Work Header

In Search of a One Night Stand

Work Text:

The bar is dimly lit, which forces Castiel to hover an extra couple of seconds in the doorway to allow his eyes to acclimatize. When they do, he can make out shadowed booths lining the nearest wall, tables arranged in a diagonal grid in the main space, and the bar proper on the far side. It’s not yet peak hour but the crowd is promising; there’s a group converged around pool tables at the back, and a handful of patrons at the bar itself.

Some people glance his way when Castiel approaches the bar, and he subtly appraises them as he passes, gauging age and potential. There’s no telling if he’ll have better luck here, but the last place was a bust – there hadn’t been enough people, and the bartender had started shooting him suspicious glares after the first hour. This establishment is second on his list and, Castiel hopes, the last he’ll need visit tonight.

“I’d like to order...” Castiel sits on a free stool and scrutinizes the drinks list on the wall behind the bartender. His original plan had been to stick to whatever beer is available, but among the various things he’s learned tonight is the fact that he doesn’t care for beer. He points at a random drink. “That.”

The bartender’s expression doesn’t change, but Castiel has the distinct feeling he’d just received an eyeroll. “Coming right up.”

There’s a woman on Castiel’s right, but she’s reading a newspaper. She’s dressed smartly, in blouse and slacks that probably means she’s come straight from work. Farther down from her is a well-built young man, a little younger than Castiel, which normally wouldn’t be a turn-off but unfortunately there’s a rangers jacket resting next to his elbow. No uniforms tonight.

That’s on the right. On the left there’s another man, and this one has potential. He’s about Castiel’s age, with brown hair in not-overstyled spikes, and is wearing a casual jacket and jeans. His expression is neutral, and not morose or angry which would've precluded any attempt to approach him. Castiel’s not sure about the man’s physical appeal, though; he’s a little too good-looking for Castiel’s comfort.

“Can I help you with something, buddy?” man on the left says, eyes sliding over to meet Castiel’s.

“I apologize, that was rude of me to stare,” Castiel says.

“S’cool.” The man just smirks, apparently uninterested in making a big deal of it. Maybe he’s used to such attention. “You’re not from around here. Let me guess. The border Isles?”

“Close. From a little further North.” Castiel’s accent isn’t very strong, so perhaps Jacket is well-travelled. “It’s been a while since I’ve visited the Continent. A lot has changed.”

“I’ll bet. So you’re sight-seeing?”

“Not yet.” Castiel nods when the bartender hands him his drink. “I thought I’d ease myself into it. Your cities here are very different. Everyone seems to be in a rush.”

“That’s a feature, not a bug,” Jacket says.

“Hmm,” Castiel says noncommittally.

He needs to gather his bearings. Castiel samples his drink, using the motion as a cover for his getting his thoughts together. In the background there are the sounds of laughter and clinking glass, and beyond that there’s the droning news bulletin about the upcoming Summit. It’s all perfectly in order, and this is exactly the environment that Castiel left his controlled, picture-perfect, safe hotel room in search for.

Castiel takes a deep breath.

“Hello,” he says. The lady, Smart Casual, meets his gaze warily. That’s not promising, but better to try. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I see that you’re alone, and if I may be so bold to say, a little stressed and I wondered if—”

“No,” she says.

Castiel blinks. “I haven’t—”

“Seriously?” Smart Casual laughs. “Do all of you think that Continental girls are easy? Hate it to break it to you, stud, but we still have standards down here.” She downs the rest of her drink and removes herself from the bar with a little salute.

Castiel watches her go, disappointed but resolute. The knowledge that Naomi disapproved his venturing out his hotel at all should propel him forward in this mission.

The man to his left, the one in the jacket, is laughing. “What the hell was that?”

“Be quiet, I’m new to this.” Castiel takes a long gulp of his drink, and tries not to glare at the snickering bartender’s back. “I can be impatient, I know.”

“Hey, are you looking for a...” Jacket drops his voice, “...service buddy?”

“Oh, no,” Castiel says. “I’m not searching for a hooker. I wouldn’t be adverse to it, if it comes to that, but I’d prefer to keep my options open for the moment.”

Jacket blinks. “You want to keep your options open?”

“I want to have sex.” Castiel is unsurprised by the way Jacket double-takes at his bluntness, eyes wide and mouth open. Basically, Castiel is tired, frustrated, and has had enough of couching his desires through complicated small talk. He’d very rarely had to resort to such methods at the University; there, at least, his directness had been appreciated. “It’s imperative that I have sex. I’d prefer to invite someone with words, not money, if so possible.”

“Uh.” Jacket has not moved away, or slapped Castiel, or yelled at the bartender to kick him out. “I can’t believe I’m asking this, but why?

“I’ve never had sex,” Castiel says.

Jacket is enthralled. “Ever?”

“I’ve been busy.” The University is a full-time career, whatever some people might believe. “It slipped my attention.”

“Why is it important that you have sex right now?

Castiel gives him a look. “If you woke up one day and realized that you’re thirty-two years old and a virgin, what would you do?”

“I wouldn’t be thirty-two years old and a virgin in the first place,” Jacket says with a laugh. “But, uh.... good on you for going out to do something about it.”

“Thank you.” Castiel glares down at his drink and considers his options. He has the energy and fortitude for four, maybe five more attempts. He’ll just need to be pickier about who he approaches next. There’s also the group by the pool tables – they seem to be a social gathering, which may be difficult to penetrate, but if he had assistance...

Jacket is still staring at him.

“I’m not bad looking,” Castiel says. “Would you agree?”

“Uh.” Jacket blinks, startled. “Healthy ego you got there.”

“I have it on good authority that I can be attractive,” Castiel continues, encouraged by the way Jacket is failing to suppress a grin. “I have good hygiene. My clothes may be simple, but they’re clean and tidy. I believe these traits are to my favor, and it’s only because I have trouble vocalizing my interest in a… in an acceptable way that no one’s responded to my invitations for sex.”

Jacket seems to be pursing his lips in an attempt to stop himself from speaking.

“Do you have problems getting people to sleep with you?” Castiel asks. “I don’t mean dating, I’m uninterested in that. I mean casual sex.”

“I do… okay?” Jacket says hoarsely.

“Will you assist me?” Castiel says. “Tell me what I’m doing wrong.”

There’s a coughing noise that Castiel belatedly realizes is coming from the bartender. He’s got his back to them and his shoulders seem to be perpetually shaking. Jacket does a strange thing and crumples his napkin up in a ball, which he throws at the bartender’s head with a half-whispered, “Shut up, Benny.”

“I don’t see why this is a problem,” Castiel grumbles. “I’m very upfront about what I’m looking for.”

“That can be great! But only in the right… environment.” Jacket grins, leaning in towards Castiel in a way that he hopes means he’s about to impart some useful advice. “Not everyone’s scoping for a roll in the hay, and asking ‘em up front like that when they’re not ready or open to it is… well, it can be pretty rude.”

“How am I supposed to know who’s ready for my proposal?” Castiel asks.

“You gotta measure ‘em up on a case by case basis. Like check out cargo pants over there.” Jacket jerks his head towards a young man sitting alone at one of the tables. “What’s his body language tell you? Shoulders hunched, hands like that? He’s closed off, and he’s not gonna wanna hear anything you’ve got selling.”

“I know that,” Castiel snaps. “I’ve already discounted him.”

“Okay, then who were you gonna ask next?” Jacket asks.

“One of the party in the back,” Castiel says. “I was going to ask if they’d let me play with them, and then see who reacts to my presence most promisingly.”

“They’re not gonna be interested in you,” Jacket says knowingly. “They’re already paired off, see? Redhead and suspenders might be interested in a threesome, but that group looks pretty tight. They’d probably make you out as a tourist and might be interested in the – the exotic angle you got going, but the nerdy get-up will probably cancel that out.”

“How tragic,” Castiel says dryly.

“Who’d you go for next?”

Castiel considers Jacket’s teasing smile, and then glances sideways in inspiration. “The bartender.”

“What?” Jacket bleats, just as Benny the bartender whips his head up in surprise.

Castiel smiles at Benny. “You are quite pleasing to look at.”

“Not my type, sweetheart,” Benny drawls. “I’m sure you’ll live.”

“Dude,” Jacket says slowly. “Don’t you have any preferences? Are you literally gonna jump in bed with the first person who says yes?”

Castiel scowls at him. “Thirty-two years old. Virgin.”

Jacket stares. Then stares some more.

This is nowhere near a new experience for Castiel, but there’s nothing malicious nor aggressive in the way Jacket sits back and slowly takes him in, perhaps parsing the last few minutes of their conversation through whatever filters his brain needs in order to reach a conclusion.

A man like this, as charming and good-looking as he is, should have plenty of experience in this field. Even if he isn’t good in bed, someone could have a reasonably good time holding on to his broad shoulders or riding those strong thighs. It’s just selfish of Jacket not to share the wealth of knowledge he has, Castiel thinks remorsefully.

“Buddy,” Jacket says slowly, “you have either the worst game, or the best. I’m in.”

Castiel starts. “What?”

“I’ll do it, I’m takin’ you up. I’ll show you a good time.” Jacket grins. “I have in on good authority that I can be pretty smokin’ in the sack. You up for it?”

Yes,” Castiel says earnestly. “I have a—I have lodgings near here, yes.”

“Good.” They stand up together, Benny accepting Castiel’s payment for his drink with a pointedly blank expression. Jacket waits for Castiel to finish, and then offers his hand. “I’m Dean.”

Castiel accepts the handshake, and takes Dean’s firm grip as a sign that the night has and will be greatly improved. “Nice to meet you, Dean. I’m Emmanuel.”



Dean has his own car, and agrees to follow Castiel’s rental back to his hotel. It’s a sensible logistics arrangement, but Castiel might’ve liked the chance to question Dean about his skill set before they arrived.

Castiel got to pick his own hotel. It’s a concession from Naomi on his agreeability to this trip; if she’d had her way he’d be in one of those fortified towers in the city center, relevant symbolism and all. Instead Castiel has a quiet little chalet of his own at the Lake Resort just outside of St. Lebanon, and Dean whistles appreciatively when he joins Castiel down the private path to the small building.

“Pretty swank,” Dean says. “Only been here once myself, and that was only ‘cause the party had a buffet.”

“This is an indulgence.” Castiel unlocks the chalet door and turns on the lights, revealing the tasteful but impersonal cream-and-white furnishings that are a world away from the bar they’d met in. Castiel pulls his overcoat off, tossing it over a chair. “I’m not paying for any of this.”

Dean grins and sheds his jacket to join Castiel’s. “A man after my own heart.”

This is excellent; Dean’s easygoing and agreeable, and when Castiel tells him he’s free to raid the chalet’s complimentary mini-bar, he goes for the candy instead of the drinks.

“What?” Dean says defensively. “You’re not gonna eat all of this. T’would be a waste.”

There is the danger of the forbidden in this as well. Naomi doesn’t know what Castiel’s doing tonight, and thinking about her eventual reaction fills Castiel with a warm glow of perverse satisfaction. Castiel isn’t, technically, doing anything wrong, and he’s going to have a good time defending that technicality.

Castiel leads the way past the sitting area into the bedroom. Dean follows close behind, plastic wrappers crinkling when he tosses them into the garbage can.

So here they are. Two men alone in a room together, the outer doors locked and the pristine cotton sheets ready for chaos. Castiel is emboldened by the thought that his hard work is going to pay off, and immediately reaches for Dean’s belt buckle. He’s stopped when Dean stills his hand.

“You in a rush?” Dean asks. When Castiel shakes his head Dean adds, “Okay, neither am I. I’m gonna guess you don’t know what you like yet?”

“I did my research. I have some ideas.” Castiel reaches over for the tube of lubricant resting on the side table, and presses it into Dean’s hands. “For starters, I want you to penetrate me.”

“For starters?” Dean’s eyes darken at the suggestion, but he otherwise doesn’t move. “Do I even know what you want for a main course?”

“I can…” Castiel ventures uncertainly, “…penetrate you?”

Dean laughs. Castiel feels no insult in the warmth of the sound, though he does cough self-consciously when Dean pops the tube cap and realizes that the seal is intact. Dean sets the tube aside and says gently, “Let’s back it up a little. Just so we’re on the same page. There’s only one person with experience in this room, and that ain’t you. You agree with that?”

“Yes,” Castiel says slowly. “Ah, I see. You wish me to follow your guidance. Fine. I submit.”

Dean just shakes his head in amusement. “Close your eyes, Manny.”

It takes Castiel a moment to register that as a derivative nickname of the false name he’d given Dean. As Castiel dutifully closes his eyes, he wonders if Dean’s returned the favor in that aspect – there’s no way of knowing if ‘Dean’ is his real name. Not that it would make a difference, though. Dean could be a liar, a grifter, a thief ready to steal Castiel’s few belongings; these are all risks Castiel has duly considered and deemed acceptable. Other people pick up strangers all the time, why can’t Castiel do the same?

One thing about Dean that’s for sure, though, is that he’s a good kisser. Castiel knows the kiss is coming the moment Dean’s hands cup the sides of his face, and the press of lips that follows is gentle and coaxing, easy to follow and breathtakingly slow. It turns out that Dean is a man willing to take his time – Castiel is surprised to find that he fully expected otherwise. Perhaps it’s Dean’s obvious confidence, the ease with which he’d let himself be invited into Castiel’s space; Dean knows how this kind of thing plays out, and Castiel thought he’d head straight for the main event.

But the kissing is good, too. Actually, it’s great. All right, the kissing is excellent and spine-tingling and tugs at nerve endings that lead to heat pooling in Castiel’s groin. Dean’s mouth is hot and his tongue gentle, and Castiel chooses to assume he’s giving as good as he’s getting because it wouldn’t do to be a gaping fish while he’s being kissed by an expert. Dean’s fingers have even found a patch of Castiel’s skin between his shirt and pants, drawing loose patterns that could likely match the slide and folding of Dean’s lips against Castiel’s.

Castiel is, he realizes, being seduced.

Dean is seducing him slowly and methodically, his hands now moving over Castiel’s arms, back and shoulders. The touch is swift and teasing, lighting up goosebumps wherever they go.

Castiel is affronted. This encounter is due to his initiative, not Dean’s, and he could totally conjure up his arousal without all this bells and whistles and – and – and the touching is actually quite nice. Castiel especially likes the way Dean fits a hand between Castiel’s shoulder blades, curling his fingers slightly before dragging them along a tingling path down his spine.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Dean murmurs, breath warm against Castiel’s lips. “Just relax.”

Somewhere between all the touching and the kissing Castiel ends up supine on the bed, Dean standing between the spread of his legs. Castiel opens his eyes to the sight of Dean opening Castiel’s pants, the hands that had been generous with touch now determined to observe the result of their work.

Castiel’s lungs are too tight and his skin even tighter, but he manages to call out, “Dean.” He sounds so breathless. “I need to – I need to watch…”

“What do you want to watch, Manny?” Dean licks his lips, the little flash of pink mesmerizing. His eyes are bright with excitement, and that knowledge warms Castiel even more. “You want to watch me suck you off?”

“Yes.” Castiel inhales shakily. “I want to see how it’s done.”

“All righty then.” Was Dean truly this handsome in the bar? The lighting must’ve been terrible. Castiel falls back onto the bed, dazed and shuddering when Dean’s hands grip his cock.

The blowjob is a failure. At least, as far as Castiel’s education goes. There is no possible way that Castiel can concentrate when Dean swallows him down, lips and tongue doing all sorts of lewd magic. Castiel offers his assent when Dean asks if he’s up for fingering – Dean snickers at the use of up, naturally – and before Castiel knows it he has two fingers rubbing his prostate and his balls knocking against another man’s chin.

The pleasure is sublime. It’s not like Castiel’s never touched himself, or anyone else, but this feels like waking up, parts of himself long dormant finally deciding to make themselves known. Castiel hears himself beg, and then moan Dean’s name, and then demand politely that Dean make things even more interesting now it’s clear he knows how that can be done.

“What, you don’t wanna come in my mouth?” Dean asks.

“No.” Castiel gazes up at the blurred vision of Dean. “Yes? I don’t know.”

“Geez, fried some brain cells already,” Dean mutters. It sounds affectionate, though, so Castiel decides to ignore it. “Just for your info, I can totally swallow.”

“Wait,” Castiel breathes, the fog is his head clearing. “Penetration. Yes. Prepare yourself, I want you to – I’d like you to mount me, yes.” His body is weighted down by arousal but he makes it move, rolling over onto his stomach and crawling up on the bed. “Dean, prepare yourself right now.”

Castiel’s research, though limited by time, made it clear that there’s tremendous variation in positions. Taking into account his lack of practical experience, Castiel had decided that the position of most interest would be with himself on his arms and knees. He’d tested that position before, seeing how long he could stay in it before his neck started to hurt, but today, unlike then, his body refuses to stay still. His erection is a heavy distraction between his legs, and he keeps swaying side to side as though in thrall of the phantom pull and suck of Dean’s mouth.

Worse than that is the acute emptiness where Dean’s fingers had been. No amount of swaying can remedy that, so Castiel reaches back with one hand, pushing two fingers through the slick Dean left behind. It’s a relief, but a shallow one.

“Aww, fuck,” Dean says somewhere behind Castiel. There’s the faint drop of clothes to the floor, then the heavy flap of shoes and a belt. The mattress shifts when Dean joins him on the bed, hands resting on the meat of Castiel’s upper thighs while Castiel whines his unhappiness. “Manny, I gotta know about marks. You okay with getting marks on you?”

“Oh. No marks. No marks on me, thank you.” Castiel gasps when firm pressure on his hand drives his own fingers deeper – Dean’s guiding that hand, rolling it gently in guiding Castiel’s fingering himself. “Oh, yes.”

“Goddamn,” Dean whispers, almost reverently. He strokes Castiel’s back, long sweeping touches for the sake of touching, and Castiel sighs with contentment. “And you’ve never done this?”

“You should remedy that,” Castiel suggests.

“I don’t know, I was thinkin’ bout eating you out some—”

“You should,” Castiel grits out, “remedy that."

Dean takes the hint. Castiel removes his fingers so Dean can take their place, the press of his condom-sheathed cock at first too much, and then not enough. Dean expresses his surprise and Castiel mumbles something possibly incriminating about vibrators, but they both stop talking when Castiel is fully mounted.

The pressure is still unpleasant and Castiel can’t quell the body’s instinct to deny the thrusting intruder, but that’s why he’s doing this, isn’t it? He’s getting himself used to the idea of allowing someone in like this, of taking and being taken. Besides, there are plenty of other things to enjoy.

Like the brushes against his prostate, those are excellent. The feel of another person’s thighs at the back of his legs is also fantastic, and something the vibrators couldn’t simulate. There’s also the feel of a body draped over his, the filthy whispers in Castiel’s ear, the way Dean garbles uselessly when Castiel shoves back onto his cock.

“Need,” Castiel hisses. “Almost there, Dean, almost.”

“Yeah.” Dean swipes his tongue up the shell of Castiel’s ear, and then takes Castiel’s cock in a firm hold. “On it.”

Castiel comes like that, fitted underneath another man’s body, coaxed into orgasm by another man’s machinations. Satisfaction is Castiel’s, and although it feels like there’s no more air in his lungs, Castiel manages to laugh when he finally collapses against the sheets. He may regret the series of events that brought him here, but he will not regret this.

How else could he know what it feels like for another man to come inside him? He definitely wouldn’t have known that there’s immense satisfaction in experiencing someone else’s orgasm – Dean gasps and groans and shudders, and Castiel enjoys every second of it.

And yet.

And yet, once it is over and Castiel’s breathing returned to normal, he has to accept that this was, in many ways, a travesty. The exercise has failed, and failed spectacularly, because although Castiel is sated and satisfied, he has little understanding on how that happened or how he can repeat it. He’d also closed his eyes or turned away or been completely distracted for most of it, which is completely counterintuitive to his resolutions of earlier.

Castiel rolls over, ready to rebuke Dean, but goes still at the sight of the other man’s nudity. He says weakly, “You’re a hunter.”

“Yeah.” Dean’s eyes are half-lidded and sleepy, which is just as well because he misses the look on Castiel’s face. Dean is well-formed and proportioned, his torso and arms and legs all as wonderful as the sensations they’d incited in Castiel’s body, but the tattoo of the hunters just below Dean’s collarbone has Castiel stomach falling.

“You weren’t wearing your stripes.” Castiel tries not to make an accusation of it. “Isn’t that against regulations?”

“So sue me.” Dean stretches languidly. “The stripes can be fucking annoying. Sometimes people see that before even looking at your face.” He frowns slowly. “Is this a problem?”

“I… don’t know.”

“Would you not have wanted this if you knew I’m a hunter?” Dean asks.

An hour ago, Castiel might’ve said yes. Now he has to take time to consider this, and in studying Dean’s face, judgment-free and patient, the regret Castiel thought should be there does not come. “Perhaps. I would’ve been more self-conscious if I knew.”

“Are you a bad guy, Manny?” Dean teases, reaching out to grope Castiel’s hip. “Should I get my cuffs from the car?”

Castiel good-naturedly swats Dean’s hand away. “My intention had been to find someone with less baggage. Someone normal.”

“I’m normal!” Dean protests. “That’s a friggin’ stereotype, Manny.”

“So you’re not a soldier of the Council?” Castiel asks wryly.

“I serve the people, not the tight-asses on the bench,” Dean says. “Swear to god, I made so much trouble for them the past coupla years that they keep giving me postings out of the cities where they don’t have to see me. Hell yeah there’s a reason I don’t wear the stripes when I don’t need to. Some of the Houses use it as goddamn VIP badge to get the shit they want. I’m not a fan of that, thanks.”

Castiel can believe that, looking at him. It’s apparently such a big deal for Dean that Castiel gives in to the urge to touch his arm and squeezing gently. “I’m glad I found you, then. And not only because you are… worthy of praise.”

Dean grins cockily, though an interesting flush rises around his neck. “Thanks. You’re not half-bad, either. C’mon, let’s get cleaned up, you’ll thank me for that, too.”

In the bathroom Dean takes one look at the shower and has a mild fit, practically jumping into the cubicle to sing his praises of the chalet’s accessories. Castiel laughs at him, Dean makes out as though he’s insulted, and they share a quick shower in which Castiel learns that post-coital kissing is also pleasurable.

“This was good, though, right?” Castiel says afterward, as they towel themselves down. “But it’s not always like this.”

“Yeah, like everything else in the world.” Dean hangs his towel and heads back into the bedroom, where he rolls onto the bed like the oversized child he apparently is. “There’s good and bad and meh and could be better and blow-your-fucking-brains-out. I mean, I got some experience under my belt but that doesn’t mean that every time is gonna be great.”

Castiel nods thoughtfully. “That’s important to know.”

“What’s this about, really?” Dean props himself up on his elbow. “Uh, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but I don’t know, I’m curious.”

Castiel stalls for time, and slowly sits down next to Dean on the bed. “It’s rather private. Let’s just say that… somewhat recently I was made to feel inadequate.”

Dean frowns. “There’s nothing wrong if the ballgame’s not your play.”

“Tell that to my family,” Castiel replies.

“Ah, family pressure.” Dean nods sympathetically. “They pushing you to settle down, get your supposed act together? Man, I feel you. Most annoying thing in the world.”

“Oh, you’re used to family interference?”

“Am I fucking ever.” Dean rolls his eyes. “But it’s not so bad lately, I got my own thing going and the job keeps me busy. Like you – you’re a scholar, right?”

“Yes, at one of our Universities. I hope to return as soon as I can. I have a few active projects and just thinking about what my students are getting up to in my absence…” Castiel shakes his head. “But I’m under official orders not to worry about that while I’m here.”

“What, they made you take a holiday for your own good?”

“Something like that.”

“But hey, you’re making some pretty sweet memories while you’re here, though, right?” Dean has some kind of switch in his head that he can turn on and off, because where one minute the atmosphere had been relaxed and easy, the next has Castiel’s skin prickling under the heat of Dean’s gaze. “What’s that thing you said ‘bout penetrating me?”

Castiel has struck gold tonight. Dean’s amenable to more kisses, though this time Castiel definitely keeps his eyes open and makes notes of the angles can use, the most interesting ways he can lick into Dean’s mouth, and how deep he can make it before his jaw hurts and it’s no longer worthwhile.

Then there’s the matter of opening Dean up. Castiel tries but makes a poor job of it, too fixated on the flex of Dean’s opening around his fingers. Castiel goes too deep too fast, and then spills the lube all over Dean’s thighs – which makes Dean yelp from the coldness – and so Castiel is banished to a corner of the bed while Dean finishes the job properly.

“Okay, now you come in,” Dean says, flopping over onto his back, pillow arranged under his hips. He holds his legs open for Castiel, who’d seen this position in his research but thought it looked terribly uncomfortable. Dean seems perfectly happy though, and looses a long, pleased exhale when Castiel finally crawls forward and pushes into him.

It’s good that one of them is relaxed at this point, because the grip around Castiel’s cock is – intense. Nothing at all like his hand, or Dean’s hand. Tight and hot doesn’t even begin to describe it, and when Dean shimmies his hips it changes the angle and Castiel’s cry of protest is pathetically weak.

“Take a breath, champ,” Dean says, smug as anything. “No rush.”

It seems like forever before Castiel trusts himself enough to move. Even then his movements are stuttering and awkward, his concentration more on not coming than making it good for Dean.

Despite that, Dean keeps up a continuous stream of encouragement. “Small movements,” Dean says. “Grind a little, get a rhythm that works for you.”

“I think a rhythm would be—” Castiel stops, whole body shaking. “Too optimistic.”

“Do you want me to ride you?” Dean asks.

“No, no, I need to…” Castiel takes a deep breath. If only there were some non-sexy part of Dean’s body that he could focus his sights on on. “I can do this.”

“Go get ‘em, tiger.” Dean beams at him, and if Castiel were more in control of the situation he’d be more intrigued by how Dean’s aware of exactly the effect he has Castiel. Dean has to be an incubus of some sort, taking Castiel’s dick as reward for how wanton and destructive and gorgeous he is.

Castiel’s thrusts are shallow but Dean seems to enjoy them, sighing every time Castiel slides right on home. His eyes go back to being half-lidded and drowsy, his arms splayed out as though he’s perfectly content to be filled up again and again at Castiel’s leisure.

How did Dean bear this? How did he last so damn long? Does everyone last that long in real life?

Then Castiel makes the mistake of looking down to where they’re joined, his shaft disappearing into the fitted opening of Dean’s body. Shocked arousal has Castiel jerking forward, slamming into Dean, which leads to Dean arching his back and moaning, which changes the angle and has Castiel slamming in again, and then it’s done.

Castiel barely stops himself from falling on top of Dean. His body locks up in that position and Castiel snarls, the orgasm sudden and sharp and milked right out of him by the glorious heat of Dean’s body.

“Dude,” Dean says, after a while.

“Tight,” Castiel hisses.

“Yeah, I know.” How Dean manages to joke when his erection is smacking Castiel in the chest, Castiel has no idea. “Nice to see you’re enjoying yourself.”

“Give me a moment.”

“It’s not like this has never happened before, but—”

“I’ll tend to you, just give me a moment!” Castiel smacks Dean’s hip lightly when Dean just laughs at him. He pulls out slowly, careful not to hurt Dean. “I’ll tend to you, I promise.”

Dean starts to get up. “It’s okay, Manny, I can—”

Castiel plants his hands firmly on Dean’s torso, pushing him down. “Dean, let me.” He expects another protest, but it doesn’t come. Instead Dean inhales sharply, hands immediately falling lax at his sides, his eyes calm and fixated on Castiel’s face. Castiel doesn’t know what this is but it has his softening dick twitching hopefully (but futilely), and he immediately scurries off the bed to deal with his used condom.

When Castiel comes back, Dean’s right where he left him, relaxed and ready. The smile he gives Castiel is different from the ones of earlier – this one is small and expectant, the edges curving more when Castiel slips a brand new condom over Dean’s erection.

Castiel is still loose from earlier, so it’s easy enough to slide down onto Dean’s cock. He rocks against Dean tentatively and finds that, yes, this is so much easier, especially now that that second orgasm is out of the way. He picks up that elusive rhythm quickly, and is pleased Dean goes back to making those little noises: the sighs and the gasps and the hums.

Castiel can touch Dean more like this, too. He can run the backs of his fingers across Dean’s stomach, fit his palms to the shape of Dean’s sides, tickle the underside of his nipples.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot to ask,” Castiel says. “What’s your policy on marking?”

“Uh.” Dean blinks at him blearily. “Anything below the collar is fine.”

“Noted.” This means that Castiel can dig his fingers in. He gets a good grip on Dean’s waist, enough to support his weight when he starts riding Dean’s cock in earnest. Dean groans when Castiel does, arching his back in a way that draws the eyes to the peaks of his nipples.

Castiel can do this. Better yet, Castiel likes this – not just the orgasms and the touch, but also the pleasure of making his partner whimper and twist bodily in desperation. The burn in Castiel’s ass is manageable and irrelevant, and if he focuses he can purposefully clench around Dean to make him moan. Castiel is awed and amazed and grateful for this moment, and he laughs when Dean’s hands flail for his touch.

There’s no forgetting that tonight is an unusual situation, and it’s only luck that brought Castiel into Dean’s path. That said, Castiel hadn’t expected to make this good memory, this fantastic memory, which is one he’ll take with him wherever he’s going next.

In this room he is just Emmanuel, and he’s having a good time with a new friend. Sometimes the world really can be as simple as that.

Eventually Castiel slows down to halt, landing on Dean’s lap with a loud smack.

“Wha—?” Dean says.

“My thighs are burning,” Castiel says. “I’m getting tired.”

Dean’s responding laugh is a little hysterical. “Okay.” He rubs a hand over his face. “Okay, okay, let’s uh, let’s…”

“Maybe if I…” Castiel very carefully turns in Dean’s lap. Then he stops, shocked by the sudden wail Dean makes. “Does that hurt?”

“Nope,” Dean says shrilly. “S’all good. Yep.”

Okay, then. Castiel moves again, Dean’s erection still buried inside him, spinning slowly until he’s facing Dean’s legs. The noises Dean’s making are different but no less promising, and they just get better when Castiel leans forward and pushes two fingers into Dean.

“My hero,” Dean groans. “Emmanuel is a clever, clever boy.”

So Castiel keeps grinding onto Dean’s lap, and Dean fucks up into him, and Castiel pumps his fingers into Dean’s opening. It’s a little messy and uncoordinated and Castiel’s wrist starts aching faster than his thighs started burning, but Dean’s almost there, whines growing in pitch and legs trembling. Better for Castiel tough it out, and maybe add another finger so there’s three pumping deep into Dean and – ah, yes, that does it.

“Mother-fuck,” Dean snarls, almost throwing Castiel off of him by how hard he slams upwards. “Goddamn, yeah, yeah, yeah.” He shoves up desperately as he comes, raw strength driving the breath from Castiel’s lungs until he finally collapses in exhaustion.

Castiel wonders if it’d be appropriate to applaud. Probably not. He glances over his shoulder, asking, “Are you all right?”

Dean’s grin is lop-sided, and he offers a thumbs-up.

Thank you doesn’t seem to be good enough. Castiel takes Dean’s hand, pressing a kiss into the wrist and laughing softly when Dean claws playfully at his face. Castiel thinks he understands now why Anna and Balthazar enjoy these kinds of hook-ups – if their luck is as excellent as Castiel’s is tonight, it’s a wonder they get anything else done at all.

“Hey, is it okay if I have a nap?” Dean’s eyes are already closed. “An hour or so, maybe?”

“Go ahead.” Castiel crawls off of Dean carefully, and gently removes the condom from his softening cock. “I’ll only have company in the morning.”

“Cool.” Being a hunter must encourage the ability to fall sleep quickly, for this is what Dean does. Castiel stares at him for a moment, shaking his head and amused that at least someone’s getting good mileage from the expensive pillows tonight.

In the quiet, Castiel makes his way to the bathroom, where he stands in front of the full-length mirror.

Castiel’s physical body appears unchanged but he can feel newness thrumming under his skin, reshaping him where the eye cannot see. It’s feels rather like the first time he’d sailed a ship by himself, or cast a spell he’d just created, or had his first paper published at the University. Castiel feels more, and in that vein feels better prepared for what is to happen next.

“You can do this,” Castiel tells his reflection. “You will manage things as they come.”

There’s a message from Ion on the chalet’s answering machine. Officially Ion is Castiel’s chaperone and bodyguard, but a hefty bribe and solemn promise to behave ensured Castiel’s relative freedom for the night. Ion’s message is terse, though, confirming that Naomi is coming to see them personally tomorrow morning, and between the lines is his request that Castiel stick to the story that they’d had dinner out in town and then retired peacefully to their respective lodgings.

A part of Castiel wishes Dean could stay, if only for the look on Naomi’s face, but it’s better to pick his battles.

That is tomorrow. Tonight, Castiel returns to the bed and presses his leg against Dean’s, just to enjoy the someone else’s warmth.



The next morning Ion is the first to enter when Castiel opens the door. He thrusts a folder at Castiel without so much as a by your leave, and Castiel shoves it under his arm without looking at it.

“Good morning, Castiel.” Naomi sweeps in, her suit so crisp that Castiel’s glad he hasn’t bothered changing out of his sleep clothes yet. “That is from the Council.”

“They’ve made a decision, then?” Castiel says.

“Yes,” Naomi says, with such pleasure that Castiel’s hackles go up even more. “We’re to proceed to the Capital today, so you are to… clean up. Don’t worry, your clothes are already on the way, so we’ll be able to make a move quickly.”

Castiel sighs. He thumbs the edge of the folder restlessly, his mind falling back to the worry on Dean’s face when they’d parted ways just a few hours ago.

Dean had said, “You gonna be okay, Manny?” which had been very kind, even if Dean had no idea how much Castiel appreciated the sentiment. “You take care now, all right? If you’re ever in the neighborhood, you know where I hang out.”

The bar’s probably not even open this time of morning. Castiel has to stay right where he is, and listen to Naomi rattle on through the list of things that she is disappointed Castiel has not done yet.

“I’m not expected to speak,” Castiel cuts in, making Naomi stop in affronted surprise. “I’m not a politician. I’m not even a figurehead. You know this, Michael knows this. I am merely to sit there and look presentable.

Naomi’s eyes narrow. “Considering how difficult it was to even get you here—”

“If we’re in the practice of repeating ourselves now,” Castiel says calmly, “then I’ll say it again. This proposal is archaic, shallow, and a farce. You can make me marry a noble of the Republic but that won’t do a damn thing to help our relations with them.”

“One, they’re not technically nobles, and two, it’s a symbol, Castiel, as you very well know.” Naomi regards him coolly. “A farce can do wonders for public opinion, when massaged by the right hands. Regardless, you have agreed to it, and the Council has named your future husband. A young man from the House of Winchester. You’ll meet him tomorrow.”

“I am overwhelmed.”

“Castiel,” Naomi says.

“I know,” Castiel murmurs, which is as close to an apology he’s in the mood for at the moment. “Winchester. That sounds familiar. A relation of Henry Winchester, of the Men of Letters?” Castiel actually likes the Men of Letters’ work, so this could be promising.

“Yes, but he’s of a…” Naomi schools her expression into something neutral. “Read the file, Castiel.”

Castiel opens the folder. They’ve helpfully put a picture on the right-hand corner of the printout, and as flattering as the lighting is, Castiel feels the blood drain from his face. “He’s a boy,” he hisses.

“That’s an old picture,” Naomi says easily. “I’ve met Sam Winchester in person, he’s filled out some. And he’s taller than you, isn’t that nice?”

Castiel stares at her, amazed that he can’t think of a single polite and non-treasonous thing to say in response. Better for him to turn away from her then, slowly and in a circle until he’s facing the windows. If he tries really hard he can pretend, if only for a second or two, that Naomi doesn’t exist and Castiel’s third cousin once-removed isn’t King of the Northern Kingdom.

If Castiel were really vindictive, he would tell Naomi that he’d had sex with a stranger last night.

But, no. That ammunition might be more effective used later.