annundriel: ([spn] In Seedy Motels)
[personal profile] annundriel
Easy as 1-2-3
AU. No spoilers.
Sequel to this. They've been going out a while now. It always ends the same way. Tonight is different.

Last week, [ profile] cautionzombies asked for prompts for comment fic last and [ profile] bballgirl3022 asked for, "Dean/Castiel fluffy AU with preschool teacher!Cas and arts and craft time." I really enjoyed the resulting comment fic and then couldn't get the scenario out of my head, so with [ profile] cautionzombies' permission, I wrote a sequel.

Many thanks to the wonderful [ profile] stellamaris99 for beta-ing and cheerleading and just generally being there and being awesome.

They go out several times before they end up here, on Castiel’s couch. They’ve been here before—Castiel likes to cook and Dean likes to eat; it works out—but it’s always been with a game on or music playing, always been with the knowledge that eventually they would both stand and Castiel would walk Dean to the door, kiss him good night. Watch him drive away. (He doesn’t think Dean knows about that part. He hopes he doesn’t; it’s a little pathetic.)

There’s something different about tonight, though, something new in the air. Dean’s turned toward him on the cushions, one leg tucked beneath him, one arm stretched along the back of the couch. His fingers play with Castiel’s collar, slipping between the soft cotton of his button down and the heavier fabric of his sweater vest.

“I don’t know how you do it.”

“Hmm?” Castiel takes a sip of his wine—white, chosen to go with the fish he’d made for dinner. “Do what?”

“Turn old men clothes into something sexy. Seriously,” Dean says, “it’s a feat. Because this?” He tugs at Castiel’s vest. “This should not make me hot, but all I can think about is what’s underneath it and how touchable you look.”

Castiel blushes, fingers nervous against the stem of his glass. He glances at Dean, the way his body is curved toward Castiel’s, leaning in like a flower seeking the sun. “Then, uh, why don’t you do something about it?”

Dean grins, a low huff of a laugh filling the space between them. “Yeah,” he says, voice dipping even lower than usual. His fingers slip into Castiel’s hair just above his shirt collar and he moves closer, reaching for Castiel’s glass with his free hand, rising up on the knee he’s had tucked beneath him to lean past Castiel and set the glass on the end table. It puts Dean right in Castiel’s space, heat rolling off of him, and Castiel’s skin tingles, feels too tight. “Why don’t I?”

They’ve kissed before, kissed plenty. Even made out like horny teenagers right here on this couch, mouths and hands greedy, cocks hard. But they’ve always pulled away before it got really good, always forced spaced between them and caught their breaths, let their hearts slow. Said good night and see you tomorrow and left it at that, the two of them finding their respective bedrooms, jacking off to the thoughts of the other.

At least, that’s what Castiel does. He assumes Dean does, too, given the way he’s occasionally shifty-eyed the next day, the way his eyes linger on Castiel’s mouth or his hands. The way he flushes when he notices Castiel noticing.

Why they keep stopping, Castiel doesn’t know. Why tonight is different, Castiel isn’t asking.

Dean’s mouth is plush against his, soft and just the right amount of firm, his fingers on the back of Castiel’s head turning Castiel until the angle is perfect. Castiel sighs against him and parts his lips and lets Dean come in, greets Dean’s tongue like an old friend.

Dean groans, his other hand coming up to cup Castiel’s jaw. The touch is surprisingly gentle, almost careful, like he’s afraid Castiel might break or bolt even though they’ve both been dancing around this for a while. Castiel lifts his hand, presses it over Dean’s, and leans into the kiss. Forces it into something harder.

“Cas,” Dean breathes, pulling away to breathe heavily against Castiel’s jaw. “I want—”

“Yes,” Castiel says, nodding against him, their foreheads rocking together. “Yes, me too.”

Dean chuckles again, that low sound that coils heat low in Castiel’s belly. “You don’t know what I was going to say.”

“Doesn’t matter. Everything. Anything. You want it, I want it.”

“Fuck, Cas.” Dean pulls away far enough to blink at him, the green of his eyes a thin ring around his heavy black pupils. They’re so close Castiel can see himself reflected there. “You mean that?”

Fingers curling around Dean’s palm, Castiel pulls Dean’s hand away from his face, drags it down between them to press against the front of his pants where his cock is already hard. Dean’s fingers twitch against him and his breath hitches. “Yes. Isn’t it obvious?”

Dean stares at him, eyes wide and mouth slack and then the corners of those lips twitch and lift and Dean’s surging forward, pinning Castiel to the cushions.

Yes, Castiel thinks. Fuck, yes, with his arms open, welcoming Dean in. He pulls Dean close, wants Dean’s weight against him, to feel Dean’s cock tucked against his own as Dean holds him down and kisses him breathless. It’s awkward at first, the shuffling of limbs needed to get Dean where Castiel wants him, tucked between his thighs, slows things down, but then Dean’s there and Castiel is caught. This isn’t the first time he’s been pinned like this, isn’t the first time they’ve made out in this corner of his couch, hands tugging at hair and shirts, hips grinding together, but it’s the first time they’ve let it get this heated, the first time they’ve both known exactly where it’s going to lead.

Dean’s hands slip under the hem of Castiel’s vest, fingers hot even through the frustrating layer of Castiel’s button down, and Castiel sighs beneath the onslaught of Dean’s mouth. Slips fingers into Dean’s hair and sucks at his tongue, hips lifting, looking for more of that delicious friction he’s wanted for so long. Groaning, he slides a hand from Dean’s hair to his neck, his shoulders. Smoothes it down the long line of Dean’s back to his ass, that ass that Castiel has found so distracting in the past, that’s made him scold himself for staring at work. But god, god, he can’t help it, and now he has his hands on it and later he’ll have more on it and fuck, fuck.

“Dean,” Castiel sighs as Dean’s mouth trails away from his, Dean’s tongue tracing a hot line along Castiel’s jaw. His fingers tighten in Dean’s hair, pushing him down, wanting to feel that mouth on his neck, sucking at his Adam’s apple.

Pushing back against Castiel’s hand, Dean pulls away. His cheeks are flushed and his lips are kiss bruised and any other night, this would be the point where they decide to take it slow, to rein it in. Not tonight, though; tonight Dean looks at him with a tilt of his head and contemplative eyes and then he’s moving away, moving backward to plant a kiss in the open collar of Castiel’s shirt, tucking it there in the exposed hollow of his throat. Moving away to plant hot kisses down Castiel’s chest, to nose at him until Dean’s kneeling on the floor between Castiel’s thighs, looking up at him with wicked mouth and wicked eyes.

“Dean,” Castiel says. “Dean, what are you doing?”

“Anything, right?” Dean asks, hands on Castiel’s knees, smoothing them up to the crease where thighs meet hips. His fingers push at the rucked up hem of Castiel’s vest, tease over his stomach and around the bulge of his cock. They work his belt open and Castiel’s breath catches in his chest as Dean licks his lips. “Everything?”

Castiel nods, words lodged somewhere in his throat, and Dean winks at him, a heart-stopping gesture that rushes the blood from Castiel’s head straight to his cock as Dean’s fingers slip open the button on Castiel’s fly and work the zipper downward. Leaning in, Dean mouths at Castiel’s cock through his underwear, the heat of his mouth soaking through the thin fabric. Castiel groans, feels Dean’s lips curve into a smile against him before Dean pulls away to hook his fingers under the Castiel’s waistbands, urging his hips up so Dean can work them down his ass and over his cock to rest against Castiel’s thighs.

“God, Cas,” Dean says, sitting back on his heels. Castiel wants to reach for him, say, You’re going the wrong way, Dean. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted this? Every time you walk by my door, all I can think about is how much I want to follow you to the supply closet and pin you up against something. Drop to my knees. Jesus. I don’t know what to do with you.”

“Start with your hands. Then use your mouth.”

Dean’s eyes flash upward, quick and sharp. When he grins, it’s all teeth. Predatory. Castiel’s cock twitches. “Fuck, I lo—You’re such a surprise.” Dean trails his knuckles up the underside of Castiel’s cock before wrapping his fingers around it, sliding them down to circle the base. Castiel opens his mouth to ask if it’s the good kind, but Dean’s rising up on his knees to wrap his lips around the head of Castiel’s cock and the only thing Castiel can manage is an exhalation of air and incoherent sound.

His mouth is hot and wet and perfect, better than Castiel imagined it would be, and imagine he did. Those nights when they would end things early, the earlier nights when Castiel didn’t think there was a chance for this at all, it was Dean’s mouth in his mind’s eye; Dean’s mouth and Dean’s hands, Dean’s cock and ass and tongue and fingers. Always Dean. Now here he is, hand steady and mouth working, tongue the perfect counterpoint of pressure, pulling Castiel apart like it’s nothing, like it’s easy. Maybe it is, maybe Castiel is, but only for Dean.

Dean sinks down on his cock, throat relaxing around him, and Castiel’s head falls back against the cushions, eyes rolling in his head. His muscles ache to thrust, but he keeps himself in check, everything too new to take advantage of. He’s trying to force himself still when Dean pulls off with a slick pop.

“I’ll let you, you know. “

Castiel lifts his head, tilting it to blink at Dean.

“Fuck my mouth. I’ll let you. Later, maybe. Want to see you lose control.”

Castiel cannot believe his life. Relaxing his hold on the cushions, he reaches for Dean. Hands on either side of his head, Castiel tugs at him, sits up and pulls Dean close until he’s licking into mouth, tasting the hint of precome on Dean’s lips, his tongue. Castiel shudders. “We’re taking this elsewhere,” he says when Dean’s panting against him, the fingers of his free hand digging into Castiel’s thigh. “Then we’ll see who loses control.”

This time Dean’s the one who shudders.

Pushing him back with a smile, Castiel levers himself up off of the couch. Once standing, he reaches for the hems of his shirts and moves to pull them up, shuck them right there in the living room. He glances at Dean, though, still on his knees watching Castiel with eyes gone wide and round. His cock tents the front of his jeans and he’s too far away, they’re both too clothed, for Castiel to do anything about it.

He pulls the shirts off in one fluid motion, stupidly pleased with himself when his wrists don’t get caught in the sleeves—that’s what he gets for unbuttoning them earlier, rolling them up to his elbows; he’s noticed Dean seems to like his forearms (especially when he’s been drawn on, something to explore later). Dropping them on the floor, he meets Dean’s eyes, stands their unashamedly shirtless, his pants around his thighs, cock free.

“Still make you hot?” he asks Dean.

Dean’s eyes travel upward to meet his and Dean licks his lips. Nods. “You really have to ask?”

Castiel presses a hand to Dean’s cheek, trails fingers to his mouth to trace the bottom curve of Dean’s lip until Dean’s taking his fingers in his mouth, sucking on them. “No. But I wanted to hear you say it.”

Nipping at the pads of Castiel’s fingers, Dean wraps a hand around Castiel’s wrist. “Yes, Cas. Hotter than you know. Now come here.”

Castiel looks down at Dean, at his upturned face and parted lips, his flushed cheeks. They could do this right here, like this, Dean on his knees and Castiel half-naked above him. It would be good. It would be great. But—

“I told you, Dean. We’re moving this elsewhere. My bedroom, specifically. Where I am going to strip you naked and fuck you until your legs are jelly and you’re screaming my name.”

Dean’s tongue stills against Castiel’s fingers, the grip on Castiel’s wrist contracting and expanding. “I—You—”

“You can say no, Dean. There are other things we can—”

“Which way’s your bedroom?” Dean asks, already on his feet and heading toward the main hallway.

Castiel chuckles, reaching for his cock to stroke it once, twice. “Up the stairs and to the right,” he says. Toeing off his shoes, he pulls his underwear and pants back up before following. Nerves flair briefly in his belly, but he pushes them down. Dean didn’t balk when he told him what they’d do. Didn’t argue or shift away. He’d run into it head first. It’s promising.

Dean’s waiting for him just inside the door when Castiel enters, his hands on Castiel’s skin as soon as Castiel’s within striking distance. Fingers play over nipples and Dean’s mouth is hot on the curve of muscle where Castiel’s shoulder curves to meet his neck. Castiel chuckles, groans, pleased that Dean so obviously wants him. He tugs at Dean’s shirt. “We’re a little unbalanced here,” he says. “Take this off.”

“Will you fuck me if I do?” Dean asks, his voice rumbling through Castiel’s skin.

“I’ll fuck you if you don’t,” Castiel says, “but it’ll be much more fun if you do. Your dry cleaning bill certainly won’t be as high.”

Jesus.” Dean steps back then, moving toward Castiel’s bed. He pulls his shirt of on the way, dropping it to the floor before flopping on the bed and removing his shoes and socks. He tosses them out of the way and then sits back, eyebrow raised. “There. Even.”

Castiel can only stand there a moment, taking in the sweet cut lines of Dean’s upper body, the same lines that have been teasing Castiel almost every day through those too-tight polo shirts of Dean’s. He’s perfect and tan and even from here Castiel thinks he spies freckles on Dean’s shoulders. He can check that out now, is allowed to get close and look. Touch. God, this is happening.

Crossing the room, Castiel slips between Dean’s knees, waiting as Dean sits up. Dean’s lower than him again, looking up at him with naked want on his face. Without breaking eye contact, Dean presses a kiss to Castiel’s chest, lifts his hands and teases the small of Castiel’s back. Castiel shivers, his nipples tightening harder, and curves his hands around Dean’s shoulders—freckled, yes—to push him backward.

“The rest, Dean,” he says. “I want you naked.”

Dean blinks, frozen a moment before his hands go to his fly, fingers scrambling. “You, too, Cas. Even, remember?”

Even, yes. Castiel waits first, watching Dean’s hands move and his body undulate as he leans back, lifting himself on his shoulders and the balls of his feet to push his remaining clothing over his hips. He kicks them off with a grin, cock proud and bobbing over his stomach.

“Come on, Cas,” he says, legs splayed. “Keep up.”

Dean’s beautiful, as beautiful as Castiel knew he would be, all golden skin and sleek muscle. The lines of his hips cry to be touched, the points of his nipples beg to be licked, and his cock—fuck, Castiel’s own cock twitches—his cock wants to be sucked. Dean’s whole body speaks of sin and Castiel wants it, wants him. Everything. Anything. Undoing the button on his fly, the only thing keeping his pants up, he slips them down over his hips, eyes never leaving the tempting planes of Dean’s chest, the curve of his cock, not even when he bends to step out of his pants, remove his socks.

“Better,” Dean moans, head tilted. His eyes are hot and one hand’s gone to his cock; not stroking, resting, fingers loose. Moving toward him, Castiel stops between his knees again, covers that hand with his own. He threads his fingers between Dean’s, thumbs at the head of Dean’s cock. Dean shudders against the sheets, precome welling in the slit as his eyes go heavy-lidded and dark. “Cas.”

“I’m going to fuck you now, Dean.” Untangling their fingers, he lifts his hand to his mouth, sucks the precome from the pad of his thumb. He nudges Dean’s knee with one of his own. “Get up on the bed,” he says, moving to the nightstand and opening the drawer to pull out condom and lube. He sets them next to the lamp on the table, reaching up to turn on the light. The overhead is already on, but Castiel doesn’t want that. This deserves something closer, more intimate.

When Castiel heads toward the door, Dean asks, “Hey, where do you think you’re going?”

Castiel doesn’t answer. Reaching out, he flips the light switch on the wall and when he turns back, Dean is bathed in the warm, golden light of the bedside lamp, the perfect complement to his already sun-drenched skin. He looks like a god, something come down from Olympus itself, and Castiel can only stand there, staring.

“Cas,” Dean says, voice soft like he understands. Like he’s a little in awe himself, which is crazy. Castiel is just…Castiel. There’s nothing special about him, but the way Dean watches him, the way he’s caught Dean looking at him at school, now that he knows there’s something to catch, all leads to an entirely different picture. “Come here, Cas. You’re too far away.”

Castiel takes a breath, pushing away the nerves that threaten to gather in his chest. Dean wants this. Castiel had said he was going to fuck him and Dean hadn’t balked, hadn’t hesitated. He’d asked for the bedroom and taken off, ready and more than willing. The thought—combined with the way Dean’s eyes are on him now, the way Dean’s body is angled toward him—makes Castiel’s blood boil, makes his limbs tingle. He crosses to Dean, doubts leaving his mind, and kneels on the bed.

Dean makes room for him, spreading his thighs, shifting against Castiel’s comforter all bow-legged and beautiful. He reaches for Castiel, palms open, but Castiel stops him, wraps fingers around his wrists to hold him still.

“Cas?” His voice is confused, bottom lip a tempting pout.

Castiel shakes his head. “You’ll distract me,” he says. “That’s all. And I want—Fuck, Dean, do you even know the things I want to do to you?”

The tip of Dean’s tongue sweeps out over his lips, leaving them shining in its wake. “Oh, I have some idea.”

Goose bumps shiver into existence up Castiel’s arms. God, that voice. “Then you’ll know why I want you to keep your hands to yourself,” he says, pressing Dean’s wrists to the bed on either side of his hips. As soon as he lets go to reach for the lube, Dean’s hands are moving, wrapping around his own cock. “Dean.”

He gets a cheeky look in response, Dean’s mouth curved upward in a smirk, one eyebrow raised. “You told me to keep my hands to myself,” Dean says. He plants his feet on either side of Castiel, tilting his hips upward. The hand not around his cock sneaks slowly between his legs. “I’m keeping my hands to myself.”


It’s Dean who shivers this time, and Castiel grins.

“You like that, don’t you? The teacher voice. Bet you like being told what to do, too.”

Dean swallows hard enough that Castiel can hear it. “No,” he says. “No, not really. I don’t—”


Dean stops, his breath coming fast.

“You like being told what to do.”

Groaning, Dean nods. He’s still touching himself, but his hands haven’t wandered farther and all signs of rebellion are gone. He’ll have to keep this in mind for later. Oh, there will be a later. There will be many laters.

“Don’t move,” Castiel says, and then he reaches for the lube, pours some in his palm, gets his fingers slick with it. He nudges Dean’s hand away from his cock, replacing it with his own. Dean gasps, his mouth falling open, and Castiel grins, leans forward to lick into that hot, wet space. It amazes him how well they fit together, how easily they moved from coworkers to friends to…this. Not that the friend period lasted long; it was more of a stepping stone, a brief interlude before Dean’s fingers were in Castiel’s hair and Castiel’s hands were on Dean’s hips. If he’d only known how simple this would be, Castiel would have asked Dean out himself.

Stroking Dean’s cock in counterpoint to the slick slide of their tongues, Castiel jerks Dean slowly, takes his time to spread lube and precome. Dean’s hips are hitching by the time Castiel is ready to move on. He whimpers a protest when Castiel nips his bottom lip and sits back on his heels, releases Dean’s cock to find the lube again.

“Jesus, Cas,” Dean says, voice quiet and awe-filled. “The things I didn’t know about you.”

Castiel snaps the bottle shut, rubbing his freshly lubed fingers together. Slipping them along the smooth stretch of skin behind Dean’s balls, he presses them to Dean’s hole. “We’re just getting started.”

“God, I hope so.” Hope cracks in the middle as Castiel pushes two fingers inward. One of Dean’s hands falls to the comforter, fingers pulling at the fabric as his hips lift, searching for more. “Fuck.”

“Shh, Dean,” Castiel comforts, unoccupied hand coming up to press against the ridge of a hip. He brushes his thumb over the smooth skin, back and forth. Calming. Dean releases his hold on the comforter to grab Castiel’s wrist, fingers tight around the bones.

“More, Cas,” he grits out. “More, I want—”

Castiel slides his fingers out, twisting his wrist before pushing them back in. Dean’s fingers squeeze and then release and Castiel pulls out of his grip, tangles their fingers together. Anchors Dean that way. “I know what you want.”

Dean chuckles, a breathless rush of happiness. “Good,” he says. “I’m glad one of us does.”

“Sounded like you did, Dean. You just couldn’t—” he crooks his fingers and Dean’s back arches “—articulate it.”

“You seem—” Dean swallows hard. “You seem to be doing an okay job figuring it out.”

“Okay?” Castiel asks, fingers slipping back out. “Just okay?” He slides his fingers back in hard and anything Dean might say turns into a jumble of vowels, consonants disappearing in the back of his throat. Castiel smirks down at him, fucking him with his fingers until Dean’s entire body is drawn tight. “That’s what I thought.”

Dean gasps, hips searching for more. He untangles his fingers from Castiel and reaches for him, arms outstretched. Castiel nuzzles at one of Dean’s palms, planting a kiss in the center before he stretches out above Dean to grab a condom from the nightstand. He fumbles it briefly when Dean’s hands brush his thigh, fingers skimming up against his balls. Dean only grins up at Castiel’s scowl, his eyes bright. Unrepentant. He yelps when Castiel pinches a nipple.

Sitting back on his heels, Castiel gets the condom open, rolls it into his cock. He looks up to find Dean’s eyes on him, zeroed in on the stretch of latex, the shine of lube still clinging to Castiel’s fingers. Reaching for the bottle, he finds Dean’s hand already there, Dean levering himself up on an elbow to pour some directly on Castiel’s cock. Castiel throws him a smile, wrapping his fingers around himself, spreading the lube, and Dean drops the bottle and flashes his teeth, that beautiful smile that caught Castiel the first day they met in the teachers’ lounge.

Fuck, he’s gorgeous.

Castiel knee-walks closer, fingers trailing on Dean’s thigh, and Dean leans back, resituates himself against the pillows. “Well?” Dean says. “You gonna fuck me?”

One hand around his cock, Castiel guides it to Dean’s hole. “What do you think?” he asks, pushing forward, pushing in, and then Dean’s opening around him, taking his cock with a sigh.

“Oh yeah,” Dean groans. “You’re gonna fuck me.”

Castiel does, hips moving slowly forward until he’s all the way in, balls pressed against Dean. He pauses, then, and he’s not sure if it’s to let Dean get used to the feeling or if it’s to let himself get used to the view. Dean’s flushed and sweating, his cock curving hard against his stomach, gorgeous and glowing in the warm light from Castiel’s nightstand. If you had told Castiel at the start of the school year that they would eventually be here, that Dean would be gasping and reaching for him, squirming against Castiel’s bed, Castiel would have blinked and nodded and spent the day wondering how he’d even get up the nerve to talk to Dean Winchester, the newest addition to the staff.

He’s here, though, here and reaching for Castiel with open palms, reaching for his own cock with grasping fingers.

“Don’t touch yourself,” Castiel says, and Dean pauses, looking up at him with eyes gone dark and glazed. A bead of sweat makes its way down his temple; Castiel wants to taste it, so he does. Bending over Dean, he licks at his cheek, follows the line of sweat upward. Tastes salt and skin and Dean.

Dean shudders, ass clenching around him, and hooks his calf around Castiel’s thigh. He slides his fingers into Castiel’s hair, tugging until their noses are tucked together, until they’re staring at each other from a distance that should be uncomfortable, but isn’t.

“Cas,” Dean breathes, the nickname ghosting over Castiel’s lips. “Fuck me.”

Castiel kisses him, fucks Dean’s mouth with his tongue as he pulls his hips back, presses forward again. Dean moans, holding him close, and opens beneath him, welcomes Castiel completely. There’s nothing held back here, nothing at all. They move together like they’re made for it, like they’ve done this before, the two of them fitting together like puzzle pieces on Castiel’s bed, chasing pleasure as their hands and mouths roam, as Castiel’s hips snap and Dean’s fingers bruise and they gasp words that are more sound than sense against each other’s lips.

Fuck, it’s good.

Pulling away from Dean, Castiel sits back on his heels, grabs Dean’s hips so he follows, ass against Castiel’s thighs. Dean makes a noise of protest when he finds his hands empty.

“Come back here,” Dean says, “I want—”

“Hang on to the headboard, if you need something to hang on to,” Castiel says. He rolls his hips and Dean’s mouth falls open, a perfect invitation that Castiel will save for later.

“I don’t—Don’t want the headboard. I want—”

“Do it, Dean.” It’s the tone he uses when he doesn’t want any argument, the one that allows no room for sass. Dean’s hands are suddenly above his head, wrapping around two of the wood slats. He blinks up at Castiel like he doesn’t know what just happened.

“Jesus, Cas.” Dean’s tongue makes an appearance, slicking over his bottom lip, leaving it wet and pink. He opens his mouth to speak again, but Castiel moves his hips backwards, thrusts back in, and whatever Dean might have been ready to say, whatever goad he may have been planning, disappears as he moans. “Fuck.”

Castiel grins. “You like that, Dean?”

Dean opens his mouth to reply, but nothing comes out, nothing but a prolonged whimper as Castiel continues to thrust steadily. It’s really all the answer Castiel needs.

Sweat collects in the hollow of Dean’s throat, tempting, but Castiel stays where he is, hitches Dean’s hips. Leaves bruises in the crease of his thighs. He likes the thought of them there, long lines of his fingers that will fade by Monday, but will still be there under Dean’s clothes as he goes about his day. As they pass one another in the hallway.

He’ll have to make sure the marks get remade before they fade completely. Judging by the look on Dean’s face, the way his fingers flex around the slats, Dean won’t mind.

“Cas,” Dean moans. “Cas, please, I want to—I need—” One of his hands slip from the headboard, headed south for his cock. Castiel pauses mid-thrust, the head of his cock just inside Dean’s ass, and slaps the hand away.

“No touching.”

Dean stares up at him with eyes that look crazed. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, I wasn’t kidding.”

Dean’s hair is stuck to his forehead and his chest is flushed. His lips are bitten—by his own teeth and Castiel’s—and his forearms turn Castiel on more than can be right. He looks aroused and annoyed and so fuckable, so fucked, Castiel barely knows what to do with himself. It makes him wonder what Dean sees when he looks at Castiel, what he sees now. He’s watching Castiel like he’s looking for a crack in the armor, looking to see if Castiel will give in. Castiel won’t, though. Now that he’s got Dean here in his bed, he won’t.

After a moment he sighs, hand going back to the headboard.

Castiel smirks down at him and snaps his hips, his chest swelling when Dean bits off a shout.

“If that wasn’t working for you before,” Castiel says, pulling back slowly, changing the pace, “maybe something slightly different will work.”

“No, I want—Faster, Cas. Faster.” He squirms against the bed, pinned by Castiel’s hands. “Please. This isn’t—I can’t—”

“Oh, Dean, I think you can.” Releasing his grip on Dean’s hip, Castiel slides a hand up, fingers playing against one of Dean’s nipples. Dean’s mouth drops open in surprise, muscles going taut as he comes, shooting between them.

It’s a sight to behold, Dean’s body a perfect arch, his mouth open and his eyes closed. Castiel’s never seen anything like him, never wanted anyone as much as he—

“Dean,” Castiel says. “Fuck, Dean,” and he’s coming, too, hips stuttering as he thrusts into him, following Dean over the edge.

He doesn’t know how long he stays collapsed on Dean after that, doesn’t really care. Moving doesn’t seem like an option; if it is one, it isn’t a very desirable one. Dean’s fingers have made their way from the headboard and into Castiel’s hair, carding through the strands, practically petting. Castiel likes it, likes this coming down after, the intimacy of slowing. With Dean’s legs tangling with his own, his cock softening in Dean’s ass, there’s no place else Castiel would rather be.

That is, at least, until Dean shifts under him, fingers sliding away, and Castiel realizes that maybe his weight isn’t welcome. He moves, Dean sighing when his cock slips from him, and stands next to the bed on wobbly legs to dispose of the condom in the master bathroom. When he reenters the bedroom, he pauses at the look on Dean’s face. It’s quiet and contemplative and it makes Castiel nervous.

“Was that, uh.” He pauses, the damp washcloth in his hand growing cool quickly. “You okay?”

Dean watches him a moment longer, the same look on his face, and then he’s smiling. Not the grin he usually sports at school, not the one the other teachers or his students get. Not even the one Castiel usually gets. No, this is new and different. It’s soft and fond and Castiel’s heart skips in his chest at the sight of it.

“Yeah,” Dean says, arm outstretched, hand reaching. “Though I think ‘okay’ is kind of lowballing it.”

Castiel crosses the distance carefully. “Lowballing?”

Dean chuckles, fingers clutching Castiel’s wrist when he’s close enough, pulling him closer. “I’m so far beyond okay, Cas, you have no idea.”

“Oh.” Castiel blushes and Dean’s smile widens.


“So that wasn’t—You didn’t mind the—” He waves his free hand in the air. “You know.”

“Cas.” Dean tugs him down onto the bed, rolls on top of him. “I basically ran to your bedroom when you said you wanted to fuck me. That’s a pretty clear signal.”

Dean’s right, it is. But that doesn’t stop Castiel from worrying, doesn’t stop the nerves from sparking under his skin. Dean could have said no, though--Castiel told him as much--and he didn’t. He could have said no at any time, at any point, and instead he took what Castiel had to give and then begged for more.

“Anything else,” Dean continues, “well, uh. I liked everything else, too. Um. The way you take charge, it uh.” Dean’s blushing; it’s a sight to behold. “I liked that a lot.”

A smile pulls at Castiel’s lips. “You did.”

“Yeah, I did. A lot. If you couldn’t tell. Fuck,” Dean laughs. “You weren’t kidding about the jelly legs, were you? I hope you don’t mind putting up with me in your bed for a while because, Jesus, man. I don’t think I can move.”

Castiel lets himself grin this time, nodding. “Stay as long as you like.”

Dean kisses him, a chaste brush of lips, before he half-rolls away. “Where’d that washcloth go—ah!”

Lying back, Castiel watches as Dean wipes at the come on his skin. He takes in the ripple of muscle, the sheen of drying sweat. They should shower, but now that he’s back on the bed, Castiel doesn’t want to move. Doesn’t even want to get up to pull the covers back. They’ll be more comfortable that way and definitely less chilly. He can already feel his toes getting cold.

Dean looks down at the washcloth when he’s done, frowning at it.

“Here,” Castiel says, taking it from him and tossing it so it lands in the pile of his clothes. “We can do laundry in the morning. After I make you breakfast.”

“You make breakfast, too?” Dean asks, slipping his hand up under the pillows to find the edge of the covers and pulling them down, shimmying until he’s got them freed enough he can crawl under them. Castiel stares at him, crawling in after, loving how quickly Dean’s making himself at home.

“I do,” Castiel says. He presses his toes to Dean’s calf and Dean chuckles, arms coming around him to draw Castiel close. “It’s even better than my dinner.”

Dean noses at his cheek, mouths along his jaw. Drops a kiss behind Castiel’s ear. “Fuck, why didn’t you say so? Would’ve done this a lot sooner. Anything else you’re keeping from me?”

One hand gliding up Dean’s back, Castiel tucks them closer together. He feels happy and reckless, like he’s soaring, untethered. “Guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”

Dean watches him, eyes gone soft, a little tired. A lot fond. “I like the sound of that.”

Castiel does, too.
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annundriel: (Default)

February 2013


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