scene. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand.”

The angel takes him in hand and begins the slow, hard strokes that will eventually build and build until Dean can’t stand it, until finally, Cas will take his breath away.

The anticipation is almost as amazing as the release – almost.

Cas twists his wrist as it his hand slides up Dean’s dick, and he squeezes the head just enough to draw a low whine from Dean as he fights the urge to thrust up into Cas’ fist. The angel’s movements are painfully slow but Dean can still feel the heat pooling behind that goddamn tie.

“Do you trust me?” Castiel always asks this before they scene. Dean used to think it was stupid, because of course he trusts Cas. He trusts Cas with his life on a regular basis. Despite what they’ve gone through, despite what they’ve done…

Eventually he realized it was because of all that, all the fucked up things they’ve done to each other and because of each other, the one thing Cas needs from Dean is confirmation that he still believes in his angel and that right now Dean trusts Castiel.

Dean could give that to him, wholly and truthfully.

“Yes, Castiel, I trust you.”

Cas’ face was stone, but Dean could see his eyes dilate as they often did when Dean used his full name.

“Shall we begin then?” Cas smiles warmly at Dean and strokes his cheeks softly, just once.

“Yes, please.”

With that, Cas presses the button on the bottom of the plug and it vibrates to life inside of Dean. His body jolts and he closes his eyes, reveling briefly in the pleasure of it.

“Be still, Dean. And look at me.”

This was all a part of it: Castiel’s firm voice – knowing that Dean would move, knowing that Dean would squeeze his eyes closed tight as the plug tickles his sensitive insides – demanding that he fight it.

Dean snaps his eyes open in time to watch Cas’ soft smile turn wicked as he turns the dial on the vibrator up one notch and continues to stroke Dean’s leaking cock with the same slow strokes as before.

“Does that feel good?”

Dean hums in response and nods his head, keeping his eyes trained on Cas.

“Use your words, Dean.”

“Y-yes. Yes, Cas. Feels good.” It’s hardly been a minute and Dean can already hear in his own voice how far gone he is. He needs this so badly, but at this rate he’s not sure he’ll make it to the end.


It continues; the same frustratingly unhurried strokes and the constant vibrations against his prostate. It’s good. It’s so good. But it’s futile and Dean thinks he’ll never get what he needs with that fucking tie diluting the pleasure just enough to be irritating.

“Twenty more strokes and I’ll turn the vibrator up. Count them out loud for me starting at one.” Cas keeps up the same painfully slow strokes.


Dean begins counting immediately


Not wanting to miss a single stroke


Because the faster he gets to twenty


The sooner he gets to feel that release


Castiel’s eyes are locked onto Dean's


And fuck, the way he looks at Dean


Like he’s something precious


Castiel stills.

“No, Dean. You already said seven. Begin again at one please.”

“Noooo…” Dean whimpers as Cas begins to stroke again, and he knows that he still has to count all the way to twenty. So, reluctantly, he takes a deep breath and starts over.

By the time he gets to twenty his voice is wrecked and his vision is going a little blurry, but he tries to stay focused on Cas, who’s bright blue eyes haven’t strayed from his for a second. Every inch of skin feels tight and electric like a live wire. He wants to bend and stretch and come so badly but all he can feel is the vicious stimulation inside and outside of him.

Castiel praises him and turns the vibrator up to the highest setting and Dean cries out, but doesn’t move. He doesn’t realize he’s begging until he feels Cas’ warm hand cover his mouth lightly. His eyes go wide and yes yes yes his brain screams because this is what he wants.

Then Cas nods and removes his hand for a second – only a second – and Dean is barely able to gulp in half a breath before Castiel’s hand clamps down over his mouth and nose and completely cuts off his ability to breathe.

A warm, soft static is what Dean feels first.

It starts in thighs and creeps its way up to his groin.

The beat of his heart is magnified, thumping against his ribcage and against the words that Castiel marked him with long ago.

The cadence of each second’s passing is felt in every vein.

Each merciless vibration from the toy inside of him is felt as an individual, brutal assault on his prostate as his muscles spasm and he constricts impossibly tighter around it.

The alarm bells begin to scream in Dean’s head and he’s sure that his lungs are being filled up with boiling water.

And Castiel keeps up that same slow fucking stroking of Dean’s cock, except now it is perfect. It’s slow enough to feel every single cell being touched by Cas’ firm hand, but fast enough to rapid-fire shots of pleasure past the numbness taking over his body and it’s everything Dean can do to keep his grip on the metal bars and…

Castiel removes his hand and Dean exhales quickly and inhales once before Castiel’s strong palm is on him again and oh God oh God oh fuck the alarm bells are back and even louder.

“So good. You are amazing.” Castiel’s calm, steady voice washes over Dean’s sensitive body like a caress and he grunts into Cas’ hand, his body beginning to twitch and jump, trying to breathe, trying to come, trying to oh fuck oh fuck! He can feel his eyes roll back in his head…

The palm on his face shifts and uncovers his nose just barely....

“Dean! Eyes on me!” Castiel snaps, bringing Dean back into the moment as he sucks as much air into his straining lungs as he can through his nostrils. It’s not a lot, but it’s enough. “Keep your eyes on me.” Castiel’s voice is calmer when he says it this time.

He’s wound so unbelievably tight he thinks he might snap in half. Soft whimpers escape him without his consent. His shaking, throbbing muscles are straining trying to utilize the small amount of oxygen they’re being allowed.

And the pressure in his balls, his body begging for release, the shame Dean should feel knowing that Cas can see the tears pooling in his eyes. He’s wants to cry with how badly he needs Cas to remove the tie so he can come from those fucking slow goddamn strokes.

“One more time, Dean. One more time and you can come.”

Castiel’s thumb pinches Dean’s nose without warning, mid-breath, and Dean’s eyes go wide. His exhausted body and lungs seize up and he feels the fire being stoked by Castiel’s touch as he strokes and twists and squeezes Dean’s cock.





With both hands occupied on different parts of Dean’s body, Cas resorts to using his mojo to remove the tie.

Dean sees heaven then.

Every star in the galaxy explodes behind his eyelids. New galaxies are born and planets collide and everything begins and ends with this orgasm.

He screams.

He hears himself screaming. That’s how he realizes that he can breathe again.

By the time the screams have faded into panting, and the panting to whimpers, Cas has turned off the vibrator and delicately pulled the plug out of Dean’s ass. He’s rubbing over the swollen, puckered hole gingerly, soothing the sensitive area while still stroking Dean through his orgasm. There is come painting Dean’s chest and in Cas’ hair and on his cheek and God knows where else.

“Beautiful. That was beautiful. That was perfect, Dean.” Castiel sounds so proud of him that if Dean’s skin wasn’t already completely flushed pink, that endearment from Cas would have definitely made him blush.

Dean can only respond with a shaky whimper as he feels the heat of Castiel’s body cover him. The angel runs his hands up Dean’s arms.

“Let go, Dean, you can let go now,” Cas whispers in his ear, gently prying Dean’s fingers from the bars. His knuckles are stiff and white, and Cas takes the time to stretch and bend and kiss each digit on both hands before slowly bringing Dean’s arms back down to his sides.

The warmth of blood rushing back into his arms combined with the cool air he’s able to breathe in freely now extinguishes the fire in his lungs and covers Dean in a soft, fuzzy numbness. His angel sits next to him, lightly brushing his tear-stained cheeks and stroking his hair and whispering praises.

Every muscle - every fiber of his being that was straining for release - everything in him has gone slack and Dean melts into the mattress as a puddle of sleepy, sated hunter.

Chapter Text

C is for Cockles

He lets Vicki answer the door when the doorbell rings seeing how he and West are in the kitchen, wrist-deep in a bowl of raw meat, bread crumbs, and parmesan cheese. Now that West is getting a little older, Misha is attempting to teach him how to cook real food. It’s saved the kitchen from projectile noodles (for the most part) and the stove from burned-on jam stains, but it’s also turned Cooking Fast and Fresh with West into Cooking Slow and Being Patient Until West Finally Loses Interest and Leaves to Pick on His Sister.

Squishing raw meat between his fingers has kept West’s attention longer than usual, though, and they’re just about ready to start pounding out burger patties when hard footsteps fall right outside the kitchen door.

“Hey Mish.”

Jensen walks in looking completely worn down. They’ve worked together long enough that Misha knows Jensen’s I’m Done expression, and this is it: a lop-sided smirk to hide behind and shoulders hunched like he’s about to cave in on himself.

“HI JENSEN!” West shrieks. It’s jarring, and Misha doesn’t miss the flinch in Jensen’s fragile façade.

“Hey Westie. What’cha guys makin’?”


“Awesome! That looks gross.”

“It is gross!” West lifts up a tiny fist of raw meat and squeezes it, forcing it to ooze through his fingers and fall back into the bowl. He makes a disgusted ewwwwww! noise and scrunches up his face.

“Maybe I should bring JJ over here and West can teach her how to cook.” Jensen leans against the counter.

“YEAH!” West shouts at the same time Misha says “NO.”

“No more kids are allowed to practice experimental cookery in this poor kitchen. It’s been through enough.” Jensen laughs because yeah, he’s heard the stories. Misha walks to the sink and lets the tap run until it’s hot enough and proceeds to scrape the goo from his hands.

Vicki walks in with Maison in tow. Jensen reaches down and tousles Maison’s hair.

Maybe Jensen thinks he should be home, with JJ and Dani and not here, in Misha’s kitchen, giving him that look that means I need you.

Yeah okay, so it’s a cliché from the show, but it’s also true. Before they had even read the script for that episode it was true, even if neither of them had realized it at that point just how true it was.

“I’ll take over in here. You guys can go do your thing.”

Leave it to Vicki, the most amazing woman in the world, to call them out. She’s so brazen about it. Jensen blushes and looks at the floor, like he does every time their relationship is acknowledged, and Misha pretends to ignore how adorable Jensen looks when he’s embarrassed.

“Want a beer?” he asks, hopefully taking some of the unnecessary shame away from the situation, but Jensen shakes his head and turns to leave the kitchen. When Misha looks back at Vicki, she’s wearing a worried expression.

“He sat outside in his car for about twenty minutes before he came to the door,” she whispers.

Misha takes a deep breath then rounds the counter to kiss Vicki on the cheek.

“Take care of him.” she says.

“I always do.”


His room looks exactly the same as it did when he left the last time.

It consists of a queen size bed, which he always makes before he leaves, and a nightstand with one drawer that’s always stocked with, uh, necessities. There’s also a lamp and an empty dresser. Apparently this used to be a guest room, but now it’s their room.

It stays locked. Jensen has the only key to it.

The fact that he has a room in Misha’s house that no one else has access too is fucking weird. It’s one of the many fucking weird things about this relationship.

And when it went from an arrangement to a relationship he isn’t even sure.

One day they were standing around waiting to shoot a scene mid-season 4, and after spending some time Googling his new co-star (which he’ll never admit to), Jensen brought up The Threesome Handbook and asked Misha how on earth he ended up marrying the woman who actually wrote the book on threesomes.

Misha, without missing a beat, replied “we’ve been together since high school, who in the hell do you think helped her with the research?”

Jensen had a good laugh at that, unsure if Misha was joking or not, but soon after that conversation Jensen found himself accepting an invitation for dinner at the Collins' house.

The way that Misha said dinner was very similar to the way he had said research


Jensen’s first threesome.

Two dudes and a lady.

Not exactly what Jensen always imagined, but it was fun all the same.

It was so fun, actually, that it became a regular thing, and each time Jensen ignored the fact that he’d find himself focused more and more on Misha than on Vicki. While he’d have his balls slapping against her chin and Misha would be pounding her from behind, they’d be looking at each other, kissing each other sometimes. Occasionally Jensen would reach over and pull Misha’s hair so he had to crane his neck because Jensen liked the way his throat strained and stretched when he moaned like that.

He was just lost in the moment is all.

His dick was in a chicks mouth, for fucks sake.

Then he started noticing the way Misha moved during sex, all strength and agility like some fucking wild cat, and he wondered what it would feel like to be on the receiving end of that kind of power. Jensen had always been the man in the sack, but Misha clearly dominated that role during their sexcapades.

So if Misha was the man, and Vicki was the woman, what did that make Jensen?

It surprised him how often he thought about it.

It surprised him how quickly he realized that he wanted Misha.

He hardly noticed when Vicki became just a spectator. She'd sit in a chair next to the bed and get herself off while watching them - the physical contact now solely between Misha and Jensen. Nobody seemed to mind the shift in dynamic.

Then he married Danneel and she was perfect. He loved her so fucking much, so he quit Misha and Vicki and focused on his new wife.

Life was good and easy for a while.

Then, of course, Dani started joking about having a threesome. And of course it had been while Jensen was pretty buzzed, so he said something along the lines of what about a foursome?

And then it happened.

Of fucking course it happened, and it was fucking insane. All limbs and sweat and noise. It was hot. And it was chaos. So chaotic, in fact, that he didn’t even notice how hard he had to work to find Misha in it all.

Dani noticed, though.

And it spawned quite a few insightful conversations. Jensen learned a lot about himself and Dani and how not all relationships fit into that cookie-cutter mold that he always believed in. There wasn’t one single equation of man + woman + marriage = happily ever after. Their equation was different, and eventually they both figured out how to be happy with it.

So now he and Misha have their own room.


When Misha walks into the bedroom, Jensen is sitting on the edge of the bed looking at his hands which are clasped in his lap. He looks a lot like Dean right now.

Sometimes Misha has a hard time differentiating the two of them. It’s like Jensen has a twin, and Misha needs to tread lightly until he can figure out which one he’s dealing with.

Jensen is fun. He’s open and enthusiastic and less concerned about all the little things. Jensen cracks jokes and laughs with abandon and can fuck Misha into tomorrow like nobody’s business. Jensen will spend hours kissing Misha just because he wants to; just because it makes them both feel good. Jensen doesn’t find anything about their relationship particularly unusual.

Jensen is generally a top, unless Misha is feeling bossy, then they’ll switch. But, for the most part, Jensen is a top.

Then there’s Dean, who is a little fragile. His presence is almost exclusively triggered by Jensen thinking too much. Dean needs to be cared for and adored. Dean needs to be made love to while he’s being told that he’s being fucked so he doesn’t get self-conscious about it. Dean has a hard time looking Misha in the eye.

Dean is a needy bottom who needs to be reminded that he’s not defective.

Misha wishes that Dean bothered him, but honestly he really enjoys being the only person who can find Jensen in the mess that is Dean and bring him back. After not seeing each other for a while, or going to a convention that’s steeped in what’s being coined as “Misha Hate” (he should really stay off the internet), it’s reassuring to know that he’s still wanted, still needed, by this man he adores.

When Jensen still doesn’t look up when the door closes and locks, Misha is sure that today is a Dean day.

He approaches the bed quietly and sits next to Jensen, close but not touching. Jensen’s closed-off posture is projecting a sign that reads ‘Proceed with Caution.’

“What happened?” Misha asks. No use beating around the bush and pretending that everything is fine.

“Just thinking too much.” Jensen’s voice is soft and ragged like he needs to clear his throat but can’t find the will to do so. Instead he picks at the skin around his fingernails.

Misha reaches out and puts a hand on Jensen’s shoulder – a non-threatening and reassuring gesture he does often. It’s his way of saying hey, I’m here. And sometimes Misha finds that he just needs to touch Jensen, for whatever reason – in public or in front of fans or on set – and this is an acceptable thing to do. This time, he leans into it and moves closer to Jensen, and Jensen puts a hand on his thigh.

“We can talk about it later, if you want. But right now do you want me to take care of you?” He whispers in Jensen’s ear. Jensen only nods, his eyes fluttering closed as he leans into Misha’s touch with a relieved breath.

The way they move together is fluid. Misha pulls himself onto Jensen’s lap and Jensen’s hands find their place on his hips. They don’t kiss right away, even though he’s dying to get that sad expression off of Jen’s face. Instead, he nuzzles against Jensen’s cheeks and nose, placing the lightest possible kisses on particular freckles and wrinkles, his eyelids, the hard lump in his jaw that jumps whenever he clenches his teeth – all his favorite spots.

When he finally kisses Jensen’s lips, they’re already parted and waiting for him: soft and pliable and so, so willing. Sometimes Misha forgets what his life was like before kissing Jensen. He’s kissed a lot of people, but no one has ever kissed him back quite like Jensen does. It spurs him on, makes him kiss with more fervor, and eventually it becomes so intense that they’re grabbing at each other and moaning into each others mouths without realizing it.

Misha finally has to pull himself away, even though he could spend all night kissing Jensen this isn’t want he needs right now. The man still won’t look up at him, his eyes focusing somewhere around Misha’s belly button while he plays with the bottom hem of his t-shirt. Jensen does notice when Misha begins to remove himself from his lap.

“Stand up.” Misha says, quiet but firm.

Jensen stands and without preamble, Misha begins undressing him and he doesn’t fight it at all. Jensen raises his arms over his head as Misha pulls off his shirt, and then steps out of his pants and underwear without Misha saying a word.

God, Jensen is a beautiful man. He’s softer around the edges than he was back when they met, and Misha wants nothing more than to touch every peak and valley and the soft skin that pads his hips now. Jensen has made ‘dad-bod’ jokes about himself before, but all Misha sees is Jensen exactly as he should be.

Misha takes off his own clothes and drops them to the floor along with Jensen’s, then grabs a condom and their favorite lube out of the nightstand drawer.

Before he can close the drawer, Jensen grabs the condom and tosses it back in. When Misha looks at him, he’s still not making eye contact but he shakes his head.

So that’s the way it’s going to be tonight.


Misha peels back the bedding and Jensen crawls in, lying on his stomach, his hands arms tucked under the pillow and his face turned away.

Whatever it is that’s bothering him – Misha will get to the bottom of it.

But, first-things-first.


Jensen doesn’t feel comfortable until Misha is settled between his legs and is slowly working his fingers in and out of him. Sometimes he’ll look at Misha’s hands while they’re on set and start thinking about all of the amazing things those fingers can do. Right now, they’re effectively stretching him open while purposefully missing his prostate every fucking time.

There’s this uncomfortable, almost painful itch under his skin, and he knows it won’t go away until Misha is buried inside of him, which means that this part is pretty goddamn important. But still, part of him wishes that Mish would just hurry the fuck up and fuck him already. He thinks he might like the burn of getting fucked before being fully prepped.

Misha has told him before that he’s never going to do that because while it seems exciting in theory, it actually sucks for everybody.

All this prep is still annoying though, so Jensen makes a point of not making a sound.

Misha isn’t making any noise either, so the only sound in the room is the squish and drag of Misha fucking him in the ass with three fingers. It’s obscene.

There’s suddenly direct pressure on his prostate and he grunts into the pillow as his hips jump off the bed.

“Oh, good, you’re awake.” Misha says from behind him, all nonchalant.

“Fuck off.”

Misha huffs a short laugh and then his fingers are gone. Jensen has his eyes closed, but he can picture exactly what’s happening behind him: the pop of the lube cap opening again, the slicking up of his cock, feeling the bed dip as Misha leans over him and lines himself up. And then there’s the pressure, the friction, the ohhhh.

They both groan at the sensation of Misha completely unsheathed inside of him. They don’t do this often, but right now Jensen can’t remember for the life of him why they don’t do this every time. It’s so good. He can feel every burning inch as it stretches him open. Soon he’ll feel it get even slicker as Misha leaks precome into him, and unless Jensen can muster up the courage to ask for what he really wants, Mish will pull out and come all over his ass and balls which he never realized was so fucking hot.

Misha moves slowly. Just hurry the fuck up he wants to say, but he doesn’t because Misha won’t listen anyway. It’s been a while since Jensen has been fucked, that feeling of being split open is just this side of painful and enough to keep him rooted to the moment until Misha bottoms out and stills, giving adequate time for Jensen to accommodate him comfortably.

Jensen feels Misha shift slightly, and then their bodies are covered with the blankets up to their shoulders. He lifts his hips up and back to signal to Misha to just fucking move already.

“Relax, Jen, we’ll get there. Just…” Misha reaches under him and adjusts his dick so that it’s reaching toward his belly button, before allowing him to settle back down, effectively squeezing it between the bed and his own stomach. Then Misha drags warm, blunt fingertips up his sides, over his shoulders and down his arms, finding Jensen’s fingers and interlocking them with his own under the pillow, pulling them even closer together.

It’s too intimate.

Jensen does not hold hands during sex.

But Misha won’t let go.

And Jensen realizes he hasn’t tried that hard to fight him off anyway. Actually, he’s found himself squeezing Misha’s fingers tightly with his own when the gesture sets off a stinging sensation behind his eyes because it is exactly what he needs.

Okay, so maybe he’ll hold hands, but Jensen absolutely does not cry during sex.

When Misha begins to move, the slow drag pulls a soft whine out of Jensen, and as he pushes back in, all of Jensen’s worries are forgotten for now. There is nothing but this: Misha draped over him and inside of him; their combined body heat surrounding them in the cocoon of blankets; their legs and fingers tangled together; and Misha’s hot breath on his neck between intermittent kisses.

He finds himself engulfed in the overwhelming comfort that Misha so aptly and willingly provides. Jensen hates him a little for it, too – for knowing just how needy he is – because it makes him feel weak and he cannot afford to feel weak.

He shouldn’t want this so desperately, and he definitely shouldn’t need this like he does, but Misha knows – has always known – and he’s never once judged him for it. He just keeps giving Jensen everything he can.


Jensen is so tight around him that Misha can feel as every muscle starts to relax and stretch, making way for him.

They haven’t done this in way too long.

Misha finds a rhythm, pulling out until the head catches on Jensen’s rim, and then sliding back in, aiming for that spot that gets Jensen to make those noises he enjoys so much. He rolls his hips and pushes in deeper using their locked hands as leverage. Jensen’s heat is perfect, especially without the barrier between them, and it swallows him up, taking everything he can give and begging for more.


Oh God the way Jensen says his name – it does things to Misha that it has no right doing. He buries his face down into the crook of Jensen’s neck and fucks him a little harder. Maybe he’ll say it again. Maybe…

Fuck, Mish…”


Jensen hides his face and moans into the pillow as Misha pounds into him even harder.

“I want to hear you,” Misha whispers in his ear, desperate for the sounds that he can pull from the man below him. “Don’t hold back.”

Sweat pools at the base of Jensen’s back and it makes crude, slick sounds as their bodies slide together. Jensen starts moving back against him, trying to meet his thrusts while grinding his neglected dick into the sheets.

Misha isn’t going to last much longer, not with all the soft mewls and tight heat squeezing around him.

He’s sure he hears a sob into the pillow before Jensen turns his head once again, revealing his profile with red cheeks and eyes squeezed shut so tight it almost looks like he’s in pain, but soft moans and whines continue to spill from his mouth.

It takes Misha a few moments to realize that those sounds are trying to become words.

“Mish, I want…” is all he can make out.

“What do you want? Jensen, tell me what you want…” He’s getting so close that if Jensen wants something else he’s going to need to say it quick.

“Don't- don't pull out.”

At first he believes he’s made up those words in his head, but when it registers that Jensen actually said them, that he’s really asking for that, it’s almost enough to push Misha over the edge right then. He stills all movements except for letting go of one of Jensen’s hands and gripping the base of his dick, hoping to bring himself back from the brink.


“Please Mish. I can’t… I want… don’t make me say it again.”

“If you want that, I want to see you. Roll over,” he begins to pull out but Jensen protests, shaking his head vigorously.

“No, I- I can’t. It’s too…”

“Intimate?” Misha finishes the sentence for him, knowing how hard he struggles with being this naked, not physically, of course, but emotionally.

Jensen nods and Misha leans in close to Jensen’s ear and whispers, “Is it really more intimate than holding my hand while I fuck you?” He softens the word fuck by rubbing over Jensen’s knuckles with his thumb. Jensen whimpers softly and squeezes his hand harder. “I want to give this to you if it’s what you want, but I need to be able to see you, Jen. Please? Pretty please? With a cherry on top?”

Jensen rolls his eyes and almost laughs then starts to move. Misha pulls all the way out of him and hovers above him, allowing Jensen a moment to settle on his back. Jensen avoids any eye contact at first, but eventually a shy glance finds its way to Misha.

“Hi.” Jensen says, and Misha can’t help his smile.

“Hi.” Misha gives him a deep, wet kiss that Jensen groans into. They’re still kissing as Misha pushes back into him nice and slow. Then, just to be obnoxious, he grabs one of Jensen’s hands, interlocking their fingers once again, and pins it above Jensen’s head.


“Seriously?” he whines, because of course Misha would want to have his cake and fuck it, too.

“Mmm hmm.” Misha smiles against his lips. “You’re holding my hand and looking at me when I come inside of you or it’s not happening.”

The acknowledgment of what is about to happen settles itself in Jensen’s groin. His free hand reaches for his own cock and he strokes in time with Misha’s movements. He ignores the fact that his legs have wrapped themselves around Misha’s hips and that he’s gripping tightly to Misha’s hand like it’s a lifeline.

He was able to ask for what he desperately wanted, and Misha is more than willing to give it to him.

Of course.

“Fuck, Jen, I’m so close.”

“Yeah, me… Me too oh fuck.”

Misha kisses him again and before he can kiss back Misha pulls their lips apart just enough for a whispered, breathy aaahhhhhh to escape his mouth. His wide, blue eyes squeeze closed and Jensen is so grateful that Misha made them face each other for this.

And then he feels it - Misha’s cock twitching inside of him as he comes, unloading deep inside of Jensen, his hot seed painting him and marking him in ways that no one else ever will.

Jensen comes silently, spraying across his own chest while Misha continues to fuck him through the mess he’s made. It’s so slick that when Misha moves it’s almost frictionless, and Jensen secretly wishes that it could be like this every time.

After a minute of Misha continuing to slide in and out, just allowing them both to revel in the pleasure of what they’ve done, he pulls out and collapses onto the bed next to Jensen. He immediately rolls toward Jensen’s body and begins licking at his neck and chin, licking away the come that made its way up that far.

“You’re like a cat.”

“You let your cat do this? That’s disgusting.”

“Fuck off, you know what I mean.” Jensen feels a real laugh escape his chest for the first time in hours as Misha starts to meow and continues cleaning the come from Jensen’s skin with his skilled tongue. Eventually he reaches for the baby wipes in the nightstand drawer, and Jensen goes completely lax, allowing Misha to wipe him clean.

When he feels the cool wipe against his rim he shivers.

Misha does nothing to clean up the mess inside of him, which is good. Jensen would never say it out loud, but he wants it there. He wants to feel it. He wants to carry Misha around with him for a while. No one will be able to tell, but they will know, and for some reason that thought is very comforting.

Finally Misha deems him clean enough, gives his own dick a cursory wipe, and lies down once again, resting his head on Jensen’s chest and flinging an arm casually over his stomach. Jensen wraps one arm around his shoulders and pulls him closer. With his other hand he reaches for Misha’s and twists their fingers together once again, albeit a bit awkwardly since the angle is all wrong.

He’s just not ready to let go yet.

“Shut up.” Jensen snaps preemptively.

“I didn’t even say anything!”

It’s quiet for a while, the only sound being the slide of skin as Jensen traces patterns up and down Misha’s arm. Finally Mish breaks the silence.

“Will you tell me what had you so worked up earlier?”

“Jus’ missed you s’all.” His voice slurs, sounding so tired that it makes the statement sound pretty convincing. It doesn’t invite too many questions which is good because Jensen isn’t sure if he could explain just how badly he’s missed Misha these past few days. How much he ached for Misha. How it has made him sick. After being cheek-to-cheek with him all month for YANA, he found himself having serious Misha withdrawals when it was over.

“We just spent all weekend together in Nashville...”

“It’s not the same.”

Misha hums in agreement. “Maybe in Vegas next week we can do this again before your panel, see if anyone notices anything different.”

The idea of Misha’s come leaking out of his ass while he’s on stage in front of hundreds of people sends a jolt of excitement through him. He’s still spent from earlier, but that doesn’t stop his dick from making a valiant effort to show its support of the idea.

“Dude, those fangirls are rabid. They’ll smell you on me the second I walk onstage.”

His stomach chooses that moment to growl, and Misha laughs and kisses his belly.

“Hamburgers?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” Jensen responds apprehensively. “Are they regular burgers or are they Cooking Fast and Fresh burgers?”

“I think they’re just regular hamburgers.”

It turns out that as soon as Misha left the kitchen West added a whole can of black beans and some shredded coconut to the burger meat.

Vicki grilled them up anyway and called them Caribbean Bean Burgers.

They weren’t terrible.

Chapter Text

D is for Deep-Throating

Dean loves to give head.

And he’s really good at it.

What he isn’t good at is subtly hinting to a guy – hey, I’d like your dick in my mouth for a while if that’s cool.

Women he could flirt with all day long. Women love it when Dean bats his enviably long eyelashes at them and showers them with shallow compliments until they take him back to their place. Okay, maybe they don’t love it, but it gets Dean laid like, 65% of the time so…

Men are different though. Subtlety doesn’t work with men, and for all his bravado Dean’s generally too shy to be that upfront with a guy. Getting punched in the face for accidentally flirting with a homophobic prick he can deal with, but straight-up rejection by someone after he’s put himself out there like that? That hurts and isn’t worth the risk.

This is why Castiel is perfect.

Castiel’s perfection is three-fold, actually:

One: he’s the least subtle creature on the planet. It’s an angelic trait, but of all the angels Dean’s met, Cas is the most direct. Even after years on Earth the guy still doesn’t know how to sugar-coat things. Sometimes it’s annoying, but if Dean was going to be upfront with someone about wanting to give head, Cas is the least likely to reject him outright. He might ask some uncomfortable questions and find more interest in the physiology than actually having an orgasm but so what?

Two: if Cas did reject him, Dean wouldn’t feel like he had actually been rejected. Cas would only say no because he didn’t understand, not because he actively didn’t want Dean, right? That thought was confusing, but comforting all the same as long as Dean didn’t dig too deep.

Three: Cas is hot. Holy shit did he pick a great vessel – all dark hair and bright eyes and Dean just knows that whatever is hidden under that ugly trench coat iss probably something close to pure fucking perfection.

At least in Dean’s imagination it was perfection.

Not that Dean spends a lot of time picturing Cas naked or anything.

Not that Dean imagines the hot weight of Cas’ cock on his tongue or the musky, thick aroma that would fill his nostrils as he took it down to the root. Not like Dean’s spent time thinking about how good angel spunk might taste or the sounds Cas might make as he comes down Dean’s throat.

Not that Dean thinks about letting that angel go to town on him, fucking his throat until he can’t speak, all but ruining his vocal cords and giving him a sore ache in the back of his throat for days afterwards.

And Dean definitely doesn’t think about how fun it would be to try every technique in his arsenal to make that angel lose his goddamn mind.

Dean never ever thinks about that while jerking off in the shower.



Sam got his own motel room for the first time in forever.

So what if Dean hinted hard that he might be bringing someone home from the bar that night? It was still Sam’s decision to get his own room, and Dean having zero intention of bringing someone home from the bar was a technicality – a white lie at its worst.

Dean did go to the bar, just so Sammy would hear the Impala engine roar back into the parking lot around midnight. Dean thought that was pretty goddamn clever. When he got back into his room he took a shower and brushed his teeth.

Then, he stood in the middle of the room and prayed.

“Dearest Castiel, who art maybe running his ass away from heaven… you got a sec? Uh, breaker breaker...”


“Dean. Is everything alright?” Cas appears directly in front of him, shifting his eyes around the room, then walking to the bathroom and checking behind the door. “What’s wrong?”

“Relax, dude. Everything’s fine.”

“You prayed. Are you okay? Where is Sam?”

“Yeah, I’m great. I uh…” Wow, this is harder than Dean expected. “Sam’s out. He got his own room tonight.”

“Why did you call me?”

If Dean didn’t know any better, he’d say that Castiel looks a little irritated.

“I… uh,” fuck. “Sorry, I…”

“I’m in the middle of a war, Dean. Half of the angels are out for my…” he stops, and sniffs at the air. “What’s that smell? Is that…?” Cas steals a look at Dean’s crotch and cocks his head.

“Hey! Whoa now.” Dean tries to cover the tent in his pants – when did that happen?

“You’re aroused.” Castiel states bluntly with a slight nod.


“Is that why you called me?”

This was such a bad idea.


Cas swallows hard and the bob of his Adam’s apple catches Dean’s attention. “Is this something you need my help with?”

Dean could still bullshit his way out of this. He could ask for help with the case they’re working on. He could say that he just wanted to make sure that Cas was okay, see if they could help him at all. Hell, he could pick a fight with the angel about something-or-other. That’s chased Cas away more than once.

Instead of doing any of those things, Dean stands there looking at Cas, who stares back. This goes on for way too long until Cas licks his lips and finally breaks the awkward silence.

“What can I do?”

Oh fuck.


Cas nods and shucks off his trench coat and Dean’s mouth goes completely dry. Then he takes off his suit jacket and stands there in his ill-fitting shirt and pants, just staring.

“What’s next? Do I take my pants off or…”

“Jeeze, Cas. Just... shut up for a second,” Dean stammers. “Come over here.” Dean can’t find it in himself to move his legs but Cas makes it to Dean in less than three steps and the warmth from the angel radiates between them. He’s always so warm – how his vessel doesn’t burst into flames from keeping the energy of an angel contained has crossed Dean’s mind more than once.

But right now all he can think about is how hot the dick hiding in those oversized slacks is going to feel in his mouth.

That thought brings Dean to his knees and eye-level with his endgame. Cas stays completely still as Dean’s shaking fingers work the buckle of Cas’ belt and un-tucks the dress shirt. He unbuttons the pants and pulls them down, revealing plain white cotton boxers.

He didn’t realize Cas was unbuttoning his shirt until he’s watching nimble fingers sliding the last button free as Cas’ shirt falls open, hanging limply off his form.


So much skin.

Dean runs his hands up the angel’s sides.

Such hot, smooth skin.

He rakes his blunt nails back down Cas’ ribs and hips and pulls the boxers down to his ankles without stopping.

“Fuck.” Dean breathes out the word and looks up at Cas who is staring down at him with the same stoic look on his face.

Dean knew he wanted this – has wanted this for a while – but he didn’t realize how badly until right fucking now. He wants it so bad he can’t even find it in himself to build up to anything. He just licks the head of Castiel’s soft member into his mouth, moaning at finally feeling the heat between his lips.

Castiel is silent and still as a statue while Dean runs his tongue along the soft underside, and when he feels a light pulse and the dick grows a little harder in his mouth, he hears Cas take in a short breath through his nose - like he’s surprised at the feeling of it.

It’s slight, but it’s an encouraging sound and Dean hollows his cheeks and sucks, dragging his lips from the base to the head and back down again with a vulgar slurping sound.

Each time Dean moves he can feel Cas grow harder, filling his mouth more and more until the head is butting against the back of his throat.

A groan from deep within Cas’ chest escapes and Dean can feel the vibration of it in his mouth. He responds by taking Cas down to the root until his nose is pressed against the dark, wiry pubic hair. He holds himself there, savoring the way the angel’s length slides down his throat; how the girth of Castiel’s dick is comfortable enough but will still make his jaw ache at how wide he has to hold his mouth open; how the taste and smell of Cas is so much sweeter and cleaner than Dean could have ever even imagined.

Dean swallows hard, feeling himself constrict around the head that is deep down his throat.

The sound that comes from Castiel at that moment is what Dean’s fantasies are made of – equal parts gasp, growl, and Dean’s name sort of punched out of Cas all at once.

He finds Cas’ hands, which are still hanging at his sides, and guides them to the back of his head. Cas doesn’t fuck into his mouth, probably because he doesn’t realize that’s what Dean is prompting him to do, but instead he lightly grips Dean’s hair and holds him in place.

When Dean looks up at Cas, he can see nothing but skin until he finds Castiel’s face – blue eyes blown so wide as they look down at him – and he slowly, slowly, slides his lips back up to the head, not breaking eye contact for a second. He slurps and lets the cock fall from his mouth, and even as it bobs there in front of him he stares up at Cas.

He doesn’t mean to slither up Cas’ body, but that’s what ends up happening when he slowly rises, dragging his lips across the warm skin, soft over hard muscles and ribs, until he’s standing and looking Cas in the eyes. Cas’ hands fall from Dean’s head to his shoulders, and without warning the angel pushes Dean, hard, so that he falls onto the bed on his back.

“Stay.” Cas growls, stepping out of the pants that had pooled around his ankles and walking to the other side of the bed. He leans over, grabs Dean under his arms, and with no effort pulls Dean until his head is hanging over the side of the bed.

Everything is upside down, but Dean can see Cas’ thighs as he take a wider stance, bringing his cock down and level with Dean’s chin.

“Open your mouth Dean.”

Dean doesn’t hesitate, and the moment his lips are separated Cas slides his cock between them, and keeps going and going until Dean’s chin is against his pelvis and his nose is nudging Cas’ balls. He tries to focus on breathing through his nose, and even though he can’t move his head at all he slides his tongue along Castiel’s length.

“Swallow again. J-just like you did before.” Castiel’s sober façade is crumbling; he can hear it in the angel’s voice. Dean swallows hard. Castiel groans.

Keeping his cock lodged deep down Dean’s throat, Dean feels Cas shift slightly, and then he feels his shirt being pulled up, exposing his stomach and chest. Cas’ strong hands slide down to his jeans and makes quick work of the button and zipper.


Dean’s mind kicks into overdrive as Cas pushes his jeans down to his thighs. He feels his own dick slap against his stomach as it is released from the confines of his boxers.

“Again Dean. Swallow…”

Dean breathes in a deep, musky breath through his nose and swallows, concentrating on the muscles in his neck, trying to squeeze another amazing sound from Castiel.

“I feel…” there’s a warm hand on Dean’s throat that slides up to his chin, a thumb lightly brushing Dean’s bottom lip that’s pressed against Cas’ pelvis. “I can feel everything,” Cas sounds a little breathless, and Dean swallows around the cockhead again. Cas runs his hand down Dean’s neck with just enough pressure to make him slightly nervous.

Dean’s watched Cas smite demons with those hands, and now one is at his throat and fuck it feels so good.

Cas pulls out of Dean’s mouth and Dean gasps for air, ignoring the fact that his eyes are watering, tears running up his temples and into his hairline. He wraps the loose ends of the white, unbuttoned dress shirt that Cas is still wearing around his fingers and pulls, hinting that he wants Castiel to move forward again, to use Dean’s mouth.

Cas doesn’t get it, so Dean lets go of the shirt and whines, then reaches around, grabbing Cas by the ass, roughly guiding him – in and out and in again – until,

“Oh. Oh!” Cas gasps and starts to thrust on his own.

Dean keeps his fingers pressed hard against Cas, but he lets the angel pick the speed with which he fucks Dean’s throat.

Dean relaxes and gulps down air each time Castiel pulls back.

Then he feels Cas’ body shift and the starchy, stiff fabric of his shirt is brushing against Dean’s chest, and then there’s hot breath against him and a wet, slick heat enveloping his painfully hard erection. He yelps around Cas as he realizes that fucking Christ Cas is sucking him off.

Dean never allowed himself to think that Cas would reciprocate.

Cas is sloppy, but damn. There’s an enthusiasm that Dean can feel not just in how Cas moans and gags and lightly drags his teeth along Dean’s cock, but also in the way he continues thrusting into Dean’s mouth.

God, they must look ridiculous. Dean’s still dressed, clothes only shoved haphazardly out of Castiel’s way. Cas is bent over and Dean is practically hanging off the bed, thrusting his hips up into Cas’ amazing mouth. He can’t see it, but he can picture those chapped, pink lips stretched around him.

He can’t wait to hear how Cas is going to sound after this – that deep gravelly voice getting even deeper – and Dean fucks a little faster and harder, groaning when he feels the head of his cock meet the resistance at the back of Cas throat.

He comes then, unable to give any warning to the angel, but Cas only sputters slightly and makes a few wet, graphic slurping sounds as he drinks down most of what Dean spills into his mouth.

When Cas finally pulls his mouth away from Dean he rests his forehead against Dean’s hip.

“That. I want…” Cas sounds broken, barely able to speak, his voice even gruffer than Dean could have imagined. “Can I do that Dean? Please?!

Dean pushes Cas away just long enough to growl out fuck yes! And then he takes Cas down as deep as he can and swallows a few times in quick succession.

Cas makes another soft oh! sound, and Dean feels Cas’ balls tighten up against his nose and his cock twitches and then there is spurt after spurt of the angel's hot sticky come shooting down Dean’s throat. He swallows every drop, pulling sounds out of Cas that are definitely more angel than human.

Part of him wishes he could have tasted it more – wishes that the flavor of the angel could be something else to add to his spank bank. Maybe next time Cas will come on his face and lips.


Next time.

Dean would bet his sweet ass that they were going to be doing this again.

He suckles at Cas until the angel whimpers and pulls away. Dean pushes Cas over onto the bed, and he just sort of melts into the comforter. He’s never seen the angel look so relaxed -

Or debauched – Cas looks completely destroyed. He’s got come on his chin, and his eyes are red and his skin is flushed pink. His lips are swollen and shining. And his hair…

Well, his hair actually looks exactly the same as it always does.

Dean can’t imagine he looks much different. He sits up slowly and wipes his face with his hands. He clears his throat, but can’t think of anything to say. He’s not sure he can speak anyway. Not after the abuse his throat just took.

Cas props himself up on his elbows and looks at Dean.

Dean probably shouldn’t reach out to wipe the come from Cas’ chin, but he does.

It’s quiet while they sit there on the bed staring at each other and trying to process what just happened.

Then a few harsh vibrations from Dean’s phone on the nightstand snaps them out of their reverie. Dean reaches over Cas and flips the phone open revealing a few unread texts from Sammy.

>> Message from Sam>> Heard you pull in. If you’re not ‘busy’ get to my room. New info on the wendigo case.

>> Message from Sam>> Never mind. Just walked by your door on my way to the vending machine.

>> Message from Sam>> When you guys are done bring Cas with you. He might be able to help.

>> Message from Sam>> And no details please.

>> Message from Sam>> But it’s about freaking time.

Chapter Text

E is for Edging

Castiel is confused when Dean walks into their room flaunting a pair of fuzzy black handcuffs, his eyes are bright and his smile is wide.

“Did you get those at the Hot Topical? Those look like they’re from the Hot Topical.”

“No asshat, I got them from Spencer’s, next to Hot Topic. You remember, the store you didn’t want to go into because of the flashing lights and the giant dildo sticking out of the wall in the back? I went in and got these while you were paying for that angry cat.”

“Grumpy Cat.” Castiel corrects.


“Why did you buy handcuffs at the mall? You already have a pair in the glove compartment of the Impala.”

The excitement in Dean’s eyes when he first walked in has ebbed and he looks slightly disappointed as he stands there dangling the handcuffs from one finger.

Castiel gently plucks the cuffs from Dean’s finger to inspect them. They’re flimsy, and there isn’t even a key, just a small latch that can be pressed to release a spring and open them. “These won’t hold anyone for very long.” He says, and hands them back to Dean.

“Well whoever is wearing them isn’t supposed to want to escape, Cas. You follow me?”

Castiel shakes his head because no, that doesn’t make sense. Dean huffs out a breath that is equal parts frustrated and amused – then slides up next to Castiel, nuzzling at his neck and nibbling on his ear lobe.

Humans are so confusing. Even after spending centuries watching them, now that he is in a relationship with one… the mating patterns of every human is slightly different, and Castiel is doing his best to figure out Dean’s.

“Cas, they’re for us. For in here. Use them on me.”

“You could get out of these in no time at all. You wouldn’t even have to pick the lock you just…” it was hard to talk with Dean’s breath on his neck. It gave his vessel goose bumps.

“Then make it so I don’t want to.” Dean whispered in his ear. “Make me want to stay exactly where I am. Make me want to obey you…”

Castiel couldn’t help the hitch in his breath when Dean whispered obey like it was a dark and dirty blasphemy.

He was an angel – a soldier designed to follow orders – but he would never forget what power felt like.

He’d lead the angels in the war against Raphael. He’d been filled with the strength of fifty thousand Leviathans.

He had been God.

He knew how pure strength felt. He knew how it felt to make someone obey him.

And every single time he’d had that kind of power, something went terribly wrong. He destroyed and killed and went psychotic. He made terrible decisions resulting in the death of thousands of angels and humans alike. He’d partnered with demons on more than one occasion. He hurt Dean time and time again. He’d threatened to kill Dean – and nearly had – on more than one occasion.

So, yes, there was a spark that ignited inside of Castiel that wanted to make Dean obey him, but he loved Dean.

What if something snapped again and he…

“Cas?” Dean’s voice in his ear pulls him back from his abstraction. “You know I’m just asking for you to blow me while I’m cuffed to the bed, right? It’s not that big a deal.”

“But why do you want to be handcuffed to the bed?”

“I don’t know. It’s just a thing. Something some people like and I wanted to try it. See what it’s like not being able to get away.”

“Why would you want to get away while I’m performing fellacio?”

Dean rolls his eyes.

“I don’t. It’s just, I don’t know, man! I want to feel like you’re making me… you know what? Never mind.”

“No, Dean, I want to do this for you I just need to understand why. I’m new to all this.”

“I know, Cas, I know. But let’s just throw these in the trash and pretend this didn’t happen. We’ll figure out something else.” The fuzzy handcuffs are dropped into the trashcan with a clunk.


“’S fine babe, don’t worry about it. Let’s go get some food. I’m starving.

Dean kisses him and walks out the door, and Castiel tries to forget the crestfallen look on Dean’s face when he threw the handcuffs into the bin.


Dean isn’t giving up that easy.

He just wants to give Castiel a few minutes to mull it over because while Dean is raring to go and ready to get freaky with his angel boyfriend at any given moment (when he’s not eating or sleeping – okay, sometimes when he’s eating or sleeping, but can you blame him? Have you seen Castiel?) Castiel is still, like he said, new to all this.

Besides, Dean’s not great with words so he’s just gonna have to show him.

Perverted thoughts about what he’s planning to do to Castiel are zipping through Dean’s mind as he enters room 7B and sneaks into the dungeon. This room definitely doesn’t hold any awesome memories considering the last time he was in here for any extended period of time he was being pumped full of Sammy’s blood to make him human again. But, it’s where they keep all the demon-and-angel-proofing crap, and Dean needs those angel-proof handcuffs.

Yeah, he’s going to show Cas exactly what he wants.


Castiel doesn’t sleep, but he still likes to be in their bedroom while Dean sleeps. Sometimes he’ll slip out to the library once he sees that Dean is in a peaceful state of rest, but most of the time he’ll stay in their room. Quite often Dean has nightmares, and Castiel wants to be there to wake Dean up if he is about to have one. That process isn’t exactly pleasant for either of them, but Dean once told him that it’s better if Castiel is there, so he stays.

He’s lying on their bed, sitting up against some pillows and reading a book when Dean walks in, that glint of excitement and anticipation in his eyes from earlier is back.

Then Castiel notices the angel-proof handcuffs and sits up a little straighter.

The last time he saw these handcuffs was after Rowena had cursed him with the attack dog spell and Dean and Sam had bound him to a chair. They made him anxious.

“So,” Dean locks the door behind him and saunters over to the bed. “I realized that I wasn’t explaining myself very well earlier. I was hoping you’d give me another shot.”

“Of course, Dean. Whatever you want.”

“Don’t say that yet because you don’t know what I want.” Dean sits at the edge of the bed at Castiel’s feet and drops the handcuffs on the bed, slowly coiling the chain around the cuffs. “You’ll tell me if this isn’t something you want, right? Don’t just say you’ll do something because you know I want to, ‘cause it won’t be fun for me if you’re not into it.”


“I’m serious Cas. I’m not going to be pissed if you’re not into this. I can think of plenty of other things for us to do tonight.”

“Alright. I promise I’ll tell you if I don’t want to do it.” Castiel eyes the handcuffs nervously, and Dean picks up on it.

“Here, first thing,” Dean digs a key out of his pocket and hands it to Castiel. It’s tied onto an elastic band. “Key to the cuffs. We’ll tie that to your wrist and you’ll keep the key in your hand, just in case the whole thing is, uh, you know, too much.”

“That’s not necessary. I trust…”

“Cas, these cuffs strip away your mojo. It’s different than if you bind me. I’m just a man so rope, cuffs, chains – doesn’t matter. If I’m tied, I’m tied. But these,” Dean gestures to the chain and metal bands on the bed, “these take away your power, and I want to show you how good that can feel. But still I need to know that you feel safe. And then, maybe… you know, you could do it to me.”

Dean is a hunter. He is vulgar and brash. He has killed and maimed every monster under the sun. Castiel has seen him covered in blood, broken and torn apart. In Hell Castiel found him ripped to shreds and had to reassemble him piece by piece.

Dean is a mess, so what gives him the right to look as beautiful and shy as he does when he hints that he wants Castiel to dominate him?

“Tell me what you want me to do.”

“You promise you’ll say something if it makes you too uncomfortable? I mean, that is kinda part of it… but, uh, you’ll see what I mean. Just say somethin’ if you get too nervous or whatever, okay?”

“Is this one of those situations I’ve read about where we should have a safe word?”

“I, uh, I guess? I don’t really know… wait, what have you been reading?” Dean’s voice gets inquisitive and playful once again.

“Let’s use The Stoplight Method.”

“The what?”

“The Stoplight Method – Red, Yellow, Green. It’s widely used in the BDSM community.”

“Well now I know why you always delete your browser history on my laptop. What the hell kind of research have you been doing?”

Castiel ignores Dean’s inquiry, closes his book, and sits up a little.

“If I say Red, you’ll stop and get me out of the handcuffs immediately. Yellow means we are approaching my limits, and Green means continue as you are. You can ask for my color at any time to gauge my enthusiasm, and I can tell you my color as needed to help guide you. Will that be sufficient for you to judge my comfort level in the scenario you’re interested in pursuing?”

“Jesus,” Dean scrubs his hands over his face a few times. “Yeah, that sounds easy enough. Red, yellow, green. Got it.”


Listening to Cas talk about safe words did help ease Dean’s worry a little, but it also sent a large portion of the blood in Dean’s body straight to his dick. How much time has his boyfriend spent looking up BDSM on the internet? What was he looking at? And, more importantly, what compromising situations did he see them playing out together? Did Castiel want to tie him up? Please let Cas want to tie me up!

Dean made a vow to figure this all out later. For now he had a goal, and that started with getting Cas naked and ended with Cas begging to come. He’d never heard Castiel beg for anything before – not even for his life. Even when Cas was about to die he was stoic and sure and willing to die for whatever it was that he believed in. He’d been willing to die for Dean – had died for Dean – more than once.

Cas had asked for Dean’s help before, he even said please once, but he’d never heard the angel actually beg.

What Dean wanted was to hear Cas pleading and begging and so desperate to come it makes him stupid.

That’s why Dean just chugged two Red Bulls in the kitchen. He knows his angel’s stamina. He could be at this for a while.


With the first metal band clamped around his wrist, Castiel already feels weaker. And as Dean weaves the chain through the metal bars of the headboard and then guides Castiel’s other wrist and locks it in place as well he feels completely powerless. It’s like Dean has hit pause on his grace.

If demons laid siege to the bunker right now, Castiel would be useless.

And naked. He is very naked, and Dean is not and that isn’t fair.

“Color?” Dean asks.

Castiel grips the silver key that is warming in his palm. He tugs at it softly, feeing the elastic around his wrist. Dean has given him an out, just in case. It’s a comforting thought in a slightly uncomfortable situation, and Castiel responds, “Green. Although I wish you would undress as well.”

Dean laughs and sheds his shirt and pants quickly, revealing the skin and muscle that Castiel can recognize on a molecular level. Dean leaves his underwear on.


“Yes, thank you.”

Dean walks to the closet and pulls out what looks to be a long metal bar with black straps dangling from both ends.

“What is that?” Castiel asks, pushing away the brief thought of Dean hitting him with it. Dean wouldn’t do that, but Castiel grips the key to the handcuffs a little tighter.

“It’s called a spreader bar. Keeps your legs apart.” Dean responds. “It’s, uh, not magical or anything. I got it on Amazon.”

“The Amazon has some very potent and rare plant species that are often used in witchcraft so your assessment of its lack of power…”

“Cas, dude, come on. I meant It’s a website. You can order like, clothes and stuff from it. This thing is aluminum and Velcro. No magic, promise.” Dean grins. “Can I…?” he points the metal rod at his ankles and Castiel nods.

Nothing feels different once the straps are in place around his ankles except that now he’s unable to move his legs much and they are in fact spread, keeping him open wide and his whole body vulnerable. Dean looks at him as if he’s won some kind of prize, and Castiel feels himself relax into the pillows a bit.


“Comfortable? You good?” Dean asks, walking around to the side of the bed and standing over his angel.

Castiel nods. His head, neck and shoulders are propped up on two pillows, and his hands rest lazily on the mattress, reaching out to either side of the bed. He can lift them about five inches off the bed but that’s the only range of motion Dean has given him, the excess of the chain having been wrapped and twisted around the bars of the headboard.

Not bad for my first time binding an angel Dean thinks. And then he realizes that it isn’t the first time, and that he actually has way too much experience with tying people and monsters (and angels, apparently) to furniture.


“Great, so here’s what I’m going to do.” Dean sits on the side of the bed and scoots up next to Castiel’s hips. “I’m going to use my hands on you, and that’s it.”

“A hand job.” Castiel nods once, looking at him with determination in those hooded blue eyes. The angel’s cock is at about half mast, but the mention of a hand job makes it jump slightly.

“Yeah, something like that.” Dean softly rubs one palm across Castiel’s stomach, fingering at the small patch of soft hair below his belly button, then sliding back up to his chest and down again. Castiel’s skin is so warm, and the look on his face is so pure that Dean would almost feel bad for corrupting this beautiful angel if it weren’t for the fact that they both want him to.

“And you’re not going to come until I say you can.”

“What? Why?” Castiel tries to sit up a little more, shimmying up the pillows a few inches before he realizes that he can’t.

“Because that’s part of the game, Cas.”

“How long?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Dean says in the most playful voice he can muster, “An hour? Maybe two?”

“What!?” Castiel squirms in his confines.


Castiel thought he might protest a little more, but instead he just watches helplessly as Dean flicks the cap off of the bottle of lube and pours a substantial amount into his palm. He rubs his hands together and without preamble grips Castiel’s cock, wrapping his fingers around the shaft and adding enough pressure that a pleased little hum vibrates in his chest.

Dean’s strokes speed up and his other hand squeezes the tip, twisting softly. It doesn’t take long for Castiel to feel that tightening in his stomach. Maybe it’s because his grace has been subdued by the handcuffs and he’s feeling very human, but he’s close to coming already.

This isn’t so bad he thinks. He moans and drops his head back onto the pillows. He closes his eyes, his release right around the corner, and Dean must have been mistaken because this is definitely not going to take an hour. Castiel hopes that Dean won’t be disappointed that the handcuffs seem to have affected his stamina because oh yes, Dean! he’s about to come… so close, oh, oh right there. Yes! Ye-

Everything stops – the warmth of Dean’s hands, the slick sounds as they slide along Castiel’s erection – and instead of tipping over the precipice into a nice, easy orgasm he’s sent sliding back down the mountain in a fit of tingles and frustration.

His hips figure it out before the stillness reaches his brain, and they thrust up into the air looking for something – anything!

“Wha-” Castiel opens his eyes and sees Dean sitting with his hands in his lap and a devilish grin on his face. “Why’d you stop?”

“You were gonna come weren’t cha?”

The playfulness in Dean’s voice is not appreciated.


The desperation in Castiel’s isn’t either.

“Not yet.”

“But why?” The initial shock has passed but Castiel still feels like he’s been betrayed by both Dean and his own body.

“Because I didn’t give you permission yet, angel.


The look of complete and utter shock on Cas’ face is priceless, and Dean has to actually make an effort to not laugh. Instead, he leans over and kisses Cas’ bottom lip as his mouth is still gaping open. Cas pulls at the restraints.

Dean squeezes a few more dribbles of lube onto his fingers and starts to tease Cas’ tight little hole, making sure to thumb softly at his balls while he does so.

“I don’t think this is fa- ahhh!”

Whatever Cas was going to say is lost as soon as Dean slides one finger in his ass in a single smooth movement. He stills, giving Cas a few seconds to get used to the intrusion, and he thinks that maybe he’ll be able to get the angel to cuss. He adds that to his kinky to-do list and crooks his finger, then again, and again, drawing soft gasps out of Cas until…



“Color, Cas?”

He crooks his finger again, hitting that same spot.

“Green!” Cas shouts and Dean laughs.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t get that... could you repeat that?”

“Green! Dean, Green! Ahhh!”

“Ah, okay. Loud and clear babe.”

Dean adds another finger and works Cas’ prostate a few more times before taking his cock in hand again, eliciting another groan from his bound plaything.


Castiel tosses his head back onto the pillows once Dean continues his ministrations. The pressure is building in Castiel’s balls again already. He finds himself involuntarily curling his toes and groaning and he wonders if this is how Dean feels every time he touches him. It’s so completely different and so much more intense than what he feels when he is at full-grace.

When he’s full-on angel it’s wonderful because he gets to please Dean and watch that beautiful man he’s loved for so long come undone over and over again. The sounds and faces that Dean makes while Castiel is inside of him, the murmurs of I love you Cas afterwards – that’s what Castiel feels the most when they are together. And it’s good and pure and something he feels he never will truly deserve.

But this…

Every touch is sharper – brighter. Dean’s fingers and hands and lips feel vibrant, similar to the way he could feel pain and fear in these handcuffs; completely uncensored. Except now everything feels good. Better than good. This is better than he could have ever thought.

And it’s a little frightening to be quite honest, but at the same time it’s liberating. He has the key so he really can escape at any time, but it’s exactly as Dean said – make me want to stay exactly where I am.

The dual assault continues and Castiel can hear the moans tumbling from his lips before he realizes it as he watches Dean’s hand, just a blur on his shaft now, strokestrokestroke and Dean!!

All movement stops once again. Dean pulls his hand away, slowly sliding his fingers out of Castiel.

Castiel doesn’t mean to cry out in frustration when he hears Dean laughing.

“Color, babe?”

“Yellow,” Castiel answers honestly because he’s feeling overwhelmed in totally new ways.

“Oh. Okay.” The laughing stops immediately. “What do you need me to do?”

“Uh,” Castiel isn’t sure, but the waver in his voice makes it clear that he needs something. “Can you talk to me for a minute? Just tell me what you’re doing.” He leans back against the pillows and closes his eyes. Immediately he feels Dean’s weight on the bed shift, and then he feels his hunter, his Dean, placing light, chaste kisses on his shoulder.

“It’s called ‘edging,’” Dean rests his chin on Castiel’s shoulder, speaking softly into his ear. “Basically I make you almost come, over and over, and then when I finally let you it’s supposed to be really good. That’s all I want, Cas, is to make you feel really good. If it doesn’t feel good we can stop right now and do something else. Whatever you want.”

“No, it feels good. I just…” Castiel swallows hard, “I didn’t realize that this is what good felt like. It’s very frustrating to not have control over my vessel. How did you hear about this ‘edging’ thing?”

“You didn’t think you were the only one doing kinky research on the internet did ya?”

“And I’ll get to orgasm?”

“Yes Cas, you’ll get to orgasm.” Dean chuckles at the word, his breath tickling Castiel’s neck.

“Then please continue.”


Dean takes Cas in hand once more and the angel jumps slightly at his touch but then relaxes. Or maybe he’s not so much relaxing as he is accepting his fate.

This time Dean moves his hand slower, running his open palm up along the underside and then cupping the head before sliding his hand back down and squeezing his balls. After every few strokes he’ll run his hand over the twitchy muscles in Cas’ stomach in a soft caress.

As easy as it is for Dean to continue his slow pace, what he really wants to do is drive the angel crazy. Right now Cas seems to have gotten used to the pattern Dean has set, and that just won’t do. He wants to hear Cas begging, remember?

Dean pops open the lube and dribbles some more into his palm, warming it before he grips Cas tight enough to draw a gasp from him and then begins pumping his shaft ruthlessly. Faster and faster until Castiel’s hips are thrusting off the bed, until Dean can hear the hope in Cas’s moans, the little yes yes yeses as they get louder.

Dean gives him three more quick pumps and a slight twist at the head and pulls off, backing away from Cas completely. He watches as the angel realizes what has happened and it’s fucking glorious.

The little yeses have stopped as he pulls his head up and looks at his red, raging erection. His eyes and mouth are both wide with shock like he can’t believe he didn’t just orgasm, maybe expecting that he still might, and then after a few seconds Dean hears the saddest little mewls, followed by no no no NO NO!

Castiel drops his head back onto the pillows, sad little no’s still falling from his lips, his cock jumping a few times on its own accord like it thought it was supposed to be doing something. The muscles in his stomach and legs quiver and shake. He tugs weakly at his restraints.

And then Dean hears it.


It’s nothing more than a whisper, but it gets his attention like Cas has screamed it.

“Please, Dean.”

He looks down at his angel: flushed pink and slick with sweat and with one shining strand of precome leaking from his beautifully hard cock to his stomach.

“Please let me come. I-I need... I can’t-” Castiel swallows hard and balls his fists as he stares up at Dean.

His eyes are sparkling.

The little yeses that had turned into little no’s had now become little please’s.

Cas is begging.

Oh, sweet mother of all that his holy Cas is begging.

For a moment Dean thinks about just reaching down, giving Cas a few more tugs and letting him spill onto his own chest, rewarding him quickly for giving Dean exactly what he wanted.

But then he gets a much – much – better idea.

Dean pulls down his underwear and steps out of them and toward the bed before throwing his leg over Cas’ thighs to straddling him.

Cas’ eyes go even wider as Dean leans over and takes them both in one hand.

While Dean runs his cock slowly against the desperate heat of Castiel’s he leans down and kisses the angel before speaking. “I get to come first. Then you. Got it?”

A pathetic pleasepleaseplease is all Dean gets for a response.

His grip tightens around them as Dean starts to thrust against Cas and into the tight tunnel his fist has made. Everything is already hot and slick, and Dean has been turned on all goddamn day so this isn’t going to take long at all, but he’s still not sure that Cas will be able to outlast him.

“Come Dean please come Dean please…”

Oh God now he’s begging for me to come Jesus fucking Christ.

They both moan as another bead of clear fluid leaks from Cas making their glide even smoother. When their sensitive heads catch and rub together, Cas nearly screams and starts to jut his hips up, whether it’s involuntary or not Dean isn’t sure but he doesn’t care because it’s the last little bit of friction he needs before he spills into his hand and onto Cas’ cock and stomach.

“C-can I… Dean!”

“Fuck yes Cas, come for me…” Dean’s voice is wrecked and Cas can hardly breathe as he thrusts up into the hot mess of Dean’s fist only a few more times before his body seizes up and long white ropes of come shoot out and land all across Cas’ stomach and chest, over and over, each one pulling long, relieved moans from the angel as well.

The angel slumps down into the pillows, sweaty and spent, while Dean watches a few more surges of come slowly leak from Cas, dripping down his head and onto the hairs of his happy trail.

“Jesus Cas. That was…”

“Uh huh.” Cas breaths deep a few times and then says “edging is angel-approved.” He tries to give two-thumbs-up but he’s stopped by the restraints. Dean laughs softly at his dorky boyfriend.

“Here, give me the key. I’ll take these off.”

Nnnn,” Cas whines. “Not yet. I want to feel this for a little longer.” His voice is relaxed and his words slur together a little. “Won’t feel the same when the handcuffs are removed.”

“’kay, you just let me know when you’re ready.” The handcuffs stay on, but Dean gets up and releases Cas’ ankles from the spreader bar. The angel still doesn’t move.

Dean doesn’t want to be a sap, but he can’t help kissing along Cas’ jaw as he comes down from this. Cas’ pulse is still racing. Dean can feel it under his lips.

Finally, Cas jingles the chains of the handcuffs and Dean takes the key, unlocking one wrist and then the other, pressing kisses to the indents left in Cas’ skin.

Without moving a muscle Cas uses his mojo to clean them off.

“Welcome back angel,” Dean says, kissing Cas softly. Cas grins against his lips, and before Dean realizes what is happening he’s been flipped over onto his back and cuffed to the same shackles he’d just used on Cas.

“Whoa, Cas what are you doing?”

Cas spreads Dean’s legs wide and locks them in place with invisible restraints.

His grace.


“Your turn,” the angel growls.

Oh hell yes!

Chapter Text

F is for Felching

“No way, dude! No. That’s disgusting.” Dean laughs nervously as he guides Baby into the parking lot of the Pink Bunny Motel off of I-90 somewhere in northern Idaho.

“I don’t see what’s disgusting about it. You swallow my ejaculate all the time…”

“Not all the time. Jesus Cas you make me sound like some kinda kinky freak.” Dean parks the car in a space directly in front of the Pepto Bismol-pink door of their shared room. “Haven’t you ever heard the saying ‘you never go ass to mouth?’”

“I don’t believe that is an actual saying.”

“Well it is, so...”

They step out of the car, the doors creaking and slamming but not quite loud enough to cover the next thing Cas decides to say which is, “Would you at least let me eat my come out of your ass. You don’t have to reciprocate, but…”

“Jesus Christ Cas, say it a little louder!” Dean ignores the twinge in his groin at hearing Cas say such a disgusting thing. Cas open his mouth like he’s actually going to say it a little louder and he panics. “Nah-ah! Nope! Don’t. It’s just an expression.”

Dean is able to unlock the door after minimal fumbling with the keys and once they’re in the room he secures all three locks behind them. Their clothes are still bloody from the hunt, and without more than two of Cas’ fingers resting on Dean’s shoulder they are cleaned, blood-free, and the tear in Dean’s coat is mended.

“Thanks babe, but I’m still going to take a hot shower. This conversation made me feel dirty.”

“Dean,” Cas shoves Dean up against the closed door. Damn, that angel strength still takes Dean by surprise sometimes. “Do you realize that I can do the same thing inside of you that I just did to your clothes and skin? I can make you clean. I can make myself clean. It will be more sanitary than eating off the plates at those roadside diners you like so much.”

What a horrible thing to say. Why are the plates so dirty?

“I j-just-” Dean stutters when he feels Cas’ groin pressed against his, already hot and hard, “I don’t get why you want to do it so bad. What so hot about,” just say it because he’s going to hear you thinking it anyway “uh, doing that or whatever.” Smooth.

“It’s supposed to feel good.”

Dean rolls his eyes.

“I’m taking a shower.”

He huffs past Cas and drops his duffle on the bed before heading to the bathroom and not quite slamming the door.

He needs hot water – scalding hot water – to help erase the last half hour of his life. Steam fills the bathroom quickly since there’s no fan, and Dean steps into the shower letting the surprisingly decent water pressure pound on his back.

The heat and pressure of the shower does very little to calm his mind.

About a year ago, when he finally stopped hating himself so much for his big gay crush on Cas, Dean found himself doing some pretty extensive research on what two men could do to each other for fun. He made a list of things he might want to try, you know, just in case…

Rimming was definitely on that list and, really, how much different could felching really be?

God, just the word itself sounds gross.

But Cas was right, he could give them both an instant colon cleanse. They’d be clean as a whistle faster than Dean could take his pants off.

So Cas would fuck him – they’ve done that before so nothing weird there.

And Cas would come in his ass. Again, no big deal. Kind of awesome, actually.

Dean didn’t realize he had started stroking himself under the hot assault of the shower.


And then Cas would use his incredibly long tongue to spoon the come out of Dean’s ass.


Maybe then he’d feed it to Dean with filthy, sticky kisses and…


He stops himself short.

“Fuckin’-a Cas…”

Dean gets out of the shower before he’s even a little bit clean.

“God dammit Cas!” he shouts, toweling off his hair and stomping out into the hotel room stark naked with an erection hard enough to hammer through the drywall. “You knew this was going to happen didn’t you?”

But each person is tempted when he is lured and enticed by his own desire.” Cas speaks in a voice that makes Dean want to do terrible,terrible things. Castiel sheds his coat and drifts closer to dean until he’s nipping at Dean’s lips while he speaks. “ Then desire, when it has conceived, gives birth to sin.”

Dean shivers at the word sin.

“You’re gonna get me sent back to hell aren’t you?” Dean breaths the words into Castiel’s mouth, suddenly so filled with lust and desire he’s sure that Cas has used his mojo to brainwash him and he doesn’t even care.

“I’ll just pull you out again. Don’t worry Dean.” Cas gets the words out barely before possessing Dean’s mouth with a brutal kiss that turns Dean to mush. Castiel’s tongue runs along Dean’s teeth and lips and licks up at the roof of Dean’s mouth until he can hardly breathe.

Cas owns Dean. They both know it. Dean succumbs and allows himself to be laid on the bed like a doll and then roughly flipped onto his stomach. Cas pulls his hips up, prompting Dean to get to his knees and elbows, and Dean feels two fingers against his rim and then a soft tingle that starts at the light press of Castiel’s fingers and ends somewhere near the base of his spine.

“There. Clean.” Cas grits out before his hands begin spreading and kneading roughly at Dean’s cheeks. There’s a deep rumble of a moan from the angel behind him and then feels the slick, wet heat of Cas’ tongue as it sweeps from his balls to his rim.

That felt… different. Not in a bad way, but it wasn’t as mind-blowing as Dean expected (or maybe hoped?) it to be. He lets out a thoughtful hum as Cas licks back down to his balls and then bites his right cheek lightly.

Cas spreads his cheeks again and blows lightly right on Dean’s hole. It feels like a soft little vibrator is teasing him before the heat of Cas’ tongue is back on his rim and he’s suckling and licking and


That’s starting to feel


That’s definitely more


Dean nearly shouts when the soft, powerful muscle of Cas’ tongue breaches his hole, probing in and out lightly, stretching him, twisting around inside of him before pulling back up and flicking the tip of that sinful tongue against his pucker a few times.

“Is that pleasurable Dean?”

He can feel the breath of Cas’ words on his rim, and that tongue pokes into him again at the same time Dean squeaks out a yes!

It doesn’t take long before Dean is just a big pile of goo on the bed, squirming on Cas’ tongue and whining when he’s teased by Cas licking his taint or suckling on his sack. Dean has the incoherent thought of I wish Cas would eat me out like this all the time. He doesn’t mean just before they have sex, but actually all the time; all day, every day. Dean would give up hunting and Cas could just eat his ass raw until Dean dies of starvation and Cas brings him back to life and keeps going.

Once, Dean watched a porn where one dude was doing this to another dude and kept saying you gonna come just from my tongue baby? And Dean thought that sounded ridiculous because yeah fuckin’ right… but now he kind of gets it. He still doesn’t think he can actually get off on this alone, but a few tugs on his shaft might do the trick after being worked on like this.

And then it all stops and there’s a shift of weight on the bed.

“Wh-why?” He looks over his shoulder and see’s Cas removing his tie and starting to unbutton his shirt.

“Because, Dean, I’m going to fuck you. And I’m going to come in your ass. And then I will literally eat you out.”

God damn fucking dirty angel Dean thinks, always completely surprised and turned on when Cas starts to talk like that.

Cas slides a lubricated finger into Dean’s hole, which has been stretched out nice and easy by his tongue, so one finger quickly becomes two, which quickly becomes Dean whining for Cas to just fucking fuck him already.

Dean’s so focused on his own begging that he doesn’t notice the angel lining himself up until there are fingers are gripping his hips and Cas is pushing into him and sliding over his prostate on the first go. Dean’s already so worked up that he thinks he might come just from that, but Cas’ movement is slow, giving him time to get used to the stretch.

“Come one man I’m fine. Fuck. I’m ready just go…” there is no bite left in Dean’s words, he just feels like if he doesn’t come soon he may have an existential crisis because now, even with Cas deep inside of him he can still feel tiny little licks around his rim, like someone is still… “Cas, what’s going on back there?”

“Why? Does something feel different?

“You sonofabitch.” Dean moans and it’s clear then that Cas is using his fucking grace to keep those tingles going around Dean’s sensitive skin. “You’re fucking amazing babe, but if you don’t start moving soon I’m going to-ggahhhh!!”

Cas pulls out about halfway and slams back in, spreading Dean’s cheeks, watching Dean clench around him while those invisible little tongues continue to work around his stretched hole.

“Were you going to say something Dean?” Cas’ voice is cocky but dark as he slides out and slams in again.


“No, I don’t think that was it.”

He pounds into Dean’s ass yet again and Dean lets out a cry for more.

“Oh well,” Cas growls, “I suppose now we’ll never know.” And with that he grabs Dean by the hair on the top of his head, yanks his head back and starts fucking him with diligent, forceful thrusts, one hand still gripped tight onto Dean’s hip.

With his throat strained like this Dean can’t do anything except make little grunts every time Cas bottoms out or punches into his prostate. Whether he’s trying to yell Fuck! Or Shit! Or Yes! Or Cas! They all come out sounding like Uhh!

Stars surround Dean’s peripheral vision as he stares up at the ceiling.

“Uhh! Uhh! Fuuh!”

He can’t even think enough to reach under himself and give himself a stroke or two, his cock instead just slapping his stomach with the force of Castiel plowing into him.

“Uhh! Fuh! Shuuuh!”

He can hear Cas’ breath getting heavier and occasionally there is a quiet, gravelly moan. Cas is always so extraordinarily quiet when he’s fucking Dean, and usually Dean makes enough noise for the both of them but with his head back like this he can only grunt and squeak. The sound of Castiel’s hips slapping against Dean’s ass is the loudest sound in the room and it’s so wrong and

“Fuh! Fuhh! Fuhhh!!”

Dean feels Cas’ hand leave his hip and suddenly there’s a stinging pain on his left asscheek as Cas spanks him hard. He tries to scream but he can only get out a squeaky ahhhhhhh! And it’s drowned out by… what is that?

Holy shit. That’s Led Zeppelin!

It’s like Dean’s ass getting slapped has turned on the jukebox and Robert Plant’s voice was covering the dirty sounds of their sex.

Way way down inside

I’m gonna give you my love

Every inch of my love

Gonna give you my love

“Fuhh! Uhhhhh!”

Dean comes without warning. Even he didn’t realize it was going to happen, but his world goes black around him and his focus is solely on the powerful orgasm rolling through his entire body before shooting out of his dick.

When he regains awareness he’s face down on the blankets and the room is silent. Cas is still balls deep, and having let go of Dean’s hair, now hands are gripping his hips tightly. Dean’s legs are shaking but Cas holds him up and continues fucking him, although it’s softer and a tad slower now. Dean tries so hard to help, to meet Cas’ thrusts, to do something, anything to help his angel come, but he can hardly breathe, let alone focus on being useful.

What he can do, he quickly realizes, is clench.



“Yes Dean. Yes…”

It doesn’t take long after that, Cas pulls out about halfway and Dean wonders what the fuck he’s doing but then he feels Cas’ spilling inside of him, hot and sticky along his insides as he slides in and out, spreading his seed.

Dean suddenly remembers what Cas wanted to do to him. He should have known that after a good fucking from Cas he would be too relaxed to care. He doesn’t feel self-conscious or grossed out by it anymore, and when he feels Cas’ breath on his asshole he just sighs into the comforter.

Cas laves at his used hole and it’s disarmingly soothing. It’s comfortable in a way, and his rim is still so sensitive it sends little tingles up his spine. Each time Cas’ tongue licks over his hole he adds a little more pressure, and a little more, and then Dean feels him lick inside, twisting the muscle in and locking his lips to Dean’s skin and then he’s sucking all while still curling his tongue.

When Dean feels Cas moan against him he about loses it. He lets out a gasp and closes his eyes, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of Cas sucking the come from him, reveling in the wet slurping sounds and small, deep moans.

“Mmmhmm,” Dean sighs. “Angel…”

That name always gets a reaction from Cas, and this time Dean feels Cas’ spread his cheeks a little farther and grip them a little tighter, his tongue goes a little deeper and Cas moans loudly, the vibrations giving Dean shivers.

Cas is quiet as he lays Dean down onto his back gently and just out of the way of the mess he made on the blanket. Dean keeps his eyes closed as Cas slides up his body and when he opens his eyes they’re face-to-face. Cas has an intense look in his eyes.

Dean just feels like a lump of uselessness, having not done much of anything the whole time.

He wants so badly to give Cas something, or everything. Anything.

He looks at Castiel’s lips, pierced together tightly.

Oh. Okay babe.

Dean opens his mouth slightly, and sticks his tongue out just a bit.

Castiel’s eyes go a little squinty like they do when he smiles, and Dean gets kind of nervous as Cas leans forward and connects their mouths in a kiss, except it isn’t just a kiss.

Dean feels the thick, hot fluid on his tongue immediately. Whether it’s hot from Cas’ cock or being in Dean’s ass or being held in Cas’ mouth – who knows – but it’s hot and fuck yeah okay baby you were right.

Cas moans into the kiss and Dean swallows the come and saliva and Cas kisses him harder, dominant and passionate and sweet all at the same time until finally, many many minutes later, they separate for air.

“Jesus.” Dean gasps.

“No. I’m Castiel.”

“Smart ass.”

Castiel smiles and Dean leans up and kisses him again, wondering how the fuck he went so long without being able to kiss Cas whenever he wants.

Later that night, when they’ve calmed down and Cas is wrapped tightly behind him, arms around him protective and comfortable, Dean is almost asleep when a thought strikes him.


“Yes Dean?” Cas sounds wide awake of course, because the guy doesn’t sleep.

“Why’d you spank me?”

“Because I thought you’d like it. I was right.”

“Yeah, you were.” Dean snuggles back into Cas a little more.

“But why did smacking my ass make Zep come on?”

“It seemed fitting. And you love that song.”

“Yeah. Kay.” Dean chuckles. “‘Night Cas.”

“Goodnight Dean.”

Chapter Text

G is for Grace

The brothers often pranked each other, so it wasn’t surprising when Castiel caught on.

He did, however, have one thing the brothers didn’t have:


So, in similar fashion to the ‘pull my finger’ joke that he never truly understood the humor behind (but Meg seemed to enjoy), he finds himself wandering around the bunker turning off random lights, making the shower water run cold, slamming and locking doors…

At first Dean and Sam thought the place was haunted, and Castiel was amused watching his friends stalk around with their EMF detectors and shotguns filled with salt.

It didn’t take them long to figure out that it was Castiel.

That doesn’t mean that he stopped with his ‘pranks’ though. He felt a strange sense of joy when he’d cut the wifi and hear Sam’s voice bellow through the halls of the bunker, “Dammit Cas!”

Or when he’d walk by Dean’s room while Dean is watching a particularly risqué video from a questionable website and Castiel would abruptly switch it over to a funny cat video.

“God dammit Cas I’m going to kill you!”

It was all fun and games at first.

But then Dean called him junkless so Castiel decided to take it a step further.

The first time he did it, the brothers were sitting at the table eating breakfast. Dean was eating a bowl of cereal from a box with a cartoon rabbit on the front, and Sam was having a slice of whole grain toast and oatmeal. Sam ate while he explained a case regarding a suspected rougarou in St. Louis, and every few minutes Dean would lament that he had just detailed the Impala and didn’t want to drive her on the dusty Missouri back roads quite yet, and why can’t they just call Travis to deal with it since he’s closer anyway. Dean got up to put his dirty dishes in the sink and that’s when Castiel decided to strike.

He didn’t move. He didn’t flinch or even blink. He just focused a gentle pulse of energy on a spongy little gland inside of Dean that was nestled between his bladder and his rectum.

There’s a clatter when Dean drops his bowl and spoon in the sink.

“What the…”

Dean looks down at his crotch like he expects something to be different, and Castiel decides once is enough for now – just one little pulse to confuse him.

“What?” Sam looks up from his laptop at Dean, who is standing slack-jawed by the sink.

“I- um. Nothing. Nevermind. Musta been nothing.”

Sam goes back to eating and reading the gruesome details of the ‘unsolved murders’ in St. Louis. Dean sits back down in his chair, still a little on edge.

Castiel looks at him.

Dean glances up at Castiel just for a moment and that’s when Castiel decides to pulse his grace around Dean’s prostate again, just a tad longer this time. He watches in awe as Dean’s eyelashes flutter and a rumble in his chest vibrates through the kitchen.

“Dean, you alright?” Sam asks.

“Uh,” Dean stares at Castiel.

“You look like you’re going to be sick.” Sam closes his laptop. Castiel would agree with that if he didn’t know what was really happening. Dean was looking a little peaked.

Castiel takes the opportunity to not just pulse lightly at Dean’s sensitive prostate, but to run his grace along the underside of his shaft. Dean visibly shivers and his eyes snap back up at Castiel who only stares intensely back.

“Yeah I think maybe… that’s it…” Dean slams his fist onto the table and Castiel retracts his grace.

“Perhaps you should make some ginger tea to help settle your stomach.” Castiel says, matter-of-fact and feeling very good about his prank so far.

“Mmmhmm.” Dean gets up from the table. “I think I’m gonna go lay down.” He walks quickly out of the kitchen but not before Castiel wraps his grace around Dean’s scrotum and sends faint little vibrations through it and his perineum. He hears Dean stutter out the word “F-fuck!” before he’s down the hall. The sound of his bedroom door slamming echoes through the halls.

“That’s what he gets for eating children’s cereal for dinner last night and breakfast this morning,” says Sam.

“Yes, I suppose.” Castiel isn’t necessarily agreeing with Sam’s statement, although he does agree that this is what Dean deserves for calling him junkless.


Later that same day Dean is in the garage packing up a few things before they take off to St. Louis.

“Hey Cas. You coming with us to gank this rougarou or you want to stick around the bunker and rest up?”

“I’d like to come along, if that’s alright.”

“’Course. Hand me the cooler.”

Without moving, Castiel moves the remaining cooler, propane torch, and Dean’s duffle bag and packs them all neatly in the trunk. He puts the cooler in the backseat so he’ll be able to hand Dean food while he drives.

“Huh. Thanks man.” Dean says, closing the trunk.


“Your mojo back at full burn yet?”

“Not quite, but it’s getting better.”

“Well no demon-smiting or flitting off to heaven until you’re back at 100%. Understand?”

“I understand, Dean, although I have no desire to go back to heaven. I have plenty of other ways to keep busy down here. By the way, how is your stomach? Are you feeling better?”

Dean only has time to throw him a questioning glance before Sam walks into the garage.

“You ready to go? Cas, you coming too?”

“Yes, if that’s alright.”

“Yeah! That’s great. Dude, how’s your stomach?” He asks Dean who just grunts in response but is still looking at Castiel.

The three of them pile into the car, Castiel taking up residence in the center of the backseat so he can watch the profiles of his two friends as they conversationally spar with each other while Dean drives them along I-36 East toward Missouri.

They’ve just crossed the border when Castiel decides to continue his teasing of Dean once again. This time, instead of going for the direct engagement of his most sensitive areas, Castiel decides to try a little foreplay, something that his research has found is rather important to some people.

Let’s see how important it is to Dean.

Castiel rests his grace in the form of a firm handprint high on Dean’s thigh. He sees Dean jump slightly and look down at his leg, ultimately seeing nothing but sure that something there.

Castiel has a perfect view of Dean’s eyes in the rear-view mirror. They are still focused out ahead on the road, that is, until Castiel grips his thigh a little tighter.

Dean kicks his leg out a little under the steering wheel.

“What’s up Dean?” Sam asks.

“Leg’s asleep.” Dean glances up into the rear-view mirror and locks eyes with Castiel who can tell that Dean is onto him but still doesn’t know exactly what’s going on.

This is officially Castiel’s favorite prank.

He works his grace and begins massaging the firm muscles of Dean’s thigh through his jeans, getting closer and closer to his groin, watching Dean’s eyes flit up to meet his in the reflection of the mirror.

Castiel grabs sure and steady at Dean’s groin, and when he realizes that Dean is beginning to get hard, a flutter of excitement courses through his grace and into his own vessel. It’s a very new experience for him.

Yes, this is a good prank.

Dean’s eyes are wide in the reflection as Castiel continues to stroke and rub. He looks out the side window into the darkness and away from Dean, pretending that he has no idea of what’s happening, but at the same time he adjusts his grace and it moves under Dean’s pants and grips his erection tightly in a warm, lifelike fist.

There’s a sharp intake of breath, and the car swerves just enough to catch Sam’s attention.

“Dude, you sure you’re okay. You’ve seemed a little off all day.”

“I’m fine.” Dean grits out, frustrated.

Castiel keeps the hand of his grace still, but firmly wrapped around Dean, occasionally squeezing just to remind the hunter that there’s something there. Soon, soft snores are coming from the passenger seat and Castiel views this as an invitation to continue his ministrations.

He pulses a few quick vibrations through his grace and then severs it, splitting the hand into what he’d imagine three silky tongues would feel like, flicking and licking along the length of Dean’s shaft. Dean’s head falls back onto the headrest, his eyes darting up to Castiel’s in the mirror.

“Keep your eyes on the road, Dean.”

“Cas? What are you doing?” Dean’s voice is a little more breathy as Castiel’s grace works along his erection.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Castiel feigns indifference, although inside he is basically vibrating as he feels Dean’s heart rate speed up. He watches as a bead of sweat slides down the back of Dean’s neck and underneath the collar of his shirt. He watches Dean’s hands white-knuckle the wheel as Castiel’s grace suckles on the sensitive head of his erection.

Dean is clearly confused, but Castiel is sure that Dean is actually enjoying this.

Castiel’s own vessel is starting to react in new ways, too. Sure, he’s watched porn (mostly for educational purposes), and he had sex with April before she killed him - but this is different. In those cases he felt this pressure building underneath his slacks and was able to do something about it immediately. Now, he must continue to neglect that heavy feeling in his groin. He can’t give himself away. He must stay focused on Dean.

“Shit…” Dean hisses and palms at the bulge in his jeans, surly expecting to feel something else there.

Castiel pulls his grace away from Dean completely, and the hunter lets out a combined noise of relief and annoyance.

Twenty miles later Sam is still snoring and Castiel decides to continue attending to Dean’s arousal, which even after a period of neglect Castiel can still sense roiling below Dean’s rigid posture and stern expression.

This time he goes really slow. His grace heats up as it coils it around Dean’s shaft, starting at the base and slowly wrapping around, squeezing and sliding, paying special attention to the sensitive skin of the frenulum that, when stimulated, makes Dean twitch in his seat. His grace slides across that spot over and over until Dean moans aloud, glancing over at Sam with a worried expression.

“Sam is asleep.” Castiel reassures.

Keeping the focus on Dean’s groin, Castiel takes a little more of his grace and slides up Dean’s stomach until he reaches his left nipple. Pinch.

Dean gasps.





The name rolls off Dean’s lips like a sigh.

Castiel withdraws his grace and Dean lets out a deep breath.

The next hour of the drive go by in silence until Sam wakes up and breaks the tension with more rougarou case file facts like that’s what he was thinking about in his sleep. Castiel continues to tease Dean periodically until they finally roll into St. Louis at two o’clock in the morning.

Dean types out a quick text Travis to let him know that they’re in the area and see if he wants to get a beer after they burn the monster tomorrow and he gets a response back almost immediately.

“Son of a bitch!” He reads the text aloud: “’Slowpokes. Ganked the bitch already. You owe me a beer.’ See I told you we shoulda just called Travis in the first place!”

“Yeah, well we’ll just head back to the bunker and…”

“Nuh-uh. I’m sick of driving and… and my stomach is still bothering me. I’m getting my own room… and you can just… sleep in the car for all I give a…” Dean mumbles and grumbles as he grabs his duffle from the trunk and heads to the office of the motel.

“What’s got him all worked up?” Sam asks Castiel, shutting the trunk and following his brother.

Castiel shrugs.

Sam falls asleep quickly and Castiel sits up at the table, using Sam’s laptop to do some more research on the male anatomy. It’s almost three o’clock when he hears Dean pray.

“Cas, get your ass in here.”

As some would say – the jig is up. Or maybe even it was fun while it lasted. Now he must go confess to Dean, probably get yelled at and maybe be left behind at this cheap motel. He could wake up Sam and he’d help convince Dean to at least take him back to the bunker…

Knock knock.

Castiel knocks on the door to Room 102, and when Dean opens the door he does in fact look angry, but he also looks a little, what? Fluffy? His hair is sticking up in all directions like he’s been tugging at it.

“Hello Dean.” Castiel walks in and Dean shuts the door quietly behind him.

“Cas what the hell is going on? I know you… I mean, you’re in on this, right? Tell me this has been you all day and that I’m not going crazy – that I haven’t been possessed by some witch or something.”

Dean’s voice doesn’t sound as angry as Castiel figured it would. He sounds more desperate than anything.

The jig is up. It was fun while it lasted.

“Yes. It was me.”

Dean takes a deep breath. Relief, Castiel thinks. That’s good. Then Dean closes the gap between them, standing directly in front of Castiel. He’s so close that he can feel Dean’s breath on his lips. Mint – he’s just brushed his teeth.

“Why?” Dean asks.

“A prank.” Castiel says, too loudly, distracted by the mint and the freckles he hasn’t been this close to in a long time. “It was a prank to get back at you.”

“Get back at me?” Dean gives him a questioning look. “For what?”

“You said I was junkless.”

Dean laughs, but Castiel quickly stops it by prodding at the hunter’s prostate again. Dean’s legs buckle slightly and he lets out a beautifully unrefined moan; one like Castiel hasn’t heard before.

“Fuck, Cas. Do that again.” Dean’s eyes are closed so he doesn’t see the look of confusion on Castiel’s face.

He uses his grace to envelope all of Dean’s sensitive spots and sends what could only be described as warm, rolling vibrations through them. Dean almost collapses, but Castiel’s grace holds him up. Dean’s hips make subtle little thrusts into the air, and he can see the erection forming beneath Dean’s sweatpants.

“You’ve always been so responsive to sexual stimulation.” Castiel says, sort of on accident as he is feeling very distracted by the man in front of him.

“You- you’ve done this before? I-I don’t remember… fuck.”

“In hell while I rebuilt you,” Castiel steps forwards and pushes the man back towards the door until he’s pressed against it. “It was the only way of giving you some kind of relief until I could get you out.”

Watching Dean’s reactions is stirring up things in Castiel’s vessel. Dean must feel it against his hip. He looks down.

“Definitely not junkless then.” He grits out, and when he looks back up at Castiel there is a fire in his eyes – a heat like Castiel has never seen – and it’s directed right at him. “Show me what you’ve got, angel.”

Castiel is surprised, sure, but he’s also spent all day thinking of things he could do to Dean with his grace, and now he has an open invitation. He takes a few steps back and away from Dean, who is still breathing heavily. Oh, that’s right, Castiel is still fondling his prostate. He pulls back and Dean slumps forward a little. It gives him an idea.

He pulls the chair out from under the faux wooden desk and takes a seat, studiously regarding Dean, who is still leaning against the door panting.

“It’s weird, you sitting there just looking at me.” Dean says, and Castiel shoves Dean back against the door and holds him there without moving a muscle. Dean lets out a little whoa sound at the invisible strength that has made him immobile.

In another second Castiel has stripped Dean of all of his clothes, socks included, and everything is folded in a neat pile on the bed.

All that remains are Dean’s bracelets and his anti-possession tattoo.

Castiel sits back in the chair and admires the naked form of his friend. He tweaks a nipple, remembering the reaction that got in the car earlier. He isn’t disappointed. Dean can’t move but he lets out breathy growl and shuts his eyes. Castiel does it again, and again, alternating between the two buds over and over until finally applying sustained pressure to both and Dean chews on his bottom lip.

Without letting up he adds a coil of warmth around Dean’s growing erection and strokes it gently, watching his eyes go wide again.

“Cas that feels- that feels good.”

“And how does this feel?” Castiel surges his grace through Dean’s body in one quick, bright pulse.

Dean yells.


“Was that a good-”

“Yes Cas yes! Fuck, yes, that was good. Do it againnnnn fuck!”

Castiel does it again, watching rapt as Dean’s body shakes and fights against his unseen restraints.

The third time he does it Dean cries out and squeezes his eyes shut.

“Cas, can you… can you let up a little on my dick, it feels like it’s going to explode if it can’t…”

“Oh. Yes. Apologies.” Castiel didn’t realize that he was also prohibiting Dean’s erection from fully forming while his grace suppressed every muscle. He lets it go and it immediately goes stiff, filling with blood and rising toward Dean’s stomach, a pearly bead of precome gleaming at the tip.

Castiel licks his lips.

“Like what you see?” Dean tries to tease but it comes across sounding more like an actual question. Castiel so badly wants to say yes, that he really, truly does like what he sees in front of him.

Instead, he responds with a sustained, gyrating assault on Dean’s body and the hunter comes hard with a cry blasting from his lungs. Long ropes of ejaculate spew from his body and land a few feet in front of him on the tacky brown carpeting.

Castiel sits back in the chair and watches, trying to take in every detail: Dean’s heavy breathing, his quickening heart rate, the reddening flush on his chest and cheeks, the knowledge that if Castiel let him go right now Dean would surly fall to the floor.

“Shit, Cas.” Dean blinks hard a few times and grins. “I’m seein’ stars.” Castiel rises from his seat and walks to Dean, who’s eyes go wider with each step. He takes Dean’s testicles gently in one hand and Dean moans loudly at the first real, physical contact they’ve had all day. His moan gets louder when Castiel begins to fill his testes with more semen. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“I’m not finished with you. And I’d like you to enjoy it so I’m refilling your testes so you will be able to ejaculate again.”

“Is that you talking dirty?” Dean snickers. Castiel lets go of Dean’s scrotum and relaxes his grace causing Dean to fall into his arms. Castiel holds him up with very little effort.

“No.” He says, turning Dean and pushing him toward the bed. His limbs have forgotten what it’s like to support his weight so Dean sort of flops down onto the mattress and lands in a heap before flipping himself onto his back and looking up at Castiel, who has no plans let Dean recover.

Ahhh fuck…” Dean groans as he’s stretched across the bedspread, arms and legs spread wide and held firm so he’s completely exposed. Castiel hums in appreciation of the body that is laid out before him. “I thought your grace was exhausted?”

“It is.” Castiel sits on the bed at Dean’s hip. “I can’t fly or move mountains, but you’re just a man, Dean, and I can dominate you in every way with very little effort.”

And it’s true. Castiel realizes that it is in fact taking more effort to not become obviously aroused himself than it is to turn Dean into a wiggling mess.

Castiel clears his throat and finds his composure.

“I’d like you to do something for me. I’d like you to have a fantasy.”

“What?” Dean nervously laughs out the word.

“A fantasy. I want you to think of something like when you touch yourself in your room, something that you find pleasurable.”

“Are you serious?” Anxiety edges Dean’s voice, but Castiel nods and doesn’t give any more explanation. “What are you gonna do?”

“Close your eyes Dean.”

Dean obeys, but asks again, “What are you gonna do, Cas?”

Castiel doesn’t answer Dean’s question, but after a few moments of silence he does ask, “Are you fantasizing?”

All he gets from Dean in response is a lazy mmmhmm.

Castiel places two fingers on Dean’s temple and before he can hear Dean gasp he’s transported into Dean’s fantasy and is somewhat shocked when he is confronted by it.

What he had been expecting to see was a young, petite oriental woman with large breasts servicing Dean in some way – a familiar scene from the pornography website Dean often frequents.

What Dean is actually thinking about is not the various stars of Busty Asian Beauties.

It’s Castiel.

More specifically, it’s Castiel and Dean.

Even more specifically, it’s Castiel behind Dean, slowly pushing himself into the hunter.

Castiel’s breath catches at the sight.

It’s a very clean-looking, non-descript location, like a mile wide bed covered in soft white sheets.

Dean lays naked on his stomach and Castiel is also naked, hovering over him. His arms bracket the hunter while he slowly lowers his body and penetrates Dean, resting his forehead between the other man’s shoulder blades until he’s completely buried inside of him.

Dean’s eyes are closed and he’s biting his bottom lip and then grinning and breathing around the words yes and angel and perfect.

Then Castiel hears his own voice. All he says is Dean, and Dean moans at the sound of it.

When Castiel begins to move, rolling his hips in small, smooth motions, Dean grips the sheets beneath him in his fists.

Castiel stands back and watches this taking place. His original plan was to use his power to make Dean’s body – his actual body in the motel room, not the one currently being speared by Castiel’s member – feel everything that he was imagining.

He was expecting lots breasts and blowjobs.

He definitely wasn’t expecting this.

But, couldn’t he still keep that same tactic? Just because the vision was different than originally anticipated doesn’t mean he couldn’t do it.

Maybe he’ll allow himself feel it a little bit, too.

So, with determination, Castiel centralizes his grace on Dean’s fantasy and is immediately overwhelmed.

Castiel finds himself over Dean now, the hunter’s strong, broad shoulders before him. The pressure around his erection is breathtaking; the heat radiating off of the body below him intoxicating. There is a moment when Castiel feels as though he is in heaven again, but somehow this is better.

Move and please and Cas percolate off the lips of the man underneath him. Castiel obliges, feeling the slide of slick compression enveloping him, squeezing him and threatening to drive him mad. He pulls out completely and drives back in.

Dean screams.

Castiel scratches his nails down Dean’s spine and watches as the hunter arches his back into the contact and cants his hips up and toward Castiel, silently asking to be taken harder, rougher, more, more… he rests his hands on Dean’s lower back, curling his fingers around to his hips while his thumbs press into the beautiful dimples above Dean’s buttocks. He presses the man down into the sheets while maintaining hard, unyielding thrusts.

He watches as Dean twists and writhes, fisting the sheets and taking everything Castiel has to give, shouting and swearing and begging.

Yes, begging. Yes.

This is all Dean’s fantasy. This is what he wants. Dean is moving them molding them and bending them to do as he wished. This was is his fantasy. He is in control completely.

It takes Castiel by surprise when he hunches himself over and bites at the firm muscle between Dean’s neck and shoulder, licking and sucking and biting a bruise into the salty, freckled skin. Dean practically howls.

Castiel can feel a heartbeat in his thighs and a flutter in his groin and the pulsing of Dean’s body against his. His vessel is thrumming and throbbing and aching for release. He pulls his mouth off of Dean’s shoulder and tries to explain to Dean that he must, he has to… he has to…

Yes! Dean says, propping himself up on his elbows and turning his head, meeting Castiel’s lips in a brutal, wet, incredible kiss.

Castiel feels himself let go then, and all of the tension and pressure is released from his body, and deep within Dean he empties himself, spasm after spasm, load after load; an impossibly long orgasm shaking him to his very essence.

Dean shakes beneath him with his own release, his lips parting from Castiel’s as he buries his face into the sheets and screams.

Castiel removes his fingers from Dean’s temple, immediately feeling the loss of contact in many, many ways.

There is a warm, wet, slick feeling in his pants.


He came in his pants.

Then he looks down at Dean.

The hunter is shining with sweat and trembling. Opaque strands of ejaculate stripe Dean’s stomach and torso and his member is soft and resting against his lightly-colored thatch of pubic hair. His eyes are squeezed closed and his mouth is open as he is panting, nearly gasping for air.

Castiel will never forget the way Dean looks right now.

“Let me go, Cas.” Dean says a moment later once he’s barely caught his breath. Castiel lets up his hold on Dean’s body.

He crossed a line, didn’t he? He got carried away.

Once he releases Dean he’s half expecting Dean to sit up and start getting dressed, maybe push him off the bed and away from him, maybe kick him out of the room.

But instead, Dean reaches for him with shaking hands and grabs the collar of Castiel’s trench coat pulling the angel on top of him.

Then they are kissing.

Dean is kissing him, pulling him closer, gripping the fabric of the trench coat in his fists like he’ll never let go.

Castiel is strong enough to get away, but he doesn’t want to.

He lets Dean explore his mouth, tonguing and biting at his lips, the soft breathy moans tickle Castiel’s cheek.

Minutes go by before Dean releases his grip. By then they’re both left fighting for breath.

“Why’d you do that?” Castiel asks, looking down at the exhausted, naked, relaxed man below him.

“Dunno. Jus’ felt like it.” Dean slurs out, looking up at Castiel, his green eyes sleepy and sparkling.

“Dean, may I ask… is that- is that really what you think of when you touch yourself? Was that really a fantasy of yours?” Castiel asks, unsure if he wants to know the truth.

Dean answers with a smile and pulls him in for another kiss.

Yes, this was a good prank.

Chapter Text

H is for High School

Elementary School:

They met in 4th grade when Dean and Sammy were waiting for the bus after school and some older kids started picking on Sammy. Dean’s first defense was to fight them, but then Cas, the weird new kid in Dean’s class, stepped in without hesitation and tried to get the bullies to back off using words and reason.

It was elementary school and reason didn’t work so well on nine-year-olds, so Cas punched one of the bullies in the face. Dean socked another one in the nose, and even little Sammy kicked one of the kids in the shin.

They all got suspended for two days.

That was how Dean met his best friend.

Middle School:

The Winchester house felt more like home to Cas than his own did. Mary always welcomed Cas into their home with plenty of hugs and usually some type of sandwich or baked good. John Winchester, while he probably drank a little too much and was a little rough round the edges, was a good father and took to Cas well enough.

As the boys grew up they grew closer. It wasn’t uncommon for Cas to ride his bike over to their house through the snow on Christmas for dinner, or to be invited on summer camping trips where John would teach them how to start fires and shoot bb guns.

They’d wrestle in the backyard, and once Cas accidentally broke Dean’s arm.

Together, Cas and Dean learned about girls, boys, and video games. Cas hit puberty first and would tease Dean when Dean’s voice squeaked. Then about four months later, Dean suddenly got taller than Cas seemingly overnight.

They stopped wrestling once they both hit puberty.

They formed their own personalities independent of each other but were so compatible and in sync that it freaked some people out. By the time they hit high school they were known as a unit.

Dean and Cas.

Cas and Dean.

You didn’t get one without the other.

Rumors circulated about them that they ignored, but they were liked well enough and generally left alone.

High School – Freshman Year:

Both Dean and Cas make it onto the junior varsity football team. They struggle with juggling an increased workload, football practice, and free time, but still Cas ends up over at Dean’s house almost every day after school, and he spends most weekends there, too. They’d do homework at the kitchen table and do chores and make fun of how Sammy knows all the words to Hit Me Baby One More Time.


On a Sunday in late May the boys are washing Baby in the driveway, which Dean loves doing.

“Dean, why do you talk to the car when you wash it? It’s just a stupid car.” Sammy asks.

“Shh, don’t listen to him Baby.” Dean whispers affectionately as he drags a soapy sponge along the hood.

“He talks to the car because he is a crazy person,” Cas answers for him, squatting while soaping up the back bumper, “but we don’t need to worry until he claims that the car is talking back.”

“Shut up. She does talk to me. She tells me what she needs. We have a very healthy relationship.”

“But, how do you know it’s a girl?” Sammy asks, just standing there with a wet sponge in his hand.

“Of course she’s a girl! Look at how pretty she is.”

“Boys can be pretty too.” Sammy argues. “You said you think Cas is pretty.”

Dean looks over at Cas, who has gone pie-eyed and is grinning like a lunatic.

“What the hell Sammy?” Dean’s cheeks go red. So maybe he had asked his mom a few questions about what it meant that he found himself looking at some boys the same way he was looking at some girls. Sammy must have overheard, the little weasel. “I never said- Cas shut up!”

Dean hears laughter coming from behind the car.

Cas is squatting, still scrubbing the license plate and laughing. He looks up and blows a kiss at Dean. Dean promptly walks around and shoves Cas in the shoulder, knocking him off balance so he tips backwards and falls ass-first into a soapy puddle. He starts laughing even more.

“Fuck off.” Dean growls, and Cas just shrugs and goes back to scrubbing.

Dean is more than a little frustrated that he notices Cas’ nose is getting sunburned.


Before dinner that night the boys shower and change into dry clothes. Cas went first, and Dean is sitting in his room playing Super Smash when Cas walks in with just a towel wrapped around his waist.

“Can I borrow some pants? Mine are still wet from earlier.”

“Uh, sure. Yeah.” Dean ignores the characters on the screen, instead focusing on his peripheral vision while Cas has his back turned and is rummaging around in the third drawer of the dresser. Dean watches when Cas drops the towel and lets out a nearly audible gasp when he sees Cas’ bare ass and legs and back. There’s a large freckle above Cas’ right butt cheek, and he’s all smooth and skinny limbs and what the fuck Dean knock it off Dean thinks to himself.

He sees each vertebrae roll under fair skin as Cas bends over to step into the jeans and pull them up. Dean quickly turns back to the TV and sees that Mario has died twice since he got distracted.

Screw it.

He shifts his eyes toward Cas again as he roughly dries his hair with the towel. When he turns, Dean sees how low the jeans are riding on Cas’ hips and he stops himself from biting his lip by saying “Those are too big for you.”

Cas shrugs and pulls on one of Dean’s old band tees before taking the controller since it’s Dean’s turn to shower.

“You’re terrible at this game.” Cas says when Dean gets up.

Dean has a respectable half-erection by the time he steps into the shower. It is still wet and warm in the bathroom from Cas’ shower, and that does nothing to help his situation. He wants to leave his boner alone, and really, he tries to leave it alone, but as he washes himself his forearm brushes against the side of it and it makes him shudder. He can’t stop thinking about that freckle low on Cas’ back as he accidentally grazes a soapy hand against himself again.

He grips himself tight in his fist as he thinks about how Cas’ spine moved under his skin as he bent over.

He really tries to leave his boner alone, honest, but within minutes, as he thinks Cas is naked under my favorite pair of jeans – he comes silently against the shower wall.

Guilt rides the coattails of the first orgasm he’s ever had while thinking about his best friend, and by the time he has cleaned off the wall and himself he is completely embarrassed and more than a little confused.

He avoids eye contact with Cas through dinner and feels a guilty sort of relief when Cas rides his bike home that night.

High School – Sophomore Year:

Dean and Cas still play JV football, but now in the Spring Cas runs track and Dean plays baseball. It doesn’t surprise anyone that Dean doesn’t miss any of Cas’ track meets and Cas is Dean’s loudest fan at every baseball game.

Cas is still very lean, but he’s gotten a little taller and his hair has gotten longer and a little more wild. Dean has filled out in his shoulders quite a bit and has to start shaving on a regular basis.


It’s 8:30 on a Friday night and Dean’s just been dumped.

Cas is on his way over with a surprise.

He walks in the house without knocking, as always, and gives Mary a light kiss on the cheek before running upstairs to Dean’s room. Dean is lying on his bed staring at the ceiling, listening to some horrible angsty emo music.

“You said you didn’t even like Lisa that much.” Cas says before he even drops his backpack on the floor.

“I don’t!”

“Then why are you listening to her favorite band and moping around?” Cas walks to the CD player and turns it off, mumbling about Lisa’s taste in music.

“I don’t know. It’s just- it’s weird, you know?”

Cas didn’t know. He’d never had a girlfriend. Hell, he’d never even been kissed.

“It’s a shitty feeling, not being wanted anymore.” Dean tucks his arms behind his head.

Cas tries not to react to that statement. Not wanted? Is that what Dean thinks? Maybe Lisa didn’t want him anymore, but Lisa is an idiot. Cas never liked her, even though she was always nice enough to him and was maybe kind of pretty. There was just something about her that really bugged him.

Instead of responding, he focuses on picking out the Led Zeppelin CD in the CD changer and hits play.

“I brought something that might help.” He walks back to his bag and pulls out an almost-half-full bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label.

“Holy shit Cas!” Dean sits up, “Where’d you even…”

“Stole it from my dad’s liquor cabinet,” he says with a smile, feeling far more proud than he should. “And,” he reaches back in his bag and pulls out an unopened bag of frosted circus animal cookies – one of Dean’s guilty pleasures.

“Gimme!” Dean grabs the cookies from Cas’ hand and everything seems like it’s going to be okay.


It’s two a.m. and the whiskey is gone. As are the circus cookies.

Dean and Cas lie on the carpet side by side feeling sick and giddy. They’ve stayed up this late before many times, usually playing video games or watching movies, but as it stands now they’ve been lying on the floor talking for almost five hours. Their words flow as easily as the whiskey did until they ran out.

They talk about other girls in their class and on TV, and Dean explains to Cas what kissing a girl is like.

“It’s prolly kinda the same as kissing a guy I s’pose.” Dean slurs out, giggling just a little.

“Well I’ve never done that either.”

“Dude,” Dean sits up and rolls to his side, facing Cas and sort of leaning in, swaying toward Cas close enough that Cas can smell the sticky sweetness on his breath. “We should totally kiss right now.” Dean says it like it’s the best idea he’s ever had.

Cas’ stomach does a flip, but instead of saying yes we should! he starts laughing, which makes Dean laugh and soon they’re both clutching their stomachs. Dean rolls towards Cas and plants a big, sloppy kiss on his cheek.

“Asshole.” Dean says, still laughing.

It’s dark in the room, so Dean doesn’t see how many shades of red Cas turns.


Sometime in the very early morning, Cas pulls his sleeping bag out of its spot in the closet and grabs his favorite pillow from Dean’s bed. He shucks off his pants and crawls into the bag. Dean peels himself off of the floor and lands in his bed. They’re both snoring in minutes.

At some point before the sun comes up Cas runs to the bathroom across the hall and throws up. Dean hear him hurl, then flush, then the faucet running. A few minutes later Cas comes back in and flops down on top of the sleeping bag.

Dean’s eyes have adjusted to the dim light. He leans over the bed and looks at his friend, lying on his stomach with his face turned away. Cas makes a disgusted groan, and Dean knows what he means.

Somehow the room is spinning in both directions simultaneously, but Dean reaches down and rests his palm against the back of Cas’ neck, thumbing at his hair. His skin is clammy and hot. Dean’s pulse flutters when Cas hums lightly.

“G’nigh,” Cas mumbles.

“’Night Cas.” Dean says and falls asleep, his hand still pressed against Cas’ skin.


The next morning Mary gives them a stern talking-to about underage drinking, but makes them pancakes anyway. Sammy and John join them for breakfast and John loudly explains to Sammy what a hangover is, then yells at them both when he finds out they were drinking better whiskey than he does.

High School – Junior Year:

Luckily both Cas and Dean make the varsity football team. Cas is running back and Dean finds himself second string quarterback, but when Benny breaks his wrist in the second game of the season all eyes are on Dean, who leads the team to a winning season.

They take AP statistics which Dean does surprisingly well in. Cas enjoys his World Religions class. They both take weight training as an elective, and girls start to notice them more.


“You asked her to the prom? Are you serious? Dammit Cas, now I need a date!” Dean and Cas are sitting at a table outside the cafeteria eating lunch.

“Just because I have a date doesn’t mean you have to have one too.”

“Bullshit, I’m not gonna be a third wheel at prom.” Dean realizes that he’s beginning to sound overly offended and tries to tone it down. He gives himself a second to find his composure by loudly and obnoxiously sucking the last bit of soda out of the cup with the straw.

“But a third wheel is good – it gives you better grip… greater stability.”

Dean throws a fry and it hits Cas in the nose and lands on the table. Cas picks it up and eats it.

“What about Bela?” Cas’ suggestion makes Dean faux-gag. “What? She’s cute, and she’s friends with Meg so we could all share a limo or something.”

“I thought we were taking Baby to the prom?”

“Baby can fit four people.”

“Bela is pretty hot.”

“And she’s got an accent.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

“I just thought I’d point out something you might like about her.”

“She’s kind of, I dunno, snobby or something, isn’t she?

“She comes from a wealthy family if that’s what you mean. But she doesn’t act particularly snobby.”

“Is that supposed to be another thing I should like about her?” Dean cocks an eyebrow at Cas.

“You like girls with dark hair. She has that. And green eyes. You like green eyes. And she’s not going to prom with anyone yet.”

Dean clenches his jaw. He knows that Cas is only trying to be helpful. It’s not his fault that Dean feels like yelling at him.

“How do you know she’s not going with anyone?”

“Meg told me. She wanted me to get you to ask her.” Cas admits.

“Fuck, man. Fine. Whatever.”

“It’ll be fun, Dean. And if it sucks we’ll bail and play video games.”

Dean stands up and picks up his tray.

“And it’s blue eyes, Cas. I like blue eyes,” he says as he sulks away leaving Cas at the table alone.


Turns out that the boys clean up real nice.

Mary helps Dean pick out a gray shirt and gold tie that will match Bela’s dress. Cas tells him it brings out the gold in his eyes.

Cas wore black pants and a black shirt with a dark gray vest and no tie. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his hair was brushed except for that endearing little tuft toward his forehead that was always sticking up.

“Oh my gosh, look at you boys! You both look so handsome!” Mary is swooning over Dean and Cas as they get ready to leave and pick up their dates. “I have to get some pictures. Go outside, let me find my camera…”

“Oh God mom, really?” Dean groans.

“I don’t know why it surprises you that she wants pictures of us. You actually showered and I look fantastic.” Cas says and he straightens out his vest. He seems giddy, and he’s right – he does look fantastic.

“Plus, she has pictures of you guys doing everything together since grade school.” Sammy chimes in.

Since when did Sammy get so tall?

“Not everything,” Cas jokes. Dean looks at Sammy, who perks up his eyebrows and Dean, as subtly as he can without moving or making a sound, silently screams NO NO NO Sammy! “Jeeze, I was just kidding.” Cas says, rolling his eyes and heading toward the porch.

“You okay?” Sammy asks once Cas is out of earshot.

“I’m fine.” Dean smiles. He can feel how forced it must look.

“No you’re not. You’re caught in a twisted game of ‘how gay can I be with my best friend before it gets awkward.”

“Can we not talk about this right now?”

“Fine, jerk.”

“Bitch!” Dean reaches out and messes up Sammy’s shaggy hair.

“Ahhh! Stop it! MOM!”


“Did you bring condoms?” Cas asks when they’re crossing the bridge over the river on their way to Bela’s house.

“What?” Dean spits out in a harsh laugh, “Dude, no. I didn’t bring condoms. Why? Did you?”


“Why?” Dean glances over at the passenger seat and sees that Cas is giving him a look.

“For sex, Dean, why do you think?”

Dean’s stomach does a flip.

“I uh, I don’t know Cas. I wasn’t really planning on getting laid tonight.”

“Seriously? It’s prom. I thought everyone was trying to get laid tonight.” Cas digs his wallet out of his pocket and takes out a condom, opens the glove compartment, tosses the condom in and then closes it.

“Dude, take back your condom. Don’t leave it in my car. Besides, if anyone is going to have sex in this car it’s going to be me.”

“That one is yours. I brought an extra just in case. It’s always good to have protection Dean.”

“You are so fucking weird sometimes.”

“Whatever. You like it.”

Yes, I do.


Bela is hot and a little scary.

And Meg has her tongue down Cas’ throat inside of five minutes.

The music is shit, but it’s got a beat that makes Bela move against him in a way that helps distract him from the way Meg and Cas grind against each other. Dean still notices that Meg has her hands tangled in Cas’ hair and that their mouths are smashed together.

Dean and Bela end up making out in the backseat of the Impala until Bela gets fed up with Dean not making a move. She takes a $20 out of his wallet without him realizing before heading back to the dance, and Dean sits in the driver’s seat listening to AC/DC until everyone comes filing back out to go home an hour later.

They drop the girls off and head home.

After a few minutes of silence Cas says, “I like kissing.”

And then he fucking giggles.

“Well how very fucking special for you.” Dean turns to his classic defense – sarcasm.

He pulls up to Cas’ driveway just before 11:30 p.m.

“I thought I was staying the night at your house.” Cas asks, sounding confused.



“Get out of the car, Cas.” Dean sounds much calmer than he expected. He’s really surprised the words didn’t come out as a scream.

“Dean, I…”

“Look, I need you to get the FUCK OUT OF MY CAR!” Ah, there it is.

“Shit, okay. Sorry.” Cas climbs out and Dean takes off the second the door is slammed shut. He turns the music up and focuses on the lines of the road.


When Dean gets home he has three texts messages from Cas.

>> Message from Cas >> I wish you’d just tell me what you want.

>> Message from Cas>> I’m not an idiot, I see what’s happening. You can’t expect me to pretend that I don’t.

>> Message from Cas>> Why can’t you just say what you want Dean?

<< Message sent<< Fuck off.

>> Message from Cas>> Fine. You know what? Not that you care, but I had sex tonight. Thought my “best friend” might want to know.

Dean throws up in his trashcan.

High School – Senior Year:

Summer vacation between Junior and Senior year is rough. The boys finish off junior year seeing as little of each other as possible.

For the most part Dean stays in his room working through the summer homework packets that his dickhead teachers gave out. John shows him some basic under-the-hood maintenance on the Impala and Dean keeps himself busy learning everything he can about that car.

Dean and Cas don’t see each other until the first week of August when football practice begins.


They easily find ways to avoid each other, and their teammates voice concern at first until Dean threatens to kick the ass of the next person who asks him about it.

The coach pulls them both aside and says they need to stow their crap because it’s affecting the team. Dean groans when the coach makes them run extra laps after everyone else goes home. Cas doesn’t say a word.


The first time they really interact is during the homecoming game after Dean gets sacked hard by the opposing team. Cas finds himself running to see if Dean is alright and helps him up. Dean wobbles on his feet and Cas walks him over to the bench where it’s decided that he needs to sit out for the rest of the game. Cas sits with him when the defense goes in, but still, they don’t say a word.


In January Dean receives a text.

>> Message from Cas>> Happy Birthday Dean

<< Message Sent<< Thanks

They text back and forth for a while, and soon they fall into a similar routine as before: Cas comes over for dinner on the weekends (to Mary’s delight), Dean picks Cas up for school and takes him home, they do homework together most nights.

It’s tenuous, but it’s an improvement.


Of course they decide to walk together for graduation. It would have been crazy for them not to, and just like prom the year before, Mary takes about a hundred pictures of them in their caps and gowns all while trying not to cry. John stands behind her looking proud, and even Sammy is beaming a smile at them. Things feel like they’re almost normal again.

The graduation ceremony takes place out on the football field. Dean cheers loud for Cas as he accepts his diploma with mentions of his honors courses and the scholarships he’s been awarded.

Dean heads up after him and shakes the principal's hand.

High school is over.

He’s done.

Someone hands him his diploma – he wasn’t even listening to what they said about him.

It’s over.

No more classes. No more relaxing summer vacations. No more being a kid. No more staying up late studying and weekend video game binges with his nerdy best friend. No more synching their schedules to match so they could have lunch together. No more early morning or late night football practices with the guys he’s been with since Freshman year.

No more Cas.

Next year Cas would be off to KU and Dean would be at Wichita State.

Suddenly it felt like the end of everything.


The school-sponsored grad night party blows, so Dean and Cas take off to one of the real graduation parties out at Benny’s folk’s house in the country. Dean wants to change his clothes, so they swing by the house beforehand.

All the lights are off. That’s right – everyone is out at dinner. John and Mary and Sammy and their grandparents were going out for their own graduation celebration since Dean and Cas were supposed to be at the grad night party all night.

When they get up to Dean’s room he rummages through his closet for a shirt to wear that isn’t the long-sleeve button-up collared shirt he was forced into for the ceremony. He tosses his diploma on the desk. Cas sets his on top.

“It’s kind of surreal, isn’t it?” Cas says while Dean changes his shirt.

“What, that high school is over?”

Cas nods, and Dean pretends not to notice how Cas’ eyes dance over his bare chest.

“Senior year wasn’t really like we thought it would be, huh?”

“Yeah,” Dean pulls a t-shirt over his head. “Kinda sucks, but…”

“I didn’t have sex with Meg.” Cas blurts out.


“I didn’t have- I didn’t sleep with Meg. I lied.”

“What the- why?” Relief and frustration rush through Dean.

“Because,” Cas looks up at him, determination in his eyes even though his voice wavers. “I thought it might encourage you to… I just wanted you to tell me…” he clears his throat. “I wanted to know if you loved me. I thought you did, but-”

“Jesus fucking Christ Cas…” Dean interrupts, brushing his hands over his face, unsure what to do next.

“I’m sorry. Looking back now I realize that it was a mistake. You’re the best friend I’ll ever have Dean, and I-I’m-”

“Cas, just- just shut up for a minute.” The wheels in Dean’s head are turning. Cas didn’t fuck Meg. Okay. That was a good thing. Cas lied about it to get a rise out of Dean? No. He lied to get Dean to finally admit that… “God dammit Cas, you sonofabitch.”

Dean takes one step forward and he’s in Cas’ personal space. The feeling of warmth radiating off his body – from the summer heat or the nerves, who knows – it snaps Dean’s last bit of resolve right in half and he presses his lips to Cas’.


It’s less than a second before Dean feels Cas’ fingers on the back of his neck, pulling him in closer.

This is impossible.

Cas tastes fizzy and sweet like cola, and Dean already feels himself getting drunk on it, but when Cas slides his tongue into Dean’s own mouth – that’s when he really loses it.

His knees actually go weak and he grips onto Cas’ hips for support.

It must be minutes before Dean remembers to breathe. He pulls back from Cas not more than an inch, and tries to gulp in as much air as he can before Cas pulls him back in, teeth clashing and tongues tasting. A deep little moan escapes Cas’ throat and Dean swallows it down with his own.

They’re very still, neither one really knowing what the next step should be. They just kiss and taste each other with urgency, holding on like if they let go they’ll float apart.

Finally Cas breaks for a breath, but not without Dean chasing after those lips he’s spent so much time thinking about. Cas smiles as Dean pants out a few breaths against him and kisses Cas’ top lip and bottom lip and the corner of his mouth, anything he can. Cas’ hands cradle his face now, thumbs brushing along Dean’s cheekbones.


“I know. Me too.” Cas says before diving back in, leading Dean to the bed and pulling him down.

Why does it feel so natural to have Cas underneath him? Why does it feel like they have done this a hundred times? How is it that Cas’ body, all lean, hard muscle from years of football and track, feels so soft and pliable under Dean’s hands?

It feels natural when Cas peels off Dean’s t-shirt, and Dean doesn’t hesitate to start unbuttoning (and eventually ripping off) Cas’ nice dress shirt. Even their skin sliding together – slightly slick with sweat in the muggy summer evening – feels right.

Dean breaks from Cas’ mouth and goes right for his neck and collarbone, missing those chapped lips immediately but reveling in the salty taste of his skin. He licks and sucks, taking mental notes of what gets Cas to moan and gasp; what gets Cas to grab Dean’s ass and start grinding against him.

Dean licks a wet strip up Cas’ neck and takes his earlobe between his teeth, gently biting until Cas’ back arches off the bed.

“Have you done this before?” Cas asks, gently pulling Dean back to reality.

His lack of experience is laughable, he almost doesn’t admit that no, he’s never done this.

“Uh. No, actually. Have you?”

When Cas shakes his head no Dean can’t help but smile.

“You seem like you know what you’re doing.” Cas says, and Dean realizes that he’s trembling slightly.

“Guess I’ve just spent a lot of time thinking about it.” He smirks, and Cas reaches up and nips at his lips.

“Should we take our pants off?”

I love this weirdo.

“Yeah, Cas. I think that’d be a good idea.”

The two of them fumble with buttons and zippers, curse at their shoes until they’re kicked off the bed, and finally, after struggling and wiggling for too long, they’re both completely naked.

And when Dean resumes his position on top of Cas and they feel their cocks brush together, they each let out a noise that catches the other off guard, and they look at each other surprised.

Cas reaches down between them and takes them both in one hand, squeezing their dicks together in a tight fist. Dean moves slightly, feeling his balls brush against Cas’ and the warmth of Cas’ cock on his and it’s enough to make him almost pass out.

But then Cas lets go, brings his hand up to his face and licks his palm, making it wet with his saliva. Dean takes Cas' hand and leads it to his own mouth, taking down one finger at a time until Cas is moaning and his fingers are practically dripping.

Now, when Cas wraps his fingers around them, their combined saliva, mixed with the precome that has leaked from the two of them, they have a warm, slippery glide that makes them both groan.

“Shit, Cas.” Dean looks down between them and watches in awe as their cocks slide together.

“I- I…” Cas stutters, thrusting up against Dean.

Dean balances himself on one hand and reaches down, lacing his fingers over Cas’ and pressing them together even harder. Cas gasps and looks up at Dean.

The heat between their bodies is nothing compared to the heat Dean sees in Cas’ eyes right then. It’s going to burn him alive.

“Missed you.” Dean whispers in a voice he’s sure he’ll be ashamed of later. “Needed you.” His voice noticeably breaks and he buries his face in Cas’ neck, continuing to thrust into their combined fists. “Always needed you.” He whispers against Cas’ skin. “Always loved you.”


There’s a quiet sort of desperation in Cas’ voice that makes Dean prop himself up again to watch as Cas falls apart. Cas speeds up his hips and moves his fingers over their dicks faster and faster until his breath is faltering and stuttering and he arches against Dean’s chest. Dean watches his mouth drop open in a silent shout, his eyes wide open and so fucking blue and looking right into Dean as he comes.

Seeing that, combined with the heat and slick of the mess Cas has made in their hands, sends Dean spiraling into his own release, feeling Cas’ fingers tangling in his sweaty hair while he pumps his seed over Cas’ stomach.

Cas kisses him through their aftershocks and continues pumping them both until they’re twitching and Dean whines and rolls off of his friend.


It could have been awkward. Hell, it probably should have been awkward when Dean walked naked to the bathroom to grab a towel, then came back and cleaned all the come off of his best friend – but it wasn’t.

It could have been awkward when they got off the bed to find their clothes and kept bumping into each other as they got dressed, but that wasn’t awkward either.

It could have been awkward when Dean pushed Cas against Baby’s passenger side door and kissed him again where the whole neighborhood could see, but neither of them seemed to mind and no one rushed out of their house to beat them off each other with a broom so, again, not so bad.

It could have been awkward when Cas asked Dean to be his boyfriend while they were stopped at a stoplight. Dean said yes, so that wasn’t awkward either.

It could have been awkward when they walked into Benny’s party holding hands, but as they wandered through the house hand-in-hand, talking and laughing with people they’d known for years, the only whispers they heard were finally! and it’s about fucking time.

Not awkward at all.

And they were right.

About fucking time.

Chapter Text

I is for Impala

There are few things that give Castiel a genuine sense of comfort now that he has fallen.

One is Netflix. Sam set up a TV in his room so Castiel can fall asleep with it on as white noise in the background. He prefers watching documentaries and the sound of David Attenborough’s voice makes falling asleep a little less frightening.

Although he isn’t sure that falling asleep will ever not be frightening – literally falling from a conscious state to an incapacitated, helpless, unconscious state willingly. And it is necessary for survival?

The design of the human being is incredibly flawed.

Another comfort is having the bunker to call home. Castiel has been given his own key, so no matter what he always has somewhere safe to go back to. He’ll never have to sleep in a broken down bus or under an awning on the street ever again.

He has his own bathroom where he can slowly get more accustomed to general functions and needs of the human body.

But, the most comforting thing, and what gives him the greatest peace of mind, is watching Dean work on Baby in the bunker’s motor pool.

Right now he’s sitting on a stool next to the Impala’s hood, and the only thing Castiel can focus on is the way the metacarpals in Dean’s hands roll under his skin as he twists and torques an assortment of wrenches.

Of course Dean is explaining what’s he’s doing as he works, attempting to teach Castiel basic car maintenance so he’s prepared when something inevitably goes wrong with the Continental (or, as Dean calls it, the Pimp Mobile), and at first Castiel really tried to pay attention to Dean’s instruction. But as of now he’s resigned to just nodding and humming in agreement when Dean asks him if something makes sense.

Nothing about the way a motor functions makes sense to Castiel, but he could watch Dean work on the Impala for a thousand years.

“See, Cas, ain’t nothing to it.” Dean steps back and wipes his hands on a dirty rag that’s been hanging from the open hood.

“Mhm.” Castiel snaps out of his introspection, but not quick enough.

“You have no idea what I just did, do you?”

“You, uh, turned that to, um- no, Dean. I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Then what were you doing sittin’ there the whole time? Starin’ at my ass?” Dean gently closes Baby’s hood and drops the rag on the workbench next to him.

Castiel doesn’t answer, because even though no, he wasn’t staring at Dean’s ass, he doesn’t think that telling Dean he was staring at his hands would sound much better.

His silence must be answer enough for Dean, who laughs and grabs his beer before walking toward the door. He elbows Castiel in the shoulder as he walks by.

“Let’s get some food. I’m starvin’.”

Castiel isn’t hungry, but he wants to follow Dean.

He looks back to make sure Dean isn’t watching him, and before he has time to think about it too much, Castiel has grabbed the dirty, grease-stained cloth from the workbench and shoved it into his sweatshirt pocket.

Later that night, after dinner and dishes, the bunker is quiet as Castiel shuts and locks his bathroom door and pulls the rag out of his pocket. He sits on the edge of the bathtub and unfolds the cloth on his lap. Its edges have been poorly cut and are rough and frayed. There are the remnants of a cut tag around a seam. It appears to be an old t-shirt that’s been cut up for reuse.

Castiel observes the stains: black, dark brown, yellow, and rust - oil, dirt, corrosion and oxidation, sweat and possibly blood.

It’s not uncommon for Dean’s belongings to be bloodstained. But, unlike from a hunt, this blood was probably due to cutting himself on a rough edge while working on the car.

Castiel’s mind wanders back to earlier, watching Dean’s large, skilled hands work so gracefully on Baby’s engine. He thinks back to how gently Dean used every tool; how his back hunched as he bowed his head below the raised hood; how his thick, deep voice explained what he was doing, so patiently – but all Castiel could focus on were the movements Dean’s hands made.

The hands that he wiped on this old scrap of cloth.

Something moves Castiel to bring the rag up to his nose and he breathes in deep.


It smells like oil and grease and something a little sour, but underneath that there is something else – something that makes his mouth water. It’s a scent that gives Castiel pause before taking in another deep breath.

Dean .

It’s something so supremely Dean, that smell. Castiel actually moans aloud, surprising himself.

There’s a strange rush of what Castiel now recognizes as arousal that shoots from his nose to his brain and then slowly creeps its way down to his groin in a tingly cascade until it settles, causing Castiel to palm himself over his thin cotton pajama bottoms.

He decides to shower, and he takes the rag in the shower with him, taking care to not get it too wet. While he strokes himself under the hot water, he holds the cloth to his nose and breathes. The steam combines with the scent making it heavier like syrup and it’s absolutely intoxicating. Castiel breathes it in and thinks of Dean’s hands, imagining Dean’s hands covered in grease and touching him, leaving smudges on his skin, marking him as Castiel pushes Dean against the Impala in a possessive kiss.

In Castiel’s fantasy Dean wants him just as badly as he wants Dean.

In the fantasy Dean lets Castiel touch him everywhere; he lets him explore his most sensitive places with his fingers and tongue. In his fantasy, Castiel is adept and confident and Dean opens up to him like he cannot go on living without having Castiel buried deep inside of him. In his fantasy, Castiel bends Dean over the hood of the Impala and Dean moans his name as he comes across the shining black paint only moments before Castiel comes deep within him.

Castiel leans his back against the cold tile of the shower wall, legs going a little weak as his fantasy gets the better of him. His hand is a blur as it moves along his shaft. He moans Dean’s name into the rag, muffling the sound as he comes hard onto the shower curtain.

When he returns to his room after his shower, Castiel hangs the cloth over a hook in the closet so it will dry and he falls asleep wishing he could wake up with greasy fingerprint smudges all over his body.

That dirty rag – Castiel’s most prized possession – loses most of its scent after about a week. This could partially be due to Castiel taking it in the shower with him, sometimes twice daily, but eventually all of the good smells were washed away and all that remained was something resembling burning plastic that gives him a headache.

He keeps the rag anyway, folded up and tucked away in a drawer in his room. Dean continues to try and show him how to work on cars, but so rarely is Castiel able to pay attention that it usually turns into Dean working on the Impala and Castiel drinking a beer beside him, watching while Dean tells stories about the car. He enjoys seeing Dean so happy and relaxed because there is nowhere Dean would rather be than under the hood of that car.

So he watches, day after day, Dean making seemingly minor adjustments to the Impala and attempting to explain, and Castiel getting lost in the grace of Dean’s hands under the hood.


“Okay Cas you’re getting some hands-on experience today. Put the beer down.”

Dean must have grown tired of Castiel’s feigned attentiveness.

“I was listening Dean I just-”

“Nice try buddy. Come on. At some point you’re going to have to learn how to do this or I’m not giving you the keys to the Pimp Mobile back. This is super basic. You’ll get it real quick.”

Castiel stands up and sets his now warm beer on the stool. Dean grabs his arm and pulls him close. When Dean releases him, Castiel notices that there are a few grease smudges on his skin and feels that slight electric zing that shoots from his belly button to his groin; that same zing that Castiel gets in the shower when he’s thinking about Dean and frantically stroking himself.

Dean is standing so close to Castiel that he’s afraid he might procure an erection, but he finds that as he is actually looking at what Dean is talking about it all starts to make sense, and like Dean says, it is relatively basic once he can focus on the mechanical anatomy of the engine instead of on the anatomy of Dean.

This becomes the new routine: Castiel doing basic maintenance on the Impala while Dean walks him through it. He learns how to jack up the car and how to change a tire, and how to check and change all of the various fluids that are necessary for a car to run properly. The day that Castiel changes Baby’s oil, Dean actually wraps an arm around him and tells him how proud he is.

He also tells Castiel how cute he looks with grease on his face.

Castiel pretends to be embarrassed, but from then on he is sure to be less careful with where he wipes his hands.

And now that he has grease perpetually caked under his fingernails it’s easier to pretend that it is Dean’s hands on him as he jacks himself off.


It’s the day after an easy hunt. Castiel heard the brothers pull in just before four o’clock in the morning, so Sam is still asleep in the early afternoon when Castiel meets Dean in the motor pool.

“I fucking hate witches.” Dean says with distain as he opens the hood. “So, what’ll it be today?” The obvious softening of Dean’s voice as he addresses Castiel does not go unnoticed. “Baby’s looking pretty good. I think it might be the Pimp Mobile’s turn. Whatdya think?”

“I think it’s going to be hard to work on that piece of junk after spending so much time with this beautiful piece of machinery.”

Dean laughs out that hearty, full-body laugh that Castiel will never be able to get enough of. “Damn straight.”

Instead of starting on the Continental, they spend the afternoon getting pretty buzzed in the front seat of the Impala. As far as Castiel can tell there is no plan to actually drive anywhere, but they sit together and Dean tells stories about what it was like growing up on the road.

“You know I lost my virginity in this car.” He says, and Castiel raises an eyebrow. “Yeah.” Dean thumbs to the backseat and Cas glances back half expecting to see some semblance of a shadow of Dean and a faceless girl having sex, only to be interrupted by Dean saying, “Gave my first blow job in this car, too.”

Castiel nearly chokes on his beer. He always knew Dean showed a general interest in both sexes, but he never realized that Dean had actually pursued men.

“I don’t, uh, I mean, shit.” Dean mumbles against the beer bottle, his lips barely brushing the opening, and Castiel can practically see the walls going up. Whereas Dean was so relaxed and open just moments ago, his posture has shifted and his eyes are darting around the dashboard nervously.

Castiel isn’t ready to end their day together, especially not like this, so he makes a sudden and desperate attempt to fix the situation.

“I can see the appeal of being with a man.” He blurts out. Dean glances over at him, his guard still up but not closed off completely. “Since my time with April, which was educational as well as enjoyable – at least up until she stabbed me…” Dean huffs out a laugh and the tension within the car feels slightly lighter, “I’ve often wondered what it might be like to be that intimate with a man. I think about it, and while I haven’t had the opportunity to engage in any sexual acts since, except with myself, and I don’t think that counts as being with another man, I find myself being very open to the possibility of it.”

Castiel feels the very human emotion of embarrassment as he rambles on, explaining to Dean what he thinks about while he masturbates.

“Whoa whoa whoa, hang on. You jack off? Like, jack off jack off?”

“I guess?” Castiel isn’t sure what the difference between jacking off and jacking off jacking off is.

“And you think about… about guys while you do it?”

“Generally, yes.” Castiel purposely leaves out the detail of which guy he thinks about.

Dean shuffles slightly in his seat. The walls have come down, but Dean still isn’t quite as relaxed as he was. There’s something else there; something that Castiel can’t put his finger on until Dean speaks again.

“What kinds of stuff do you think about?” The question is asked with a quiet, almost dark voice that speaks directly to Castiel’s libido as they both roll nearly empty beer bottles between their hands; a nervous habit that Castiel seems to have picked up from the hunter.

“I- uh, I think about the, um, contrasts between a man and a woman.” He gets the words out somehow, but it’s completely quiet and there’s nothing but expectance in Dean’s silence. “Such as, h-how a man’s muscular, solid chest would feel against my own compared to the soft give of a woman’s breasts.” Saying the words makes him feel dizzy, but Dean clears his throat to cover a groan, so he continues. “I think about strong hands,” Castiel finds himself clearing his own throat before continuing, “and what they might feel like as they touch me in- in various places.”

Not a beat passes when Dean asks, “How do you touch yourself?”

Castiel looks over and sees the tent of Dean’s pants just before he uses the heel of his palm to press it down. When Castiel looks up to Dean’s face he sees something resembling a grimace.

Is that shame? Is Dean ashamed of what he wants? Is he ashamed that he craves the touch of a man the same way he does that of a woman? Worst of all, does he believe that Castiel will judge him for it?

The look on his face gives him away, and Castiel cannot stand for that.

Keeping that in mind, Castiel summons all of his courage, sets down his now empty beer bottle, and begins to unbutton and unzip his jeans. He pulls them and his cotton boxers down to his knees and finds himself already hard, so all he does is grip himself.

There’s a short intake of breath from the driver’s seat, and Dean is looking over at Castiel, at his erection, following the slow strokes of his hand with his eyes as Castiel begins to touch himself the way he does in the shower or in his room when he’s alone. Castiel’s fist is loose, and he twists and squeezes the head as he moves his hand up, and relaxes as he moves his hand back down toward his pelvis.

He finds himself staring at Dean, watching him as he licks his lips and stares down at Castiel’s lap. His cheeks are flushed and his hand grinds down rhythmically on his own groin.

“I- I do this in the shower.” Castiel says. He’s unsure about what he’s going to say next, but “I think about you, Dean. Oh, oh!” is what leaves his mouth. As he says Dean’s name a drop of precome is squeezed out and is wiped up by his finger, aiding in the silky glide back down to the base.

“You think about me?” Dean’s voice is so deep it’s almost a whisper, and when Castiel looks over again he’s unbuttoning his own jeans and taking his own erection in hand.

“Yes, Dean.” It’s an answer as well as an encouragement for Dean to continue.

“Do you think about me doing stuff to you? Or you doing stuff to me?” Dean’s voice is straining for composure, but he still looks a little unsure that what they’re doing is alright. Castiel wants to encourage him, to tell him that there is nothing wrong with this, but instead he decides to answer Dean’s question.

“I think of you bent over the hood,” Castiel groans at the image as more lubricating precome leaks from him. “I think of opening you up with my tongue until your legs are shaking…”

“Fucking fuck Cas…” Dean’s hand is a blur as he works himself closer to release.

Castiel wants, he wants so desperately. He’s ready to throw away everything he holds dear in life for a chance to be with Dean.

“Dean, stop.” Castiel takes his own hand off himself and Dean jumps at the command, and whines but also stops.

“Why?” he rests his head back against the seat, blinking hard up at the ceiling.

“Come here.” Castiel grabs onto Dean’s shirt and pulls, bringing Dean’s focus back to him. “Get on my lap.”

“Cas, I-”

“Please, Dean.”

He doesn’t want to be demanding, but ne needs. This is beyond want now. His need to touch Dean and be touched by Dean is all consuming. He suspects that even if he were still an angel he wouldn’t be able to control this desire.

Dean kicks his shoes off and shucks his pants off the rest of the way, discarding them by the brake pedal. He scoots along the bench seat and Castiel helps him maneuver his left leg over his lap so that he’s straddling him. The weight and warmth of Dean on top of him is unfathomable. Dean’s member, heavy with arousal, is resting next to Castiel’s, against Castiel’s stomach. Dean has his face buried in Castiel’s neck.

“Please, Cas. Please…” he mumbles into Castiel’s shoulder.

Castiel takes both of their erections tightly in both hands and together they moan at the feel of it. So hot from friction and pumped full of blood, sensitive from their own touches and now the touch of each other, stoking that fire and Castiel can hardly breathe; he’s never felt anything like this before.

As he begins to move his fingers along their lengths, Dean moves his body and thrusts slowly into his palms. The friction of it against Castiel’s already sensitive head makes him twitch and moan, and the feeling of Dean’s arms wrapping around his shoulders to hold on helps him relax.

“Needed you for so long…” Dean whispers in his ear, just before a moan wracks his body.

While Castiel may not be as experienced or confident with this as he is in his fantasies, Dean isn’t either. It’s comforting that Dean has no expectations of him except to get them both to come, which he’s sure he’ll be able to do because they’re both clearly so close already.

This feeling is raw and new for both of them, and there’s no pressure for Castiel to be the best sex Dean’s ever had, because this – what Castiel is feeling right now – is a connection. The desperate words Dean whispers to him as Castiel strokes them, the way their bodies fit together, the deep inhalation Castiel can take to get that pure Dean scent he was chasing from that dirty, oily rag; this is all that matters.

That is, until he feels his orgasm sneaking up on him. His hands are slick with their combined precome and Dean is panting in his ear. Now this feeling is all that seems to matter. Dean’s fingers tangle and pull at Castiel’s hair and his breath is so hot against his neck he feels nearly feverish. Dean’s thrusting speeds up and Castiel squeezes and twists slightly at the tip of their erections and then he feels hot, tacky come running through his fingers and soaking into his shirt; each spurt of it accompanied by a soft grunt from Dean.

It feels so much slicker and hotter than before, and Castiel, with a nearly frictionless slide against Dean’s member and his own hands, and the awareness that he – he – made Dean come…

Castiel lets out a cry that is nearly a shout, and shakes his way through his own orgasm.

Then they are only breathing.

Neither man moves or says a word until Dean leans up and looks Castiel right in the eye. He’s not sure what motivates him to do it – maybe it’s because he’s delusional, or maybe it’s because he’s not ready to let go of Dean – but Castiel raises his hand, fingertips nearly dripping with their combined release, and Dean doesn’t hesitate; he leans forward and takes two of Castiel’s fingers into his mouth, eyes fluttering closed and tongue laving at the space between his index and middle fingers. He sucks and licks until there cannot possibly be anything left. Then he licks at Castiel’s other fingers and palm and wrist, then licks and kisses up to Castiel’s elbow before dropping his arm, cupping his jaw with both hands and pulling Castiel into a deep, salty, incredible kiss.


Castiel was certain that things between them would be strained after that, but Dean was dead set on surprising him once again.

While they cleaned themselves up and headed back into the halls of the bunker, they were silent, and Castiel was sure that he had somehow messed up their already shaky relationship. But as the day wore on, Sam woke up and they all ate dinner together, nothing seemed much different. And that night when Dean snuck into Castiel’s room shortly after he turned off the light, and then crawled into bed beside him and rested his head on Castiel’s chest without a word, Castiel figured that they were going to be okay.


They still work together in the garage, now fixing up the Continental, but they’re easily distracted.

The Continental is where they worked, but the Impala is where they played.

Dean would sit on Baby’s trunk and wrap his legs around Castiel and they’d rut against each other and make out “like a coupla teenagers” Dean would say.

Other times Castiel found himself lying on top of Dean in the back seat, their feet hanging out the open door while Castiel discovered how much Dean liked it when he flicked his nipples with his tongue.

Dean gave Castiel his first blowjob ever against the driver’s side door, and Castiel reciprocated in the passenger seat while Dean sat propped up against the door, nearly cracking his head on the window when he threw his head back as Castiel drank him down.

The first time they had actual penetrative sex was in the driver’s seat; they were both facing the steering wheel while Dean bounced in Castiel’s lap. Dean was sure to slam on the horn as he came and it made Castiel laugh so hard he actually had to pull out of Dean before he was finished. Dean felt somewhat guilty, and Castiel thoroughly enjoyed himself while Dean made it up to him in Baby’s back seat.

Eventually Castiel was able to live out his fantasy of giving Dean a rimjob over the hood of the Impala. Dean had been skeptical at first, but once he was pressed against the cool black paint and Castiel was kneeling behind him, spreading his cheeks wide and spearing him with his tongue as far as it would go, Dean seemed to lose himself in it.

At least until Sam walked in.

Sam never came into the motor pool unless they were about to leave on hunt.

“Hey you guys about ready to OH GOD OH GOD NEVERMIND!!”

Dean heard his brother’s voice and stood up quick, knocking Castiel back onto his butt.

“GET OUT SAMMY!” Dean yells, trying to cover his erection. His chest and neck and cheeks are flushed pink and covered in bite marks. There’s no hiding what is happening.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” They can hear Sammy yelling as he runs down the stairs.

“We must have lost track of time.” Castiel says, then wiping his mouth on his sleeve. Dean sits back on the hood of the car, his legs shaking too much to support him.

“Think he’ll be back up here anytime soon?” he asks.

“I highly doubt it.”

“Yeah. Me too.” Dean takes a few breaths, then stands up, turns and bends over the hood, resuming his place. “Might as well get back to it then.” He wiggles his hips and looks back at Castiel, who can’t think of anything else to do but spank both of Dean’s buttcheeks, lick his lips, and continue licking Dean raw.

Castiel wrings two orgasms out of him using only his tongue – inadvertently convincing Dean that he still has some of his angel mojo left – before they go downstairs to confront Sam.


The drive from the bunker to Sioux Falls to meet Jody is a quiet one.

Sammy sits in the passenger seat and Castiel takes up residence in the back as usual. They’ve been in the car about forty minutes and Castiel is starting to wonder who is going to break the silence first when Sammy takes a deep breath in.

“So, are we going to…”

“Nope.” Dean cuts him off.

“Dean, I ju-”



It’s quite for about another minute before Sam tries again.

“I just want to say that I’m happy for you guys.” He says, calmly.

Dean doesn’t say anything, but when Sam looks back at Castiel, he can’t help but say, “Thank you, Sam.” Sam smiles and turns back around to face the front, but then swivels back and asks, “Hey, you guys didn’t do anything in the car, did you?”

Neither Dean nor Castiel answer him, but they look at each other in the rearview mirror.

“But, not in my seat, right?”


“You’re such a jerk, Dean!”

“Whatever bitch.”


Later Castiel notices a package of disinfectant wipes and moist towelettes in the glove box. When he shows Dean they both laugh for a solid ten minutes before Castiel takes Dean from behind in the front seat.

They make a big mess and end up using at least half of the wipes.

Chapter Text

J is for Jimmy

“Babe, your brother’s hot.”

Dean never did have much by the way of tact, so it shouldn’t have come as a shock to anyone that those are the first words out of his mouth when he meets Cas’ brother, Jimmy.

Cas’ twin brother.

Cas’… identical twin brother.

Two sets of impossibly blue eyes glare at him.

Oh well, Dean was never good at first impressions anyway.


“Do you really think Jimmy is hot?” Cas asks Dean on their way back from dinner (which went well, by the way. Turns out that Jimmy is a pretty cool dude).

Dean flicks on the blinker as they wait at a stoplight. He glances over at Cas. “You’re serious?”


“You’re actually asking me if I think your brother, no – your identical twin brother – is hot.”


Dean laughs at the ridiculousness of the question. “You do understand that there is no way for me to answer that question that doesn’t end in you getting all pissy, right?” Cas throws him a look of indifference and Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah he’s fuckin’ hot.”

Dean looks over at his boyfriend – his insanely hot and adorably jealous boyfriend – and takes in the slant of his nose and the set of his jaw. He doesn’t even try to fight the urge to reach over and run his hand through Cas’ perpetual sex hair that makes him look like he’s done nothing but lie around and get fucked all day.

Plus, Dean knows the body that hides under all those layers of ill-fitting clothes. Christ, Dean’s practically popping a boner just thinking about it.

And besides, he’s Cas, which is by far his sexiest quality. No matter that he and Jimmy are identical, Cas is Cas.

“You’re hotter though. I’d choose you every time.” Dean says as the light turns green and he turns the car to take them home.

Those must have been the magic words because when they get back to their apartment Cas nearly fucks Dean right through the couch.


“Jimmy’s in town again next week for work. I told him he could stay with us. I hope that’s alright.” Cas shouts though the partially open bathroom door at Dean, who is taking a shower.

Dean peaks his head out from behind the shower curtain, hair frothy with shampoo, and finds Cas standing in the doorway.

“Sounds great. I’ll set up the guest room. Shall I pull our finest linins from the cupboard?” Dean’s sass is foiled as shampoo drips down his forehead and into his eye. His other eye is open wide and he watches as Cas undresses to join him in the shower. He does a little happy dance and pulls back the shower curtain as an invitation.

“If by that you mean setting out a few blankets on the couch, then yes.”

“Great.” Dean adjusts the shower head as Cas steps in next to him. “I’ll be sure to put a chocolate on his pillow.”

“You’re a fine host, Dean Winchester.” Cas says, voice dripping with sarcasm, as he wraps his arms around Dean’s waist and presses against him, pushing them under the spray while Dean rinses out his hair. “You sure it’s alright that he stays here?” Cas starts licking at the water that has pooled in Dean’s clavicle, making him shiver.

“’Course. He’s family. And you let Sammy stay here all the time. At least Jimmy will actually fit on the couch.” Dean thinks about Sammy’s giant moose feet dangling over the arm of the couch when another thought hits him. “You guys aren’t going to like, try to confuse me or anything, right?”

“What do you mean?” Cas resumes licking water from Dean’s skin as Dean reaches for the shampoo to lather up Cas’ hair. Dean loves washing Cas’ hair.

“Like, he’s not going to pretend to be you and try to blow me, is he?”

Cas lets out a careless hum sound and in an alarmingly calm voice says, “Well, you are very attractive and Jimmy has always been somewhat of a cockwhore so I wouldn’t rule that out as a possibility.”

It is always hard to tell if Cas is joking, but this has to be a joke, right?

“And sometimes we like to play games.” Cas whispers roughly in Dean’s ear.

Dean isn’t allowed much time to dwell on that statement because Cas sinks down to his knees in front of him and now all Dean can focus on is that tongue oh God yes…


It was kind of funny when they first started talking about it, but now it’s starting to make Dean sweat.

“I know you’re identical, but now that I’ve hung out with you both I’m telling you, I can see the difference.” Dean says it with conviction. Well, he tries to say it with conviction, but they’ve been sitting on their tiny apartment’s tiny patio drinking beer all afternoon so everything is a little fuzzy and right now, Cas and Jimmy look exactly the same.

“Alright, Dean,” says the twin that Dean thinks might be Jimmy, “Seeing how you’re so confident, how about you tell us right now which one of us is Cas.”

“Psht, easy.” Dean says, now certainly sweating through his shirt.

“And then you have to suck them off while the other one watches…” says the twin that Dean was pretty sure is Cas – but that doesn’t sound like something Cas would say. “… just to substantiate your selection.” That does sound like Cas.

Dean stands there looking at the two men, both with the same grin and mischievous glint in their eyes.

“This is a joke, right?” Dean’s palms are sweating. He’s so fucked.

“I told you he was a cockwhore.” Says one twin, stepping forward.

“I told you we liked to play games.” Says the other, crowding into them as well.

“Fuck, you guys had this planned didn’t you?”

“Yes.” The twins say in tandem.

Dean looks back and forth at them, silently for a few moments. His perceptive skills are soft from a few beers, but he’s certain that the one on his left is Cas; that one has a slightly softer look in his eyes while the other one is looking him up and down like prey.

Whether or not he’s right, one of these guys is Cas, which means he’s got to understand the risk that Dean could guess wrong and end up blowing his brother.

It also clicks in his beer-and-arousal stricken brain that this must be something that Cas wants, and Dean’s always wanted to give Cas everything.

Besides, Dean’s never been one to back down from a challenge.

“And Cas, baby, you’re okay with this?” He looks at each of the men in front of him.

“Yes.” They both answer. The man on the left quirks the corner of his mouth up just slightly in an almost-smile that is quintessentially Cas, and that settles it. He grabs that man by the wrist and pulls him into the living room.

“Where are we going?”

“Cas I’ve haven’t blown you on the patio before and I’m not going to start now. Mrs. Baker would have goddamn heart attack.”

The three men stand in the living room for a moment before the twin whose wrist Dean isn’t clutching says, “Alright Dean, you’ve made your choice. Now…”

Trying not to seem nervous, Dean pushes his choice onto the couch and works the button of his pants open. He fumbles with the zipper as his hands are still clammy and shaking lightly, but as soon as he pulls down the twin’s pants and underwear he knows that it’s Cas. Dean could do three tours in the depths of hell and still be able to pick that dick out of a line-up.

“I fucking knew it.” He says, somewhat cocky, looking up at Cas who is smiling.

“I told you he’d pick me.” Cas says to Jimmy, who has taken a seat on the chair next to the couch.

Cas has one hand gripping Dean by the hair and he pulls Dean’s mouth towards his cock. Dean’s eyes inadvertently dart toward the Cas look-a-like only a few feet away, before looking back at his Cas.

“Are you alright with this Dean? Can Jimmy watch while you get me off?” Cas’ voice is smooth and dark. Dean feels his jeans get a little tighter – he’s never done anything like this, but he’s not unwilling, that’s for damn sure.

Instead of answering verbally, Dean looks Cas in the eyes as he swallows him down in a single slow glide, stopping when Cas’ head is butting against the back of his throat. A breathy “fuck” comes from the twin whose dick is not currently in Dean’s mouth, and Dean decides that he’s going to give Jimmy a fuckin’ show.

He bobs his head up and down Cas’ shaft a few times, lips sealed tightly around it, feeling it grow harder and hotter and getting it nice and slick and wet. He pulls off and without breaking eye contact with Cas, Dean licks from the base to the head in one tantalizing stroke of his tongue, and then flicks at the soft underside of the head, something that always makes the inside of Cas’ thighs jump.

“God, babe, you’re so good. I’ve always wanted to show you off like this.” Cas says, his voice starting to sound a little rougher. Dean watches him close his eyes and relax against the back of the couch. He grips Cas’ thighs with enough pressure to bruise and swallows down Cas’ cock again, sucking so hard his cheeks hollow out and Cas lets out a groan, which is echoed by his brother hardly a second after.

After pulling a few more beautiful, long moans from his boyfriend, Dean pulls off and swirls his tongue around the head, moaning himself as he licks up a sweet bead of precome from the slit. He works his way down Cas’ shaft, kissing and licking, until he’s licking and suckling at his balls, sucking in one, and then the other, and then both at the same time while his fingers stroke softly at the head of Cas’ cock.

He pulls the balls from his mouth with a loud pop and goes down farther, forcing Cas’ legs apart and licking at the hot, sensitive skin of Cas’ taint.

“God damn Dean I wish you would have been wrong…” Jimmy says, suddenly much closer than he was the last time Dean checked. “He’s amazing, Cas…” He’s now sitting on the couch next to Cas, his own hard cock in his hand.

“Yes he is. Dean, did you hear that? You are amazing…” Cas’ voice is strained, but he sounds almost proud. More soft moans spill over Cas’ lips and his fingers tangle and tug at Dean’s hair.

Dean takes Cas’ length back in his mouth and works it with the pressure and speed that he knows gets Cas off while he steals glances at Jimmy. He’s not quite as long or as thick as Cas but he’s got a pretty nice cock in his hand over there and Dean wonders briefly what it might feel like...

Before he thinks about it too much, Dean reaches over and takes Jimmy in his fist while still sucking on Cas. Both twins moan loudly and Jimmy scoots closer, allowing Dean the leverage he needs to stroke him hard and fast. Jimmy’s cock feels so much different in his hand than Cas’. He can feel his rhythm stutter trying to get both brothers off at once, but they don’t seem to notice as they both continue moaning out praises.

Cas comes first, without warning, in Dean’s mouth, his hands gripping the back of Dean’s neck to keep him in place as he spills over his tongue and down his throat. Cas always tastes so much sweeter than any other guy Dean’s ever been with, he could drink in that flavor all day long.

After Dean’s tongue swipes over Cas’ sensitive head enough times, Cas pulls him off his cock and brushes his cheeks with his thumbs, so soft like he hadn’t just been fucking into Dean’s mouth. Then Cas roughly grabs him by the scruffy hairs at the back of his head and forces his face toward Jimmy, who takes Dean by the wrist and stops his hand, then begins jacking himself furiously.

“Close your eyes and open your mouth.” Cas growls into Dean’s ear and for some reason, without thinking, Dean does exactly that.

Not five seconds later he feels a warm, wet spurt of come land on his cheek and he flinches. Then he feels it on his lips. He sticks out his tongue and immediately tastes Jimmy’s seed land across his taste buds; it is bitter compared to Cas’ sweetness, of course. Jimmy moans loudly as a final rope of come lands across Dean’s eyelashes.

“Holy shit that was hot.” One of the twins says as Dean kneels there panting, licking his swollen lips and wondering what his face looks like striped with Jimmy’s spend. He feels something soft, probably one of their t-shirts, gently wiping off his face, and when he opens his eyes he’s met with matching debauched faces – cheeks flushed pink, eyes glossed over, and lips parted in awestruck grins.

Jesus Christ, it’s his sexy-as-hell boyfriend times two. How is this even happening?

He’s suddenly very aware of the raging boner in his jeans. He presses it down with his palm, a motion that doesn’t go unnoticed by the twins.

“You took such good care of us.” Cas says as he slides down to the floor, motioning for Dean to take his place on the couch. “It’s your turn now.” He watches Cas’ amazing fingers easily undo his pants and pull them down and over his bare feet. Dean casually spreads his legs, making room for Cas between them as he has a hundred times before, but he doesn’t expect Jimmy to get on his knees as well, crawling beside Cas, making Dean spread his knees a little wider to accommodate.

His mouth goes completely dry as two tongues begin to lick their way up his length, slick and shining, and then at the tip they flick and tease and Dean’s breath catches in his throat when their tongues touch while licking at his slit.

“He’s fucking hung, Cas, you seriously never let him fuck you with this thing?” Jimmy breaths the words as he suckles down Dean’s hard length, lips brushing and sucking between the words.

“He loves to bottom, I give him what he wants.” Cas answers, chasing his brother’s tongue with his own as soon as the words leave his lips.

“Well you can fuck him while he fucks me and that way we can all get what we want.” Jimmy looks up at Dean with a cocked eyebrow and Dean’s minutely aware of what can only be a dumbstruck look on his face. Cas just hums in what can only be agreement as he takes Dean’s entire cock in his mouth with more grace than should ever be possible for someone sucking a dick. Jimmy slides beneath his brother and nips and sucks at Dean’s balls.

Hot lips and slippery tongues work Dean into a frenzy – and fast. He looks down at the two men between his legs, both seemingly hungry for him. Cas gives amazing head, that’s for fucking sure, but he only has one mouth. This is unreal. This is impossible…

this is so fucking hot.

Dean doesn’t register the filth spilling from his own lips until the white hot fire in his belly becomes too much and he practically screams that he’s about to come; and he watches, wide-eyed and amazed, as the two brothers fight over his release. They lick at the head while he spills over, catching it and moaning at the taste of him. He seems to come and come, like his body knew to produce enough to sate both men.

Cas and Jimmy don’t stop, their mouths continuing to work on Dean’s cock even as he twitches with oversensitivity, until it’s lying completely soft and spent, still leaking against his thigh.

If Dean thought it couldn’t get any better than that he was soooo wrong.


It wasn’t just dirty talk, that offhand comment Jimmy made about getting fucked by Dean while Cas fucked him.

These brothers were perverted.

Dean fucking loved it.

They had three more days with Jimmy and there seemed to be an unspoken agreement that when Jimmy wasn’t away in meetings and Cas and Dean weren’t at work, they would all be tangled together. Even if they were just watching a movie they were most likely naked and twisted around each other on the couch.

They rarely got though an entire movie though.

They started Jurassic Park, but that ended with Dean straddling Cas’ face and Jimmy hovering over Cas’ lean body while sucking Dean off as Cas licked into Dean’s asshole. Words cannot describe the feeling of getting probed open by Cas’ long tongue while getting his dick sucked, too. It didn’t seem possible to experience that amount of pleasure all at once, and he came embarrassingly fast.

He sucked both twins simultaneously as soon as he caught his breath, and they told him how beautiful and perfect he looked with both of their dicks in his mouth at the same time.

Dean didn’t know it was possible to blush while two men came all over his face, but he’s pretty sure he did.

When they tried to watch the season finale of Game of Thrones, Dean seated between the twins, they ended up all making out until every neck and shoulder and chest was covered in red bruises and bite marks.

A small, fleeting thought of they are brothers… doesn’t that make this weird? crossed Dean’s mind at one point as he watched Cas sucking on Jimmy’s tongue, but that thought was chased away when both men turned and attached themselves to Dean’s throat.


>>Message from Jimmy>> Going out tonight. Be home around 11.

It is their first evening alone since Jimmy got to town, and Dean doesn’t even have a chance to think that Jimmy being out might mean no sexy times because before he knows it Cas has him ass-up on their bed with three fingers stretching him open.

Cas drapes himself over Dean as he pushes into him, laying Dean out on the bed flat on his tummy and covering Dean’s body with his own. Cas pounds into him with hard, powerful strokes, and Dean revels in the burn and stretch of finally having actual sex with is boyfriend after days without.

“I haven’t been inside of you in too long.” Cas whispers against the shell of Dean’s ear between heavy breaths.

“No fucking kidding…” Dean tries to sound irritated but it comes out sounding more relieved. They hadn’t done anything more than blow jobs and hand jobs and rimming and an excessive amount of kissing and licking at each other since Jimmy was tossed into the mix. Only once in the last week had a single finger found its way into Dean’s ass, and it wasn’t enough.

Blow jobs are great and all, but Dean really loves this feeling of being stretched wide and stuffed full.

“I want to watch you fuck Jimmy.” Cas says, sliding out slowly and slamming back in, forcing a guttural cry from Dean.

“Are you seriouahhhh!!!”

“Very. Is that something you would be willing to do for me, Dean?” Cas is rolling his hips, practically applying constant but inconsistent pressure against Dean’s prostate. He shows some mercy, whispering think about it in Dean’s ear instead of making him answer (which is great because if he thought Dean could think clearly right then he was a fucking idiot…) and then picks up the pace once again.

By the time they’ve both come, paint has chipped off the wall from where the headboard was slamming against it, and Dean has decided that yeah, he’d like to fuck Jimmy.


Before Cas, Dean was always a top. He figured it was because he only had sex with women until his early twenties. He knew the moves, so he just stuck with what he was comfortable with.

But then he met Cas and he just knew. It was an instantaneous switch, like instead of finding a soul mate Dean found his sex mate; a compatible top that brought out the bottom in him.

Maybe it was his voice or the way he carried himself, or maybe it was the way Cas sent back the food on their first date when the waiter got the order slightly wrong – demanding but kind. Dean might never understand what flipped that switch in his brain, but once he met Cas it wasn’t even a question; the first time they went home together Dean laid himself out for the guy like he was the neediest, sluttiest piece of ass Cas would ever come across.

It’s just like riding a bike Dean tells himself as he slides into Jimmy’s hot, tight ass.

“Oh fuck oh fuck!” Jimmy is panting and swearing on the bed in front of Dean, on his hands and knees with his ass in the air like a fucking cat-in-heat.

“How’s that feel, baby?” Cas is naked and kneeling next to Dean, one hand rubbing circles along Jimmy’s lower back, and one wrapped around Dean’s waist.

“Fuck… he’s so tight.” Dean grits out, trying to stay still to give Jimmy time to adjust to him.

“You’re so sexy Dean,” Cas bites at his earlobe between the words, and Dean grips onto Jimmy’s hips even tighter as Cas tilts his chin and they kiss, sloppy and mostly tongue. Dean can hardly breathe with the tongue down his throat and the heat around his cock.

“Dean I swear to God if you don’t start moving now I’m going to kill your boyfriend.” Jimmy practically yells at them and Cas grins against Dean’s lips.

Dean pulls out about halfway and holy fuck that feels amazing. He pushes back in, aiming for that spot he got acquainted with while he worked his fingers into Jimmy just a few minutes ago.

Jimmy tells him to go faster, faster fucking faster Winchester! But Cas tells him to take it nice and slow, to tease Jimmy for a while. Jimmy lets out a sad little moan and Dean can’t even focus on it all. All he can think is how he wants to show off for his boyfriend and make Jimmy fall apart.

Dean starts to roll his hips a little harder, faster. He runs a hand over Jimmy’s back and over his shoulder, and something compels him to wrap his hand around Jimmy’s throat, cradling his jaw and pulling his head back.

“Oh fuck Dean yes…” Jimmy gasps out around a deep moan.

Dean tries to focus on nothing except the pulse under his palm but Jimmy’s tight heat is too much and he fucks into the hole a little harder, setting up a rhythm that has Jimmy grunting, his cock slapping helplessly against his stomach.

Cas’ voice in his ear startles him.

“Look at that. Look at what you’re doing to him…” Cas’ fingers tangle in his hair and shove his head down, forcing him to watch his own cock slide in and out of that stretched hole. “Shit, Dean,” Cas’ breathy voice is barely heard over the sounds Jimmy is making. “Need you.”

“Huh?” Dean is losing focus, the feeling of Jimmy on his cock almost unbearable. But then Cas is behind him, up against him on his knees and gripping his hips to slow him down.

The fuck Dean don’t stop!” Jimmy slurs out.

Then Dean feels it, Cas’ slick cock butting against his hole. He’s still stretched out from when Cas fucked him before Jimmy got home, and as Cas slides into him while he’s completely sheathed inside of Jimmy, Dean thinks he might just die right then and there, completely blissed out.

“Oh, shit Cas are you…?” Jimmy looks over his shoulder, his bottom lip chewed nearly raw and eyes glassy.

“Fuck yes he is…” Dean leans his head back and rests it on Cas’ shoulder, trying to remember how to breathe. Cas’ hand rubs over Dean’s chest and pinches his nipple softly. Dean feels kisses on his neck and shoulder, and then he feels Cas pull out and braces for…

“Fuck!” Dean and Jimmy both cry out as Cas slams his cock into Dean, pushing Dean forward into Jimmy.

So much for topping – even when he’s got his dick in another guy’s ass Dean is still a bottom.

He’s never felt anything like this before; the heat of Cas’ body pressed up behind him combined with the tight heat of Jimmy’s hole squeezing him as Jimmy rocks himself back on Dean’s cock. Dean is dizzy with pleasure, and Cas has to remind him how to function.

“Back and forth baby…” Cas’ low whisper in his ear jumpstarts his hips. Cas guides him, pushing his hips forward so Dean fucks into Jimmy, and then pulling him back so he can fuck himself onto Cas.

It’s too slow, every movement drawn out until all three of them are shaking with need. Something primal inside of Dean takes over: he can’t remember his own name; he can’t remember how to breathe or swallow or blink; all he can remember how to do is fucking move.

He slams his hips forward, punching a nice, loud sound from Jimmy, before grinding back onto Cas, causing him to stutter in his dirty talk. Then he does it again, feeling that tight heat surrounding him and then that sharp jolt of Cas spearing him.

Then Dean grabs onto Jimmy’s hips and just goes for it.

He’s thrusting and grinding and fuck everything feels so good. Jimmy is jacking himself off and Cas is moaning his name and every inch of skin is dripping with sweat. Dean’s knees start to shake as he moves like a fucking madman – like the only thing he’ll ever be good for again is fucking these two goddamn twins into oblivion.

Jimmy nearly screams that he’s coming and then he gets impossibly tighter. Dean can feel his ass pulsing as Jimmy comes onto the blankets and Cas rams right into his prostate and Dean comes with so much force that his vision blacks out and he collapses onto Jimmy, who has gone limp below him.

And then there’s Cas above him, still fucking into him, still mumbling dirty words and telling Dean how perfect he is. Dean whimpers, his whole body over-sensitized, and Jimmy’s as well, feeling Dean’s cock still shift inside of him as Cas goes to fucking town chasing his own orgasm and finally achieving it, coming straight into Dean’s ass before collapsing and joining the heap of sweaty bodies below him.

They should shower. They should get water and a snack. But instead they wipe each other off with a pillowcase and a few crude comments and giggles. Dean tosses the used condom on the floor, and they curl around each other, Dean warm between the two twins, and they fall asleep instantaneously.

Everyone is late to work the next morning.


Tonight is Jimmy’s last night in town, and Dean can’t help but think that the brothers must have something planned for him.

When he gets home from work Dean finds a note on the kitchen table, along with three plugs in assorted sizes; one that’s about the size of Cas’ cock, then a wider one that he’ll have to work up to, and one that is wider than any other plug they’ve ever used and has a curve at the end. Dean would bet good money that it vibrates too, and that Cas has the remote in his pocket at this very moment.

That thought is enough to distract him from the fact that there are three butt plugs on the table where they plan on hosting Thanksgiving dinner.

I’ll be home just after seven. I would like you to have the medium-size plug inside of you by then. I’ll help you with the largest one when I get home. Please stay hydrated.
I took a roast out to thaw for dinner tomorrow.
Love, Cas

“Fucking weirdo.” Dean laughs and picks up the large, vibrating plug, eyeing it like he doesn’t quite trust it… but he trusts Cas, which might be his demise judging by the size of this fucking thing.

It’s 7:12 when Cas walks in. Dean is sitting on the couch watching Cupcake Wars with the medium-sized plug snuggly up his ass.

“Did you get my note?” Cas asks without preamble.

“My day was good, honey, thanks for asking. How was yours?” Dean’s sarcasm doesn’t carry the same bite as it normally does. He shifts in his seat, the plug pressing against him almost uncomfortably, but clearly not that uncomfortably since he’s still had stop from grinding down on it for the past twenty minutes.

Cas drops his keys and wallet on the table and picks up the monster plug – as Dean is now calling it – and then walks over and stands in front of Dean. He puts one hand on each of Dean’s knees and spreads his legs, then gropes his groin over his pants. Dean doesn’t mean to moan like a whore at the relatively chaste touch, but he’s had a semi for the past hour so…

Then Cas’ hand wanders down farther and he taps against the base of the plug.

“Good.” Cas growls out and kisses Dean; a soft peck on the lips. “Jimmy will be here in forty minutes if his meeting gets out on time. We need you nice and stretched out by then.” Cas has helped Dean off the couch and is leading him to the bedroom, which is still completely wrecked from the night before.

“Why? What’s the plan here Cas?” Dean thinks he knows, but he doesn’t want to get his hopes up. Cas starts to remove Dean’s sweats and turns him around to face the bed. Dean takes off his shirts and throws it somewhere… who even cares where.

“You said you like to be stuffed full?” Cas’ voice has gone down into a completely different register. It’s so low he sounds like he could be the goddamn devil.

“Yeah I think I remember saying that a time or two...” Dean’s voice is a little shaky. Cas prompts him to get on his hands and knees in the center of the bed. All of the movement and bending shifts the plug in him, now a constant pressure right on his most sensitive spot.

“Well, my darling Dean, tonight you’re going to be stuffed full.”

Then Dean feels Cas kiss his left asscheek and tap a few more times on the base of the plug before tugging on it.

Half an hour later Dean is stretched around the largest plug, completely covered in sweat, and he’s sure he’s used every curse word in the English language. Hell, he’s even made up a few.

He’s on his back, with his knees bent and legs spread, feeling a constant burn that isn’t altogether unpleasant. Despite Dean’s shouting and panting and insisting that it absolutely wasn’t going to work, Cas’ patience and persistence paid off and Dean actually liked the pressure and fullness he felt.

“Are you okay Dean? Are you comfortable?”

“Mmm, considering the fist that’s up my ass? Yeah, actually.” Dean squirmed a little as Cas’ hand rubbed over his tummy, applying just a small amount of pressure from the outside making Dean gasp.

“Jimmy will be here soon. Can you roll over? I’d like you on your hands and knees when he gets here.”

Together they maneuver Dean (who moans like a fucking whore every time the plug shifts inside of him) so his ass is up in the air and his head is resting on a pillow, arms tucked underneath it.

“Beautiful. Fuck, Dean, I don’t want to wait for Jimmy.” Cas says as he opens the nightstand drawer and grabs something small and black.

“’s’that?” Dean mumbles.

And then Dean hears a very slight little click and oh Cas you son of a bitch! The plug comes to life inside of him and even though the setting is so low and the vibrations are hardly more than a slight buzz, Dean is so sensitive that he thinks he might come right then.

Cas strokes his ass softly and Dean’s pretty sure he’s saying relax just wait but Dean can only focus on the feeling of those tiny vibrations turning him to mush.

Hours go by.

Wait, no, it just felt like hours. There’s only about three minutes between when Cas turns on the vibrator and Jimmy walks into the room. Dean can’t see him, but he hears a gasp and then a holy shit.

“He’s perfect isn’t he?”

“Jesus Cas can I take him home with me?”

“Absolutely not.”

Dean can’t even be embarrassed by what a sight he must be: ass up, stretched impossibly around a vibrating plug that is making him whimper and wiggle.

Then there are hands on him. Finally he’s being touched.

“Do you think he’s ready?”

“He’s definitely ready. He’s been stretched around this for a while.”

“Holy shit is it vibrating? Are you trying to kill him?”

“Just trying to make sure he’s not tense. You’re not tense, are you baby?”

“Mmmrphh” Is Dean’s pathetic response.

A few more grueling minutes go by as Cas and Jimmy disrobe and climb onto the bed with him. At some point he notices that the vibrations have stopped, and even though everything is still all tingly he can at least focus on what is happening around him.

Jimmy is lying on his back, slowly stroking his cock, and when he notices that Dean is looking at him he reaches over with his free hand and strokes Dean’s hair. Cas is behind Dean, working the plug out and Dean gasps and then sighs as it’s pulled from his body.

He feels like he’s made of rubber; boneless and horny and empty.

He feels needy and slick and ready.

He feels completely at the mercy of the four soft, warm hands bending him to their will.

And then he’s being filled again. Jimmy is below him, Cas is above him, and in mere minutes both cocks are inside of him, still and slotted together while Dean’s body adjusts to the stretch.

It’s fucking fantastic and burns like nothing else he’s ever felt. He’s so focused on the feeling that he hardly notices Jimmy grabbing his legs and pulling them up and apart, and he doesn’t hear Cas telling him how perfect he is.

All he knows is the complete fullness of having two dicks inside of him at the same time. He feels the heat of Jimmy against his back and the weight of Cas above him. He can’t even hold his head up to watch all of his favorite sex-faces that Cas makes, so instead he drapes his head back over Jimmy’s left shoulder and just lets go. He lets the two men use him how they want and trusts that he’ll get his.

And holy shit, does he get his. Jimmy works his hands over Dean’s nipples, pinching and rubbing with lube-slick fingers. It’s like Cas has told Jimmy about all of Dean’s most sensitive places and Jimmy knows exactly what to do with every single one of them: a hard pinch and tug of his nipples; a hard bite in the meaty muscle between Dean’s neck and shoulder; a warm, slick tongue tracing the shell of Dean’s ear…

All of this is secondary, however, to the complete and total fucking euphoria that is Cas’ cock working hard and fast in and out of him. Every slide, every single movement makes Dean scream. There’s a brief moment of clarity, when a hand slides over his tummy and someone says holy shit, can you fucking feel that? And then there’s pressure and Dean’s knows he’s so full that they can feel Cas’ dick moving from the outside.

That’s the single most erotic moment of Dean’s life, and he comes.

He comes hard – his cock untouched – twitching and spilling hot stripes along his stomach.

It’s not over.

Not even fucking close.

Dean nearly cries through two more orgasms before both Jimmy and Cas are satisfied and find their own release. By the time they’re finished with him, Dean is just a sweaty, limp pile of limbs, covered in come and bite marks, with a red, gaping asshole, tearstains on his cheeks, and a huge smile on his face.


Some months later…

Dean and Cas are cuddling on the couch watching cartoons on a Saturday morning like goddamn adults when Cas’ text alert goes off.

>> Message from Jimmy>> Coming to town for another work trip in two weeks. You guys game?

Cas lets Dean read the message and neither of them say anything. They just look at each other, both fully aware of their mutual answer.

<< Message Sent << Fuck yes.

Chapter Text

K is for Kneeling

Dean slams every door between the Impala and the refrigerator, despite Castiel and Sam walking behind him.

That’s how bad the hunt was.

Castiel often wondered how Sam, so full of rage at times, could handle a failed hunt so much better than Dean, whose soul is so pure and bright…

I guess that’s just it though, he thinks to himself, that’s exactly why. The walls that Dean built around himself were just a façade; they couldn’t protect him from actually seeing the destruction and pain, and if he could see it, he would feel it. The walls only worked one way and kept everyone on the outside from seeing how horrible Dean truly felt.

Well, everyone except for Castiel, that is.

Sam is an old soul – a soul that had been around before, tainted and corrupted for hundreds of years before Sam was even a thought. He was jaded. Sam was used to this.

Dean’s soul was brand new. It was clean and it was Dean and no one else had broken it in so Dean felt the harsh sting of everything so much more than his brother or his angel.

Failure was always a hard one for Dean to take, but this one was especially tough.

There was a tug deep within Castiel to protect Dean from all of this, but with the lifestyle the hunters led that was impossible.

“Dammit.” Sam sighed under his breath as they finally made it to the kitchen, just in time to hear Dean’s bedroom door slam shut and echo through the halls of the bunker. Sam grabbed two beers, handing one to Castiel before sitting down and hunching over onto the table. “Dammit!” he repeated, louder. Castiel set his beer down and sat across from Sam.

“There’s no way you two could have seen that coming. When demons and witches conspire the magic is nearly undetectable and more powerful than…”

“Seven people, Cas. The only survivors were us and that demon witch. Hell, we probably would have saved more people if we wouldn’t have gotten involved at all! And now Dean is going to be…” Sam makes a vague gesture in the direction of Dean’s room. “We needed a win, Cas. Dean needed a win.”

“Don’t worry about Dean, Sam. I’ll take care of him. You go get some rest.”

Sam gave him a questionable look, but eventually nodded in understanding. While Sam may never fully understand Castiel’s relationship with Dean, he couldn’t deny the results. In a few hours Dean might crack a smile, or at least be interested in food and maybe a shower.

Castiel tries to clap Sam on the back in an encouraging manner, but it comes across as nothing but awkward as Sam looks up at him and smirks. It is strange how he can play one brother like an instrument he made himself, and with the other he’s completely lost.

Maybe that’s because he rebuilt Dean, so in a way he did make him himself. He knows Dean on a subatomic level. He’s cradled that pure soul in his hands and protected it from the terrors of Hell.

He exits the kitchen and heads to Dean’s room. He doesn’t knock, he just walks right in and finds Dean naked in the center of the bed on his hands and knees. His back is arched beautifully, his knees are spread and his eyes are up and focused on the ceiling, but he’s shaking.

Then Castiel notices the rest of the room.

Dean’s clothes are scattered all over the floor in heaps and his beer is spilled next to the closet. A thin cane is on the bed, next to a leather paddle – two of Dean’s preferred toys when he wants to be marked and sore and reminded for days afterwards what he’s done to deserve the pain.

Castiel enjoys those toys too, but he only likes to use them when Dean has done something to deserve it – like speak low of himself or talk back to Castiel during one of their scenes. But as it stands right now Dean has done nothing wrong except fail at something that shouldn’t be his responsibility anyway. Dean shouldn’t be punished for not being able to save seven random people from a demon witch.

So, no. Castiel will not be punishing Dean with a paddle or a cane. He has a different idea – something he knows Dean will hate but will be best. Castiel knows what Dean needs.


“Yes sir.”

The immediate response surprises Castiel, as usually he needs to remind Dean that he must call him ‘sir’ during their scenes. It’s an easy way to keep this relationship separate from their other relationships – friends, hunters, and whatever the hell else they’ve got going on that neither of them seem to understand.

“Why are your clothes all over the floor?”

“I was in a hurry, sir.” Dean answers, eyes still up toward some unknowable spot on the ceiling. He really does look beautiful like this. Castiel almost doesn’t want to make him move, but this isn’t about what he wants. It’s about what Dean needs.

“You need to pick them up, fold them, and put them away.”

Dean looks at him.

“You’re serious?”

Castiel raises his eyebrows.

“And wipe up that spill. Don’t make me ask again.”

“Yes sir.” Dean says as he crawls off the bed and begins gathering his clothes. He cleans up the spilled beer with a dirty towel from the hamper.

“I’m going to want you kneeling on the floor, so you may pick one piece of clothing to kneel on if you’d like.” Castiel makes the offer, expecting a ‘thank you, sir’ in response, but instead he watches as Dean folds his shirt, pants, and underwear and sets them in a neat pile on the dresser. He rolls his socks and sets them on top, and then tucks his boots away in the closet.

Very well. That was Dean’s choice, and that’s the last one he gets.

When Dean is standing in front of Castiel he stares at the ground.

“Turn around and kneel. On your toes, sitting on your heels with your knees spread.”

“Yes sir.” Dean turns and immediately complies, sinking to the ground and into position with perfect posture. It’s interesting that the man slouches while he drives or eats at the table, but in this room with Castiel giving him orders he executes the perfect position every time.

“Arms behind your back.”

“Yes sir.” Dean pulls his arms behind his back and grips his left wrist with his right hand. Castiel watches the muscles in his shoulder shift under freckled skin with the motion. He looks like a live wire; everything about Dean is coiled tight and tense. It’s Castiel’s job to break him down and rebuild him once again.

“Now stay. And don’t speak.” Castiel says and then pulls the wooden chair out from under the desk and sits down about three feet behind Dean. He’s close enough that he’d be able to reach out and touch Dean if he needs to, but far enough that Dean cannot feel his body heat.

Then he waits, and it is silent.


All Dean wants is to quiet his mind. He wants to not hear the echoes of screams of the people he just let die because he couldn’t do one simple fucking thing right: gank the demon witch. That’s all he had to do. But he didn’t.

He needs something else to focus on. He needs to feel pain to forget everything else. He wants Cas to beat him into a new person so he can forget who he really is for a while. He wants stinging and throbbing and aching, and he wants Cas to tell him that he deserves to suffer.

He wants a punishment, not this humiliating display of Cas’ power over him; forcing him to kneel on the hard concrete floor instead of beating him. Dean wants to be used for Cas’ pleasure so he can feel he’s good for something, even if it is just to be a fuck-hole for an angel who is so much more important than Dean will ever be.

Dean can do that. He can keep quiet while Cas fucks him if that’s what he wants. He can be on his back or on all fours. Cas can bend him over the desk and break him. Cas can deny him his own release because he doesn’t deserve it. He can hold his mouth open and choke and gag as Cas fucks into his throat.

He can be slapped and whipped and used – but he can’t just sit here.

He sways slightly on his knees, feeling a sharp sting in one of them as he shifts his weight.

“Be still.”

Dean knows better than to respond verbally, so he tries to respond with his body, centering his weight and being completely still except for his breathing. He takes a deep breath in through his nose, closes his eyes, and exhales quietly out of his mouth.

“Good, Dean. Very good.”

The praise that washes over Dean is almost tangible, like a warm caress over his bare skin. He can do this. He focuses on the pointed pain and pinch from the concrete. His ankles are stiff and aching, and the pressure on his knees feels worse with each passing minute.

He can do this. He can be good for Cas.


It’s been nearly twenty minutes since Castiel last spoke and the only movement Dean has made is the regular inhale and exhale of breath, as well as the release of tension in his muscles. He looks almost comfortable there on his knees, but Castiel knows that it hurts and that Dean’s knees and muscles must be aching. His back and shoulders must be tired from sitting straight up and holding his arms behind him.

“You’re beautiful like this.” Castiel says, keeping his voice low and quiet so as to not startle Dean after such a long period of silence. He stands and rakes his fingers through Dean’s hair, enjoying the shiver that shakes through Dean’s body at his touch. “You are beautiful,” he says again and repeats the motion.

“You are strong.”

“You are pure.”

“You are brave.”

With each statement, Castiel scratches blunt fingernails through Dean’s hair, rough against his scalp in that way he knows that Dean loves.

“You are good, Dean.”

“No.” It’s a whisper that Dean probably didn’t expect him to hear, but Castiel hears it and grips Dean’s hair tightly in his fist, pulling his head back, forcing Dean to look up at him.

Castiel’s breath catches at the sight. Dean’s eyes are red and shining, and tear tracks stain his cheeks. He’s been crying. How had Castiel not noticed that this beautiful man – this fragile, incredible creature – had been silently weeping directly in front of him for God knows how long?

Fighting the urge to sweep the naked man up in his arms and kiss him until he believes everything Castiel says about him to be true, he instead walks around to the front of Dean and reaches down to help him up.


“Stand up.” Cas orders.

“Yes sir.”

At first Dean tries to stand on his own, but after kneeling on the floor for so long everything is either numb or completely stiff. He tries not to flinch when Cas wraps his arms around him and helps him stand slowly. Dean’s legs are shaking terribly as Cas walks him over to the bed and helps him sit.

He’s so angry with himself. All Cas asked him to do was kneel silently and Dean cried like a fucking child. What the hell was wrong with him? Sure, he’s cried before when Cas spanks him mercilessly and it was cathartic and he deserved it. But this… this was just embarrassing.

“Please lie down on the bed, Dean, on your back with your head on the pillow.”

“Yes sir.” Dean responds automatically.

“Shh, Dean, we’re done with that for now. You are to be quiet unless I ask you for a direct response.” Cas’ voice is so gentle it about makes Dean sick. Why isn’t he upset? Why isn’t he forcing Dean to choke on his cock for failing at this one simple task?

Dean sniffles and tries to wipe his cheeks without it being obvious while he scoots up the bed. His knees are red and have matching indentations in the skin. He takes his time stretching his legs out straight as he lays back.

“I’ll be right back Dean. Please stay there and relax. I won’t be gone longer than a minute or two.”

Dean nods and shuts his eyes, but as soon as he hears the door open and then click closed again, tears begin to squeeze through his eyelids.

Seven people.

Seven: a truck driver who had been driving for eleven hours straight; an elderly married couple out for their weekly visit to the diner; a waitress named Suzie who’d made Dean a great cup of coffee right before, well, before…; and a young couple and their newborn son, out for the first time since they brought him home from the hospital.

Seven more people dead because Dean couldn’t do his fucking job.

And Dean couldn’t even stay on his knees for Cas without breaking down.

He is useless. He is worthless. He is…

“Stop crying Dean.” Cas had returned and Dean didn’t even notice.

The command is clear even though his voice is gentle and Dean tries so hard to stop the tears. He feels two cold bags of ice resting on his kneecaps now and it soothes some of the pain there. Then Cas’ strong hands are massaging his thighs and Dean can feel himself relax just a little.

“It was not your fault, Dean. You have to understand that. You did everything you could possibly do.”

“Yeah well then why in the hell did…”

“I didn’t ask for your response.”

Dean flinches because that’s just another thing he’s done wrong. Cas keeps massaging him, moving up and down his legs and readjusting the ice packs.

“You didn’t create these monsters. It is not your responsibility to destroy them. It is not your responsibility to protect everyone; to save everyone. You can try, and you always try, but you have to remember that this does not all fall on you. No one blames you except yourself.”

Cas’ logic means nothing to Dean right now as his feelings, the ones he is constantly trying to repress, are screaming at him. You’re a fuck-up. You are nothing. You mean nothing… They’re interrupted once again by Cas.

“You are light, Dean, and they are darkness, and no matter how bright you are there will always be shadows.”

Cas removes the ice from Dean’s knees and helps Dean roll over onto his stomach. Dean wiggles slightly when Cas adjusts his soft dick so it’s pointing down towards his feet. Cas opens a bottle of sage-scented massage oil and begins rubbing his shoulders. Dean holds in a groan and Cas must notice.

“You can make noise, but don’t speak.”

Dean moans and groans as Cas works down his back, pressing and kneading at his sore muscles, squeezing his ass and rubbing down the back of his legs until Dean feels like he’s hardly a human form anymore, but instead has turned to liquid and soaked into the bed.

Cas’ hands are hot and slick, and Dean breaths in sharply when two hot fingers slide right over his hole and rub down his taint. He hears a cap open and a wet sound as Cas adds lube to his fingers.

He wants to tell Cas to stop, that he doesn’t deserve this. He wants to tell Cas that the cane is still at the foot of the bed if he’d rather beat Dean red with it. But he knows that Cas won’t listen because Cas thinks he’s good.

This angel thinks that he, Dean Winchester, fuck-up extraordinaire, is good.

He wants so badly to believe it.


Castiel pushes into Dean and has to immediately still Dean from pushing back.

“No Dean. We’re going to take this slowly. I’m not going to hurt you.”

It does take an inordinate amount of self-control to not thrust himself into Dean’s tight hole. They haven’t had the chance to do this in a while with being on the road and sharing rooms with Sam and then being utterly exhausted when they do have a few minutes of alone time. Castiel wishes briefly that this wasn’t a scene and that he could make love to this man without having to prove a point, but Dean needs this, and on some level so does he.

Dean whines below him, trembling until Castiel pulls out and slides back in. Both men let out lewd sounds at the feeling, and Castiel lets his body cover Dean’s, his vessel desperate for as much skin-on-skin contact as possible.

And then he starts to move his hips faster, pressing Dean harder into the bed with every thrust and punching sounds out of Dean that only spur him on.

“You may speak Dean,” Castiel slows his hips just enough so he can growl out his final order into Dean’s ear, “but you may only say that you are good. And you may not come until you tell me how good, and strong, and brave you are.” Each statement is accentuated with a pointed thrust.

He feels Dean’s body tense beneath him as he buries his face in the pillows and lets out a sound resembling a scream. It was a frustrated scream, not one of pleasure, but Castiel rolls his hips and finds that spot inside of Dean that makes him arch his back and pound his fists. Once he finds it, he is relentless. He takes no pity on Dean as he pounds into him over and over, waiting for Dean to break because when he does…

Oh, when Dean finally lets go…

“I’m good…” Dean whispers, his eyes squeezed closed tight, the perfect profile of his face outlined by the soft cotton of the pillowcase. “Please…”

“No. Finish it.”

“I’m… fuck. I’m brave.” Dean says a little louder between strangled moans. “I am strong, Cas.”

“Yes you are. What else? What are you?” Castiel laces his fingers with Dean’s and angles himself to go impossibly deeper. Maybe he even uses his grace to stimulate Dean’s body even further, bringing him closer and closer until…

“I am good! I am not worthless I’m… I want to be good Cas please you believe I’m good and I am…” it’s near gibberish but Dean is shouting and yes, yes he is good.

“Let go Dean…”

Dean screams and squeezes Castiel’s fingers. His body tightens even more and Castiel can feel spasm after spasm, each cry from Dean’s mouth getting softer and softer and Castiel pulls out and comes across Dean’s back and smooth buttcheeks, immediately rubbing it into Dean’s skin and whispering in his ear, “You are good Dean. You are mine and you are good.”


Dean lets Cas drag his ass to the shower, and he even lets Cas wash him down with soap and a sponge.

He’s still upset, but less so with himself now and more at the fact that his life revolves around monsters and not around Cas.

Because this is as good as its gonna get for them, so Dean allows himself to enjoy his own little version of heaven – Cas washing his hair and kissing his shoulders and making him believe that he really is good.

Chapter Text

L is for Lace


That’s what he is.

That’s the only explanation as to why he’s spent three hours (three hours!) of his only day off on this guys blog.

He should be out running errands: groceries, Laundromat, bank – you know, the basic, boring essentials of being an adult. He needs to do the dishes and take out the garbage. He needs to find a roommate so he can afford to pay rent. He needs to do all of the things he’s been neglecting as he’s worked six ten-hour days in a row.

But no.

Instead, Cas is jacking off in front of his computer for the second time this morning (it’s afternoon, now, buddy) to the same blog he’s jacked off to a million times before.

27. Lawrence, KS. Wearing panties for your pleasure. NSFW.

That’s right – a tall, built, sexy local guy was walking around in panties. It was like Cas’ dream come true. Yeah, so he’d never seen his face, whatever. Cas often found himself trying to spot those bowlegs and broad shoulders in public.

The Boy, as Cas liked to call him, had updated two times already today. Cas imagined that this guy, this totally unobtainable Adonis, was at home with some free time and the sole mission of making Cas tug his dick right off.

The first picture posted today was of The Boy with his soft-looking, worn-in jeans pulled down just below his ass and wide-strapped black lacy thong pulled up over those perfect hipbones. His shirt was off and his arm was in the shot, his hand probably cupping his dick. But, the picture was taken from the side and behind, so instead of seeing that amazing cock that The Boy sometimes gave them a peek of, all Cas could focus on was his delicious bubble butt and the dimples directly above it.

It was actually a very tasteful, somewhat artistic photo.

Castiel still got off to it in record time.

It was just too easy to imagine pulling that lace and snapping it against The Boy’s smooth skin.

The picture was posted with the caption Hey guys, sorry I haven’t been updating much. Life got sorta busy, you know? I’m back now though, so I thought I’d post a few pics to make up for lost time – stay tuned!

At that moment Cas resigned himself to the knowledge that he probably wasn’t going to get a whole lot done today.

He kept hitting refresh. Then he checked his email. Then Facebook. He ate macaroni salad for lunch.

Finally, about thirty minutes later, another update. This time The Boy was basically fully clothed, but that didn’t keep Cas from rallying his limp dick back to life. He stroked himself gently as he inspected the photo.

It was a full body shot taken from behind, cropped just barely above the collar of his shirt. The Boy never posted anything that showed him from the neck up which was disappointing, but Cas figured with a body like that (and with panties like that!) who cares? He was wearing a gray fitted t-shirt that hugged all the right spots to show off the rippling muscles of his back and shoulders. He had his arms crossed in front of him, and Cas could tell by the way his fingers were peaking around from either side and teasing the fabric of his shirt up like he was about to pull it off over his head.

As Cas’ eyes continue down the photo, his dick really starts to take interest.

The Boy is standing barefoot with his legs spread about shoulder-length apart with his hips canted to the left. He’s wearing the same soft-looking jeans with a clearly unbuckled black leather belt. The jeans must be unbuttoned as they are sliding down his incredible ass exposing light pink cheeky panties made solely of lace. They’re pulled up nice and high, the transition from pink lace to smooth, tan skin absolutely perfect. Cas can practically feel what it would be like, ghosting his fingertips over that line, maybe causing The Boy to shiver before tearing the fucking things right off of his body.

It is taking him a little longer to climax this time around, seeing how he just spent twenty minutes jerking off half-an-hour ago. But suddenly there’s another update, and it takes Cas about fifteen seconds to blow his load.

It is a profile shot, and all the clothes are off now – no pants, no shirt – nothing except smooth skin and chiseled hips and that sweet, sweet swell of an ass… and a tiny, dainty white thong. The Boy is completely hard and a good three inches of his cock is sticking straight out over the top of the thong, so heavy and huge that the thin straps of it look like they’re about to snap from the strain of keeping that thing barely confined.

That was enough to push Cas over the edge right there, but as he feels his release uncoiling he notices a single drop of precome glimmering at the head of The Boys cock, and he is fucking done for. He comes with a gasp all over his fingers and through his post-orgasmic haze he reaches out to touch the computer screen, like he is actually going to be able to collect that single drop and suck it off of his thumb.

Cas tries to bask in the afterglow of his second orgasm of the day, but he’s disturbed by a ping letting him know he’s got an email. Snapping out of his stupor, he finally closes The Boy’s Tumblr and clicks back over to his email.

It’s a response to his Craigslist ad for a roommate.

I’m interested in renting your extra room. Single male, mid-twenties, full-time job, non-smoker, clean but not a neat-freak. I have a car but she’s fine parked on the street if there’s only one spot in the driveway. I’m available today and tomorrow to come check it out if it’s still available. My number is 555-4848 if you want to shoot me a text to set up a time.
Dean W.

Cas takes his phone out of his pocket and sends the number a text. They set up a time for this Dean guy to come over, and Cas finally peels himself off of the computer chair to shower and clean up the house a little. This will be the fourth guy he’ll have interviewed to be his roommate, the previous three being complete duds. Cas is getting desperate, needing to pay rent and all that, so if this guy is clean, friendly, and employed he might just accept him on the spot.

At three o’clock sharp there’s the rumble of an engine that cuts off out on the street. Cas peaks through the window and watches as an impossibly gorgeous man climbs out of an equally gorgeous car.

Holy shit.

Holy fucking shit.


Broad shoulders.

Those jeans. Gray t-shirt.

If Cas didn’t know any better he’d say…

Knock knock knock knock!

Cas tries to compose himself before answering the door. It is just a coincidence, he thinks. He is just projecting on this guy because he happens to be built and dressed similarly to a guy he spent all morning staring at. He takes a deep breath, runs his hands through his hair, and pulls himself together.

Any resolve Cas thought he had goes straight to hell when he opens the door only to be met with absolute perfection.

“Hey, you must be Cas.” The man smiles and extends his hand in a friendly handshake. “I’m Dean.”

“I, um. Yes. Hi. Hello Dean. It’s nice to meet you.” Somehow Cas is able to function enough under the green-eyed gaze to take Dean’s hand and shake it… and shake it… and wow I’ve been shaking his hand for way too long now.

“So, do I get to come in and check the place out or do I only get to see the front yard? I mean, it’s nice out here and all, but…”

“Oh yes, of course. Please come in.” Cas moves aside allowing Dean to pass over the threshold. He makes an attempt at not looking at Dean’s ass and immediately fails.

He knows that ass.


The Boy has never posted a video so Cas isn’t sure how he moves, but the way Dean’s hips sway as he walks into the living room…

“Whoa. Nice TV.” Dean points to the flat screen on the wall and then down at the gaming systems. “Oh shit, is that a NES?”

“Um. Yes.”

“Do you have games?” There’s a twinkle in Dean’s eyes and while Cas is trying to figure out if this guy is wearing women’s underwear beneath his jeans, he can’t help but think about how adorable he is for getting so excited about a shitty old Nintendo.

“And two original controllers.” Cas smiles a little.

“Dude. Can we play?”

When Cas woke up that morning he didn’t expect to end the day playing Legend of Zelda for hours with an insanely sexy stranger, but that’s exactly what happens, and in the process he gets to know more about Dean than he ever could have with his standard roommate interview.

A little before seven o’clock Dean puts down his controller and stretches. Cas glances over as Dean’s shirt rides up and sees the very clear elastic of men’s boxers peaking over the top waist of his jeans. He ignores the slight sting of disappointment. It was too good to be true, of course. But this guy is still hot, and fun, and he can afford the rent so…

“I guess we should continue the tour of the house?” Dean says, almost yawning. “Sorry, I hope I haven’t overstayed my welcome?”

“Are you kidding? I haven’t played Zelda in years. I can show you the rest of the house though and you can see if you like it. If you do, the room is yours.”


Cas nods and gets off the couch, leading Dean through the rest of the house. Two bedrooms, bathroom, hall closet, garage (where Cas tells him he can park his beloved Impala since Cas’ car is a piece of shit and would be just fine on the street), kitchen, backyard.

Dean accepts the room and they order and eat an entire pizza before Dean leaves just before ten o’clock. They decide that he’ll bring his stuff by the next day and add his name to the lease.

Not thirty seconds after Cas hears the rumble of Dean’s car fade away is he booting up his laptop.

Why is it so hard to tell if Dean is A-Boy-in-Lace? Cas has spent enough time looking at pictures of The Boy that he should be able to tell, right?

The rest of his evening is spent in a back-and-forth between yes, this is absolutely Dean and no way, no way am I that lucky.


Regardless of whether or not Dean is the same guy Cas has been masturbating to for months, he’s a great roommate. He’s quiet and neat and by the end of their first week together he’s fixed the broken-down barbeque in the backyard enough to grill some burgers.

By the second week they’ve settled into a comfortable routine so that they can each shower before work and not make the other late.

By the end of the third week Cas has nearly forgotten about his suspicions that Dean could be A-Boy-In-Lace.

That is, until Cas finds a pair of panties in the bathroom, wadded up on the floor with Dean’s dirty clothes and towel. They’re adorable, and Cas nearly comes in his pants while he’s brushing his teeth.

They’re another pair of cheeky boyshorts, with gray and white pinstripes, thin gray lace around the waist and legs, and a little pink bow on the back, right where it would show if Dean bent over while wearing low-cut jeans.

Cas realizes that he’s holding the panties up and staring, his toothbrush hanging limply in his mouth, and he’s actually drooling.

He hears footsteps in the hall and he shoves the panties back down into the pile of stuff on the floor. He’s back to brushing his teeth when Dean knocks on the doorframe and comes in.

“Sorry dude. Didn’t mean to leave my shit in here.”

Cas grunts and drools a little more accidentally. Dean laughs and collects his clothes (and the panties!!) and heads back to his room.

Oh my god.

Cas spits, rinses his mouth and goes to his room, locking the door. He goes straight to A-Boy-In-Lace and right there at the top is a close up picture of a giant bulge, hardly contained by gray and white pin-striped panties with gray lace. A thumb is casually hooked under the waistline and is pulling them down slightly.

Hooooly shiiiiiiit.

Dean is A-Boy-In-Lace.

Less than twenty feet away is Cas’ real-life wet dream.

The only thing separating them is some drywall and a few thin layers of paint.

And Castiel’s sudden and crippling self-doubt.

Because why would someone as hot at The Boy, no, Dean… why would someone as absolutely stunningly gorgeous as Dean Winchester – new roommate, friend, and panty-kink enthusiast – want someone like Cas?

Maybe because Cas understands – he understands the appeal of a man who enjoys wearing women’s underwear. He literally gets off on it. Maybe Dean has had a hard time finding someone who shares his passion for lace. He’s single, Cas knows this, and there’s really no good reason for it. And, given Dean’s obvious obsession with Dr. Sexy he’s at least bisexual, so that’s another point in the Go For It column.

And then there’s their whole instant friends thing. From the moment Dean walked in he seemed right at home, and they played video games and talked for hours like a couple of high school kids. Dean hadn’t gone out with anyone except his brother since he’d moved in. He’d never even brought anyone back to the house. Dean spent his time working or hanging out with Cas (or taking pictures of himself in girlie lingerie, apparently).

Cas’ mind is foggy with thoughts about Dean in the next room, and he can’t decide if it’s a good idea or a very bad idea to make a move on his roommate. It never seems like a good idea to crush on a roommate, but the man is quite literally Cas’ wet dream… what is he supposed to do? Just pretend he doesn’t know?

He decides to wait another week so that they’ve known each other for at least a month, and then he’ll broach the topic; maybe start laying the groundwork that will hopefully lead to him fucking Dean right out of his pretty little panties.

Three evenings that week Cas detours to different department stores on his way home from work, looking for the perfect gift for Dean – preferably something dark green, lacy, and see-through.


Cas has somehow convinced himself that this is a good idea, even though while he’s doing it he’s thinking this is a very bad idea! Not only is he about to cross over the line into bad-roommatesville for going into Dean’s room when he’s not home, but he also might be way off base, leaving a pair of silk and lace panties on Dean’s bed in the hopes that his possibly-bi roommate might let him see him in them.

This is a very bad idea .

Cas leaves the thin cream-colored box wrapped with a green satin bow (of course) on Dean’s bed in plain sight and then practically runs back to his room and slams the door.

And he waits.

And he stops himself from marching right back over there and grabbing the box and pretending like this never happened.

He goes back and forth in his mind until he hears the garage door opening and the engine of the Impala cutting off. His stomach does six back-flips in a row as he sits motionless in his computer chair.

A door closes. Footsteps down the hallway. Bathroom door. Flush. Shower curtain. Running water.

Okay, so Dean is taking a shower. Cas can still sneak over to Dean’s room and collect his gift – but he’s glued to his seat. The vision of Dean’s perfect body dripping with water clouds his better judgment and before he knows it, he hears the water cut off.

His palms are actually sweating.

He hears the medicine cabinet open and close and some shuffling, and then the bathroom door opens and some heavy footsteps back past his door, then Dean’s bedroom door opens and clicks shut.

There’s not a lot of noise after that, and Cas isn’t sure what to think. Did he see the box? Of course he saw the fucking box it’s right on his bed.

Cas waits, uncaring that he hasn’t eaten dinner or gotten up to pee in almost two hours. He just sits in his computer chair, waiting for something. What is he even waiting for? He’s not sure.

He logs onto Tumblr and checks out A-Boy-In-Lace.


There’s a close up picture of the panties he got Dean – green silk with a black bow on the front. Dean’s hard cock is peaking over the top of the panties, right behind the bow. It looks like a gift just for Cas.

Below the picture is a caption that reads Get over here…

Cas feels like his heart and his stomach have switched places, and his legs wobble when he stands. He clears his throat and walks out into the hall. Everything is in slow motion as he finds himself knocking on Dean’s bedroom door.

The door flies open and Dean is standing there in front of him wearing… jeans and a fucking t-shirt.

“What? You thought I was going to answer the door in my new green lacies?” he smiles, a little too cocky for Cas’ taste. “I’m still wearin’ ‘em, in case you’re wondering.”

Cas glances down at Dean’s crotch before he can stop himself and Dean laughs.

Yes, he’s far too cocky for a man wearing women’s underwear. Cas is more than willing to bring him down a couple of pegs, and despite the immobilizing fear he was experiencing not five minutes ago, The Boy is standing right in front of him just waiting for him to make a move.

So, Cas moves.

He steps over the threshold and grabs Dean by the shirt, spinning him and slamming his back against a wall. Dean huffs out a shit! and another laugh. Cas is on his knees on the floor in front of him, his surprisingly steady hands unbuttoning and unzipping, but before he can even sneak a peek at what he knows is under that denim, Dean makes another sassy comment.

“What? No kiss or anything? Jeeze Cas, what kind of girl do you think I am?”

Cas rises up to meet Dean’s eye line, and despite his sarcasm, Dean is breathing harder and looking a little flushed in his cheeks.

Good, Cas thinks.

He takes hold of Dean’s chin softly and gently brushes his thumb across Dean’s lips, then places the lightest kiss just barely on that perfect, pouty bottom lip. Dean’s eyelids flutter and he breaths out a tiny whoa. They stare at each other for a long moment, and Cas notices a dusting of pale freckles along Dean’s cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

He sinks back down to his knees, not breaking eye contact with Dean until he’s level with the guy’s bulge, and continues tearing open Dean’s jeans until he sees that little black bow and green silk. Before he even has the jeans down he does what he’s wanted to do since the first time he found A-Boy-In-Lace’s Tumblr page – he takes the edge of the underwear in his teeth and pulls, letting it go and snap against Dean’s skin.

He’s barely thinking clearly enough to pull Dean’s pants all the way down so they pool around his ankles. He nuzzles against the growing bulge in the panties and the feeling of Dean’s thick, hot cock through the silk is intoxicating. Cas mouths over the hardness and hears a thump from above him. He looks up to see that Dean’s head has fallen back against the wall, his eyes have closed and he’s biting his lip.

Oh, yeah. This is going to be fun.

Cas hooks his fingers into the thin elastic around the waist and pulls a little, not enough to pull the panties down, but just enough to show more of Dean’s incredible hips, and he sucks a mark right into the skin there. He doesn’t notice all of the sounds he himself is making. He only hears Dean.

“Mmm, Cas… yeah…”

Cas grips Dean’s hips and roughly spins him around, catching Dean off guard and causing him to put his hands up to brace himself against the wall.

God, these panties are perfect for Dean. Not only is the green silk on the front the exact shade of Dean’s eyes, but the entire back of the panties is made of see-through black lace that just barely covers that amazing bubble butt. It’s a breathtaking sight and Cas immediately gets his hands on those cheeks, groping and spreading them as Dean keens above him.

Dean steps out of his jeans and spreads his legs, pushing himself back into Cas’ grip. Cas slides one hand around to cup Dean’s erection and he feels a slick wet spot on the fabric. Whether it’s his saliva or Dean’s precome, who knows, but it makes Cas moan as he leans in and bites Dean’s left asscheek.

“How long have you known?” Dean asks, sounding eager and a little more than breathless.

Cas runs his fingers up Dean’s waist under his shirt and then scratches his way back down to the lace and then repeats the motion before flipping Dean once again so he’s facing the rock hard cock that’s now peaking out of the leg of the panties.

“I had an idea,” he says, pulling the panties down just over Dean’s cock, “the moment you stepped out of your car when you first came over to check out the house.” He licks along the length of Dean’s dick and Dean lets out a moan that has Cas groping himself through his pants. “I spent all morning masturbating to your fucking Tumblr page and then here you come walking up to my door. You didn’t even change your clothes.”

Dean fingers scrape at the wall behind him as Cas takes him down to the root. He tastes so clean and elemental, every inch of him smooth and hot in Cas’ mouth. He works his tongue around, drawing more sounds out of Dean that he’s only ever heard in a porno.

“Why didn’t you say anything before n-now?” Dean asks, struggling to get the words out around his moans. Cas pops his mouth off of Dean’s hard member and looks up. God he is fucking perfection. He tucks Dean’s cock back into the panties and they stretch around it, barely able to keep it covered.

“Because I wasn’t completely sure. But then I found your little gray and white panties in the bathroom and,” Cas stands and slides Dean’s shirt over his head, finally exposing that perfect chiseled chest and stomach and God damn how does this man even exist? “and I was validated.”

Cas takes a few steps back and away from Dean, who is leaning heavily with his back against the wall, chest rising with deep breaths. He’s completely naked in front of Cas, except for those panties now stretched with a big wet stain on the front and the red bruise that Cas just made barley peaking out over the waistline. It’s so much better than any picture on his blog because this shit is real life – and he can see Dean’s face: eyes blown wide with lust, cheeks flushed pink, lips slick and shining.

“Perfect.” Cas says aloud, committing the image to his memory.

Dean looks down at the floor and then back up at him. “You really think so? You like this?”

Cas can’t even think of a word to describe how much he likes it, but he nods enthusiastically and begins removing his own clothes.

“Lube?” he asks once he’s finally pulling down his boxers, and Dean points to the nightstand. Cas finds it in the nearly empty drawer along with a few condoms. He grabs one and in record time he’s kneeling in front of Dean again. “Turn around.”

Dean obeys and braces himself against the wall, legs spread. Cas pulls the backside of the panties down, stretching them over that ass, and Dean moans as the fabric in the front stretches tight over his cock.

His ass is smooth except for a set of teeth marks left from just a few minutes ago. Cas wonders if he should take a picture of this for Dean’s blog. He does make a pretty perfect picture – creamy, smooth ass with lacy panties stretched below his cheeks, and a nice crisp bite mark. Dean could post this picture and get a thousand notes in no time, but no one would be able to hear the hitch in his breath. No one else would see the quiver in his thighs as Cas presses into his tight pucker with a single lubed finger. No one else could lean forward and leave more tiny bruises on that perfect ass.

Only Cas gets this right now.

He shivers with something resembling possessiveness, but that is quickly forgotten as Dean moans loud for more.

Soon he’s got two fingers in, scissoring Dean open, and then three fingers to get a good stretch. Dean’s legs are shaking and Cas is standing now, four fingers in and pressing relentlessly on Dean’s prostate. He slides on the condom and lines up behind Dean, and they make nearly identical sounds as Cas slides all the way to the base in a single fluid glide.

Cas leans back and looks down, the sight of himself buried deep inside Dean’s tight ass, those fucking panties still pulled down over his ass and those two perfect dimples in the small of Dean’s back…

Holy fuck, Cas isn’t going to last long.

He presses his thumbs into those beautiful dimples and grips around Dean’s hips with his fingers before he starts to move.

“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about this,” Cas whispers into Dean’s ear as he snaps his hips up and forward. “How many times I’ve looked at your pictures and wondered what it’d be like to fuck you right through the lace.”

Dean moans and presses back harder against Cas.

“I knew you were wandering around Lawrence in your pretty little panties… never thought I would actually find you.”

“But you did… oh fuck!” Dean slams his fist against the wall after a particularly pointed thrust. “Fuck yes, right there!”

Cas reaches around and grinds his palm into Dean’s cock through the silk, that wet spot getting even bigger as Dean leaks more and more. Cas pounds relentlessly into Dean, his moans and cries getting louder and even more desperate until finally…

Ahhh fuck oh fuck oh fuck fuck fuuuuck!!” and Cas feels Dean pulse around him as he comes in his panties, the hot fluid soaking through the silk and onto Cas’ hand.

“Oh shit… oh God Dean!” Cas thrusts into him hard a few more times before pulling out, tearing off the condom, and coming all over Dean’s ass.

Cas takes a moment to catch his breath and then pulls Dean’s panties back up over the mess he’s made, watching it seep through the lace. He wipes his dripping cockhead off on them and that’s it; he’s officially fulfilled his number one spank-bank fantasy.

“Holy shit Cas. That was…”

“Yeah it was…”

Dean lets out a breathy little laugh. “I think we ruined these.”

Cas rests his forehead between Dean’s sweaty shoulder blades. “I’m sorry. I’ll buy you more.”

Dean really laughs this time and turns around to face Cas. His eyes are practically glowing an iridescent gold and green, and he smiles. Cas can’t help but smile now, too.

“Don’t be sorry. I’ve got about thirty more pairs I’ll let you ruin.”


“I mean I guess it’s probably more like fifty pairs but…”

“But you’d let me…” Cas interrupts and makes a vague gesture toward Dean’s completely come-soaked panties.

Dean smiles and nods, then asks, “You gonna kiss me now for real or what?”

Cas doesn’t hesitate.


A-Boy-In-Lace’s blog is still Cas’ favorite even though it’s undergone a few changes.

First of all, the description has changed. Now it reads:

27. Lawrence, KS. Wearing panties for your pleasure. All photos now taken by my kinky/sexy roommate/boyfriend. Definitely still NSFW.

Dean still posts incredible photos of himself in panties, except now the camera is held exclusively by Cas instead of being propped up on stacks of books and whatnot, and he usually takes way more photos than necessary – but neither of them seem to mind.

They like to call that the “before” photo now, because these photo shoots usually get them both so riled up that they have rough, loud, sweaty sex all over the house.

Then Cas takes an “after” photo (or ten) of Dean’s debauched panties: sometimes they’re covered in come and clinging to his skin; sometimes they’re ripped and disheveled and barely staying on his body; occasionally they are sopping wet after being shoved in Dean’s mouth and used as a gag; and sometimes they’re just a torn mess of fabric on the floor or wrapped around Dean’s ankle.

Both pictures are always posted back-to-back on Dean’s blog.

Dean really wasn’t kidding about having fifty pairs of panties for Cas to destroy...

Cas keeps buying him new ones anyway.

Chapter Text

M is for Morning Sex

Dean remembers when they bought this house thinking that there were too many goddamn windows. He was so used to the bunker that he knew it would take some adjusting to get used to living his life above ground.

Now that he’s lying here in bed at too-fucking-early-o’clock with the light of a thousand suns shining directly in his eyes he feels vindicated.

But Cas felt right at home the moment they walked into this quirky old house. He loves this house, and that includes the three east-facing windows in their annex-bedroom.

Cas wanted the light, and Dean wanted Cas to be happy.

But what the fuck? Why is the sun shining in here? Didn’t they put up curtains like, months ago?

Oh, they didn’t pull the curtains down last night.

That’s right.

They were busy.


Dean stretches and feels the sheets tangle around his bare legs, all the other blankets having been knocked off last night while they rolled around like animals. He feels a breeze through the open windows and glances at the clock, slightly irritated that it’s already this warm for 6:30 am – but that’s July in Lawrence for you.

He’s still naked, and he pulls up the sheet to cover himself, maybe cover his eyes too from this God-awful light, but then he catches a glimpse of Cas.

Man, Dean must be a sucker in love because seeing Castiel, his angel – his angel – drenched in this white morning light, still sleeping and naked and so completely relaxed… his attitude does a complete one-eighty. It’s almost as if this house and this room were designed specifically so Dean would always see the beauty radiating from Castiel at all angles and in all colors.

Dean grins like an idiot.

Yes, there are still monsters out there, and yes, occasionally they each feel the itch to get out and get hunting again, but on mornings like this Dean doesn’t give a damn about what is going on outside these walls. The hunter and his angel made it to the finish line, and Dean feels like celebrating.

Still sporting a dopey grin, Dean slides himself up against Cas. He gently rolls Cas onto his back, and holds back a chuckle when Cas grunts in unconscious frustration at being jostled. His brows furrow and crinkle, but Dean doesn’t notice that because the sheet slides across Cas’ body, exposing his chest and most of his stomach.

Mmm, breakfast!

Dean props himself up on one elbow and pulls the sheet down farther, thanking his lucky stars for the cool morning light filling the room now because damn, it’s a good look on Cas.

Inch by inch of skin is uncovered and Dean wants to kiss it all. With a flick of his wrist the sheet folds over around Cas’ knees, and Dean climbs onto him, softly lowering himself over the warm, naked body and placing feather-light kisses along Cas’ chest.

A heavy breath raises Castiel’s chest and Dean takes the opportunity to kiss a little harder and then stick out his tongue for a taste. Fuck, he is so tasty; just as sweet as he always is, but salty with the sweat of last night dried on skin. Dean licks and kisses his way to one of Castiel’s dark nipples and sucks it into his mouth. Cas stirs beneath him and a strident little moan interrupts the steady rhythm of his breathing.

Since they’ve been together – what, some year-and-a-half now – Dean is sure to always lavish Cas’ body with attention and affection. He’d watched as this vessel suffered complete annihilation, possession, and the stripping of Cas’ Grace more than once… and many times all of that pain could be traced back to Dean. Cas was always trying to save Dean, to help Dean, to keep Dean from doing something stupid.

Now Castiel was human, decidedly so and granted his wish by Chuck himself, but this was still the same vessel that had been through so much trauma, and Dean would always consider Cas his angel…

His angel with very sensitive nipples.

Cas is still sleeping, but he’s restless and squirming as Dean rolls the stiff bud of his left nipple gently between his teeth. The moment Cas wakes up is obvious by the harsh intake of breath and tensing of his body. Dean looks up through his lashes and takes the stiff peak of Cas’ nipple back into his mouth, sucking it hard and watching intently as consciousness slowly finds its way to Cas.

“Dean? Wha-” Cas mutters out before he’s interrupting himself with a quiet moan. “Oh…” Dean smiles as Cas begins to realize what’s happening. He kisses his way back up Castiel’s chest and neck, nuzzling at the scruff of his jaw before landing a heavy kiss on Cas’ lips, feeling the pull of warmth and sleep emanating from him.

“Good morning sweetheart.” Dean whispers before pressing their lips together once again. The endearment still feels somewhat foreign on his tongue. He never thought he’d be one to call someone sweetheart – always figured he was more of a babe or baby kind of guy. He even used sugartits once back in his twenties. Sweetheart never really crossed his mind until that first morning he woke up with Cas beside him and it just sort of slipped out in the moment. Cas’ reaction was unforgettable.

Ugh, such a fucking sap .

Dean grins against Cas’ lips.

“Good morning Dean.” Cas hums out the words as Dean drags his lips over all the sensitive spots along Cas’ neck that he’s become so familiar with. “What time is it?”

“Early.” Dean whispers and continues kissing down Castiel’s body, spending some time swirling his tongue around his right nipple and sucking it until Cas lets out a loud, lazy moan and then carrying on his merry way down, down, down. He dips his tongue into Cas’ belly button and nips at the skin above it making the man squirm a little.

Dean has spent so much time this past year studying and tracing and touching Castiel’s body, but he’s still surprised by all the little places that rev Cas’ engine.

Take, for instance, the soft crook of his elbow. Dean often finds himself rubbing his thumb along the skin there which, more often than not, results in a minimum of making out.

Oh, and the back of Cas’ neck! Not just the kisses and bites that Dean likes to leave there, and not just the bruises he sucks into the skin all around Castiel’s throat – but sometimes Dean will just put a protective hand over the back of Cas’ neck. Cas told him that it was possessive… and very hot.

But for now Dean is going to stick with the classics, all the obvious spots that really get Cas going. So what if he might be rubbing circles into Cas’ perfect hipbones while he goes down on him? That’s his prerogative.

Cas is half hard as Dean licks the head of his cock into his mouth. Cas sighs, and Dean moans around the feeling of Cas growing harder against his tongue.

“You’re awfully energetic this morning,” Cas says and yawns. Dean pops off his dick looking insulted.

“Did you actually just yawn?”

“Excuse me, but we just went to sleep not more than four hours ago.”

“Aww, is my poor little angel still worn out after last night?” Dean smirks and bites gently at Castiel’s thigh.

“Considering I did most of the work last night, yes.”

Mmmmm yeah you did Dean thinks, remembering Cas riding him, the sound of the mattress springs breaking, and Cas coming untouched all over Dean’s tummy.

Dean nuzzles into Cas’ groin, nosing at his balls and gently sucking one into his mouth. He runs his tongue around the orb a few times before releasing it from his lips.

“Then how about you just lay back and relax.” He kisses his way up to the head of Cas’ cock and licks softly at the slit, swirling his tongue around the sensitive glans there.

One of Cas’ hands reaches down to him to run his fingers through his hair but then falls to his side. He really is exhausted.

Dean spreads Cas’ legs, pushing up his knees and spreading him until he can see Cas’ red, puffy hole winking at him. It still looks a little sore from being stretched around Dean’s cock for so long last night, but he knows his angel’s body almost as well as he knows his own – he knows that a little TLC will have Cas ready to go again in no time. He lays a few soft little kitten-licks over the abused hole and Cas sighs.

“’s alright?”


The press of Dean’s tongue gets a little harder and oh god that taste! It’s the raw earthiness of Cas, combined with sweat and lube and Dean’s own spend that’s still nestled deep within Cas’ body. Dean licks into the hole, feeling how slick and loose he still is. He dips his tongue in a little deeper and Cas moans quietly above him.

He wishes he could stay down here all day, just licking and sucking and eating Cas out until he’s come so many times he can’t remember his own name, but that’s unrealistic and besides – Dean’s own need is throbbing between his legs.

He hovers over Cas, who’s eyes are closed and Dean might think he’s asleep if it weren’t for the smirk on his face. His hair is a wreck and conjures up images of the previous night and God damn Dean needs to be inside of Cas right now.

The lube was tossed to the other side of the room in a hasty move on his part last night, which right now he regrets greatly. He sits back on his heels and reaches between Castiel’s legs once again, rubbing his thumb against his hole and pressing in, feeling how slick and stretched he actually is, and his body is so pliant and relaxed that Dean could probably push in with little resistance. He spits in his palm and rubs himself before leaning back over Cas, who, despite his sleepy demeanor, scrunches up his nose at the sound of Dean’s expectoration.

“So romantic,” he mutters, spreading his legs and running his hands through his own hair.

“Shut it. Lube’s way over there…” Dean presses against Cas’ swollen pucker and starts to push in. Cas hisses in response. “Shit…” Dean starts to pull away to go grab the lube, but Cas grips his hips with surprising force given his sleepy disposition.

“’S okay,” Cas assures him. “Keep going…”

The slide gets easier as Dean reaches the slick mess deeper within Cas, spreading it around as he pulls out and pushes back in slowly. Cas lets out a sigh and grins, eyes still closed, looking blissful as can be, laid out on their bed and dappled in sunlight.

“Good?” Dean asks, with a pronounced roll of his hips. Cas answers with a low moan and a nod. Dean leans back and grabs Cas’ legs, bending them and resting his heels on his shoulders, allowing him the leverage to fuck him how Cas really loves it – slow and deep and hard. It’s almost teasing, how slow Dean goes, but every movement draws a beautiful sound from Cas, and fuck if it isn’t exactly what Dean needs right now.

He peppers soft kisses and bites along Cas’ delicate ankle bone and up his calf, holding his feet squarely against his chest, allowing Cas to arch up and meet his thrusts.

They’re both quiet, save for a few harsh breaths and a whimper when Dean nails Cas’ prostate – but besides that it’s peaceful and calm. There’s no frantic movement, and both of their needs are met with the slow pace and heat and pulse of the other. Cas opens his eyes and looks up at Dean, and Dean’s breath catches in his throat.

Wow .

“Kiss me.” Cas says in a near whisper.

“But,” Dean hasn’t brushed his teeth, and thinking of where his mouth just was…

“Kiss me, Dean.” Cas’ voice is still soft but this is clearly a demand, so Dean releases his legs and falls forward to meet Cas’ lips with his own. The kiss devolves, and soon enough Cas is mouthing at Dean’s lips and chin while panting out hot breaths. He feels Cas wrap his legs around his waist and Dean speeds up his thrusts slightly, still keeping them deep but feeling Cas urging him to go faster.

Dean remembers the first time he had this – the first time he sank into Castiel’s heat and how he nearly cried with the joy of it. The way Cas looked at him as he plunged deeper. The way he could feel Cas’ body stretching around him and allowing him entrance. It was magical, and nothing has changed. Every time, every single time he gets to have this it is a new, beautiful, overwhelming experience. It’s as though this breaks them both down into their purest selves, and before they’re finished they’re built back up into new beings, only to be broken down into something else the next time.

Dean is suddenly very aware of the wave he’s been riding on and how it’s getting closer and closer to cresting. God, what he wouldn’t give to feel like this all day, to just have Cas beneath him, falling apart over and over as they ride this out together.

“Don’t stop…” Cas mumbles against Dean’s lips. “Please, Dean, oh! Don’t… don’t stop.”

“Never, sweetheart. Never.” Dean kisses Cas then, and that’s it. They’re both ready to tumble over the precipice they’ve been skirting along all morning.

Castiel reaches for his own cock, and unlike last night when Dean held Castiel’s hands in place and made him come on his cock alone, this morning he encourages the slow strokes Cas gives himself.

“Take what you need…”


“Let go, Cas…”

“Dean!” Cas cries out and his back arches beautifully as he comes thick, hot splashes across his belly before his body relaxes and he grins, dopey enough to give Dean’s own smirk a run for its money.

“God, Cas, you’re beautiful…” Dean slows his hips to allow Cas a moment to recover, but Cas has a different idea as he grips Dean’s hips and pushes and pulls, prompting Dean to continue.

“You’re not finished.” Cas pants out, and before Dean can protest, wanting to give Cas just a minute or two to catch his breath, Cas says, “Now you take what you need,” and he rolls his hips, making Dean moan.

“You sure?”

“Go to town.” Cas gives him a challenging look and braces his hands against the wall above his head, ready for Dean’s predictable show of strength and speed and power. Dean kisses him hard once and before their lips part he’s slamming back into Cas. Cas gasps and breaks their kiss, and Dean doesn’t hold back.

Castiel tries to moan out praises, but between the harshness of Dean’s thrusts and ramming of his oversensitive prostate all he can do is yelp and say Dean’s name over and over…

It doesn’t take Dean long to feel that wave once again; it starts as a cool swirl in his legs and quickly becomes an all-consuming heat through his entire body. He wraps himself around Cas, holding him as close as he can and burying his face in his neck as he comes hard and silent, warming Cas from the inside and laying claim to his angel once more.

They’re silent except for their heavy breathing, and they’re sticky and sweaty and still joined, and fuck, they’re both so happy.

Forget the apocalypse. Forget the leviathans. Forget the Mark and the Darkness and all the other Big Bads. Hell, forget Lucifer and forget God, too.

This is everything.

Dean never in a million lifetimes would have guessed he’d be allowed to have this.

Castiel’s fingertips drag light patterns along Dean’s back. He’s gone soft inside of his angel, and neither of them appears to mind but when he finally slips out of Cas they each twitch and Dean grunts, but they don’t let each other go.

They’ll never let each other go.

Sunbeams still cascade through the open windows, and in the face of another hot and humid summer day the contented hunter and his angel drift back to sleep.

Chapter Text

N is for Nipple Play

The alleyway leading to the door of his favorite club is dark and damp, which makes it seem much more ominous than it actually is. Castiel knows that there are no less than two guys standing guard out here from sundown to sunrise, but the creepy, poorly-lit alley is all part of the experience.

The Rack is actually the safest, cleanest, most well-run BDSM club in the whole state and, as a surgeon Castiel could appreciate the sterilization practices of all the toys they used as well as the security and discretion of the joint. The last thing he needed was one of the nosey nurses at the hospital finding out that he liked to beat willing men into a crying mess before he fucked them senseless.

He approaches the large, metal door and sees one of the guards about twenty feet away move into the shadows. They must have recognized him. As he presses the buzzer he wonders briefly how many times these guards have stopped actual crimes and rapes in this alley.

A small latch in the center of the door opens and he placed his ID and credit card on the ledge. It is collected, the latch is closed, and then not ten seconds later the door opens and he’s greeted with Uriel’s not-quite-warm-or-welcoming smile.

“Castiel,” he extends a hand for a handshake, “it’s good to see you. It’s been a while.”

“Indeed it has.” He takes his hand and gives it a quick shake before allowing Uriel to frisk him: up one leg, down the other, left foot, right foot, buttocks, groin, waist, stomach, chest, pits, arms.

And that’s as submissive as Castiel is going to be this evening.

He can understand why Uriel is the bouncer of a place like this; not only does the man never forget a face, but he’s also huge and could probably snap Castiel in half without really trying. Uriel gives him back his driver’s license and credit card and gestures that he’s free to head in. He walks down the narrow hall to another large door and pushes in.

The sounds that greet him are delicious – not the soft music that plays in the background, but more prominently the slap of leather on skin, the jingle of chains as subs are lead about on leashes, and the soft moans and laughter of people enjoying themselves. There are a few public stages in use and small crowds are drawn around each one. The stage closest to Castiel shows a red haired Domme he’s never seen before with Ruby, tied neatly and suspended by silk ropes from iron grid in the low ceiling. They’re rather beautiful together, and the Domme’s rope-work is incredible. Castiel stops to watch them for a minute, enjoying the intimate dynamic between them.

It’d been almost two months since his last visit to The Rack, and Castiel had spent a large portion of this past week planning out a scene. He knew he’d finally have a free Saturday night, and he knew exactly how he wanted to spend it.

He also knew with whom he wanted to spend it, as more than once while he was planning out the scene did he find himself thinking of a specific sub – and that sub happened to be sitting at the bar, alone, and chatting with the bartender.

As Castiel makes his way over, he takes in the appearance of his favorite sub. He’s gotten a haircut since they were last together, and he’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt, both worn in and, Castiel imagines, soft to the touch.

“Hello Dean.” He says, and offers a polite smile and nod to the bartender who takes off to serve some other folks.

“Heya Cas.” Dean says, turning to him and offering a warm smile. “Where have you been?”

“I had some family in from out of town, my brother and his wife and children. And work has been, well, you know. It’s work.”

Dean nods in understanding and sips at the clear drink in his glass.

“Would you like to scene with me tonight, Dean?”

Castiel knows he’ll agree to it, but the anticipation is palpable.

“Yeah, I’d like that.” Dean looks him up and down. “You look good, Cas.”

“Likewise.” Castiel feels himself smirk before smothering it down. His Dom persona has been on a low-simmer all day, and Dean’s brazen glances turn up the heat. “Have you been drinking tonight?” Castiel asks, looking down at Dean’s glass. Dean knows that Castiel won’t scene with him if he’s had any alcohol. Despite the club’s “one drink/hour max” sign hanging behind the bar, Castiel wants Dean fully alert and unaltered by substances of any kind.

“Soda water.” Dean picks up the glass, now mostly ice, and lifts it for Castiel’s approval. Castiel sniffs it, and sure enough it is odorless. “Gotta stay hydrated, you know.” He winks.

“Mmm. Good boy.” Castiel hums his approval and relishes in the way Dean looks at him when he says those two words. “Shall we?” he says, gesturing toward the back of the club where the private rooms are located.

“Oh hell yes… sir.” The sir is tacked on at the end and Castiel smiles at him. Technically the scene hasn’t started yet, and it’s been a long while since they’ve been together so Castiel is just pleased that Dean seems to be as excited as he is. Dean is, after all, his favorite sub. Honestly he’d like to have Dean as his own – exclusively – but that’s a hard topic to broach casually as he spanks him silly.

They walk together to an available room and Castiel enters his client code on the pin pad. Dean enters his immediately after and the door unlocks. Dean closes the door behind them and Castiel adjusts the lights to lower setting that he believes will accentuate the beautiful lines of Dean’s body, never mind the way it makes his eyes glow wild emerald.

The two men turn to face each other, and as usual Castiel’s breath catches in his lungs at the sight of how extraordinarily gorgeous Dean is. Even if he’d never met Dean, Castiel imagines that if he were given the opportunity to build a perfect human form it wouldn’t vary much from the man standing in front of him.

Castiel closes the gap between them until Dean is less than arms-length away.

“What’s your safeword, Dean?”

“Pudding, sir.” Dean grins. Castiel doesn’t.

“Good. Now don’t be afraid to use it if you need to, because you know it won’t upset me if you do.” Castiel steps even closer and begins to run his fingers through Dean’s hair, petting him, reassuring him, and desperate to touch him. “I’m going to push your limits tonight, and unless you use your safeword I will not stop. Do you understand?” A noticeable shiver runs through the younger sub.

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

“Do you willingly submit yourself to me?” Castiel brushes Dean’s cheek, and Dean leans into the touch and closes his eyes.

“Yes, sir.”

“Will you allow me to dominate your body tonight?”

“Yes, sir.”

Castiel closes the tiny gap that remains between them and kisses Dean hard on the mouth. Dean kisses back, and Castiel allows it for a few moments before harshly pulling Dean back by his hair.

“I’m going to make you feel so good.” He whispers against Dean’s lips.

“Please, sir.” Dean’s voice is quiet and uneven and dripping with lust. “Please…”

“Begging already?” Castiel clicks his tongue in disapproval even though he’s actually quite delighted. He takes a few steps back and gives his first command. “Strip.”

Dean jumps into action, practically tearing off his clothing and kicking his shoes across the room. Cotton and denim fly off in every direction, and Castiel laughs at the ridiculousness of it, but stops as he takes in the sight of Dean’s strong, smooth form before him.

Castiel cannot wait to break his boy down.

His boy .


His eyes wander down to Dean’s erection, already standing proud, straining towards the ceiling and begging to be sucked or touched or something.

“Eager, are we?”

“Very, sir.” Dean is grinning and bouncing on the balls of his feet, his erection bouncing along with him. He’s such a good sub for Castiel – exactly what he needs.

“Now get on your knees while I get everything prepared.” He watches Dean sink to the floor, clasping his hands behind his back and lowering his eyes.

Perfect .

It’s silent except for the opening of drawers and plastic wrappers. He chooses a thin, flexible, remote-controlled prostate massager that will stay snug in Dean’s ass even as he moves around, a packet of water-based lube, a pair of wide leather wrist cuffs, and two sturdy metal nipple clamps, each with a magnet hanging off the end. He also grabs twelve 1-ounce magnetic weights and tucks them in his pocket.

One thing he has learned about Dean during their handful of playtimes together is that he can nearly get the sub off just by toying with his nipples. Castiel can bite and pinch them, or stimulate them with electricity and ice or a Wartenberg wheel, and after a bit of torture it brings Dean to the edge and keeps him there until he decides what else he wants to do with him.

Turning back to face Dean, he realizes how grateful he is that Dean is a masochist because otherwise he’d almost feel guilty about making him kneel on the hard concrete, and guilt was distracting during a scene.

“Lean forward, ass up.”

“Yes sir.” Dean immediately obeys, bracing his hands on the floor before lowering himself until his cheek is against the floor. His arms draw back and lay limply next to his knees. His ass is up and his eyes are closed; perfectly submissive and wordlessly begging for Castiel to use his body.

Someday Castiel will tie him like this and spank him until that perfect butt is cherry red, but today he has other plans. He’s been thinking about this all week, there’s no point in changing things up right now.

Castiel rips open the packet of lube and warms some of the fluid between his fingers. Using only two fingers he methodically opens Dean up, avoiding his prostate, until he’s stretched enough to take the plug. Dean is silent below him, although he does press back into Castiel’s fingers a time or two, which earns him a reprimanding slap on each ass cheek. His boy probably did it on purpose for that reason, but Castiel can’t find it in himself to mind.

Once the vibrator is inserted and the base snug against Dean’s body, he helps the boy sit up and hears a soft groan.

“Is it comfortable?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is it hitting you in the right spot?”

Dean rolls his body slightly, not to give himself pleasure but to get a feel for the plug inside of him. He must feel that spark of pleasure, however, because his eyelashes flutter as he nods, “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now sit.” Castiel guides him off of his knees and onto his ass, jostling him more than necessary to make the plug shift. Dean sits cross-legged and looks up at Castiel, an unreadable look in his eyes.

Castiel ignores it and gives another command. “Hands behind your back.”

Dean complies, and Castiel takes the leather cuffs and secures them around Dean’s wrists so his hands hang at the small of his back. Castiel notices the subs breathing picks up then, and he must be wondering why he’s on the floor, handcuffed and filled, instead of bound to one of the benches or chained to a wall. Dean likes being bound and controlled, so this probably feels like too much freedom to him. Castiel runs his hand through the subs hair to sooth, and whispers another “good boy.” Dean closes his eyes and leans into the soft touch, but Castiel pulls away and instead squats in front of the sub.

He reaches out and pinches at Dean’s left nipple. Dean’s gasp quickly turns into a moan.

“Hush. None of that now.” Castiel rolls the bud between his thumb and index finger as Dean stifles his moan by biting his lip. Castiel takes Dean’s right nipple as well and twists and pulls, watching his sub struggle to keep quiet. He licks his thumbs and rubs them over the hard peaks. Dean’s eyes flutter, but he stays silent.

When Castiel deems Dean excited enough, he takes the clamps out of his pocket and works them onto each nipple, pulling the skin and putting them on, then releasing the pressure of the clamps slowly to allow Dean a few moments to get used to it.

Dean stays quiet until Castiel starts batting at the clips, making them shift and tug. A quiet hiss escapes Dean and he squeezes his eyes closed, hips twitching with the pain and pleasure of each jarring tweak.

“I just need to make sure that they’re secure.” Castiel lies, swatting at each one again, watching it pull at Dean’s skin before bobbing back into place.

Leaving Dean on the floor, Castiel stands and walks to the leather sofa against the wall and takes a seat in the center. Dean looks at him, his green eyes full of questions, but Castiel doesn’t say a word and instead pulls the remote for the vibrator and the twelve magnetic weights from his pockets.

He gives Dean a lingering glance, drinking in the look of anticipation on his face. Many Doms enjoy it when a sub seems frightened and nervous, but not Castiel. He’s always wanted someone eager and strong. Castiel likes a challenge, and finding and pushing the limits of someone so willing was definitely that. This was just another reason why Dean was perfect for him – he needed exactly what Castiel wanted to give. There was a sweet, comfortable symbiosis to their relationship even though they had both struggled with finding good matches in Dom/sub arrangements in the past.

“On the end of each clamp is a magnet, and in my hand are twelve 1-ounce magnetic weights. We’ll be adding weight to each nipple throughout the evening. And right here is a remote that controls the vibrator inside of you. There are six settings, and I will decide when to adjust them and will do so as we add the weights. You are allowed move as much as you want and make as much noise as you want, but you cannot speak and you absolutely may not come until I say you can come. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“If you break my rules you will be punished.”

“Of course, sir.”

Castiel could tell that Dean was confused because there was no chance he’d just be sitting there on the floor getting his prostate pummeled with a vibrator while Castiel added weight to his nipples. That was too easy.

He was right.

Castiel leaned back and relaxed into the couch.

“Shall we begin?”

Dean furrowed his brow, thinking and slightly thrown off by the lack of instruction. Castiel tried not to smirk.

“Yes, sir.”


Castiel picks up the remote and presses the button for the lowest setting. He watches Dean’s body shift with the sudden sensation inside of him. The leather of the cuffs holding his wrists back squeaks a bit as his arms shift. A low groan escapes his perfect lips and he looks at Castiel, staring, wondering if this is it. The vibrator makes a soft buzzing sound as the base is pressed against the concrete floor.

After a minute at the low setting, Castiel increases the vibrations to the second setting, and Dean’s eyes flutter and he sighs again, the grinding of his hips nearly imperceptible. He’s comfortable. It’s time for that to change.

“We’re going to add weight to your nipples now.”

Dean sits up straighter, glad that something new is happening and expecting Castiel to stand and come to him.

That’s not what happens.

Instead, Castiel separates one of the weights, rubs it between his fingertips for a moment, and then tosses it about ten feet across the room.


Dean’s eyes go wide as the realization comes to him. He looks behind him at the weight and then back at Castiel.

“Now, Dean.”

The sub takes a breath and begins his attempt to stand without the use of his hands to push himself up, undoubtedly feeling the vibrating plug move inside him. Slowly he gets to his feet and looks over at Castiel, probably feeling like he’s not allowed to stand. Castiel just nods and watches as Dean turns toward the magnet.

Castiel prefers Dean on his knees of course, but this way, if Dean stands up, he has to squat back down, and Castiel knows exactly what that feels like with a plug up your ass.

Dean seems to realize this too as he approaches the magnet. The son of a bitch! is practically written across his face, and as a last ditch effort to avoid moving too much, Dean sort of kicks the magnet with his toe in Castiel’s direction.

“Ah ah ah,” he reprimands, hearing the sing-song cadence in his own voice, practically giddy as he watches Dean work through what he’s going to have to do. “You think I’m going to pick that up for you?” It’s a rhetorical question, obviously. “You bend down and attach it yourself.”

Dean looks almost stunned for a second, but then the wheels start turning in his head as he figures out the mechanics of how he’s going to do this gracefully. There’s no way, they both know this, and in just a few moments Dean is back on his knees, then adjusting his legs to sit, then lying down on his side and trying to line the magnet hanging from his right nipple to the magnet on the floor. When it moves and clicks into place, Dean lets out a little laugh in celebration of his success, and then rolls on his back, sits up, and moans as the vibrator in his ass is turned up to the third setting.

Castiel separates another magnet and rolls it across the floor, where it eventually stops and lands flat about five feet away from Dean. He scoots on his butt, grunting every time as the plug shifts and presses against his insides, and repeats the same motion to pick up the weight on his left side.

They do this over and over, Castiel tossing and rolling the magnets around the room, and Dean chasing after them, scooting or crawling to them, his erection heavy between his legs and bobbing along with him as he maneuvers himself to his side and lines up the weights. The magnets are strong so they attach easily, but he still has to get less than an inch away before they connect.

Watching Dean drag himself across the room, sometimes gasping as his body bends and the pressure from the plug shifts or as the weights sway back and forth as he crawls… it’s just delicious, and Castiel shifts in his seat to accommodate his own hard-on as it strains against his trousers.

With each weight added, Dean’s nipples are under more and more strain and Castiel watches as the skin between the clamp moves under the weight, sending jolts of pain and pleasure through his sub who is sweating and moaning with nearly every movement. He’s trying so hard to focus on his task and not on the pleasure of his own body, but when Castiel notices a particular look in his eye – a look he recognizes as Dean’s last shred of control – Castiel turns the vibrator up to the highest setting and hits the pulse button.

Dean nearly collapses.

There are five weights on his right nipple and four on his left, and his knees are red and bruised but he remains planted on them, undulating his hips with his eyes wide and his cock twitching toward his stomach.

Castiel knows that look – he’s close. He watches the sub start to unravel, waiting until the right moment to speak because he knows that denying Dean his release will push him over the edge, and watching Dean desperately trying not to fall apart is one of the most astounding things Castiel has ever seen.

“Sir, I…” Dean’s hips move like he’s trying to fuck himself back on the vibrator. “Sir I’m going to… may I, please sir. Oh God…” Dean’s voice is barely a wrecked whisper, but grows slightly louder as he begs. “Please let me come. Fuck, it hurts. Feels s-so good. Please sir. Please…”

“Don’t you dare, Dean.” Castiel growls in his darkest Dom voice. “You have three weights left to collect before you may even think about coming.”

“Sir I- I can’t…” Tears spill over from Dean’s beautiful green eyes, and they roll down his cheeks as he stares at Castiel who tries to keep a look of utter indifference on his face when he himself is struggling to not rush to Dean’s side.

Dean.” Castiel scolds, and that’s it.

“I’m sorry sir, I-I’m, fuck, I’m sorry…” and Castiel watches in amazement as Dean’s head falls back and his hips hump forward like his dick can find friction if he just believes in it hard enough. He cries out the saddest sounding howl Castiel has ever heard as the muscles of his stomach clench and his thighs twitch and the weights hanging from Dean’s tits swing back and forth. With one final desperate sob Dean comes, his spend hitting the floor with wet little splashes as Dean cries and moans.

Oh, it is such a beautiful thing.

Castiel is at Dean’s side in an instant. He’s turned off the vibrator and guides Dean to lie down on his back, hands trapped behind him and resting his head in Castiel’s lap.

“I’m sorry sir. I’m sorry… I’m sor-” Dean sobs, and Castiel runs his fingers through Dean’s hair trying to soothe the beautiful sub.

“Hush Dean,” he strokes Dean’s cheeks and wipes away tears and drool and sweat. Dean tries to hide his face in the crook of Castiel’s knee, but he can’t do much of anything seeing how his arms are still bound and his body is shaking and exhausted. “It’s alright Dean. Shhh, hush darling, it’s alright.” He helps roll Dean to his side to take the pressure off his wrists, and another sob wracks his boy’s body as the clamps shift and hang to the side. The sub curls in on himself and cries, soaking Castiel’s pant leg. He just continues to pet the poor boy until his body stops shaking and the tears stop flowing. At one point he reaches down past Dean’s hips and gently works the plug out of his hole, but Dean doesn’t even seem to notice.

A short while later Dean’s body relaxes slightly, and Castiel thinks he may be asleep until he speaks.

“I’m sorry, sir.” He croaks, voice raw from crying.

“I know you are, beautiful boy.” Castiel continues to pet Dean’s hair and cheeks, looking down at him in wonder because he’s so lovely when he’s broken.

“I didn’t do what you asked.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I should be punished, sir.”

Castiel chuckles. Dean is such a glutton for pain. He’s so perfect for him.

“You will be, don’t worry darling.”

“Will you punish me now, sir?” The sadness in Dean’s voice has turned to hopefulness, and Castiel would kiss him right then if he could.

“Just rest for a little while.”

“Will I be spanked, sir?”

Christ, this boy is going to kill me . Castiel’s erection has flagged somewhat, but the mention of spanking brings a bit of new life to it.

“No.” is his response. He has something else very specific in mind for Dean’s punishment. After a few minutes Castiel asks Dean if his arms are okay and to wiggle his fingers. Dean wiggles each digit and nods. “Good. Are you ready to continue?”

“Is this going to be my punishment, sir?”

“Yes Dean.”

“Yes, sir, I’m ready.”

Castiel helps Dean sit up, and he’s wobbly but can balance himself out. Castiel wants to kiss him terribly. He wants to kiss him until neither of them can breathe. Instead he slips back into his Dom persona and steps away from Dean, walking back to the couch to grab the last three weights that he’d abandoned there.

He throws one a few feet from where Dean is sitting, and Dean stares at it for a moment and then looks up at Castiel. His eyes are still red from crying. He’s gorgeous.

“You didn’t think that you were going to get away with not finishing your task, did you? Now go get it.”

Dean groans but moves toward the weight. He’s moving more freely without the vibrator filling him up, but his body is clearly stiff and tired. He sort of falls forward and the magnet snaps to the rest.

“Two more.” Castiel says, tossing each magnet to opposite sides of the room. Dean scoots to the first one and it attaches just fine. As he turns and scoots back toward the final weight, Castiel asks him why he doesn’t stand up and walk across the room.

“I don’t think I can, sir. Too shaky.”

Finally Dean makes it to the final weight and it attaches – and six ounces are pulling on each nipple. Dean looks down at them and winces.

“Good job. I’m going to help you up now so we can start your punishment.”

“That wasn’t my punishment?” Dean’s eyes go wide, and then he remembers himself. “Uh, sir.”

Castiel laughs.

“There were only two things I told you not to do. I told you not to speak, and I told you not to come. You did both of those things when I explicitly said no, so…” Castiel’s grin is wicked as he strokes Dean’s cheeks lightly with the pads of his thumbs. “With any luck I’ll have even more tears streaming down your pretty little cheeks in a few minutes.” He kisses the tip of Dean’s nose.

Dean swallows hard and lowers his eyes and allows Castiel to help him up. He sways on his feet a bit, the weights swaying with him as they walk to the bed. Dean is made to kneel at the center while Castiel grabs a condom from the supply drawer.

When he gets back to the bed he sits in front of Dean with his legs spread out, leaning on the pillows against the wall and prompting Dean to get between his thighs. He smiles as he watches Dean settle himself there because really, that’s where he’s meant to be. His hands are still behind his back and with each movement the clamps swing slightly. He makes a pretty picture like this. Castiel cups a hand over each of Dean’s pecks, avoiding touching the clamps but applying a steady pressure to the muscle underneath.

“These must be getting rather tender.” He says softly, squeezing and then running his fingertips over the skin around Dean’s nipple. The sub shivers and bites his lip. Castiel sees goose bumps mottle the lightly freckled skin along his torso and tummy.

“Very, sir.”

Castiel tugs lightly on the clamps and Dean lets out a quiet ahhh!

“Just making sure they’re still on good enough.” He tugs again, and Dean winces but is quiet. “Are you ready for your punishment, Dean?”

“Yes, please sir.” The sub nods.

“Such a good boy.” Castiel says as he unzips his pants, opening them just enough to pull his cock out of the fly of his boxer-briefs. Dean moans at the sight of it and Castiel can hear him tugging at the cuffs that bind him.

“Always so desperate for my cock, aren’t you?” he strokes himself slowly a few times, watching Dean’s eyes follow the movements of his hand. He’s practically been hard for the past hour, so it only takes a few pumps to get him fully erect before he rolls on the thin, un-lubricated condom.

“Get me wet.” He commands, and Dean jumps into action, leaning forward and balancing his body so he can meet Castiel’s cock with his mouth without the support of his hands. The weights hang heavily from Dean’s chest and the sub grimaces, but he’s soon lost in the task at hand.

Oh, God, is he good with his mouth. The condom is no hindrance whatsoever as Dean sucks and licks, getting his cock so nice and slick. Castiel makes a rather impressive effort in keeping himself quiet, although his breathing picks up rather quickly as Dean swirls his tongue around – exploring and playing like Castiel’s member is his own private playground. He takes it down to the root, nose pressed into Castiel’s pubic hair, before sucking back up to the head and repeating the deep-throating motion until Castiel can’t take it. He really should have put on a cock ring. Fuck, he should know better by now.

“That’s enough Dean.” He says, but Dean just moans and takes him deep once again. “I said that’s enough!” Castiel almost shouts, grabbing Dean by the hair and pulling him up and off his throbbing member. Dean’s lips are parted and red, shining with spit as he catches his breath. “If you don’t start doing as you’re told I’ll have to come up with another punishment… one that doesn’t end with you getting to come.” He punctuates his point with a harsh tug at Dean’s hair, and it doesn’t escape his notice that Dean is fully erect again. “Now, ride me until the clips fall off.”

Castiel could laugh outright from the look on Dean’s face as his punishment it handed down to him, but he throws a harsh glare at the sub instead.

“Better get a move on before this dries up because that’s all the lube you’re going to get.”

Dean doesn’t waste another moment, climbing up to straddle Castiel’s groin and lining himself up. Castiel holds his cock so Dean can sink down on it, and slowly he’s engulfed in the tight heat of Dean’s sweet, willing hole. Between the spit and the lube left over from the vibrator that spent about an hour in Dean’s ass, there’s enough of a slide that there’s very little risk of hurting Dean, but there’s enough friction to make it hot. It’s almost too hot, and Castiel has a final fleeting thought about a cock ring.

The sub lifts himself about halfway off and then sinks back down. He winces at the stretch but soon enough Dean is moving freely on Castiel’s cock, grinding his hips and riding him like a whore, but it’s not quite enough.

“You’re going to have to work a lot harder than that to get those clips to come off.”

Dean bites his lip before slamming himself back down. The weights bounce and tug at his nipples and he cries out.

“That’s it.” Castiel encourages, and Dean repeats the same harsh movement, flinching and hissing at how hard he has to slam himself down despite his aching tits and sensitive asshole getting speared open. He’s so lovely, writhing and squirming and trying so hard even though his body is telling him to stop.

But that’s Dean’s weakness – how much he loves the pain. Castiel recalls the confession after their first few times together. Dean told him that he had a hard time actually achieving orgasm without some sort of physical pain to push him over that edge. Castiel had capitalized on that statement.

Like he’s said before, this is a symbiotic relationship.

Dean screams suddenly and Castiel sees that the clamp on Dean’s right has slid from the tender meat of his peck to only the hard bud of his nipple, pinching it like a vice and pulling on it painfully. Dean slams himself down hard after that and Castiel hears a quiet snap! as the clip slips off, pinching Dean’s delicate flesh before it falls onto the bed. Dean cries out in near agony, although the intense feeling must give way to relief almost instantly as Dean moans in ecstasy and bounces even harder in Castiel’s lap.

“Yes Dean, just like that. Good boy…” Castiel’s voice sounds distant even to himself; his words broken up by the harshness of Dean fucking himself on his cock. He’s almost there, God, he needs to hold out just a little longer, but Dean is so tight around him, so hot so goddamn hot and trying so hard, slamming himself down harder than ever, jerking and bucking his body, so desperate to get the clamp off of him.

He’s never seen Dean move like this. This is pure desperation and want. It is unabashed desire and bliss. Tears stream down his beautiful face in an equal mix of delicious pain and pure, unadulterated pleasure. His cock is heavy and ripe, slapping between their stomachs and he rides Castiel like it’s what he was designed to do. Even though his body is exhausted, shaking, and dripping with sweat, he works himself like a machine against Castiel.

Another rough scream fills the room. Castiel is so caught up in Dean’s movements that he only hears the sound of the final clamp hitting the floor. Dean doesn’t stop fucking himself down on Castiel as he starts to beg for his second release. It’s just babbling noise and pleas.

“S-sir I needneed! Please! Please sir!”

“Fuck yes Dean, come for me now,” and with that Castiel reaches up and pinches Dean’s red, aching tits so hard he’s afraid he might break the skin.

Dean’s scream can probably be heard throughout the entire club as he comes; eyes rolling back in his head, body twitching, back arching and tummy clenching as rope after rope of hot come soaks into Castiel’s shirt.

Castiel finally lets go and allows his own release to escape him with a gasp as he fills the condom inside of Dean, feeling the pulsing of Dean’s ass squeezing him and milking him dry. Castiel is barely lucid enough to catch Dean as the sub collapses against him, body completely spent and thoroughly worn out.

Soft mumbles and quiet pleas still escape the boy’s mouth, and tears still graze his red cheeks, but Castiel can tell that Dean is down for the count and most likely won’t remember the next few minutes. He lets Dean burrow into him, hiding and desperate for closeness and contact, and Castiel reaches around and unclips the cuffs so that Dean’s arms fall limply against the bed. He squeezes the sub tightly and as he goes soft and slips out of the other man with a wince, he strokes soft patterns into the clammy skin of Dean’s back.

After a few minutes of allowing himself to bask in the haze of an amazing orgasm, he rolls Dean off and to the side and covers him with the sheet as he snores softly against the pillow. Dean has passed out, and Castiel deems their scene a success. Now he can get prepared for when Dean wakes up. It’s only eleven o’clock, so they still have the room for two more hours. He tosses the condom in the trash, tucks himself back into his pants, and washes his hands. Then he goes to the mini-fridge for a bottle of water and a straw, and a vanilla pudding cup.

When he hears Dean start to stir he heads back to the bed, not wanting him to wake up alone. After setting the snacks on the table next to the bed, Castiel strips naked and crawls in beside Dean who nuzzles up to him immediately. Castiel wraps him up, pulls him close, and proceeds to graze his fingers through the sub’s soft hair.

After a few minutes Dean stretches and yawns.

“Skinnnnn…” Dean mumbles and nestles even closer to Castiel, running his hands along his torso and resting his cheek against his chest. “When’d you get naked?

“A few minutes ago while you were snoring.”

“I don’t snore.” Dean argues without mirth. Castiel chuckles.

“Will you drink some water for me, Dean?”


Castiel reaches for the water bottle and straw, maneuvering to untwist the cap without letting go of Dean, and he holds the straw up and without opening his eyes Dean takes it between his lips and sucks down half the bottle before taking a breath.

“Good boy.” Castiel coos, kissing the top of Dean’s head. “Do you want a snack?” Dean nods, and Castiel goes for the pudding cup, peeling back the foil and scooping some of the vanilla custard up with his index and middle fingers. Dean enjoys being hand-fed after an especially rough scene, and Castiel enjoys the feeling of Dean’s tongue. They both crave the closeness even if neither one will say so, so this has become a regular thing for them. Dean licks and sucks the pudding from Castiel’s fingers until there’s nothing left, and Castiel throws the empty cup onto the floor and cuddles down closer to Dean.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, petting along Dean’s arm.

“Sore,” Dean answers, “and exhausted.” Castiel nods in understanding. Dean is in his mid-twenties and very fit, but that doesn’t mean crawling around on a concrete floor was an easy task. “And I don’t think I’ll be able to put a shirt on for a week, my tits are so sensitive.”

That makes Castiel feel proud and slightly possessive. He likes knowing that every time Dean’s shirt brushes up against his sensitive nipples he’ll be forced to think of this and him and their time together. He brushes his thumb softly over the bruised, red skin around Dean’s nipple, and Dean inhales sharply.

“Did you enjoy it though?”

“Mmmmmhmm.” Dean nuzzles impossibly closer against Castiel and then whispers, “I’m glad you picked me tonight Cas.”

Castiel’s heart skips at least three beats.

“To be perfectly honest, I sort of designed that one for you. It’s been on my mind all week.” You’ve been on my mind all week.


Castiel nods, and Dean brushes against the skin of his chest with his nose.

“Hey, uh, Cas?”

“Yes Dean?”

“Don’t disappear like that again, ‘kay?”

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t see your face around here for months… wasn’t sure if you were coming back.”

“I’m sorry…”

“I thought maybe you’d picked someone else…” the confession is quiet but unmistakable. If there was ever a time to ask Dean for what he really wanted, now would be it.

“Dean?” He lifts Dean’s chin so that he’s forced to look him in the eye. “I’d like to be your Dom. Exclusively. Would you like that, too?”

“Yeah. Yeah, Cas, I’d like that a lot.” The boy, his boy, smiles and Castiel feels his heart melt just a bit.

He kisses Dean on the forehead, punctuating the conversation for now. They can come back to it later and discuss a contract and rules and how Castiel doesn’t just want to be the boy’s Dom but also his lover and boyfriend.

Yes, they had a lot to figure out, but for now they could just lie together in comfortable silence, touching and kissing and giving in to everything they craved.

Chapter Text

O is for Online


“Charlie! What have you done?” Dean storms into Charlie’s room without knocking.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She gives him a look of faux doe-eyed innocence over the top of her laptop, and Dean thinks that’s actually pretty damn good but he’s too pissed off this time to let it slide.

“Why do I suddenly have Tinder on my phone?” He accidentally presses the app’s icon as he points it out to her, which opens the app. “And more importantly, why do I already have a Tinder profile?”

“Dean,” Charlie coos and pats the bed next to her, “Dean Dean Dean. Sit. Let me tell you a story.” She reaches out and takes away his phone, turning the screen off so he’ll focus on something besides his God-awful blue-steel profile picture. “Once upon a time there was a prince. He was a very handsome prince, but he was very lonely. He spent his Saturday nights alone in his castle eating deli meat straight out of the package and watching X-Files reruns. It made his roommate, the badass superhero princess, very sad, so she decided to do something about it.”

“Charlie, I don’t want to meet someone online. I want to meet someone the old-fashioned way.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s the ‘old-fashioned way,’ Dean?”

Dean frowns for a second before responding, “Shitfaced at two am in a bar.”

Yeah, that sounds about right.

“Okay,” Charlie shuts her laptop pointedly, “Ignoring how freaking stupid you just sounded, even if that was how you wanted to meet someone wouldn’t that mean you’d have to actually, oh, I don’t know… leave the house?”

Dean’s still trying to remember the last time he actually went out besides going to work or going over to Sam and Eileen’s for dinner when Charlie interrupts his thoughts.

“Lots of people meet online now. I met Dorothy on Tinder. And I met Gilda on Her. And, don’t tell anyone this, but I met a very prestigious republican senator on Grindr.”

Dean isn’t sure if he’s more curious to find out which senator Charlie is most likely blackmailing, or why the fuck a lesbian was on Grindr.

“Anyway, Dorothy and Gilda were both great, so see? It’s not so weird. Just give it a week, see if anyone catches your eye.”

“How’d you even guess my passcode?” Dean isn’t surprised, really. It is Charlie, after all – computer hacker extraordinaire.

“Oh please. You’ve used B-A-B-Y for every four-digit code you’ve needed since high school. Oh, I also signed you up for both girls and boys so you know, you’ve got options.” She winks and Dean grabs his phone back.

“One week. That’s it. And I’m only doing this because I love you.”

“I know.”

“And I’m changing that stupid profile picture.”

“Fine. You might want to change your bio too, then.”

Dean doesn’t even want to look.


Tinder is actually kind of fun, but Dean will never ever admit that.

After he updated his profile picture from the blue-steel to another picture he actually sort of liked, and then changed his bio from Charlie’s original “Horny, Single & Ready to Mingle” to something less horrible, he really got a kick out of the whole idea. He’d spent about an hour on the app, lurking and laughing at what people actually wrote about themselves.

Meg, 25, 9 miles away – I want to muffle your cries as the blood gurgles from your mouth while I slit your throat and sacrifice your worthless life to the dark overlord. JK let’s like go to dinner or something.

Becky, 23, 14 miles away – Put a baby in me.

Dick, 35, 10 miles away – My name is Dick and I have a huge one.

Not all of them were that weird, but some of them were, and they always seemed to pop up just when he’d start feeling courageous enough to Swipe Right.

It wasn’t a big deal. Or, it shouldn’t have been. It was just a swipe for Christ’s sake. It wasn’t like he was asking some stranger out on a date; it was literally just something to say hey, you’re kinda cute.

But what if he liked someone and they didn’t like him back?

It’s like high school all over again.


“Screw it,” he said on the third night he’s had the app, and right then he decided to Swipe Right on the next person who he thinks is even remotely cute.

Bela, 27, 6 miles away – If you don’t drive a Ferrari I’m not interested.

Pass. Dean would take his Baby over a Ferrari any day.

Balthy, 37, 9 miles away – Wealthy, well-travelled bachelor finally looking to settle down with someone I can fuck senseless and spoil rotten.

Pass. The dude was wearing a deep v-neck tee, and deep v-neck tees were on Dean’s list of no-nos along with Crocs, pinky rings, and men named Don.

Cas, 30, 4 miles away – My brother is making me do this because evidently staying home every weekend to catch up on Cupcake Wars isn’t ‘living.’ I disagree.

He looks at the picture again. Cas. Yeah, he’s pretty damn cute. His picture looks like someone stuffed a knitted sock monkey hat onto his head and took the picture while he was still trying to figure out what the hell was going on. He’s kind of dorky, but handsome.

Dean’s thumb hovers over the screen.

Just do it he thinks. Just fucking do it.

Swipe Right.

I did it!

He grins, feeling proud for half a second until a little notification comes up on the screen.

It’s A Match!

“What the fuck does that mean?” He says out loud. Below he reads the options Send a Message or Keep Swiping.

After nearly ten minutes of over-thinking every choice he’s ever made that’s led him to this moment, he chooses to send a message to this guy, Cas .

He goes with something stupid and types out,

<<Message Sent>> Dude, I love Cupcake Wars.

A minute goes by.

Two minutes.

Two minutes and ten seconds.

Then, finally,

>>Message Received<< Tonight I’m watching “the bad boys of Cupcake Wars battle it out in rock and roll fashion and compete to have their cupcakes front and center at the I Heart Radio festival in Las Vegas”

>>Message Received<< It’s surprisingly dull, and I’m already fairly certain I’ll disagree with whoever is crowned the winner.

Dean actually laughs. He remembers that episode, and he remembers wondering who the fuck would mix kahlua and horcheta before learning that horcheta is actually not the same thing as horseradish.

<<Message Sent>> So I take it getting a Tinder account hasn’t spiced up your life like your brother was hoping, huh?

>>Message Received<< Not quite. I’ve only had the account for a few days and honestly I haven’t put much effort into it.

>>Message Received<< Is that really you in your profile picture?

<<Message Sent<< Yeah, why?

Dean’s stomach churns. He thought it was an okay picture, but maybe he was wrong? Eileen took it for one of her photography classes earlier in the year so it looked professionally done, and Charlie convinced him that if she wasn’t strictly into lady-parts she’d swipe right so hard her phone would break.

>>Message Received<< Are you a model?

A loud bark of a laugh escapes Dean’s lungs. Was this guy for real?

<<Message Sent>> Haha! No way. I’m a mechanic. My sister-in-law took that picture for a photography assignment back in March.

>>Message Received<< Wow. You’re gorgeous. It’s rather intimidating.

Gorgeous? When has anyone ever called him gorgeous?

<<Message Sent>> You’re not so bad yourself there Cas. I like the hat.

>>Message Received<< Ugh. That was also my brother’s idea. Our mother knits them.

>>Message Received<< I don’t know why I told you that.

Dean’s taking a closer look at the guy’s picture when two more messages pop up.

>>Message Received<< I should go to bed. I have to get up early and catch a flight.

>>Message Received<< I don’t know how this normally works, but if I gave you my number would you want to text me?

It was reassuring that the guy seemed as clueless as Dean did, so they exchanged numbers and logged out.

Dean had just plugged his phone in and set it on his nightstand when it lit up.

>>Text Received<< Can I ask why you liked my Tinder profile?

<<Text Sent>> Cuz you’re cute. And it sounded like you were forced into the whole thing sorta like I was.

<<Text Sent>> Why’d you like mine?

About two minutes later an answer comes through.

>>Text Received<< Because I’m a sucker for freckles.

<<Text Sent>> Well lucky for you I’m covered in ‘em.

>>Text Received<< <33333


Dean gets up with a smile on his face the next morning, and Charlie gives him weird looks because he whistles while pouring his cereal. He goes off to work with an extra pep in his step and tries not to think too hard about how blatantly he flirted with a total stranger over text messages the night before. He is a little embarrassed, and a little proud, and also a little horny because he hadn’t had sex in one… two… thr- no, you know what? Fuck the specifics; it’d just been too damn long.

His lunch break comes and goes, and there’s no word from Cas. Maybe it was a one-time thing, he thinks.

By the end of the day, any extra pep in Dean’s step was gone, and he was just throwing his greasy coveralls into his locker when he feels his phone vibrate in his back pocket.

>>Text Received<< I should have just driven myself to Chicago. Between flight delays and security measures I probably spent more time at the airport than I would have spent in a car.

>>Text Received<< Getting felt-up by that TSA officer was the most action I’ve gotten in weeks though. :(

<<Text Sent>> Damn. That sucks. Sounds like we’re both going through a dry spell. Maybe I should go hang out at the airport in a suspicious looking coat. Maybe I could get someone to grope me.

>>Text Received<< Whatever. I bet if you just stand still long enough people will start to grope you.

Dean grins. If only that were fuckin’ true he thinks before changing the subject.

<<Text Sent>> What are you doing in Chicago?

>>Text Received<< Months ago I was drunk and attempted to be spontaneous by signing up for the Chicago Marathon. I don’t know why I chose Chicago specifically, but I’m running on Sunday and fully prepared to make an ass out of myself.

<<Text Sent>> Holy shit! That’s awesome! Are you much of a runner?

>>Text Received<< I am now.

Dean laughs out loud and starts the car to head home.

He and Cas text off-and-on all evening.

<<Text Sent>> What’s Cas short for?

>>Text Received<< Castiel. Cas-tee-el.

<<Text Sent>> Huh. Cool.

>>Text Received<< How many siblings do you have?

<<Text Sent>> One younger brother. You?

>>Text Received<< Three sisters, three brothers.

<<Text Sent>> Holy shit!

>>Text Received<< I’m the youngest.

<<Text Sent>> Favorite band?

>>Text Received<< Led Zeppelin.

<<Text Sent>> Fuckin’ marry me.

>>Text Received<< :D


>>Image Received<<

Dean opens the picture and his mouth goes dry. A second later another text comes through.

>>Text Received<< Thought I’d send you a picture from Chicago. I hope that’s not weird.

Up until this point he’s only had the one sock-monkey picture of Cas to go on, but here he is in front of some big fountain, sort of scruffy and wearing an AC/DC t-shirt and dorky baseball cap with a big smile on his face. He doesn’t even think about it before saving the picture to his phone.

<<Text Sent>> Well aren’t you adorable.

>>Text Received<< Dean, you’re making me blush.

<<Text Sent>> Somehow you just got even more adorable.

About three hours later Dean receives another picture from Cas.

>>Image Received<<

>>Text Received<< I hate running.

Dean starts to laugh at the picture, but he’s quickly distracted by how sexy Cas is. His cheeks are red and he’s sweating, the AC/DC shirt about two shades darker than the picture he sent before and it’s clinging to his body. He’s got headphones in his ears and a squinty, confused look on his face. Dean also realizes that this is the first picture he’s seen of the guy without a hat on, and his hair is dark and shaggy-messy and the perfect length to grab onto and pull

Fuck, Dean needs to get laid.

<<Text Sent>> You might hate running but damn, you look good doing it.

>>Text Received<< You’re full of shit. No one looks good after running fifteen miles.

<<Text Sent>> YOU JUST RAN 15 MILES???

>>Text Received<< Yes. That was my way of bragging.


Dean finally gets up the nerve to send Cas a selfie back. He’s leaving the house for work that morning and takes a quick picture on the porch in the sun. Of course Charlie catches him and he has to spill his guts on the short walk to their cars that her stupid little Tinder stunt may have worked.

<<Image Sent>>

<<Text Sent>> You sent me some pics so I figured I could send you some too.

There’s no response by the time Dean gets to his car, or by the time he parks at the garage. He’s just putting his coveralls on when he gets a text back.

>>Text Received<< I just spent twenty minutes trying to find that picture on Google images because I’m not convinced how someone in real-life can be that beautiful. Is that seriously you? Did I hit the Tinder jackpot or something? This doesn’t make sense.

>>Text Received<< Good morning, by the way.

Dean can’t help the laugh that gets the attention of the three other guys in the shop, but he doesn’t care.

<<Text Sent>> Well I wanted to send you something nice before I get all sweaty and greasy under a car.

>>Text Received<< Sweet Jesus. Please send me that picture too.

<<Text Sent>> ;)


>>Text Received<< I’m nervous about tomorrow.

<<Text Sent>> Aw, Cas. I bet you do real good.

“’I bet you do real good?’ What the fuck, Winchester?” Dean says aloud to himself. He’s never been eloquent but that may have been a new low.

>>Text Received<< I think I’ll be able to finish. But I’ve never run a full marathon before, and I have to complete it in less than six and a half hours. I think I’d rather go to the planetarium…

Before he thinks about it too much, Dean makes Cas a deal.

<<Text Sent>> Tell you what, if you finish the race in under six and a half hours… I’ll send you some more pictures of my freckles that you like so much.

Less than ten seconds later:

>>Text Received<< DEAL.


Dean wakes up early and shoots a message off to Cas first thing.

<<Text Sent>> Good luck today Cas.

>>Text Received<< Thank you, Dean. I feel appropriately motivated. :)

He spends Sunday morning checking updates online about the marathon and wondering if maybe he should go out and go on a run.

Instead, he takes a shower and checks himself out in the mirror. Sure he’s put on a little weight in the last few years, but he’s still in good shape. Maybe if this thing with Cas goes anywhere he’ll start to run more regularly.

This thing with Cas… what is this thing? They’ve probably sent two hundred texts in the past five days. They flirt. They’re getting to know each other. Dean knows he wants to see the guy naked and is pretty sure Cas wants to see him naked too, but neither of them have brought up what’s going to happen when Cas gets back to Lawrence on Tuesday.

Would he ask Cas on a real date? Would they get along in person? Would Cas be alright if Dean slammed him against the wall and rutted against him like a horny teenager?

It is almost two o’clock when his phone vibrates. It’s a picture message of a very sweaty, very excited looking Cas in short-shorts and a tank top, hair absolutely wild, underneath a giant digital timer that reads 05:41:22. He’s pointing up to the numbers and smiling. Dean laughs out loud and shakes his head.

The guy is such a nerd.

And Dean sort of wishes he was there to give him a hug or something. Was anyone there to cheer him on or meet him at the finish line? Had he just been wandering around Chicago alone all week?

<<Text Sent>> Dude that’s AWESOME!

>>Text Received<< I’m going to go shove about ten cheeseburgers and ten beers in my face and spend the rest of the day napping and soaking in a hot tub.

“Fuck, talk about a dream date.” Dean says while he’s texting Cas back.

<<Text Sent>> You deserve it. Shit, man. That’s impressive.

>>Text Received<< I believe you owe me something.

>>Text Received<< I expect you to pay up tomorrow.

<<Text Sent>> :)

<<Text Sent>> Go get some rest.

>>Text Received<< Cheeseburgers first. Then rest. Tomorrow, I want pictures.


>>Text Received<< I’m sore.

<<Text Sent>> I bet.

>>Text Received<< Send me a picture.

<<Text Sent>> Right now? I’m at work.

>>Text Received<< So? Just send me a teaser. You owe me.

“What a bossy son of a- Bobby! I’m taking a break!” Dean shouts and heads to the bathroom, double checking that the door locks behind him because the last thing he needs is for Benny or Victor to walk in on him taking pictures of himself half naked for a stranger. He unzips his blue coveralls and pulls them down to his waist, then yanks off his shirt. He puts his phone in selfie-mode and snaps a few shots, then a few more.

Before he knows it he’s taken nearly twenty pictures. He hasn’t felt this confident in a long time, and even though he’s greasy and sweaty and standing in the florescent lighting of the garages dirty bathroom, he feels like he’s got a few decent shots to send.

The best one is mostly of his collar bone and the smattering of light freckles over it and his throat, but it goes down as far as his nipple and up enough to see him biting his bottom lip.

Cas will like this one.

He attaches it, as well as a couple others, to a text and sends it off, and then gets dressed in a rush and heads back out to the garage.

Dean doesn’t have a chance to check his phone again until he leaves for the day. He has several unread texts from Cas.

>>Text Received<< Oh, Dean.

>>Text Received<< Did you really just take those for me while you were at work? I’m flattered.

>>Text Received<< And aroused.

>>Text Received<< Terribly, uncomfortably aroused. Fuck, Dean.

>>Text Received<< You are beautiful. I can’t wait to see the rest of you.

>>Text Received<< Can I see the rest of you? Please?

>>Text Received<< I hope you’re not texting back because you’re working and not because I’m being so forward. I will stop if it makes you uncomfortable. You just keep surprising me.

Dean wants to text Cas back right away and tell him that yes, he was working and that’s why he didn’t respond, but he’s got another idea that makes him rush home and take a shower faster than he ever has.

He puts on some tight black boxer-briefs, and lies on his bed. He takes another picture, this time of his hips and tummy and the elastic of his underwear – maybe a little bit of the bulge under his underwear, too. He looks at it before sending it, making sure that you can in fact see the freckles. They’re lighter on his stomach and legs than they are on his torso and shoulders.

He sends the picture.

In moments he gets a response.

>>Text Received<< That’s lovely. God, I love freckles.

Dean lifts his phone and angles so he can get almost his whole body covered only by his underwear, lying back on his bed with his legs spread and one bent up like how he sleeps. He looks up at the camera and takes the picture, and sends it.

>>Text Received<< Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?

>>Image Received<<

There’s no helping the moan as Dean opens the picture and sees what must be Cas’ erection straining against his boxers. He’s lying in a similar position as Dean, on the bed in the hotel, in his underwear. Dark hair on his muscular legs and a dark little happy trail is clearly visible, but everything about the picture draws his eyes back to that cock hiding beneath the thin layer of fabric.

“Shit.” Dean grumbles. Now he knows how Cas has felt all day. He wants more.

<<Text Sent>> Let me see you.

It’s vague, but he hopes it gets the point across.

It does.

The next picture Dean gets is just like the first one, but without the boxers.

“Fuck yeah.” Dean’s stomach does a flip seeing how big Cas is. He’s hung, and thick, cock heavy with blood and being held tightly in Cas’ fist.

>>Text Received<< That’s what you’ve done to me.

<<Text Sent>> I can tell you what I’d like to do to you if you want.

>>Text Received<< Please.

Dean hasn’t done this in a long time. Possibly not since he was a teenager, but if there’s one thing that he’s damn good at, it’s dirty talk. He rolls over onto his stomach and starts to type.

<<Text Sent>> Well we don’t know each other, so I think I’d take some time getting to know your body. Stripping you and kissing you, getting a taste for your skin and finding all the spots that make you shiver. Listening to what type of moans you make as I kiss down your throat and chest. Do you like having your nipples played with, Cas?

>>Text Received<< Mmhm

<<Text Sent>> Are you touching yourself right now?

>>Text Received<< Yeah

<<Text Sent>> Good. Take it slow. How do you like it? Hard and slow? Or fast little jerks and twists?

>>Text Received<< Hard and slow. God, Dean.

Jesus, he hasn’t even gotten to the good stuff yet and already Dean’s starting to rub himself against the bed.

<<Text Sent>> Think about my mouth on your nipples while you touch yourself. Think about my tongue, slick and hot, flicking at them before I bite down gently. Just enough to make you gasp. Just enough to make you arch your back into me. Just enough to drive you crazy. Do you make a lot of noise in bed Cas?

>>Text Received<< If it’s good I do.

“Son of a bitch.” Dean laughs.

<<Text Sent>> Oh this would be good. I’d have you desperate and panting beneath me just from my tongue and lips against your skin. I bet you taste so good. I want to touch you so bad. I want to work my way down your strong body. I’ll have you so revved up by the time I get to your cock that you’ll want to scream just feeling my breath on it.

>>Text Received<< Do you like sucking cock, Dean? I bet you do. Your pretty lips were made for it.

Dean ruts into the mattress a few times to relieve some of the pressure building in his balls but it just makes everything hotter. Fuck, maybe he’s met his match. Maybe Tinder has a secret algorithm to set you up with your soul mate. Maybe good luck has finally found its way to him.

<<Text Sent>> I do. I love it. I love the hot weight of a cock in my mouth. It’s been so long. Wish you were here. I would show you right now how much I love it. How much of you I can take.

<<Text Sent>> You could wrap those strong runner’s legs around my neck and fuck up into my throat for hours and I’d just take it like it’s what I’m made to do.

>>Text Received<< Oh God, Dean. Tell me I can fuck you. Tell me how hard you can take it.

“Fuck yes!” Dean almost comes then, thinking about spreading himself open for Cas. Shit, he’s never met the man but he’s so fucking desperate to get that fat cock inside his ass he can hardly breathe.

<<Text Sent>> You can bend me over the bed and fuck me from behind if you want. Or I can ride you.

>>Text Received<< Ride me.

<<Text Sent>> You want to see me bouncing up and down on your cock Cas? I’d make myself nice and wet, maybe have a plug in so we wouldn’t have to waste any time, so you could just pull it out and sit me down in your lap. I wanna feel you in me Cas, fuck I bet you feel so good.

>>Text Received<< Gonna cum

<<Text Sent>> Fuck, me too

Dean drops the phone and ruts into the blankets hard, desperate to get off and thinking about Cas jacking himself like a fucking maniac while thinking about him.

“Oh fuck fuck fuck!”

Dean’s orgasm rips out of his body and he spurts into the bedding, working himself through it in the slick mess he’s made. His body twitches with every movement but he doesn’t want to stop. Eventually his body slows and stops and he is able to catch his breath and check his phone. His hands are shaking. Thank God for autocorrect.

>>Text Received<< Wow. I’ve never done that before.

>>Text Received<< That was… amazing.

<<Text Sent>> Yeah. No kidding. Pretty sure I humped a hole in my mattress.

There are a few minutes of textual silence as they clean up. Dean puts on some sweats and throws his comforter in the washing machine. He imagines Cas doing something similar, or maybe taking a shower. It makes him smile.

>>Text Received<< So, forgive me if this is weird timing, but I get back to Lawrence tomorrow evening and I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner with me.

A date.

Dean has a real date.

Hell yes.

<<Text Sent>> You just tell me when and where to meet you and I’ll be there.


Dean fiddles with the napkin as he sits at the table alone waiting for Cas. He arrived embarrassingly early to their date, but instead of leaving he decided instead to sit at the table and wait. It’s absolute torture.

Every time the bell over the door jingles his heart stops. He’s sweating. He’s nervous. He thinks briefly about getting the hell out of there.

Of course that’s when Cas walks in and immediately spots him and smiles a wide, scrunchy smile.

He stands to greet the man who has consumed his every thought for the past week, and with all the confidence he can muster he opens his mouth to speak. The words come out as hardly more than a breath, but Cas doesn’t seem to mind.

“Heya Cas.”

“Hello Dean.”

Chapter Text

P is for Profound Bond

So many angels died fighting their way to the Righteous Man that Castiel had begun to wonder if it was all worth it.

In that way, he supposes, Dean first began to show him how to think for himself before they had even truly met.

Somehow, through all the chaos and screams and terrors of hell as combat raged, Castiel was the angel who made it to him first. He’d never expected to be the one to get all the way through – the one who would have to save the Righteous Man – but as soon as he laid a finger on that soul, that stunning beacon of beauty and life in the most terrifying place, Castiel knew it was meant to be him all along.

While the remaining angels continued to fight back demonic forces to give Castiel time and space to rebuild the broken man, even though he knew he didn’t have the luxury of time, Castiel couldn’t help but cradle the soul in his hands. Never in his existence had he felt something so pure. Despite being in this filthy, horrific place, that glowing soul made him feel clean.

He remembers tucking the soul away protectively within his wings, then working as quickly as he could to rebuild the body of the Righteous Man. He wasn’t convinced that it would ever be strong enough to contain a soul of that magnitude, but he worked diligently, pulsing his grace through the molecules like a heartbeat to bring them together once again.

When the man woke from his tortured unconsciousness and screamed in agony; that’s when Castiel felt his own heart beat for the first time.

He wrapped the man in his wings and filled him with his grace, and even though it made Castiel weaker he couldn’t allow the man to hurt.

The screams of pain turned to screams of pleasure, and the man begged him not to stop. The soul hummed against Castiel happily as the body writhed and moaned. Castiel didn’t understand then exactly what it meant, unsure even if this was the first instance of an angel’s grace filling a human form beyond possession. So, in hell they stood: the man shaking in Castiel’s arms, the soul dancing within his wings, and Castiel curious as to how this much pleasure could be found in the land of the condemned.

A human’s body, when separated from the soul, shouldn’t live. It created a detached and miserable existence, but the soul of the Righteous Man seemed to have bound itself to Castiel, and Castiel struggled to let it go. He nearly refused to put it back in its rightful place, but eventually conceded. While whispering promises in Enochian that he would feel its purity again soon, he placed it carefully back in the man’s body.

Strictly speaking, the handprint wasn’t necessary. Castiel had relieved the man of all the scars and blemishes of his past life. But he had fallen in love, and as humans sometimes say, love can make you do crazy things. The handprint was a reminder to himself and to the soul that he was there that he had held it and loved it and would protect it no matter the cost.

When Castiel first took a vessel on earth it was strange. He thought that the soul would recognize his true voice; but even if the soul did, the man did not.

He’ll never forget that first meeting; the fear and confusion on Dean’s face, knowing that something felt familiar but unable to place it. Castiel knew that if he reached out and touched the mark he’d left on Dean, if he burned through the layers of leather and cotton and could touch the skin that he’d scarred only days before, he was sure it would remind Dean of their bond –

It would also remind Dean of all the horrors of hell that Castiel had worked so hard to rid him of.

The promise he’d made was to protect Dean, and no matter how much he yearned to touch the beautiful man and remind him of what they shared, he couldn’t do it.

So instead Castiel was stabbed. Not that it hurt him at all, at least not in the physical sense. But it did show him just how much mistrust there was between the man and the angel now.

Existence on earth was difficult, especially with the life led by hunters, the looming apocalypse, and half of the angels of heaven trying to manipulate him into manipulating Dean. But, despite the forces trying to tear them apart, they continued to fight the odds together and Castiel found himself learning from the brothers when he was meant to be teaching.

Team Free Will.

Nothing upset the other angels like their misunderstanding of free will.

The first time Castiel felt some semblance of arousal in his veins was also the first time he visited Dean in his dream. The man, whose life was filled with chaos and violence, who often looked for comfort in the form of a warm woman on a cold night, was dreaming about fishing. It wasn’t at all what Castiel expected, but he stood back on the dock in Dean’s subconscious and watched the man enjoy a peaceful afternoon on a quiet lake.

It was the first time since hell that Castiel had seen a glimpse of the soul he would choose time and time again to fall for. Castiel felt the pull, the need, of being close to him, inside of him, surrounding him. He stood there for a few moments, or an eternity – what did it matter? He was an angel – and watched Dean enjoy the peace.

Heaven must have felt that his faith was shifting from them to the man because mere moments after leaving Dean’s dream he was taken back to heaven and reminded of with whom his loyalties should lie. He was accused of worshiping a false idol – a golden calf – and he couldn’t even deny it. He took the torture and the accusations because he deserved them. He was full of doubt and confusion and something else that he wouldn’t realize was love until it was almost too late.

Sometimes Castiel would feel Dean watching him and wondered if he’d put it all together yet; if Dean could feel what he felt; if he could remember what their bond was really like and just how powerful it was.

Then there was Lisa.

Castiel’s body had been obliterated more than once. He’d been tossed from one corner of heaven to the other, sent to hell and back, slammed down into earth and then tortured time and time again… but nothing hurt quite like seeing Dean with Lisa and Ben as they tried to build a life together.


He didn’t recognize it at first because the last angel who allowed himself to feel jealous was Lucifer, and that didn’t end well for anybody. But he can understand it now, why Lucifer fell, why he did what he did – because this feeling, jealousy, could weaken even the most pious being.

And it hurt, but Castiel stayed, watching over Dean as he tried desperately to fit into this domesticated life. Even Castiel could see that he was the odd man out, the misfit puzzle piece in this picturesque neighborhood of friendly morning greetings and weekend barbeques. He could see when Dean got into bed with Lisa each night and wrapped his arms around her – she’d fall asleep feeling safe and happy, yet Dean would lay there, his brilliant green eyes wide and staring at the wall.

Damn it Cas! How many times do I have to tell you? It’s just creepy!

Castiel knew he shouldn’t be there, but he couldn’t look away.

Then Crowley came and made things even worse.

That was their pattern, though, the two of them; to build up trust and then betray each other. It was a constant, cyclical routine, and as torturous as it was at least Castiel felt like he’d always have another chance. They would always come back to each other because he just knew that Dean’s soul was bound to his grace and that no matter the utter hell they put each other through, that bond would always bring them back around.

Even when Castiel was human and Dean sent him away.

Even when Castiel was killed and brought back and the first person he saw was Dean (of course).

Even when Castiel decided to allow Lucifer to use him in order to defeat the Darkness.

He remembers Lucifer’s mocking tone, claiming that the only reason Castiel said yes was because “You just don’t want that skank all up on your man.”

Castiel couldn’t deny it. There were many reasons to take down the Darkness, but that was number one on his list.

And he never completely lost hope, because every so often a prayer would squeak through; something quiet and precise, but very clearly Dean.

Cas? Can you hear me buddy? We need you here, dammit. I need you here.

In its essence, Castiel’s entire existence on earth had been a disaster, but he’d live it a million times over to be with Dean just once more. He is Sisyphus, and Dean is his rock in every possible way.

He’d all but lost hope when Dean decided to take on the Darkness alone, but even as a time-bomb full of souls Castiel could still pick his out of the chaos. It shone brighter than anything else. It lit up Dean’s eyes like a beacon, reminding him that it was still there and that it was still his.

I could go with you.

What he meant to say was Let me go with you. Let me be with you. Let me die with you.

But no.

I could go with you.

And as Dean walked away Castiel swore to himself that if their cycle continued, if they both somehow made it out of this one alive and found their way back to each other that he wasn’t going to let Dean go again. The hurt was too great and getting greater every time. Life was wearing Dean thin; Castiel could see it in the lines around his eyes and the downturn of his smile.

They’d been through enough.

Now here they are in the remains of the bunker, and Castiel is holding true to his word sooner than he ever thought he’d be allowed. With his fingertips pressed against Dean’s temple he watches Dean’s closed eyelids flutter while the dream-like sequence of Castiel’s memories of falling in love flood his mind.

Castiel couldn’t just pull Dean aside and say I love you because those words really did very little justice to how he felt, and Dean wouldn’t listen anyway, the stubborn ass. Anyone can say ‘I love you,’ but Castiel has a unique opportunity as an angel to bare himself in a way that shows how his entire existence has been moving him to be with Dean; that Dean has taught him what’s most important; that he would suffer many more lifetimes for the opportunity to stand next to Dean as a brother, a lover, and a friend.

At one point, about the time when he’s showing Dean what it really took to break the mind control of Naomi and how much it hurt him killing Dean over and over and over… Dean reaches out and grabs Castiel’s coat, pulling him close. He doesn’t realize he’s done it, of course, as Castiel has taken control of his conscious mind, but it’s not really too surprising. Dean always reaches out to him; even when Castiel is looming down, about to stab him; even in Purgatory; even after a few beers at a whorehouse where Castiel has made a fool of himself – Dean’s always reaching out.

When the memories finally fade, Castiel pulls his hand away from Dean’s temple (yet not before brushing the man’s freckled cheek softly), hopefully leaving Dean full of the sense of their bond, Castiel’s love and admiration for the hunter, and a small glimpse of what Castiel hopes is next to come. Dean hunches over and is breathing heavily like he’s just run for his life, but he doesn’t say anything.

At least not right away.

This may have been a bad idea – the thoughts and memories of an angel might be overwhelming to a human. Dean cannot even hear his true voice or see his true visage without his eyes bursting into flames or his eardrums rupturing. What made him think that sensing the complex emotions of an angel would be any easier on him?

“I’m sorry, Dean.”

“No.” Is all Dean says, rather gruffly, and they stand still, Dean gripping Castiel’s coat in both hands now, trembling just enough to be noticeable. When he’s finally able to stand up straight and the tremor of his body has somewhat subsided, he looks Castiel in the eye.

That’s just like Dean, facing his fears head on.

“So you’re telling me that this whole time…” Dean gulps down some air and presses on, fists still clenched in Castiel’s trench coat, “You’ve been in love with me?”

Castiel sags.

“Love is an understatement Dean, but I suppose that to humans it is one of the most powerful emotions you can comprehend, so yes. Yes, I am in love with you. Very much so.”

Castiel feels a tug at his coat. Dean is looking at him with determination set in his jaw, his soul radiating through his eyes and a heat coming from his body that Castiel hasn’t felt before.

Then he’s being pulled, spun, and shoved hard against the wall, and warm soft lips being pressed against his own.

It’s a good thing that angels don’t need to breathe.

The intensity of Dean’s body doesn’t match the shy nature of the kiss. His body is strong and tense like he’s ready to fight, but his lips and his breath are gentle and polite, almost questioning if he’s allowed to truly have this, and Castiel wants to scream Yes! Yes you can have it all!

There’s a soft lick at the seam of his lips; Dean’s tongue asking, begging for entry.

Yes. Always yes.

Castiel has such limited experience kissing, and Dean has never kissed another man while sober, so it takes them a little time to figure out the mechanics of it: where their hands go, how to stand, how to keep from bumping noses…

But soon it doesn’t matter as they both sink into it – like this is the only thing that matters – like the world didn’t just almost end a few minutes ago.

When Dean pulls away suddenly he takes some of Castiel’s breath with him in the form of a whimper because no, it can’t be over already.

But Dean stays close, fingers clutched around the lapel of his coat and the shirt underneath it.

“And this bond, do you think it’s still…?”

It doesn’t matter what he was going to say next. The answer will always be the same.


“But the handprint…”

“I can still see it. I know you can’t, but it’s still there, Dean. I promise. I can… I can show you if you want.”

The prospect of finally touching the mark he’d left was overwhelming, and he was on the verge of begging through Dean’s silence until Dean finally nodded.


Castiel leans in to kiss the man once more, partially as a distraction as he slides the coat and worn flannel shirt from his shoulders. Castiel’s grace is buzzing and he can feel his wings flutter on the dimensional plane he keeps them tucked away on.

“Turn around,” he whispers to Dean, “and close your eyes. Don’t open them no matter what. Can you do that for me?”

Dean nods and turns easily in Castiel’s arms, despite his obvious struggle to untangle his fingers from the trench coat.

Castiel stands behind him and slides his left arm around Dean’s stomach to hold him in place, and he slowly coils his right arm around Dean’s chest until he’s able to grip Dean’s arm, right where he’d gripped him so tightly years ago.

The effect is instantaneous. Relief and love flood his system so quickly and he squeezes Dean even tighter. Dean must be feeling something similar as his head falls back onto Castiel’s shoulder, his body tensing then relaxing into the angel’s hold, and the word Cas escaping his lips in a sigh.

Castiel’s grace sings at finally being reunited with the soul it loves more than anything else in creation. He remembers being in hell, sending his grace into Dean’s body – he wonders what it would do now that Dean isn’t in excruciating pain.

He takes a chance, allowing his grace to burn a slow path through Dean’s veins and deep within the marrow of his bones, and he’s rewarded with a long, drawn-out, beautiful groan from Dean’s chest that vibrates through both of them. He does it again and again until Dean’s body is shaking and pleading whines are dripping from his lips. Sweat is soaking through Dean’s shirt and Castiel can feel the tackiness of it.

“Keep your eyes closed, Dean.” he reminds the quaking man in his arms. Dean moans out a quiet yes and Castiel squeezes him a little tighter as a seemingly impossible crack of thunder and shock of lightning snap through the bunker.

“Cas!” Dean shouts over the sounds of the storm. He’s afraid and weak, yet still grinding his backside against the angel, desperate to be as close as possible. Through their bond Castiel can feel what Dean’s deepest desires are; how he longs to be filled and stretched and broken down into nothing more than what they can be when they’re together. It’s a very physical, primal, base thing and Castiel has a hard time understanding why it feels so good.

“Shh, it’s alright.” Castiel coos into Dean’s ear as a gust of wind and another sharp snap of electricity reverberates through the air. Castiel releases his wings at that moment and a strong pulse of grace surges through Dean. He whispers quiet words in Enochian just like before in an attempt to soothe and reassure, except now they’re not in danger. He doesn’t have to rebuild Dean now – instead he can take him apart.

Castiel wraps them both in his wings, shrouding them in darkness and heat.

“What is that?” The words escape Dean in an exhale, and Castiel’s tightens his near bone-crushing grip on Dean even more.

“Those are my wings, Dean.”

Dean’s hands reach out, fingers tangling in the feathers as a strong tremor beats through them, causing Castiel to moan into Dean’s neck. No man nor angel has ever touched his wings before, and Dean didn’t hesitate.

There’s a physical reaction of his vessel that Castiel isn’t expecting. He’s not human – he shouldn’t feel things like this – but with Dean’s fingers pulling at his feathers and the heat of Dean’s body shaking against his…

He has to tuck his wings away because it’s too much, and as he nestles them gently back to their own dimensional plane it feels like all of the air has been sucked out of the room. Both hunter and angel are left panting in the silence.

There is a stiff, heavy feeling between his legs, something he hasn’t felt since he was human, and when it brushes against Dean he gasps. Is Dean as overwhelmed as he is? Does Dean feel like he’s about to lose control of his vessel and explode into a million pieces?

When Dean turns around to face him, Castiel can see his soul radiating from every pore, every freckle on his skin, and he doesn’t question it when Dean possesses his mouth in a brutal kiss.

“I need you.” Dean gasps into Castiel’s mouth. “I can’t wait any more…” Dean is rutting up against Castiel’s groin and it ignites something within the angel that he never expected he’d need. “Please, Cas…”

Castiel understands what Dean is asking, but even as an angel he lacks the particular skills to stop what they’re doing and give Dean what he wants. There’s no time to strip Dean down and work him open until he’s sloppy and wet and stretched, and regardless of how much his vessel wants to be buried inside the tight heat of Dean’s body neither of them can wait that long for release without going mad.

There’s barely even time for Castiel to undo Dean’s pants, but somehow (using a bit of his grace, perhaps) he gets Dean’s pants off, and no sooner do they hit the floor than Dean is jumping up and wrapping his legs around Castiel’s waist. He’s never seen Dean so needy, so desperate, so unashamedly elemental – even in Purgatory it was different. In Purgatory he needed to kill. But now, now he just needs to let go.

Warm kisses cover the side of Castiel’s neck and cheek as Dean whispers please and need in his ear. Castiel doesn’t realize he’s whispering perfect and always back to Dean until there are tears trickling down the freckled cheeks.

Castiel turns and presses Dean against the wall, allowing Dean to tighten his legs around Castiel’s waist and grind himself against him. He can feel Dean’s hard length through the layers of fabric as the man ruts away, groaning and begging, and Castiel holds him and pulls him closer in time with Dean’s movements wishing more than anything there was time to take care of Dean properly.

A loud, nearly painful cry escapes Dean as he squeezes his legs even harder around the angel, and through their bond Castiel can feel Dean’s release and how it cleanses them both of the toxicity of their relationship up to this point. Through the ecstasy he can hear Dean’s soul sing, and the relief of being near it once again is all Castiel has ever wanted.

Dean is shaking in his arms, and Castiel can feel a hot, sticky wetness seeping through the layers of their clothes. Whether it’s his own or Dean’s, he’s unsure, but both of them bask in momentary relief now that the urgency has passed and they can begin to think coherently. He listens as Dean’s heartbeat returns to an almost normal speed.

“Cas, I-” Dean rests his forehead on the angel’s shoulder, unable and unwilling to let the angel go.

“Hold on Dean.” And with that Castiel pulls him a little closer and transports them to Dean’s room. Despite the door being off its hinges and the walls partially crumbling down, the bed is still intact, and that’s all they need for now.

He lays Dean down on the blankets and begins to strip the remaining layers off of the man by hand. They’re both silent, but their eyes don’t leave each other the whole time. Then he removes his own jacket and clothes, and when they’re both finally naked he takes his spot over Dean’s body, sighing in relief at the feeling of absolutely nothing between their bodies.

“That was… intense.” Dean says finally, his hands tracing soft lines up and down the angel’s ribs. The two of them are still unable to look away from each other, so Castiel can see the flicker of embarrassment in Dean’s eyes.

“I overwhelmed you. I apologize.”

“Yeah. Well, usually I don’t go all horny-ass teenager but I thought I was dyin’. Next time it’ll be better. Next time I’ll…”

Castiel presses a finger to Dean’s lips to hush him, somewhat surprised that he can touch the man so intimately now.

“There was nothing wrong with what we just did.” Castiel stops and thinks for a moment, then adds, “but I would definitely like for there to be a ‘next time.’” Dean opens his mouth a licks at Castiel’s finger before bringing it between his lips and sucking on it; the slick, wet heat of Dean’s tongue on his skin pulling a surprised moan from Castiel’s lungs. “I- uh. I would like for ‘next time’ to be now.”

Dean nods and Castiel’s finger slips from his mouth as they move together for a kiss.

There’s just as much passion behind it as there was before, just less desperation. The edge has been taken off, and now they can enjoy each other appropriately.

At least that’s what Castiel is thinking before Dean pushes him away suddenly.

“Don’t think this means I’m not still pissed about the whole Lucifer thing.” He says sharply, but still stroking Castiel’s cheeks reverently which softens the words just enough for Castiel to smile.

“I know.”

He could argue that Dean has made some pretty epic mistakes too, but instead he slides his hand over the fresh handprint on Dean’s arm – his mark. Dean’s reaction is immediate and beautiful as his body arches with a gasp and his long eyelashes flutter and close.

“Will that ever stop feeling so good?” Dean asks.

“No.” Castiel answers, and Dean’s lazy smile is the last thing Castiel sees before closing his eyes and kissing the man again.

Chapter Text

Q is for Quickie

Sometimes Dean hates his job, but he always loves his office. It’s a roomy corner office on the twenty-sixth floor with floor-to-ceiling windows along two of the walls that look out onto the Austin city skyline. The view is pretty spectacular, and during certain times of the year he can watch the sun set and rise from his desk.

Unfortunately he’s seen them both within the last twelve hours as he’s had to pull an all-night shift in a final attempt to get a presentable report done in time for his meeting today. He’s exhausted and could use a shower and something to eat besides last night’s leftover cucumber salad, but as he looks out his eastern-facing window and the sun begins to peek over the horizon he thinks at least I’ve got one hell of a view.

He sighs and swivels his $1200 ergonomically-designed imported leather computer chair back toward his desk and buries himself in documents.

It’s barely past nine o’clock when he looks up again and the windows that face into the lobby show the rest of the office has come alive and he hadn’t even noticed. Folks are walking by with steaming cups of coffee from the cafeteria three floors down, and the muffled sounds of their chatter and laughter is just audible enough to be irritating. Everyone looks well-rested and presentable, like everyone in the whole building got to go home last night except for him.

“Assholes.” Dean says aloud to no one but himself.

He’s about to make himself get up and get a cup of coffee when his office door opens.

“Good morning, Mr. Smith.” His personal assistant comes in, headset on, confidently carrying multiple envelopes and a parcel from the mail room, a yellow folder, a newspaper – and most importantly a mug of hot coffee and something in a small brown paper bag that smells delicious. “Here’s your mail and this morning’s paper, as well as the file you requested for the acquisition of the Roman account.”

Dean can’t help but watch his assistant’s hands as he lays everything out on Dean’s desk, organized just the way he likes it, with the paper folded open to the sports section.

“You have a meeting at ten with the rep from Hanscum and Mills, and then your monthly conference call with the New York office at eleven thirty and that generally lasts about two hours.” He sets the paper bag on top of the stack of papers Dean’s been staring at all night and presses the coffee directly into Dean’s hands. Dean grins. “Mr. Adler will be here to meet with you at two o’clock before your presentation at three.”

Now that everything has found its rightful place on Dean’s desk and the tasks for the day have been laid out, his assistant gestures to the small bag.

“I brought you a breakfast sandwich. It’s egg, avocado, and red peppers on gluten-free bread and yes, I know you’re worried about your cholesterol and caloric intake, but I also know that you won’t stop to eat for the rest of the day so just shove the calories in your mouth and say ‘thank you Cas.’”

“Thank you Cas.” Dean parrots, smiling.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?”

“Nope, I think you covered everything.”

Cas gives him a sly smile and presses the answer button on his headset.

“Bradbury and Associates, you’ve reached the office of Dean Smith, how can I direct your call?” Cas turns and saunters out of the room, and Dean grins wide.

No one else would ever notice, but by the way the man walked out of his office and took a seat gingerly at his own desk, Dean could tell – Cas was wearing a plug.

Well, that explains the free half-hour in Dean’s day.


The only thing that makes a two-hour conference call feel even longer is knowing that you’re going to have sex as soon as you hang up the phone.

The call goes over by almost ten minutes, and Dean is rapping his foot against the side of his desk with impatience through the small-talk and faux laughter of the twenty some-odd people on the call. Dean’s been distracted throughout the thing, as the window facing the lobby on the left side of his office gives him a pretty perfect view of Cas’ desk and that bastard has been putting on a show.

Cas has stood up and stretched a few times, wiggling his perfect ass in such a way that Dean knows he can feel the plug shift pleasantly. He’s bent over his desk a handful of times – once to reach a pen that had rolled away, and once to hand something to Pamela as they chatted. Cas had run his hands through his hair a few times, mussing it up a bit while throwing small glances back in Dean’s direction.

The asshole can make Dean squirm in his seat with hardly more than a look.

When Dean finally says goodbye and hangs up he can see Cas stand almost immediately. He must have been watching the light on the line and waiting for it to go dark. A moment later Dean’s office door opens and Cas walks in like he’s on a mission. It clicks closed behind him and he locks it, then walks directly to the windows facing the lobby and closes the blinds even though their floor is practically empty anyway as most everyone is on their lunch breaks or in meetings.

“How was your call, Mr. Smith? We received a fax from Mr. Singer’s New York office with the signed contract for the Talbot account, so I take it it went pretty well.”

Dean stands behind his desk and takes Cas in his arms when the man walks around to meet him. He buries his face in his assistant’s neck and immediately starts kissing at it. He smiles when he feels Cas’ fingers brush up into his hair.

“Mmmhmm.” He hums into Cas’ skin, “Except some asshole kept distracting me.”

“Oh, no.” Cas sighs, “We can’t have that. You should put that asshole in his place.”

“You know what Cas? I think you’re right.” Dean bites lightly at Cas’ jaw, then turns him around and bends him over the large oak desk. “There, that’s better.”

Cas arches his back and sticks his ass higher into the air, moving it tantalizingly, the fabric of his dark gray slacks stretching tightly over that perfectly squeezable bottom. Dean removes the headset from Cas’ ear and tosses it to the other side of the desk, then reaches around and starts to undo his belt, button, and zipper. He smiles when he’s finally able to pull the pants down over that magnificent swell of an ass, and then he lets out an unfiltered groan when he pulls Cas’ boxer briefs down as well, because now he can see the base of the plug snug against his sensitive flesh, his pink rim stretched around it.

“Shit Cas, you used a big one.” Dean starts working on his own belt buckle with fumbling, uncoordinated fingers.

“I knew we wouldn’t have much time...” Cas says, spreading his legs a little wider and giving Dean an even better view. Dean kneads at Cas’ ass cheeks, spreading them and enjoying the feeling of the firm muscle. Cas’ annoying habit of jogging really does pay off.

Dean taps at the base of the plug with his thumb a few times, and then presses on it hard, drawing a quiet hum from the man bent over his desk. He chuckles and starts tugging at the plug, watching the taut skin stretch around the width of it, then lets go as Cas’ eager hole sucks it back into place. Damn, he could watch that muscle work all day long.

“As much as I love it when you tease,” Cas says, his voice professional as always, “Mr. Adler will be walking through that door in less than twenty minutes…” the man moans when Dean fucks the plug into him again.

“Don’t talk about that troll right now.” Dean smacks Cas’ right cheek, and then pulls the plug slowly out of him. Cas’ hole stays open wide, winking at Dean in an invitation to slam right in. “You look good like this Cas.” Dean mutters as he works his cock out of the fly of his boxers and takes himself in hand. “Lube?”

“Don’t need it.”

Dean spits into his palm and gives himself a few strokes before pressing slowly into Cas. He was right; they didn’t need lube; Cas had used plenty when he was working himself around the plug earlier. He was nice and slick and loose, and as Dean pressed in he prayed a quick thank you to some perverted god for the Booty Buddy butt plug.

“God, you feel so good babe,” Dean praises once he’s in to the hilt. He fondles the muscular globes of Cas’ ass and Cas swivels his hips, causing enough friction against Dean to make him hiss.

“Do you plan on moving anytime soon? I’ve probably missed at least three calls since you started fuahhh fuck yes baby!” Cas squeaks out and pounds his hands against the desk as Dean pulls halfway out and slams back in. There’s a harsh slap of skin when the front of his thighs hit the back of Cas’. Cas’ fingers claw at the wood of the desk, trying to find something to hold onto. Once Cas settles on curling his fingers around the edge in front of him, Dean doesn’t hold back.

The sound of skin slapping skin and of the heavy desk scooching its way across the floor millimeter by millimeter fills the room, but it’s all secondary to the beautiful, downright filthy noises that Cas is making.

“Babe you gotta be quiet. The room ain’t soundproof.”

Between grunts and curses, Cas grinds out the words “make me.”

“Kinky bastard…” Dean lets go of Cas’ hips but continues fucking into him while he removes his tie. His pace stutters slightly, but once he gets his tie off he stills deep within Cas and bends over, covering the man. “Open your mouth,” he whispers the hot breath of words in Cas’ ear, and then presses the tie into the man’s mouth. Dean thinks briefly about tying the ends together and just letting the gag do its thing, but instead he brings it around the back of Cas’ head and twists the ends around one of his hands like reigns for a horse. He pulls a little more, forcing Cas’ head back and making the man squeak out a happy little groan.

“You like that?” Dean’s voice is a bit darker than he intended, and Cas shudders.


“Ima take that as a ‘hell yes.’” Dean keeps the tie firm in his grip, curls the fingers of his free hand around Cas’ narrow hips, and enthusiastically continues pounding into him. When he looks at the clock on the wall he realizes he’s got seven minutes before his meeting with Adler. “Gotta hurry. Ready?”


And with Cas’ grunted consent Dean pulls back harder on the tie, causing Cas’ to clench up a little tighter, and he starts pistoning in and out of that tight little hole like a goddamn machine. Cas is pressed hard into the desk and raises his hips for a better angle. With the line of Cas’ back arched and the desperate noises leaking from his mouth around the tie, Dean comes with a throaty grunt, spraying his seed deep within the man.

He stills, relishing in the feeling of Cas still gripping him tight and the man’s pulse fluttering against his oversensitive member. He lets go of the tie and Cas softly rests his forehead against the desk. Pulling out is something Dean can’t even comprehend right now, wishing he could stay buried in Cas for the rest of the day, but he looks at the clock.

Four minutes.

And he still needs to get Cas off.

He pulls out, holding his cock and giving it a few gentle strokes while he grabs the plug. He works it gently back into Cas, both of them moaning at the thought of Dean’s come staying warm inside Cas’ body for the rest of the day. He wipes the tip of his cock off on the soft skin of Cas’ ass.

Cas removes the tie from his mouth and cranes his neck to look back at Dean.

“Didn’t you forget something?” he asks, skeptically.

“Not a chance baby,” Dean says, and helps Cas up, turns him around to face him, and drops to his knees on the carpet. In an instant he’s taken Cas’ hard, leaking length into his mouth. He is in his place here on the floor in front of Cas. This was where he likes to be – where he is comfortable. He kneads at Cas’ testicles while he sucks and licks, and in mere moments Dean tastes the warm, salty fluid of Cas’ release on his tongue. Cas stands silent above him, breathing hard and stroking Dean’s hair.

“We’ve got two minutes.” Cas says, helping Dean stand and wiping his thumb against his lips. “And I don’t think you’re going to be able to put this back on.” He holds up Dean’s tie, wrinkled and wet where it was shoved in Cas mouth.

Dean shrugs and unbuttons the top button of his shirt. “Whatever. We’ll call it Casual Friday.” He stuffs the tie in the top drawer of the desk as Cas pulls his pants up.

When all inappropriate body parts are tucked back into their appropriate places, Cas kisses Dean softly on the lips and smoothes his hair down.

“You’re not staying here again tonight. I don’t care what Adler says. Tonight you’re coming home.”

“Yes dear.” Dean feigns exasperation, but he really loves how Cas takes care of him.

“We have a lot to do tomorrow.”

“I know.” Dean kisses Cas on the cheek.

They’ve got an appointment with their florist tomorrow. Dean wanted wildflowers and Cas wanted white lilies and succulents (and for Dean to not laugh every time someone said the word succulents). And then Dean was getting fitted for his tux later in the afternoon.

“And don’t forget that the tasting at the bakery was moved to Monday, not Tuesday. I updated the reminder in your phone since you’ll have to meet me there after your client lunch.”

“Does this bakery make pies?”

“Dean, for the last time we are not having a wedding pie.”

“I know I know! I just don’t trust a baker that can’t make a good apple pie s’all.”

Cas cocks an eyebrow at him, and Dean wipes that look off his face by sliding his hand down the cleft of his ass before pressing on the base of the plug.

“Keep that in until I get home.” He whispers in Cas’ ear.

“Yes, sir.” Cas nips at the sensitive skin of his neck.

They’re snapped from the moment by a sharp rapping at the door.

“Fuck, even his knock is annoying.” Dean’s voice is full of irritation, and Cas chuckles. “Do I look alright, or do I look like a man who just fucked his fiancé over a desk?”

Cas kisses him gently one last time before putting his headset back on and adjusting it over his ear. “You look gorgeous, as always, Mr. Smith.” And with that, Cas is back in personal-assistant-mode. “Great, seven missed calls.” He clears his throat and answers an immediate incoming call. “Bradbury and Associates, you’ve reached the office of Dean Smith, how can I direct your call?”

When Cas opens the door, he gestures Mr. Adler in with a polite smile while he speaks quietly to whoever he is on the line with. Mr. Adler is already yakking away about the upcoming presentation; “there’s a lot riding on this, Dean” and “this is important, Dean” and “I hope you’re as prepared as you say you are, Dean.” Blah blah blah.

It’s all white noise, because from behind Mr. Adler Cas mouths the words good luck and blows him a kiss.

Dean grins, and the last thing Dean sees before his office door closes are those narrow hips swaying back and forth as Cas walks to his desk.

Chapter Text

R is for Rough Sex

As soon as Dean broke out of Bobby’s panic room he knew he was fucked.

He was either fucked by Michael, who was going to wear him to the apocalypse like a flannel prom dress.

Or by Sammy and Bobby who, no doubt, had noticed he was missing by now and were probably halfway to tracking him down and ready to beat his ass.

Or by Castiel, who he’d blasted off to God knows where and would be all sorts of pissed off when he showed up again.

Somewhat surprisingly it was Castiel who found him first.


Of course Dean didn’t want to be ridden to the apocalyptic battle between Michael and Lucifer, but what other choice did he have? This was so much bigger than just fighting monsters or smiting demons. Before this, the yellow-eyed demon had been the biggest bad they’d had to face. He was the catalyst for all the shit that had happened to them in their lifetime up to and including this.

And this is the fucking apocalypse. This isn’t just revenge. This isn’t just a grudge match with a random dickhead demon. This is heaven verses hell – Michael verses Lucifer in the ultimate battle. This is the end. And, evidently, this is his destiny.

But that doesn’t mean he wants to do it.

There is always that dangerous little voice that Dean kept quiet and hidden away that tried to tell him he was worth something more than to be used as a vessel or a tool. It tried to convince him of his worth.

That voice is full of shit and he knew it.

That voice begged to be saved.

That voice was thankful that it had been Cas who found him first, because it knew that only Cas could stop Dean from doing what he was about to.

He also knew Cas was probably pretty pissed - he just didn’t realize exactly how pissed.

The moment Cas shows up he knocks out the nutjob who is praying for Zachariah and Michael, and immediately turns to Dean, grabbing him hard enough that Dean thinks his shoulder might break. He’s thrown into a dark alleyway and hits a wall with no time to think before Cas is crowding up against him.

“What are you, crazy?!” Dean blurts out in a huff of breath as it’s knocked out of him, just barely before Castiel flings him across the alleyway and into another brick wall.

“I rebelled for this?” Cas roars at Dean. He’s never heard the angel sound like this. All those times he wanted Cas to get pissed, or show some fucking emotion, but now all that rage is directed at him…

Cas delivers two solid punches to Dean’s face, and the back of Dean’s head hits the wall behind him momentarily blacking out his vision.

“So that you could surrender to them?” Cas’ voice is a low growl, quiet and vengeful and crawling over Dean’s skin like each word has claws of its own.

Then Dean is being thrown, limbs and body useless to slow him down until he hits another wall. He’s disoriented and thinks that maybe Cas is throwing him from one alleyway to another, maybe in different states – hell, maybe in and out of different dimensions.

Cas punches him in the jaw and then the gut and Dean’s arms reflexively curl in to block the next hit.

“Cas! Please!”

Dean is aware that Castiel is holding back, his angelic strength could turn him to dust without a second thought, but what Cas is doing is calculated and that makes it hurt even more. Cas is hitting Dean just hard enough to take, but not enough to kill him or make him irreparable.

That is real power – being able to disintegrate a human being but choosing not to. Cas has every right to kill Dean, bring him back and kill him again – but he doesn’t. Castiel is stronger than that. He is smarter than that. And he knows Dean better than that; Cas knows what will hurt Dean the most.

Dean can taste the thick, sour blood in his mouth from the seemingly endless blows as Cas crowds him against another solid wall, lifting him off the ground by his coat collar.

“I gave everything for you, and this is what you give to me?” Cas snarls, each word stinging with disappointment.

Castiel drops him and almost before his feet touch the ground he punches him in the face again and Dean hears a crack in his skull – his nose most likely broken against Castiel’s fist. Cas grabs him and tosses him against the wall opposite them again – back and forth they go like a pin-ball machine. Dean hits the wall head-on, trying to cushion the landing with his shoulder. He leans against the wall, resting his throbbing head against it, curling in on himself and praying that Cas will just fucking kill him.

He feels the angel press against him, shoving him harder into the wall. Dean lets out a pained grunt, feeling his ribs and shoulder against the brick.

It hurts so much. It’s like he’s gone twelve rounds with a tornado. Every inch of him feels bruised and sensitive to the touch. His head is pounding, his clothes scratch against his skin…

And then Castiel presses something hard against his lower back. This is it he thinks, almost relieved, unable to deal with the physical pain and the emotional guilt of what a piece of shit he is. He’s just coherent enough to be ashamed that his angel is about to stab him in the back.

Then he realizes: that’s not a blade.

It’s Cas’ cock, hot and thick and hard in his pants and pressing against Dean.

The only sound is their labored breathing as they both start to comprehend what is about to happen.

“Do it.” Dean says finally, sounding far more desperate than he feels.

Bull shit. That’s not true. He is desperate.

Desperate for something good.

Desperate not to die.

Desperate not to be a puppet in the apocalypse.

Desperate for Cas.

Always so goddamn desperate for Cas.

“JUST DO IT!” he yells, a broken echo of it bouncing off the walls that surround them. There are no more punches thrown. No more words spoken. Just Cas’ fingers, a steady contrast to everything else that has happened in the past two minutes, unbuttoning Dean’s jeans and shoving them down over his ass to his thighs.

“In the history of mankind,” Castiel gnarls out from behind him while working his own cock out of his pants, “there has never been anyone as frustrating to me as you are.”

Dean tries to take a deep breath but the pain of his ribs punches it right back out of him. He needs to find a way to steady his mind. He’s never had more than two of his own fingers up his ass, and Cas is pissed and about to push into him dry and fuck. His dick gives a hopeful twitch at that thought and no no no this isn’t a good thing.

Dean feels something against his asshole, a finger maybe, and suddenly he feels something cool and wet. He reflexively clenches the tight muscle there; feeling like whatever it is might dribble out of him if he doesn’t.

Then there’s a hard, blunt pressure and Cas is pushing into him and its painful but there is less of a burn than Dean expected.


Dean thinks, that was lube. Cas filled me with…

The rest of that thought is cut off when Cas pulls out and drives back in again, hard and long and way before Dean is even close to ready for it. He cries out, and Castiel grabs him by the hair and pulls his head back, forcing Dean’s ear to his mouth so he has to listen to every word Cas says.

“Is this what you think you deserve?” Cas snarls, his grip of Dean’s hair tightening. Dean tries to make a pleading sound to get him to lighten up but nothing comes out except a breathy huuuh sound when Cas slams back into him again. “That all you are good for is to be an instrument in this battle? A tool for angels to use? If that is truly what you believe than this angel is going to use you.”

Cas has set up a harsh pace, but it’s steady and somewhat comforting compared to the blows from earlier and the vicious words that Cas is growling into his ear.

“You deserve to be used and left in this alley as a broken, useless shell of a man if you think that I rebelled against heaven so you could surrender.”

Dean leans back into Castiel’s body instead of against the hard, slimy wall. The angel has no problem holding him up, fingers easily pressing bruises into Dean’s skin as he drives forward and up, pressing hard against his prostate with every thrust. The pressure of it is driving Dean insane and it hurts but it’s so good.

“I watched you get torn apart, Dean,” the way Cas says his name, dark and breathy in his ear, sends actual shivers down his spine where they meet with his ass and he presses himself back to meet Cas’ thrusts before Cas grips him even tighter to still him. “I watched as Alistair cut and carved, and I knew what I had to do. I knew I had to get you out. I pieced you back together. I risked everything to put you back and drag you out because you were the righteous one… If I knew then what I know now, that you would betray me like this after everything I’ve done for you, I would have left you in hell.”

Tears streak down Dean’s cheeks and a traitorous sob breaks his silence. Castiel, his friend, his angel, is behind him and fucking him into a delirious state. Dean’s cock is still trapped in his jeans, the pressure and pain of the zipper digging into it barely even registering past the pain he’s feeling in every other fiber of his body.

Dean must be sick getting off on this.

What is wrong with me?

Castiel has broken his body, and his words are winding through his mind trying to destroy the rest of him as well, and still Dean is hard and his body is screaming for some type of relief.

“W-why-y didn’t y-you?” Dean stutters out between tears and harsh thrusts, trying to get two words in edgewise – something to let Cas know that he wasn’t completely broken yet. “Why didn’t you just let me rot?”

Cas pushes into Dean farther than should be possible and he covers Dean’s mouth with his hand to muffle the scream.

Everything is still and quiet except for Dean’s ragged breathing and the snap of tires on wet pavement just beyond the alley. He feels so full. He’s always wanted this; he just never wanted it like this.

“Because I had faith in you, and I realize now how much of a mistake that was. You believe yourself to be designed to let people down; that you break everything you touch. I should have known that someone like you would never feel they deserve to be saved. You would never realize your value, so why would you even try? Why wouldn’t you just give in to Michael after everything we’ve fought for? You are not useless Dean, but after Michael – you will be. Not even I’ll be able to bring you back from that.”

Cas removes his hand and Dean gulps down the cold night air.

“Why are you doing this Cas?” Dean is crying openly now, ashamed of the sadness and desperation in his own voice. He’s never felt so betrayed by his own body before.

“Because,” Cas pulls out and drives in hard again. Dean chokes on his own spit and his head lulls forward and hits the wall. “I am taking what’s mine. I’m taking what I’ve always wanted. I never wanted it to be like this, but I must have you before Michael ruins everything you are.”

“What am I?” Dean asks, barely able to get the words out between Cas’ jarring stabs into him.

He feels a hand at his throat. It feels more like a caress than anything else. He must be losing his mind.

“You are a self-loathing, scared, and infuriating human being, and you are so much more than I ever deserved.”

“What do you deserve Cas?” Dean hates himself right now for what he’s done to them. This is toxic. It’s horrible and completely terrifying and it’s all his fault.

“After tonight – after this – I’m the one who deserves to rot in hell.” Cas’ voice is unadulterated sorrow, and the sound of it breaks something vital inside of Dean.

Cas resumes his brutal thrusts and it doesn’t take long until he’s coming silently, deep within Dean’s body. Something about feeling that heat so far inside of him pushes Dean into his own pathetic orgasm.

Instead of the euphoria he always imagined sex with Cas would be like, right now he feels only guilt and sadness and pain.

Is this what we have become?

That’s his final thought before he feels two fingers on his temple and his world goes black.


Dean comes to on a couch. The light pouring through the windows is so bright Dean is certain it’s going to burn him alive. He can barely open his eyes; they’re so swollen from being hit and crying and God knows what else. He’s afraid to move the rest of his body because he’s sure it’s going to fare similarly.

“Five broken ribs.” Bobby’s voice comes from somewhere beyond the brightness. Dean turns his head toward the sound and sees him sitting in a chair a few feet away. Sammy stands next to him, arms crossed, looking concerned and pissed. “Broken nose,” Bobby continues, “fractured wrist, four broken fingers and one broken thumb, four fractures around your right eye and two around your left, two busted teeth, and more cuts and bruises than I care to count. No concussion, no internal bleeding, and nothing needing stitches. Just enough to make you want to die but not enough to actually kill you – you mind tellin’ us what you did to piss Castiel off so that maybe we can avoid doin’ it?”

Dean tries to sit up but, nope. Not a chance. His ribs make a terrible sound, but what stops him is the dull, distinct ache deep in his gut.

Cas .

His heart sinks.

“What, are you a doctor now?” he mumbles, voice rough enough that the sarcasm hardly comes across. “How’d you know all that?”

“Cas showed up last night with you draped ‘round his shoulders. He tossed you on the couch, gave us a triage update and flew off to God knows where before fixin’ you.”

Sammy’s voice cuts in, soothing but on edge. “What did you do, Dean?” He doesn’t sound angry, at least not yet.

“I-” he doesn’t want to tell them. They’re going to be just as angry as Cas was, only they probably won’t beat him up… at least not right now. “I went to find Michael. I was going to say yes so we could just get this over with.”

“You fuckin’ idjit.”

“Dean! Why? And… how? You were locked in the panic room…” Sammy’s voice is still even and quiet, but there’s something bitter in it now.

“I tricked Cas. He opened the door and I blasted him off to his corner and got out. He found me. You guys got some painkillers or somethin’? I’m dyin’ over here.”

“Nope.” Bobby says, bluntly.

“Bullshit. Get me some asprin.”

“Don’t got none of that.”

“Then give me some whiskey!”

“Don’t got none of that neither.” Bobby says, swirling what is clearly whiskey around in the tumbler he’s holding.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean tries to yell but it hurts.

They don’t ask him any other questions, and Dean can’t do anything to fight the pain except fall back to sleep and hope that maybe this time he won’t wake up.


He does wake up, though. Hours later and it’s dark and disorienting. He’s still on the couch and everything still hurts. He blinks hard a couple of times, eyes adjusting to the dim moonlight coming in and painting the room blue.

He sees Cas in the chair now, looking stony and angry. He scratches at his jaw. It’s such a human motion that it takes Dean by surprise.

“Cas?” he croaks out.

“Dean.” His voice is much softer than it was the previous night. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I just got worked over by one of hell’s angels, thanks for asking.”

“Dean, I’m-”

“Don’t say you’re sorry, Cas. We both know its bullshit and I deserved it anyway.”

Castiel stands up and seems to float over to the couch. He stands, towering above Dean.

“You didn’t deserve it, why can’t you see that? You need to be able to see that you do deserve something good. That good things can happen if you’re willing to fight for them. You cannot succumb to Michael, Dean, and if you don’t start to realize what you are worth it will be impossible to resist him. They know your weaknesses – Sammy is one, and your own self-loathing is another. You have to say no, Dean. You have to-”

Cas is quiet for a moment and Dean looks up at him. His eyes look down upon Dean, worried and impossibly blue in the moonlight. When Cas reaches out, Dean reaches up to try and stop him. He can’t possibly continue the beating from the night before, can he?

“Cas, please don’t…”

Castiel pushes past Dean’s pathetic resistance and touches his cheek. Warmth washes over Dean’s whole body, relief and comfort flowing through every nerve. The pain of all his broken parts has disappeared and he can feel nothing but Castiel’s thumb brushing his cheek.

“I’m sorry Dean.”

Simply put, that’s the most honest apology Dean has ever heard. He doesn’t say anything, but just stares up at the angel.

Finally, he shifts, sitting up and no longer feeling any pain. Castiel steps to the side and sits next to Dean on the couch.

“I promise,” Dean starts, unsure of how to proceed. He wants to reassure Cas that his point has been made. That he’ll try. That he understood what Cas is saying and wants to do right by him.

“I know.” Cas says, like he can hear Dean’s thoughts. He probably can.

They sit together in silence for a long while before Dean realizes that he’s leaning slightly into Cas.

“Gotta say, I never thought that’s what our first time would be like.” He doesn’t know what possesses him to say that, but Dean blurts out those words before he can help himself.

Castiel’s reaction surprises him, as the angel reaches out and takes his hand, lacing their fingers together. He begins to run his thumb soft and slow along Dean’s; it’s incredibly comforting.

“Me either.” The angel whispers. “I’m so sorry. But I had to… I had his overwhelming need, like nothing I’ve ever felt, to mark you as mine. I think it may keep other angels at bay for the time being until we can figure this out.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asks, looking up at Cas.

“My handprint on your arm is a territorial mark, but its fading. I have marked you from the inside, implanting a part of my grace into you so that you are seen as mine to other angels. It may keep you a little safer. It was a desperate and stupid attempt to take you off their radar.”

Dean doesn’t know how to react to that. What about the marking on his ribs? Is Cas just making excuses? Did he really leave some of his grace inside Dean? He’s still processing the whole concept when Cas continues.

“I’ll never hurt you like that again Dean. I swear on my Father that I’ll never-” He cuts himself off and takes a breath. It’s not often that Cas struggles to say what he means to say, being one of the most straightforward creatures Dean’s ever met. “Someday I’d- I’d like to try again. Someday after we’ve stopped the apocalypse I’d like to do it right if- if that’s something you’d want too…”

Dean squeezes Cas’ hand. They both need time to heal from this, but yes.

He wants, too.


Time passes and they save the world again and again without so much as a thank you.

Unfortunately by the time they’re able to be together again they’ve managed to hurt each other even more. They’ve fought and lied and betrayed each other in ways that should never have been forgiven…

Yet somehow, despite the pain they always seem to cause each other, they are able to see past it – to see within the other at the bond they share.

Yes they had hurt each other, but they had saved each other, too.

They needed each other.

Hell, they loved each other.

Cas is sure to tell Dean this over and over while he presses kisses into his skin. The angel remembers every single bone he’d broken, every bruise and scar he’d ever left on Dean’s body – and he kisses them all. He works his lips over Dean’s ribs, leaving a trail of kisses along each rib that he’d broken in that alley years ago. He kisses Dean’s palm, along his wrist and up to his elbow as an apology for breaking his arm while he was being controlled by Naomi. He kisses the inside of Dean’s thigh just because he can.

He leaves impressions and marks all over Dean’s body, and after every few he tells the hunter once again how much he loves him.

And nearly an hour later as they come together in a cacophony of breathy moans and gentle whines, Dean tells Cas that he loves him, too.

Chapter Text

S is for Shower Sex

“Folks across the country are giving up their barbecues and other summertime plans this weekend thanks to dangerously high temperatures that have weather officials urging residents in the South and all along the Mississippi Valley to stay indoors.”

The weatherwoman’s voice of forced-concern-for-the-masses carries through the living room from what Cas is guessing is a delightfully air-conditioned television studio. He glares at the TV.

“Stay indoors? You’re assuming I have air conditioning.”

He’s just passing through the trailer to get some more painting supplies before heading back outside. His and Dean’s home – a 12’x60’ mobile home from the late seventies – does not have air conditioning, but it is surrounded by hundred-year-old hickory trees so it’s entirely covered in shade.

Still, it’s at least 90 degrees inside that tin can even with all the windows open and fans on high.

So instead of roasting alive, Cas has chosen to set up his easel in the yard under his favorite tree. The grass below his bare feet is mostly dry and spattered with paint, and his clothes have been discarded in a pile because once the thermometer hit 100 degrees he figured what’s the point?

One of the perks of living in the middle of Bumfuck Nowhere, Missouri was that their closest neighbor was ten miles away so why the hell shouldn’t he hang around naked in his own yard?

It’s around six o’clock: the hiss of the cicadas is mingling brightly with the chirp of the crickets, sweat is dripping down his spine, and his canvas is half covered in what his agent Crowley will surely call finger painting when Cas finally hears the rumble of Dean’s truck pull up around front. The door of the rig creaks and slams, then he hears boots on gravel, then on the metal stairs. He knows Dean’s routine and the rhythm with which he lives his life. He can practically hear Dean curse the heat of the trailer right before he yells for Cas.

“Cas? You home?”

“I’m out back, Dean.”

A few moments later the screen door slams again and Dean walks around back to meet him with two cold beers in his hands. He’s got grease stains up to his elbows and his hands are filthy. His gray t-shirt is sweat-soaked and sticking to his body, and he hasn’t shaved in a couple of days.

In other words, Dean looks good, and Cas’ naked body decides to appreciate it in a not-so-subtle way.

“Why’s it so goddamn hot?” Dean asks, handing Cas a can and taking a swig of his own.

“The woman on the news seems to thinks it’s to ruin everyone’s summer plans.” Cas tosses down the tube of Green Umber paint he’d been working with. Greens and golds are caked into the skin on his fingers, and forgetting for a moment that he’s not wearing his smock he wipes them on his body, only to smudge colors along his tummy and hip. “Shit.”

“You’re a mess.” Dean chuckles and takes another drink.

“Like you can talk…” Cas points out the stains along Dean’s skin and dark circles stemming from his armpits. Dean looks down with a mock frown.

“Shut up. It’s manly.” He says, and he winks, that bastard.

“What? And this isn’t manly?” Cas points at his groin which twitches as Dean steps closer, crowding against Cas and making things even hotter.

“Mm, good point babe.” He hands Cas his beer and takes his shirt off, sighing with relief. “You’ve got the right idea; that feels much better.”

“You’d probably feel even better if you took those jeans off too.”

In a matter of minutes, the two men are sprawled out naked on the dying grass, drinking their beers and talking about their day. And just a few minutes after that hands are reaching out for skin and Dean is pulling Cas closer, pulling the smaller man on top of him and kissing him with a heat that the weather channel wouldn’t even be able to fathom.

“I’m going to get paint all over you.” Cas says once Dean finally lets him go to breathe. When he looks down there are green and gold fingerprints over Dean’s heart. It makes Cas grin.

“So? I’m going to get grease all over you.” Something about that makes Dean bite his lip, and he must feel the same thing Cas did when he saw the paint he’d left on Dean’s skin.

“Deal.” Cas gasps out just barely before crashing into Dean for another bruising kiss.

The only way he realizes that Dean has rolled them is when he feels the scratch of the dead grass against his back, but that’s just secondary to the weight of Dean on top of him, pressing him into the earth and kissing him senseless. He’s coherent enough to register the slide of their sweaty bodies and the sharp bite of Dean’s teeth on his bottom lip, but that’s it. Everything else melts into heat and sky and the sounds of summertime insects.

That is, until Dean pushes up and away from Cas, leaving him a squirming, whining, horny mess in the grass.

“Hang on baby,” Dean says calmly as he crawls around Cas and moves to straddle his head. He lowers himself over Cas’ body and yessss they haven’t sixty-nined in a long time.

They take each other into their mouths at the same time, both men moaning at the feel and taste of it. Cas breaths in deeply around Dean’s member, taking in the absolutely intoxicating, masculine scent of musk and arousal. It nearly makes his head spin, and he feels another surge of blood filling his own cock; feels it grow a little more in Dean’s mouth.

Everything is too hot. Between Dean’s body on top of him, his mouth working Dean’s cock while Dean work his length with enthusiasm, the slick slide of skin and sweat making everything feel so filthy

Then there’s a spit-slick finger circling his asshole and then it’s pressing in and oh God oh Christ holy fuck…

“Mrrmfff!!” is the only noise Cas can get out around a mouthful of Dean.

The finger doesn’t stop, and neither does the soft flick of Dean’s tongue against the head of his cock. Soft, desperate, simply pathetic sounding whines are escaping Cas now because as if things weren’t hot enough, the friction Dean’s finger felt like it was burning Cas up from this inside out.

He puts as much of himself into tending to Dean as he can, trying to ignore all of the pleasure that his own body is receiving, but once the tip of Dean’s finger rubs firmly against his prostate he is done for. He makes a sound that makes Dean laugh and roll off of him, allowing Cas to catch his breath for the first time in what feels like years.

“Ooookay huggy bear,” Dean pushes himself up and reaches down to help Cas get to his feet. “Lube’s in the bedroom and I’ve got grass in my ass so we’re gonna head in.”

“But it’s so far…” Cas whines, anticipating what comes next.

“You lazy, sexy bastard…” Dean’s mock annoyance is paired with a smile, and Cas can’t help but grin and then straight up laugh when Dean hoists him up over his shoulder and starts carrying him to the house.

“I can’t help it,” Cas huffs out as Dean walks, one arm hooked around Cas’ legs to keep him in place, “I love this view.” Dean’s firm, perfect ass is directly in front of his face and there’s nothing else he can do except take a nice big bite into it.

“Yeooww!” Dean yelps, and Cas grins into the indent he’s just left in Dean’s skin. “Turnabout is fair play dollface. You sure you want to test me when I have you in such a compromising position?”

Cas doesn’t answer. Instead he licks lovingly over the bite marks.

“That’s better.”

Dean carries his bare ass up the stairs, through the front door, and straight to the bathroom.

“Start the shower. I’ll grab the lube.”

Cas turns on the water and doesn’t wait for it to warm up at all before stepping in. The cold feels good and helps squelch the feeling that his blood is about to boil. Before Dean gets back he adds a little warmth to the shower so it’s still cool, but not cold enough to be distracting.

He can feel Dean’s footsteps against the floor as he enters the bathroom and joins Cas in the small stall. Then he’s being pressed against the wall and kissed within an inch of his life. Dean’s mouth works down his jaw and neck, sucking light bruises that will be gone by the time he wakes up tomorrow but feel so good right now.

“Turn ‘round,” Dean breathes in his ear, and Cas obeys because it’s about to get so good. He turns and pushes Cas gently against the cracked fiberglass wall of the shower.

In an instant he can feel slick fingers sliding along the cleft of his ass, reaching below and tugging lightly at his balls, then at his rim and pressing in…

And then those fingers are gone and Cas whimpers against his will.

“Shhh shh shh,” Dean breaths against the shell of his ear, “we’re just going to get a little cleaned up first.” Dean takes the bar of cheap soap and begins rubbing Cas down; massaging into his shoulders and working his way down over his ass, reaching around his hips and chests, the glide of suds and water making Dean’s fingertips slide so smoothly across his skin.

Dean pinches his nipple and kisses his neck and distracts him until he’s effectively washed every bit of Cas’ body without having to pull his lips away, and then he guides them under the spray to rinse off.

“My turn.” Cas takes the soap – Dean hands it off willingly with a knowing smirk – always happy to have an opportunity to utterly worship Dean’s incredible form.

He drops to his knees first thing, and nuzzles at Dean’s semi as he soaps up those perfect goddamn bowed legs. His fingers massage up Dean’s strong thighs and as he takes the head of Dean’s cock into his mouth he starts to lather up Dean’s behind; squeezing and spreading Dean’s cheeks until the man finally lets out an appreciative moan. He’s always so quiet during sex; any time Cas can get him to break, even a little bit, is a victory.

“You’re right. There is grass in your ass.” Cas says before taking Dean back in his mouth.


He continues working his way up over Dean’s hard stomach and chest, eventually letting the dick slide out of his mouth with a pop and standing, reaching down to give Dean a brief, soapy hand job.

A few moments later and he’s kissing Dean’s plush lips – god those perfect, pink lips - so soft on such a hard, masculine body. Almost out of place but somehow seemingly perfect as well. He works the soap against the grease stains on Dean’s arms and fingers, gives up, and puts the soap back on the side of the tub.

They rinse and kiss, smoothening their hands over each other and washing away any and all remaining suds.

Without really realizing it, they’re jerking each other off under the cool stream of water. It’s slow and relaxing and fuck it feels good, but Cas kind of has his heart set on more. To send Dean a hint, he turns back around and sticks his ass out.

“So do you want to do something with this thing or should I go get my Booty Buddy and take care of it myself?” Cas starts to stroke himself and Dean actually growls.

Yeah, any time he can get the man to break is a win.

Dean reaches around the shower curtain and grabs the lube from the edge of the sink. Cas ignores the fact that the bathroom floor probably has an inch of water flooding it already from the spray of the shower (they’re not exactly being careful) and instead focuses on the sound of the cap opening and the almost embarrassing sound the almost-empty bottle of lube makes as Dean squirts some into his palm.

Luckily they can both laugh at that.

Ah, gay sex can be so glamorous.

By the time Dean has worked Cas open enough to take him, Cas is a shaky mess, gripping aimlessly at the wet wall and uttering quiet little please ’s and c’mon Dean’s until he feels that beautiful, blunt pressure against his rim. He doesn’t even try to stop himself from pushing back and taking Dean in, resulting in a surprised intake of breath from Dean that makes Cas grin like a dope.

“Finally…” Cas starts to say some smartass remark but is cut off by Dean curling his fingers around his hips and pulling him back, impaling him hard and punching the breath right from his lungs in one loud “Holy fuck!”

Dean knows the exact way to move to hit the right spot every time – and the dickhead deliberately misses just to drive Cas crazy.

The water runs down their bodies and down the wall in front of Cas, but every time he tries to rub himself against it to feel some friction against his cock Dean pulls his hips back and away and laughs like the evil son of a bitch that he is.

Luckily, Cas knows something that drives Dean crazy, too.

He shoves his ass back and pushes Dean away. He hates that sudden empty feeling, but he’s determined.

“You fucker.” Cas growls out in pure frustration as he turns around and looks Dean in the eye before lifting his right leg and hooking it over Dean’s shoulder. Dean lets out a groan of approval and helps hoist Cas’ other leg up over his other shoulder until he’s hooked and in the perfect position to get fucked.

“Fuckin’ bendy hippie and your fuckin’ yoga…”

“I thought you’d gotten over trying to label me…”

“God I fuckin’ love you…”

Dean holds Cas up between himself and the wall of the shower, kissing him hard and pushing back in so forcefully it curls Cas’ toes. Water pools between them making wet, squishy sounds which, coupled with the way Dean is looking at him like he can see the answers to all of life’s biggest questions – so full of love and magic…

And then there’s the way that Dean hits him in juuuust the right spot…

“Oh fuck Dean right there… yes! Yes! Fuck yes… Don’t stop…”

Dean doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even slow down despite his shaking legs, the slippery floor of the tub, and the fact that he’s holding a grown man up with nothing but his own brute strength and a flimsy fiberglass wall. He just continues to fuck into Cas over and over until Cas sees nothing but stars behind his eyelids.

His orgasm sneaks up on him – like it usually does when he gets so focused on the details of Dean in such a beautifully raw state of being – and he comes with a silent scream, hot and hard between them, spraying his seed against Dean’s chest where it gets caught up with the water travelling down Dean’s skin and is washed away in moments.

And still – Dean doesn’t stop. Soon Cas is twitching and crying out, his whole body sensitive to every touch, every drop of water, every breath…

“Down, Dean… let me… I-I’ll oh fuck!” Cas squirms and tries to get free but Dean is just so strong…

“Baby I’m so close. Please…”

It takes a moment of weakness on Dean’s part and a moment of sheer luck on Cas’ part that allows Cas to wiggle free from Dean’s grip and find his footing on the slick shower floor. Poor Dean looks actually physically pained that he’s no longer buried inside of Cas, and his cock is flushed and solid and straining towards his belly.

Cas doesn’t waste a moment. He falls to his knees between Dean and the wall and takes Dean in hand. Dean immediately braces himself against the wall and jerks into Cas’ fist.

Water blinds him so he has to shut his eyes, but it’s no hardship because he knows his way around Dean. He knows to apply a little less pressure at the tip and twist his wrist as he strokes toward the head; knows to massage Dean’s balls with his other hand; knows that if he leans forward and offers his face to be marked with Dean’s spend that the man above him will come without a single care that he’s not balls-deep in Cas’ asshole.

A low groan is the only warning Cas gets before he feels Dean’s balls tighten up in his hand and Dean comes. He feels it land on his cheek and across the bridge of his nose and on his lips. He feels Dean take himself in hand and wipe the sensitive tip of his cock against Cas’ cheek as he catches his breath.

The water is nearly ice cold by the time they get out, and they decide that getting dressed would be a waste of time.

Together they go outside and collect Cas’ paints and easel from the backyard, but so much bending over results in the boys rolling around in the grass once again, and only the fireflies witness how filthy they get.

Chapter Text

T is for Teacher

Castiel Novak has been working at Lawrence High School for five years. He teaches a few core English classes as well as various creative writing electives. He demands a lot from his students, and kids coming into one of his creative writing classes thinking that they’ll be able to scribble a few adjectives on a piece of paper and get an easy A are sorely disappointed.

He teaches mostly junior and senior students and a few of the younger students in advanced-placement, and he likes it that way. He didn’t have to help kids through the awkward frustration of entering high school and instead got to watch the excitement of getting the hell out of high school.

“New term, new shit-heads,” Miss Masters laments over coffee in the teacher’s lounge the morning before the first bell of the first day of the third term begins.

“That’s the spirit!” Miss Bradbury chimes in sarcastically, trying as always to keep the spirits high.

“Does anyone else have that Winchester boy? Talk about a shit-head.” Mr. MacLeod pinches the bridge of his nose. “He’s a nightmare. Caught him in my supply closet with his tongue down Bela Talbot’s throat. Twice.”

Castiel, excuse me, Mr. Novak, didn’t recognize the name at the time, but once he got back to his classroom saw the name Winchester, Dean on his 5th period Junior’s Creative Writing class roster. Mr. Novak has dealt with all types of students before, but when Fergus MacLeod thinks a student is a handful…


When bell signaling the start of 5th period goes off, students are still filing in and finding their seats. A few of the kids are familiar and have taken one or two of his classes before, and some he recognizes from the various sports teams or student council, but most of them are new faces.

“Okay everybody, welcome in. If you could all find a seat so we can get started…” he says over the shuffle of backpacks and chairs and mumbles.

“First things first – roll call. Please say ‘here’ when your name is called.” He works his way through the list, adding a check mark next to all the students who say ‘here’ and an X next to the names that don’t receive a response. He clears his throat and reads the final name on the list. “Winchester, Dean.”


A boy who looks like trouble grins when Castiel looks at him. Ah, yes. That Winchester boy.

He adds a check next to the boy’s name and continues with the class, introducing himself, explaining the classroom expectations, and going over the syllabus. He makes sure that everyone has a copy of the required textbook.

The rest of the class goes by without a hitch, and Castiel spends his free period preparing his lessons for the next day.


The hum of spring is in the air at Lawrence High and both students and faculty are getting antsy for the summer.

Everything is business as usual, except for that Dean Winchester kid.

He can’t put his finger on it, but there’s something different about him.

He was smart – that was clear – and he got all of his assignments in on time. They were well done but rushed, and Castiel wondered what the kid would be capable of if he just applied himself a little more. He thought about approaching the subject with Dean after class on a few occasions, but he found himself getting a little nervous and tongue-tied just thinking about talking to the boy alone.

He’s not sure what that’s all about, but he doesn’t trust it.

On Thursday after class, Dean is slow to pack up his things after the bell. Castiel sees that he’s stalling, and an uncomfortable panic curls in his gut as the boy approaches his desk after all the other students have left the room.

“Mr. Novak?”

“Yes Dean? Do you have a question about the assignment?”

“No, uh, actually I have a sorta personal question to ask you.”

Oh God.

Luckily Castiel has always had a hell of a poker face, so he doesn’t need to try too hard to hide his alarm.

“Nothing too personal, I hope.” He clasps his hands over the desk and sits motionlessly, hoping that maybe if he’s still enough Dean will forget that he’s even there and leave.

“It’s just that there’s a rumor I’ve heard,” he pauses briefly, “about you…” The boy looks almost nervous, but continues. “That you’re gay.”

Oh boy.

Castiel came out early on in high school; being an artist, a poet, and a thespian at a private school in San Francisco – it didn’t really come as much of a shock to anyone. But even these days, in this somewhat rural part of the country, he still occasionally feels the need to be careful – to protect himself and his sexuality from certain types, and while Dean doesn’t seem to be as close-minded as some of the boys he walked with in the halls or sits with during class, it is always hard to tell what a kid was raised to believe.

He also wasn’t sure it was appropriate to have this conversation with a male student he may have accidentally had impure thoughts about once or twice while his mind wandered during class.

“I am a gay man, yes.” He says finally. He tries to read Dean’s features as he says this, but the kid has one hell of a poker face as well. “Is that a problem?”

“No!” Dean seems affronted by the question. “No, it’s really not. I-I was just wondering if it was true. Thanks Mr. Novak.” The boy turns on his heels and heads for the door.

“You’re welcome…” Castiel responds as Dean rushes out of the room, although he isn’t sure why he’s being thanked in the first place.


Three weeks into spring term and there’s a vicious flu going around. Quite a few students are missing, leaving various seats in his classes open. Becky Rosen in his 5th period class is absent, and Castiel is surprised when he sees that Dean Winchester has taken up residence in her vacated seat in the front row. He can feel Dean’s eyes on him for the entire period, and for some reason he finds himself looking down at the boy more often than usual during his lesson.

There’s a dangerous looking grin on Dean’s face while takes notes.

When Becky comes back later that week she begrudgingly takes the seat behind Dean, who remains a distraction in the front row.


Spring term week six; it’s Monday when Castiel finds a red apple on his desk before his free period.

The same thing happens on Tuesday.

And on Wednesday.

And Thursday, too.

And on Friday he’s in the cafeteria during lunch grabbing some milk for the faculty refrigerator when he sees Dean with an untouched red apple on his tray. When Dean sees him eyeing the incriminating piece of fruit, a soft blush rises on his cheeks, but he grins that cocky, shit-eating grin and Castiel bolts from the cafeteria.

He gets an apple on his desk every day until finals.


The next school year begins the same as it always does: with an influx of baby-faced freshmen and a cocky coterie of jaded seniors.

One of those seniors is Dean Winchester, who Castiel sees is in his 3rd period AP creative writing class. He tries to ignore the small spark of excitement he feels when he reads the name on the roster, just like he spent the summer ignoring any lingering thoughts of the boy when he’d pick up apples at the farmer’s market.

When Dean walks through his door a minute before the 3rd period bell, Castiel tries not to let his eyes linger on the boy’s form that has grown taller and just a bit broader during the summer months. His arms and cheeks are sun-kissed and freckled and Castiel’s mouth goes dry when Dean looks up at him and gives him that bashful anything-but-innocent smirk that has been haunting his dreams.

Well fuck.


By the second week of the term Castiel is going mad.

Dean has resumed his seat in the front row, and periodically while Castiel lectures his students on pattern and variation in poetry or meter and scansion of aural descriptors, Dean will fidget in his seat, spreading his legs wide and closing them again. The motion could easily be written off as restlessness, but with the way he looks up at Castiel through his long eyelashes, or chews on the tip of his pen while he does it… there is no subtlety left in the gesture.

Once, during a quiet moment of class while the students were working on a quick in-class assignment, Castiel stole short glances of Dean working. The boy was focused on writing, but occasionally he’d lift the pen from the paper and tap it against his bottom lip. And sometimes the pink point of his tongue would peak out and swipe across the chewed-up cap. Castiel doesn’t realize that he’s mirroring Dean’s movements with his own pen until Dean looks right at him and, with the pen still between his teeth, smiles brightly at Castiel in a way that screams ha, caught you.


It’s during the fourth week of the term that Castiel is surprised with a singing telegram for his 30th birthday courtesy of the schools a cappella group and Miss Bradbury’s evil scheming.

Of course this mortifyingly embarrassing event occurs during his 3rd period class, and even over his furiously burning cheeks, while the group sings an a cappella version of The Beatles ‘Birthday’ song and Miss Bradbury forces Castiel into a party hat, he can see Dean laughing and clapping along with the rest of the class.

The rest of the period is forgotten as Miss Bradbury has also brought a cake. Castiel hardly remembers to ask everyone to turn in the previous days’ assignment before the bell rings.

As students file out, dropping their papers into the basket on his desk as they chatter and laugh their way out of the room, Castiel sits in his chair and continues munching on his piece of cake. When Dean makes his way to his desk he laughs a little bit and says, “Happy birthday, Mr. Novak.” Then he glances up at something over Castiel’s head and chuckles, biting his lip.

Castiel is suddenly very aware that he’s still wearing a party hat. He rips it off his head immediately, but it’s too late and Dean laughs and shakes his head as he follows the rest of his peers into the hallway.


It’s late – or later than Castiel generally makes himself grade papers – but he’s found that he keeps getting distracted with thoughts of green eyes and freckles so it’s taking longer than usual.

The assignment he’s grading was to “Write a brief descriptive essay OR poem about a memorable experience. Over-pack it with detail. Make me see/hear/taste/smell/feel what you experienced using between 500-1000 words, which means you must make each word count.” This one was always a challenge for his students, but “Brevity is the soul of wit” he told them. Only two students understood the reference.

His home is quiet and it’s nearly 8:30pm when he reaches the final mid-term of his 3rd period class, and the two glasses of whiskey he’s been nursing since he got home does absolutely nothing to squelch the shock that a quick glance at the title gives him.

Wet Dream
By Dean Winchester

“Fuck me.” Castiel groans aloud to no one but himself and the devil he most certainly will be meeting sooner rather than later.

It certainly wasn’t going to win a Pulitzer any time soon, but Dean’s essay was definitely going to aid in getting Castiel off in the next five minutes.


How Castiel made it through the end of the term alive he’ll never know. After grading Dean’s midterm (and destroying it once he submitted the grade and a note saying that the paper had been “misplaced”) he could hardly look at the boy anymore. Every time he so much as glanced at Dean he’d get images in his head – images that could get him fired – that made it nearly impossible to get through an entire lesson without getting an erection.

But finally Castiel could relax a little. Sure, Dean Winchester is still in the building somewhere, but at least he isn’t sitting directly in front him, teasing him with something Castiel can never, ever have.


Football season in Lawrence is a big deal and after six years of avoiding it, Castiel is finally recruited to supervise the student section of the stadium at the last five home games, along with Mr. Turner, Mrs. Blake, and Mrs. Mills.

Castiel never had an interest in sports, let alone a sport that encourages kids to partake in such blatant violence.

Oh well, at least he’d get some fresh air.

What he didn’t realize is that Dean is on the football team, and much to his surprise, early on in the game as he is making his rounds through the front of the student section, the offensive line comes jogging to the sidelines and directly in front of him, pulling off his helmet and catching his breath, is Dean Winchester.

Castiel can’t help but stare as the boy’s cheeks were a lovely pink from exertion, and he was close enough to see the sweat drip from his hairline.

Dean is talking intensely with one of his teammates, but the moment his eyes land on Castiel – who is standing amidst of the chaos that is the student section with his eyes transfixed on the boy in the number 17 jersey – he smiles and winks.

Dean Winchester winked at him.

Castiel is a dead man.


When Castiel sees Dean’s name on the roster for his 4th period Poetry 180 class he prays for the first time in years.

He’s pretty sure all he gets in response is a laugh.


It’s the end of the first week of the second term, and so-far so-good. He’s had very limited interaction with Dean, despite the boy taking up his normal seat at the front of the class. He thinks that if he keeps it up he just might make it to summer without getting thrown in prison.

So what if he goes home and masturbates to the thought of wide green eyes looking up at him and soft, supple skin under his fingertips…

Fuck. Fuck.

No one has to know.


It’s a day.

It doesn’t even matter which one.

It must be a weekday because he’s at work. And it must be cold because Dean wore his gray full-zip hoody to class today. When Castiel walked by his desk he could smell the faint sweetness of laundry detergent that was probably woven into the fibers of the thing.

Thank God he’s finally made it to his free period. He’s locked himself away in his classroom pretending to grade papers but really trying to compose himself when he hears a faint knock at the door.

Irritated, he peels himself from his chair and opens the door to Dean’s perfect goddamn smiling face.

“Dean.” he says dumbly, before schooling his features and his breath.

“Hi Mr. Novak. Can I come in?”

No. No, absolutely not.

“Of course, please…” He opens the door wide and removes himself from the doorway to allow Dean inside. Castiel flinches as the door clicks closed with finality. He’s vaguely aware of the fact that the damn thing locks automatically and that he’s not necessarily supposed to have students in here when it’s closed but…

“I’m having a problem. I was hoping you could help me with it.”

“With the assignment?”

“Not exactly.” Dean walks to the desk he occupies during class and slides confidently into the seat. Castiel feels less confident as he follows and leans back against his own desk in front of Dean, hoping that he still carries some air of authority or maturity or something besides the obnoxious itch he’s felt for this boy for months. A bead of sweat rolls down his spine because suddenly it’s incredibly hot in here.

“You see, I turned 18 today, and you didn’t wish me a happy birthday.”

Castiel can’t hear anything but circus music in his head for a full five seconds before he’s able to piece together any type of response.

“Is, uh,” he clears his throat. “Is that right? Well, um, happy birthday Dean.”

Dean taps his fingers on the desk, finally looking a little nervous.

“Uh, don’t you have a present for me?”

This can’t be happening.


The boy gets up from behind the desk and stands directly in front of Castiel. That sickly sweet scent of fabric softener fills his lungs and he feels dizzy from it and wonders briefly if Dean has somehow poisoned him because the next words out of his mouth are, “What do you want?”

It’s hardly more than a whisper but it gets Dean’s attention as the boy moves closer to him.

“Show me, Mr. Novak.”

“Show you…” Castiel has to clear his throat when Dean begins to finger at the bottom hem of his vest. “Show you what?” Something instinctual makes him take Dean’s hands in his. He tries to push them away but he’s unable to actually let go.

Dean looks up at Castiel through his eyelashes with such a sincere look of want and innocence that even if he wouldn’t have spoken, Castiel’s last thread of resolve would have snapped like an old thread.

“Show me what it’s like to be with a man.”


“Oh God Dean…” After months and months of wanting and dreaming and pretending, he finally allows himself to claim those pink, pouty lips with his own.

And it is glorious.

Dean kisses him back with a startling hunger; so eager and willing but unpracticed in how to bridle that energy. He moves his body against Castiel’s until he cannot possibly get any closer, and Castiel can feel how the boy is practically vibrating against him. He takes Dean’s face in his hands and holds him still, kissing him and calming him and grounding him, but then he feels him grope clumsily at the growing bulge in his pants and suddenly Castiel is the one who needs grounding.

He pulls back and takes a breath, trying to think of what the fuck he’s supposed to do next.

Apparently what he is supposed to do next is attach himself to Dean’s throat to bite, kiss, and lick his way around his jaw.

“I’ve got…” Dean tries so hard to speak, but when Castiel grabs at the plump cheeks of Dean’s ass he stutters and lets out the most beautiful little moan Castiel has ever heard. “I have lube in my backpack… n’ condoms…”

Castiel can’t form words, so instead he spins them around and presses Dean into his heavy wooden desk. The papers he was grading are still spread out and covering the desktop, but that doesn’t stop him from lifting Dean and setting him right on top of it.

Dean doesn’t even hesitate in wrapping his legs around Castiel’s waist and their kissing becomes even more frantic now that they can feel the heat of each other through their pants. When their clothed erections grind against each other Castiel can’t help but moan into the boy’s mouth but it’s nothing compared to the sound Dean makes.

What the fuck am I doing?

What he is doing is gripping underneath Dean’s thighs and pulling him even closer, rolling his body into the young boy’s to try and get him to make that delicious fucking sound again.

He feels Dean wrap his arms around his neck and press into him. Castiel can’t stop himself from exploring the young body in front of him, so while he plunders Dean’s mouth with his own, his hands begin to roam. He slides them up underneath Dean’s shirt. That first feeling of smooth, warm skin makes him want to cry, and he slowly traces his fingertips around Dean’s narrow waist, the boy’s soft tummy jumping a bit when he grazes it with his thumbs. He scratches lightly up Dean’s ribs and then wraps his hands around to the boy’s back and pulls them closer together, chest-to-chest.

When his hands wander down Dean’s back and his fingers dip below the waistline of his jeans, Dean groans, arching his back and rolling forward just enough to invite Castiel’s hands farther down his backside.

How’s he supposed to resist that?

Castiel allows his right hand to continue down until he feels the warmth of the boys crack, and as he continues on even farther he feels Dean begin to tremble.

When his finger grazes over Dean’s tight, virgin hole, the boy lets out a full-on shudder and buries his face in Castiel’s neck, his breath coming in hot, wet bursts against his skin.

He can’t take the boy like this. Not here on this hard desk. No. Dean deserves to be spread out on soft satin sheets and opened up on Castiel’s tongue until he’s writhing and dripping and begging for it. He deserves to be shown just how good it can be before he’s taken rough and dirty in a stuffy classroom.

“Shhh,” Castiel finds himself soothing the boy even as he continues to rub over Dean’s hole. He feels it quiver against his fingertip and his eyes roll back thinking about what that would feel like around his throbbing member. “We’re not going to do that. Not today. Relax, Dean. It’s alright.” It’s the calmest he’s felt around Dean in months. He supposes having the boy wrapped around him has sort of taken the edge off.

“’kay.” He hears Dean say into his shoulder. “Next time?”

“Next time.” Castiel smiles and pulls his hand out of Dean’s jeans, resting it at the small of his back.

“I still want…” he looks up and Castiel can see that Dean almost looks afraid, as if since they’re not going to do that Castiel might make them stop.

“What do you want?” he sooths his hand up and down Dean’s back. Hell, the boy could ask him for the moon right now and he’d do his damndest to deliver.

“Can I…” Dean’s hands drop from Castiel’s shoulders to his hips, and he fiddles with the buckle of his belt while looking up nervously.

“Yes.” Castiel’s mouth feels dry, and frankly it was a laborious effort to not scream fuck yes please God yes!

Dean’s hands shake lightly, but he makes surprisingly quick work of the belt, button, and zipper of Castiel’s slacks. The release in pressure seems like a miracle, but when Dean’s hand works Castiel’s dick out of his boxer-briefs he thinks he might die right then and there. He lets out a huff of breath and captures Dean’s lips in another kiss before practically tearing open Dean’s jeans. Somehow he’s able to get the button and zipper undone enough to reach in and oh God

Dean’s cock feels perfect in his hand. It’s slender and hot and silky smooth. He strokes it gently, feeling like if he goes to fast he’ll spook the boy.

It’s so good – the slow, unhurried strokes they give each other – but it’s not enough; the tiny whimpers and whines that are coming from Dean’s beautiful mouth are enough to make that clear.

“Come here,” Castiel says, wrapping his arms around Dean and scooting him even closer to him until he’s more wrapped around Castiel than he is actually on the desk. Dean’s legs tighten around his waist and it makes their cocks brush together, just like Castiel knew it would.

“Oh!” Dean’s surprise at the sensation makes Castiel smile into the next kiss he steals from the boy. It’s wonderful, kissing Dean, but this time it’s a distraction from what comes next.

Nothing could prepare Castiel for the full body reaction he gets when he takes both of their dicks in one hand and squeezes them together. Dean’s so responsive it’s as if he’s never been touched before in his life.

A breathy “Mr. Novak!” escapes Dean’s lips, and Castiel groans.

Show me what it’s like to be with a man.

Dean is looking down, watching as Castiel’s fist starts to pump them together. There’s a look of pure wonder on Dean’s face as he watches and experiences this kind of pleasure for the first time.

Castiel begins to move his hips, grinding himself against Dean and creating the friction that feels so good. A clear bead of precome leaks from his tip, and with his next thrust it is spread between them, adding to the sensations of heat and sex and now.

Dean looks up, his eyes wide and in awe.

Show me.

“Give me your hand,” he says. Dean complies without hesitation and Castiel guides it to their cocks. He places his larger hand over Dean’s and together they begin to stroke. Castiel continues to slowly thrust against him. “Yes, Dean… oh, God…”

“This feels…” Whatever Dean was going to say is interrupted with a moan instead. Castiel wraps his free arm around Dean’s waist and pulls them impossibly closer together, uncaring that they’re going to get come on their clothes because he’s finally got Dean here so why would he possibly care about anything else?

Their combined fists speed up and the heat it creates is hardly tolerable. Castiel feels like he might burst into flames at any moment, but Dean beats him there, letting out a surprised yelp as he comes suddenly over their fingers, cock twitching forcefully with each emission. Between the look of complete astonishment on Dean’s face and the unimaginable heat of his release, Castiel doesn’t stand a chance and he comes hard with a gasp immediately afterwards.

It’s quiet in the room. There’s nothing but the sound of the two of them catching their breath. Castiel knows he should start to panic at this point, but he can’t. He should clean them up and get Dean the hell out of there and bribe him to never tell a living soul what they’ve done…

But Dean is still looking down at the mess they’ve made of each other, and whether consciously or not he licks his lips then looks up at Castiel as if to ask what now?

And Castiel is a bad, bad man because instead of cleaning the boy up and sending him home right then, he lifts his hand that’s practically dripping with their come and brushes his slick thumb against Dean’s bottom lip. The boy, so willing, opens his mouth and takes Castiel’s thumb between his lips, swirling his tongue around and sucking their combined flavor from the digit. He leans in and kisses Dean, tasting nothing but the saltiness of their release on the boy’s lips.

“Happy birthday,” he whispers against the boy’s mouth.

Dean just grins and pulls him in for another sloppy kiss.


The following day, Castiel isn’t sure what to expect. It hadn’t exactly been awkward after their tryst last night, but he can’t pretend that he didn’t toss and turn all night thinking about what it would be like when he’d see Dean the next day.

As the students file into his classroom before the 4th period bell, Castiel nervously busies himself writing some notes up on the whiteboard to avoid staring at the door waiting for Dean to walk in. When he turns around as the bell rings, he sees that almost all of his students have taken their seats, including Dean, who is looking at him with the same shit-eating grin as always.

The boy nods toward Castiel’s desk and Castiel glances down, seeing a shiny red apple and a small piece of paper next to it folded in half. He picks up the paper, opens it, and reads only one word.


He clears his throat and looks around the room. Most students are on their phones or talking to each other. A few are pulling their notebooks out of their bags. No one is paying him any attention...

Except for Dean, who stares at him, waiting for an answer.

When he nods, and Dean’s grin stretches into a wide smile, Castiel knows for certain that he’s going to straight to hell.

He doesn’t really care, though.


It’s much easier to focus during the next school year as Dean has gone off to college and isn’t a constant distraction in his classroom - although he does miss seeing those bright green eyes in the front row every day.

And, he supposes the term gone off to college isn’t necessarily accurate considering Dean got into KU and is only about a mile away from Lawrence High.

Sure they had fun fooling around in the classroom after school, even though it made Castiel feel like a total creep.

“Dude, I’m 18. It’s not even a big deal anymore.” Dean would say, and then he’d bat his eyelashes and call Castiel Mr. Novak and all bets would be off…

Well, all bets except for one: Castiel stood firm in his refusal to actually make love to Dean before he graduated high school. And it wasn’t easy, especially given the way Dean would continually tease him and beg him and push him right to his breaking point over and over…

They had planned on seeing each other the weekend after graduation to finally, you know, but at 2AM the morning after the graduation ceremony there was a knock on Castiel’s door, and when he was finally able to drag his ass out of bed and open the door, there stood Dean, reverting back to the same shy yet determined boy who wanted Castiel to teach him everything. Castiel thought that maybe he was dreaming, but it turned out to be very, very real.

That had been a really great night.

Now they steal weekends away together, and occasionally Dean will stay at Castiel’s house on nights when it’s not completely necessary for them to get a good night’s sleep.


“I think I’ve decided on a major.” Dean tells Castiel one evening as they lay on the couch watching TV in Castiel’s living room.

“Oh yeah? Well you’re going into your third year so that’s probably a good thing.” Castiel chides. Dean had gone back and forth on majors and had been declared “undecided” for months now. “What are you thinking?”

“Education.” Dean says without hesitation, and then adds “I think I want to teach, kinda like you… except I won’t sleep with my students.”

“You ass. It was only the one student and we didn’t sleep together until after you graduated.” Castiel smacks Dean hard on the thigh and Dean laughs. “If that’s what you want to study I think you should go for it. I’ve always enjoyed it…”

“Probably because you slept with a student…”

“Okay, you know what...?” Castiel jabs hard at Dean’s ribs, which turns to tickling that soon turns into wrestling and laughing which devolves quickly and ends with both men being thoroughly fucked out on the living room floor.

Chapter Text

U is for Under a Spell

This isn’t the first time that Dean wakes up in a strange hotel room with a warm body wrapped around him and no recollection of how he got there – but this is the first time it’s happened without a raging hangover to accompany it. He’s groggy like he just slept for fifteen hours straight, but whatever happened last night definitely wasn’t brought to him in part by alcohol.

So, why can’t he remember?

He shrugs it off because right now it really doesn’t matter – he’s the Little Spoon, and Dean’s always been a closet-cuddler so if this stranger wants to indulge him than he’s not going to fight it. He wiggles backwards a little, trying to get closer to whoever-it-is, when he starts to realize a few small, very telling details.

First, his bare legs are tangled back around this other person’s bare legs – this other person’s hairy legs.

He realizes this about the same time he notices that the strength of the arms holding him is a little more than what he’d expect from a sleeping woman.

And then of course there’s the soft, warm penis that’s currently nestled against his thigh.

Okay, so maybe Dean wasn’t just a closet-cuddler and maybe he’s no longer in that closet either. Neat-o.

He wiggles his hips a little more to get a feel for the…

“Dean stop moving.”

It doesn’t matter that he is told to stop moving – hearing that voice say anything from directly behind him at that moment would have caused the same reaction. Dean’s pretty sure his blood has even stopped pumping through his veins...


Thoughts race through Dean’s mind; how did this happen? Is this real or is this another fucking djinn? Did we finally…?

“Please don’t move. It’s for your own safety.”

Telling Dean not to do something is a surefire way to get Dean to do the thing, and Cas knows this and tightens his grasp.

That’s when Dean realizes that he’s not being cuddled – he’s being restrained – and he starts to struggle because “What the hell Cas!”

“Dean, please. I’ll explain just stop trying to escape.”

“Did we…?” Dean cannot actually believe he’s asking this, but considering he’s waking up naked next to a guy he’s definitely had some very gay thoughts about… “Did we, uh,” He can’t even finish the question. Luckily Cas shows some mercy.

“No.” Dean exhales in relief (and disappointment, but he ignores that part) and Cas loosens his hold slightly, but scoots forward until he’s flush with Dean once again. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Thinking back, everything does seem a little fuzzy. He remembers being in the bunker and loading up the Impala for a hunt. Sammy was there, and Bobby too. They were in the car.

“I remember driving. Sammy, Bobby; we were heading to Utah. Dude, can we put some clothes on?” It’s so distracting feeling the heat from Cas’ vessel behind him.

“No. I-I’m sorry. What else do you remember?”

Dean thinks for a moment and then remembers, “There was a witch killing off sleazebag husbands in Salt Lake City. We found a hex bag in one of the guys’ cars. That’s, uh, that’s it. That’s all I remember. You mind telling me why we’re spooning in a shitty hotel room? And where the hell is Sammy?”

“Sam and Bobby are both fine. They are staying three rooms down from us. Sam called for me shortly after the witch cursed you.”

“I was cursed?”

“Yes. She must have sensed you coming because she was ready with a very potent, very lethal spell the moment you walked in the door. You were hit with a, uh, a type of love spell.”

Oh fuck.

“What kind of love spell?” Dean’s nervous now.

“Evidently she was a fan of the Supernatural books and their subtext. She thought she was being funny…”

“What’s the spell, Cas?”

“Sam was able to understand enough of it as it was happening, and he prayed for me right away once you went down…”

“Cas, c’mon man just tell me what the hell happened.”

“She bound your soul to me, or rather she ‘bound the soul of the fool to the grace of the angel’ according to Sam.”

“So, what does that mean exactly?”

“It means that if we break physical contact your soul will attempt to separate from your body and it will be excruciating, so that’s why I’m going to ask you again to stop moving.”

Shit. Okay.

There were definitely worse curses he could have been hit with. Hell, he was lucky. But this still sucked… sort of.

“Do we really have to be naked?”

“I found that skin-on-skin contact was the best defense for now. When we were clothed you were restless and kept making horrible sounds, but when I touched your skin directly you seemed to settle down. I didn’t have the opportunity to ask for your consent, but Sam said to do whatever I had to do to make sure you were okay and I promised him I would. I’m sorry Dean.”

Fucking Sammy Dean thinks. Of course his brother would drag Cas into this mess.

“Don’t be sorry, man. Ain’t your fault.” Dean says and takes a deep breath. This really isn’t Cas’ fault, so there’s no point in getting upset at the guy. And besides, he’s literally found himself in a position that he’s thought about, hell, dreamed about, more than once. What’s so awful about that? “Any idea how to reverse the curse?”

“Sam did some research and he’s fairly certain that the spell will break once the witch is dead. He and Bobby are out right now trying to find her. They will let us know the moment they kill her if it’s not obvious in some other form immediatly.”

In the silence of the hotel room they lie perfectly still. Dean can’t feel the heartbeat or breath of the man behind him; just the immense heat of an angelic form barely contained within its vessel. Cas has always been warm but Dean has never been so close to the angel that he’s felt it like this.

He’s distracted, thinking about the expanses of bare skin he can feel but cannot see as the silence between them stretches out beyond what should be comfortable. Dean hopes briefly that Cas isn’t reading his mind.

Time goes by and Dean gets bored – he’s restless and hungry and horny, and then a random thought crosses his mind.

“What happens when I have to take a piss?”

“I can carry you to the bathroom…” Dean laughs aloud at that image and muttersyeah right as Cas continues, “or I can use my grace to empty your bladder.”

It’s ridiculous, but there’s no use arguing. He can’t fight the strength of the angel, and even if he wanted to get away from this situation (which he realizes he really, really doesn’t), he knows that Cas wouldn’t dick him around like this unless it was serious. The pain was bad enough that it knocked him out for what, a full day and a half? This curse isn’t messing around.

Shortly after that brief exchange something very specific… something very dangerous – begins stirring in Dean’s groin. He ignores it for as long as he can, or at least until he feels Cas stir behind him and he’s being poked in the back of the thigh with what is very clearly an angel boner.

Cas groans softly and the soft breath of it tickles the fine hairs on the back of Dean’s neck.


“I-I’m sorry Dean.” The angel’s hips start to move against him and he’s glad that no one is around to see his face as he feels Cas’ dick brush up behind his balls. “There’s a slight caveat to our- our situation. It seems that while skin-on-skin contact is what is keeping your soul inside of you it’s having certain adverse effects on me.”

“What kind of ‘adverse effects’?” Dean thinks he already knows, judging by the way Castiel is practically vibrating behind him.

“The second part of the curse, loosely translated, is and they shall lie naked together until their loins are barren or they shall parish in each other’s arms.” Cas swallows and slides his hips forward again. Dean feels the slick wet trail of precome against his skin.

“Well son of a bitch.” It might be a reaction to their predicament, or it could be a reaction to the feeling of Cas rubbing himself against his ass, but son of a bitch.

“My grace…” Cas tightens his grip on Dean and splays his hand across Dean’s stomach, “I’ve been using it to keep this, this feeling, at bay, but it’s nearly exhausted, Dean… I-I can’t…”

And then Dean feels warm, wet lips pressing open kisses against his shoulder blade and a hot tongue sweep across his skin.

“I’m sorry, I know that you…” Cas interrupts himself with a moan – an actual moan – in Dean’s ear as his dick finds friction between Dean’s thighs. “You don’t feel this way towards men… towards me…” Another moan, although this one sounds almost sad and Dean just can’t have that.

“Shows what you know.” He says, because why try to fight it at this point? Everything he’s been too scared to ask for has been wrapped up for him with a pretty little bow on top and Dean’s never been one to punch a gift horse in the face. To get his point across Dean squeezes his thighs together, rolls his hips back into Cas and savors the deep, dark sound that comes from the angel.

“Are you sure?” Once an angel, always an angel – the guy won’t do a damn thing without complete consent.

“Pretty damn sure, Cas. Just, uh, be careful. I’ve never done this before.”

“Dean we can… I mean, I can…” He can feel Cas battling with himself – the guy is rutting up against Dean but trying so hard not to. “I’m sure there’s another way. There’s always another way. We don’t have to…”

“Hey man, just because I haven’t done it doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about it.”

The angel goes completely still.

“You’ve thought about it?”

Dean’s stomach twists with the deep gravel of Cas’ voice right then.

“Well, yeah. A little.” Dean’s not normally a shy guy, but this is so new, and it’s Cas.

“You’ve thought about me?” Cas’ hips start to move again with more emphasis. “You’ve thought about this?”

“Yeah,” Dean nervously guides Cas’ hand that’s been pressing against his stomach and lowers it, “And this.” He encourages Cas to wrap his fingers around him and begins to slowly move into his loose fist.

At first it isn’t how Dean always imagined; when Cas starts nudging at him with clumsy, unpracticed fingers (and what he can only imagine is lube he mojo’d from thin air), its uncomfortable at best. There’s a burn and a stretch and it feels like they’re doing it wrong. It doesn’t feel how the guys in the videos always make it look – like it’s just mind-blowing prostate-slamming ecstasy right from the start.

But Cas – he’s trying so hard to keep Dean’s focus on what feels good even while most of what he’s feeling is awkward discomfort. He’s kissing the back of Dean’s neck and shoulders and softly stroking his flagging erection.

And then he says, “I’m sorry, Dean.”

He sounds so low, so embarrassed, and Dean realizes that he is clumsy and unpracticed; this is so new for both of them, how could it be anything but clumsy their first time?

“Hey, hey man, it’s okay. You’re learning. We both are. We’ll figure it out…” Dean reaches back and puts his hand on whatever part of Cas he can reach, which turns out to be his thigh which he tries to pat reassuringly.

“We’ll make it up as we go.” Cas says, repeating the same phrase from years before; the phrase that made Dean realize he could really, truly trust Cas.

“Yeah. Exactly.” Dean grins, and together they find a rhythm that works.

Dean’s discomfort starts to edge more on pleasure, and then when Cas has two fingers in him deep, he bends them just so and those fabled sparks light up behind Dean’s eyes. “Oh shit!” he cries out, “Do that again!”

Cas’ excitement is palpable as he holds Dean a little tighter and crooks his fingers again in that same spot. Dean’s whole body reacts.

It takes time but eventually Dean feels that he’s loose enough when Cas has been working four fingers in and out of him for a while. His cock is leaking into Cas' hand as the angel hasn’t stopped squeezing and rubbing and stroking him.

“Cas, c’mon… I’m ready…” he’s breathless and beyond ready, and judging by the groan from behind him, he’s not the only one.

Cas is silent as he lines himself up with Dean’s hole, and he feels huge. There’s pressure, and it’s uncomfortable again but Cas’ hand is gently cradling his balls as he pushes in, and in, and finally, finally, the head of his dick pops in and Dean feels his muscles reflexively clench around it.

Cas is panting behind him and completely still as Dean wills his body to relax.

Then Cas starts to move a little, going deeper, and then a little more, and Dean feels so full but he wants it all. “Keep going Cas, please…” he encourages, unaware of how desperate he sounds, and finally he feels the soft brush of Cas’ pelvis against his ass. For such a small amount of movement, what they’ve just done feels monumental. “You alright back there?” He asks, barely able to find his goddamn voice.

He feels Cas nod and press his open mouth to his shoulder. No sound comes out as the angel trembles and tightens his arms around Dean’s chest.

Dean pivots his hips, moving away slightly, then slowly sinks back onto Cas. There’s a sound – a deep growl of pleasure that comes from the angel – and it nearly undoes Dean right then and there. He repeats the motion, rolling his body and feeling that hot drag of Cas inside him. He wants to scream and cry with how good, how right this feels, but he bites his pillow instead and tries to silently convince Cas to make this hurt at least a little. He can’t take this whole soft and slow… thing. With how gently and thoughtfully Cas opened him up he’s a little worried that what they’re going to end up doing could be considered love-making and he just isn’t that type of guy – Dean Winchester doesn’t make love despite whether or not he’s actually in love…

He needn’t have worried though because before he realizes what’s happening he’s being rolled over and pushed face-down into the mattress. Cas stays close, of course, his whole body pressing down from behind except for the sudden, hard pistoning of his hips and oh God! it feels so goddamn good! The drag of Cas' cock, the stretch as he feels himself opening for it every time, the constant desire for more… it’s unreal.

Cas holds Dean’s wrists against the bed. Like I’m going anywhere...

There’s a burst of white behind Dean’s eyes as Cas punches directly into that sweet spot.

“Holy shit! Oh, fucking shit!”

His orgasm sneaks up on him. He thinks for a moment that maybe he just has to pee really bad, and then it feels really good, and then his orgasm is forced out of him with a particularly harsh pound of Cas’ hips that rocks him to his core. He screams into the pillow, and his toes curl so hard they cramp and his whole body goes rigid and then lax in the span of a few seconds that feels like so much longer…

Dean had never experienced anything like that before. That was… that was something else.

“Dean? Dean are you alright?” Cas’ quiet, concerned tone hovers somewhere above Dean, but he can hardly process it. Of course he’s alright! How could he be anything but absolutely fucking alright right now? He’s only able to answer with a squeaky hurmmpf sound, to which Castiel replies “I don’t understand what that means. Are you hurt? Did I hurt you?”

Dean turns his head so he’s not muffled by the pillow. “That…” he takes a breath, “that was awesome.”

“Oh. Okay. That’s good.” Cas’ body relaxes a little, but not completely, and Dean realizes that he’s still buried in Dean’s ass and hard as a rock.

“You didn’t…” finish, is what Dean tries to say, but Cas interrupts.

“You screamed. I was afraid I was hurting you.”

“’m fine, Cas. It was a good scream.”

Dean feels Cas rest his head between his shoulder blades. The poor guy thought he was hurting Dean when he was really rocking his goddamn world.

“Can I…?” Cas asks after what seems like ages.

“Yeah. C’mon.” Dean tries to push back to encourage him, God fucking yes he can keep going, but all of his muscles have apparently turned into jelly.

Cas is quiet as he starts moving again, but as the angel picks up his rhythm, every breath has something heavy behind it. His whole body is so aware of everything in those first few moments that he swears he can feel Cas’ grace buzzing just under the surface of his skin.

And then his mind goes blank and can’t think at all. He can only feel. He can only feel every single twitch and vibration of Cas’ body. He can only feel heat and sweat and pleasure that’s bordering on pain and it’s so good. Every inch of him is so over-sensitized and each movement feels so much bigger than it is.

Finally, just as Dean is certain that his whole body is going to combust, he feels Cas go stiff, his cock twitching hard, so deep inside him in a place he’s never been touched before, and with each spasm of hot release, there’s a whisper of Dean’s name on Cas’ lips.

The angel collapses on top of him and growls, spent and heavy, and Dean reaches back over his shoulder to tangle his fingers in Cas’ sweaty hair. “It’s okay buddy. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

It takes a little maneuvering but eventually Cas is able to pull out and roll the two of them out of the wet spot on the bed. Cas stays curled around Dean, and Dean is grateful for it.

The two of them are quiet for a long time, and perfectly still except for Dean’s thumb rubbing circles against Cas’ arm where its wrapped around his middle. He doesn’t remember the sheet being pulled up over them, but he’s comfortable. Very comfortable. In fact, Dean’s not sure he’s ever been this comfortable with someone in bed before.

“How are you?” Cas’ rough whisper is felt more than heard and it sends shivers down Dean’s spine.

Now he could hide behind sarcasm and annoyance which is as normal to him as breathing is at this point, but Dean doesn’t even realize he’s going with an honest answer until the words are coming out of his mouth.

“I’m good, Cas. Really, really good. A little sore, but, uh, it’s good. I mean, I like it.”

Cas squeezes him a little closer and nuzzles into the back of his neck, but as Dean relaxes into this new situation, allowing himself to daydream a little that maybe they could have this even once the curse is broken, there’s a loud thump and a few heavy knocks on the door.

“What ‘n the hell?”

“Dean!” Sammy’s voice booms through the door. “We’re coming in!” and in a second the door is swinging open and slamming against the tacky wallpaper of the hotel room.

“Hiya fellas!”

Oh fuck no, Dean knows that voice.

Gabriel is shoved through the door ahead of Sammy with a no-good, shit-eating grin on his face. “And what have you guys been up to?”

“What the hell is he doing here?!” Dean sits up slightly, and Cas follows suit, not letting Dean get too far away, an arm still wrapped tightly around his chest.

“There was no curse.” Sam says, frustrated and clearly trying to avoid seeing things he’d rather not see. Dean pulls the sheet up higher over his stomach.

“What do you mean there was no curse?” Cas asks, sounding as confused as Dean feels which is actually reassuring.

“There was no curse.” Sam repeats. “It was him.” He points an accusing finger at Gabriel, who smiles.

“Gabriel what did you do?” Cas asks, voice dark with distrust and something else Dean can’t quite place.

“I just gave you two a little shove in the right direction.” It’s silent, and Gabriel looks around the room for some type of affirmation, like they’re supposed to be happy about this. “Oh come on! You guys have been dancing around each other for years…”

Sam interrupts, “He was the witch! He put on a wig, shouted some bogus Latin and used some minor Pagan magic to knock you out then freaking disappeared!”

Cas lets go of Dean then, and Dean feels the bed dip behind him as Cas scoots away. There’s no pain; he’s not dying and his soul isn’t being ripped out of him… but it hurts in a completely different way.

“Wait, so all this time Cas and I have been… and it wasn’t even real?”

“Judging by the stink in here I'm guessing what you guys did was very real.” Gabriel crosses his arms. "See, you two yahoos were so wrapped up in each other you couldn't even tell the difference! I mean, c'mon, Cassie, did you even try to let go of your Ken Doll for two seconds to see if, hmm, maybe his soul wouldn't explode? No?"

"But, my grace," Cas starts, sounding slightly panicked, "I couldn't... if it wasn't real than why couldn't I control my... Why did I have these urges to..."

"Aww, that's adorable!" Gabriel looks back at Sam, who gratefully does not look amused at Gabriel's antics. "Cassie, bro, you were horny. Wrapping yourself around a naked Winchester will have that affect, ain't that right Sam?"

“Where’s my gun?” Dean looks around and spots his Taurus on the nightstand. “I’m gonna shoot him.”

He’s stopped mid-reach. “Dean, wait.” Cas sounds like he’s going to try to talk Dean out of murdering his brother, but instead he hands him his angel blade and says “Use this. That gun is useless on an angel.”

Dean grips the handle of the blade and makes a move to get out of the bed and stab that angel dick right in the face, but in a quick whoof of feathers, Gabriel is gone. “Gabe, no!” Sammy shouts, but it’s too late.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean yells, frustrated because Gabriel is gone and he’s still naked and tangled in the goddamn sheets.

Sam stands in the doorway alone looking pretty damn uncomfortable now that Gabriel has left and he’s the only one in the room wearing clothes.

“I’m, uh,” he starts to back out of the room, “I’m gonna let you guys, uh, talk, and… yeah.” And with that the door clicks closed and Dean is left alone with a very naked angel.

It takes every bit of strength that Dean has to turn around and face Cas, but when he finally does, Cas looks at him with wide blue eyes that are so familiar but seem so, so different now.

He also realizes that this is the first time that he’s been able to look at Cas since he was “cursed,” and damn. Just… damn.

“Uh, here.” He hands the blade back to Cas, who mumbles a “thank you” and puts it back on whatever plane of existence he normally keeps it.

“I should go…”

“No.” Dean says aloud, surprising himself.

“No?” Cas repeats, confirming that Dean did in fact say the word out loud. The angel tilts his head in that way he does; the way that has always made Dean laugh.

“Uh, can I just…”

Dean isn’t sure that there wasn’t really a curse, and he can’t believe that he’s not still cursed, because before he can stop himself he’s reaching out, cupping Cas’ jaw in his palm, and kissing him.

Cas kisses back, unskilled but impassioned, and Dean wonders why he’s waited so long to do this. Maybe Gabriel was right – maybe they have been dancing around each other for a while.

Maybe he won’t kill Gabe the next time he sees him.

The kiss gets much deeper than Dean intended, but he’s got no plan on stopping now; not with his fingers tangled in the angel’s hair and the breathy little gasps escaping from Cas’ lips.

“I hated not being able to see you,” Cas says as Dean kisses along his neck, licking at the salty skin of Cas’ vessel. “I would have loved to see your face when you… you…” And yet again Cas interrupts himself with a sigh as Dean’s thumb brushes over his lips.

“How about you watch me this time then,” Dean says, wrapping his arms around the angel and rolling them over so Cas is on top of him.

“You mean you want to…?”

“Yes, I want to.”

Cas smiles then; a rare, playful smile that’s only for Dean.

They don’t leave the hotel room for two more days.

Chapter Text

V is for Voyeurism

Castiel grew up in a 1024-square-foot, three-bedroom, one-bathroom house with his father and two older siblings. This meant that while his oldest brother, Luke, got his own room (albeit, a small room), Castiel had to share a room with Gabriel. Their father tried to make the best of the situation, buying them bunk beds and allowing them to stay over at friends’ homes practically whenever they wanted to. But three teenage boys and their widower father all sharing one bathroom was chaos even at the best of times.

Then, when his father met Ruth and she and her son Fergus moved in with their German Shepherd Juliet, it went from chaotic to insufferable. Even once Luke moved out to go to college, Fergus took that room for himself and Castiel was stuck with deadbeat Gabriel on the top-bunk until he escaped to NYU.

When Castiel went off to college he figured his living arrangements would at least marginally improve, but as it turns out sharing a room with a stranger isn’t much better than sharing a room with a demented sibling, and while the dorms bathroom down the hall was much larger than back home and cleaned on a regular basis, it gave no sense of privacy and you could hear everyone’s business.

Four years of undergrad were spent in shared dorms with various roommates, and the two years it took Castiel to earn his Master’s Degree in Mathematical Engineering were spent on the couch of an seventh-story studio apartment walk-up that he rented with his friend Meg.

He’d been working and saving for years. All while he was in school, even while he worked as a teaching assistant or a research assistant, he’d spend is off time as a barista or a waiter and a Lyft driver in his spare time. He collected tips and watched his savings increase incrementally, hoping that someday he’d have enough to buy his own house in a small town or, hell, just be able to rent his own tiny apartment somewhere safe in the city.

But then he applied for doctorate program and his fifteen grand in savings would be spent in a New York minute and still would be hardly a drop in the bucket…

When he got the email from the department stating that he had been accepted into the program – with guaranteed funding for a minimum of three years that included a housing stipend and eligibility to apply for faculty housing – he cried. Actual, legitimate tears of joy fell from his eyes as he read and re-read the email, then opened a new tab and began browsing the faculty apartment options.

Two weeks later he took the elevator up to the sixteenth floor of his new building in Washington Square Village. He walked down the well-lit hallway and found apartment number 16G. He slid the key slid into the lock and it turned. He opened the door and stepped into his apartment – his apartment! – for the very first time.

When the door clicked closed behind him and he stood alone in the entryway he started to laugh. He laughed so hard he cried and wound up sitting on the hardwood floor of his living room – his living room! – until he could pull himself together enough to go down and unload his car.


Castiel loves his apartment. It is small, yet spacious. He has rooms and walls all his own. He spent a small bit of his savings on furniture from Ikea, like a king-size bed and a dresser and nightstand for his bedroom, and a couch, desk, chair, and television for his living room. He bought some pots and pans and plates and silverware from Williams-Sonoma. He bought a blue shower curtain and matching rug for the bathroom from Target. He bought towels and sheets and a large map of the world that he stuck up on the wall opposite the built-in bookshelf nook in the living room from Pottery Barn. He even splurged on a real down comforter for his bed.

One of his favorite things about his new place, besides the fact that it was his and only his, was that he had big windows in both the living room and bedroom that let in lots of light, and sometimes at night he’d crack them open and fall asleep to the sounds the city far below. So what if his view looked out onto another apartment building, it was his view. He could look out his windows without having to listen to Gabriel learning to play the drums or Juliet’s incessant barking or any number of lonely roommates masturbating under their covers.

Nope, he could just wake up in the morning, make himself a hot cup of tea, and look out his window in silence and peace.

At least until the morning he notices the man in the building across the street from him.

Castiel is sitting at his desk in front of the largest window in the living room, and waiting for his laptop to start and his tea to cool when movement in a window across from his catches his eye. There is a man, clearly fresh from the shower with a dark gray towel wrapped tightly around his hips. He walks to his kitchen, grabs a mug from the counter, and walks back through the apartment.

He is out of sight for a moment and Castiel is just about to turn his attention back to his laptop when the man appears again at another window, farther to the right which looks like a bedroom.

Without warning the man drops his towel and reveals the most spectacular ass he has ever seen.

Castiel spills his tea.


It becomes part of his morning routine; watching this man prepare for his day.

It’s not like Castiel is just sitting around waiting for him to take his clothes off; it’s just that the man never shuts his blinds and it’s not Castiel’s fault that their schedules happen to align so that he sits down to start working for the day as the man is getting out of the shower.

It’s just… it’s so hard to look away. The man is supremely gorgeous.

On Saturday Castiel makes his way to his desk a little later than usual. He wonders briefly what the man’s schedule might be on weekends. The apartment across the street looks empty and undisturbed. The bed is made and all the lights are off. Maybe he has already left for the day.

Maybe he never made it home last night. He could have had a wild Friday night in New York City.

Castiel shakes that thought away and sits down to check his email. He texts Meg to see if she wants to check out the new tenement museum on the Lower East Side, and she texts back “hahahahahaha no” so they decide to get drunk on cheap wine in Central Park instead.

When he gets home late that night he decides to keep his happy buzz going with a glass of whatever’s-in-the-fridge, but as he’s walking to the kitchen he glances out his window and sees that one of the bedside lamps in the man’s bedroom is turned on.

“Hmmm,” Castiel hums, pretending not to be interested as he heads to the kitchen. He’s just opening the refrigerator when he see the man walk into view, clad in only a pair of green boxers with his laptop in hand as he gets on the bed and leans against the headboard.

Whatever Castiel was going to get from the kitchen is forgotten as he closes the fridge and walks closer to the window.

“Well hello gorgeous. What are you up to tonight?” he says aloud, watching with curious eyes. As if to answer him, the man lifts his hips and pulls his boxers down, then kicks them off the bed. He presses a button on his laptop and leans back again, tucking one arm behind his head and taking his dick in the other hand.


The man is absolute perfection. He looks strong, but still soft in all the right places. His chest is broad and his muscles are well-defined all down his torso in a healthy, sexy, supple way. Castiel wants to climb on top of him and see what they feel like; wants to see how smooth his skin is; how it tastes.

Castiel groans in frustration at the feeling of his own arousal straining in his pants as he watches what he knows he shouldn’t be watching. He should walk away right now and do exactly what this guy is doing – put on some porn and jack off before bed.

But this is too good, and Castiel is a weak man, so he sits down in his computer chair in his dark living room, undoes the button and zipper of his jeans, and continues to watch.

The man is not in a hurry – that much is obvious - the way he gives himself slow, almost teasing touches. Castiel wonders what kind of lover this man would be if he’s that patient with his own pleasure. How much time would he put into driving a lover to madness, taking them to the brink and back… Castiel is getting ahead of himself and has to squeeze around the base of his cock tightly to keep himself form finishing already.

He watches as the man reaches down with his other hand and starts to massage his balls. Castiel mimics the motion, imagining that it is someone else’s hands on him. It’s been a long while since he’s been with someone.

It’s also been a long while since he’s taken this much time getting off on his own. Living with roommates his whole life made him a pro at the quick-n-clean jerk-off session. Castiel had forgotten how good it can actually feel to touch himself. The man across the street obviously hasn’t forgotten, so Castiel continues to imitate his movements.

The man takes his hands off of his cock and balls suddenly, and Castiel sees him take a few deep breaths. He must have been close. He must be edging himself, he thinks, watching the man slide his hands ups his stomach and chest and pinch his nipples.

“Oh fucking Christ…” Castiel follows suit, reaching up his shirt and brushing a thumb over his nipple. He’s never really thought about touching his nipples while he’s masturbating, but he’s always liked it when his partners play with them while they’re in bed so it would make sense that he’d like this – and he certainly does.

He continues watching the man across the way who is now practically squirming against the bedding, lost in sensation and not even looking at the screen of his laptop anymore. His fingers scratch their way back down to his cock as he takes himself in hand again, stroking harder and faster than before, and Castiel simulates the same movements, certain that he’s going to come before the man does.

The man reaches down with his free hand, brushes past his balls, and Castiel’s breath catches in his throat as he watches the man spread his legs, lift his knees, and –

The sight is mostly blocked by the man’s thigh, but Castiel is sure that he’s fingering himself dry; nice and slow as he arches his back and opens his mouth. He’s crying out as he comes, and Castiel can’t hear him but oh God how he wishes he could hear that man scream his name as he shoots his load over his bare chest.

“Fuuuuck…” Castiel comes then, his own hot seed pulsing over his fingers and dribbling onto his jeans, uncaring of the mess and unable to tear his eyes from the Adonis across the street as he comes down from his climax.

Sadly, that was the best sex Castiel has had in years.


The next day Castiel works to catch up on the readings he needs to finish for his meeting on Monday with his advisors and collaborators for the project they’re working on, and then he calls his father to see how life is back in Chicago (apparently Gabe got a girlfriend; Dad wishes they would just move out already). Castiel makes a big salad and a meat-lover’s casserole that he could eat throughout the week.

He avoids the windows at all costs.


When Monday rolls around he feels a little better because he can go back to his routine of tea and email in the morning as the man across the street wanders around his apartment getting ready for the day. He knows the man doesn’t know what he’d done – or even know that he exists, for that matter – but it’s nice knowing that they still have this strange, comfortable, one-sided routine to fall back into. It made Castiel feel like less of a creep.

Any semblance of comfort and normalcy were quickly squashed at his 2:15 meeting with his research group.

He had his thermos of coffee with a splash of cream and a teaspoon of sugar. He had his laptop with all his files queued up and ready to present. He was very ready for this meeting –

He wasn’t ready for the wrench that karma was about to throw in his plans.

As Castiel walks into the large office space for the meeting he’s greeted with a few familiar faces from previous projects. Then his eyes fall on another familiar face that his friend and colleague, Charlie, is talking with.

It isn’t someone he knows from any past project, and it definitely isn’t someone who belongs in this room.

“Castiel!” Charlie beckons him over with an excited smile, “I want to introduce you to the one-and-only Dean Winchester. He’s going to be assisting us with this project. Dean, this is Castiel Shurley, one of the main authors for this paper.”

Castiel forgets how to breathe. There, standing not two feet away is the man he’s watched masturbate less than forty hours ago; and in less than two seconds he realizes that the focus of his new voyeuristic hobby is the Dean Winchester – one of the most brilliant minds ever to come out of NYU.

“Nice to meet you,” the man, Dean, holds out his large hand – the same hand that Castiel watched him get himself off with – and Castiel just stares at it before juggling his thermos and messenger bag so he can attempt a handshake.

“You’re Dean Winchester?” He can’t believe it. The man has two doctorates and he just won the MacArthur Genius Grant. He can’t be much older than Castiel. “Judging by your career I always assumed that you were much older.”

“Yeah, well I skipped a grade.” Dean winks and releases his hand.



This man is absolutely not allowed to be brilliant, beautiful, and charming.

Dean sits right next to Castiel during the meeting, and throughout it he can see in his peripheral vision that Dean keeps looking over at him – and every time, Castiel’s focus on the topic of the meeting wanes a little bit more.

Finally, almost an hour into the meeting while most of his colleagues are engrossed in the newest statistics that their research has proven, Dean leans over and whispers, “You sure we haven’t met somewhere before? You look so familiar.”

I’ve seen the face you make when you come with a finger in your ass Castiel stops himself from saying and instead whispers back, “No, I don’t believe so.”

“Huh.” Dean huffs and leans back comfortably in his chair, turning his attention back to the focus of the meeting.

Castiel steals a quick glance at the wunderkind and notices a lovely brush of light freckles over his nose and cheeks. He wonders if he’d be able to see whether or not the freckles spread down his shoulders and back if he got a pair of high-quality binoculars.


Later that week Castiel is sitting at his desk in the evening putting together a syllabus for a class he’ll be teaching next term when an unknown number pops up on his cell’s call-id.

“Hello?” He answers, focus staying on his laptop as he presses the phone between his ear and shoulder.

“You didn’t tell me we were neighbors.” A familiar voice says over the speaker.

Castiel immediately looks up and across the street, dropping his phone on the floor in the process because there, standing at the window and looking directly at him, is Dean Winchester.

“Shit!” he says and ducks down to fish his phone out from under the desk. He hears Dean’s laughter through the thing and when he finally straightens back out he can see Dean laughing from across the street.

“Judging by that reaction you knew! You knew and you didn’t say anything! Man, I knew you looked familiar.” He says when his laughing subsides.

“How did you get this number?” Castiel hates that he sounds so irritated. He also hates that his hands are shaking.

“Charlie gave it to me. Hope that’s alright.”

Castiel takes a deep breath. “Of course that’s alright. We are working on a project together, after all. It makes sense for us to exchange contact information.”

“Yeah, sure, but I didn’t exactly ask her for your number because I wanted to talk about estimating multivariate stochastic volatility models, as exciting as that is…” Dean chuckles and Castiel watches it and waits for the slightly delayed sound to come over the line. Dean leans against the window frame and grins.

If Castiel didn’t know any better, he might think that Dean Winchester was flirting with him.

“You asked Charlie for my number?”

“I did.”

“How come, if not to talk about our project?”

“Relax, man. I saw you sitting at your desk the other morning and realized that my new adorable smarty-pants colleague was my neighbor. Thought it’d be fun to give you a hard time about it... and I was right.” Dean laughs again and repeats, “I knew you looked familiar! I’ve seen you over there in the morning, sittin’ right there. Didn’t put it all together until yesterday.” There’s a quick pause and then, “You knew, though! You knew and you didn’t say anything...”

“Technically,” Castiel closes his laptop and rests his elbow on the desk, trying desperately to look as casual as Dean does, “I didn’t know I was neighbors with Dean Winchester, double-doctorate and apparent kid-genius, until I walked into our meeting on Monday.”

“But you recognized me when you saw me at the meeting on Monday, didn’t you?


“… which means somebody has been peeping through my windows…”

“I don’t think it can be considered peeping when it’s from across the street,” Castiel explains, coolly, “or when someone leaves their blinds open at all hours of the day and night.”

He hasn’t been so forthright in his flirting in ages. He doesn’t even care that he’s basically being called out for being a Peeping Tom.

“Oh, you were so spying on me.” Dean smiles openly now, and it’s quite captivating. “See anything good?”

There’s trouble in that grin, Castiel can feel it from here.

“You’re a smart guy, Dean. Think back to some of the things you’ve done this week and tell me; did I see anything good?”

There's a brief pause, and then, “Son of a-“

“Goodbye, Dean.”

Castiel hangs up and watches with a smile as Dean looks at the phone, shocked for half-a-second before looking back at Castiel and throwing his head back in a full-bodied laugh.

Yeah, Castiel is a goner.


It’s 7:30am and Castiel is sitting at his laptop with his mug of steaming hot tea fogging up his glasses when he receives a text message.

>>Message Received<< You’re cute when you’re all sleepy.

Castiel looks out across the way and sees Dean standing there in flannel sleep pants and a Metallica t-shirt, his hair fluffy from sleep. He waves, and then yawns and stretches.

<<Message Sent>> I could say the same about you. Nice jammies.

>>Message Received<< Bite me.

<<Message Sent>> Where?

He watches Dean laugh and saunter off to the kitchen for a cup of coffee.


“Who is that?” The inflection in Meg’s voice makes Castiel laugh. He knows exactly who she’s looking at, but he walks to the window anyway. He sees Dean sitting on his couch watching something on television.

“That’s Dean. Winchester.”

“You’re shittin’ me.”

“That’s disgusting.”

She taps a hard, painted fingernail on the glass. “He’s the one you’re collaborating with on your research project?”

Castiel nods.

“And he looks like that?”

Castiel nods again.

Meg lets out a malicious bark of a laugh. “Yeah, you’re fucked, Clarance.”

“Oh, I know it.”

Castiel can’t help but smile.


>>Message Received<< Look out your window.

Castiel is in his kitchen boiling noodles for spaghetti and listening to music when he gets a text from Dean. He covers the pot and turns off the stove, then walks over to the window. It’s dark outside, save for a few lights in the building across from his that are turned on. One of those lights include the light in Dean’s bedroom. He’s sitting on his bed. When he sees Castiel at the window he starts typing out another text on his phone.

>>Message Received<< I want to show you something.

>>Message Received<< I haven’t done this in a long time.

Dean sets his phone down and reaches for his nightstand drawer. When he pulls out a small bottle and a dildo and places them on the bed, Castiel’s knees go weak.

“Oh shit,” he sits down in his desk chair and watches intently as Dean begins to strip. Each movement is slow and tantalizing, as he pulls his shirt over his head revealing lovely planes of muscle and skin. He unbuttons his jeans and yanks them and his underwear down in one quick movement. When he stands back up he’s got a big grin on his face, and he stretches his arms above him as he steps out of the pants pooled around his bare feet and kicks them off to the side.

He turns and gives Castiel a clearly intentional display of that perky ass. He must be listening to music because his body is swaying to a rhythm that Castiel can’t hear, and Christ, while he may not be able to hear it, it’s quickly becoming is favorite song.

Dean bends over the bed and spreads his legs, and Castiel groans.

>>Message Received<< I was going to do more of a strip tease for you but I don’t want to wait anymore.

By the time Castiel has received the text Dean has already opened the bottle of lube and smeared some on his fingers.

“Yes Dean. Jesus…” Castiel reaches into his sweats and pulls out his cock, already hard and desperate for touch. Dean is reaching behind him and rubbing his fingers over his hole, and Castiel wishes he was closer so he could actually fucking see. He knows what Dean is doing, but he can’t really see it. He can’t hear the slick sounds of lubricated fingers over sensitive, puckered skin; or the breathy sounds Dean could be making. He can’t touch Dean’s hot flesh. He can’t plunge his tongue into that tight little hole that Dean’s taunting him with. He can’t do any of the things he wants to do except sit back and watch as Dean presses a finger in.

Dean is eager, it’s obvious, as he tries too quickly to add more fingers. If Castiel was there he’d take his time opening Dean up. He’s drive him absolutely fucking crazy until neither of them could take it anymore. But instead he’s stuck here, dick in hand, fantasizing about all the things he could do to the guy across the street.

But he does have his phone, so at least he can communicate.

<<Message Sent>> Slow down, Dean. There’s no reason to rush what you enjoy.

<<Message Sent>> God, you’re gorgeous like that.

He watches Dean read the text with his free hand, and the shift is tangible as he slows down, working one finger in and out, awkwardly but comfortably and hopefully enjoying it just a little more. Eventually he adds more lube and slides in another finger. His back arches a little as he tries to reach that sensitive spot that seems to be just beyond his fingertips. He adjusts, reaching instead between his legs and continuing to scissor himself open.

Now Castiel really wishes he would have purchased binoculars.

As he’s imagining what type of sounds Dean might make as he fucks himself back on his fingers, Dean pulls his fingers out and reaches for the dildo.

“Oh… oh fuck.” Castiel feels a drop of precome slide down his length, and he wipes it up with his thumb and rubs it back over his sensitive slit. God, it’s been so long since he’s been with a man. This is torture; glorious, delicious torture.

Dean’s puts a little more finesse than necessary as he lubes up the dildo. Is he pretending that it’s Castiel’s cock, hard and ready for him? Castiel decides that yes, that’s exactly what he’s doing.

Dean straightens himself and then sits back on the bed, leaning back and pulling his feet up to give Castiel a crystal-clear view as he slowly slides the dildo in his tight, wet hole.

“Oh God, Dean. Oh, God…”

It takes a few minutes, but finally Dean gets the dildo in as far as it will go. One hand holds it still while the other rubs over his stomach, like he can feel it in there. It’s so beautiful. Dean is so beautiful and Castiel accidentally lets out a sob – a audible representation of just how badly he wants Dean.

Dean is still, but breathing hard enough that he can see his chest rise and fall from his own living room.

<<Message Sent>> You’re so sexy Dean. Anyone in my building who looks out their window could see you right now.

He sees Dean’s phone light up with his text, and luckily it gets Dean’s attention because he picks it up and reads the message. He pulls the dildo out of his ass and drops it on the floor before typing out a response.

A few seconds later Castiel’s phone vibrates twice.

>>Message Sent<< Come over here. We’ll give them all a show.

>>Message Sent<< Apt. 15S

Castiel has never moved so quickly.


After explaining to the night doorman in the lobby of Dean’s building that he was, in fact, NYU faculty and showing his ID card twice, he was finally able to get in the elevator and ride up to the 15th floor.

He’s able to land one knock on the door before it swings open and Dean is standing there wearing only his flannel pajama bottoms slung low on those exquisite hips.

Whoever makes the first move – it doesn’t matter – because the two of them collide in the most incredible, ferocious kiss Castiel has ever been a part of.

“What the hell took you so long?” Dean asks minutes later when Cas pushes him back through the door and he’s able to slam the door shut while Castiel sucks the first of many marks into his neck.

“The fucking security guard…” Castiel can hardly pull himself away from the salty skin of Dean’s collar bone long enough to get those few words out.

Castiel’s always been a relatively passionate lover, but this is new territory even for him. He lifts Dean easily, and the man wraps his legs around Castiel’s hips as he’s pressed against the wall.

The kiss is sloppy and full of tongue and teeth as they lick and bite at each other until Dean whispers the word “bedroom” against Castiel’s lips.

Not needing to be asked twice, Castiel tightens his grip on Dean and heads in the direction of the bedroom. He notices that Dean starts laughing as he carries him.

“What could possibly be so funny right now?” he asks, concerned for a moment until Dean starts sucking a new bruise into the sensitive skin of his throat.

“You’ve never been here, but you know exactly where my bedroom is.” Castiel feels his knees hit the foot of the bed, and he unceremoniously drops Dean down onto the mattress. Dean makes an ooofph sound before saying, “You really have been watching me.”

“You have no idea.” Castiel peels his shirt off and tosses it to the side.

“Holy hell Cas,” Dean looks up at him, lifting his hips as Castiel pulls the flannel bottoms from his legs.

He’d seen Dean naked, sure, but never from this close. Holy hell, this man is gorgeous.



Absolutely fucking magnificent.

“What?” Dean asks as Castiel looks down at him for what is probably a few seconds too long. He’s speechless. He can’t explain what he’s thinking at that moment. Not with his words, anyway. Castiel just shakes his head, trying to clear his mind, and tells Dean to roll over.

Dean does as asked and Castiel kneels on the bed between his spread legs and prompts him to lift his ass. Without a prelude of any kind, Castiel licks a long stripe along the hot skin from Dean’s balls to the bottom of his spine, and his eyes roll back in his head at the sound Dean makes. The man tastes so pure here, so elemental and rich that Castiel can’t help but sweep his tongue over the same spot again before probing the tip of it into the tight ring of muscle. Even though he’d stretched himself out just minutes before Dean was still so so tight.

“Holy shit Cas what are you doin’ to me?” Dean’s slight southern drawl comes out mumbled in the blankets as he writhes back on Castiel’s tongue.

Castiel pulls away and growls against the skin of Dean’s left asscheek, “I’m getting you wet for me,” and then he spreads Dean’s cheeks with his hands and dives back in, delighting in the near-scream that rips out of Dean.

He could do this for hours; licking and sucking and nibbling on the sensitive skin of Dean’s rim and making him yip and moan and shake. He plunges his tongue in as deep as it will go and twists it around, drawing an even darker sound from Dean’s lungs.

He feels as Dean’s muscles loosen and he relaxes, eventually the man sinks down into the blankets and Castiel decides that it’s time to move this along. His own cock is hard and leaking onto Dean’s comforter.

With a small amount of lube, two of his fingers slide into Dean easily, and as he searches for that sensitive spot within Dean, he massages the man’s perineum with his thumb until…

“Fucking fuck! Shit! Cas! Oh God Cas Jesus fuck…” Dean shouts as Castiel massages over those same spots over and over, his body jerking violently, and Castiel is far too proud that he’s turned one of the most intelligent men in the city into a sweaty, squirming mess whose vocabulary now only consists of curse words, blasphemies, and his name.

Dean is ready, hell, he’s far beyond ready, but Castiel wants to make this unforgettable. He wants Dean to remember how desperate he was to get fucked by the guy who watched him masturbate through the window.

He positions himself over Dean’s beautiful ass, and yes, yes – he has freckles down his shoulders and back. “Hmmm…” Castiel hums, rubbing his cock along Dean’s cleft. “Condom?”

“Drawer…” Dean lifts a heavy arm and points it in the direction of the nightstand before it drops back onto the bed. “Thought you’d never get around to fucking me.”

Castiel chuckles and reaches for the drawer, finding a wide array of condoms in there. He picks one out and holds it up for Dean’s approval. Dean nods and Castiel gets back in position, not before grabbing the bottle of lube from up by the pillows.

“Look at you,” Castiel whispers. He’s captivated, looking at Dean’s hole which is loose and clenching around nothing, waiting to be filled. “You’re so ready for me.”

“Yes,” the word leaves Dean’s lips like a sigh, and Castiel cannot wait any longer. He rolls the condom on and adds some lube, giving himself a few quick strokes before lining up and pushing in.

“God, Dean,” he moans at how hot and tight Dean is around him as he pushes in completely in one fluid thrust.

“Now. Move Cas. Need it… c’mon baby, please...”

Castiel trusts that Dean knows what he can handle. He’d normally give his lover a little longer to get used to him, but Dean’s borderline begging and he won’t deny him any longer. He pulls out and slams back in. Dean’s back bends as he grabs fists full of blankets and cries out. It’s such a wonderful sound.

After that Castiel doesn’t hold back. He finds Dean’s sweet spot and snaps his hips ruthlessly so he hits it almost every time. Dean is making sounds that are half Castiel’s name and half howls of pleasure.

I wonder what we look like from my apartment…

That thought nearly undoes Castiel right there. He pulls out and counts to ten.

“Push yourself up onto your hands and knees.”

“Can’t…” the man is panting and whining, rolling his hips back, trying to grind against Castiel.

“Yes you can baby, come on…” He helps Dean prop himself up, and then quickly wraps his arms around the man’s chest and pulls him up flush with torso. This way he can fuck even deeper into Dean, which he does immediately because it physically hurts him to not be buried in that ass, but that’s not all. He grabs Dean by the hair and angles his face toward the window.

“Anyone can see us right now Dean.” He growls as he slams his hips against Dean’s body, and keeping his fingers gripping Dean’s soft hair, he lowers his other hand and takes Dean’s cock in his fist.

“Oh, God…” Dean’s voice quivers and a long, low moan escapes his perfect mouth as Castiel slams into him again.

“Anyone of my neighbors,” slam! “can see me,” slam! “fucking you” slam! “and you love it” slam! With every thrust of his hips he forces Dean forward into his tight fist, and as he speeds up in the final push towards their release he growls into Dean’s ear “Next time I’m setting up a camera. I want to watch this. I bet we look incredible.”

He drops Dean back onto the bed and fucks him until there’s sweat dripping in his eyes and his hair is sticking to his forehead. He reaches around and under Dean to stroke him because he’s not going to last much longer…

It takes only a couple of strokes before Dean cries out yes! and moments later he feels Dean tighten around him almost painfully as his body pulses with his release; and with a slew of profanities, Castiel fills the condom, pushing inside of Dean as deep as he can possibly go.


Poor Dean passed out shortly after they finished; only sounds being a moan when Castiel pulled out, and soft little whimpers as Castiel runs his fingertips up and down Dean’s sweaty back. Eventually he is able to maneuver Dean under the blankets and turn out the light.

He thought briefly about leaving, but then realized that he’d be a complete and total idiot to do so.

So, instead, he climbs into bed beside Dean and falls into a deep sleep.


He’s dying, he’s certain of it. He’s being strangled to death between the limbs of a warm body that is clinging to him like a koala bear.

“Dean. Dean, you’re suffocating me.”

“Quit bein’ a baby and go back to sleep.” Dean mumbles into Castiel’s neck. Castiel sighs, and Dean bribes him. “Ten more minutes and I’ll make you breakfast.”

“You can cook, too?” Castiel pulls Dean closer and nuzzles into the soft hair at his temple.

“No. But I’ll give you a blow job in the kitchen.”

That sounds like a fair trade to Castiel, so he closes his eyes and goes back to sleep.


It’s a peaceful, comfortable morning, and they sleep in much later than intended. When they finally stir and wake up for real, Castiel is blown away at how green Dean’s eyes are. Even squinting through the late-morning sun shining into the room, Castiel gets a close-up look at just how spectacularly stunning Dean is.

Dean is looking back at him with a look that mirrors his own, and there’s something palpable in the air that makes Castiel nervous, but excited, too.

“Hey,” Dean starts, brushing a thumb along Castiel’s cheekbone then down along his jaw in a gesture that’s suited for two people who have spent much longer than one night together. “Go on a date with me tonight.”

“A date?” Castiel shifts and adjusts the pillow under his head as he looks at Dean. “An actual date?”

“Yeah, you know, dinner, candles, the works.”

The two of them smile at each other, and for two grown men in their mid-to-late twenties, they both feel like a couple of teenagers in love for the first time.

“Oh, I don’t know Dean. Seems a little unorthodox – mind-blowing sex, then dinner?” Castiel stretches and winces when his shoulders crack and pop.

“It’s the twenty-first century babe, times have changed.” Dean sticks out his bottom lip and pouts, “C’mon, I’ll treat you real nice. Even let you pick out dessert.”

“Hmm.” Castiel acts as though he’s mulling this information over, and then says, “Alright. As long as we go somewhere with pie. I’d like a warm slice of apple pie for dessert. With vanilla ice cream. Otherwise you can forget it.”

Dean’s eyes light up a vibrant candy-apple green that Castiel has never seen before.

“Oh, yeah,” Dean kisses him and smiles, “this is going to be awesome.”

Chapter Text

W is for Wings

The Road So Far:

Cas has crash-landed at the bunker while he rests up from Rowena’s attack-dog spell. The poor guy was hit hard by it, but he seems to be doing a little better every day. It’s funny, he almost seems human sometimes. He likes to sit at the table and drink coffee with Sam and Dean every morning even though he always grimaces through the first few sips. He’s helped Sam clean up some junk around the outside of the bunker (without using his mojo). He spends a lot of time in Sam’s room watching documentaries on Netflix. Once Cas was found sitting in a leather chair in the library reading; and it wasn’t any sort of ancient spell book or a religious tome, but Dean noticed that it was Slaughterhouse Five.

As a matter of fact, Dean seemed to be noticing a lot of things about Cas.

Like how Cas always sat next to Dean. Whether it’s in the kitchen or the library or the war room – if there was a seat open next to him, Cas was there.

Or how he always smelled like Dean’s shampoo even though he was fairly sure the angel didn’t shower.

Or how Cas always said ‘goodnight’ and then lingered a little longer than necessary before heading off to his own room to do whatever it is he did all night while the boys slept.

Dean also noticed how all those dirty rotten feelings he’d so diligently buried deep deep down were starting to bubble back up.

He started to feel comfortable; too comfortable.

One morning they were all sitting around the kitchen table. Sammy was eating his boring bowl of oatmeal and looking up something on his phone while Cas was using his laptop to look up some information on a potential case for them to check out. Dean stood up to rinse his plate in the sink, and as he walked back past the table where his brother and Cas were still sitting, he reached out and ran his fingers through Cas’ hair.

He didn’t even realize he’d done it until he was halfway to the door, and he just kept going hoping that Sammy hadn’t noticed and Cas wouldn’t say anything. For the rest of the day he couldn’t stop thinking about how soft Cas’ hair felt as it slipped between his fingers.

Yes, Dean noticed a lot of things.

And Dean ignored a lot of things.

Dean ignored a lot of things because he knew there was no point. Soon, Cas would be back at full-strength, and that would mean the angel could go flitting off to some godforsaken corner of the galaxy to sacrifice himself for one empyrean cause or another because that’s just what he did.

And when the morning finally came where Cas didn’t join them for coffee, Dean was sure glad that he’d been able to avoid all those pesky feelings, otherwise he would have been really disappointed…


Three Days Ago:

“Hey,” Sammy walked out the kitchen and tossed a beer can at Dean, who caught it and cracked it open without waiting for the contents to settle. He didn’t mind that it foamed up and dribbled out onto his hand. He just needed a drink. “Do you have any idea why Cas has locked himself in his room?”

“Cas is in his room? I thought he zapped out of here a yesterday.” Dean takes another drink to hide his surprise, as well as his concerned expression – not necessarily concerned at the moment as to why Cas locked himself away, but more because he’d jacked off last night with Cas name on his lips. He was pretty sure he’d been quiet enough, but he also thought the guy was gone…

“Dean, did you hear me?” Sam gave him a look; that annoying, all-knowing-brother look that brothers give when brothers know their brother isn’t paying attention.

“Huh?” Dean brought his focus back to Sammy.

“I said maybe you should go check on him. He’s been in there for a while. Maybe something’s wrong.”

Dean considered this for a second; Cas was the king of making bad decisions for all the right reasons, so maybe something was wrong, but if he was here in the bunker, in his room, what real trouble could he get into? This place had warding coming out its ass.

No, Cas was fine, Dean decided.

“He’s a big boy, he can take care of himself.”

“I know, I just thought maybe because of your more profound bond you’d know why he’d locked himself away.”

Was Sammy pouting?

“You’re never going to get over that, are you?”

“Well I don’t see why you guys still have this thing. He pulled me out of hell too, you know!”

“You want to go out and find yourself an angel douchebag too then fine, have at it, but I think this one is enough for the both of us.”

Sam is quiet for a beat, but the look on his face tells Dean he’s about to get an earful.

“Why do you always say things like that?” Sammy asks, but keeps talking before Dean can answer. “I mean, I know you guys have gone through some rough patches, but you do realize that he’s always come through for us right? That he’s always come through for you? He rebelled against heaven for you. Yeah, he’s made mistakes, so have we. We’ve all played the idiot martyr at some point. Sure, Cas has done some stupid shit, but you have, too. You can’t honestly believe that he’s just another ‘angel douchebag,’ not after everything we’ve been through.”

Dean swallows thickly.

No, but it’s easier this way. It’s easier than hope and then rejection. It’s easier than disappointment when that jackass leaves again, which he will, because everyone always does.

That’s what Dean thought to himself, but he didn’t say a word. He just shoved all that crap down deep, shrugged, and went back to reading the article on his laptop, desperate for a distraction.


Two Days Ago:

Dean was in his room when he heard a knock on a door down the hallway; no doubt Sammy checking in on Cas yet again.

“Cas, hey, it’s me. You need anything in there?” Dean heard his brother’s voice; loud, but in that gentle-giant sort-of way. Dean didn’t hear Cas’ response except for a mumbled sound through the door. “Yeah? You want to talk about it?” Sammy asked, and then there was a short answer from Cas that Dean couldn’t make out, a door opening, and then a door clicking shut. He thought he heard Sammy say whoa just before the door closed, but he couldn’t be sure.

Seriously? That’s it? Dean thought briefly, and then sat and stewed in his room for some time about how unfair it was that Cas didn’t just come to him for help or advice or whatever it was he needed.

Over an hour later, when Sammy finally emerged from Cas’ room, Dean intercepted him in the hall on his way to the kitchen.

“How’s he doing?” Dean asked, trying to play it cool, and thinking that he’d at least get a he’s fine and a brief explanation but instead Sammy just looks at him with an almost sad expression, and suddenly Dean felt like he was being accused of something. “What?” he demanded, but Sammy’s expression didn’t waver. “What did I do?”

“Nothing.” Sammy said, and Dean didn’t like the way his voice sounded when he said it. “You didn’t do anything.”

There’s a double-meaning there, and Dean knew it, but he’d be damned if he was ready to acknowledge it.

Sammy clapped him on the shoulder and tried to walk by before Dean stopped him again.

“Whoa whoa whoa hold on there a second. What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean was getting angry, because not only did Sam just get to spend some quality one-on-one time with his angel, but now he’s being kept in the dark about something and Dean doesn’t like being in the dark.

“It means that I know you always do the opposite of whatever I say, so I’m going to keep my mouth shut and you’re going to have to figure this one out on your own.”



It was late in the afternoon when Dean and Sam got back from the milk-run ghost hunt two towns over. Sammy headed straight for the shower, and Dean wanted a beer first so he went to the kitchen and cracked one open before walking back to his room.

As he walked down the hall he saw something small and dark sort of float across the floor just outside of Cas’ room. At first he thought it was a mouse or something, and that’s just great, he thought, just what we need in the bunker is a rodent infestation. But as he got closer he saw that it wasn’t a mouse, or anything alive for that matter.

It was a feather; a single, black feather about the length of his hand. It was moving slightly, picked up on a soft current of air probably kicked up by Dean walking by or a door opening, and as he bent to pick it up he swore that the thing started glowing – not in a glow-in-the-dark or golden-aura kind of way, but it just got brighter. Dean noticed it had hints of dark blue in it, and it was silky smooth and weighed nothing. He couldn’t even feel it as it rested in his palm.

Where did this come from?

He’d never noticed many birds around the bunker; maybe some crows and annoying little brown birds, and that pigeon that shit on his car, but nothing that would produce a feather this big or this soft. This didn’t look like it came from a bird. It was different.

Just then Dean heard a shuffle from behind Cas’ door, like something big and soft being dragged across the concrete floor. It snapped Dean out of his trance, and with the feather in one hand and his beer in the other, he went back to his room wondering what the hell Cas was up to in his room.



Sammy was stoic at dinner and it drove Dean nuts. Why can’t someone just come out and just tell him what’s going on?

Why can’t you just come out and talk to Cas?

There’s a double-meaning that one, too, and Dean chooses to ignore it as well.

Dean’s lying in bed reading when he hears the soft click of a door down the hall. Sammy’s room is too far down to hear something that quiet, so that must mean…

Then there is a shuffle outside his door – one that sounds exactly like what Dean heard from Cas’ room earlier that day – almost like someone dragging a sack of laundry past his door.

“Cas.” He says the name quietly and to no one but himself as he kicks his legs over the side of the bed and stands up. When he gets to the door he quietly pulls it open and peers out into the hall.

There isn’t much that stops Dean in his tracks, as he’s more of a run-at-it-and-shoot kind of guy, but when he looks out into the hallway and sees two enormous black wings attached to Cas’ bare back, the tips of them dragging along behind him, he can’t move. He can’t breathe or even process what he’s seeing. He can’t seem to do anything for a split second, but just before the angel is about to turn the corner he’s able to squeak out a soft “Cas?”

The angel turns slowly, the massive wings moving with him and scuff against the wall, and when he locks eyes with Dean, his wings start to produce a dim, blue glow.

Inside Dean’s head he’s screaming wings wings angel feathers Cas Cas Cas but he still can’t speak or move, so they stand there staring at each other.

Cas stands in the dim light, barefoot and naked from the waist up, wearing only a pair of white cotton boxers, his whole body framed by those – his – wings. Dean’s senses are overwhelmed with a whole mess of crap he’s never felt before, but he doesn’t miss the look on Cas’ face. He can’t tell if it’s more angry or sad, but as soon as Cas speaks he realizes that it’s definitely not angry, but more along the lines of tired which is weird ‘cause the guy doesn’t even sleep.

“Do you need something Dean?” he asks, and the familiar deep cadence of his voice tugs Dean out of his stupor.

Now how in the hell is he supposed to answer that question? Does he need something? Of course he needs something. He needs more than he ever has needed anything before in his life – he just doesn’t know what it is that he needs, or how to ask for it.

“I-” he tries, he really does, but that’s all that comes out. He clears his throat and starts again. “Your-” and that’s it.

“I’m sorry if I woke you. I was craving caffeine for some reason. I was going to make a cup of coffee.”

The thought of Cas attempting to figure out the coffee maker would have been hilarious if Dean wasn’t already completely consumed with the thought of what those wings might feel like. He knew how one single feather felt in his hand, and wondered what a thousand of them would feel like surrounding the rest of him…

He gulps down a breath of air and tries to clear his mind. He’s usually so good at compartmentalizing these things, these feelings, but with Cas standing in front of him practically naked and… and wings and… and…

“Dean, are you alright?”

No. No, he is not alright. He’s about as far from alright as he can possibly be without having an actual stroke.

“I can leave if they disturb you.” Cas says when Dean doesn’t answer. “I’m sure your hunter instincts are telling you to ‘kill’ the ‘monster,’” the angel uses air-quotes but Dean doesn’t notice, “but I can assure you, that won’t be necessary.”

“What?” Dean wasn’t fully listening, but he was able to register that whatever Cas just said was probably bullshit.

“I’m still me.” Cas says it like it’s all the explanation Dean needs. “Sam told me I could stay, but he wasn’t as unsettled by them as you are-”

“Sam’s seen ‘em?” Dean spits out in a sudden flurry of jealousy that flares up without consent.

“Yes, when he came and spoke with me the other day. I told him you wouldn’t want me here, I told him that I could leave if…”

Is that really what Cas thought – that he didn’t want him here?

“Don’t-” Don’t say that. Don’t go. He wanted to say – he wanted to scream it. Why was it so hard to finish a complete thought? And since when had he drifted close enough to Cas that he could reach out and touch him if he wanted to? And he wants to.

“Dean,” Cas’ voice is quiet, and Dean realizes he’s whispering because somehow they’ve come close enough that he can rest his forehead against Cas’, which he does, and he can actually feel Cas’ breath on his lips and the warmth radiating off of the body in front of him. Dean has closed his eyes so he cannot see, but it’s okay, because he can feel, and for the first time in his life that seems more important. “Dean, I can hear your thoughts.”

I want you here. Don’t go. Don’t ever go he thinks before he can stop himself. His hands grip the angel’s forearms tight, like he could stop Cas from flying off if he just held him there. A rustle of feathers breaks their silence, and Cas shifts slightly. Dean looks up and sees that the wings are glowing a little brighter than before. They’re illuminating themselves – twinkling, really, and shivering from top to bottom.

“Okay.” Cas says quietly, watching Dean watch his wings.


“I’ll stay as long as you want me to.”

Dean looks Cas in the eyes. Really, was it really that easy? Did he really just have to ask? Did- did Cas want to stay?

“I’ve always wanted to stay with you, but I was never sure if you and Sam wanted me here if there wasn’t a use for me…”

Had Dean really concealed his emotions so well? He felt the ache in his chest every time Cas left, but did he ever say anything? He’d been worried that Cas was in over his head when he was sucking up Leviathans from Purgatory or let Lucifer possess him or was off gallivanting with that asshat Metatron, but had any of his concerns – any of his prayers – gotten through to the angel back then, or was his Dean Station turned to mute?

Obviously Cas was listening now, so Dean thought, and thought hard, the only thing he knew for sure.

I want you here. I’ve always wanted you here. Don’t you dare leave me…

“You mean that.” Cas said, and it wasn’t a question, but Dean nodded anyway. “Sam said that the other day you called me an ‘angel douchebag.’” Cas didn’t sound upset about it but Dean was mad at himself enough for the both of them.

“Asshole is my default setting, man.” He hates the sound of his voice right now. Hates it. He clears his throat but it makes no difference. “You gotta know that by now. Makes my shit life a little easier if I’m a piece of shit too.”

“Dean don’t talk about yourself that way. Why are you always…” Cas huffs a frustrated breath through his nose and backs away, fists clenched, wings still as stone. “You are infuriating.”

For a moment Dean thinks that whatever soft, open moment they had been sharing is long gone, thanks to his stupid mouth.

“I just mean it’s easier.” he’s trying to communicate; he’s trying so hard to tell Cas the truth. “It’s easier to pretend like I don’t care.” I do care. I do. I care more than I should. More than anything…

He doesn’t dare move, certain that if he moves toward the angel like his body is physically aching to do he’ll spook him and this moment will really be over. Cas, though, senses his conflict and steps back into his personal space, complete with pressing his hand into the faded scar he left on his arm years ago.

“Don’t think that I’ve ever left you because I wanted to.” Cas says quietly, and Dean thinks how unfair it is that it seems so easy for Cas to say shit like that. Why does Dean choke on his own spit every time he tries to say something honest? He can’t say what he wants without his stomach twisting into knots and his throat closing up like he’s allergic to fucking feelings.

It doesn’t stop him from thinking it, though.

Kiss me.

They were hardly a breath apart anyway, so Dean didn’t have to wait for Cas to move towards him – he just suddenly feels the heat of the angel’s lips against his.

And it was a modest kiss, really. Chaste and dry like an awkward kiss in middle school, except with very real grown-up feelings behind it – enough of ‘em to make Dean’s breath hitch as they separated. How could it possibly be over already? How could a kiss so short and sweet cause that stinging behind his eyes and his vision to blur.

He needs to find something to hold onto before he’s completely lost.

It’s hard for him to not revert back to just being a dick.

“So,” he says, pointedly ignoring the crack his voice makes, “wings, huh?”

“I am an angel, Dean.”

“Yeah I know that, but I just… we’ve spent a lot of time together and I don’t remember seein’ ‘em before.”

“They’re not nearly as useful here as they are in heaven. They’re much more cumbersome on Earth. They attract unwanted attention, and are far more sensitive to light and touch and sound. I usually keep them hidden away.”

Dean gets stuck on the word sensitive for a split second, then asks, “So why now? What made you bring ‘em out?” He regrets asking it almost immediately as Cas looks down at the floor briefly, and while he doesn’t physically move away from Dean, he can feel the distance between them growing again.

“I- um, it’s a little complicated.” Dean makes a face that must tell Cas how unacceptable that vague answer is because Cas continues, “The closest thing I can compare it to is an avian nesting cycle.”

Dean tries to sort through any information he has stored away in his brain about birds, which isn’t much, and he comes up with nothing remotely close to something like a nesting cycle.

“It’s only happened once since I’ve taken a human vessel, and that time I was able to go back to heaven and deal with it there. Since I can’t do that now, I’ve been trying to oppress any urges with the grace I’ve been able to restore since Rowena’s spell.”

“Urges?” Dean wonders what types of urges angels could possibly have, and Cas quickly tells him.

“Mating urges.”


“And it was working just fine until you touched me the other day.” Cas says, something lacing his voice now; like borderline frustration and arousal at the memory, maybe? Maybe just frustration. He remembers running his fingers through Cas’ hair in the kitchen. It wasn’t just a friendly gesture, and he knew it at the time but ignored it. Apparently Cas had not. “My wings manifested out of instinct as a courtship display.”

As if on cue, the wings puff up behind Cas, taking up nearly the entire width of the hall while the feathers at the high arches of the wings stand up on end, spreading and twitching and glowing brighter than before.

A sudden realization hits Dean square in the chest.

“So that’s you…” he gestures toward the wings. “That’s actually you; Castiel. Not, uh, not your vessel.”

It had always been so easy to forget that Cas was an Angel-of-the-Lord, not just some cute socially-awkward guy in a trench coat (or, in this case, white boxers).

Now, his ethereal power was a little harder to ignore.

Cas looks back over his shoulder and the wing flutters. “Yes. That’s me, to my vessels scale. The bunker would burst if I were to become my actual size.”

Dean shudders at that thought because holy shit.

“Can I touch ‘em?”

Cas doesn’t answer right away, evidently unsure of whether that’s a good idea or not. Dean isn’t sure either, but the wings seem to be as they shiver and flex toward him. “Okay.” Cas says finally, and Dean only hesitates for a second before reaching out.

His knuckles brush across the feathers just to the outside of Cas’ arm. They’re silky soft and he can hardly feel them against his calloused, scarred fingers, but he can see them shift beneath his touch. They’re warm, which for some reason he doesn’t expect.

When he uses his fingertips and brushes down the wing, pressing a little harder, he starts to feel the individual feathers. They’re so soft, it’s unreal. He pets the wing gently a few times when he feels a hand grip his other arm, and he looks at Cas, who’s eyes are closed and mouth is lax and open. Without looking away, Dean reaches up and tangles his fingers into the fluffy feathers at the arch of the wing.

A sudden, loud moan echoes through the hall of the bunker.

Both hunter and angel are completely still, staring at each other with wide eyes until the final reverberation of sound has stopped and it’s silent.

“It might be unwise of us to continue this in the hall.” Cas says, his voice surprisingly sober given the sound he just made.

“You might be right about that.”Dean agrees.

Still, neither of them move right away. They stay looking at each other, and Dean tries desperately to keep his mind blank for fear of thinking something that Cas might overhear.

Finally, Cas breaks the silence. “May I show you something?”

Dean nods, and Cas guides him back down the hallway to his room. They walk slowly, that same swooshing sound Dean now realizes is Cas’ wings dragging along the concrete. When they get to Cas’ door, the angel pushes it open and Dean looks in.

He wasn’t exactly sure what to expect – what Cas could possibly want to show him at that moment – so the large mound of sheets, blankets, and giant feathers all woven and tangled together in the center of Cas’ bed didn’t really surprise him.

“What is it?” He asked, honestly unsure of what he is looking at.

“It’s a nest.” Cas says, sounding almost shy. “Mating urges, like I said.”

Dean walks closer to the bed – er, nest – and circles it; it’s not that big, but the walls of it are built up about five-or-so inches off the mattress with a relatively large dip in the middle. It was almost too easy to imagine Cas curled up in there with his wings draped over himself.

Well that’s adorable he thinks.

“Do you like it?” There’s a nervous inflection in Cas’ voice.

This is an offering isn’t it?

He’s sure that Cas can hear him thinking, but the angel doesn’t seem to mind as Dean works it all out.

Dean nods, “Yeah, I like it. It looks cozy.”

How’s he supposed to react when he’s shown something he doesn’t understand the full meaning of? And he knows there’s meaning in this beyond his comprehension.

Mating urges .

Cas wants me.

“Yes. I do.” Cas answers his thought aloud.

And I want him.

“So, what now?” Dean asks, receiving an immediate answer in the form of a kiss from his angel that leaves him breathless.

It’s harsh and a little clumsy, but passionate and so so hot that Dean thinks he’s going to combust. His hands find the back of Cas’ neck and he pulls the angel in close.

He wants to spend hours, days, fucking years getting to know Cas mouth; those lips and that tongue that explore his own, sucking and licking with the enthusiasm of someone who has waited a long time for it.

Oh God, what that tongue would feel like in other places…

“We can do that, too.” Cas tears himself away from the kiss as he grits out the words. “I can… we can do-” Cas gulps, “Whatever you want.” He’s trying to maintain some semblance of composure, but his wings are twitching behind him, giving him away. “What do you want, Dean?”

They’re still holding on to each other, white-knuckled and desperate, but then Dean reaches back and strokes one of Cas’ twitchy wings in an attempt to soothe it.

What do I want?

You, Cas. Always you.

He can’t say it, not yet… but he can think it, and he nods in affirmation. Yes.

With those few words Dean feels a sort of lightness in his chest that he’s never experienced.

He’s finally being honest.

He’s finally asking for something for himself.

Cas smiles.

Suddenly he’s falling backwards onto the bed, the full weight of an angel on top of him. They land with a hummmpf in the nest and before Dean can catch his breath he’s being kissed again, hard and deep.

“Cas…” Dean grits out, “The nest… we’re ruining-”

“’S okay,” the angel mumbles against his lips. “’S what it’s for.”

Before Dean has the chance to laugh at the fact that Cas has built him a kinky sex-nest, he’s distracted by a loud woosh and the sound of glass shattering, which turns out to be a lamp that Cas’ wings have knocked off the nightstand. When he opens his eyes, Dean sees that they would be in complete darkness if it weren’t for the blue glow of the wings which Dean swears is brighter now than it was.

“Why are you glowing?”

“It’s my grace.” Cas pulls away, and Dean can see the sharp lines of his nose and jaw and cheeks all emphasized by the soft blue light.

Dean unlocks his fingers from where they’ve been wrapped around Cas’ neck and shoulders, and reaches up past his body. A brief, bright spark of white lights up the room when fingers tangle in feathers, and when he grabs a fistful of them, his hands disappearing to the wrist, buried in feathers. Cas groans and buries his face in Dean’s neck.

Dean explores the wings as much as he can from his vantage point on his back. The wings seem happy to indulge him by shifting and flexing so he can reach all the way from the high arch to somewhere in the middle of them. He massages and scratches down each wing, tugging lightly in certain spots and pulling gasps and moans and happy sighs from his angel.

“This okay?” Dean asks, feeling the need to check in since the angel hadn’t made a coherent sound in a while.

Little yeses are whispered out with every breath Cas takes.

So he continues: cupping the thick bone in the arch of the wing, feeling it move beneath his palm as the massive thing flexes and shifts; combing his fingers though the fluffy feathers below the arch, grinning when they puff up around his hand; stroking his palm along the longer feathers that feel like warm silk.

Dean finds the seam where feather meets skin, and blindly fingers down Cas’ back there. The angel makes a long, comforted groan and sinks a little heavier into Dean’s body.

They both seemed to get lost in it, the comfort and warmth of each other –

Until Dean’s fingers find a swollen, round nub tucked away base of each wing.

“Dean…” Cas’ voice sounds like a warning – one which Dean fully intends to ignore. He presses his thumbs gently against the swollen lumps.

Something warm and slick leaks out onto his skin, accompanied by a hopeless whine into his neck and a sudden, nearly violent flap of the wings. He presses again, a little harder this time, and more fluid runs down his thumbs and wrists. Cas’ cries out, but the sound muffled in the fabric of the nest.

“What’s that?” Dean asks, rubbing the slick fluid between his fingers.

“It’s an oil gland for preening.” Cas’ voice sounds rough in his ear as Dean runs his hands over the lumps yet again and feels the body on top of him stiffen up and then relax. “It’s good for the feathers. For flight.” Dean presses harder and slower, really enjoying how Cas squirms on top of him while he does it. Another warm gush of the oil leaks out, and Dean starts combing it into Cas’ feathers. “That feels good.”

“I can see that.” Dean chuckles.

Cas nuzzles into his neck a little. The scruff of Cas’ jaw against his skin is a very new feeling.

“You’re enjoying it too.” Cas makes his point by worming a hand between their bodies to cup Dean’s erection. “Can I…?” Cas sits up and crawls off of him. He refuses to acknowledge the whimper that he makes when he’s left feeling cold and exposed on the bed. Cas reaches down, helps Dean sit up, and then grabs the bottom hem of his shirt. “Please?”

Dean nods, the force of what is about to happen knocking out his ability to speak.

Cas pulls Dean’s shirt over his head and he notices Cas’ eyes get a little darker once he’s tossed it to the floor. Cas wings light up the room with an organic white light that reminds Dean of a sunrise over snow or headlights through fog. It’s comforting and familiar for some reason, and he leans back again and takes a breath as Cas hooks his fingers under his pajama bottoms and boxers and slides them off in one swift motion.

There’s a dull slap of skin-on-skin when Dean’s heavy erection is freed from his underwear and lands on his tummy; its fullness a clear sign of how eager he is.

Should he be ashamed of how badly he wants this? Should he be ashamed of all the years he’s spent wanting this and never saying a goddamn word? Should he be ashamed of how much he needs Cas to take him apart in a way no one else ever has? Is he taking advantage? Is he desperate?

Yes he thinks. The answer to every one of those questions is yes.

He doesn’t deserve this, not now, after all he’s done; after the way he’s treated Cas; after all the shit the angel has gone through for him without much more than a thank you – and sometimes not even that.

And he’s an angel, for Christ’s sake! How could he possibly ever want Dean? This must be a mistake, a nesting cycle thing, like Dean just happen to walk by at a time when Cas was feeling desperate, too.

Well, if this is one way he can repay Cas for everything he’s done, he’s willing. If Cas needs this right now, he will give it and be grateful for this one night, and he’ll try not to focus on how awful he’s sure to feel tomorrow when they go back to how they were – how they should be.

“Dean…” Cas’ voice interrupts his thoughts, and he’s vaguely aware of Cas stroking his cheek. It’s tacky with sneaky, unwanted tears. When did that happen?

Squeezing his eyes closed, he turns his head away as guilt and embarrassment flood his system, but before his fight-or-flight instincts take hold there’s a firm grip under his chin and he’s forced to look at Cas.

“Don’t you dare think that you’re not worthy of being loved.” Cas says firmly.

Love. Is that what this is?

“Of course.”

He suddenly feels like he’s suffocating there beneath Cas. He can’t seem to get any air back in his lungs, and instead he’s making little hiccupping sounds as he tries to breathe. Thankfully Cas stands up, then reaches out a hand and helps pull him off the bed. He feels marginally better now that he’s not lying down on his back. He’s a little less vulnerable on his feet like this – despite the fact that he’s naked. His erection has waned from the past few minutes of being an emotional wreck, but at the sight of Cas’ dark, glowing wings looming huge behind the angel he feels his dick give a hopeful twitch, like it hasn’t completely lost interest in the wake of Dean’s self-destruction.

One look at Cas and Dean sees that there’s no room for bullshit between them.

Of course Cas loves you, idiot.

How could he ever question that? He might never understand why, but he knows it’s a fact.

“’m sorry,” Dean mumbles, and Cas doesn’t hesitate to lean in and kiss him softly.

“Don’t be. I understand, it’s… overwhelming.”

“That’s an understatement.” Dean argues and Cas smiles against his lips and kisses him again.

And just like that it’s okay.

It’s okay to want and to be wanted.

It’s okay to kiss and be kissed.

And it’s definitely okay to ask Cas, “Why aren’t you naked yet?” Dean’s hands reach back and stroke down the seam of Cas’ wings again, sending a tremor through the wings and Cas’ vessel. “You started out with less clothes but somehow I’m the one standing here naked.”

“I must be more ambitious.” Cas retorts.

“No way. You just got me all distracted with these things.” Dean grips another tight handful of feathers and grins at the sound it pulls from the angel. His hands slide from feathers to the soft skin of Cas’ hips, where he finds the elastic of his boxers and pulls them down until Cas can step out of them.

Dean takes a long look at Cas’ cock. He doesn’t have much of a reference on dicks in general, but he likes this one: thick and cut, he runs his finger along the underside of it to get a feel for how big it really is.

They get situated on the bed: Cas sitting up slightly with his shoulders against the headrest - his wings spread wide, illuminating the space just enough so they can see each other but not so much that Dean feels too exposed; and Dean straddling Cas’ thighs and gasping at the contact when their erections rub against each other. They chase that feeling, precome making the glide slippery as they move together and explore the different sensations with looks of lust and awe and desire gracing their features.

It’s when Cas takes his finger and wipes the head of Dean’s cock then raises the digit to his lips and sucks the clear fluid from it that Dean loses it. He kisses Cas, hard, and grapples at his wings. They beat once and then give in to Dean’s hands as he tangles his fingers in their softness and swallows down every moan his angel makes. The body beneath him shifts slightly, and then there is something soft tickling his back.

“What the-” he opens his eyes and realizes that Cas has wrapped them up in his wings. Suddenly he is being pulled down to Cas’ lips, hands cradling his face and wings holding him tightly while they share a kiss that Dean won’t ever forget.

“So, how do we wanna do this?” Dean asks when he’s finally able to pull away enough to speak. Cas lips are red and Dean’s own lips sting and tingle.

He’s thought about how he wants this to go, and he’s thought about being with Cas like this more than once (more than a hundred times, maybe…) but he’s never known how he could possibly ever ask for what he wants – how he wants it – because it never seemed like it was going to be a reality.

The hard cock that is now slotted between his ass cheeks is very real, though – as is the whine he makes when Cas starts moving it slowly against him.

“I believe we both know how we want to do this.” Cas says after that, looking up at Dean through dark eyelashes.

“Yeah.” Dean agrees shakily, although it’s hardly necessary given the way he’s grinding his ass along Cas’ cock. He gives a quick thought to the lube in his nightstand drawer in the other room – the sad bottle that had been opened and used once when he tried to finger himself while masturbating. “You got condoms and lube in here somewhere?”

“Do we need them?”

Oh Cas… Dean chuckles at the innocence of Cas’ question. “Uh, well I guess one of them we probably don’t need, but one of them is pretty goddamn important on my end of things…”

“Right.” Cas nods, and then closes his eyes for a second before lifting his hand and presenting a small bottle of Astroglide. He smiles.

“Was it really worth using your grace for that when I coulda just got up and got some from my room?” Dean cocks his eyebrow, giving Cas a look.

“Do you mean was it worth using some of my grace so that I could keep you right here?” the angel rolls his hips and Dean feels the head of his cock drag against his hole. “If so, then yes.”

Cas opens the bottle and drizzles a copious amount of lube onto his fingers, it drips down onto his stomach but he doesn’t seem to notice. Instead he uses his wings to lift Dean up just enough to reach underneath him. With a hand on Dean’s thigh and two fingers pressed against his hole he starts to work Dean open.

It doesn’t hurt like Dean remembers when he did this to himself. In fact, this feels really good, immediately.

“Cas, are you…?” Cas interrupts him with a shhh and a harsh crook of his fingers that hits Dean in the right spot. When his mind can almost start to function again he realizes that Cas has three fingers inside of him. That thought, for some reason, makes him melt against the angel and he grabs the hard bone on either of Cas’ wings to hold himself up. They’re strong, and neither Cas nor his wings seem fazed that nearly the entire weight of the hunter is being held up by them.

“I just didn’t want this to hurt at all.” Cas says after drawing a few more lewd moans from Dean.

“Your grace?” Dean grits out, looking down at the angel.

“It doesn’t take much to take away your discomfort, I promise.”

Dean doesn’t have the ability to think about that, not with the way Cas is working into him, twisting three fingers against his prostate on each inward thrust and spreading them every time he starts pulling out.

“Next time let me feel it…” Dean pants out, closing his eyes and letting his body fully experience what Cas is doing to him. “Wanna feel you. Wanna feel all of you…”

“Next time?” Cas stops all movements and Dean whines. “You mean you’d… this isn’t the only time… we can?”

Dean isn’t sure if he wants to laugh or cry at Cas reaction.

“Fuck yes we’re doing this again.” Dean grinds back against Cas’ fingers, “And a hundred more times after that.”

Cas surges up to kiss him like a man who can’t believe his luck.

Dean gets it though, because he’s feeling the same way.

Without another word, Dean lifts his body, still bracing himself between Cas’ wings, and he slowly sinks down on Cas’ cock, and holy fucking shit…

Either Cas’ relentless fingers or his mojo have made Dean nice and relaxed enough to take the whole length in one go, and when he feels his ass rest against Cas’ thighs he stays that way for a moment, not because he needs to get used to the feeling, but because when he looks down at Cas he sees that the angels eyes have begun to glow blue, just like his wings.

“Cas, you with me?” Dean can hardly speak, his voice barely a whisper. “Cas? Castiel?”

Finally Cas blinks a few times and the glow ebbs and he stares up at Dean like it’s the first time he’s seen him.

“Dean?” his normally rough voice is even rougher somehow.

“Right here, babe.” Dean tries for a cocky grin, which is a challenge given the dick up his ass, the sweat trickling down his spine, and the fact that he’s shaking like a leaf.

Cas surges up, his wings beating wildly as he flips them. Dean’s now looking up at Cas, his head near the foot of the bed, and the angels beautiful wings spread above him. He’s kissed until he can’t breath – until he must steal air directly from Cas’ mouth, and then he’s kissed some more.

He cries out when Cas starts to move his hips, the kiss they were sharing so passionate that it was an actual distraction and the movement of Cas inside of him startles him.

“I can feel you,” Cas says when he pulls away, “Your soul… I can feel… oh, Dean.”

My soul is in my ass? The thought flitters across Dean’s mind, and Cas catches it.

“Through our connection, Dean, don’t be crass.”

Dean smiles – because that’s the Cas he knows – and nothing else is said for a long time.

Every movement – every feeling of Cas inside him – removes something from him and replaces it with something else. His self-doubt is replaced with pleasure. Fear is replaced with love. Self-deprecation is replaced with an unbelievable sense of beauty. There is no room for pain or doubt; there is only relief and a joy so powerful it’s nearly devastating.

There’s a bright flash of white behind his eyes as Cas nails him in the right spot over and over, and when his vision clears he looks up to see that blue glow back in his eyes. His wings are sparking white and Dean isn’t afraid at all when he reaches out and cards his fingers through the feathers. Cas doesn’t make a sound, but everything gets brighter, like he’s screaming with light. He presses Dean down into the nest and his thrusts get impossibly harder. He slows down but hits a spot deeper within him that makes Dean scream and squeeze his eyes closed.

There are tears streaming down his temples and into his hair, and he can’t speak except for bits and pieces of please and yes and Cas. Even his thoughts are scrambled, so Cas can probably only hear broken bits of oh my God and love you repeated over and over again. His body is a livewire, and every brush of feathers or skin against him sparks something intense; a scratch to an itch he didn’t know needed scratching.

He doesn’t let go of Cas’ feathers. He keeps his grip on the ones close to his body, the ones that he slicked up with oil earlier and seemed the most sensitive, while the rest of the wings thrash about on either side of them. Somewhere seemingly far off, Dean thinks he hears the sound of wood cracking and glass shattering, but it’s not important right now as he rides this high as long as he can.

“Dean… I’m… ohhh…” Cas’ voice sounds soft and deep, unexpected given his huge angelic presence and halo of blue.

It’s so familiar.

It’s exactly what Dean needs, and he takes one of his oil-slick hands and strokes himself as Cas slams into him hard. It only takes a few seconds but that high he’s been riding gets impossibly higher until he cries out, his release pumping out over his chest and up to his chin, spurt after spurt escaping his body with cries of Cas name and undecipherable sobs interspersed.

He can feel Cas push into him deep, and his hazy, over-sensitized mind can feel the angel go taut, wings beating and thrashing as he comes. When Dean feels that, he nearly comes again, his dick twitching in his hand and dribbling out a sympathetic load as Cas fills him, silent and glowing above him.

Cas finally relaxes, the last of his release squeezed out by a reflexive clench of Dean’s body, and he slumps down on top of Dean, sated; his wings drape over the sides of the bed onto the floor, and the glow from them fades until there is none, and it’s dark.


When Dean wakes up he doesn’t feel sticky and cold like he was expecting.

He’s also not alone – honestly he’s not sure what he was expecting there.

There is an angel wrapped around him (Or is he wrapped around the angel? It’s hard to tell because they’re all tangled together…). His face is pressed into Cas’ neck and he realizes, now that he’s awake, that he can hardly breath.

As smoothly as he can, which isn’t smoothly at all, he tries to roll over in the angel’s arms without disturbing him, but then he remembers Cas doesn’t sleep what am I doing? And he flops over without a worry and snuggles back into Cas once again, who’s grip tightens around him. Dean realizes that the warm blanket that is draped over them isn’t a blanket at all, but an angel wing.

There are a few soft kisses on the back of his neck, and a light bite or two which make his breath catch and he smiles.

“Thanks for cleaning me up.” Dean yawns. “What time is it?”

“Cenozoic.” Cas mumbles between kisses over Dean’s shoulder.

“Can you be a little more specific?”

“It’s just past one in the afternoon.” And then, he adds, “I really love your freckles.”

Dean laughs. “I always hated them.” Because how else is he supposed to respond to flattery?

“I know.” the angel kisses him in no discernible pattern, but Dean can guess that he’s picking out his favorite freckles and kissing those ones. Cas mumbles out an mmmhmm and Dean laughs again.

“So,” Dean knows that no matter what he says now he’s going to sound needy, and he hates it but he has to know. “What now?”

“Whatever you want.”

“What do you want, Cas?”

There’s a beat of silence.

“What do I want?”


“No one has ever asked me that before.” The angel says, incredulous.

“Well I’m askin’.”

Cas is quiet for a few moments longer than Dean would like, but he knows he’s just thinking it through.

“I want the bunker to be my home.” Cas takes a breath. Does he need to breathe? “I want to hunt with you and Sam and help people.” Dean understands that one for sure. “I want to share a room with you at night.” Dean’s stomach does a little flip. “I want to learn how to be human.” A brief pause, and then, “but I still want to be an angel. It’s confusing.”

The smile that takes over Dean’s face is impossible to stop. “Then you’re doing just fine because being a human is damn confusing.” He feels a small puff of a laugh interrupt the kisses Cas has resumed placing on his shoulder. He can probably hear Dean thinking about how confusing his own sexuality was up until about twelve hours ago. “I like the rest of your list, though.”

“You do?”

“Yeah.” Dean feels Cas squeeze him a bit harder than he was before, but before anything else can come of it there’s knock on the door.

“Cas?” It’s Sammy. “Cas, do you know where Dean is? I can’t find him anywhere…”

“Go away Sammy!” Dean spits out automatically and regrets it instantly. “Shit.” He says under his breath.



“I said go away!”

There’s a roar of laughter on the other side of the door.

“I knew it!” Sammy bellows, and his laughter echoes through the halls of the bunker as he walks away, hopefully far, far away. “I friggin’ knew it!” Is the last thing heard before he’s out of earshot.

“God dammit.” Dean laments, but Cas just squeezes him tighter.

“Dean?” Cas says after a few minutes of comfortable, silent snuggling (during which Dean may or may not be thinking of ways to get back at Sammy for interrupting them…), “I thought of something else I want.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

Cas doesn’t say anything, but instead wiggles his hips against Dean’s backside and nibbles at his shoulder.

“Mm. Yeah. Good idea.” Dean turns to face Cas again and all thoughts of annoying little brothers are forgotten for a long, long time.

Chapter Text

X is for X-Rated Videos

“Hmpf!” Castiel grunts as Dean shoves him against the wall, strong hands gripping his hips hard to keep him in place. He’d be a damn liar if he said he didn’t love being pushed around a bit.

“I thought he’d never leave.” Dean growls out against his neck, hot breath dancing across his skin and making him melt just a little bit more into Dean’s touch. Cas gasps when a firm thigh slots between his legs and adds a delicious pressure against his crotch. “I couldn’t fuckin’ wait to get my hands on you…”

“Clearly...” Cas sighs, allowing himself to rut slowly against Dean’s leg. He feels Dean’s hands slide up his shirt; feels his thumbs brush over his nipples before he pinches at them with just the right amount of pressure to make Cas squirm. “Fucking Christ, Dean…”

“Mmhm…” is the only response he gets before Dean kisses him hard, his tongue taking charge of the kiss quickly. “Missed this…”

Ever since Sam had moved in with them they’ve had to be more careful, and it was hard (pun intended). Cas decided to move into Dean’s room (it was bigger, and he slept in there most nights anyway,) and Sam took his old room across the hall. It didn’t seem like a big deal, except that they weren’t exactly quiet lovers and Sam expressed his distaste in hearing his brother in the throes of passion on the first morning after he moved in. They’d promised to keep it under control while Sam was in the house.

That was about three months ago.

Cas regretted making that promise almost immediately because not only was his boyfriend sexy as hell, but he was also a fucking tease who got his kicks making Cas suffer.

The past two weeks had been exceptionally brutal as Sammy had been staying home every evening to study for finals, and he was staying up until the early hours of the morning studying as well, so the most they had done were a few quick, quiet hand-jobs in the shower. Cas had begged for a blowjob one night, nearly cried for it, and it was the only one he got because damn Dean had decided to finger him at the same time and Cas couldn’t very well be quiet with that happening.

Since then they’ve been driving each other mad. Cas sent a handful of dick-pics to Dean while he was at work, and Dean’s been retaliating ever since by refusing to wear even a stitch of clothing to bed and how the hell is Cas supposed to sleep next to his naked boyfriend without going insane?

In an attempt to even the playing-field, Cas has been doing his yoga every morning in his boxers-briefs in the living room (long before Sam wakes up, but just in time for Dean to stumble out of the bedroom to get his first cup of coffee while Cas is in a Full-Straddle Forward Fold, the Wheel Pose, or, his personal favorite, The Reclining Bound Angle). So far he’s been tackled twice by Dean who’s flimsy excuse of “I tripped on the rug” didn’t play either time.

However, despite his nearly-naked yoga and pictures sent of himself riding his favorite dildo, Castiel is severely outmatched. Dean is just too sexy, and he knows all of the buttons to push. He knows that he can almost level Cas with a hungry stare from across the room. He knows that Cas likes it rough and has no second thoughts about pushing Cas into a wall or against the door and kissing him or spanking him hard as they walk by each other. Hell, Cas has been fondled and groped in every quiet corner of the house (even while Sam’s been home) and the only thing keeping him quiet are two of Dean’s thick fingers shoved in his mouth.

Yesterday, Dean had snuck up behind him and wrapped a hand around his throat, squeezing just enough to make Cas’ heart rate spike up. “Don’t touch yourself tonight. Or tomorrow. Can you do that for me?” Dean had whispered quietly as Sam was only a few feet away. Cas whimpered and nodded, very sure of what he was agreeing to. Dean squeezed his throat a little harder, drawing a whine out of Cas, and then said, “Good boy,” before licking the shell of his ear. Cas nearly came in his pants.

And tonight Sam was staying with his girlfriend. Evidently Dean wasn’t going to waste a second of their alone time.

“I wonder how many times I can make you come before he gets home tomorrow.” Dean breaks the kiss and growls out the words in a low rumble against Cas’ lips. It makes him shudder and his head knocks against the wall behind him with a thud. “Think I can get you to black out again?”

Cas groans with that memory but he doesn’t want to come across as easy so he teases Dean with “I don’t know, you might be losing your touch…” Then Dean easily strips off Cas’ shirt and tosses it to the side. “Dean…” Cas whines, now definitely sounding easy and desperate for whatever Dean will give him.

“Man, you made some beautiful sounds that night. You sang for me baby, you remember that?” Dean seems lost in the memory, too. “Man, I wish I’da recorded that.”

Cas moans loudly – between the pressure of Dean’s thigh pressing against his groin and the thought of being recorded while being fucked stupid, he didn’t stand a chance of holding it back.

“Would you like that baby? You want me to film you?” Dean grins and speaks against Cas’ lips before pulling back just enough so he’s not blurry in Cas’ vision – although everything is being viewed with a fuzzy sort-of haze. He nods emphatically and swallows hard, his eyes wide trying so hard to focus. “You like that? You wanna see all those pretty faces you make for me?”

Cas wants that. Holy fucking shit does he want that, and Dean can tell. Dean can always tell what Cas wants. He doesn’t even have to say anything he just has to hold on and wrap his legs around his waist when Dean picks him up.

“I’ll do that for you, baby. God, Cas, I’d love to do that.” Cas can only whimper into Dean’s neck in response. He can’t focus – he can hardly breathe while he nibbles on his lover’s neck as he’s carried to their room.

He feels Dean dip him down, laying him gently on the bed and kissing him until he’s practically melted into the mattress. “Can I set up the camera? Will you let me?”

Cas nods and palms at his groin still trapped in his jeans.

“Hands off, babe. Remember what I told you?”

Cas whines in frustration and can’t help but squirm against the mattress. Dean gets up and digs his phone out of his pocket, setting it up on the dresser, propping it up against the lamp and checking the angle a few times before pressing record. When he finally walks back over to the bed, Cas is desperate for contact, for touch, for Dean.

“Should I do a nice little strip tease for the camera?” Dean rocks his hips back and forth to some unknown beat while pulling his shirt over his head. He swings it around his head a few times and flings it away, then goes for the button of his jeans. “Bow-chikka-bow-wowwww…” he teases, slowly stripping the pants from his legs and nearly falling over while trying to get his foot out of the leg hole.

“Serves you right for stalling,” Cas jabs but is quickly shut-up by Dean gripping is hips and rolling him on his stomach. They’re both facing the camera, and Cas is very aware of it. He’s not sure whether to be grateful that the angle Dean has chosen isn’t going to get all the nitty-gritty graphic details of their genitals, or embarrassed that he is, in fact, going to have his face on the camera.

“You love the anticipation, don’t lie.” Dean is straddling his knees and reaches around between him and the bed to undo Cas’ jeans. After a bit of tugging and wiggling and actual giggling they get Cas’ pants down his thighs, and Cas thinks Dean is going to pull his pants completely off but apparently he has other plans. He leaves Cas’ legs trapped in his jeans from his knees to his ankles, and then hoists Cas’ hips so he’s ass-up and feeling very exposed and a little trapped. He kind of likes it.

Okay, he really likes it.

“Look at the camera babe,” Dean growls against his left asscheek before planting a swift smack on his right one. Cas looks up, and no sooner than he’s found the eye of the camera lens does he feel Dean’s hot, wet tongue flick right against his hole.

“Oh …” and just with that light of a touch in such a delicate place, Cas is breathless. The tip of Dean’s tongue flicks again, and again, before finally licking a wide swath over inches of sensitive skin. The vibrations of a growl from Dean send shivers up his spine, and then Dean goes to town. There’s no rhyme or rhythm for Cas to follow – no way for him to anticipate what Dean will do next – all he can do is hold on for the ride and feel as Dean licks in and around him, bites lightly, spreads his cheeks and spears him as deep as his tongue will go. He can feel spit dripping down his balls and it’s so sloppy and so hot. His head drops to the sheets and he moans into them, loud and shameless, before he feels another smack on his ass.

“Eyes up, Cas. Want you to watch. Look right into the camera…” Dean says before diving back in.

“Deeeean…” Cas whines, but obeys, pushing himself up onto his hands and looking at the camera across the room. He can’t help but gasp and moan, can’t help that his eyes roll back in his head when he feels Dean’s blunt fingernails dig into the skin of his ass to spread his cheeks even farther apart.

It goes on for what feels like hours; maybe even days, who knows… before he feels Dean’s fingers wrap around his cock.

“Fucking finally…” Cas tries so hard to sound like a smartass, like he’s just been completely exasperated by this whole experience, but it comes out more like he’s trying not to cry; like his body is trying desperately to keep it together.

He feels Dean smile against his ass and bite softly before plunging his tongue back in and stroking Cas fast and rough, lubricated only by precome and the spit that has dripped from Dean’s mouth.

“Fuck fuck fuck Dean… I’m…”

“Ask for it.” Dean demands, and that nearly does it right there. Cas doesn’t even have to think twice. He’ll ask for it. Hell, he’ll fucking beg if it means that Dean will give him permission.

“Can I come Dean, oh oh shit fucking Christ can I come?” It’s stuttered out over a few breaths, but he gets it out and awaits Dean’s answer, hoping to God and whoever else is out there that he can hold it off until Dean says yes.

“Ask nicely, baby.”

Fucking sadist!

“Please Dean let me come!” He cries out, actual tears in his eyes from holding back. For a brief moment he’s afraid Dean will say no, and if he does he’s not sure what he’ll do. Die, probably.

“Come for me, Castiel. Let go…”

In a wave that starts in his belly and goes all the way to his toes and back up, Cas’ orgasm rolls through his entire body, tensing every muscle, numbing his mind, blanking his vision until he feels nothing but a warm rush as it crests. He’s minutely aware of someone pulling his hair and a sound leaving his lips as he spurts out onto the blanket beneath him, over and over until he feels empty and lax and collapses onto the bed in a pile of boneless satisfaction.

It’s still for a few moments while he catches his breath, and then he feels a warm hand petting up his spine, followed by soft kisses that make him feel tingly. He feels overly sensitive, like every nerve ending is on high alert; like Dean’s touch is electric.

“Jesus, Cas. That was...” Dean cuts himself off, choosing to kiss along the back of Cas’ neck instead. “You make me feel like a fucking dynamo, you know that? I should do this for a living.”

“Shut up.” Cas mumbles into the comforter, smiling as he hears Dean’s laugh rumble behind him.

“Nah.” Dean laughs out, and then works to flip Cas over onto his back. Cas groans, feeling spent and loose and wanting to hunker down for a while – maybe cuddle and get a snack before round two.

But before he can even catch his breath, Dean’s got his arms braced under Cas’ knees, spreading him wide, and there’s something hard resting against Cas’ ass that gives him a sudden reminder that this is still round one for Dean.

“My turn?” Dean asks with a grin, and Cas nods excitedly and with that Dean pushes into Cas’ sensitive hole in one slow, smooth slide. It still forces the breath from Cas’ lungs, and Dean is smiling by the time he’s fully seated. “You’re so perfect, Cas. Jeeze, baby…” Dean leans down, effectively folding Cas in half, and nuzzles their noses together in a gesture way too cute for someone with their dick up an ass.

He’s still loose, relaxed, and incredibly wet from Dean’s mouth working him over just minutes ago, and the burn wavers between discomfort and pain.

Well fuck if he doesn’t sort of love that, too.

He can’t speak; everything is too sensitive and too raw, and he’s afraid that if he opens his mouth he’ll be embarrassed by whatever comes out. He bites his lip and breathes hard through his nose.

Then Dean moves, and he can’t help but gasp. It’s too soon, and not soon enough. Dean’s face lights up before he charges back in, hitting Cas in just the right spot…

“Holy fuck!” Cas cries out, tears forming in his eyes as his body jerks against Dean’s weight. “Too much…” he breathes out, but Dean just fucks into him again and Cas sees stars.

“You love it, don’t you?” Dean’s voice is dark, sinister, and absolutely fucking delicious. Cas can’t even respond, he can only look up at Dean as he teeters on the razors edge between pleasure and pain because yes, he loves it, but he’s sure it might kill him. “Tell me you love it.”

When has Cas ever been able to deny Dean anything? Never.

“I love it,” he gets the words out around all the other pathetic sounds he’s trying not to make. Dean moves again, softer this time but no less on target. “Oh fuck I love it…”

Cas is done. He’s gone. He’s Dean’s, completely.

“I know you do.” And with that, Dean kisses him again and it’s impossible for Cas to keep up with him so he lets go completely. Dean must feel it, sense it or notice in some way, because he grins and whispers “ good boy.”

There’s no stopping the way his body reacts to how Dean treats him – the contrast in brutal thrusts and whispered endearments. His cock is still mostly limp and spent from his orgasm not more than three minutes ago, but the rest of him his tense and tight and slowly he starts to respond to the sensation of Dean fucking him mercilessly. His legs push against Dean’s grip and his toes curl. His vision is blurry. He wants to push Dean away and pull him in closer at the same time.

When Dean slides a hand between them and grabs his stiffening erection and starts to stroke it rough and in time with his thrusts…

Incoherent words and sounds of approval are punched out of him with every slam of Dean’s hips. Dean’s hand works over his cock and balls, twisting and tugging, alternating hard and soft strokes that Cas can’t really differentiate because it all feels amazing. Dean knows exactly how to use him.

There’s a stutter in Dean’s rhythm and that’s the only warning sign Cas catches before Dean pulls out completely and Cas looks down in time to catch him fisting himself hard and fast with that beautiful look on his face – the one he wears just moments before he comes. Cas knows that face. He loves that face.

Dean splashes his release all over Cas’ still-hard erection with a moan and then a few soft sounds that follow. He works himself through it, and looks at Cas; looks at his spunk-covered hard-on and then up at his face. Cas is just about to tell him that it’s okay, that he didn’t need to come again seeing how Dean had just got him off not more than ten minutes ago, but then Dean grins, and it’s evil and Cas loves that look.

Two of Dean’s fingers scoop up a little of the come from Cas’ tummy and he presses them back into Cas’ used hole without hesitation, seeking out that spot that immediately makes Cas’ back arch off the bed. Then Cas feels a hand wrap around his cock, and, using his own come as lube, Dean jerks Cas off just as fast and hard as he had been doing to himself while utterly assaulting Cas’ prostate with his fingers.

Cas tries to squirm up the bed and away from the overwhelming feeling, sensitive in all the right ways and over stimulated to the point of tears, but still he comes, sudden and fierce, over Dean’s hand with a loud cry of Dean’s name, and begs Dean to stop after he’s spent but Dean is still working him over.

Dean licks his way up Cas’ stomach and chest, tonguing at his nipples softly and nibbling at his neck before finding his lips and give him a wet, salty kiss. When he’s finally convinced that Cas won’t be moving any time soon, he pushes himself up and off the bed.

“Where are you going?” Cas sounds whiney but he doesn’t care. He’s not ready for Dean’s attention to stop.

“Just turning off the camera and getting some water, don’t worry.” Dean’s perfect ass sways as he crosses the small room to grab his phone and then walks out of the room, presumably to the kitchen.

“Oh, shit.” Cas stretches and mumbles loudly so Dean can hear him from the other room. “I forgot you were recording.” If he hadn’t just had two consecutive orgasms forced out of him he’d probably be embarrassed, but as it stands he’s pretty lax and doesn’t really care.

“I can’t wait to watch that. You were beautiful babe.” Dean flops down on the bed and fiddles with his phone after handing Cas a cup of water and planting a kiss on his forehead.

“Are you watching it now?” Cas wants to laugh. The man is insatiable.

“Fuck yeah we’re watching it now!” And with a flourish of his index finger, Dean hits play and they watch.

Within fifteen seconds Cas is blushing from head to toe and hiding his face in the crook of Dean’s neck, peeking out periodically. He hears himself moaning, hears himself begging, and it’s so fucking weird to see and hear himself like that.

But Dean… oh God he’s the epitome of perfection: his green eyes stare right into the camera, completely shameless as he eats out Cas and makes a goddamn show of it; his dark voice as he growls out orders and praises to Cas; the way he maneuvers Cas’ body to whichever position he feels he can use him best.


Even as spent as he is, seeing all this makes him stir and hump weakly once or twice against Dean’s hip.

“You’re really into this, huh?” Dean whispers into his ear and squeezes him in closer. Cas only nods, a little ashamed but a lot turned on.



Jesus Christ.

The phone is dropped to the floor and the now-empty cup of water is thrown across the room and in a matter of seconds Dean is on him once again and Cas knows this is going to be another unforgettable night.


Two weeks and three recorded blow jobs later, and Dean is still dropping subtle hints that he wouldn’t mind making a whole collection of videos of them fucking and fooling around.

Cas gets a wonderful idea.


He set it up before bed the night before so all he has to do is walk over, press REC, and get down to it. Dean won’t have a clue.

He also wore a small-ish plug to bed for the first time ever.


Luckily Dean is a heavy sleeper who is still adamant about sleeping naked. He’s a perfect target for surprise morning sex.

Cas set his alarm for seven o’clock so he knows he’ll be up before Dean but after the sun is up so won’t need to turn a light on. When he opens his eyes he couldn’t ask for better conditions – the room is lit up golden with early summer sun, and Dean is sleeping on his back, arm thrown over his eyes to cover them from the light, and the blanket pulled down to his belly.

Cas can only spend a few moments swooning at his beautiful boyfriend before he shifts on the bed and is reminded of the plug he put in the night before. It’s nothing but motivating as he grabs the lube from his bedside table, gets up and walks over to the small somewhat-hidden camera he’d set up the night before. He hits record, checks the frame, and then looks into the lens.

He walks backwards slowly, back toward the bed, while looking at the camera and stripping off his pajamas; first his shirt, then his bottoms. When he gets to the edge of the bed he turns and bends over slightly, hoping that the plug is showing.

He’s half hard just thinking about what he’s doing.

Leaning over and reaching behind himself, Cas starts teasing the plug in and out. They’d had sex last night since Sam wasn’t home (apparently things with his girlfriend are getting pretty serious) and Cas was already pretty loose, so this was mostly for show. Finally he pulls the plug out and sets it on the floor, then pulls the blanket down to Dean’s shins. His legs are spread and one knee is bent slightly and he carefully makes himself comfortable between Dean’s legs and begins to tease Dean’s sleepy cock to life with his lips and tongue.

In just a few moments Dean is sighing in his sleep, soft enough that Cas isn’t sure if it is actually little snores or not, but Dean is growing harder between his lips and after a few minutes of suckling softly on what he knows are Dean’s most sensitive spots (and with a few moans from his sleeping boyfriend,) Cas opens the bottle of lube and drips a decent amount onto his hand to warm it before taking Dean’s cock and making it nice and slick. Dean thrusts almost imperceptibly into his hand, and Cas can’t help but smile. Even when he’s unconscious his boyfriend’s body is responsive to his touch.

It’s almost too easy to straddle him and sink down on that cock until his ass is resting against Dean’s thighs. Of course Dean is longer, wider, and hotter than the plug he’d been wearing all night, but the stretch and slight burn hit all the right places as Cas started swiveling his hips in small, smooth circles, gently goading his lover to wake up. He leans over and kisses up Dean’s sternum, feeling the chest of the man he loves rise and fall beneath him.

Dean is a very heavy sleeper.

“Dean? Baby, wake up…” Cas whispers softly against his skin before licking over one of Dean’s nipples. “Deeeean…” he teases, a little louder, rolling his hips a few more times and grinning when he hears Dean’s sharp intake of breath as he wakes suddenly.

“Cas?” His voice is sleepy soft and happy.


“Holy… oh shit babe what are you..?” Dean cuts himself off with a grunt.

Cas huffs out a laugh against Dean’s skin, and feels Dean’s warm hands slide up his thighs and grip his hips. He pulls his lips away from Dean’s skin and looks up, catching those green eyes in his.

“’Morning Dean.” Cas says, sitting up again and feeling Dean shift inside him,

“’s’it my birthday?” Dean partially sighs and partially grumbles, sounding truly unsure of why this is happening as he situates his legs under Cas so he can push up into him ever-so-slightly.

“Nope. Just a random Thursday.” Cas smiles lifting himself and then sinking down once again. They both moan in unison and Dean’s fingertips press a little harder into Cas’ flesh.

“Then I fuckin’ love Thursdays.”

Cas finds Dean’s hands with his own and laces their fingers together as they begin to move in unison.

It’s quiet, and sweaty, and slow, and it crescendos with Dean sitting up and throwing his arms around Cas’ waist to pull him impossibly closer as they come, and ends with both men collapsing back into the pillows, both of them sated and smiling.

Cas wanted to get a recording of a good, old-fashioned surprise morning fuck, and hadn’t meant to film them making love… but when he watched the footage later while Dean was in the shower, there was no other way to describe it.


“Hey babe,” Dean greets him when he walks in the door. He’s sitting on the couch, socked feet up on the coffee table and his laptop on his thighs. “Want to get Chinese for dinner tonight?”

Cas drops his bag at the door and tugs off his shoes before he plops down next to Dean on the couch, tucking his legs underneath himself and resting his chin on Dean’s shoulder.

“Sure. Chinese sounds good.” He kisses a prominent freckle on Dean’s neck and asks in his most seductive, deep voice that he knows Dean loves, “Did you like the video I sent you?”

“Huh?” Dean asks, still typing away on the keyboard, probably working on his master’s thesis or something. “What video?”

“The video I emailed you earlier today. You know, the one of us from last week – when I woke you up…” Cas sucks Dean’s earlobe between his teeth and nibbles.

“I didn’t get any video, babe. I haven’t gotten an email from you all day, see?” Dean pulls up his email inbox on the laptop and sure enough there’s no email from Cas…

“Maybe it didn’t go through…” Cas wonders aloud, a nervous feeling beginning to swirl in his gut.

Just then the doorknob jiggles and the front door swings open. Sam walks in, wide-eyed and pale-faced like he’d seen a ghost.

Like he’d seen…

“Oh no…” Cas says, and hides his face in his hands. “Oh no!” he yells into his palms, along with an anguished groan.

“I- um. I’m going to my room now.” Sam says, his voice wavering and making him sound as embarrassed as Cas feels.

“What’s going on?” Dean sounds frustrated like he’s been left out of a joke.

It’s not a joke. It’s not funny at all. Sam stomps to his room and slams the door.

“D and S are right next to each other on the keyboard…” Cas mutters into his hands.



“Huh?” Dean asks, and then it clicks. “Ohhhhh... Oh shit!” Dean lets out a loud howl of laughter, and then another one. “Oh shit! Holy shit!!” The jerk can hardly speak. “You sent a sex tape of us to my brother!”

“It’s not funny Dean!” Cas yells, reprimanding to no avail.

“Oh it’s pretty goddamn funny!”

The sound of Sam shouting “Fuck you Dean!” from his room makes Dean come completely unhinged.

Cas just glares at him, mortified because he’d watched the video a handful of times– knows that poor Sam probably only got to his strip tease… the plug… oh God. He should probably just move out now…

“Oooo hooo hooo… that was…” Dean wipes the tears from his eyes, finally almost able to breathe again. “That is the funniest thing that has ever happened.” He clears his throat and straightens up when he belatedly realizes that Cas is throwing him a severe stink-eye. “Oh c’mon. You’ll laugh about this later. So will that prude S.O.B in there.” Dean gestures toward Sam’s door and smiling wide.

“This is easily the most humiliating thing…” Cas fades off, hiding his burning cheeks in his hands once more.

“So,” Dean prods Cas in the ribs and Cas slaps his hand away. “Was it a good one? Was it like, really sexy?”

“Well it started with me pulling that little blue plug out of my ass. I can’t imagine he got much farther into it than that…”

Before Cas can even finish his sentence Dean breaks down again, sliding off the couch and onto the floor, heaving with nearly hysterical laughter.

Cas cracks a smile because that bastard; Dean knows how much he loves that laugh, and he sees his opening.

“Can we watch it?” Dean crawls back up on the couch, trying for seductive but still giggling too hard to really pull it off.

“You’re joking…” he’s cut off when Dean grips under his knees and yanks him down the length of the couch, getting Cas under him and pressing their groins together in one movement. Fuck, Dean’s brute strength and his ability to maneuver him so easily will never get old.

“C’mon babe. I mean, Sammy got to see it, it’s only fair that I do to.”

“Oh go fuck yourself.” Cas spits out, his voice full of mirth despite his best efforts. Dean smiles down at him and kisses him knowing full well that he’d won. “You asshole. This isn’t fair.” Cas concedes. “And what about Sam?” Cas glances in the direction of Sam’s room, choking back a soft moan as Dean grinds their hips together.

Dean seems to mull it over for a moment and then shrugs.

“Eh, we’ve already traumatized him. Fuck it.”

Chapter Text

Y is for Yoga

“Dude, where did you even get men’s shorts that short?” Jo asks, and thank God Dean isn’t the only one who notices how uncomfortably ridiculous his brother’s shorts are. “Wait, are those men’s shorts?”

Sam gives her a caustic Bitchface and says “yes” and then shoves another handful of leafy shit into the blender.

“Yeah, where did you even get those?” Dean can’t help but partake in the teasing. He's never been very good at it.

“Why, you want a pair?” Sam says with a little venom before flipping the Vitamix to ON and the whirrrr drowns out any retort Dean could have come up with. All that green shit is now spinning at 37,000 rpm.

Dean and Jo are still hanging out in the kitchen, mocking Sam’s shorts and smoothie, when Gabe walks in wearing even shorter shorts and a tight tank-top that says 104% GAY in rainbow-colored block letters.

“Hey Gabe. Nice shirt. Lookin’ good.” Dean smiles and winks, always happy to flirt with Sammy’s eccentric boyfriend.

“Thanks Dean-o. I’ll have to get you one to match.” Gabriel walks right over to Sammy, sliding his arm around his waist and shooting a disgusted look at the green drink Sam’s working on. The stark difference between the two men is comical, and Dean never would have paired them up in a million years, but somehow it works. And, not like he’d ever admit it, but sometimes he finds himself getting a little jealous of what those two goons have: a happy, stable, fun relationship.

… and epic sex, apparently, judging by the sounds he hears coming from Sammy’s room at night.


“So what are you two all dressed up for anyway? Tea at The Ritz?” Jo is munching on strawberries out of the bowl of fruit Sam used to make his smoothie.

“Gabe’s brother teaches a few yoga classes at the Laughing Lotus. It’s fun, we’ve been going to his…”

“Hold up,” Dean interrupts, “When you say ‘Gabe’s brother’ do you mean Gabe’s crazy-hot brother Cas? With the lip ring? From the New Year’s party?”

“Uh, yeah?” Sammy quirks his head, and a suspicious smile slithers across Gabe’s face.

And that’s how Dean finds himself in the backseat of Gabe’s 1986 nugget-gold Yugo on his way to yoga class.


Stupid. That’s what Dean is: goddamn stupid.

Unfortunately he realizes this about four seconds after he’s already walked into the yoga studio – wearing black sweatpants and a Metallica t-shirt and sticking out like a sore thumb – and it’s too late to turn tail and run because Cas has already noticed them and is walking over.

Holy shit Dean forgot how hot he was.

He’s wearing a pair of comfortable looking cotton pants that are cuffed around the defined muscles of his calves, and a tight black tank-top that’s showing off just pieces of colorful tattoos down his shoulders and arms and up his ribs. His dark hair is perfectly mussed like he’s had someone tugging on it all day.

And his eyes – oh sweet baby Jesus - how did Dean forget about those eyes?

Probably distracted by that damn lip ring…

He remembers it clicking against his teeth when he sucked on the man’s bottom lip, seconds after midnight on New Year’s…

“Gabriel, Sam, it’s great to see you.” Cas quirks a side smile at them and then sees Dean who is definitely not hiding behind them. “Dean?” Cas says his name without an introduction.

“Wow, yeah, Cas, you remember my brother Dean. And Dean remembers you so…”

Dean glares at his brother, his face on fire and rage in his gut when Sammy chuckles.

“Hi, yeah. It’s uh, good to see you again. These two jerks said you teach one hell of a yoga class so I thought I’d tag long, give it a shot. See what the fuss is about…”

He does his best to avoid looking directly at the man in front of him.

“That’s very kind of them.” Cas’ smile is soft and Dean wants to feel it against his skin. “So,” Cas glances around, “Where’s your partner?”

Dean only half hears the question as he scans his eyes across the room, noticing many pairs of men stretching and talking. “Huh?”

“Your partner? They did tell you this is a doubles yoga class, didn’t they?” Cas’ smile changes into something a little more teasing, and it makes Dean’s stomach flip – not necessarily in a good way, either. He shoots Sammy a look that he hopes reads as what the fuck?

“What? You interrupted me before I could tell you what class we were coming to. You were so excited to see Ca-”

“Shut it Sammy!” This is not at all going how he thought it would, but he steels his expressions and looks at Cas. “No, uh- I don’t have a partner.”

The only good thing about this, the only good thing, is the now radiant smile on Cas’ face. It’s warm and mischievous, and Dean doesn’t even care that it’s at his expense.

“That’s alright, you can be my partner. We’ll show everyone how it’s done. You’ve done yoga before, right?” Cas turns away, indicating that Dean should follow – that playful look still on his face as if he already knows the answer to the questions he just asked.

And Dean definitely doesn’t stare at the man’s ass in those fitted-cotton pants as he walks to the front of the room.

“Dude, exactly what class is this?” Dean harshly whispers to Sammy so no one else can hear.

“Men’s Double Dharma. It’s like, mellow tantric yoga for couples. He started teaching it during Pride last year and it was so popular they kept it. Don’t worry Dean, it’s a beginner’s class, and Cas really is a great teacher. You’ll be fine.” Sammy elbows him as he starts to walk away, but Dean stops him.

“You mean that I came to a sex yoga workshop with my brother and his boyfriend?” Dean hisses. He could have lived his whole life without knowing about the weird shit his brother and Gabe do together. Dean glances around at the men getting situated around the room, and his eyes land suspiciously on a big, round, firm looking pillow in the corner of the room. “What is that, some weird sex pillow?”

“Dude, that’s a meditation cushion.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

Sam shoots him a shit-eating grin and walks away to find his spot on the floor with Gabe, so Dean grudgingly trudges to the front of the class where Cas is rolling out his yoga mat.

“I, uh, I don’t have a mat.” Dean grumbles, beyond embarrassed and rubbing the back of his neck nervously. Dean’s not one to be self-conscious, but…

No mat. Can’t touch my toes. Wearing sweatpants.

“That’s alright. I always bring a few extras in case…” Cas reaches into a large duffle bag, and his shirt rides up in the back, giving Dean another teasing glimpse of colorful tattoos. He’s still staring when Cas turns around and hands him a dark green yoga mat because apparently he’s really going to do this. He rolls it out next to Cas’ purple one, mirroring what he sees everyone else doing, and the music comes on at a low volume.

“Alright boys, today’s class is going to be a little different than usual. I’ll be working the poses along with you instead of walking around and guiding you. Dean here will be my partner-” a short pause, and Cas looks over at Dean, “You don’t mind being my base today, do you?” He asks with a remarkably straight face but a glint in his eye. There’s a snicker from someone in the class.

Fuckin’ Gabe!

Dean rolls his eyes.

“Can we just do this?”

Cas smiles and continues addressing the class like nothing happened.

“Remember,” Cas is looking out to the class while he speaks, but Dean feels like he’s talking directly to him. “Tantric dharma is about intimacy, not just sex. It’s about trust and communication, and to move how your partner makes you want to move. Are you ready?”

The class speaks a murmur of yes’s and mhm’s, and as Cas starts to chant, Dean isn’t sure about all this new-age hippie bullshit, but-

“Om saha nau-avatu. Saha nau bhunaktu. Saha viiryam karavaavahi. Om shanti shantI shanti.”

The words sound like a prayer, and Dean doesn’t know what it means but he wouldn’t mind hearing it again.


It’s a miracle – a goddamn miracle – that Dean doesn’t come in his pants during the class.

He sure this is partially due to the persistent forced thoughts of truck stop toilets and that nude booze-cruise Uncle Bobby claimed to have gone on.

The other part is probably because Dean was so focused on not tearing every muscle in his body. He’s about 87% sure he didn’t pull any major muscles, but he’s less confident that he’ll be able to move at all tomorrow.

Even still, with the disgusting thoughts and trying desperately to focus on not making a complete ass out of himself in front of Cas, their brothers, and an entire class of gay hippies, it wasn’t enough to completely ignore the way Cas would slide against him and gently maneuver around him while speaking smooth directions to the class over the music.

Dean definitely got a little chubby in his sweatpants.

It’s just- they were pressed together so close that Dean could feel the vibrations of Cas’ voice at every contact point; could smell the clean sweat on his skin, feel the heat through his clothes… and… and…

And Cas made Dean feel strong. He didn’t need to be flexible to be Cas’ base (Jesus, did they really have to call it that?), but he spent most of the class supporting the other man, occasionally impressed with his own ability to lift Cas into various positions. Maybe it was that powerful fear of embarrassment, or maybe Cas really didn’t weigh that much, but either way Dean felt like he could manhandle Cas into many compromising positions and hold him there as long as he wanted to.

He’s pretty amped up.

Weren’t people supposed to feel relaxed after yoga?

Dean doesn’t feel relaxed. Not even a little bit. He feels like a fucking live wire.

“What’d you think of your first doubles yoga class?” Cas asks, reaching down to help peel him off the floor.

I think I want to bend you over that stupid meditation cushion and fuck you until you cry.

He can’t say that out loud, so instead Dean says “I think you need more classic rock on your iPod.” As Cas pulls him up. The man laughs, and Dean is captivated by the color of his eyes.

“You really did a wonderful job, Dean. I’m impressed. I didn’t even take it easy on you.”

“Piece of cake.” Dean forces out the words, trying desperately to sound natural and not to wince as each vertebra in his spine snaps back into its rightful place.

A few men come up and talk to Cas, taking his attention away just long enough for Dean to exhale and collect himself while the men thank Cas and tell him they’ll see him next week. When Sammy and Gabe come up with their mats rolled and tucked under their arms, Dean can’t help but glare at them.

“Dean-o! You survived. I’m proud of you.” Gabe punches him in the shoulder and Dean holds in a pained squeak just behind his pursed lips.

“You okay there Dean?” Sammy asks, sounding almost-actually concerned.

“Peachy,” he grits out, and looks over to Cas whose attention is back on him once again. He also looks concerned, and Dean tries to wave it off. “Just a little stiff.”

“If you’d like I can show you a few stretches to help you relax,” Cas must see the skeptical look on Dean’s face, because why would you need to stretch after yoga? “It sounds silly, I know, but it will help. We could go back to my place...” Gabe snorts and Cas blushes and Dean thinks he might be in love. “I mean, um, it’s just that there’s another class coming in here and I have space and shut up Gabriel.”

If looks could kill, Gabe would be dead and buried by now.

“Oooookay,” Sammy interrupts the silent tension, “You guys have fun doing… whatever it is you’re going to do. I’m going to take Gabe home before he gets himself punched in the mouth. Dean, you can Lyft home, yeah?”

Dean nods and watches gratefully as Sammy picks Gabe up easily with one arm and carries him out of the studio. There are only a few stragglers left in the room; one couple is still in what Cas called the yab-yum position and kissing like they have no idea they’re in public. Dean is staring. Cas notices.

“Sometimes this class makes people get a little bit salacious.”

“Huh?” Dean looks back at Cas, thinking that maybe those guys have the right idea. “Oh, yeah. Well I’m going to pretend that I don’t know my brother and his boyfriend come do this every week.”

Cas laughs. Dean likes it.

“Tell me about it. Out of all the classes I teach, this is the one Gabriel decides to attend.” Cas hoists his duffle over his shoulder and they walk out together. “No offense to him or your brother, but how do they even…”

“Stop.” Dean cuts him off and laughs, and Cas joins him.

The conversation is easy, and Dean follows Cas to his car without really thinking about it.


By the time they park the car on a side street and are walking up the steps to the foyer of Cas’ building, Dean has almost forgotten how he’d been willing-away a semi just a half hour ago.

It’s casual and relaxed even as they take the elevator up to the third floor of the building. Cas picks out the key to open his door and invites Dean in wordlessly.

It’s all so casual, so comfortable and natural, that Dean is completely taken by surprise when Cas slams the door closed and then jumps into Dean’s arms. Dean is barely able to catch him, but the man latches on like a koala and looks him right in the eyes.

“Oh, shit. We doin’ this?”

“Unless you really came over here to stretch…” Cas moves like he’s going to climb down but Dean squeezes him and keeps him in place by gripping his tight little ass in his hands.

“Nuh-uh. You’re stayin’ right there.” Dean glances around the apartment for a soft surface on which he can fuck Cas. It’s a small-ish studio apartment, and there’s a large-ish bed against a brick wall that’s made up with soft white blankets and looks like it’s ready to be thoroughly destroyed.


He takes a step toward it and his legs wobble.

Oh shit - he’s actually sore.

Fuck. He’s not sure if he’s going to be able to do this...

“Dean? You alright?” Cas’ fingers are twisting and petting at his hair. Normally that’d be enough to make Dean purr if he wasn’t so focused on not collapsing. Instead he grunts in response, and his hands slip from their place on Cas’ behind. “Oh.” Cas unwraps himself from Dean and stands, but doesn’t back away. “You’re really sore, aren’t you?”

Dean feels the betrayal of heat rising in his cheeks. Great, now he’s blushing. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.” He grits out, more frustrated than anything. Cas just smiles, a playful fucking thing made of sunshine, and then schools his expression.

“It’s not wise to ignore your body’s needs.” Cas says while tracing down Dean’s shoulders and arms with soft, seductive touches. When he gets to Dean’s hands, he hooks their index fingers together and starts to walk backwards, effectively pulling Dean with him towards the bed. “We should really focus on getting your muscles to relax.”

He turns Dean and guides him, laying him gently on the bed like he’s made of something fragile, and for that moment Dean lets himself pretend that he is.

“Is this okay?” Cas asks as he crawls up Dean’s body, close enough that Dean can feel the heat radiating off that wiry, tight little body even though they’re not actually touching. It isn’t until Cas’ pelvis is over his own that the man lowers himself and allows for just a teensy bit of delicious friction to zing pleasure up to Dean’s brain before he asks, once again, “Dean, is this alright?”

Dean can’t help the chuckle that escapes his chest.

“Cas, just assume that I’m on board with whatever you want to do to me right now. Just don’t make me move too much.”

“Excellent.” And with that, Cas crushes their lips together like he’d been dying to do it since they walked in the door. It doesn’t escape Dean’s notice that Cas very gently lowers himself onto Dean’s body – although it does almost escape his notice because holy fuck that lip ring!

“Dude, I’m – not – going to – break.” Dean gets out somehow between kissing and trying to breathe. “I just don’t – want – to move.”

Cas pulls away, a smirk curving up on those kiss-pink lips. “Are you always this lazy of a lover?”

“Guess you’ll just have to fuck me a few time and find out, huh?”



Kissing Cas isn’t like anything Dean has experienced before. Usually when he’s with someone, especially a man, he doesn’t like spending too much time with the kissing – mostly because there’s something so much better that comes after all the kissing.

But kissing Cas, oh, man.

And it’s not just the lip ring.

Okay, it’s kind of the lip ring.

But the guy is just an amazing kisser. He’s demanding with it, but not bossy, and every time Dean even starts to think about pulling away, even just to take a breath, the man bites his lower lip and pulls him back into it.

After what seems like twelve hours of making out, (really it's only been about fifteen minutes but Dean’s perception of time is all fucked up with hot yoga boy’s tongue in his mouth), with Dean’s hands tangled in Cas’ silky hair, and Cas’ hands under Dean’s rucked-up shirt and under his back, gently massaging his shoulders, Dean’s about ready to vibrate out of his fucking skull. His lips are raw and sensitive, and the little, almost imperceptible circles Cas has been moving his hips in now feel enormous; even through the frustrating five million layers of cotton that separate them, every time their hard dicks even come close to touching...

Dean whines.

Dean doesn’t whine.

Everything feels so good, but he wants more. It’s not fair.

Cas huffs out a breathy laugh against his lips.

“See what happens when you’re lazy.”


Again, not whining.

“So needy...” Cas chides, and slides Dean’s shirt over his head and tosses it to the side. Dean follows his lead, and pulls that tight black tank top off of Cas. After he throws the tank to join his own shirt on the floor, he can’t help but slide his hands up Cas’ smooth torso, over his dark, pierced nipples (oh Lord!), and back down his ribs. He takes in the tattoos that litter Cas’ beautiful form - there’s one tattoo over his heart where it looks as though his skin has cracked open and bright mess of watercolor and light has come spilling out. There’s a similar one, although it’s larger and shaped differently, above his right hip. It has just a hint of night sky in it as well, dark and starry, contrasting the bright blues and pinks and greens bleeding from the seemingly open wound.

For a moment the beauty of the tattoos distracts him, but then Cas’ lips are on his again as they wriggle out of their pants and fuckin’ finally they’re naked and Dean’s pretty sure he’s never seen a more perfect cock in his life. Cas must see the way he’s looking at it.

“Not this time big boy. You can ride this ride tomorrow when you can actually move.”

A very, very brief moment of disappointment passes through his lust-drunk brain, because as much as he wants to have that thick, ruddy cock inside of him – this just means that he’s going to be fucking Cas’ tight little hole and that’s, well, that’s fucking great, too.

Cas climbs gracefully over Dean to reach the nightstand drawer, pulling out what they need to get the party started. Dean’s hands follow the soft skin of Cas’ ass and thick thighs.

“Would you like a show, or should I go ahead and make this quick and dirty?” Cas asks casually, like it’s a second-hand thought while he lubes up his fingers.

“I can help, you know…” Dean responds, but Cas only shakes his head.

“You don’t want to move, remember?”

Dean glares, and Cas laughs and Dean says, “Let me watch, please…” like he’s a sad little kid begging for a treat.

Cas easily lifts his leg and straddles Dean’s hips, reverse-cowboy position, and Dean’s breath is stolen from his lungs.

Not only does he have a fuckin’ front row seat to Cas sliding that first long finger into his perfect little asshole…

Not only does he have an incredible view of the muscles and curves of Cas’ back and shoulders, and holy shit if that’s what yoga does to a man’s body then sign him the fuck up…

But Dean also has a view of the absolutely stunning work-of-art that is Cas’ back.

Just like the tattoos on the front, it looks as if Cas’ skin has been cracked and torn open, but instead of blood and bone, it’s color, wet and running, exploding out of Cas’ body and dripping down his spine. It’s the fucking galaxy, swirling blacks and blues, mottled in stars. It’s birds and flowers spilling out, and it’s all so realistic that Dean’s almost afraid to touch it, but he has to because he wants to see if his hands will be covered in paint at the end of it all.

He drags his fingertips through the color, down Cas back to his…

Oh yeah…

Cas is up to two fingers now, and Dean watches them sink in and out; sexy, despite the awkward angle.

Dean slicks up his own finger in his mouth and slides it with Cas’, which elicits a dark groan from the man. They work in time, Dean’s finger able to get a little deeper than Cas’; able to find that sensitive little spot and tease a few more sounds from the guy before he’s had enough.

A warm hand grabs his cock and rolls on a condom, giving him a few long strokes to get him nice and slick. He’s already hard as a rock, so he slips in easily when Cas uses his strong legs to lift himself and then sink down.

“Oh fuck…” Dean watches in awe as Cas takes inch by inch without stopping or, hell, even slowing down. He just takes it all in one smooth motion, and Dean can’t do anything but lay back and take it, hands spreading Cas’ cheeks so he can watch as he’s swallowed up by the velvety heat. “Oh, fuck!”

“Mmm, you feel perfect…” Cas breathes out the words before rolling his whole body and grinding down. Dean can feel the other man’s body clench around him. Cas hums again, his hips moving in tiny circles and creating just enough friction to keep Dean from actually going mad. But, when Dean lifts his knees, planting his feet on the bed and bracing himself to push up into Cas with gusto, Cas looks – no, glares – back at him and stills all movement.

“No, Dean.” He plants his palms on Dean’s knees and pushes them back down so his legs are straight. “You need to relax, remember?” Cas’ blunt nails scrape up Dean’s thighs as he speaks. “That means no moving.”

Dean’s frustrated noise makes Cas laugh, but then he’s circling his hips in lazy figure-8s again, and Dean decides he’ll take what he can get even if he feels like he’s about to go crazy.

“Good boy. I can feel you letting go…” Cas praises, and then slides up and down the entire length of Dean’s cock and fuck. He’s using his teacher voice – the one Dean felt rumbling against him all throughout the yoga class. Good boy. Fuck.

Cas takes Dean all the way down, plants his knees on the bed, tucks his toes partially under Dean’s back, and then leans his body back, bringing his back flush with Dean’s chest. His head rests comfortably on Dean’s left shoulder.

Bendy sonuva-

He rolls his body, and the feeling forces a moan from Dean as he feels Cas’ whole body move against his own. They’re so close. It’s so hot. And the guys weight is pressing him down into the bed just enough that he still can’t thrust into that heat like he wants to.

Cas raises his arms and brings them above their heads, then tangles his fingers in Dean’s hair, all the while continuing those slow body rolls that are driving Dean out of his fucking mind.

It’s time to get Cas to feel a little crazy, too.

With his head propped up on a pillow Dean can look down the length of Cas’ torso; can see the curvature of each rib as the man’s body arches and rolls; can see the flat plane of his stomach - the dip of his belly button; can see the fuzzy, dark hair that directs his eyes to the most incredibly delicious cock he’s ever seen. Dean’s not sure he’s ever seen a guy stay that hard while getting fucked without any type of direct stimulation – but Cas’ hands are still gripping at Dean’s hair, and the man himself seems completely lost in the slow movements he’s making.

Dean wraps his arm around Cas’ torso and slides his hand down his firm belly until he’s got his fingers wrapped around that dick. A filthy moan escapes Cas’ lips, and Dean grins.

“Call me a good boy again.” He turns his head slightly so he can growl against Cas’ temple. The steady waves of Cas’ body stutter slightly, and he knows he’s got him. The man thrusts up into Dean’s hand, and then fucks back onto his cock, and repeats.

“Mmmmm, good boy indeed.”

Dean snakes his other arm around Cas’ chest and softly rubs the pad of this finger over the hard bud of a nipple, teasing the metal bar and tugging gently. Cas must like that, because he fucks back into Dean a little harder that time - so Dean does it again.

With the new intensity of Cas’ movements, and the increased heat between them, Dean starts to feel that telltale sign of an impending orgasm tightening up in his nuts. He’s swimming right at that pleasure point, and he wants to ride it just a little bit longer.

But then he must press just right against Cas’ prostate and the man tugs on his hair just enough for that euphoric feeling of pleasure-pain to flash through his body. Again and again they move in unison. Cas is no longer reprimanding him for not relaxing, and instead has been reduced to desperate sounds that are all drawn-out vowels and an occasional ‘oh shit’ as Dean takes advantage of his small range of motion to fuck up into Cas’ body.

He’s close, so goddamn close he can taste it; like the salty skin of Cas’ shoulder he keeps biting at.

Dean doesn’t want to come first – but he does. And he comes hard. He thinks that he may have blown right through the condom it feels so damn powerful. For a few moments his mind is blank and everything feels floaty and fuzzy and warm and still while he catches his breath.

He still giving Cas languid strokes and moving inside of him with slow, small movements.

“Shit, that was hot,” Cas murmurs, running a hand through his own sweaty hair.

“Fuck, Cas. You didn’t…” Dean starts when he realizes that Cas is still hard and leaking. “Oh, fuck. I’m sorry.” Think fast, Winchester! his orgasm-hazy brain supplies the idea of sucking Cas off. “Here, roll off me, I’ll… I can...”

Cas seems to have another plan altogether.

He lifts himself off of Dean’s softening cock and lays it gently on Dean’s thigh, then, in one swift movement, he kicks his legs up over their heads and places his feet flat against the brick wall behind them.

Dean’s brain short-circuits when he watches as Cas takes the tip of his own cock between his lips.

“Holy shit.” Dean says aloud, “Holy shit Cas how are you…”

“Mmmmph,” he lets the head of his dick pop out of his mouth and says, “Why do you think I started doing yoga?” and then he’s suckling at his tip again, and fuck it’s the sexiest, weirdest thing Dean’s ever seen. He doesn’t even notice that practically the entire weight of the man is pressing into his chest and shoulders.

But he does notice that he can reach Cas’ stretched asshole. He slides two fingers into Cas’ mouth as he continues to suck himself off, gets them nice and spit-slick, then shoves them deep into Cas’ hole while supporting Cas’ balance with his other hand.

Watching those lips (and that fucking lip ring) moaning around that perfect cock as Dean zeroes in on the man’s prostate…

“Ohhh fuuuuck Dean…” Cas whines out and then he’s jerking himself and coming over both of their faces and holy fucking fuck! Cas breathes through his orgasm as his cock jumps with each spurt. Dean continues massaging his prostate until little squeaks are all the sound that Cas can make, and then he helps the man lower his legs back down and slides him to the side so they can lay next to each other.

Before anyone can say anything, Dean turns and kisses Cas, tasting the flavors of salty come and sweat and something that is very Cas as the kiss deepens and their limbs tangle together.

Kissing before and after sex – well, that’s new.

Dean could get used to it.

Finally Cas pulls away, and reaches down to the floor for his shirt. He uses it to wipe his come off Dean’s face, then his own, and Dean peels off the condom, ties it, then wipes his hands on the shirt before Cas throws it back on the floor.

“That was great.” Cas says, lying back and tucking an arm behind his head. “Been wanting to do that since New Year’s.”

“Yeah?” Dean’s a little surprised. “Why didn’t you have Gabe set us up before?” He turns to face Cas, propping himself up on his elbow.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d remember me.” Cas blushes softly. “We were both pretty drunk that night.”

“How the hell could anyone forget you?” Dean scoffs before he can stop himself. “I-uh, I mean, I remembered you. I wasn’t that drunk.”

“Mmhm. Whatever you say.”


“Make me.”

So Dean does.


Dean doesn’t like yoga.

But that doesn’t mean he isn’t a regular at most of Cas’ classes now.

No, really, Dean doesn’t like yoga.

What he likes is not feeling stiff after Cas fucks him while he’s all bent up like a goddamn pretzel.

He likes that Cas can spread his legs wide and go to town without feeling like he’s going to pull something.

He likes feeling strong when he folds Cas in half and fucks him against a wall.

Dean is limber – and it feels good.

He still can’t suck his own cock though, which is fine, because Cas is happy to do it for him.

Chapter Text

Z is for Zeppelin


“Come on, loosen up Cas! It’s our last night in Vegas!” Jimmy whines, “And it’s my bachelor party!” He’s gripping Cas by the shoulders and shaking him just enough to be annoying. “And you’re my Best Man! You gotta come to the strip club. Plus Chuck already reserved a table for five so if you don’t come it’ll be weird.”

Cas isn’t surprised that they’re going to a strip club. Jimmy’s right, it is Vegas, and they didn’t fly all this way to have a quiet night in – they could do that back in Kansas. Besides, he’s looked up the club they’re going to, and it’s the largest co-ed strip club in the city, so at least that was taken into consideration. With Cas’ preference for men, Bal’s staunch bisexuality, and Gabriel’s penchant for humping just about anything on two legs with blue eyes and a pulse, a co-ed strip club really was about as thoughtful as one could be in this town.

Besides, they had already dropped a lot of money on tonight, what with the limo service and reserving a table for a semi-private VIP show (which was all Gabriel and Balthazar’s idea because extravagance is their M.O.).

“Fine, but I’m only doing this because you’re my brother and I love you and I love Amelia and I want to be there to keep you from doing anything stupid.”

“Thank you.” Jimmy gives him a sloppy kiss on the cheek in thanks. His breath smells like tequila. It’s not even eight o’clock yet.

“And because you want to see some of the finest hung dong west of the Mississippi!” Gabriel shouts from the open door of the bathroom where he, Bal, and Chuck are getting ready.

“You’re not really going to wear that fake mustache, are you?” They hear Bal’s exasperated (and possibly amused) voice over the music playing from someone’s phone.

It’s a relief, Cas thinks, that even though they’ve all lived so far apart, not much has changed since their college days in Chicago.

It’s not long before the five of them are in the elevator and on their way down to the casino. Their reservation isn’t until ten o’clock, so they shoot some Craps and lose miserably at Blackjack before the limo arrives to take them to Crowley’s Pleasure Palace.


The lights of Vegas and the constant chatter of his friends distract Cas from feeling nervous. Cas hasn’t been to a strip club before, and as far as he knows neither has Jimmy, but Jimmy is already plenty hammered so he doesn’t seem as on-edge as Cas feels. Chuck, Gabe, and Bal have all been to strip clubs many times, and they keep telling him to relax and enjoy himself.

The limo pulls up under an awning on the side of a building that’s lit in neon reds and blues and purples, and loud, pulsing music leaks from the open, well-guarded doors. Cas takes a breath and tries to laugh, tries to feel like he belongs here. He’s dressed the part, and he’s with his cocky, confident, weird friends and his drunk-ass brother. Why shouldn’t he have a good time?

Inside it’s not as gross as he thought it would be, and it doesn’t smell bad (although his sense of smell may have been scorched by the amount of cologne his friends are wearing). The inside of the building is huge, with multiple stages and balconies, all of which are being used by women clad in see-through lace, and everything is illuminated in pink but it’s still dark. Cas squints as his eyes adjust. Their hostess confirms that they are the “Novak - Bachelor Party of Five” and leads them through a maze of stages and tables, up a wide, carpeted staircase, and takes them to the room for the “VIP Experience.” They’re seated one table back from the main stage, and the hostess takes their first drink orders before walking away.

There are three stages in this room; one relatively large one, front and center, that they are closest too, and then two smaller stages to either side, each with a shining, floor-to-ceiling brass pole. There are twelve tables in the room with either five or eight comfortable, red velvet-covered chairs surrounding them. The ceiling is low, making the room feel small and intimate for how big it really is. A single electric candle is placed on the center of every table, along with a small folded program of the evening’s shows and advertisements for drink specials.

“Oookay, it looks like we’re in for a five-act evening.” Chuck grabs the program and reads aloud over the low din of music other people talking and being seated. A bachelorette party a few tables over shouts and laughs when they clink their shot glasses together and drink some electric blue liquid that Cas feels he’s probably about fifteen years too old to even consider drinking even though he’s only thirty-two. “Kicking things off we’ve got the sensual Indigo Starr and her ‘Dance of Silken Scarves.’” Chuck raises an eyebrow as Jimmy giggles. “After that is Andre the Wolf and his, and I quote, ‘Bad Boy Bulge.’” That one gets a laugh out of all of them, especially since Chuck’s voice breaks on the word ‘bulge.’ “Third is the King of Classic Rock, a Mr. Dante Wylde, followed by a woman known as Krystal – just Krystal, with a K. Then there’s a Grand Finale that We Don’t Want to Miss!

Their drinks arrive and they order a round of shots before the waitress leaves. There are male and female servers wandering the room, all, young, attractive and well-endowed. There’s one man in black leather pants and a tight white t-shirt with a deep-v that Cas finds fairly handsome, but he’s on the other side of the room and looks a little too young for him.

When did I become such an old man?

When the music starts and the lights go down and leave only the stage lit with bright white and blue lights, everyone starts to cheer and whistle, and then a beautiful woman wrapped in scarves all different shades of blue and purple takes the stage. As the music picks up she sensually unwinds the scarves from her body, eventually revealing that she’s only truly wearing a see-through white thong.

Castiel isn’t into women what-so-ever, and hasn’t pretended to be since high school, but that doesn’t mean that the beauty of the woman and the sensual way she teases the silken fabric over planes of exposed skin is lost on him. Although it seems to be affecting Chuck more than anyone else at their table and the man is practically drooling before she’s even finished her first dance.

She doesn’t stay on the stage. Instead, during her second song, she gracefully dances around the room, clearly searching for the tables and patrons most interested in her, and as she makes the rounds both men and women tuck money into that barely-there scrap of material. By the time she’s made it to their table she’s got ones, tens, twenties, and even a few fifties shoved in there. She wanders by Chuck’s side of the table, trailing a finger along his shoulder and down his arm.

He looks like he’s about to have a stroke as he slides a twenty into the back of her g-string and she gives him an obvious gyration of her ass in his face as a thank you. Gabriel pats him on the back for not passing out, and Cas watches Jimmy take a shot of something clear.

Andre the Wolf joins Indigo Starr on stage and they dance together briefly around one of the poles, looking like they’re incredibly comfortable being that close and intimate in front of an audience. When Indigo Starr whirls off the stage in a blur of flesh and blue silk, The Wolf keeps one of her scarves for himself, and when the music shifts to something more upbeat, he whips it between his legs and starts grinding on it. Balthazar wolf-whistles so loud Jimmy nearly jumps out of his chair, and Cas laughs.

This man, or The Wolf, is muscular and built with shining chocolate-brown skin, dark eyes, and tattoos twisting up his torso and arms. When he rips his baggy pants off he reveals tight, sparkling gold cheeky boy shorts – and the largest bulge Castiel has ever seen.

Women scream. Men scream. Bal screams.

Gabriel orders more shots as The Wolf dances his way around the room to a steady, heavy beat; grinding his golden crotch in the faces of horny housewives and laughing frat-bros. When he gets to their table as he makes his way back toward the stage, Bal scoots his chair away from the table, motions to his lap, and shouts at his friends, “This one’s mine, boys!” as The Wolf shakes his mammoth dong in his face, stilling only long enough for Bal to slip a $20 bill between his legs before he ruffles Bal’s hair and heads back toward the stage.

Jimmy’s laughing, having a great time watching his friends be dumbasses, and Cas sort of understands the appeal of coming to a strip club. It’s not sexy necessarily, but it is fun.

When the music stops and Andre the Wolf has made it back to the stage, people are still cheering. He flexes a few times, drawing out his stage time, before he starts to clap a slow beat, clearly encouraging the crowd to clap along with him.

Everyone starts to clap, or stomp, or pound on their table in time with The Wolf.

That’s when the opening guitar riff to Foghat’s Slow Ride blares over the speakers, the smoke machines billow out another plume of sweet-smelling smoke, and an actual god saunters onto the main stage, clapping along with everyone.

The loudest roar of the evening tears through the room as the man actually rips off his tank top and starts enthusiastically lip-syncing along with the lyrics, looking like he’s having the time of his life. He wiggles his hips and rolls his body to the beat of the music, and while he’s not nearly as good a dancer as The Wolf, he’s clearly having way more fun. He leaps from the main stage and hooks a leg onto the pole on the smaller stage, slowly twirling himself down to the floor, where he humps the pole a few times, winks at the audience, and grinds his way back to a standing position.

Then, with a mile-wide grin on his face, Dante Wylde rips off his tear-away jeans and reveals that a simple black g-string is all that separates his junk from the eighty or so people in the audience.

That doesn’t stop him from shaking it with all he’s got in time with the funky guitar beat, and it would be utterly ridiculous if he wasn’t so sexy.

“Close your mouth, Cassie, you might give him the wrong idea!” Gabriel shouts at him over the music, and Jimmy overhears and laughs.

“Yeah, or the right one!” Chuck chimes in loudly.

“You like this one?” Jimmy asks, and it would seem genuine if it weren’t for the smirk on his face.

Instead of answering, Cas shrugs and swallows down the rest of his beer in one go without taking his eyes off of the dancer, who is now giving them all a fantastic look at his tan, perky ass as he flexes his butt cheeks one at a time.

As the song begins to fade out and the next song begins, made seamless due to the sound of the screams and whistles of the crowd, the man hops off the stage and swaggers over to the table full of drunken bachelorette party-goers, and slips the costume feather boa off the shoulders of one of the women. They all laugh and squeal as she slips the first bill into the front of his g-string.

Now, dressed in his black g-string and a hot-pink feather boa, the man dances his way around the room to Is It My Body by Alice Cooper. He rubs his smooth, tan skin along various crowd members, and even the table full of really straight-looking guys stick a few bills in his underwear and high-five the dancer before he starts making his way back to the front.

Cas’ hands are shaking as Dante Wylde approaches their table. The closer he gets the more beautiful he is. Despite the feathers and the body glitter, the man is gorgeous. He looks like a man’s man; like he could wear a tool belt as comfortably as he’s wearing that boa; like he could wear sweatpants and drink coffee and read a paper on a Saturday morning.

Do people still read the paper?

There is something different about this guy. Cas wishes briefly that he’d have met this man, this Dante Wylde, somewhere else, maybe at a Home Depot or the grocery store, where he could have gotten to know him a little first before unwrapping him like a goddamn Christmas present.

He gets closer and closer, and Cas never thought he’d be in the position to have to work up the courage to slip cash into a man’s underwear but here he is, willing his hands steady…

But when Dante Wylde gets to their table he looks at Cas for a moment, and Cas’ heart pounds in his ears, but then Dante goes for Gabriel, who squeals gleefully when the dancer straddles his lap and rolls his stomach a few times, nearly grinding his crotch into Gabe’s chest. The other three men hoot and holler, and Dante Wylde laughs before Gabriel slips a twenty into the back strap of his g-string and pats his ass.

Cas crumples the bill he was holding in his hand under the table and tries to laugh along with them as small pink feathers float in Dante Wylde’s wake.

The next dancer, Krystal (with a K), is beautiful and intense and adorned in a red thong and devil horns, and despite his being a stone-cold gay man, Cas does in fact give her the twenty he’d planned on giving to the previous dancer.

“Don’t worry sunshine,” she whispers in his ear, sounding bored as she presses herself against him. “The show’s not over.”

Cas wanted to explain to her that, while she was lovely and grinding seductively in his lap, it would have little to no effect on him – but instead he just nodded and thanked her as she removed herself from his lap and continued her way around the room.

“Did you just thank the stripper?” Gabriel asked him with a huff of laughter.

“Always a gentleman my- hiccup - brother.” Jimmy says, resting his head on the table and smiling up at Cas.

“Bite me.” Cas growled back, and then stole a shot from the line-up of drinks that Jimmy was working on.


Dean pulls all the scratchy paper bills from his g-string and stuffs them into an envelope while Meg is still on stage. Victor and Bela are drinking water from small paper cups and adjusting their outfits for the finale.

After that, Dean will likely be asked to do a few private dances before he can head home and shower and crawl into bed, never to come back.

This is his last night. Tomorrow he gets to sleep in until noon, pack up his car, and head for home.

He thinks about this as he watches Victor slather on more body glitter gel, and wonders how much longer that guy’s going to be in the business.

Probably for a while, he thinks. Vic gets off on the attention. He used to be a cop. He was something, and he chose to do this instead.

That’s the exact opposite Dean’s situation.

An eruption of cheers distracts him from his thoughts, and Meg’s dark drawl comes over the speakers. It’s time for the finale.

They enter the stage minimally dressed (there’s always got to be something to take off, so Dean chose his tear-away jeans and the feather boa so he can give it back to the girls at Table 8), to hoots and cheers and whistles. He can’t say he won’t miss that, really. He does love the attention, and the money, but he definitely won’t miss all the body glitter and roaming hands and the way that some people look at him like they can’t decide if they want to fuck him or keep him in their basement as a pet.

He seeks out a pretty face in the crowd – that dark haired guy at Table 5 – and gives him a wink.

Dean can see the way the man’s throat constricts as he swallows hard. The other guys at his table are distracted by the one guy who has had way too much to drink who seems to be cracking up about something, but the dark haired guy is just looking at him – thoughtfully. Like- like he’s glad he’s back. Like he’s glad he gets to see him one more time before the show’s over.

The finale is always the same. Dean and Meg on the poles, Bela and Vic on the main stage. No one could deny their chemistry when they danced together.

Maybe that’s why Vic wants to stay here?

Dean would spend the next few minutes spinning and climbing that pole, then dancing with Vic while Meg and Bela danced together, and then make a final run through the audience before a five minute break and then his private dances.

Dean pulls all the stops. This is his last public dance after all. In five days he’ll be back at his uncle’s shop in Kansas, fixing cars, registering for classes at the community college, and pretending that the past two years never happened.

But right now, Dean is still Dante Wylde, his stage name and persona for the past two years, and he wants Dante to go out with a bang. Even Vic must notice, and he ups his game and they dance together around that pole like they never have before.

It feels good.

Okay, maybe Dean will miss stripping just a little bit. He’s never been really good at something before, but he’s good at this. It’s nice to feel like a pro.

By the time he’s making his final rounds around the room he’s pretty sure he’s interacted with nearly every person there. He’s been spanked three times and attempted to be kissed twice. His cock has been groped and nipples pinched more times than he can count, and by the time he makes it to Table 5 he’s had just about enough to put a damper on his mood and make him completely sure that leaving the Pleasure Palace is the right call (although walking away from g-strings full of cash would always be a hard decision).

He saved Table 5 for last for a reason, though.

There’s that guy staring up at him with that look. Dean walks behind his chair and pulls it away from the table, enough so he can stand between the man’s legs. The man jumps with the sudden movement of the chair, but then Dean walks around him and knocks his legs farther apart with his own.

Dean’s been groped and grabbed and spanked all evening, and now here’s this guy, the one guy in the room Dean’s actually found himself hyper-focused on, and he’s white-knuckling the arms of the chair like he’s afraid of getting arrested for touching Dean’s body.

“Hey gorgeous.” Dean says, looking down at the guy.

His eyes are blue. Dean can see that now.

Dean turns and wiggles his ass in the man’s face, turns, does the same thing with his groin (which the man is pointedly not looking at, and instead is still looking up into Dean’s eyes… what the hell?) and then stands back, closes the man’s legs, and straddles them, setting himself gracefully on the man’s thighs. Dean then leans forward, rests his arms on the man’s shoulders, and rolls his body. An appreciative groan from the man is all Dean needs to hear.

The beat of the music changes slightly and that’s Dean’s queue. He knows he’s got to get back to the stage, but what about this guy?

What about this guy? Take his money and get the hell back on stage!

The man next to him, the guy’s friggin’ identical twin, slips a bill into his g-string and smacks his ass with a clumsy hand.

“Jimmy!” the man under Dean says firmly, sounding angry, and if Dean pretends that he’s being possessive than so what?

“Oh, what?” the guy laughs, “’s’not like you were gonna do it. Prude...”

Dean removes himself from the guy’s lap and dances back toward the stage. He can feel the man’s eyes boring into him. He knows people look at him – he’s a stripper, that’s a given. But this guy… something’s different…

For Christ’s sake! Dean thinks to himself. This is your last night! It’s a little late to be Pretty Woman’d, don’t ya think?


After the show is over and the cheers and whistles have died down, Dean hydrates and then gets himself ready for his private dances. Meg comes back with the evening’s schedule.

“Alright boys and girls; Victor, you’ve got the entire bachelorette party from Table 8 – they’re each paying an extra $50 a pop to be in there all together so play nice. Urial will be right outside the door in case things get out of hand. Bela, darling, you’ve got three dances, two separate men and a lovely lady who came here alone. Dean-o, you’ve got a housewife from Minnesota, a younger guy from the group of frat boys who I’m pretty sure lost a bet, and sexy Rain Man from Table 5 who doesn’t know his friends set this up for him.”

“Can you make sure the guy from Table 5 is the last one? He’s cute. I want him to be my last dance. Go out on a high note…”

“Sure thing cupcake. Now get to work.”

Dean grins.

This is it.


The housewife is very handsy and demanding, and the guy from the table of frat bros did in fact lose a bet and asked if Dean would just say that he danced for him. Dean didn’t care as long as he got paid, and they ended up just talking awkwardly for about five minutes before the guy went back out to his group. Dean couldn’t help but think that maybe that’s what his life would have been like if he’d gone to college. Maybe that’s what Sammy’s life will be like – going to clubs for fun and losing bets to get him into trouble.

When Dean’s third and final dance of the night walks in, the guy is practically radiating nerves. He stands there next to the closed door for a moment, staring right at Dean, and before Dean can even feed him a line the guy speaks up.

“My friends planned this. I’m not- I didn’t…” the man swallows hard, and his eyes dart from Dean to either end of the small room and back. “I mean, this isn’t something I’ve ever… I’m not a guy who normally…”

“Hey,” Dean takes a few slow steps toward the man. It’s a tiny room – practically a walk-in closet with marginally better lighting. The poor guy seems like he’s about to bolt, and while Dean really hopes he doesn’t, he knows better than to stand between a scared animal and the only exit. But, as Dean gets closer to the guy, he notices that the man starts to unwind a little; his shoulders relax first, then his fists unclench. “If you don’t want to do this, that’s alrig-”

“No!” He doesn’t shout, but its close enough. “I want yo- to! I want to. I, you- you’re very handso- I mean. Um. I just, I’m not… I-I’m sorry. I can leave…”

The man is blushing furiously and staring at the floor now. How someone that adorable can have a voice that sexy Dean can’t figure out… all he knows is that he wants to be on this guy now.

“But if you leave,” Dean puts on his seductive voice, not at all in desperation to keep this man here, “Who’s gonna see my last dance?”

The man looks up, and Dean knows he’s got him.

“Your last dance?”

“Tonight’s my last night as a dancer. It’d be a shame if I didn’t get to have my last dance…”

Dean walks toward the man, effectively backing him into the wide, faux-leather chair. The man sits down with a grunt, still staring up at Dean with those impossibly blue eyes.

Fuck, there’s just something about this guy that makes Dean want to cut the bullshit. He doesn’t need to put on a show for this guy – even though this guy paid for show (or at least one of his buddies paid for it…) he feels like this guy wants a more realistic experience, and Dean would be lying if he said he didn’t want the same thing.

“How’s about you relax a little, and I just do a quick little dance for you, and that way we both get what we want, capisce?”

The man nods and shifts in the chair, looking way too ridged.

Dean fiddles with the iPod in the room, clicking to a known favorite for the King of Classic Rock: Warrant’s Cherry Pie. The familiar tune relaxes any tension Dean may have had. He knows how to move to this song. It’s not his favorite, but he likes it well enough and his clients like it. It makes his clothes come off quick and his body move just right – there isn’t anything wrong with this song.

But this guy, he just sits there, watching, actually watching – like Dean’s putting on a performance. Like this isn’t just the means to an end; like this isn’t just a warm-up before Dean crawls into his lap and dry humps him until he gets off. And there isn’t anything wrong with that either, except that people usually participate during the private dances; they usually talk dirty or try to lure Dean over with empty promises of pleasure until Dean is writhing in their lap.

This time, though, while Dean’s pulling all his best fucking moves that usually drive people nuts, this guy just watches. He doesn’t instigate. He doesn’t reach and pull him into his lap when Dean gets close. He just takes in the dance, wide-eyed and captivated, until the song is over and Dean’s standing over him nearly out of breath.

It’s not the dancing that exhausts him; Dean’s in very good shape. It’s something else...

What the hell is it?

“Can I,” Dean clears his throat and it’s loud in the quiet room. He can hear the other man breathing hard, and Dean can’t put his finger on what is happening. “Want a lap dance?” Why is he whispering?

“Yes please.” The man whispers, too. “I-if that’s what you want.”

Oh, Dean wants.

He takes a moment, trying to pull himself together. He needs to find that cocky-asshole confidence and get through this last dance in one piece. He squares his shoulders and walks back to the iPod, and with as much bravado as a man in a thong can possibly muster, he asks, “Any requests?”

“Whatever you want,” the man clears his throat and Dean can hear him shift slightly in his seat; the faux-leather squeaking under his weight. “It’s your last dance, after all.” When Dean glances back at him, he’s staring at his hands which are twisting tightly together in his lap.

Dean scrolls through the music before landing on something he’s always wanted to dance to but never has. It’s always been a little too intimate, which for some fucking reason makes it seem like the perfect fucking song for right now.

Dean gets chills as Robert Plant’s voice wails through the speakers –

I- I can’t quit you baby…

So I’m gonna put you down for a while

Dean takes the few short steps back to the man, straddles him, and slides into his lap, taking care to rub his groin down along the man’s chest and stomach, trying not to get too frustrated at the man’s shirt that is keeping him from sliding across skin. His slow movements match the music, and while he’s never danced to this song in this room or even in this building, he’s moved with it in his own kitchen, and thought about how he might dance to it when it comes on in his car. He always thought that if he ever found himself in a relationship again, with someone who knows he spent time as a dancer, he might even dance to this for them.

That thought makes it seem even more intimate as Dean grinds his crotch down over the man’s; the guy’s hard-on is thick and warm even through his jeans. He puts one arm on either side of the guy’s head and grips the back of the chair for leverage before pushing himself back up onto his knees so his meticulously-maintained six-pack (completely covered in tacky dried glitter gel) is at eye-level and he rolls and wiggles his hips.

Dean’s getting into this, swaying his body, closing his eyes and letting the music move him how it wants.

It catches him off guard when the man rests his forehead against Dean’s stomach and wraps his fingers around the backs of his thighs. He can feel the man’s breath through his open mouth right above the line of his g-string, and he feels a heavy rush of energy head down south. It’s nothing new, getting a boner while dancing in a hot guy’s lap, but it’s never been because of something like this… technically he isn’t supposed to let people get this close. He isn’t supposed to let people touch.

But they stay like that for a moment as Dean stops moving. It’s like with a single touch this man has taken away his ability to think clearly.

After a few long, drawn-out moments, the guy must realize that Dean has stopped dancing and jumps back suddenly, his back thumping against the chair and his hands finding the sides of the seat and holding on tight.

“Oh, my God. I’m so sorry… I don’t know what I was… I didn’t mean...!”

“Hey, hey, it’s alright.” Dean swallows hard. His skin where the man had touched feels much more naked than the rest of him now. “Just, let me…” he reaches down to the man’s hands, gently pries them from the seat, and then places them on his hips. The man grips him tightly, immediately. “There ya go.”

The man looks up at him, and Dean’s breath catches in his throat. There’s something much bigger going on here – something that forces Dean to think, once again, that Pretty Woman is just a stupid movie.

You know it hurts me deep down inside

Oh, when you hear me holler, baby

You know you’re my one desire

Yes, you are

Dean clears his throat softly. Talking during a lap dance is usually part of the experience. The you like that baby’s and tell me how you want it’s make a person feel like they’re in control of what’s happening, which a lot of people seem to get off on. But that’s not what comes out of Dean’s mouth.

“You looked afraid, that’s why…” he realizes how stupid he sounds midway through and cuts himself off.

The music pulses through the room and through Dean’s body in a way that makes him continue to move slowly and more deliberately against the man’s crotch.

“That’s why what?” the man asks, tilting his head slightly as his fingers grip even more firmly to Dean’s hips.

“That’s why I didn’t dance with you… why I skipped you at your table that first time. You looked at me like- like you were afraid of me.”

“Not afraid,” the man says, his eyes wide and sure and so blue Dean feels like he could drown in them. “Just awestruck.”

Maybe it’s the music. Or maybe it’s the way the man speaks to him, honest yet still a little nervous. It could possibly be the fact that there are finally hands on him – hands he wants on him. It could be all those things, combined with the smooth drag of his cock inside the g-string and against the warm body of the hottest guy Dean’s ever seen, but eventually a telltale heat begins to coil in Dean’s tummy. He stifles a moan, but the man must hear it anyway as his grip gets even more firm and he aids Dean’s hips as they move him, grinding him against his lap.

“S’this okay?” Dean asks, too far gone to stop and hoping the man doesn’t freak out. “Tell me this is okay…”

“Oh, God, yes.” is the harsh, whispered reply, and as the song crescendos so does Dean. With the feeling of the man’s hot length hard along his ass, Dean comes in his g-string. Small spurts of fluid seep through the fabric and dribble down the front of it. He catches it with his hand to keep it from getting on the man’s shirt. He’s not sure what to do with it then, so he wipes it on his stomach. The man licks his lips, watching every move Dean makes.

Dean spends the next song grinding his ass against the man’s crotch until he comes in his jeans with a sharp intake of breath. And he isn’t supposed to kiss clients, but he does then, and he doesn’t stop until well after the song has ended.

And when the man walks out the door once their time is up, Dean realizes he didn’t even learn the guy’s name.

It’s something he’ll spend plenty of time regretting in the coming weeks, he’s sure.


Jimmy’s wedding comes and goes and not much changes. The newlyweds still live in Lawrence, less than an hour from Cas, and they still invite him over for dinner at least once a week.

The conversation changes, however, and instead of wedding planning, Amelia and Jimmy talk about starting a family, getting a dog, or going on vacation. Occasionally Amelia mentions setting Cas up with one of her colleagues or friend-of-a-friend. Cas respectfully declines the offer each time.

“Are you seeing somebody?” she’d often ask.

Yes. In my dreams. Every fucking night for months: Just green eyes and a fake name and the whispered echoes of breath as he came in my lap; just smooth skin taut over hard muscle, slick with sweat as he let me lick into his mouth; just the rhythmic swaying of the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen to a song I’ll never be able to listen to again, thank you very much.

“Not seeing anyone,” he’d say, “Just more focused on work right now.”

“Cas, no offense, but you’re a kindergarten teacher, and it’s summer vacation. What is there to focus on?”

Cas never could come up with a good answer, so Amelia would just roll her eyes and mumble ‘whatever’ and they’d move the conversation onto something else.

One night in late July, while Cas and Jimmy do the dishes and Amelia keeps herself occupied with something-or-other in the living room, Jimmy cautiously broaches the topic.

“You know, she just wants you to be happy.” He rinses a plate and hands it to Cas, who loads it into the dishwasher.

“I am happy.” Cas replies.

“You know what I mean.”

There was no room for bullshit between the twins. They know each other too well.

“Yeah, I know.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Is this about that stripper?”

Cas shoves another plate forcibly into the dishwashing rack.

“How on earth can you possibly know that?”

“Twin thing.” Jimmy says, smirking. Cas glowers instead of verbally demanding an explanation. “That, and I’m remembering how your eyes got all dreamy during your best man speech when you talked about my bachelor party. Plus, you haven’t been on a date since we got back-”

“You don’t know that. I don’t tell you every single thing I do.” Cas doesn’t mean to sound so bitter, but sometimes this twin thing is really annoying.

“Oookay, so, have you gone out on a date since Vegas?”

Cas is quiet for a moment before realizing that there’s no good way out of this.

“Shut up.”

Jimmy chuckles but swallows it down quickly. Cas doesn’t think it’s funny at all, and if Jimmy says he was just a stripper he might break the next plate over his head.

Instead, Jimmy asks, “What the hell happened during your private dance?”

“You don’t want to know.” Cas starts lining up the glasses in the rack before pushing it back in and closing the dishwasher door. “But it was… profound.”

He dries his hands on the dishtowel and avoids eye contact while waiting patiently for Jimmy to call him an idiot.

“If I’d have known this was going to happen, I wouldn’t have pushed so hard for the guys to set it up for you. We just thought it’d be funny, you know?” Jimmy’s voice sounds apologetic, which isn’t necessary, but appreciated nonetheless.

“I know.”

The whir of the dishwasher is the only sound in the kitchen as the twins lean against the counter.

“Have you tried calling the club we went to? Maybe they’d give you his real name or something…”

Cas doesn’t want to admit that he tried that and was immediately shut down.

“He said that the night of your party was his last night there.” Cas takes a swig of warm beer and decides to go to the fridge and get another. As he twists the cap off he continues, “And besides, I don’t think places like that give out personal information about their dancers.”

“Good point.” Jimmy’s quiet for a beat before asking, “Would you really want to date a stripper though? All those people looking and touching… I don’t think I could do it, I mean, I love Amelia, but I think that would have driven me crazy.”

Cas finally says the words he’s actively avoided saying aloud for months.

“I want him.” Cas takes a breath, and then another. “I don’t think I’d care if he was a stripper or a carny or a… republican.”

Jimmy grimaces, and Cas laughs.

“Okay maybe I’d draw the line there, but still. I just… I want him. All the time. It doesn’t go away.” Cas shakes his head and absentmindedly Jimmy mirrors the motion. “What if it never goes away? What do I do then?”

“And you don’t even know his real name…” Jimmy says in lieu of an answer.

“And I don’t even know his real name.”

They each take a long pull at their beers.

“Man, that sucks.”

Cas couldn’t agree more.


After that night Amelia stops trying to set him up, and Cas is very grateful.


Castiel chooses to ignore the Check Engine light on his dash that comes on when he starts his car. From past experience he knows that it usually just means he’s left the gas cap a little loose the last time he filled it up.

Unfortunately for him, past experience doesn’t do him much good forty minutes later when smoke starts to billow from under the hood and he has to pull off the freeway about a mile west of Eudora.

For pride’s sake, he gets out of the car, opens the hood, and, waving the smoke away with his hand, takes a look. It takes him about four seconds to realize he has no idea what he’s looking for, or what he’s looking at, for that matter.


The car continues to smoke as he takes out his cell and calls a AAA. He then calls Jimmy as he waits for the tow truck, letting him know he won’t be making it to dinner tonight as he’s got to deal with this shit now.

“You need a ride Cas? We can come get you if you’re stranded.”

“That won’t be necessary. AAA said they’ll take the car to an auto shop in Lawrence and the tow truck will take me, too. Maybe after I get it all sorted out I’ll call you. I might need to crash at your place or have you drive me back to O.P.”

“Whatever you need, just let us know.”

“Thanks Jimmy.”

The tow truck shows up much quicker than Cas expected, and before he knows it he’s sitting in the passenger seat of a tow truck that reads Singer’s Salvage on the door and smells like grease and old leather. The man driving is a gruff, older man who introduced himself as Bobby and is wearing the rattiest baseball cap Cas has ever seen.

“We should be able to take a look at your car before closin’. Got one of my mechanics stickin’ around just in case. Probably just a leaky somethin’-or-n’uther in there making it smoke n’ look worse than it is. You from Lawrence?”

“Overland Park, but my brother and his wife live here. I was just heading over for dinner.”

The conversation is limited to small talk until they pull into a shoddy-looking garage surrounded by what seems to be a junkyard. His reaction must be a regular one.

“Don’t worry,” Bobby starts with a sigh, “Despite her appearance this place’s got the best mechanics in the state. Started as a salvage yard full of crap, I started fixing up the cars people left here, and eventually it turned itself into a legitimate business. Even got my nephew here helpin’ me turn her around. I swear we ain’t just a junkyard.”

“Never judge a book by its cover.” Cas says, earning himself a grin from Bobby who isn’t really as gruff as he originally seemed.


Classic rock is coming from one of the open garage bays when Cas steps out of the truck. He tries to ignore it as it stirs up thoughts he has no business thinking about; thoughts of green eyes and glitter and an ass that he’d have liked to bury himself in for a while; thoughts of soft moans and sweat as a stranger – a stripper – got himself off against Cas’ boner.

Like he said, he has no business thinking about that right now. Nor had he any business thinking about that guy from Vegas the hundreds of other times he’d popped into Cas’ mind for no good reason over the past six months. It was driving him crazy.

Bobby leads him into the office (which is really just a nook inside one of the three garages, separated from the rest of the room by a wall of dusty filing cabinets) and has him sit in the single faux-leather orange chair next to the desk as they get the insurance information sorted out. It seems like it’s going to take longer than Cas would have expected, but Bobby is nice enough and one of his guys is staying late to take care of his car, so he shouldn’t complain.

“Hey Bobby!” a loud voice shouts over the music. “Figured it out, but we don’t got the part... we’ll hafta order it…”

The voice sounds so familiar, but Cas can’t seem to place it.

Bobby gets up and walks around the filing cabinets and into the main garage, and Cas follows him because he’s unsure what else to do.

As soon as he turns the corner he sees a man in grease-stained jeans and a black t-shirt hunched over the front of his car, grabbing and twisting at something under the hood.

And when the guy realizes that the two of them have joined him in the garage and looks up, Cas is sure he’s hallucinating, because standing directly in front of him and staring back at him with impossibly green eyes, is Dante Wylde.

This is what losing your mind feels like Cas thinks. He’s sure he’s finally cracked, because there’s no way, not a virgin’s chance in hell, that the stripper from over a thousand miles away is now standing less than five feet from him. Dante Wylde cannot possibly be the mechanic fixing his car, here, now, on the outskirts of Lawrence, Kansas.

Cas has spent numerous hours trying to recall every detail about the man he met at Crowley’s Pleasure Palace: the freckles across the bridge of his perfect nose; the curl of his eyelashes; the soft dimples at the corner of his mouth and how they deepened when he’d smirk; the cut of his jaw.

And his lips. Oh, those lips. Cas hasn’t kissed anyone since, and he has no plans to anytime soon because those plush, soft lips ruined him.

There are differences between the man in front of him and the man from Las Vegas. This man is a few days unshaved. Also, despite that the man is fully dressed (another significant difference in its own right), he looks bigger somehow.



Like he’s been eating meat and potatoes instead of protein shakes.

Like he’s been doing hard, manual labor instead of going to the gym.

The way he fills out the t-shirt he’s wearing sends a swirl of excitement through Cas’ groin.

Yeah, Castiel has definitely lost his mind.

But then again, the man is looking back at him now and mirroring Castiel’s own slack-jawed expression.

Bobby doesn’t seem to notice that the world has stopped spinning.

“Well shit. We’ll order the damn thing first thing Monday… Dean, you mind giving the guy a ride home? Or, you said you have a brother in town, would you rather go to…” Bobby cuts himself off when he finally looks back up and realizes that no one is paying him any attention. Bobby waves his hand in front of the mechanic’s eyes. “You there, boy? Earth to Dean…” Bobby snaps his fingers a few times to no avail.

“Dean.” Cas breaths the name out, barely audible over the music playing on the shitty old radio across the garage. His name is Dean. Dean. God, he likes that so much more than Dante.

“Uhn.” Dean makes a noise, and then it’s quiet. The radio goes to commercial and that seems to snap everyone back to reality.

“You two know each other?” Bobby asks, trying to figure out what’s happening.

“Sort of.” They say in unison and Cas thinks for a moment that maybe he’s not the only one who feels like he’s lost his mind.


They get as far as Dean’s car.

Cas isn’t sure of the sequence of events that got him into the position he’s currently in, but as soon as he shut the squeaky door of Dean’s gorgeous car, there were soft lips pressed hard against his, hands tugging at the collar of his shirt, and suddenly, in a blur of movement, he’s laid out on top of Dean across the front bench seat of the car. Dean’s legs are wrapped tight around his hips, and his arms twisted around his neck pulling him even closer. Cas doesn’t even realize he’s buried himself in Dean’s neck until he tastes salt and sweat against his tongue. There’s a tug at his hair when Dean pulls him up for another proper kiss, and everything else sort of melts together in heat and sweat and soft, breathy moans.

Then comes a startling knock on the window.

“You two maybe wanna wait until you get somewhere other than my parking lot to do that? Don’t want people drivin’ by thinkin’ this is some sort of new service we provide…” Bobby’s irritated voice snaps them both from whatever trance they were in, and Cas rests his forehead against Dean’s chest trying to catch his breath. He can hear the gravel under Bobby’s boots as he walks away muttering something about ‘idjits,’ whatever that means.

“What just happened?” Dean’s voice cuts through the awkward silence. He sounds as confused and wrecked as Cas feels, which is a relief. Cas still can’t look up at him though, even though he knows he’s going to need to get off of the man at some point. He’s not even sure how he got there.

“I- I’m not sure.” He feels Dean shift underneath him and finally looks up.

“But, you’re you, right?” Dean lifts his head and looks at Cas, then drops it back on the seat and scrubs his hands over his face before looking up again and finishing his thought. “You’re that guy from my last night in Vegas. Table 5. Private dance. I mean, that was you…”

“Of course that was me…” Cas says, confused, wondering who Dean could have possibly confused him with, but also feeling a little spark knowing that this man remembered him – even remembered what table he sat at.

“I donno, man.” Dean drops his head back once again, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Thought I’d gone off the deep end. I’ve been chasin’ after every guy with blue eyes and dark hair in a ten mile radius, Jesus Christ…” Dean sort of trails off in thought and looks up again. “You remember me too?”

What a ridiculous question.

“Dante Wylde.” Is all Cas says, not caring to mention the man had burrowed his way into Cas’ mind and had been a constant distraction for months now. “Of course I remember you.”

“Dean.” He corrects gently. “My name is Dean Winchester.”

“Dean Winchester.” Cas repeats, loving how it feels on his lips. “I’m Castiel Novak.”

They stare at each other, taking in the sight of each other for way too long before Cas pushes himself up and off of Dean. Dean sits up and tucks himself behind the wheel. Cas faces forward in the passenger seat. His lips still tingle from Dean’s kisses, and he watches Dean’s eyes follow the movement of his tongue when he licks them. They can’t seem to take their eyes off each other, and Cas is relieved that he’s not the only one.

“What do we do now?” Cas asks quietly, still catching his breath and not wanting to startle whatever is happening between them, but also fully aware that they can’t stay in this parking lot forever. “I mean, I’d like to- uh, can I buy you dinner?” Cas stutters his way through the words, feeling his cheeks go pink.

“Dinner.” Dean repeats as he taps at the steering wheel with this thumbs. “I- uh, I honestly don’t think I could eat right now. But, uh, how ‘bout a drink? I could definitely use a drink…” Dean says, looking almost shy.

“That sounds even better. Do you have a place in mind? I don’t know this area too well.”

Dean nods, the engine of the car roars to life, and as they pull out of the make-do parking lot of Singer’s Salvage, Cas wonders how the hell he got here …


The drive is silent and awkward. There are so many things that Cas wants to say – wants to know – but he can’t find his voice. He clears his throat and opens his mouth about a hundred times, but no words come out.

Dean seems to be struggling with the same problem, as the man can only grit out a single “um” before Castiel’s phone vibrates loudly in his pocket.

“Shit.” He mutters as he digs it out and looks at the call id before he answers. It’s Jimmy. “Hey Jimmy.”

“Hey Cas. Everything alright with the car?”

“Oh,” Cas seems to have forgotten that he even owns a car. That’s right, that’s why he’s here. “Um, yes. I mean, no. Sort of. They have to order a part and can’t do that until Monday, or something.”

Dean is nodding, so it’s clear that he’s listening and not trying to hide it.

“So you need me to come pick you up?”

“No, thanks. I don’t think that will be necessary.” Cas glances over at Dean, who now suddenly seems unnecessarily focused on the road.

“So… you got you a rental car? Are you on your way back to O.P.?”

“No, I’m still in town.”

“Are you coming over?”

“Uh. No…” he lets the word fade out. How’s he supposed to explain what happened to his brother with Dean right there next to him?

“Okay what’s going on? You sound weird and you’re being really vague. Is everything alright?”

“Everything is fine Jimmy. It’s, uh, it’s great, actually.” Cas can’t help the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He steals another peek at Dean and he, too, is biting back a grin.

“Dude, something’s going on with you. Do I need to be worried?”

“No, I swear I’m fine. I’ll explain later…”

“Did you… are you with someone right now?” Jimmy’s voice must go up a full octave with that single question.


“You ARE aren’t you! Oh my God. Did someone see you on the side of the road and ‘give you a ride?’” Cas can practically hear the air-quotes from here. “No, wait!… it was a sexy mechanic, wasn’t it? Tell me you met a sexy mechanic…”

Dean’s shoulders are shaking with silent laughter. So, apparently Jimmy’s voice is carrying through the phone and over the rumble of the car. That’s just great.

“I’m not talking about this right now. I’ll call you later.”

“Does this mean you’re finally over that stripper?”

God dammit.

“Goodbye Jimmy.” Cas hangs up and shoves his phone back into his pocket, wondering what the odds are that Dean didn’t hear Jimmy’s last words.

After a few hellishly drawn out moments at a stoplight, Dean speaks.

“So,” he clears his throat, “You too, then?”

Cas picks at the skin around his thumb nervously in his lap before looking over at Dean.

“Yes. Me too."

When Dean looks over at him Cas can’t help but smile. And when Dean smiles back, Cas realizes that he’s already in love.

“Good.” Dean says as the light turns green.


It had been a long couple of months for Dean.

Community college classes were harder than he expected. Summer in Lawrence was hot. Bobby was a hardass. Sammy was a thousand miles away and so busy he hardly had time to Skype.

But, the garage had been doing noticeably better since Bobby let him clean the place up. He got some business cards made and hired Charlie on part-time to get the books in order because that was way over his head. He was still trying to convince Bobby to change the name from Singer’s Salvage to Singer’s Auto Shop just for credibility’s sake, but the man is stubborn as shit.

But tonight is Friday night, and tonight Dean was planning on getting a meat-lover’s pizza and a six pack of beer and hunkering down with a Management Theory & Practice textbook.

So, when he finds himself at The Roadhouse, sitting across from the man he’s been thinking about for months and talking like it was going out of style, he welcomes the turn of events because fuck studying – this guy is here. This is real. Dean doesn’t have to pretend that the eyes are the right shade of blue or the lips the right shade of pink. This is the guy.

Dean couldn’t stop talking. Stories he’d never told and stories he’d told a hundred times spilled from his mouth, except when Cas (holy shit he has a name!) was telling his own. He found himself hanging on every word Cas said, asking questions and laughing and savoring the way Cas’ voice softened when he spoke about the kids he taught and the way he smirked and rolled his eyes as he talked about his twin brother and their friends. Dean thought how nice it might be if someday maybe this guy could talk about him with the same fondness he does the people he cares about.

Despite both men claiming not to be hungry, they order burgers (“no onions” they say at the same time to the amusement of their waitress), and before Dean knew it, Auntie Ellen was kicking them out of the place and calling them a cab. The clock on the wall read 1 AM, but it felt like hardly any time had passed at all.

Dean doesn’t feel drunk, he just feels good. He feels light and giddy and a little horny, and as they walked out to the parking lot to get into the cab, and Cas sways into him playfully, Dean doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arm around the man. He gives the driver his home address and feels a blush creep up the back of his neck when he peeks over at Cas and the man is biting his lip and trying not to grin.

This is happening.

Then comes the longest cab ride of Dean’s life.

It’s only a few miles to his house but every time their eyes meet time must slow down. The driver is way too chatty for how late it was, but neither man seems to be paying attention. Dean, at least, can only focus on was the way the shadows from the streetlights dance across Cas’ cheeks and neck.

Finally, finally, they make it home. Dean pays, and Cas holds the car door open for him. It takes Dean an inordinate amount of time to get his key in the lock.

Everything moves too slowly.

That is, until the door is swinging shut behind them.

Cas pushes him up against it, forcing it to slam shut with their combined weight, and before Dean can process the hands gripping his hips or the body pressed against his own, he feels Cas’ lips on his, warm and dry and Dean opens to them like he’s been dying to do all evening. He drops his keys and wallet on the floor and wraps his arms around Cas, pulling him closer, leaving hardly enough room to breathe.

Dean doesn’t want to breathe, anyway. He wants to melt into Cas and never come up for air. This guy, this fuckin’ guy, in the span of a single private dance effectively ruined him for anyone else. And he doesn’t even know why!

Although he’s starting to remember why…

Finally they part just enough to catch their breath, and if Dean whines softly when they separate than no one needs to know.

“I’ve thought about you a hundred times,” Cas whispers into the scant air between them, then nips at his lips in a way that makes Dean’s breath hitch. “Never thought…” he cuts himself off by kissing Dean again, firm and demanding, before groaning and pulling away. “Bedroom?”

Bedroom? How is it even still a question? Dean’s brain can’t quite process that…

He’ll never understand how the two of them got up the narrow wooden stairway and into the bedroom without falling. They were stomping and tripping up the steps while kissing and tugging at each other’s clothes and by the time Dean is able to pull Cas on top of him as they fall onto the bed, Dean is missing a shoe, his t-shirt, and his jeans are unbuttoned and unzipped. Cas’ shirt is half-way unbuttoned and he’d lost both shoes somewhere along the way, but that isn’t good enough. From beneath Cas, Dean’s fingers fumble to get the rest of the buttons of his shirt undone and he shoves it off the man’s shoulders without breaking the kiss. Dean feels a rumble vibrate through his ribs and against his lips and they’re so close he can’t tell if it’s Cas’ moan or his own and he loves that.

Any remaining shoes, socks, pants, and boxers are shucked off and kicked off the bed.

In an instant, Cas’ lips are all over him; ghosting over his jaw, kissing down his neck, sucking on his collar bone, biting at a nipple, a quick peck on his sternum before continuing down as the man’s fingers scrape bluntly down his ribs…

When Cas kisses and bites at the skin beneath his belly button, Dean tenses. It feels good, of course, but the last time Cas saw him, what Cas remembers, is Dean as Dante Wylde; Stripper and King of Classic Rock.

Dean used to go to the gym every day. Dean used to eat salads and protein bars.

Basically, Dean used to be ripped.

And now… he’s not exactly out of shape, but he’s definitely not ripped. He’s been drinking more beer and eating more burgers than he used to. He hasn’t been to a gym in months since work and studying and school keeps him so busy. He didn’t really mean to let himself go, but somewhere along the way he had and now he is completely aware of the pooch of his lower stomach and, oh God, does he have love handles that he hadn’t noticed???

“Sorry I’m, uh, not, like, in shape right now.” He blurts out, sounding like goddamn idiot.

The words must startle Cas, and he pulls his lips away from the jut of Dean’s hip where he’d been sucking a nice bruise.

“Huh?” He sounds lost, or like he just woke up from a dream.

“I haven’t been working out much. With school and everything…” he props himself up on his elbows and looks down at Cas. “Too busy to hit the gym, you know?” Dean tries to sound confident, like he meant to let himself go, like he’s just too busy to take care of himself and he doesn’t care.

“What are you talking about?” Cas regards him carefully, still sounding fuzzy but reading through the bullshit. Dean feels his cheeks go hot.

“I’m not,” he looks away. This is so stupid. “The last time you saw me I looked… I was different. I had a six-pack, you know? I just, uh-”

He’s cut off by a soft laugh as Cas’ hands caress all the parts Dean feels most self-conscious about at that moment. He slides them down his chest to his stomach, scratching teasingly at Dean’s pubes before sliding his hands back up Dean’s sides and repeating the motion while looking Dean directly in the eye.

“You’re right, you are different now.” Cas plants a few more kisses beneath Dean’s belly button. “Now I know that you’re also funny.” His lips brush over Dean’s ribs as he speaks, and he places another kiss there. “And kind.” He travels up and across his chest, licking his nipple before kissing it, too, and the fucker still hasn’t broken eye contact. Dean’s not sure how much longer he can take this. “And brave.” Cas finally closes his eyes and kisses up Dean’s chest to his sensitive collar bone. “And gorgeous as hell.” Hot breath ghosts against the skin of his neck and Dean can’t help when his head falls back, giving Cas all the room he needs to kiss up his neck; wet, warm kisses to his jaw where he finally says, “You are what I want, Dean. You. Not your six-pack.”

Dean props his head back up and meets Cas’ eyes, seeing nothing but honesty and desire. The man is hovering over him, regarding him like he’s something important. Dean remembers that look back in Vegas – that look he was never able to shake.

The kiss that follows takes his breath away.


They try to move slowly, trying to get to know each other’s bodies, but the carnal need is blinding, and they both feel it. Castiel reaches blindly in the nightstand drawer when he’s told what they need is in there, and Dean can’t take his eyes off the man’s ass as he’s bent and twisted in a position that would be very easy to climb onto.

“Next time,” Cas growls, and Dean realizes he’s looking back at him and must see pure hunger on his face. He has the necessary supplies in his hand as he presses against Dean’s shoulder with the other, rolling him over onto his back, and when kneels between Dean’s spread knees he looks like a friggin’ God. He’s masculine, but soft; strong, but gentle. Dean stares at the jut of his hips and is certain he could spend an entire day exploring them with his tongue.

There’s a wet click of the lube bottle, and Cas is just about to pour some onto his fingers but pauses when Dean asks him, “How d’you even know I bottom, huh? I’m not wearing my sign today…”

Cas laughs and gives him a look.

“Yeah okay I get it.” Dean feels himself go red. Is he really that obvious?

“I just remember a very specific sound you made when you were in my lap in Las Vegas…”

Just then Cas lifts and spreads Dean’s knees, and a dry finger brushes over his hole towards his balls. Dean gasps, desperate and so needy.

“That sound, right there...” Cas says as he rubs over the same spot again and again adding a little pressure each time, “I love that sound…”

And if Dean doesn’t try to hold back those sounds Cas seems to like so much, than so what?


Castiel’s false sense of confidence slowly grows into something more authentic as he pulls sound after delicious sound from Dean. He can’t look away from the man below him, who has made him laugh more this evening than he can remember laughing in a long, long time; this man who he’s accidentally built up as some perfect Adonis and who actually lives up to the hype he’s created in his head. Cas wants to map every freckle on Dean’s body; every sensitive spot that makes goose bumps cascade down his arms; every place he can touch or kiss that makes Dean look at him with an awed expression.

For instance, as Cas kisses down the inside of Dean’s thigh and knee, down his calf, ending with a soft nibble and kiss to his ankle, Dean looks up at him like he’s been waiting for someone to do that to him his whole life.

Castiel has never believed in soulmates – but how else can this feeling possibly be explained?

It’s hardly been ten minutes since they’ve collapsed onto Dean’s bed, but they can’t wait anymore.

Cas squeezes out some lube and rubs it over his fingers, and he kisses Dean again, meaning to kiss away any discomfort, but Dean sounds nothing but relieved when Castiel reaches down and slowly starts to finger him open. It doesn’t take long before their kisses turn into nothing more than breathing against each other and licking into each other’s mouths as Dean whimpers and writhes against Cas’ fingers. He can hardly bring himself to pull away long enough to roll the condom on.

Dean takes a pillow and tucks it under his butt and then hooks his legs up and over Cas’ shoulders, pulling Cas down and folding himself in half. Cas hardly has time to get his arms under him, but he does and he brackets Dean against the bed.

He must be the luckiest man alive.

“You’re smiling.” Dean says, brushing his cheek softly with a finger. Cas hadn’t even realized.

“I’m happy.” He says, stupidly, like that one word can convey how he feels right now. Dean laughs softly and pulls him down for another kiss.

He watches Dean’s expressions change as he slowly pushes in. Dean looks down at where they’re joined, his shining lips parted in a silent moan before dropping his head back onto the pillow and squeezing his eyes shut. Shaking hands reach out and grip Cas’ arms tight.

“Dean?” Cas can hardly get the word out of his throat, what with the exquisite heat of Dean tight around him. He tries to stay still, but it takes all of his concentration not to slam himself in to the hilt.

“’m fine Please… Please just keep... keep going… keep… please…

Dean bites his bottom lip and moans even though Cas hasn’t moved. His hips gyrate slightly as he tries to work himself onto Cas. It’s so unbelievably sexy, but Cas can’t make him wait anymore.

Slowly he continues to push in, and the sound Dean makes - this relieved, completely wrecked moan – it’s the sweetest, most beautiful thing Cas has ever heard.

That’s his last coherent thought, because when he pulls out and then buries himself in Dean’s tight heat again, he’s gone.

It’s been a long time since Cas has been with someone, but he never remembers it feeling like this. It has Cas’ toes curling and heat pooling in his gut so quickly it’s dizzying. Dean’s legs slide from Cas’ shoulders and spread limply around his thighs, but he keeps his feet locked around his hips, pulling Cas in faster as they build a rhythm that has them both crying out.

It’s like Dean can’t get enough of him either.

Cas can hear himself saying things like beautiful and so good and oh, Dean!, but he doesn’t really register everything he whispers into Dean’s mouth. He can only feel; Dean’s calloused hands as they rub over his chest; blunt nails scratching along his back; hot breath against his lips as Dean pants and moans his name; the way Dean’s body responds to each thrust, tightening and grinding against Cas like he’s so desperate to be even closer to him though there’s hardly a breath of air between them.

Cas is so close, so close, he can feel the warmth spreading through his body and threatening to spill. He balances his weight on one arm, slowing his thrusts enough for Dean to whine softly before he snakes a hand between their bodies and takes Dean’s hard, leaking length in his grasp.

It draws out a very favorable reaction.

“Yes! Fuck! Yes! Ah!” Dean shouts and braces his hands against the headboard.

Cas takes advantage by slamming in as deep as he can, over and over, stroking him hard and slow until Dean’s legs tighten around him and a slew of curses spill over his kiss-bitten lips. Cas feels Dean’s body tighten around his cock, pulsing as Dean comes hot over Cas’ fingers and his own stomach and chest.

Any other time Cas would have stopped to appreciate the absolute work of art that is Dean Winchester breathless, flushed pink, and dripping with sweat and come – but all Cas can do is fuck into him three, four more times before coming, strong and silent, still buried in Dean’s tight heat and filling the condom with his spend.

Someday there won’t be a condom between them. Someday. Cas makes a silent promise to himself.

He collapses onto Dean’s exhausted body, hiding his face in the sweaty crook of Dean’s neck. His hips move, pushing shallow and lazy thrusts into Dean until they’re both too sensitive. The momentum they built up during their love-making is reduced to Dean’s hands tracing tiny patterns on Cas’ back as they catch their breath.

“Shit,” Dean says, sounding a little breathless and making Cas a little proud, “That was awesome.”

“Understatement.” Cas mumbles against Dean’s shoulder, kissing the salty skin there, and Dean huffs out a laugh and squeezes him a little tighter. When Cas finally looks up, he takes in Dean’s relaxed, sleepy expression, and he’s blown away by a very sudden and very powerful wave of affection toward the man. They’re both comfortable and content and Cas is practically purring as Dean drags his fingers up his back and tangles them in his hair.

“We should shower.” Dean says, finally, still not looking away from Cas.

Cas can’t even argue, he just whines feebly in disagreement.

“Yeah I know, but I worked all day and I’m covered in grease and sweat and now come, so…” he shoves Cas playfully, and Cas responds in kind by rolling dramatically off of Dean, immediately missing the warmth. “Come on, you’re coming with.” Dean reaches out a hand and pulls Cas up.

With that, Cas lets Dean lead him hand-in-hand to the bathroom down the hall.


They soap up and rinse off quickly in the shower, and a definite attempt is made to keep the touching somewhat PG rated. But with so many suds Cas can’t be blamed if his hand slips and teases one of Dean’s nipples softly; just like Dean blames fatigue when he leans against Cas, pushing him into the shower wall and rubbing against him a few times – just enough to feel good, but not enough to start anything up.

When they’re both thoroughly rinsed they share Dean’s towel to dry off and then make their way back to Dean’s bed. Neither man bothers with clothes, instead they slide under the sheet stark naked and scoot together. It’s a warm night, never having cooled off from the scorching day before, but weather be damned, Cas is going to be as close to Dean as Dean will allow.

The clock on the nightstand is nearing 3 AM, and the draw of sleep is tempting, but Cas can’t bring himself to stop touching the soft skin of Dean’s lower back. He can feel himself fading out, but he refuses to give in quite yet.

“Cas?” Dean’s whisper tickles his ear.

“Mm?” It’s hardly more than a sound of acknowledgment.

“’m glad your car broke down.”

Dean squeezes him slightly, and Cas smiles against his skin and kisses Dean’s sternum before falling into the most incredible sleep.


He wakes to a warm body wrapped tightly around him.


His mind supplies him with the name, and he smiles.

When Cas opens his eyes he’s too close to really see anything but a freckled shoulder and a nipple, but when he tries to scoot back to get a better view, strong arms hold him tight.

“No.” Dean mumbles, without further explanation.

“Dean I just want…”

“Nuh-uh. If I let you go and open my eyes I’m pretty sure this won’t be real. So please, just let me have this for a few more minutes, Super-Realistic Talking Hologram.”

He’ll let Dean have it, but he’ll make it better. Instead of scooting back, he tilts his chin up, finds Dean’s lips, and kisses gently so as not to not startle the sleepy man. As soon as he gets a response in the form of a soft moan, Cas presses his lips harder against Dean’s and sucks the man’s bottom lip between his teeth before letting go.

“Not a hologram.” Cas says, pressing his morning wood into the hot space between Dean’s thighs.

“Mmm, guess not.” Dean smiles against his lips as they start to rock together slowly.

Dean tucks a hand between them and maneuvers so he can stroke them both along with the movement of their hips. Cas covers his hand with his own and precome leaks between them, adding to the sensation of their bodies moving in time.

It’s hot and slow, and Cas works his tongue in and out of Dean’s mouth in the same rhythm as his hips work against Dean’s, and Dean’s got a hand tangled in Cas’ hair to keep him close.

Cas doesn’t think he’s ever felt so wanted by someone in his whole life.

It’s with that thought that he comes, hard and sudden and with a sharp gasp against Dean’s mouth.

“Oh shit,” Dean pulls back and looks down at the mess Cas created between their bodies, and Cas looks down just in time to watch as Dean follows suit, coming in long spurts and with beautifully drawn-out moans, adding his own thick, white spend to their stomachs and the sheets beneath them.

Cas wants nothing more than to stay in bed and make out with Dean for the rest of the day, despite the mess and the heat, but his stomach rumbles loudly and Dean chuckles and kisses him before rolling over to look at the clock behind him.

“Huh, no wonder you’re hungry.” Dean rolls back to face him. “Is it still considered morning wood if it’s two in the afternoon?”

“I hope you didn’t have anywhere to be today.”

“Nah. Just here.”

Dean’s green eyes glint with something Cas can’t comprehend at the moment, but his heart can feel it like an electric shock.

“… and maybe in the shower too.” Dean kisses Cas again, and again, and again, before finally sitting up and throwing his legs over the side of the bed. “Care to join me?”


He knew it, the moment he walked into the bathroom and saw the toothbrush he’d given Cas the night before sitting in the same cup as his by the sink. Something just clicked, and Dean knew; this is it. There’s no accompanying panic – just a calm, freeing recognition that Dean wants to hold onto this for as long as he possibly can.

He’s a little lost in thought, trying to reconcile the emotion with the man next to him, who he’s really only known for less than twenty-four hours, as they step into the shower together. Cas seems to know the perfect way to distract him, though, as he opens the shampoo bottle and starts to wash Dean’s hair.

Cas massages his scalp for minutes on end, until he tilts his head back to rinse the suds out. He takes his time using body wash and his bare hands to clean Dean from head to toe. He washes behind Dean’s ears and along his neck. He washes down his arms and kisses the sensitive skin inside his wrists as soon as the soap is rinsed away. He follows a trail of suds down Dean’s spine with his finger and softly tickles over Dean’s hole as the water washes the soap away, making Dean shiver. He lathers up Dean’s pubes and tummy and Dean doesn’t feel self-conscious about either of those things like he did last night. Cas even gets on his knees and washes Dean’s legs and the tops of his feet and between his toes which tickles but he sort of likes it.

When Dean is all rinsed and clean, Cas cups his jaw with both hands and holds him steady as he kisses the breath right out of him. Dean can barely stay standing after the relaxing way Cas washed him, and the kiss nearly knocks his legs out from under him. All he can do is wrap his arms around Cas’ waist and hang on tight.


Their first real date comes the following Friday when Cas makes reservations at a hoity-toity French restaurant in Kansas City, but they end up doing things to each other under the tablecloth that get them kicked out before the main course arrives.

Dean still counts it as a first date, though. It turned out to be a great night, and an equally great weekend when they took the Impala up to Weston Bend and cozied up in a private AirBnB for two nights. Dean was late to work on Monday but he didn’t even care. Hell, Bobby’s lucky he even showed up at all.

Cas introduced Dean to his brother and sister-in-law shortly after that – and he says introduced because it was the first time Jimmy met Dean, although he had met Dante before, and boy was that awkward.

Amelia is probably still laughing at the image of her drunk husband smacking Dean’s bare ass at a strip club while he was giving Cas an awkward public lap dance...

None of the men will ever live that one down.

Two months later, Dean and Cas decide to move in together. They find a place just west of De Soto; a funky little two-bedroom cottage with gigantic windows and a porch that looks out onto the river. It was just about halfway between Dean’s garage and Cas’ school, which was perfect, and it also had a shop out back where Dean could fix up old junkers and make some extra cash. Dean ended up turning it into a half–garage / half-woodshop when he learned that Cas likes to make furniture – like, actual furniture. Like, tables and bed frames and barstools. It was incredible, and a little crude, but beautiful.

Dean could watch Cas’ strong hands work a spokeshave all day long.

It wasn’t uncommon for both men to get so riled up while working in the same vicinity just by watching each other…

… Lots of sex was had against filthy surfaces in that shed.

Man, sawdust was even worse than sand. It got everywhere.


The first car Dean fixes up on his own is a 1970 Chevy Nova that Bobby found in the junkyard. He sold it for $12,800, made a big payment on his student loans, a big payment on their house, and bought an engagement ring with what was left.

They had only been together for about ten months, but Dean knew. Hell, if he’d had the money he’d have bought Cas a ring after their first date.

The evening that Dean proposed was meticulously planned; he left work early that Friday and went home to make a home-cooked meal to surprise Cas. After dinner (and home-made blueberry pie for dessert), they took a walk along the river, and about a quarter-mile up river from their home, in the grass next to a beautiful white poplar tree, at freakin’ sunset, Dean got down on one knee.

He was so nervous and excited that he doesn’t remember exactly what he was saying, just that Cas started crying, then laughing, and then he dug his own engagement ring out of his pocket and fell to his knees to be eye-level with Dean.

“I bought it about two weeks after my car broke down.” He’d said, completely unashamed as he slid the silver band onto Dean’s finger.

They made out in the grass until the stars came out.


They figured a destination wedding might deter people from attending, and that their wedding ceremony would feel more like a vacation and they could relax right into their two-week honeymoon.

That was not the case.

Over twenty people RSVP’d ‘Yes! We can’t wait to celebrate with you!’ to their wedding in Hawaii, (“Shoulda got married in North Dakota in February. No one would have wanted to come!” “People aren’t coming because it’s Hawaii, Dean. People are coming because they love us…” “Yeah that’s what they want us to think…”) and after about a month of moaning and groaning about how they should have just eloped and then gone to Hawaii, they finally came around to the idea of planning a legit ceremony (with the help of Mary and Amelia).

It was a short and simple beach ceremony: white flowers, no shoes, ocean backdrop in the evening, and canned repeat-after-me vows. Auntie Ellen officiated. Both Dean and Cas wore jeans and white button-up shirts, un-tucked. The reception was held under a large gazebo strung up with twinkling white lights, and Sam gave an impromptu best man speech that definitely made Dean cry. Jo plugged in her iPod and everyone danced and sang and drank beer and sweet pineapple wine to a playlist the guests had put together with songs dedicated to the newlyweds.

Sure, they had both been dreading the prospect of a real wedding, but there was one point in the evening when Dean leaned over and whispered in Cas’ ear, “Everyone we love is here right now. Every single person…” like he couldn’t believe it.

And it was true. Everyone; Sammy and Eileen, Mary and John, Jimmy and Amelia, Bobby and Auntie Ellen, Jo, Gabe, Chuck, Bal, Charlie, Kevin, Jody, Benny and Donna, Anna, Ash, Pamela, Rufus, Hannah, Cesar and Jesse… they all danced like fools and sang like assholes and drank enough pineapple wine that Dean knew he got some good blackmail footage on his phone.


Their first dance as a married couple had been hotly debated in the weeks before the wedding. At first neither one of them really wanted to do it, but Jimmy said, “It’s tradition” and Mary said, “If you boys don’t have a first dance so help me God…”

“Well it’s got to be a Zeppelin song,” Dean proclaimed, leaving no room for argument as the two of them danced around in the privacy of their living room, practicing how to avoid stepping on each other’s feet more than anything else.

“Oh yeah, and why’s that?” Cas wasn’t disagreeing, but it was always fun getting Dean riled up about something he was passionate about.

“Because,” Dean dipped Cas uncomfortably before laughing and hoisting him back up. “Because technically our first dance was already to Zeppelin.”

Cas was just buzzed enough to think he could pull off a Robert Plant imitation.

“Ooooohh ah-ahiiiii… I can’t quit you babe…” He sang as he spun Dean around, who slid easily against the wood floor in his socks. “I couldn’t quit you…” Cas whispered against Dean’s lips when he pulled him back in.

Ultimately they decided not to use that song. It was too intimate to share with their friends and family. It was just for the two of them.

Instead they went with D’yer Mak’er for their first dance, which was fine because it gave Dean the opportunity to make an ass of himself by singing to Cas while they danced in front of everyone. Cas’ favorite picture from that night will always be the one taken while they were dancing their first dance; Dean was in the middle of passionately belting out the lyrics and Cas was laughing at him.

Oh I can’t let you go

I love you…

Ooh! Baby I love you!


At the end of the evening when the newlyweds were finally alone in their suite, Cas had the impression that they would jumping right into bed together because it was their wedding night, and they were both properly buzzed, and he’d been turned on a low simmer all goddamn day.

Because you know who looks sexy with sandy feet and sun in his hair?

His husband.


But Dean has other plans.

Cas kisses him, beginning to unbutton Dean’s shirt (and considering just tearing the damn thing off him), Dean gently pushes him back, much to Cas’ displeasure, which he voices by way of an irritated groan.

“I know, baby. But I have something for you before we get into all that.” Dean gestures vaguely at the bed.

“Dean, we said no gifts…”

“It’s not a gift. It’s a surprise.”

Cas cocks his eyebrow.

“Just go sit over there.” Dean gently pushes him toward the bed with a laugh.

Cas sits on the edge of the bed, feet planted on the floor, facing Dean, who is now fiddling with his phone.

“I haven’t done this in a while, but I think it’ll come back to me…” Dean says absentmindedly, setting his phone on the table.

That’s when Cas hears it.

I- I can’t quit you baby…

So I’m gonna put you down for a while.

His eyes go wide when they meet Dean’s, and Dean just grins and dips his hips down low, closing his eyes and running his hands through his hair. He’s biting his lip, still grinning, and the top three buttons of his shirt are undone.

Cas’ breath catches in his throat.

I said I can’t quit you baby…

I guess I gotta put you down for awhile.

Dean looks at him through his lashes, starting to sway his hips to the song, slowly walking closer to Cas, who has to stop himself from jumping up and tackling Dean right then and there.

Dean undoes the remaining three buttons of his shirt.

Said you messed up my happy home

Made me mistreat my only child

Yes sir you did!

As Dean gets close, Cas instinctively moves his legs together so Dean can turn and straddle him. Cas remembers that first lap dance vividly. He remembers being so nervous that he was shaking. He remembers reaching out and grabbing Dean and immediately thinking he was going to get kicked out. But Dean didn’t mind.

Of course he didn’t mind.

Dean wiggles his amazing ass in Cas’ face as he slides off his shirt, finally, and flings it across the room with a flourish. He bends over, the jeans stretching nice and tight across his plump ass, and then he rolls his body back up and Cas watches the muscles in his back as his shoulders, chest, and finally hips move in a full-body wave so Dean’s standing straight again and swaying to the song.

He steps over Cas’ legs and turns, straddling him again so they’re facing each other and it takes a moment for Cas to tear his eyes from the bulge directly in front of his face and actually look up at Dean, who is smiling.

“You know,” Dean says, his voice teasing, “From what I remember, this was about the time you got your hands on me…” Dean slides his own hands down his chest and stomach, and while the muscles there are not as defined as they once were, Cas prefers this much more – this strong, hearty, real Dean. His Dean.

“Yeah well, I’m trying to behave this time.” He says weakly.

“Okay sweetheart. Let’s see how long that lasts…”

Dean’s hands slide lower.

Said you know I love you baby,

My love for you I could never hide…

With those lyrics, Dean grabs his own bulge, massaging the hard length through his jeans and making Cas groan with want.

Oh, you know I love you babe!

My love for you I could never hide…

Dean pops open the button of his jeans, and that’s when Cas sees it:

A tiny bit of pink lace.

“Oh my God.” He swallows hard though his mouth is dry, and he’s utterly incapable to do anything but stare as Dean unzips his jeans and reveals pink lacy panties that he's apparently been wearing under his jeans, during their wedding, at the altar in front of God and all their friends and family... Somewhere above him Dean laughs, but Cas doesn’t care. He only repeats, “Oh my God” before reaching out and yanking open Dean’s fly completely.

“Hold on baby,” Dean guides his hands back down to his own lap and steps away, just enough to turn around and…

… and

He bends over, pulling his pants down and giving Cas an absolutely perfect view of the narrow strip of hot pink lace that’s hardly able to keep Dean contained. When he steps out of his jeans completely and turns back around, Cas licks his lips when he sees the ruddy head of Dean’s dick poking out proudly past the lace by one of his thighs. Dean looks down thoughtfully and tucks himself away.

The man straddles him again, this time placing a knee on the bed on either side of Cas and gyrating his lace-clad hips against Cas’ chest, effectively pushing him down on the bed. Cas pulls Dean down on top of him and rolls them over on the king-size bed.

“Hey, I wasn’t done with my dance…” Dean says with very little merit as Cas brushes their noses together. Dean’s so hard now that the lace is doing very little to keep him repressed.

“You can finish it later,” Cas rubs a hand over Dean’s cock; the heat underneath the delicate fabric is intoxicating. “Right now…” Dean is unbuttoning the top two buttons of Cas’ shirt, “I want…” Cas sits up so Dean can pull the shirt over his head, “my husband…” Dean groans and pulls Cas back down, “… and his pretty pink panties.”

Those last words are hardly more than a growl, but it gets his point across.


Afterwards they stay in bed, naked and drinking champagne, Dean’s arm wrapped loosely around Cas’ shoulders, fingers brushing softly against his chest. It’s quiet except for the ocean waves outside the open door to the balcony. Everything is peaceful. Everything is perfect.

“Dean?” Cas interrupts the quiet.


“I have something for you, too.” He sits up so he can set his champagne flute on the nightstand, and then leans over the edge of the bed to grab something.

“Dude, no gifts! Remember?” Dean helps pull him back up when he finds whatever he was looking for.

“Relax Lap Dance,” Cas says sternly, unfolding a very worn piece of paper. Dean rolls his eyes. “This isn’t nearly as sexy as your surprise, I’m afraid.”

“Well what is it?” Dean’s interest is officially peaked, and when he tries to lean over to read what’s on the page Cas leans away, hiding it, and then shifts on the bed so they’re facing each other; both still naked but covered modestly with the soft, white sheet.

Cas clears his throat.

“When I bought your engagement ring I started planning what I wanted to say when I proposed, because I knew if I left it to spur-of-the-moment I’d ramble on and on. But then you beat me to it, and,”

“Cas, baby-”

“Hey, no. You don’t get to say you’re sorry anymore. It was perfect.” Cas leans over and kisses the pout off Dean’s lips, as he has a hundred times before when Dean feels guilty about beating Cas to the punch. “I still had all these things I wanted to say to you, and I thought that I’d incorporate it into our vows, but then we decided not to write our own vows.”

“You should have told me you were writing vows! We coulda-!”

Cas covers Dean’s mouth with his hand.

We decided – you and me – we decided not to write our vows. Now let me finish before I lose my nerve.”

Dean kisses his palm, and Cas grins and brushes his cheek softly as he pulls his hand away.

“I knew then that what I had written was too personal. I didn’t- I couldn’t have read them aloud. Not in front of everyone. But I still want you to know, so I’m going to read them to you tonight.”

With lightly trembling hands, Cas takes a deep breath and looks down at the paper that he’s unfolded and refolded probably a hundred times in the past year-and-a-half. Even though everything was written in pencil, there were still lines scratched out, eraser marks, a small tear, and a few tea stains from when he’d work on it in the morning before Dean got out of bed.

“Dean,” he begins, taking one final look at the man he’d stood at the altar with not six hours ago, before focusing on the page in front of him.

“I never wanted to believe in Soulmates. I never wanted to believe that a soul could be ripped in two and I could spend my entire existence looking for that one other person who could make me feel whole. But then I found you, and I lost you, and I know what I felt. I know what I would have become if I never found you again.

“I never wanted to believe in Fate; that there was a plan put together by some unknown God who I spent an entire childhood praying to who never seemed to return my calls. But then my car broke down on Highway 10, and a kind hillbilly in a pickup truck dropped me off right at your feet.

“I never wanted to believe in Love at First Sight. I always wanted to have at least some say in who I fell in love with. But then I saw you, and I knew it. It didn’t even take an entire classic rock song for me to fall in love with Dante Wylde. And then, somehow, I fell in love with Dean Winchester even faster than that.

“And I do love you, Dean. I love all of you; how you love so honestly and laugh so freely, your selflessness, your loyalty, your stubbornness, your devotion and passion. You challenge me and teach me something new every day. You are extraordinary.

“And today,” Cas pauses, maybe trying to hide the quiver in his voice. He makes the mistake of looking up from his paper only to see Dean’s face with a soft smile and a sparkling tear running down each cheek. “Today is our wedding day,” his voice breaks, and the tears he was holding in spill over, but he clears his throat and carries on, “And it is an honor to give myself to you, wholly and unconditionally.

“I promise to take you on wild adventures and to kiss you as often as you’ll let me. I promise to always put us before anything else. I promise to have the patience that love needs, to speak openly when words are needed and to share in the silence when they are not. I promise to support you through the struggles that life will surely bring, and that I’ll never walk away when things gets hard.

“Most importantly, my Dean, my love, my husband, I promise to walk hand-in-hand with you through life as a lover, partner, accomplice, and friend.”

When Cas is finished, he folds the paper with surprisingly steady hands and avoids Dean’s gaze as long as he can.

Dean takes the paper from him gently and Cas’ eyes follow it as Dean brings it to his lips and kisses it, then sets it gently on the bedside table.

“Told you it wasn’t as sexy as your present.” Cas says, sniffling and covering it up with a small cough. Dean’s smile gets wider, and Cas reaches out and brushes the final tear from Dean’s cheek.

“I’m keeping that.” Dean says after a brief, comfortable stretch of silence. Then he crawls into Cas’ lap and pushes him backwards, nose-to-nose, until Cas is lying back on the bed and Dean is cozy and naked on top of him. Pillows and a sheet are tangled at their feet.

“You just want written proof that I said I love your stubbornness for when we argue.” Cas winds his arms around Dean’s waist holds him tight.

“Maybe a little.” Dean interrupts their shared laughter with a kiss. “God, I love you Cas.” The words are hardly more than a whisper, but he can feel them vibrate all the way down to his soul.

“I love you too, Dean.”

They kiss again, but this time it’s interrupted by Dean’s hips pressing against Cas’ and sending a sleepy jolt of pleasure up his spine.

“You think you got it in you for one more time on our wedding day?” Dean looks down at him, expectant and beautiful.

“It’s past midnight. It’s not our wedding day anymore.”

“Damn, you’re right.” Dean chews his lip for a moment, contemplating something. Then he says, “Well that just means this is officially our one-day anniversary as a married couple.”

“You have a point.” He squeezes Dean a little tighter. “Happy anniversary, Dean.”

Dean wiggles his eyebrows.

“We should celebrate…”

So they did.