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Dean Doesn't Listen to Eurythmics

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When it came right down to it, this was Sam’s fault.

“Scissors, Dean, really?” he’d said, while making the most insincere expression of sympathy known to man. That was pretty much the last thing Sam said to him for the rest of the night because Dean was too irritated for any sort of conversation. He only listened with half an ear while Sam carefully showed Cas how to use a toothbrush, wash himself, change his clothes.

Dean did all of that, too – toothbrush, wash, change – as part of the winding-down ritual that marked the end of any day, but it somehow passed by in a blur, Dean’s world narrowed in to little more than his epic irritation. So focused was he that even after the conversation, the argument, the rock-paper-scissors and the routine that followed after with a new addition to what had previously been a duo in this little nomadic gig of theirs, it didn’t quite sink in to Dean’s head what was actually going to happen until he turned around to tuck in and saw Castiel sitting on the edge of his bed.

“I don’t wish to make you uncomfortable, Dean,” Cas said carefully.

For a moment Dean actually forgot to be uncomfortable because Cas was practically drowning in Sam’s clothes, the collar so wide it was threatening to bare a shoulder, his arms looking even tinier in the large sleeves. He also looked very worried, which Dean had to admit wasn’t fair, because it wasn’t like Cas wanted to become more human as time went by. It wasn’t like Dean and Sam could’ve known that today would be day that Cas would suddenly show up to declare that he was exhausted, then start nodding off five minutes after he’d arrived, thus leading to Sam’s suggestion that Cas stay the night with them. Only catch was that because there were only two beds, there would have to be sharing involved.

“It’s okay,” Dean sighed. “It’s just… I like my space, as you know.”

Cas nodded, staring at the bed like he was silently ordering it to behave appropriately. “I will endeavor to keep to my side.”

He did exactly that, sliding under the covers – looking surprised by the sensation and snuggling in deeper with a pleased expression – and then settling down safely on his side of the mattress. There was plenty of empty white cotton between them after Dean took his turn getting under, but then he made the mistake of looking up at Cas, because of course Cas was staring straight at him.

This was nowhere near as close as Cas would come to him sometimes, but it was one thing to have a stare-off while upright and fully-clothed, and another thing to be doing it while horizontal and under the same set of blankets. The less-than-a-foot of distance between them was way too small.

“Quit it,” Dean snapped. He winced at the sharpness of his tone, but Cas didn’t seem bothered. He merely shifted over on to his back and stared at the ceiling instead.

“You need to close your eyes,” said Sam, who was still moving around. Cas obeyed instantly.

There was the sound of the covers shifting, and then Sam tucking his lonely self into his nice empty bed. Dean didn’t watch that happen because he was too busy watching Cas, the polite placement of his interlaced fingers on his chest, the determined furrow of his brow as he attempted to do this new human thing without the aid of written instructions or practical demonstrations.

“You’ve got to relax,” Dean murmured. “Stop thinking.”

“How do you stop thinking?” Cas asked, eyes still closed. His lashes were really long. Dean’d never noticed before, since he was usually too busy being stared at.

“Don’t you guys, I don’t know, meditate or something? Look for inner stillness?”

Cas’ head moved in an aborted nod. Dean watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, only relaxing when the lines around Cas’ eyes smoothed out and his lips parted a little. Each unconscious exhalation that came out after was as soft as a sigh.

Dean was glad that Cas could get some rest, but he’d be a fucking liar if he said he wasn’t worried that Cas had become human enough to need sleep.

A couple of hours later, Dean learned that Cas had become human enough for other things, too.

Dean had been asleep, having finally drifted off among idle thoughts about nothing in particular, and then he was awake again because Cas hadn’t kept to his promise about keeping to his side of the bed.

So Dean woke up with a mouth pressed to his neck, breath coming out in hot puffs against his skin.

It took him a moment to remember to whom that mouth belonged to, and when he did, he was was wide-awake, sleep forgotten.

Sam’s fault. This was Sam’s fault.

Yeah, it was Sam’s fault that some six feet of delicious-smelling not-quite-angel was pressed against Dean, warm and cosy and impossible to escape from. Cas’ arm was across his chest, as heavy as any anchor, the hand resting just below Dean’s chin. When Dean experimentally tried to move, he realized that that was Cas’ leg between his, the skin of Dean’s bare shins catching the feel of another hairy, bony calf insinuated between his own.

“Cas,” Dean whispered urgently, terror the only thing that kept him from flinging Cas away. The fact of the matter was that the feeling of another body wrapped around his was pretty damn awesome, except for the part where the body belonged to a very good friend who didn’t sign up for this shit. It was going to get awkward, and Dean really didn’t want it to get awkward because awkward could demote things from ‘very good friend’ to ‘never look each other in the eye ever again’.

“Dean,” Cas whispered back, and Dean almost sighed with relief until he felt Cas crowd in closer, fingers digging into his shirt  while that leg curled tighter around his. Dean tried to shift back, only managing to get far enough for visual confirmation that Cas really was still asleep before Cas was snuggling up to him again.

Dean stared at the ceiling, wondering what he’d done (lately) to warrant a halfway-fallen angel pressing midnight wood against his hip. That was an erection pushing at his side, unless Sam stuffed a roll of bologna in his shorts before giving them to Cas to wear.

“Cas,” Dean hissed. “Cas, you’ve got to—”

Cas made a soft, contented sound, the kind of which Dean had never heard from him before. Dean didn’t know Cas could make that sound, so he was stunned to hear it breathed against his chin, followed closely by soft pants of pleasure. Cas was nuzzling his neck, body working up a subtle rhythm that brought his dick in rolling contact with Dean’s body.

It occurred to Dean that Cas had said his name.

His name.

“Cas?” he said cautiously.

“Dean,” Cas replied, the word slurred but unmistakable.

There was no point in denying that Dean was turned on, since, hello: six foot of delicious-smelling not-quite-angel humping his hip and practically moaning his name. For all of Dean’s sexual experience, this was actually something completely new, not to mention that there was still the threat of the ‘very good friend’ status going up in smoke, so he had no friggin’ clue how to proceed without royally fucking future things up.

Then holy shit, Cas had shifted high enough that there was but one damp layer of cloth separating his cock from Dean’s waist. Dean shut his eyes, only daring to breathe through his mouth as he guiltily savored that hotness rubbing against him, wetness leaking through the cloth to meet skin.

Cas was outright panting against Dean’s neck now, the soft hitching sounds too loud in the quiet room.

Dean hissed when Cas moved his leg again, the solid weight of his thigh coming in for contact with Dean’s own erection. No matter the layer of cloth between them, it was still pressure that promised sweet relief in the immediate future and Dean just about bucked up into it. Cas seemed to know what that was and what that meant, because he started rolling his hips in earnest, the movement strong enough that the momentum invited Dean’s body to move with his.

Better to beg for forgiveness later, because Dean was grabbing Cas, wrapping arms around him and tightening his own legs around Cas’ wayward thigh. His hips were moving of his own accord, encouraged by the pleased sounds Cas was making. This simple rubbing against each other was enough to wind Dean up, working quickly up to the orgasm that hadn’t been part of the night’s plans at all.

They were apparently moving quite insistently against each other, because Dean could feel the exact moment Cas’ boxers slipped down, the head of his cock peeking out and pressing naked against Dean’s skin. That simple contact was beyond hot, Cas’ short thrusts trailing dampness over Dean’s waist and stomach.

“Oh, god, Cas,” Dean hissed.

Something changed. Dean wasn’t too out of it to notice that Cas’ rhythm was suddenly off. He was still humping desperately, but the movement was stuttering and awkward, lacking the sinuous movement of earlier. Dean turned his head, and sure enough, Cas’ eyes were open and shocked.

“Dean, I—” Cas sounded so fucking humiliated that Dean had no choice but to roll him over and shut him up with a kiss.

A really good kiss, too, because it was their first. It was deep and wet and desperate, Cas’ mouth sweet as honey as Dean licked in deep. While Dean distracted Cas with that, he reached down to yank their shorts out of the way and then fit their legs together in bare contact.

Dean swallowed Cas’ gasp, smiling only when Cas’ hands found his back and held on for dear life.

Cas’ made a sound deep in his throat, the vibration rocking up into Dean’s own mouth, and then he was coming wet and messy against Dean’s stomach. Dean pulled away from Cas’ soft mouth, letting him breathe through it, Cas biting his lip and whimpering softly.

Dean nuzzled Cas chin as the body beneath his slowly relaxed.

The first tentative touch of Cas’ hand to Dean’s erection made him stiffen in surprise. When he looked up, Cas appeared contented in the afterglow, but there was a familiar determination in his expression as he curled his fingers around Dean and started pumping firmly. It really didn’t take much to get Dean off, brain blanking with the pleasure with it, but no one could blame him for not lasting long when he was drowning in the dark intensity of Cas’ eyes. Cas, who seemed to be watching and memorizing every second of Dean’s reaching towards that bliss.

Cas’ hands petted him after, ignoring the wetness as he stroked Dean .

Arms shaky, Dean collapsed on him, wheezing softly, but Cas didn’t seem to mind.

“I apologize for not staying on my side of the bed,” Cas whispered.

Dean looked at him. Cas did look apologetic, but there was also a spark of hope there, like perhaps he was wishing that this wasn’t a fluke.

No, this wasn’t a fluke.

“You can steal my side of the bed anytime,” Dean said, hoping that’d be enough for now. Judging from Cas’ slow smile, it was.







(“Oh my god,” Sam muttered, digging his head further under the pillow. Why didnt he just suggest they get a second room, geez?)