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annundrielBacked Against a Wall
Dean/Castiel
R
2317
No spoilers. Follows Busted.
Dean had gotten a brief taste of Cas and he had wanted so much more. He wants so much more.
I had a lot of fun writing Busted. And then someone said it was too bad Sam had to come back so soon and I thought, "It really is! Why did I do that?" And then this fic happened. Many thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sdrohc_ratiug and ginnith.
There is a third part in the works. ETA: And can now be found here, Before the Night Is Through.
Dean really wants to do it again. Every time he sees Cas, it’s all he can do to keep his hands to himself. It’s frustrating and distracting.
What’s even more frustrating is how Cas doesn’t seem effected much at all. He’s as focused as he ever is, something that takes on new meaning now that Dean’s had that focus, well, focused on himself in a way that wasn’t just Cas standing too close or staring too long.
That hasn’t changed either. It’s been a week and while Dean feels jittery and anxious, his palms itching for skin as he kicks himself for not hanging the “Do Not Disturb” sign from the door and making Sam wait it out, Cas just keeps on keeping on. He’s all business partner or buddy when Sam’s around and when they’re alone.
On the one hand, Dean’s grateful for that, he is. It keeps things from getting too awkward. Which, oh boy, could they ever. On the other hand, it’s really starting to piss him off. After all of those sessions in the shower or alone in the room with nothing but a vivid imagination and his own hands, someone or something had taken pity on him and given him Cas.
And it had been good, even if it was quick. Dean had gotten a brief taste of Cas and he had wanted so much more. He wants so much more.
The problem now is that he’s not sure Cas wants more. He’d certainly been eager.
Dean smirks to himself. Yeah, Dean thinks, definitely eager.
The smirk shrinks. There’s been no sign since. It leaves Dean feeling confused and rejected. He hates that.
Until one day Dean looks up from the magazine he’s been flipping through to find Cas’ eyes on him. This isn’t exactly new behavior, but there’s something in Cas’ face that makes Dean pause, reevaluate the situation.
He has to admit Bobby’s right, he’s kind of an idiot.
It’s not like Cas has done this before. He’s an angel; he’s got better things to do. Just because Cas hasn’t pushed him against a wall somewhere and said, “Fuck me, Dean,”—and Dean has to suppress a shiver at that thought—doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to.
Taking a chance, Dean drops his feet from the table and stands, tossing his magazine down in their place. “Hey, Cas. Come grab a soda with me.”
Cas’ eyes widen and he swallows visibly, standing a little too quickly. Oh yeah, Dean thinks, he’s got Cas pegged. And then he thinks about how he’d like to get Cas pegged.
Dean grabs his jacket and shrugs it on, Cas meeting him at the door. Dean looks over Cas’ shoulder to Sam lounging with his laptop on his bed. “You want anything?” he calls.
“Nah,” Sam says. “I’m good. You kids have fun.” He doesn’t look up from his computer, but Dean can tell he’s smirking. He’s about to say something totally clever, but he darts a glance at Cas and everything in his brain that doesn’t have to do with how blue Cas’ eyes are or how full his lips look completely disappears. Dean swallows and licks his lips and Cas’ eyes track the movement, wide and wanting and, yeah, Dean is the biggest fucking moron.
Reaching behind him, he fumbles the door open, Cas following him out into the cool night air.
Dean leads him around the corner of the building to the alcove where the vending machines are located. Neither of them speak and once they’re out of the open, Dean turns to Cas and pauses, a stab of uncertainty hitting him at the look he catches on Cas’ face. He looks nervous. If Cas were one to fidget, Dean thinks he’d probably be doing just that.
He’s reminded abruptly of the night before their confrontation with Raphael, the way Cas had become uncharacteristically jumpy as soon as Dean mentioned sex. It’s something else to think about.
Dean opens and closes his mouth once or twice, trying to find something to say that isn’t completely stupid or skeazy. He knows what happened between them was kind of a big deal; Cas isn’t just some body he picked up in a bar by the side of the highway, he’s…unique. And as much as Dean wants to act out every fantasy he’s ever had that included Cas, he doesn’t want to actually fuck this up.
So he snaps his mouth shut and turns to the soda machine, putting in money and pressing buttons until a root beer falls out. He takes the cold can and pops the tab, turning around to hand it to Cas.
Taking it without question, Cas looks at the can curiously.
“Just try it, Cas,” Dean says, already inserting more money for another. He takes a healthy swig before turning to look at Cas, who looks slightly surprised by the way the carbonated beverage fills up his mouth. Dean grins. “So? What’s the verdict?”
Cas swallows with an audible gulp and Dean wonders briefly if angels get hiccups. “It is very…sweet,” Cas seems to settle on. “Fizzy.”
Dean takes another gulp of his own; it’s already half-gone. “Yeah,” he says. “Sam could probably explain to you why, if you’re interested.”
“I am not,” Cas says, eyes not leaving Dean’s face. He raises the can to his lips and takes a drink, following Dean’s lead and gulping it.
Dean wonders what the hell he’s doing, drinking root beer with Cas outside of some crappy motel when they could be doing anything—anything—else. He’s just not sure how to get there.
It doesn’t take long for them to finish their drinks, but that only leaves them standing awkwardly across from each other like they’ve only just met. Like they haven’t saved each other’s asses over and over or confided in each other. Like Cas didn’t lick come off of Dean’s skin and Dean never had Cas’ dick in his mouth.
Dean hates how ridiculous he feels. “Did you like it?” he asks, finally breaking the silence.
Cas glances down at the empty can in his hand, then back up at Dean. “Yes,” he says. “It was different, but I enjoyed it.”
There’s something about the way he says it, the shape of his mouth and the glint in his eyes that makes Dean think that maybe Cas isn’t just talking about the root beer. “Good,” Dean says, nodding, looking down at his feet and back up at Cas. “That’s good.”
“Yes,” Cas says, crowding Dean against the wall beside the soda machine. “It is.”
Dean can’t help the nervous laugh that escapes, he really can’t. “Dude, we’ve talked about personal spa—”
Cas’ mouth is hot on his, insistent, and Dean goes with it. The hum of the vending machines almost masks the soft sound of relief Cas makes when Dean kisses him back, sorry for the nerves, the confusion. This is what he wanted, why he asked Cas to come out with him. He’d just been letting his brain get in the way.
Dean groans when he feels Cas’ tongue brush against his lips, their suddenly free hands coming up to pull each other closer. Somewhere far away he hears the clatter of cans as they hit the cement.
Cas doesn’t taste like anything now except too sweet syrup and carbonation and it’s good, it is, but Dean wants to taste Cas, wants nothing between them, but them. So he applies himself to kissing all the sugar away until there’s nothing left on Cas’ lips, in Cas’ mouth, but Cas and Dean himself.
Cas is eager against him, which should not be a surprise given how quickly he’d been at Dean’s skin the last time, but it makes Dean’s blood boil anyway, makes him grow hard in the confines of his jeans. Cas is always so deliberate, it’s amazing to feel him lose a little control.
When Dean pulls back to breathe, putting more of his weight against the wall behind him, he pulls Cas with him, hands firm on Cas’ hips, tucked beneath his outer layers. Cas hand’s clutch at him, breath coming fast. “I have thought about this, Dean,” he says and Dean feels desire spark hot through him at the way Cas’ voice catches on his name.
“Yeah?” he asks, corners of his mouth tipping into a grin. He leans forward, nose brushing against Cas’ cheek, lips brushing against the line of his jaw until he can press a kiss to the corner of it, right under Cas’ ear. His breath reflects off Cas’ skin and Cas shudders against him, fingers gripping tighter.
“Yes.”
Dean can’t help but grin against Cas’ neck at how wrecked Cas sounds just from this, just from some well-executed—if Dean does say so himself—kissing. They’re still wearing all of their ridiculous layers of clothing, for fuck’s sake. Not that Dean’s plan was ever to strip him in the parking lot. But even with all of that in the way, Dean’s pretty sure he can feel Cas hard against his hip. It reminds him that he’s had his hand wrapped around Cas, had him in his mouth, tasted him as he came. Dean’s grin slips away as he shudders against Cas in return.
“Naughty angel,” Dean says, slipping his head back so he can find Cas’ mouth again, slipping his tongue inside to meet Cas’. Dean pulls Cas to him until the only thing keeping them apart is their clothing. When Cas slides a knee between Dean’s thighs, Dean knows nothing but the slick, wet press of Cas’ mouth on his and the weight of him holding Dean steady.
Dean thrusts against him, groaning as Cas’ thrusts back. Fingers pressing into Cas’ hips, Dean holds on. Anyone else and he thinks he’d be leaving bruises. But Cas is so much more than he appears to be and Dean doesn’t have to be careful.
They get a rhythm going—a sweet, harsh, perfect push and pull—and it’s so easy, it’s so fucking easy that Dean doesn’t know why the hell he had any problem getting Cas alone in the first place. Why he almost pussied out and stuck with root beer and nervous small talk. Because this? Cas moving against him, squirming and panting, hands everywhere, breathing Dean’s name in his ear when their mouths aren’t otherwise occupied…This is glorious and Dean’s not ever going to give it up.
Except.
“Next time,” Dean pants against Cas’ lips, hands sliding around to grip his ass. “Next time we’re losing the clothes.”
Cas licks his lips, Dean close enough to feel the movement, the quick brush of tongue. “Yes,” Cas answers, breathless. His hands palm Dean’s sides, slip beneath Dean’s shirts to find skin. “I believe I would like that.”
“Oh, yeah. You’ll definitely like it.” Dean dives back in, following Cas’ tongue, chasing the moan Cas makes at the back of his throat. Cas’ hips push against him again and again, grinding until he’s shuddering, pulling away and tucking his face against the curve of Dean’s neck, breathing Dean’s name as he comes.
One hand on his ass, the other moving up his back to settle between his shoulders, Dean holds Cas to him, supports him as he slumps forward. He welcomes the weight, the trust, thrusts against Cas until he’s coming, too, voice rough and breath sharp.
They remain like that for some time, blood slowing and bodies settling. Dean loosens his grip to stroke his hands over Cas’ back, Cas stroking his sides in response. Dean thinks he should probably care that he just came in his pants, but he doesn’t. It’s not like he was going to put a stop to it. Besides, what’s a little discomfort afterward to the fun of getting there?
When their breathing has gone back to normal and Dean’s really starting to register the chill of the air on his sweaty skin, Cas pulls away, just far enough to meet Dean’s eyes. Cas’ mouth is red and his hair is a mess. There’s pink in his cheeks and Dean thinks he might see some stubble burn. He wonders what his own face looks like, is sure it probably reads like a really dirty letter in one of his skin mags.
Cas stares at him for a moment. “Next time, Dean?” he asks.
Dean smiles at him, feeling gentle and happy and warm despite the night air. “Yeah, Cas. Next time.”
Because there’s definitely going to be a next time. This is too good and life is too short for there not to be.
Right now, though, they’re going to have to go back to the motel room. It’ll be awkward, Dean’s sure. If Sam doesn’t know what they got up to, he’ll sell the Impala. Actually, Sam knowing might make it better, help smooth the way for whatever this new thing between him and Cas is. Either that or he’ll tease the hell out of Dean and Dean will be forced to put Nair in his shampoo again.
As much fun as the Nair might be, Dean hopes Sam decides to play nice. This is already going to be strange, he can feel it.
But, oh, it’ll be worth it.
Dean leans forward and presses a quick kiss to Cas’ lips before letting him go. Cas steps away and Dean regrets the loss of contact almost immediately. Instead of giving in to the impulse to reel Cas back in, Dean bends down and grabs their discarded cans, drops them in a nearby trashcan. Cas watches him the whole time, head tilted and face fond. Wondering. Dean blushes.
“Come on,” he says, wrapping an arm around Cas’ shoulders and pulling him along. A thought occurs to him and he looks sideways at Cas and grins, gets a smile in response. “You ever shower before, Cas?”
Dean/Castiel
R
2317
No spoilers. Follows Busted.
Dean had gotten a brief taste of Cas and he had wanted so much more. He wants so much more.
I had a lot of fun writing Busted. And then someone said it was too bad Sam had to come back so soon and I thought, "It really is! Why did I do that?" And then this fic happened. Many thanks to
sdrohc_ratiug and ginnith.There is a third part in the works. ETA: And can now be found here, Before the Night Is Through.
Dean really wants to do it again. Every time he sees Cas, it’s all he can do to keep his hands to himself. It’s frustrating and distracting.
What’s even more frustrating is how Cas doesn’t seem effected much at all. He’s as focused as he ever is, something that takes on new meaning now that Dean’s had that focus, well, focused on himself in a way that wasn’t just Cas standing too close or staring too long.
That hasn’t changed either. It’s been a week and while Dean feels jittery and anxious, his palms itching for skin as he kicks himself for not hanging the “Do Not Disturb” sign from the door and making Sam wait it out, Cas just keeps on keeping on. He’s all business partner or buddy when Sam’s around and when they’re alone.
On the one hand, Dean’s grateful for that, he is. It keeps things from getting too awkward. Which, oh boy, could they ever. On the other hand, it’s really starting to piss him off. After all of those sessions in the shower or alone in the room with nothing but a vivid imagination and his own hands, someone or something had taken pity on him and given him Cas.
And it had been good, even if it was quick. Dean had gotten a brief taste of Cas and he had wanted so much more. He wants so much more.
The problem now is that he’s not sure Cas wants more. He’d certainly been eager.
Dean smirks to himself. Yeah, Dean thinks, definitely eager.
The smirk shrinks. There’s been no sign since. It leaves Dean feeling confused and rejected. He hates that.
Until one day Dean looks up from the magazine he’s been flipping through to find Cas’ eyes on him. This isn’t exactly new behavior, but there’s something in Cas’ face that makes Dean pause, reevaluate the situation.
He has to admit Bobby’s right, he’s kind of an idiot.
It’s not like Cas has done this before. He’s an angel; he’s got better things to do. Just because Cas hasn’t pushed him against a wall somewhere and said, “Fuck me, Dean,”—and Dean has to suppress a shiver at that thought—doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to.
Taking a chance, Dean drops his feet from the table and stands, tossing his magazine down in their place. “Hey, Cas. Come grab a soda with me.”
Cas’ eyes widen and he swallows visibly, standing a little too quickly. Oh yeah, Dean thinks, he’s got Cas pegged. And then he thinks about how he’d like to get Cas pegged.
Dean grabs his jacket and shrugs it on, Cas meeting him at the door. Dean looks over Cas’ shoulder to Sam lounging with his laptop on his bed. “You want anything?” he calls.
“Nah,” Sam says. “I’m good. You kids have fun.” He doesn’t look up from his computer, but Dean can tell he’s smirking. He’s about to say something totally clever, but he darts a glance at Cas and everything in his brain that doesn’t have to do with how blue Cas’ eyes are or how full his lips look completely disappears. Dean swallows and licks his lips and Cas’ eyes track the movement, wide and wanting and, yeah, Dean is the biggest fucking moron.
Reaching behind him, he fumbles the door open, Cas following him out into the cool night air.
Dean leads him around the corner of the building to the alcove where the vending machines are located. Neither of them speak and once they’re out of the open, Dean turns to Cas and pauses, a stab of uncertainty hitting him at the look he catches on Cas’ face. He looks nervous. If Cas were one to fidget, Dean thinks he’d probably be doing just that.
He’s reminded abruptly of the night before their confrontation with Raphael, the way Cas had become uncharacteristically jumpy as soon as Dean mentioned sex. It’s something else to think about.
Dean opens and closes his mouth once or twice, trying to find something to say that isn’t completely stupid or skeazy. He knows what happened between them was kind of a big deal; Cas isn’t just some body he picked up in a bar by the side of the highway, he’s…unique. And as much as Dean wants to act out every fantasy he’s ever had that included Cas, he doesn’t want to actually fuck this up.
So he snaps his mouth shut and turns to the soda machine, putting in money and pressing buttons until a root beer falls out. He takes the cold can and pops the tab, turning around to hand it to Cas.
Taking it without question, Cas looks at the can curiously.
“Just try it, Cas,” Dean says, already inserting more money for another. He takes a healthy swig before turning to look at Cas, who looks slightly surprised by the way the carbonated beverage fills up his mouth. Dean grins. “So? What’s the verdict?”
Cas swallows with an audible gulp and Dean wonders briefly if angels get hiccups. “It is very…sweet,” Cas seems to settle on. “Fizzy.”
Dean takes another gulp of his own; it’s already half-gone. “Yeah,” he says. “Sam could probably explain to you why, if you’re interested.”
“I am not,” Cas says, eyes not leaving Dean’s face. He raises the can to his lips and takes a drink, following Dean’s lead and gulping it.
Dean wonders what the hell he’s doing, drinking root beer with Cas outside of some crappy motel when they could be doing anything—anything—else. He’s just not sure how to get there.
It doesn’t take long for them to finish their drinks, but that only leaves them standing awkwardly across from each other like they’ve only just met. Like they haven’t saved each other’s asses over and over or confided in each other. Like Cas didn’t lick come off of Dean’s skin and Dean never had Cas’ dick in his mouth.
Dean hates how ridiculous he feels. “Did you like it?” he asks, finally breaking the silence.
Cas glances down at the empty can in his hand, then back up at Dean. “Yes,” he says. “It was different, but I enjoyed it.”
There’s something about the way he says it, the shape of his mouth and the glint in his eyes that makes Dean think that maybe Cas isn’t just talking about the root beer. “Good,” Dean says, nodding, looking down at his feet and back up at Cas. “That’s good.”
“Yes,” Cas says, crowding Dean against the wall beside the soda machine. “It is.”
Dean can’t help the nervous laugh that escapes, he really can’t. “Dude, we’ve talked about personal spa—”
Cas’ mouth is hot on his, insistent, and Dean goes with it. The hum of the vending machines almost masks the soft sound of relief Cas makes when Dean kisses him back, sorry for the nerves, the confusion. This is what he wanted, why he asked Cas to come out with him. He’d just been letting his brain get in the way.
Dean groans when he feels Cas’ tongue brush against his lips, their suddenly free hands coming up to pull each other closer. Somewhere far away he hears the clatter of cans as they hit the cement.
Cas doesn’t taste like anything now except too sweet syrup and carbonation and it’s good, it is, but Dean wants to taste Cas, wants nothing between them, but them. So he applies himself to kissing all the sugar away until there’s nothing left on Cas’ lips, in Cas’ mouth, but Cas and Dean himself.
Cas is eager against him, which should not be a surprise given how quickly he’d been at Dean’s skin the last time, but it makes Dean’s blood boil anyway, makes him grow hard in the confines of his jeans. Cas is always so deliberate, it’s amazing to feel him lose a little control.
When Dean pulls back to breathe, putting more of his weight against the wall behind him, he pulls Cas with him, hands firm on Cas’ hips, tucked beneath his outer layers. Cas hand’s clutch at him, breath coming fast. “I have thought about this, Dean,” he says and Dean feels desire spark hot through him at the way Cas’ voice catches on his name.
“Yeah?” he asks, corners of his mouth tipping into a grin. He leans forward, nose brushing against Cas’ cheek, lips brushing against the line of his jaw until he can press a kiss to the corner of it, right under Cas’ ear. His breath reflects off Cas’ skin and Cas shudders against him, fingers gripping tighter.
“Yes.”
Dean can’t help but grin against Cas’ neck at how wrecked Cas sounds just from this, just from some well-executed—if Dean does say so himself—kissing. They’re still wearing all of their ridiculous layers of clothing, for fuck’s sake. Not that Dean’s plan was ever to strip him in the parking lot. But even with all of that in the way, Dean’s pretty sure he can feel Cas hard against his hip. It reminds him that he’s had his hand wrapped around Cas, had him in his mouth, tasted him as he came. Dean’s grin slips away as he shudders against Cas in return.
“Naughty angel,” Dean says, slipping his head back so he can find Cas’ mouth again, slipping his tongue inside to meet Cas’. Dean pulls Cas to him until the only thing keeping them apart is their clothing. When Cas slides a knee between Dean’s thighs, Dean knows nothing but the slick, wet press of Cas’ mouth on his and the weight of him holding Dean steady.
Dean thrusts against him, groaning as Cas’ thrusts back. Fingers pressing into Cas’ hips, Dean holds on. Anyone else and he thinks he’d be leaving bruises. But Cas is so much more than he appears to be and Dean doesn’t have to be careful.
They get a rhythm going—a sweet, harsh, perfect push and pull—and it’s so easy, it’s so fucking easy that Dean doesn’t know why the hell he had any problem getting Cas alone in the first place. Why he almost pussied out and stuck with root beer and nervous small talk. Because this? Cas moving against him, squirming and panting, hands everywhere, breathing Dean’s name in his ear when their mouths aren’t otherwise occupied…This is glorious and Dean’s not ever going to give it up.
Except.
“Next time,” Dean pants against Cas’ lips, hands sliding around to grip his ass. “Next time we’re losing the clothes.”
Cas licks his lips, Dean close enough to feel the movement, the quick brush of tongue. “Yes,” Cas answers, breathless. His hands palm Dean’s sides, slip beneath Dean’s shirts to find skin. “I believe I would like that.”
“Oh, yeah. You’ll definitely like it.” Dean dives back in, following Cas’ tongue, chasing the moan Cas makes at the back of his throat. Cas’ hips push against him again and again, grinding until he’s shuddering, pulling away and tucking his face against the curve of Dean’s neck, breathing Dean’s name as he comes.
One hand on his ass, the other moving up his back to settle between his shoulders, Dean holds Cas to him, supports him as he slumps forward. He welcomes the weight, the trust, thrusts against Cas until he’s coming, too, voice rough and breath sharp.
They remain like that for some time, blood slowing and bodies settling. Dean loosens his grip to stroke his hands over Cas’ back, Cas stroking his sides in response. Dean thinks he should probably care that he just came in his pants, but he doesn’t. It’s not like he was going to put a stop to it. Besides, what’s a little discomfort afterward to the fun of getting there?
When their breathing has gone back to normal and Dean’s really starting to register the chill of the air on his sweaty skin, Cas pulls away, just far enough to meet Dean’s eyes. Cas’ mouth is red and his hair is a mess. There’s pink in his cheeks and Dean thinks he might see some stubble burn. He wonders what his own face looks like, is sure it probably reads like a really dirty letter in one of his skin mags.
Cas stares at him for a moment. “Next time, Dean?” he asks.
Dean smiles at him, feeling gentle and happy and warm despite the night air. “Yeah, Cas. Next time.”
Because there’s definitely going to be a next time. This is too good and life is too short for there not to be.
Right now, though, they’re going to have to go back to the motel room. It’ll be awkward, Dean’s sure. If Sam doesn’t know what they got up to, he’ll sell the Impala. Actually, Sam knowing might make it better, help smooth the way for whatever this new thing between him and Cas is. Either that or he’ll tease the hell out of Dean and Dean will be forced to put Nair in his shampoo again.
As much fun as the Nair might be, Dean hopes Sam decides to play nice. This is already going to be strange, he can feel it.
But, oh, it’ll be worth it.
Dean leans forward and presses a quick kiss to Cas’ lips before letting him go. Cas steps away and Dean regrets the loss of contact almost immediately. Instead of giving in to the impulse to reel Cas back in, Dean bends down and grabs their discarded cans, drops them in a nearby trashcan. Cas watches him the whole time, head tilted and face fond. Wondering. Dean blushes.
“Come on,” he says, wrapping an arm around Cas’ shoulders and pulling him along. A thought occurs to him and he looks sideways at Cas and grins, gets a smile in response. “You ever shower before, Cas?”
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Date: 2009-12-12 12:23 am (UTC)Thank you!