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Something Like This

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Cas kisses him then, and it’s shockingly still not rough. He kisses a bit like he fights, purposeful, planned. Dean would call it strategic, but the warm hands slipping under the hem of his shirt distract him. He arches into it and gets both his hands in Cas’ hair again, tugs on the short strands.

Dean chuckles quietly into his mouth and draws one hand down to cradle the back of his skull, slip under the collar of his shirt, trace vertebrae and then the starched white collar.

“Believe me when I say this will be better without clothes,” he pulls away to murmur as he frees the first button. Cas props himself up on one forearm and stares at down at him with half-closed eyes, an awed look on his face like in his millennia of existence he’s never seen anything quite like Dean. It’s hard for Dean to pull his gaze away, even to look at the skin being revealed as he undoes one white plastic button after another.

When he reaches the last one Cas sits back on his heels and to pull it off his shoulders. Dean’s kind of pathetically grateful that Cas turned on the bedside lamp with its dim bulb prior to waking him up. It means he gets to see Cas’ body clearly. He’s more muscled than Dean would have guessed, under his oversized layers, his skin kissed gold by the sun. Dean doesn’t wait for the shirt to be off Cas’ wrists before he’s sitting up and hooking a hand around the back of Cas’ neck and kissing him impatiently – Cas makes a surprised noise and flings his shirt away so he claw the shirt off Dean’s back while fairly writhing in his lap.

He goes easily when Dean places a hand to his chest and pushes. His head rests comfortably on the pillows and for a moment he smiles dazedly up at Dean as his hands settle at his waist.

The stillness doesn’t last long, Cas uses his handhold to roll them so Dean’s on his back again and Cas is breathing in the skin of his neck. His scratches Dean’s skin as he does, placing biting kisses in a trail from the hollow of Dean’s throat to the far edge of his clavicle.

“Your body’s amazing,” he whispers almost too quietly to hear.

Dean chokes on a startled laugh, “What?”

Cas bites his jaw. “Your body is amazing, Dean.”

Dean wants to protest, something along the lines of “Don’t say shit like that to me, people can hear you,” but Cas is dragging a curious tongue across his nipple. He could’ve sworn that that didn’t do much for him, but he would have been wrong as his torso curls up into the pressure and his hands are suddenly fisted tightly into Cas’ hair.

He releases his fingers hastily. “Sorry.”

Cas hums absently and uses one of his own hands to return Dean’s to his hair. He doesn’t speak; he’s busy pulling embarrassing noises out of Dean by the application of mouth to nipple.

“Fuck, fuck,” Dean breathes. He can’t remember his voice going so high. Instead he continues grinding his hips up against Cas stomach and tugging on his hair. He likes it, if the way his nails scratch over Dean’s ribs is anything to go by.

Dean’s skin feels two sizes too tight and he can feel the growing hum of electricity underneath it. His hands cradling Cas’ skull bring Cas’ mouth up, away from the bruise he’s sucking onto Dean’s sternum, and back to where Dean’s mouth can get to it. Cas greets his kiss open-mouthed and hungry, moaning when Dean licks the roof of his mouth and thrusting against the hand Dean works into his hastily opened pants.

Dean breaks the kiss to smirk triumphantly at the gutted sound Cas makes when Dean’s fist tightens around his cock. “Oh yeah,” he murmurs to himself. Cas is pliant and goes with it when Dean pulls his head back with the hand still fisted in his hair. He bites the shell of Cas’ ear and Cas shudders on top of him, still thrusting into Dean’s hand. He protests wordlessly when Dean’s hand pulls away.

“Shh,” Dean chuckles, pressing a finger to Cas’ lips. “I’ve got you.”

Cas stares at him with his ridiculously blue eyes as he takes Dean’s finger into his mouth. He doesn’t break eye contact as he starts to suck, tongue flirting against the sensitive undersides of the knuckle. It makes it really hard to finishing unzipping Cas’ pants, but Dean perseveres. If he touches the tip of his middle finger to Cas’ pursed lips it’s purely coincidental. His lips part to accept the second digit and Dean’s pretty sure he’s going to die at the noise Cas makes, like sucking on Dean’s fingers is all he wants in life.

“Jesus, God in heaven.”

If he disapproves of the blasphemy, it isn’t worth ceasing his activities to discuss.

Pants zipper undone, Dean shoves roughly at Cas’ pants and the underwear beneath. It’s challenging with just the one hand, but Cas helps out, wriggling awkwardly to get the tangle of fabric down to his ankles and then kick it aside.

Cas finally frees his fingers, one hand curling around Dean’s wrist to hold his hand in place. He presses a solemn kiss to his palm, before moving his attention back to Dean’s neck and his hands under the elastic of Dean’s boxers. They hit the opposite wall with a slight whump and Dean’s pretty sure that’s a record speed underwear removal, but Cas’ dick is touching his now and he really can’t care about anything else. He groans hollowly and digs his heels into the mattress.

Cas has one hand on his throat, thumb at his adam’s apple, just resting there, not exerting any pressure, when he opens his mouth. “I liked the talking,” he tells Dean’s neck quietly, like he’s not sure he’s allowed.

It takes Dean a second, but when it hits him he isn’t sure whether to laugh or come all over himself, so he does the sensible thing and bites his lip for a second before asking. “You want me to talk dirty to you?” He’s either dreaming or he’ll never have anything this awesome happen to him again. Ever.

“I – yes,” Cas says, retracing his earlier work and then going beyond to skim his nose through the trail of hair leading down from Dean’s navel. It’s unfortunate because Dean is no longer grinding his cock against Cas’, but Cas has his hand on him now and that might be better. His touch is light and curious as if he’s learning him by feel.

“I like your hands,” he blurts. “I’ve liked the way they looked for a while, and I’m starting to really like the way they feel.” Cas’ hand tightens into a fist around him and Dean bucks helplessly. “I thought about them, sometimes. What they’d look like on me, how they’d feel when they – oh, Jesus Christ – when they do exactly that. Fuck, do it again.”

“Did you get off to those thoughts, Dean?” Cas asks, voice a low growl, as he moves to write sigils with his tongue on the skin of Dean’s inner thigh.

If this is starting to sound like bad priest porn, Dean isn’t about to complain.

“Once or twice, in the beginning. Before… before we became friends.”

Cas hums; it’s as he expected. “Will you get off to them again after this?”

“Sweetheart, I don’t think I’ll be able to help it.”

“Good,” Cas says, and it’s a purr now. He draws his tongue along the indent between Dean’s balls. Dean grinds his head back against the pillows and yells gibberish before he can stop himself, twisting the sheet between his fingers for a distraction. “Tell me what you want, Dean.”

Dean doesn’t know how their roles managed to switch so completely in the space of ten minutes, but it’s really, really working for him.

“I want you to do that again, for starters,” he says in a rush. “I want your mouth. I want your ass. I want to fuck you, Cas.” One of his hands goes back to Cas’ hair, runs gentle fingertips along his jaw as Cas gently and carefully wraps his mouth around one of Dean’s balls and starts to suck. His voice nearly cracks, “I think I want you to fuck me. No, I definitely want you to fuck me. I just don’t know which one I want more, which one I want first. I want you to open me up with your fingers before you do it, take a real long time, until I‘m begging and I can’t speak in sentences.” Cas hand shifts to grasp the base of his cock as Cas wraps his lips around the head.

“Fu- I want to scream for you, Cas. I want you to make me scream. Godfuckhell, I know you can. Holy – your mouth.”

Cas just hums like the bastard he is. He pulls off with a slick noise that would make a nun faint. “Tell me more about you fucking me.”

Dean whines incredulously because Cas’ voice is rougher than normal but he still sounds so calm, they could be sitting casually in the Impala for all his voice gives away.

“I’d make it so good for you. I’d take my time, work you until you’re boneless. Maybe I’d eat you out first, open you up on my tongue.” Between his legs Cas bobs his head at a frustratingly slow pace, his tongue pressing in all the right places as he sucks. His eyes are open, watching the rise and fall of Dean’s chest. It’s easier for Dean to shut his own eyes than meet his gaze or spend too long on the perfect shape of his mouth around his cock, saliva shining slickly on his chin. “When you come it’ll be so hard you see stars and it’ll be with my name on your lips.”

Cas’ head stops moving and his jaw slackens a little bit. He pulls back just enough to speak. “Yes.” Now at last his voice is rough and jagged to match Dean’s.

It doesn’t take Dean more than half a second before he’s sitting up and pulling Cas in to kiss again while his hand flails out for the drawer in the nightstand.

“You sure?” he asks as he settles back into the pillows, lube in his hand, and Cas shifts until he’s higher up above Dean’s body, rutting down against him for a second before taking the small bottle from his hand. Dean watches, rapt, as he squirts some onto his fingers. Cas doesn’t reply, just moves to mark the other side of Dean’s neck with biting kisses as reaches around behind himself with lube-slicked fingers.

“Do you, ahh, do you want some help with that?” He can’t see what’s going on, but he can hear it and that might be worse. The soft wet noises of Cas fingering himself open fill the room and a drop of skin-warmed lube hits his thigh.

“I’m not at my most patient,” Cas admits into Dean’s ear. Dean glances down at his erection, dark and practically dripping; he doesn’t doubt it.

Cas’ head drops down to hit Dean’s shoulder as he rocks back on his own hand, the tip of his cock nudging against Dean’s stomach on every thrust.

Cautiously Dean trails a hand up the flexing muscle of Cas’ thigh to his ass to where he already has two slick fingers inside himself.

“Can I …?” Dean trails off.

Cas nods shakily. His lower lip is flushed and shiny where he’s biting it, but it’s not stopping the occasional small whimper from escaping.

Cas must have used a lot of lube because it’s so very easy for Dean to slide one of his own fingers in alongside. He’s hot and tight around their combined fingers. Dean can feel the lube trickling down to his wrist. “Jesus.”

Cas moans an incoherent string of vowels and arches, trying to get their fingers deeper.

“Just like that. Just like that, babe, you’re doing so good,” Dean mutters absently, too focused on the way Cas’ cock twitches with every in thrust to think much about what he’s saying. “Look at that, so beautiful and responsive. You love this, don’t you?”

“That’s enough, Dean. I’m – oh fuck.”

Dean reaches for the drawer again to get a condom and bites at the jut of Cas’ collarbone. “Have I ever told you how incredibly fucking hot it is when you swear?”

Cas smirks and leans back, wincing faintly as removes his fingers. He watches, fidgeting, as Dean rips the foil package then rolls the condom down over his erection. Cas knocks his hands aside almost as soon as he’s done, walking backward on his knees until he’s hovering right where he needs to be. One hand loosely gripping is enough to guide him inside. His mouth falls open in an elongated ‘o’ as he sinks slowly down. Dean’s body aches with the struggle not to thrust up, to let Cas do this at his own pace, to lie back and let Cas tremble.

When he’s fully seated, backs of his thighs pressed to Dean’s hips, Cas grins at Dean - a predatory leer that makes Dean want to beg for mercy. He knows then that there is no coming back from this.

Cas places one palm squarely over Dean’s heart before he starts to ride him in slow rolls of his hips, like he’s been doing this every day for years. Dean’s eyes roll back in his head from the visual.

“Put your hands on me, Dean,” Cas says, words low and shaky in between half-vocalized moans.

Dean’s hands start at Cas’ knees, then skate their uncertain way up over his flexing thighs. They settle momentarily at his pelvis, make a home for themselves in the cut of it. One hand moves to cover his stomach, to feel the judder of the muscles beneath his hand.

Cas abruptly slams down and startles a cry from his own lips. “Oh,” he says, like he’d just realized something obvious. His smile is sharp and full of teeth when he covers Dean’s hand with his own and sets a brutal rhythm that has them both groaning. Dean presses up to meet him as best as he can, but it isn’t enough. He wants to watch Cas like this, taking his pleasure as he wants it, but he also wants to show Cas what else this can be.

“I want you on your back,” he whispers roughly. Cas obliges, rising off and then dropping to the side, already reaching greedily for Dean. “Lift your hips,” Dean commands, then slides a pillow underneath. From there it’s a simple matter of a hand on Cas’ hips – he’s developing a fixation – and pushing in until he can’t go any farther and Cas’ eyes are shut as he opens and closes his mouth wordlessly.

“We good?”

“So fucking good. So, so good.” Wrecked is a good look on him.

“Good,” Dean echoes before he starts fucking him in earnest. Cas’ legs find their way over Dean’s shoulders, his heels digging at the small of his back encouragingly. He’s bent practically in half and babbling in Enochian as his nails score lines down Dean’s back.

“Cas,” Dean chokes out because he’s never seen anything quite like this as Cas’ back arches as he curls to meet every thrust. One of his hands wraps tight around a post in the headboard, giving him something to brace against so he doesn’t go skidding up the mattress.

A half-garbled Enochian word turns into a shout when Dean’s hand wraps around Cas’ erection. He looks surprised, like he’d forgotten that he had a dick and how good it could feel. “Dean,” he says, face scrunched together like he’s in pain, “Dean, I think I’m –“

“Yeah, babe, I know, can feel it.” And he can, in the clenching of Cas’ body around his and the tension in the muscles of his thighs and stomach. Which means it’s time to adjust the angle so it’s that much better and tighten his hand so he can feel it when Cas comes.

He does it with a scream that’s almost a wail and might have once been Dean’s name, an awed look on his face like he’s never felt anything better than this.

Dean doesn’t last long after that.


He pulls out slowly and rolls to the side, awkwardly throwing the tied-off condom into the trash. It barely makes it in. His coordination’s a little off. He grabs his shirt off the floor to wipe at Cas’ stomach. They should really go take a shower, but the bathroom’s down the hall.

He presses his lips to Cas’ sweaty neck, “You gonna stick around?”

Cas’ hands pause in their stroking of Dean’s arm. “Do you want me to?”

Eye contact at this distance is uncomfortable. Dean doesn’t think of breaking it. “Yeah.”

Cas nods almost imperceptibly. “Then I’ll stay.”

Dean adjusts they’re on the same pillow and out of the wet spot. Cas’ elbow is digging into his side and his knees are bony. Dean doesn’t for one second pretend he doesn’t like it.