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annundrielThere's Not a Step We Can Take That Does Not Bring Us Closer
Dean/Castiel
NC-17
5576
Missing scene from 5.03, "Free to Be You and Me."
It's a love story. Castiel doesn’t recognize this new feeling sinking in around Dean until it’s already taken hold, set down roots, and begun to grow.
Many thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ginnith and sdrohc_ratiug. ♥ Title taken from a Jason Webley song.
Emotions are new to Castiel. They’re complicated and layered, messy and nonsensical. It’s only fair that allowances be made when he stumbles.
Dean insists they drive. Castiel could just meet him in Maine, but he enjoys Dean’s company, likes being in his presence.
It happens while they’re on the road, which Castiel thinks might be fitting considering they’re always moving. Backwards, forward, sideways; the only thing linear about them is that they are going toward something. Castiel can see it on the horizon, though he can’t yet tell what it is.
Dean says they'll head out in morning, get a good night's rest first. Castiel chooses to stay with him and gets an education in television, Dean flipping through channels and trying to explain reality TV. “It’s all scripted,” he says with a wink. He pauses briefly on channels broadcasting news, but changes quickly with a grimace.
When Dean’s asleep, Castiel studies the books Dean has with him, looking for anything that might prove useful that he doesn’t already know of. There isn’t much.
They start early, spend the day in the Impala, mile posts passing in a blur out the window as Dean points out things he deems interesting enough to mention, spots he calls “tourist traps.” He tells Castiel they’ll visit one someday. “You’re like the ultimate tourist, Cas. World’s biggest ball of string. Largest pie in the continental US! You can’t miss things like that!”
Dean shares bits of his childhood with Castiel in these moments on the drive, the sun pouring bright through the windows. He talks about times when their dad had taken an afternoon to pretend their nomadic life was normal, pulling off in state parks or roadside attractions to let them run off pent up energy. Sam didn’t really know what was going on at the time, Dean tells him.
Castiel isn’t sure Dean means to share these things—he’s very private—but the information slips in. Dean may want to let go of Sam, may be trying to, but he can’t. Sam’s there even when he’s not, tucked into almost every story.
They stop at diners for breakfast and dinner, Dean getting gas and items wrapped in brightly colored foil for lunch. He insists Castiel try things, though he has told Dean repeatedly he does not need sustenance.
“I don’t care,” Dean says, ignoring him over plates of eggs and hash browns. “What’s the fun in that?” He waves a piece of bacon in front of Castiel. “You can’t spend time on Earth and not have bacon.”
He takes the bacon. It’s the first of many culinary experiences with Dean, starting with breakfast food and working through gas station fair to burgers and fries. Eventually, Dean’s ordering him apple pie and insisting he try it ala mode. “It’s an American tradition,” he says, mouth already full.
In that day, Castiel discovers that he does not care for coffee or grapefruit juice, but he does enjoy orange juice and milk. Bacon is in fact delicious, as is pie. Food from gas stations should be avoided.
Though Dean does help him discover his sweet tooth.
Dean drives for hours, finally stopping at an abandoned house once they reach Waterville. The paint is peeling and there’s no electricity or water. This is Dean’s life, a succession of abandoned buildings, ramshackle houses, and seedy motels, empty roads and the backseat of the Impala. Since Lucifer rose, this is Castiel’s life now, too.
Dean leaves him alone for an hour that night and comes back with false identification. Castiel supposes he must look confused because Dean pats him on the shoulder and tells him not to worry about it.
Dean pats him on the shoulder a lot. Not hard enough to hurt, the gesture apparently a human sign of friendship, but hard enough to feel. He also has a tendency to grab Castiel’s arm and pull him along after him. Or throw an arm across his shoulders to maneuver him where Dean wants him. On occasion Dean will open a door and step back, allowing Castiel through first only to place a hand on the small of Castiel’s back.
Castiel isn’t entirely sure how this interrupts Dean’s personal space less than the times Castiel stands too close, but he doesn’t ask. He has no complaints and doesn’t want Dean to stop.
The trip has been enlightening, building up the knowledge Castiel already has about Dean. During the course of the short trip, Castiel knows that Dean has trouble functioning prior to his first cup of coffee and still has nightmares about Hell. He learns that Dean sings in the shower and the car, not always in tune, and that it’s best not to ask him to turn the music down. He knows that Dean misses his brother, though he won’t admit it out loud. Castiel learns that for as prickly as Dean can be, he likes to touch and be touched. Dean is a hedonistic being, though that doesn’t come as much of a surprise.
He already knew that Dean loves and hates deeply, that he takes pleasure in the little things, the simple things.
Dean looks younger when he smiles, even more so when he laughs.
Castiel realizes he doesn’t mind being the focus of Dean’s humor if it makes Dean look like that, makes Dean look at him like that. If it helps lift some of the weight off of his shoulders.
When Dean slips the fake ID into Castiel’s pocket, buttons his collar and straightens his tie and Castiel’s heart thumps in his chest, it has nothing to do with nerves or anticipation and everything to do with Dean.
Castiel has lived with the love he has for his Father every day of his existence. It is as much a part of him as anything else. He has felt many things in the short time he has known Dean: confusion, frustration, anger, admiration, loyalty, friendship. He doesn’t recognize this new feeling sinking in around Dean until it’s already taken hold, set down roots, and begun to grow.
*
Castiel isn’t sure what just happened or why it’s so funny, Dean doubled over with laughter. He only knows that he is thankful to be out of that den of iniquity—a perk of rebellion or not—and that Dean’s amusement, his good mood, is infectious.
“Well, that could’ve gone better,” Dean says, grinning across the front seat of the Impala in the dark. When Castiel smiles tentatively back, Dean rolls his eyes and reaches out, clasps his shoulder. “There.” Dean points at him with his free hand. “Right there. You need to relax and do that a little. That’ll get the chicks interested, not your ability to see right through them.”
Castiel looks away, down at his hands where they rest in his lap. He’s not sure how to tell Dean he’s not actually interested without telling him why. And Dean derives so much pleasure from the possibility of getting him “laid,” Castiel feels loathe to take that away from him.
He knows Dean thinks he’s uncomfortable because he’s never experienced sex before, and that’s partly the case. The fact of the matter is, though, the only other being he has any desire to get closer to is Dean himself. There had been a moment, a fraction of a second back at the house when he’d thought perhaps…
He’s still not sure whether or not he’s relieved that Dean didn’t propose something with himself.
“Cas?” Dean’s shaking his shoulder. “You okay, buddy? I know that was probably a little traumatizing for you, but c’mon. Can’t win ‘em all, right?”
Castiel shakes his head. “You do not need to do this, Dean.”
“Sure I do,” Dean says, squeezing his shoulder before letting go. He shifts in his seat and starts the ignition, the Impala rumbling to life around them. “This might be your last night on Earth. I’m not going to let you die without experiencing a little pleasure first.” He pulls out of the alley and onto the street, stopping at a red light.
“I would be happy to spend the time with you, Dean.”
“Yeah, right,” Dean laughs. “I’m not much for sitting quietly.”
Castiel stares at his hands and thinks about Dean’s; Dean’s hands touching him, friendly and reassuring, warm and strong. He thinks about the way Dean makes him feel whenever he looks at Castiel, whenever he smiles at him or explains something when Castiel is truly out of his element. Then Castiel looks up and out the window at the street quiet around them, over at Dean still smiling, fingers tapping out a beat on the steering wheel as he waits for the light to change. There’s no time like the present when you might die in the morning. “There are…other…things we could do.”
Dean freezes, smiling out the windshield. When Dean turns toward him, the smile is gone. “Excuse me?”
“I wasn’t thinking of sitting quietly.”
“Are you—?” Dean swallows. “Are you suggesting what I, uh, think you’re suggesting?”
“Yes, Dean.”
It’s hard to tell in the dim light coming through the windows, but Castiel thinks he sees Dean blush, color sweeping high across his cheeks. He doesn’t say anything, though, just continues to stare.
“Dean.”
Nothing.
“Dean.”
“Yeah?” Dean shakes himself out of it. “What?”
“The light is green.”
Looking out the windshield, Dean swears and drives forward. It’s silent in the car, the only sound between them that of the engine.
Dean drives around town, down main streets and back streets, like he’s looking for something. Castiel doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask if he’s pushed too far, doesn’t want Dean angry or uncomfortable with him. But he does want Dean to say something, wants to know what Dean is thinking and feeling, and wants to hear it from Dean’s own lips. He’s just not sure he’ll hear what he wants to hear, what he hopes to hear.
In all of his existence, Castiel has never experienced such uncertainty.
Dean pulls into a motel at the end of town closest to the house they’re staying in. He parks and turns off the engine, pocketing the keys as he gets out and shuts the door, walking across the lot to the check-in desk. He doesn’t look back.
Castiel remains where he sits, unsure of what Dean might have in mind. It’s possible Dean may want to put some space between them. Castiel is aware humans have strange ideas about romantic and sexual relationships, especially between members of the same sex.
It is not an issue he’s ever considered before, angels existing without gender.
He’s still worrying that Dean’s going to get a room and tell him to stay away when there’s a knock on his window. Castiel looks up to see Dean standing there, keys dangling from his hand. Dean gestures for him to get out of the car and steps back as Castiel opens the door.
“Dean, what—?”
“I’m not letting you lose your virginity on the floor of some abandoned house we’re squatting in.” Dean shrugs his shoulders and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing this right.”
“A thing worth doing is worth doing well?”
Dean laughs. “Something like that, yeah.”
The room isn’t the best Castiel has seen the Winchesters stay in, but it’s not the worst either, clean and warm. The walls are covered with blue patterned wallpaper and the carpet is green, discolored near the door where countless feet have passed. Dean enters and moves across the room to switch on the lamp, using the light through the open curtains to navigate. Once it’s on, he comes back around the end of the bed and crosses to the window, pulling the curtains shut. The keys he sets on the table near the window.
Castiel watches all this from his place near the closed door.
“So,” Dean says, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. His hands are in his pockets again.
Castiel tilts his head, following the movement of Dean’s body with his eyes. “So,” he repeats.
Dean rolls his eyes and removes his hands from his pockets, shrugs off his coat and throws it over one of the chairs at the table. “You could’ve told me you weren’t interested in women.”
“I’m not—”
Dean waves his hands at him, takes a couple of steps forward. “Yeah, I know. Thanks. You couldn’t have said something sooner?”
Castiel looks around the room, notices a strange watermark on the ceiling. “I wasn’t sure.”
“You weren’t sure?”
Castiel sighs and rolls his own eyes, Dean already corrupting him. “No, Dean. These…feelings are still new to me. I don’t always know what they mean.”
Dean’s right in front of him, ignoring Castiel’s personal space as much as he accuses Castiel of ignoring his. “But you do now?” His face is soft in the warm light from the lamp, eyes wide and green, a little scared and nervous and hopeful.
“Yes,” Castiel says, his heart knocking around his chest, under his rib cage. “Yes, I think I do.”
“Good,” Dean says, and then he’s leaning closer, eyes on Castiel’s mouth.
Castiel doesn’t know what to do; he’s never been faced with this, not even…earlier. What that had been hadn’t been Dean standing so close. Close enough Castiel can feel his breath on his lips, can smell soap and shampoo and sweat on him. He inhales sharply and Dean’s eyes dart upwards to his.
Corners of his mouth lifting into a smile, Dean leans back a little. Gives Castiel the breathing room that he probably needs but doesn’t particularly want.
“You’ve gotta relax, Cas.” He smoothes a hand across Castiel’s cheek; slides it down until it’s resting against his neck, thumb rubbing hypnotically back and forth across his jaw. “Calm down,” he says. “This’ll be good. I think.”
Blinking at him, Castiel asks, “You think?”
“Well, it’s been awhile since I’ve done this.”
Castiel doubts that. Dean takes one look at his face and blushes, thumb ceasing its movement across Castiel’s skin.
“With another guy,” he clarifies. “Awhile since I’ve done this with another guy.”
“Is that a problem?”
“No!” Dean’s voice is too loud in the silent room, too quick. He looks at Castiel and swallows, his face softening. Castiel can see his defenses going down. “No, Cas, it’s not a problem. This won’t be hard at all.” He stops suddenly, the look in his eyes troubling. “Well. Except where it counts.”
It’s Castiel’s turn to swallow because that sounds like a promise, sounds like Dean with a plan and every intention of following through. And while Dean’s plans aren’t always the best, he has yet to lead them astray this trip. Even the detour earlier served to lead them here.
But Castiel doesn’t say anything and the look in Dean’s eyes fades a little, becomes less predatory and more filled with fondness. “Seriously, Cas. Relax.”
And then Dean is leaning in again, tipping his face forward and Castiel is following the movement, Dean doubling in his vision as his eyes cross because he’s so close. Dean puffs out a breath of laughter that Castiel can feel across his lips and then Dean’s eyes are sweeping closed and Dean’s lips are on his.
This close, Castiel can count each of Dean’s eyelashes, can see every freckle dusted across Dean’s nose and under his eyes, can feel the scrape of stubble against his own. He’s so lost in the tiny details, he forgets the larger picture, the fact that Dean is kissing him and this is what he’s been hoping for since he realized there was something to hope for.
Dean pulls back before he can reciprocate.
“It helps if you kiss back a little,” he says, voice rough. Castiel nods and this time Dean’s other hand reaches for his face, bracketing him, tilting him to where Dean wants him, holding him steady.
This time when Dean kisses him, Castiel closes his eyes, focuses on the feel of Dean’s lips sure on his own. He has no physical experiences to compare this to, no form of reference, but he knows that it’s good, knows he wouldn’t be able to feel it down to the soles of his feet if it wasn’t. And then Dean’s lips part and his tongue sweeps across Castiel’s bottom lip and somehow—somehow—it gets better.
Dean is patient with him, a miracle in and of itself since Dean is not a patient man. He applies lips and teeth and tongue and pressure, languidly drawing movement out for Castiel to copy, to learn from, to try for himself. At one point, Dean scrapes Castiel’s bottom lip with his teeth and Castiel can’t help the tiny noise that escapes, the soft whimper at the back of his throat. Dean groans and kisses him harder before pulling back, forehead pressing against his.
Castiel opens his eyes to see Dean’s are still closed, but he’s panting softly and there’s a pink flush high on his cheeks. The corners of his mouth tilt up slightly, smiling. He is beautiful up close. Castiel always knew this, but now he knows it. Once he thought Dean was their savior, once he saw Dean through a haze of hero worship and belief. Now he sees that Dean is just Dean, human and flawed and all the more beautiful for it.
“That was successful.”
Dean lets out a soft laugh. “You can say that again.”
“That was—”
He’s interrupted by Dean’s mouth on his, a brief press of lips this time. “No,” he says, hands roaming from his face to his neck, over shoulders, fitting between Castiel’s arms and sides until they’re on his back. “Never mind.”
Castiel is fascinated by the change in Dean’s stance, the movement of his position. His own hands are on Dean’s hips, but Dean’s closer now, embracing Castiel and it seems right to slide his hands around, rest them against the small of Dean’s back until Dean is pressed against him in delightful and intriguing new ways.
Dean’s body is warm against his, warm and hard. Castiel can feel his own body responding to Dean’s proximity, wants to explore the feelings Dean inspires in him, wants to chase down the heat strumming through his veins and find out where it leads.
Dean kisses him and pulls away before he can.
He must frown because Dean takes one look at him and grins. “Don’t worry,” he says, shrugging out of his shirt and throwing it over his coat. “There’s more where that came from. Just have to get comfortable first.” He reaches out and grabs Castiel’s arm then, tugging him toward the bed. It’s such a familiar gesture; Castiel is somehow relieved by it, as though it’s proof this won’t fundamentally change them.
At the foot of the bed, Dean stops and turns. “Wait,” he says, standing too close and too far away. He pushes Castiel’s coat to the floor, tugs his jacket off his shoulders. Castiel is reminded of Dean’s hands on him earlier, fixing his collar and straightening his tie, only now everything is different, opposite, Dean taking him apart instead of putting him together.
Dean pushes him down onto the green and blue striped bedspread and Castiel bounces once, feels the mattress give beneath him. Dean sits next to him, pressed close against his side, heat sinking through their clothes. For someone who is constantly telling Castiel he’s standing too close, Dean certainly has no problem with it now.
When he says as much, Dean chuckles and kisses him, hands loosening Castiel’s tie. “There’s a time and a place, Cas.”
“And?”
Dean presses his mouth against his throat, his Adam’s apple, licks and kisses and nips. Castiel jumps a little at the last one and feels Dean’s mouth curve into a smile against his skin. “This is definitely the time and place.”
Castiel’s tie ends up in the pile on the floor and Dean’s hands move to the buttons on his shirt. He isn’t sure what to do with his own hands until Dean pulls back and catches his eye. “You’re allowed to touch, too, y’know. This is about you.”
Dean already knows Castiel has never done anything like this before, but Castiel isn’t sure how to tell Dean that he doesn’t know what to do. He’s afraid, in a way, that they’ll only end up back where they started, where Castiel didn’t know how to make himself seen or heard and Dean didn’t understand what was before him.
“I,” he begins, looking away. “I do not—”
Dean takes pity on him. “Doesn’t matter,” he says. “Do what feels good. I’ll probably like it. But I’m a big boy; I’ll stop you if I don’t.”
Not sure what to say to that, Castiel just nods. He kisses Dean then, the first he’s instigated, leaning forward until their lips brush and Dean’s opening up for him. He lifts his hands and touches Dean’s sides, slides them around his back. Before long he’s touching skin where Dean’s t-shirt is riding up and Dean’s sighing into his mouth as Castiel’s hands travel up underneath the material.
“See,” Dean says, their breath mingling. “You’ll get the hang of this in no time.” His pupils are blown, hands clenched in Castiel’s shirt, and Castiel thinks, I did that.
It’s possible he says that out loud, because the next moment Dean says, “Yeah you did,” before reaching behind him to wrap a hand around his wrist, bringing that hand around and pressing it against the bulge where Dean is already hardening beneath the denim of his jeans.
Castiel can feel the blood rushing south in his veins, can feel his own trousers grow even tighter. He groans and leans into Dean, taking Dean’s mouth with his own and pressing his palm harder against Dean.
Dean groans, too, a noise that quickly turns to one of surprise as Castiel pushes him back onto the bed. His hands immediately come up to Castiel’s sides, smoothing across fabric and gripping tighter and tighter the longer Castiel kisses him.
When Castiel pulls away, Dean’s hands are fisted in his shirt and his lips are red and swollen. Dean blinks up at him in the light coming from the lamp, eyes dark and hungry. “Oh, God,” he says. “I’ve created a monster.”
But then he’s lifting his head off the bed and tugging Castiel back toward him and they’re kissing again—deep, desperate kisses—as Dean rolls them until he’s on top, their legs sticking awkwardly off the bed.
Pressed between Dean and the mattress, there is no place else Castiel would rather be. They kiss and touch, writhe and push and pull as clothing becomes more and more of a hindrance, an obstacle to their final goal.
“This would be so much better if we were naked,” Dean says, hands snaking beneath Castiel’s shirt.
“Really?”
“Yeah, Cas. That’s kind of the whole point. To get naked and sweaty together.”
Castiel can see no reason to delay it then, not if that’s the point. Not if they both want it, are both working toward it. Barely a thought and their clothes are on the floor, a pile at the foot of the bed.
Dean blinks and looks down at them, nothing between them now at all. He stares for a moment before he bursts out laughing, long and hard, until there are tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes and he’s gasping for breath against Castiel’s chest.
He isn’t sure what Dean finds so funny, but Castiel can’t look away from him, doesn’t even want to try.
Skin on skin, from head to toe, Dean’s body against his is infinitely more distracting, hot and undeniably alive. The tremors of his laughter trigger sparks across every inch of shared space.
He waits patiently for Dean’s laughter to subside. When it does, Dean looks at him, face more open than Castiel has ever seen before, eyes dark with lust and shining with amusement and something like awe, like affection, like—
“Cas,” he says. “Cas.” A final huff of laughter escapes from his smiling mouth and he shakes his head a fraction, disbelieving. “Who knew?”
Dean kisses him then, throwing himself into it like he’s confident Castiel will catch him.
He does, meeting every slide of tongue, every surge and thrust, with his own. They are well matched.
Castiel tries to pay attention to each new sensation—the smooth slickness of sweaty skin, the coarseness of hair, the prick of stubble, and the glide of lips—but it’s difficult. He wants to stop and savor each new feeling, wants to rush ahead and see if there are new ones to discover.
He slides his hands down Dean’s back and Dean’s hips jerk in response, rubbing his erection more fully against Castiel’s. He can’t help but pull Dean tighter to him, hips pressing upward as he gasps.
Dean nips his lips and balances himself with his hands on either side of Castiel’s shoulders. “You think that’s good, just wait,” he says. “It gets better.”
He slips out of Castiel’s grasp, rolling until he’s standing next to the bed, naked and unashamed. Dean takes one look at him and says, gesturing to the bed, “Scoot up toward the pillows. I’ve got to get something.”
By the time Dean returns, he’s holding something in one hand and Castiel is propped against the pillows, waiting patiently. Dean pauses to look at him; Castiel can feel his eyes traveling over his skin, lingering at his mouth, his nipples, his penis.
Castiel watches Dean lick his lips, empty hand going to his own erection and pulling once, twice before releasing it and looking up to meet Castiel’s eyes. “Oh, yeah,” he says. “Best idea I ever had.”
Castiel frowns. “You wanted me to have sex with a woman.”
Dean drops the contents of his hand onto the nightstand and climbs over him until he’s straddling Castiel’s thighs, knees pressed against his ribs. “Eh. Semantics. The basic idea’s the same. You’re still getting laid.”
“But you’re here instead.”
“Yeah.” Dean smiles softly down at him for a moment. “And I think that might have been the best idea you’ve ever had.”
“But—”
Dean silences him with a finger on his mouth. “Trust me on this.”
Castiel nods and Dean removes his finger. “I trust you, Dean. Of course.”
Dean sits back against his thighs, erection jutting forward. Castiel can’t help but reach out and touch, wrap his hand around the length of him. Dean sucks in a sharp breath above him. He strokes Dean a few times, mimicking the movement from before. Dean’s hot and hard against Castiel’s palm, skin smooth and soft as he experiments with his own grip, watching Dean’s reactions.
Dean’s hand covers his own and for a brief moment, Castiel thinks Dean’s going to stop him, tell him no and pull his hand away.
But Dean doesn’t pull his hand away; instead, he wraps his own over Castiel’s, squeezes a little and changes his grip, his pace. Castiel thinks he should be paying more attention to Dean’s reactions, but he can’t take his eyes away from Dean’s erection and his hand wrapped around it, Dean’s hand wrapped around his.
Dean lets go and Castiel keeps up the rhythm he’s set until Dean takes Castiel’s penis in hand and strokes. Castiel’s hips jerk in response and Dean smirks down at him. Leaning down, Dean kisses him, reaching for the table and fumbling.
When he pulls back, he looks triumphant. “I knew it’d pay to be prepared. Lotion works fine, but nothing beats lube like lube.”
This time, when Dean covers Castiel’s hand with his own, it is to stop him. “Hold that thought,” he says, and then he’s ripping the package open, spreading lube onto his fingers. “Practice some of that angelic patience.” Dean tips up on his knees, arm curling behind him, a look of concentration stealing over his face.
Castiel can be patient, but not for the reasons Dean thinks. There is nothing angelic about this patience. Nothing angelic at all. He would happily lie there and watch the color of Dean’s eyes change, the increasingly unsteady rise and fall of his chest as his breathing turns to pants. He wants to chase the rush of blood beneath Dean’s skin with his eyes, his hands, his lips. His tongue.
He wants all of this and more. He can only hope his fears that the morning will bring his demise are ill-founded. It would be a pity to have this only to lose it.
Dean’s fingers glisten. In the light from the table, Castiel can see that they’re shaking a little. Dean spreads more lube on his fingers before Castiel can stop him. “Dean,” he says. “You do not have to—”
“No, Cas, I—It’s just been a while. But I want to, I do. Didn’t even realize how much.” He smiles and Castiel believes him. He pulls his hand away gently and reaches for Castiel’s erection, his grip slippery this time, before reaching for the other packet on the nightstand. He hands it to Castiel. “You open it.” When Castiel stares at him, he adds, “I’ll never get it open with this on my fingers.”
Castiel takes the square of foil from him and tears it open, holding the latex out for Dean, who takes it, slipping it over Castiel’s penis before stroking him again with his lubed hand.
Dean lets go and shuffles forward on his knees until he’s hovering above Castiel’s erection. Then his hand is between his thighs, holding Castiel steady as he slowly begins to take him in. He breathes heavily through his nose for a moment, bottom lip held between his teeth, but then he takes a deep breath and relaxes around Castiel. Dean smiles at him around the lip he’s still biting, eyes hooded, and it’s sweet, it’s sweet and it’s everything.
Then it stops being sweet and takes a turn for wicked as Dean rolls his hips.
Hands finding purchase on Dean’s thighs, his hips, Castiel holds on.
It feels like his senses are being overloaded. All he can taste is Dean on his tongue, all he can smell is their sweat comingling, all he can hear are the breathy moans and soft pants as Dean works them both toward completion. All he can feel is Dean.
Dean who is broken and breaking apart. Who is allowing Castiel to see that, to have this.
Castiel hopes he survives the morning, hopes that this is just the beginning and not just a favor. Hopes that Dean wanted this and wants this and will continue wanting it well past tonight.
When Castiel shifts his hips and Dean gasps, eyes opening and finding Castiel’s immediately, he knows that this is the point from which they begin and feels his whole world unravel around him as he moans Dean’s name.
Dean clutches at his arms, pulling at the hand on Dean’s hip and resituating it on his erection. “Cas,” he breathes, as Castiel closes his fist around him. “Cas.” Dean thrusts into it, against him. Castiel tightens his grip and watches Dean fall apart above him.
Dean slumps against him. They’re both breathing hard and Castiel feels sweaty and sticky and tired. And alive, so alive, heart pounding and blood racing.
There’s no place he would rather be.
*
They’re up before the sun. Castiel doesn’t need to sleep, but after his limbs had felt loose, his bones melted. He’d resented Dean a little for making him move enough to pull the cover back on the bed and crawl between the sheets, turn off the light.
Lying with Dean had been comfortable, nice. He hadn’t wanted to move after Dean turned him onto his side and curled up behind him.
“If you tell anyone we spooned, so help me…” Dean had threatened.
“Spooned?”
Castiel could almost hear the eye roll, but then Dean briefly pressed his lips to the back of Castiel’s neck. “It’s a…sub-genre of cuddling.” He knocked his knees against the back of Castiel’s, wrapped his arm more firmly against Castiel’s chest. “No one needs to know I cuddle. Gotta maintain my image.”
Castiel leaned back into the heat of him; let his muscles relax as his breathing began to match Dean’s own. “Of course,” he’d said, feeling Dean drift off to sleep against his back.
It’s still dark out when he wakes Dean a couple of hours later. Dean grumbles and hides his head between the pillow and Castiel’s shoulder. When he stumbles toward the bathroom for a quick shower, Castiel makes sure to have coffee in the room when he gets out.
Dean smiles at him as he rubs a towel over his head and takes a sip, grins once he tastes it. “You,” he says, uncurling his index finger from his grip on the cup to point. “You need to stick around.”
Castiel smiles back and when Dean kisses him he tastes like coffee and early mornings. Castiel doesn’t care for coffee, but he thinks he might come to like the taste like this.
He doesn’t tell Dean that he will stick around. He doesn’t know. But he hopes to get some answers today, for good or for ill.
He just hopes they’re the former.
Dean/Castiel
NC-17
5576
Missing scene from 5.03, "Free to Be You and Me."
It's a love story. Castiel doesn’t recognize this new feeling sinking in around Dean until it’s already taken hold, set down roots, and begun to grow.
Many thanks to
ginnith and sdrohc_ratiug. ♥ Title taken from a Jason Webley song.Emotions are new to Castiel. They’re complicated and layered, messy and nonsensical. It’s only fair that allowances be made when he stumbles.
Dean insists they drive. Castiel could just meet him in Maine, but he enjoys Dean’s company, likes being in his presence.
It happens while they’re on the road, which Castiel thinks might be fitting considering they’re always moving. Backwards, forward, sideways; the only thing linear about them is that they are going toward something. Castiel can see it on the horizon, though he can’t yet tell what it is.
Dean says they'll head out in morning, get a good night's rest first. Castiel chooses to stay with him and gets an education in television, Dean flipping through channels and trying to explain reality TV. “It’s all scripted,” he says with a wink. He pauses briefly on channels broadcasting news, but changes quickly with a grimace.
When Dean’s asleep, Castiel studies the books Dean has with him, looking for anything that might prove useful that he doesn’t already know of. There isn’t much.
They start early, spend the day in the Impala, mile posts passing in a blur out the window as Dean points out things he deems interesting enough to mention, spots he calls “tourist traps.” He tells Castiel they’ll visit one someday. “You’re like the ultimate tourist, Cas. World’s biggest ball of string. Largest pie in the continental US! You can’t miss things like that!”
Dean shares bits of his childhood with Castiel in these moments on the drive, the sun pouring bright through the windows. He talks about times when their dad had taken an afternoon to pretend their nomadic life was normal, pulling off in state parks or roadside attractions to let them run off pent up energy. Sam didn’t really know what was going on at the time, Dean tells him.
Castiel isn’t sure Dean means to share these things—he’s very private—but the information slips in. Dean may want to let go of Sam, may be trying to, but he can’t. Sam’s there even when he’s not, tucked into almost every story.
They stop at diners for breakfast and dinner, Dean getting gas and items wrapped in brightly colored foil for lunch. He insists Castiel try things, though he has told Dean repeatedly he does not need sustenance.
“I don’t care,” Dean says, ignoring him over plates of eggs and hash browns. “What’s the fun in that?” He waves a piece of bacon in front of Castiel. “You can’t spend time on Earth and not have bacon.”
He takes the bacon. It’s the first of many culinary experiences with Dean, starting with breakfast food and working through gas station fair to burgers and fries. Eventually, Dean’s ordering him apple pie and insisting he try it ala mode. “It’s an American tradition,” he says, mouth already full.
In that day, Castiel discovers that he does not care for coffee or grapefruit juice, but he does enjoy orange juice and milk. Bacon is in fact delicious, as is pie. Food from gas stations should be avoided.
Though Dean does help him discover his sweet tooth.
Dean drives for hours, finally stopping at an abandoned house once they reach Waterville. The paint is peeling and there’s no electricity or water. This is Dean’s life, a succession of abandoned buildings, ramshackle houses, and seedy motels, empty roads and the backseat of the Impala. Since Lucifer rose, this is Castiel’s life now, too.
Dean leaves him alone for an hour that night and comes back with false identification. Castiel supposes he must look confused because Dean pats him on the shoulder and tells him not to worry about it.
Dean pats him on the shoulder a lot. Not hard enough to hurt, the gesture apparently a human sign of friendship, but hard enough to feel. He also has a tendency to grab Castiel’s arm and pull him along after him. Or throw an arm across his shoulders to maneuver him where Dean wants him. On occasion Dean will open a door and step back, allowing Castiel through first only to place a hand on the small of Castiel’s back.
Castiel isn’t entirely sure how this interrupts Dean’s personal space less than the times Castiel stands too close, but he doesn’t ask. He has no complaints and doesn’t want Dean to stop.
The trip has been enlightening, building up the knowledge Castiel already has about Dean. During the course of the short trip, Castiel knows that Dean has trouble functioning prior to his first cup of coffee and still has nightmares about Hell. He learns that Dean sings in the shower and the car, not always in tune, and that it’s best not to ask him to turn the music down. He knows that Dean misses his brother, though he won’t admit it out loud. Castiel learns that for as prickly as Dean can be, he likes to touch and be touched. Dean is a hedonistic being, though that doesn’t come as much of a surprise.
He already knew that Dean loves and hates deeply, that he takes pleasure in the little things, the simple things.
Dean looks younger when he smiles, even more so when he laughs.
Castiel realizes he doesn’t mind being the focus of Dean’s humor if it makes Dean look like that, makes Dean look at him like that. If it helps lift some of the weight off of his shoulders.
When Dean slips the fake ID into Castiel’s pocket, buttons his collar and straightens his tie and Castiel’s heart thumps in his chest, it has nothing to do with nerves or anticipation and everything to do with Dean.
Castiel has lived with the love he has for his Father every day of his existence. It is as much a part of him as anything else. He has felt many things in the short time he has known Dean: confusion, frustration, anger, admiration, loyalty, friendship. He doesn’t recognize this new feeling sinking in around Dean until it’s already taken hold, set down roots, and begun to grow.
*
Castiel isn’t sure what just happened or why it’s so funny, Dean doubled over with laughter. He only knows that he is thankful to be out of that den of iniquity—a perk of rebellion or not—and that Dean’s amusement, his good mood, is infectious.
“Well, that could’ve gone better,” Dean says, grinning across the front seat of the Impala in the dark. When Castiel smiles tentatively back, Dean rolls his eyes and reaches out, clasps his shoulder. “There.” Dean points at him with his free hand. “Right there. You need to relax and do that a little. That’ll get the chicks interested, not your ability to see right through them.”
Castiel looks away, down at his hands where they rest in his lap. He’s not sure how to tell Dean he’s not actually interested without telling him why. And Dean derives so much pleasure from the possibility of getting him “laid,” Castiel feels loathe to take that away from him.
He knows Dean thinks he’s uncomfortable because he’s never experienced sex before, and that’s partly the case. The fact of the matter is, though, the only other being he has any desire to get closer to is Dean himself. There had been a moment, a fraction of a second back at the house when he’d thought perhaps…
He’s still not sure whether or not he’s relieved that Dean didn’t propose something with himself.
“Cas?” Dean’s shaking his shoulder. “You okay, buddy? I know that was probably a little traumatizing for you, but c’mon. Can’t win ‘em all, right?”
Castiel shakes his head. “You do not need to do this, Dean.”
“Sure I do,” Dean says, squeezing his shoulder before letting go. He shifts in his seat and starts the ignition, the Impala rumbling to life around them. “This might be your last night on Earth. I’m not going to let you die without experiencing a little pleasure first.” He pulls out of the alley and onto the street, stopping at a red light.
“I would be happy to spend the time with you, Dean.”
“Yeah, right,” Dean laughs. “I’m not much for sitting quietly.”
Castiel stares at his hands and thinks about Dean’s; Dean’s hands touching him, friendly and reassuring, warm and strong. He thinks about the way Dean makes him feel whenever he looks at Castiel, whenever he smiles at him or explains something when Castiel is truly out of his element. Then Castiel looks up and out the window at the street quiet around them, over at Dean still smiling, fingers tapping out a beat on the steering wheel as he waits for the light to change. There’s no time like the present when you might die in the morning. “There are…other…things we could do.”
Dean freezes, smiling out the windshield. When Dean turns toward him, the smile is gone. “Excuse me?”
“I wasn’t thinking of sitting quietly.”
“Are you—?” Dean swallows. “Are you suggesting what I, uh, think you’re suggesting?”
“Yes, Dean.”
It’s hard to tell in the dim light coming through the windows, but Castiel thinks he sees Dean blush, color sweeping high across his cheeks. He doesn’t say anything, though, just continues to stare.
“Dean.”
Nothing.
“Dean.”
“Yeah?” Dean shakes himself out of it. “What?”
“The light is green.”
Looking out the windshield, Dean swears and drives forward. It’s silent in the car, the only sound between them that of the engine.
Dean drives around town, down main streets and back streets, like he’s looking for something. Castiel doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask if he’s pushed too far, doesn’t want Dean angry or uncomfortable with him. But he does want Dean to say something, wants to know what Dean is thinking and feeling, and wants to hear it from Dean’s own lips. He’s just not sure he’ll hear what he wants to hear, what he hopes to hear.
In all of his existence, Castiel has never experienced such uncertainty.
Dean pulls into a motel at the end of town closest to the house they’re staying in. He parks and turns off the engine, pocketing the keys as he gets out and shuts the door, walking across the lot to the check-in desk. He doesn’t look back.
Castiel remains where he sits, unsure of what Dean might have in mind. It’s possible Dean may want to put some space between them. Castiel is aware humans have strange ideas about romantic and sexual relationships, especially between members of the same sex.
It is not an issue he’s ever considered before, angels existing without gender.
He’s still worrying that Dean’s going to get a room and tell him to stay away when there’s a knock on his window. Castiel looks up to see Dean standing there, keys dangling from his hand. Dean gestures for him to get out of the car and steps back as Castiel opens the door.
“Dean, what—?”
“I’m not letting you lose your virginity on the floor of some abandoned house we’re squatting in.” Dean shrugs his shoulders and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing this right.”
“A thing worth doing is worth doing well?”
Dean laughs. “Something like that, yeah.”
The room isn’t the best Castiel has seen the Winchesters stay in, but it’s not the worst either, clean and warm. The walls are covered with blue patterned wallpaper and the carpet is green, discolored near the door where countless feet have passed. Dean enters and moves across the room to switch on the lamp, using the light through the open curtains to navigate. Once it’s on, he comes back around the end of the bed and crosses to the window, pulling the curtains shut. The keys he sets on the table near the window.
Castiel watches all this from his place near the closed door.
“So,” Dean says, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. His hands are in his pockets again.
Castiel tilts his head, following the movement of Dean’s body with his eyes. “So,” he repeats.
Dean rolls his eyes and removes his hands from his pockets, shrugs off his coat and throws it over one of the chairs at the table. “You could’ve told me you weren’t interested in women.”
“I’m not—”
Dean waves his hands at him, takes a couple of steps forward. “Yeah, I know. Thanks. You couldn’t have said something sooner?”
Castiel looks around the room, notices a strange watermark on the ceiling. “I wasn’t sure.”
“You weren’t sure?”
Castiel sighs and rolls his own eyes, Dean already corrupting him. “No, Dean. These…feelings are still new to me. I don’t always know what they mean.”
Dean’s right in front of him, ignoring Castiel’s personal space as much as he accuses Castiel of ignoring his. “But you do now?” His face is soft in the warm light from the lamp, eyes wide and green, a little scared and nervous and hopeful.
“Yes,” Castiel says, his heart knocking around his chest, under his rib cage. “Yes, I think I do.”
“Good,” Dean says, and then he’s leaning closer, eyes on Castiel’s mouth.
Castiel doesn’t know what to do; he’s never been faced with this, not even…earlier. What that had been hadn’t been Dean standing so close. Close enough Castiel can feel his breath on his lips, can smell soap and shampoo and sweat on him. He inhales sharply and Dean’s eyes dart upwards to his.
Corners of his mouth lifting into a smile, Dean leans back a little. Gives Castiel the breathing room that he probably needs but doesn’t particularly want.
“You’ve gotta relax, Cas.” He smoothes a hand across Castiel’s cheek; slides it down until it’s resting against his neck, thumb rubbing hypnotically back and forth across his jaw. “Calm down,” he says. “This’ll be good. I think.”
Blinking at him, Castiel asks, “You think?”
“Well, it’s been awhile since I’ve done this.”
Castiel doubts that. Dean takes one look at his face and blushes, thumb ceasing its movement across Castiel’s skin.
“With another guy,” he clarifies. “Awhile since I’ve done this with another guy.”
“Is that a problem?”
“No!” Dean’s voice is too loud in the silent room, too quick. He looks at Castiel and swallows, his face softening. Castiel can see his defenses going down. “No, Cas, it’s not a problem. This won’t be hard at all.” He stops suddenly, the look in his eyes troubling. “Well. Except where it counts.”
It’s Castiel’s turn to swallow because that sounds like a promise, sounds like Dean with a plan and every intention of following through. And while Dean’s plans aren’t always the best, he has yet to lead them astray this trip. Even the detour earlier served to lead them here.
But Castiel doesn’t say anything and the look in Dean’s eyes fades a little, becomes less predatory and more filled with fondness. “Seriously, Cas. Relax.”
And then Dean is leaning in again, tipping his face forward and Castiel is following the movement, Dean doubling in his vision as his eyes cross because he’s so close. Dean puffs out a breath of laughter that Castiel can feel across his lips and then Dean’s eyes are sweeping closed and Dean’s lips are on his.
This close, Castiel can count each of Dean’s eyelashes, can see every freckle dusted across Dean’s nose and under his eyes, can feel the scrape of stubble against his own. He’s so lost in the tiny details, he forgets the larger picture, the fact that Dean is kissing him and this is what he’s been hoping for since he realized there was something to hope for.
Dean pulls back before he can reciprocate.
“It helps if you kiss back a little,” he says, voice rough. Castiel nods and this time Dean’s other hand reaches for his face, bracketing him, tilting him to where Dean wants him, holding him steady.
This time when Dean kisses him, Castiel closes his eyes, focuses on the feel of Dean’s lips sure on his own. He has no physical experiences to compare this to, no form of reference, but he knows that it’s good, knows he wouldn’t be able to feel it down to the soles of his feet if it wasn’t. And then Dean’s lips part and his tongue sweeps across Castiel’s bottom lip and somehow—somehow—it gets better.
Dean is patient with him, a miracle in and of itself since Dean is not a patient man. He applies lips and teeth and tongue and pressure, languidly drawing movement out for Castiel to copy, to learn from, to try for himself. At one point, Dean scrapes Castiel’s bottom lip with his teeth and Castiel can’t help the tiny noise that escapes, the soft whimper at the back of his throat. Dean groans and kisses him harder before pulling back, forehead pressing against his.
Castiel opens his eyes to see Dean’s are still closed, but he’s panting softly and there’s a pink flush high on his cheeks. The corners of his mouth tilt up slightly, smiling. He is beautiful up close. Castiel always knew this, but now he knows it. Once he thought Dean was their savior, once he saw Dean through a haze of hero worship and belief. Now he sees that Dean is just Dean, human and flawed and all the more beautiful for it.
“That was successful.”
Dean lets out a soft laugh. “You can say that again.”
“That was—”
He’s interrupted by Dean’s mouth on his, a brief press of lips this time. “No,” he says, hands roaming from his face to his neck, over shoulders, fitting between Castiel’s arms and sides until they’re on his back. “Never mind.”
Castiel is fascinated by the change in Dean’s stance, the movement of his position. His own hands are on Dean’s hips, but Dean’s closer now, embracing Castiel and it seems right to slide his hands around, rest them against the small of Dean’s back until Dean is pressed against him in delightful and intriguing new ways.
Dean’s body is warm against his, warm and hard. Castiel can feel his own body responding to Dean’s proximity, wants to explore the feelings Dean inspires in him, wants to chase down the heat strumming through his veins and find out where it leads.
Dean kisses him and pulls away before he can.
He must frown because Dean takes one look at him and grins. “Don’t worry,” he says, shrugging out of his shirt and throwing it over his coat. “There’s more where that came from. Just have to get comfortable first.” He reaches out and grabs Castiel’s arm then, tugging him toward the bed. It’s such a familiar gesture; Castiel is somehow relieved by it, as though it’s proof this won’t fundamentally change them.
At the foot of the bed, Dean stops and turns. “Wait,” he says, standing too close and too far away. He pushes Castiel’s coat to the floor, tugs his jacket off his shoulders. Castiel is reminded of Dean’s hands on him earlier, fixing his collar and straightening his tie, only now everything is different, opposite, Dean taking him apart instead of putting him together.
Dean pushes him down onto the green and blue striped bedspread and Castiel bounces once, feels the mattress give beneath him. Dean sits next to him, pressed close against his side, heat sinking through their clothes. For someone who is constantly telling Castiel he’s standing too close, Dean certainly has no problem with it now.
When he says as much, Dean chuckles and kisses him, hands loosening Castiel’s tie. “There’s a time and a place, Cas.”
“And?”
Dean presses his mouth against his throat, his Adam’s apple, licks and kisses and nips. Castiel jumps a little at the last one and feels Dean’s mouth curve into a smile against his skin. “This is definitely the time and place.”
Castiel’s tie ends up in the pile on the floor and Dean’s hands move to the buttons on his shirt. He isn’t sure what to do with his own hands until Dean pulls back and catches his eye. “You’re allowed to touch, too, y’know. This is about you.”
Dean already knows Castiel has never done anything like this before, but Castiel isn’t sure how to tell Dean that he doesn’t know what to do. He’s afraid, in a way, that they’ll only end up back where they started, where Castiel didn’t know how to make himself seen or heard and Dean didn’t understand what was before him.
“I,” he begins, looking away. “I do not—”
Dean takes pity on him. “Doesn’t matter,” he says. “Do what feels good. I’ll probably like it. But I’m a big boy; I’ll stop you if I don’t.”
Not sure what to say to that, Castiel just nods. He kisses Dean then, the first he’s instigated, leaning forward until their lips brush and Dean’s opening up for him. He lifts his hands and touches Dean’s sides, slides them around his back. Before long he’s touching skin where Dean’s t-shirt is riding up and Dean’s sighing into his mouth as Castiel’s hands travel up underneath the material.
“See,” Dean says, their breath mingling. “You’ll get the hang of this in no time.” His pupils are blown, hands clenched in Castiel’s shirt, and Castiel thinks, I did that.
It’s possible he says that out loud, because the next moment Dean says, “Yeah you did,” before reaching behind him to wrap a hand around his wrist, bringing that hand around and pressing it against the bulge where Dean is already hardening beneath the denim of his jeans.
Castiel can feel the blood rushing south in his veins, can feel his own trousers grow even tighter. He groans and leans into Dean, taking Dean’s mouth with his own and pressing his palm harder against Dean.
Dean groans, too, a noise that quickly turns to one of surprise as Castiel pushes him back onto the bed. His hands immediately come up to Castiel’s sides, smoothing across fabric and gripping tighter and tighter the longer Castiel kisses him.
When Castiel pulls away, Dean’s hands are fisted in his shirt and his lips are red and swollen. Dean blinks up at him in the light coming from the lamp, eyes dark and hungry. “Oh, God,” he says. “I’ve created a monster.”
But then he’s lifting his head off the bed and tugging Castiel back toward him and they’re kissing again—deep, desperate kisses—as Dean rolls them until he’s on top, their legs sticking awkwardly off the bed.
Pressed between Dean and the mattress, there is no place else Castiel would rather be. They kiss and touch, writhe and push and pull as clothing becomes more and more of a hindrance, an obstacle to their final goal.
“This would be so much better if we were naked,” Dean says, hands snaking beneath Castiel’s shirt.
“Really?”
“Yeah, Cas. That’s kind of the whole point. To get naked and sweaty together.”
Castiel can see no reason to delay it then, not if that’s the point. Not if they both want it, are both working toward it. Barely a thought and their clothes are on the floor, a pile at the foot of the bed.
Dean blinks and looks down at them, nothing between them now at all. He stares for a moment before he bursts out laughing, long and hard, until there are tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes and he’s gasping for breath against Castiel’s chest.
He isn’t sure what Dean finds so funny, but Castiel can’t look away from him, doesn’t even want to try.
Skin on skin, from head to toe, Dean’s body against his is infinitely more distracting, hot and undeniably alive. The tremors of his laughter trigger sparks across every inch of shared space.
He waits patiently for Dean’s laughter to subside. When it does, Dean looks at him, face more open than Castiel has ever seen before, eyes dark with lust and shining with amusement and something like awe, like affection, like—
“Cas,” he says. “Cas.” A final huff of laughter escapes from his smiling mouth and he shakes his head a fraction, disbelieving. “Who knew?”
Dean kisses him then, throwing himself into it like he’s confident Castiel will catch him.
He does, meeting every slide of tongue, every surge and thrust, with his own. They are well matched.
Castiel tries to pay attention to each new sensation—the smooth slickness of sweaty skin, the coarseness of hair, the prick of stubble, and the glide of lips—but it’s difficult. He wants to stop and savor each new feeling, wants to rush ahead and see if there are new ones to discover.
He slides his hands down Dean’s back and Dean’s hips jerk in response, rubbing his erection more fully against Castiel’s. He can’t help but pull Dean tighter to him, hips pressing upward as he gasps.
Dean nips his lips and balances himself with his hands on either side of Castiel’s shoulders. “You think that’s good, just wait,” he says. “It gets better.”
He slips out of Castiel’s grasp, rolling until he’s standing next to the bed, naked and unashamed. Dean takes one look at him and says, gesturing to the bed, “Scoot up toward the pillows. I’ve got to get something.”
By the time Dean returns, he’s holding something in one hand and Castiel is propped against the pillows, waiting patiently. Dean pauses to look at him; Castiel can feel his eyes traveling over his skin, lingering at his mouth, his nipples, his penis.
Castiel watches Dean lick his lips, empty hand going to his own erection and pulling once, twice before releasing it and looking up to meet Castiel’s eyes. “Oh, yeah,” he says. “Best idea I ever had.”
Castiel frowns. “You wanted me to have sex with a woman.”
Dean drops the contents of his hand onto the nightstand and climbs over him until he’s straddling Castiel’s thighs, knees pressed against his ribs. “Eh. Semantics. The basic idea’s the same. You’re still getting laid.”
“But you’re here instead.”
“Yeah.” Dean smiles softly down at him for a moment. “And I think that might have been the best idea you’ve ever had.”
“But—”
Dean silences him with a finger on his mouth. “Trust me on this.”
Castiel nods and Dean removes his finger. “I trust you, Dean. Of course.”
Dean sits back against his thighs, erection jutting forward. Castiel can’t help but reach out and touch, wrap his hand around the length of him. Dean sucks in a sharp breath above him. He strokes Dean a few times, mimicking the movement from before. Dean’s hot and hard against Castiel’s palm, skin smooth and soft as he experiments with his own grip, watching Dean’s reactions.
Dean’s hand covers his own and for a brief moment, Castiel thinks Dean’s going to stop him, tell him no and pull his hand away.
But Dean doesn’t pull his hand away; instead, he wraps his own over Castiel’s, squeezes a little and changes his grip, his pace. Castiel thinks he should be paying more attention to Dean’s reactions, but he can’t take his eyes away from Dean’s erection and his hand wrapped around it, Dean’s hand wrapped around his.
Dean lets go and Castiel keeps up the rhythm he’s set until Dean takes Castiel’s penis in hand and strokes. Castiel’s hips jerk in response and Dean smirks down at him. Leaning down, Dean kisses him, reaching for the table and fumbling.
When he pulls back, he looks triumphant. “I knew it’d pay to be prepared. Lotion works fine, but nothing beats lube like lube.”
This time, when Dean covers Castiel’s hand with his own, it is to stop him. “Hold that thought,” he says, and then he’s ripping the package open, spreading lube onto his fingers. “Practice some of that angelic patience.” Dean tips up on his knees, arm curling behind him, a look of concentration stealing over his face.
Castiel can be patient, but not for the reasons Dean thinks. There is nothing angelic about this patience. Nothing angelic at all. He would happily lie there and watch the color of Dean’s eyes change, the increasingly unsteady rise and fall of his chest as his breathing turns to pants. He wants to chase the rush of blood beneath Dean’s skin with his eyes, his hands, his lips. His tongue.
He wants all of this and more. He can only hope his fears that the morning will bring his demise are ill-founded. It would be a pity to have this only to lose it.
Dean’s fingers glisten. In the light from the table, Castiel can see that they’re shaking a little. Dean spreads more lube on his fingers before Castiel can stop him. “Dean,” he says. “You do not have to—”
“No, Cas, I—It’s just been a while. But I want to, I do. Didn’t even realize how much.” He smiles and Castiel believes him. He pulls his hand away gently and reaches for Castiel’s erection, his grip slippery this time, before reaching for the other packet on the nightstand. He hands it to Castiel. “You open it.” When Castiel stares at him, he adds, “I’ll never get it open with this on my fingers.”
Castiel takes the square of foil from him and tears it open, holding the latex out for Dean, who takes it, slipping it over Castiel’s penis before stroking him again with his lubed hand.
Dean lets go and shuffles forward on his knees until he’s hovering above Castiel’s erection. Then his hand is between his thighs, holding Castiel steady as he slowly begins to take him in. He breathes heavily through his nose for a moment, bottom lip held between his teeth, but then he takes a deep breath and relaxes around Castiel. Dean smiles at him around the lip he’s still biting, eyes hooded, and it’s sweet, it’s sweet and it’s everything.
Then it stops being sweet and takes a turn for wicked as Dean rolls his hips.
Hands finding purchase on Dean’s thighs, his hips, Castiel holds on.
It feels like his senses are being overloaded. All he can taste is Dean on his tongue, all he can smell is their sweat comingling, all he can hear are the breathy moans and soft pants as Dean works them both toward completion. All he can feel is Dean.
Dean who is broken and breaking apart. Who is allowing Castiel to see that, to have this.
Castiel hopes he survives the morning, hopes that this is just the beginning and not just a favor. Hopes that Dean wanted this and wants this and will continue wanting it well past tonight.
When Castiel shifts his hips and Dean gasps, eyes opening and finding Castiel’s immediately, he knows that this is the point from which they begin and feels his whole world unravel around him as he moans Dean’s name.
Dean clutches at his arms, pulling at the hand on Dean’s hip and resituating it on his erection. “Cas,” he breathes, as Castiel closes his fist around him. “Cas.” Dean thrusts into it, against him. Castiel tightens his grip and watches Dean fall apart above him.
Dean slumps against him. They’re both breathing hard and Castiel feels sweaty and sticky and tired. And alive, so alive, heart pounding and blood racing.
There’s no place he would rather be.
*
They’re up before the sun. Castiel doesn’t need to sleep, but after his limbs had felt loose, his bones melted. He’d resented Dean a little for making him move enough to pull the cover back on the bed and crawl between the sheets, turn off the light.
Lying with Dean had been comfortable, nice. He hadn’t wanted to move after Dean turned him onto his side and curled up behind him.
“If you tell anyone we spooned, so help me…” Dean had threatened.
“Spooned?”
Castiel could almost hear the eye roll, but then Dean briefly pressed his lips to the back of Castiel’s neck. “It’s a…sub-genre of cuddling.” He knocked his knees against the back of Castiel’s, wrapped his arm more firmly against Castiel’s chest. “No one needs to know I cuddle. Gotta maintain my image.”
Castiel leaned back into the heat of him; let his muscles relax as his breathing began to match Dean’s own. “Of course,” he’d said, feeling Dean drift off to sleep against his back.
It’s still dark out when he wakes Dean a couple of hours later. Dean grumbles and hides his head between the pillow and Castiel’s shoulder. When he stumbles toward the bathroom for a quick shower, Castiel makes sure to have coffee in the room when he gets out.
Dean smiles at him as he rubs a towel over his head and takes a sip, grins once he tastes it. “You,” he says, uncurling his index finger from his grip on the cup to point. “You need to stick around.”
Castiel smiles back and when Dean kisses him he tastes like coffee and early mornings. Castiel doesn’t care for coffee, but he thinks he might come to like the taste like this.
He doesn’t tell Dean that he will stick around. He doesn’t know. But he hopes to get some answers today, for good or for ill.
He just hopes they’re the former.
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Date: 2009-10-01 07:16 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-10-01 07:31 am (UTC):D :D :D
(no subject)
Date: 2009-10-01 07:37 am (UTC)Castiel isn’t entirely sure how this interrupts Dean’s personal space less than the times Castiel stands too close, but he doesn’t ask. He has no complaints and doesn’t want Dean to stop. This line made me giggle! BECUASE IT'S SO TRUE! xD <3
“See,” Dean says, their breath mingling. “You’ll get the hang of this in no time.” His pupils are blown, hands clenched in Castiel’s shirt, and Castiel thinks, I did that. I did that, hehe that is such a perfect thought. Possibly my fav line!
This was just so beautiful and lovely! Thank you so much for sharing!
(no subject)
Date: 2009-10-01 08:20 am (UTC)Wow...
Date: 2009-10-01 08:24 am (UTC)Amazing :D I´ve enjoyed reading it a fuc**** lot xD
(no subject)
Date: 2009-10-01 09:28 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-10-01 09:48 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-10-01 10:19 am (UTC)It's also very interesting, the way you make him compare his love for God with his love for Dean, because it truly must be very confusing for him! When a sublime love for a distant father in a celestial existance has been maybe the only sensation one's has experienced, has been allowed to experience, how confusing it must be to suddenly experience all the feelings and sensations of a mortal body, in a mortal world. Confusing to wrapped up in all that body and matter, stuck in an everlasting present. To recognize that spark of love in such an existence too, just as strong and, well, divine, if maybe taking different expressions when being in a mortal body, and entailing different things. (Like sex!)
Oh my, I just keep on going... But, let's boil it down to this: You really had them down, especially Castiel. And you know, it WAS very hot. :)
(no subject)
Date: 2009-10-01 10:25 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-10-01 11:33 am (UTC)An excellent little story - a great beginning to the day. Brava! :D
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Date: 2009-10-01 11:38 am (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2009-10-01 03:12 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-10-01 03:28 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-10-01 03:53 pm (UTC)Hee!
Date: 2009-10-01 04:18 pm (UTC)Brava, love!
(no subject)
Date: 2009-10-01 04:53 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-10-01 04:53 pm (UTC)omg the dialoge. omg the sex. omg the cuddling. omg Cas' wide-eyed wonder! omg the sex. omg the emotions.
Jesus Christ would think this is hot. srsly.
wow. just.. wow.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-10-01 06:44 pm (UTC)Awesome
Date: 2009-10-01 07:34 pm (UTC)This is the best "Cas' first time" story I've read so far. A well balanced combination between "just lovely" and "really hot" :-)
I like it that Dean bottoms and cuddles but isn't girly in that.
And Cas having problems to get the difference between being too close and having to be very close is lovely.
I really enjoyed reading your story - thanks for that!