SPN Fic: Busted, Dean/Castiel (NC-17)
Nov. 30th, 2009 11:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
annundrielBusted
Dean/Castiel
NC-17
1555
No spoilers. Just porn.
Cas doesn't knock. Dean gets caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar.
This is apparently what happens when I decide not to write porn. Whoops? Many thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sdrohc_ratiug and ginnith.
ETA: There is now a sequel, Backed Against the Wall.
Dean has the motel room to himself, Sam off at the library. Dean’s supposed to be doing his own research here. Instead, he’s…he’s…
He’s on his bed, propped against the wall, eyes closed as his hand works fast. He’s imagining what it would be like to have Cas’ hand on him or his hand on Cas, picturing Cas on his knees or spread on the bed, the hood of the Impala. Dean knows it’s wrong, so wrong to be imagining Castiel in every profane position Dean can come up with—and he can come up with a few—but that’s never stopped him before and it’s certainly not going to stop him now. Not when he’s got an empty room, plenty of lube, his own hand, and some time.
Dean ignores the tiny voice in the back of his mind that whispers, You shouldn’t. He thinks, Yes, yes I should, right back and pumps his cock, pushing his hips so it slides through the tight circle of his fist.
He’s reveling in it, biting his lip and moaning and it’s pretty fucking incredible even if it’s not quite enough, when he hears a small, breathy noise. Dean’s eyes pop open and Cas is there, right there, and Dean can’t help it, he groans and he’s coming, hard and fast and there’s no way he could hold on to any control at this point, not with Cas standing in the same room, eyes wide and cheeks flushed, while Dean’s got his hand on his dick.
There’s a moment, two, where Dean feels fucking fantastic. Then his brain catches up and, shit, Cas just walked—flew, popped, whatever—in on him jerking off and there is no way he didn’t notice the way Dean went off at the sight of him.
Dean shuts his eyes, lets his head drop back, and breathes deeply, considering his options. He could just play it off, say he was that close to begin with and the appearance of anyone wouldn’t have changed the outcome, but he has no idea how long Cas has been standing there at the end of the bed. If it was long enough, he would have heard Dean moaning his name.
Sighing, Dean lifts his head from where it’s fallen against the wall. He opens his eyes and looks for something to clean up with, afraid to acknowledge Cas any more yet. Just out of the corner of his eye, he can see Cas hovering awkwardly.
Dean swings his legs over the side of the bed, locating some napkins from the take-out he and Sam got the night before. He’s just cleaning up, wiping come off his hand when suddenly Cas is in his space, pushing him back against the pillows, breathing Dean’s name against his lips before taking them with his own and, holy shit, Cas is kissing him and it’s every bit as electrifying as Dean knew it would be.
“Dean,” Cas says against his mouth. “Dean, let me.” Cas pulls back, pulls away, and Dean would protest except Cas slides to his knees and begins to lap at Dean’s come-spattered belly where his shirt rode up. He begins to lick and suck and taste his skin, cleaning and caressing. Testing and exploring. Dean didn’t think he could get hard again so soon, but Cas is one hell of a motivator.
The way Dean’s body is twisted—one leg on the ground, the other bent just over the edge of the bed—isn’t the most comfortable in the world; his jeans, open enough to get his dick out, cut into his skin. But Cas’ fingers press into his hips and Cas’ mouth is hot and wet and everything Dean’s been fantasizing about for months and they could be on a fucking concrete slab in the freezing cold for all Dean cares. All that matters is that Cas is with him.
“Cas,” Dean groans, Cas’ tongue hot on the head of his cock. Dean can’t help but reach out, fingers threading through the hair behind Cas’ ear where it’s soft and wind-blown. Cas looks up at him, eyes dark and glittering, and Dean shudders, fingers tightening as his dick swells. “C’mere,” he pants, tugging at Cas.
Cas lets him, moves smoothly from his knees until he’s leaning over Dean, hands still pressed to Dean’s hips. Reaching out with his empty hand, Dean slides it into Cas’ hair and pulls him down, hands bracketing his face. He keeps Cas steady even as the rest of his balance gets thrown off, one hand leaving Dean’s hip to catch himself against the mattress.
Dean tastes himself on Cas’ tongue and moans as Cas opens for him without hesitation, mouth pliant above his own as he chases the last hints of himself from Cas’ mouth. When he pulls back, Cas is panting as hard as he is, lips red and shiny. He’s staring at Dean’s mouth like it holds the answers. Dean licks his lower lip and Cas’ eyes track the movement.
“Dean,” Cas says, eyes flickering up to Dean’s then back down to his lips. “I—That is, would you—”
“If you’re looking for permission, Cas, I pretty much gave that to you when you started starring in all my X-rated daydreams.”
This time it’s Cas’ tongue Dean watches slide across Cas’ lips. “Good,” Cas says. Dean’s not sure if he means the permission or the part where he’s got a starring pornographic role in Dean’s head. Dean doesn’t really care either way because Cas’ mouth is back on his, narrowing the world down until it’s just the two of them.
The kissing is good, it’s great, but the angle is awkward and the amount of naked skin between the two of them is pathetic. Dean’s hands slip from Cas’ face to his shoulders, down to his lapels until he’s got enough in hand to maneuver Cas, breaking contact long enough to breath hot against Cas’ neck and push him down on the bed beside him.
Cas blinks up at him, pupils blown and cheeks red, and Dean dives back in, hands scrambling at buttons and buckles, pausing to carefully undo the zipper pressing against Cas’ cock. Dean wants skin on skin, full-frontal nudity. He wants to press Cas into the sheets and fuck him, wants to take a nap and let Cas return the favor. There’s no time for that now, though, Sam due back any moment. They could have an hour, they could have fifteen minutes; Dean doesn’t know. So he adapts, makes do with what time they do have and slides down the bed to swallow Cas’ cock down.
Cas moans his name, hips jerking in surprise before Dean presses an arm across his hips and holds him down.
Cas is firm against Dean’s tongue, skin smooth and salty as Dean sucks and licks, bobs his head and wraps his free hand around the base as Cas’ hands grope at the sheets nearby, empty and reaching until they find Dean, smoothing through Dean’s sweat-slick hair before tightening and hanging on.
Dean sucks harder, hand moving easily with the aid of his own spit. It’s messy and it’s sticky and it’s as perfect as it can be with both of them mostly clothed.
Cas’ hips twitch beneath his forearm and Dean glances up over his rumpled shirt, his loose tie, to meet Cas’ fever-bright eyes. Cas licks his lips, his fingers tightening a fraction more, and Dean lets him go, moves his arm so he can reach his own dick, fist himself as Cas gasps his name and thrusts beneath him, Dean riding it out as Cas comes, shooting hot across his tongue.
Dean swallows what he can, laps up what he can’t, tongue sliding into the corners of his mouth for any he’s missed. Pressing his forehead against Cas' hip, Dean ignores the way Cas' belt digs a line into his skin and focuses instead on the feel of his own hand, Cas' taste sharp on his tongue. He jerks himself off against the bedspread and comes with Cas’ name on his lips and Cas’ hand a gentle pressure against his head.
They stay like that for some time, Dean catching his breath as he listens to Cas catch his. Cas’ fingers stroke just above his ear and Dean knows that he’ll start to fantasize about this as much as he ever did about the rest of it, Cas’ touch soothing and igniting him like no other.
When he feels like he has to, Dean sighs and pulls away. Cas lets him, hand trailing back to the bed. Dean’s hand is sticky with his own come and there’s a mess on the bedspread. He’ll have to change, toss the blanket in a corner. Hope Sam doesn’t comment on any of it.
He looks at Cas still lounging against the pillows. He looks relaxed for once, disheveled because he’s gotten some and not because he has no idea how to take care of himself. Dean smiles and shuffles further up beside him, Cas watching him the whole way as he leans into his space.
“Cas, don’t ever let anyone tell you your timing doesn’t rock,” Dean says. Cas blinks at him and smiles, lips curving gently upwards. This time when they kiss, Dean tastes them both.
Dean/Castiel
NC-17
1555
No spoilers. Just porn.
Cas doesn't knock. Dean gets caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar.
This is apparently what happens when I decide not to write porn. Whoops? Many thanks to
sdrohc_ratiug and ginnith.ETA: There is now a sequel, Backed Against the Wall.
Dean has the motel room to himself, Sam off at the library. Dean’s supposed to be doing his own research here. Instead, he’s…he’s…
He’s on his bed, propped against the wall, eyes closed as his hand works fast. He’s imagining what it would be like to have Cas’ hand on him or his hand on Cas, picturing Cas on his knees or spread on the bed, the hood of the Impala. Dean knows it’s wrong, so wrong to be imagining Castiel in every profane position Dean can come up with—and he can come up with a few—but that’s never stopped him before and it’s certainly not going to stop him now. Not when he’s got an empty room, plenty of lube, his own hand, and some time.
Dean ignores the tiny voice in the back of his mind that whispers, You shouldn’t. He thinks, Yes, yes I should, right back and pumps his cock, pushing his hips so it slides through the tight circle of his fist.
He’s reveling in it, biting his lip and moaning and it’s pretty fucking incredible even if it’s not quite enough, when he hears a small, breathy noise. Dean’s eyes pop open and Cas is there, right there, and Dean can’t help it, he groans and he’s coming, hard and fast and there’s no way he could hold on to any control at this point, not with Cas standing in the same room, eyes wide and cheeks flushed, while Dean’s got his hand on his dick.
There’s a moment, two, where Dean feels fucking fantastic. Then his brain catches up and, shit, Cas just walked—flew, popped, whatever—in on him jerking off and there is no way he didn’t notice the way Dean went off at the sight of him.
Dean shuts his eyes, lets his head drop back, and breathes deeply, considering his options. He could just play it off, say he was that close to begin with and the appearance of anyone wouldn’t have changed the outcome, but he has no idea how long Cas has been standing there at the end of the bed. If it was long enough, he would have heard Dean moaning his name.
Sighing, Dean lifts his head from where it’s fallen against the wall. He opens his eyes and looks for something to clean up with, afraid to acknowledge Cas any more yet. Just out of the corner of his eye, he can see Cas hovering awkwardly.
Dean swings his legs over the side of the bed, locating some napkins from the take-out he and Sam got the night before. He’s just cleaning up, wiping come off his hand when suddenly Cas is in his space, pushing him back against the pillows, breathing Dean’s name against his lips before taking them with his own and, holy shit, Cas is kissing him and it’s every bit as electrifying as Dean knew it would be.
“Dean,” Cas says against his mouth. “Dean, let me.” Cas pulls back, pulls away, and Dean would protest except Cas slides to his knees and begins to lap at Dean’s come-spattered belly where his shirt rode up. He begins to lick and suck and taste his skin, cleaning and caressing. Testing and exploring. Dean didn’t think he could get hard again so soon, but Cas is one hell of a motivator.
The way Dean’s body is twisted—one leg on the ground, the other bent just over the edge of the bed—isn’t the most comfortable in the world; his jeans, open enough to get his dick out, cut into his skin. But Cas’ fingers press into his hips and Cas’ mouth is hot and wet and everything Dean’s been fantasizing about for months and they could be on a fucking concrete slab in the freezing cold for all Dean cares. All that matters is that Cas is with him.
“Cas,” Dean groans, Cas’ tongue hot on the head of his cock. Dean can’t help but reach out, fingers threading through the hair behind Cas’ ear where it’s soft and wind-blown. Cas looks up at him, eyes dark and glittering, and Dean shudders, fingers tightening as his dick swells. “C’mere,” he pants, tugging at Cas.
Cas lets him, moves smoothly from his knees until he’s leaning over Dean, hands still pressed to Dean’s hips. Reaching out with his empty hand, Dean slides it into Cas’ hair and pulls him down, hands bracketing his face. He keeps Cas steady even as the rest of his balance gets thrown off, one hand leaving Dean’s hip to catch himself against the mattress.
Dean tastes himself on Cas’ tongue and moans as Cas opens for him without hesitation, mouth pliant above his own as he chases the last hints of himself from Cas’ mouth. When he pulls back, Cas is panting as hard as he is, lips red and shiny. He’s staring at Dean’s mouth like it holds the answers. Dean licks his lower lip and Cas’ eyes track the movement.
“Dean,” Cas says, eyes flickering up to Dean’s then back down to his lips. “I—That is, would you—”
“If you’re looking for permission, Cas, I pretty much gave that to you when you started starring in all my X-rated daydreams.”
This time it’s Cas’ tongue Dean watches slide across Cas’ lips. “Good,” Cas says. Dean’s not sure if he means the permission or the part where he’s got a starring pornographic role in Dean’s head. Dean doesn’t really care either way because Cas’ mouth is back on his, narrowing the world down until it’s just the two of them.
The kissing is good, it’s great, but the angle is awkward and the amount of naked skin between the two of them is pathetic. Dean’s hands slip from Cas’ face to his shoulders, down to his lapels until he’s got enough in hand to maneuver Cas, breaking contact long enough to breath hot against Cas’ neck and push him down on the bed beside him.
Cas blinks up at him, pupils blown and cheeks red, and Dean dives back in, hands scrambling at buttons and buckles, pausing to carefully undo the zipper pressing against Cas’ cock. Dean wants skin on skin, full-frontal nudity. He wants to press Cas into the sheets and fuck him, wants to take a nap and let Cas return the favor. There’s no time for that now, though, Sam due back any moment. They could have an hour, they could have fifteen minutes; Dean doesn’t know. So he adapts, makes do with what time they do have and slides down the bed to swallow Cas’ cock down.
Cas moans his name, hips jerking in surprise before Dean presses an arm across his hips and holds him down.
Cas is firm against Dean’s tongue, skin smooth and salty as Dean sucks and licks, bobs his head and wraps his free hand around the base as Cas’ hands grope at the sheets nearby, empty and reaching until they find Dean, smoothing through Dean’s sweat-slick hair before tightening and hanging on.
Dean sucks harder, hand moving easily with the aid of his own spit. It’s messy and it’s sticky and it’s as perfect as it can be with both of them mostly clothed.
Cas’ hips twitch beneath his forearm and Dean glances up over his rumpled shirt, his loose tie, to meet Cas’ fever-bright eyes. Cas licks his lips, his fingers tightening a fraction more, and Dean lets him go, moves his arm so he can reach his own dick, fist himself as Cas gasps his name and thrusts beneath him, Dean riding it out as Cas comes, shooting hot across his tongue.
Dean swallows what he can, laps up what he can’t, tongue sliding into the corners of his mouth for any he’s missed. Pressing his forehead against Cas' hip, Dean ignores the way Cas' belt digs a line into his skin and focuses instead on the feel of his own hand, Cas' taste sharp on his tongue. He jerks himself off against the bedspread and comes with Cas’ name on his lips and Cas’ hand a gentle pressure against his head.
They stay like that for some time, Dean catching his breath as he listens to Cas catch his. Cas’ fingers stroke just above his ear and Dean knows that he’ll start to fantasize about this as much as he ever did about the rest of it, Cas’ touch soothing and igniting him like no other.
When he feels like he has to, Dean sighs and pulls away. Cas lets him, hand trailing back to the bed. Dean’s hand is sticky with his own come and there’s a mess on the bedspread. He’ll have to change, toss the blanket in a corner. Hope Sam doesn’t comment on any of it.
He looks at Cas still lounging against the pillows. He looks relaxed for once, disheveled because he’s gotten some and not because he has no idea how to take care of himself. Dean smiles and shuffles further up beside him, Cas watching him the whole way as he leans into his space.
“Cas, don’t ever let anyone tell you your timing doesn’t rock,” Dean says. Cas blinks at him and smiles, lips curving gently upwards. This time when they kiss, Dean tastes them both.
