annundriel (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
annundriel) wrote2010-01-23 04:04 pm
annundriel) wrote2010-01-23 04:04 pm
SPN Fic: Before the Night Is Through, Dean/Castiel (NC-17)
Before the Night Is Through
Dean/Castiel
NC-17
3937
No spoilers. Follows Backed Against a Wall.
In which Dean and Cas make the most of a room to themselves.
I said there was a third one in the works! I just didn't expect it to take this long to write. Many thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ginnith and sdrohc_ratiug for all of their patience. Thanks also to mclachlan for giving this a quick read-through.
ETA: The next part can be found here: But Soon Again.
Dean shuts his phone and drops it on the table, opening the door before Cas has a chance to knock.
Rumpled and wind-blown, Cas’ lips quirk into what could almost be a smile. “Hello, De—”
Yanking him in by his tie, Cas stumbles over the threshold as Dean shuts the door behind him and shoves Cas against it, one hand still wrapped around the tie, while the other presses firmly against Cas’ chest. Beneath his palm, Dean can feel the increase of Cas’ heartbeat.
Closing the short distance between them, Dean kisses Cas like he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about since that first time more than a week ago.
Cas leans into it, meeting Dean halfway. His lips are hard against Dean’s as his hands grip Dean’s hips. Dean presses back, tongue sliding across Cas’ lips, looking for entrance and finding it.
Cas moans, letting Dean lead for a while before drawing back. His eyes shine and the corners of his mouth are soft when he says, “I am pleased to see you as well, Dean.”
Anyone else and Dean’s sure they’d be laughing at him. Cas just manages to look warm and inviting, already well-kissed.
“What can I say?” Dean shrugs, leaning forward to kiss to the corner of Cas’ jaw. “I—” missed you “—can’t keep my hands off you.”
Cas tilts his chin up to give Dean better access to his neck. “It has only been two days, Dean.”
Cas’ skin tastes like high-up places and the chill of almost-winter in the air, early morning and late night. Like something Dean’s coming to think of as indefinably Cas. It’s addicting—Cas is addicting—but Dean pulls himself away enough to murmur, “It felt longer to me.” He nips at Cas’ Adam’s apple, feels it bob as Cas swallows before he pulls back to look at him. Bracing his hands against the door on either side of Cas’ shoulders, he asks, “You saying you don’t want this?”
Cas swallows again and Dean feels Cas’ fingers flex on his hips. “No. I was simply making an observation.”
“Well,” Dean says. He grins and slips out of Cas’ grip, walking backward to the bed. “Why don’t you observe something over here.”
Cas’ eyes darken and he stalks forward. Dean feels his own blood quicken. When Cas is practically to Dean, he pauses and blinks, looking around the room as though he’s seeing it for the first time. “Where is Sam?” he asks finally, eyes returning to Dean.
“He got his own room,” Dean says, taking the few steps necessary to put them firmly within arm’s reach. “Wanted to give us some space. After, uh, last time.” Dean doesn’t blush at the memory of Sam’s knowing look when they’d gotten back to the room two nights ago. He doesn’t, but it’s close.
“That was…thoughtful of him.”
“Yeah, Sam’s a real martyr.”
Cas makes a sound that’s close to a laugh, more like a puff of air being released. Dean’s heard him make it once or twice before, almost always in response to something Dean’s said or done. Each one feels like a victory.
“I believe,” Cas begins, eyelashes dark smudges against the curve of his cheeks as he looks down at their feet, shiny black leather and worn cotton. “I believe last time”—he looks up and Dean feels those eyes slice right through him—“you said something about losing the clothes.” Cas pauses, taking in every aspect Dean’s body; it’s as good as a caress and Dean can feel himself responding. “I believe I would like that.”
It’s all Dean needs to hear. “Good.” Reaching forward, he loosens Cas’ tie and tugs it from around his neck with a soft swoosh. He tosses it somewhere over his shoulder and meets Cas’ amused gaze. “What?” he asks, grinning. “Been wanting to do that for a while.”
“Oh?” Cas says, mouth forming an ‘O’ that Dean can’t ignore, kissing Cas until his lips relax.
Dean slips two fingers between the buttons of Cas’ shirt; a brief, teasing caress across the warm skin hidden away there. “Mmmhmm. Among other things.” He fingers one of the buttons, quickly pressing a kiss against Cas’ mouth before he takes a step back.
It’s gratifying the way Cas leans into the empty space, clearly wanting to follow but holding his ground. For now anyway. Dean grins; he’s sure Cas’ patience will only last him so long in this situation. Cas was the one who couldn’t keep his hands—And mouth, fuck, his mouth—to himself after all.
Running his hands over the lapels of Cas’ trench coat, Dean says, “You do know you can take this off, right?”
This time it’s Cas who steps back, hands covering Dean’s briefly as he pulls himself away from Dean. Cas doesn’t answer, simply looks at him with his wide blue eyes and an honest to goodness smile on his face—not a big one, granted, but it’s there; genuine and happy and just a little secretive—and carefully removes his coat. Moving to the table near the window, he folds it over one of the chairs. His jacket follows.
It’s the slowest, least teasing, least revealing strip tease ever, but Dean can’t look away. He’s never seen Cas in anything less. Cas declined the shower last time, which was probably for the best, choosing instead to do…whatever it is he does to continue looking the way he always looks.
But now Cas is standing there in white shirtsleeves, watching Dean expectantly, and Dean can hardly believe that finally, finally, after all the fantasizing and getting up close and personal with his own hand, after the doubt and the wondering, the two way too brief encounters, they are actually here. This is really going to happen.
For all the world is out to fuck up his life, he really is the luckiest son of a bitch.
“Guess so,” he says, winking at Cas before he reaches up and over his own shoulders, dragging his t-shirts over his head in one smooth motion. He knows it looks good; he’s practiced.
Judging by the look on Cas’ face, he would agree.
“Cat got your tongue, Cas?” Dean asks, smirking as he plants himself in Cas’ personal space.
Cas blinks, eyes rising to meet Dean’s. There’s a slight flush to his cheeks. Brow furrowing, Cas licks his lips and says. “There is no cat, Dean.”
Rolling his eyes, Dean’s smirk softens. “No, I know. It’s an expre—”
Cas’ mouth on his is demanding, greedy. Dean revels in it, moaning in response to Cas’ own half-frustrated, half-aroused sigh. His lips slide open, tip of his tongue teasing against Dean’s as his hands reach for Dean’s hips. Dean wraps an arm around Cas’ shoulders, the other around his waist, and pulls Cas snug against him, licking into his open mouth and finding nothing but Cas there.
Sweet and heady, slow-burning want curling in the pit of Dean’s stomach, the kiss is firm without being hard, unhurried but insistent, full of promise. A light at the end of the tunnel. It’s nothing like what Dean used to fantasize about, but it’s perfect.
By the time they pull apart, they’re both breathless and Cas’ hands have migrated south to Dean’s ass, holding tight and keeping him in place. As if Dean’s going to go anywhere.
Dean leans his forehead against Cas’, tries to collect himself as Cas does the same. He can feel Cas hard against his own dick, wants nothing more than to just push Cas back a step or two and maybe have his way with him against the table. He could do just that. They do have all night. Except right now, that’s not what he wants. Not even close.
“Best thing you ever did, interrupting me that day,” he says, voice hushed between them, a secret that isn’t a secret at all.
Cas’ slowing breath stutters against Dean’s cheeks and Dean recognizes it as a laugh. “I raised you from Hell.”
Dean huffs a laugh of his own. “Okay. Second best.”
Cas draws back and looks at him like he’s crazy, except there’s something there, something behind his eyes that looks like he understands what Dean’s not saying. Dean can’t help but laugh, though, for real this time. He feels it bubble up and out of him. Cas watches it happen like it’s the best show on Earth.
Dean knows he can show him better.
“Come on,” he says, slipping out of Cas’ grip again, fingers finding the belt loops at each hip to tug him along. Dean walks backward until he feels the end of the bed against the back of his knees.
He stops there and Cas watches him with eyes dark and burning as Dean goes for the buttons on Cas’ shirt. It’s all he can do to stay focused, to force his fingers to work each small round piece through its corresponding hole, when bare skin is so close.
He gets it done, though, and soon Cas is as shirtless as he is, all pale, smooth skin and his for the taking. So he does, hands skimming over ribs and up Cas’ chest, fingers brushing over nipples as Cas shivers against him, skin tightening and muscles shifting. Licking his lips, Dean glances up from where he’s been brushing his thumb over one of Cas’ nipples to find Cas’ eyes half-shut, his mouth half-open, red and wet and inviting.
“You like that?” Dean asks, mouth pressed to the corner of Cas’, unable to say no to such an invitation. He feels a flicker of tongue, a brief twitch of lips before Cas answers, “Not enough,” and takes Dean’s mouth with his own.
They hit the mattress with a rush of air and a squeak of springs, Dean groaning as Cas lands solidly on top of him. He’s briefly stunned, breathless and aching until Cas releases his mouth and he realizes he really is breathless and aching in every good way he could possible be.
Cas noses at his cheek, mouth sliding wetly over his jaw, and Dean thinks, Fuck, there’s no way they won’t be marked up this time. He doesn’t care. He’s never shied away from letting people know exactly what he’s been up to; that’s not going to change now. He’s been wearing Castiel’s mark for a lot longer than they’ve been doing this.
“Cas,” he breathes, hands slipping down Cas’ sweat-slicked back, fingers flirting with the waistband of his pants. Cas hums in reply and Dean feels it deep in his own chest, like maybe it started there and is just now echoing back. “Cas. Still not naked.”
Lips and teeth and tongue move against his neck and Dean wonders if Cas even heard him, wonders if Cas even cares at this point. Dean certainly wouldn’t blame him, not when he’s got Cas on top of him, hot and throbbing with life and pent-up energy. He’s about ready to put any plans he might have had aside in favor of simply holding on to Cas and grinding into him when Cas moves away. He’s flushed and sweaty, pupils blown and lips swollen. He’s the most fucking beautiful thing Dean has ever seen and Dean wants him back immediately, moves his hands in an attempt to draw him back down. Cas resists, blinking down at him as his mouth curves wide and, fuck, Dean is probably single-handedly creating a sex fiend here. It shouldn’t be possible, not with an angel of the freakin’ Lord , but he’s pretty sure that’s what’s happening.
He doesn’t feel too bad about it, actually.
Except Cas is sitting back, levering himself away with hands on either side of Dean’s shoulders, pushing himself back until he’s seated right where Dean would want him, if only their pants weren’t in the way. Dean shifts his hips and feels Cas steady above him, knees bracketing his sides. He’s hot and he’s hard, but it’s not enough.
Dean shifts again and Cas’ eyes move up from where they’ve been dragging down Dean’s chest, fingers following in their wake.
“Well,” he says, once he has Cas’ attention, “like what you see?”
Cas’ hands pause, fingers tickling just shy of his nipples, and Cas simply looks at him. Dean feels himself start to blush—which shouldn’t be possible, not when the majority of his blood is currently elsewhere—and wishes Cas would just move already, wishes he’d kept his mouth shut because now Cas is looking at him, really looking at him, and there’s no way Dean can compete with all of the people and things Cas has seen in his very long existence.
“Dean.” Cas’ voice breaks into his thoughts. He rubs a thumb once over Dean’s nipple. “I have always liked what I see,” he says, hand slipping away to fit itself over the mark Cas left what feels like ages ago. “Even when you are stubborn.” He stops himself, looks amused. “No, perhaps especially when you are stubborn.” He squeezes Dean’s shoulder once. “That will not change.”
Dean looks up and believes him, reaches for Cas and pulls him down, kisses him soft and thorough until he’s got nothing left to give, until he feels raw and spread open, more naked than he’s ever been in his life and he’s still got his fucking pants on.
“Good,” he says, swallowing roughly, fingers tangling in Cas’ hair. “Now that we’ve got that cleared up…”
Cas’ lips twitch against his before he sits back, swinging to the side until he’s beside Dean only to nudge him farther up the bed. “You should remove these,” Cas says, one hand on the knee nearest him.
Dean grins at him, wide and toothy. “Yeah, you too.”
Cas stands, toeing off his shoes, and Dean inches backward until his head hits the pillows, bunching the bedspread down toward the end of the bed as he goes. Once he gets there, he flicks the button of his jeans open, pauses a moment to take a deep breath, and then carefully lowers the zipper over his dick, hissing at the welcome release of pressure. Biting his lip, Dean plants his feet against the rumpled sheets and lifts his hips, hooking his fingers beneath the waistbands of his jeans and underwear and pushing them past his dick and down his thighs. He drops back to the bed and lifts his legs, pulling his pants down until he can kick them off and to the floor, removing his socks along the way.
He can see Cas out of the corner of his eye, hands still at the fastening of his pants, watching with amusement.
“Hey,” Dean says, settling back against the pillows, “it gets the job done.”
He stretches a little, enjoys the pull in his muscles as well as the way Cas’ eyes follow the movement, and wraps a hand around his cock. “You just gonna stare all night, Cas? ‘Cause I had bigger plans than a little voyeuristic solo action.”
Cas licks his lips and Dean’s hand tightens reflexively around himself.
Dean watches him from his vantage point on the bed, watches as Cas unbuckles his belt then the button on his pants, as he lowers the zipper. Watches as he hooks his thumbs between clothing and skin and slips them down, stepping out of them as they pool on the floor, socks and all. Dean watches him and feels his pulse quicken and his mouth go dry. It may be his own cock he has in his hand, but it’s Cas’ that he wants.
“Cas,” he says, voice catching in his throat. “C’mere.”
Cas does, moving without hesitation, perching beside Dean on the bed. Dean reaches for him, hands open and wanting, but Cas wraps his own around Dean’s wrists and holds them to the bed. “Not yet, Dean,” he says, leaning over him, his lips a quick press against Dean’s own before he moves away.
Dean thinks about protesting, just barely, as Cas moves downward, lips trailing across Dean’s cheek, his jaw, down his neck and along his collarbone. By the time Cas gets to his chest, the only thing Dean’s thinking about is how happy he is that Cas has apparently developed an oral fixation. One specifically involving him. He only wishes Cas would hurry up a little. Sure they’ve got all night, but Dean’s been hard for a while and he’s only human.
He groans as Cas thumbs a nipple and traces the edge of a rib with his mouth, sliding toward Dean’s hip. Unconsciously, Dean’s fingers slip through Cas’ hair, and Cas glances up at him, pressing a deliberate kiss to the curve of Dean’s hip, like he’s saving his place.
“You stopped me before, Dean,” Cas says, looking up the plane of Dean’s stomach, over his chest. “Will you stop me now?”
No, hell no, Dean thinks. Never again. He’d only stopped him because he’d wanted so much for himself anyway. He tries to tell Cas that but can’t quite get his mouth to work, not when his vision is filled with Cas kneeling over him, mouth perfect, a breath away from his skin, inches from his cock.
It doesn’t matter. Cas just smirks at him, far more knowing than he should be, and lowers his mouth.
Dean’s gotten blowjobs before, ranging from inexperienced to damn near professional; he’s even had the beginning of one from an angel, but somehow none of that prepared him for Cas determinedly devoting all of his vast attention to him.
Cas licks and sucks, messy and sincere. In some still functioning part of Dean’s brain, he’s aware that Cas is experimenting, cataloguing every single one of Dean’s reactions, looking for what works best, what Dean likes most. Dean wants to tell him all of it works best, that he likes Cas most. He manages Fuck and Cas and So good, knows Cas gets it by the way his eyes are watching him, taking it all in.
As good as it is, though, as much as it’s beyond the things Dean’s been fantasizing about for longer than he’s ready to admit, it isn’t what he wants now.
“Cas,” he gasps, fingers sliding through his hair, tugging until Cas draws back, stroking Dean with curious, knowing hands. The tip of his tongue appears briefly, sweeping across the curve of his bottom lip. Dean groans at the sight and tugs Cas upward until they’re face to face, lined up like some pornographic connect-the-dots—one, two, three; mouths, hips, thighs—their dicks sliding together between them.
Dean rolls them until Cas is beneath him, pinned against the sheets, kisses him and tastes himself against Cas’ tongue and on Cas’ lips. “I really want to fuck you,” Dean says, in one of the moments when his mouth isn’t otherwise occupied.
Cas shifts restlessly beneath, body saying yes even before his mouth gets the chance to. “Yes,” Cas answers, fingers hard against Dean’s skin. “Yes.”
Kissing him quickly, Dean kneels between Cas’ thighs and stretches toward the nightstand and the lube and condoms he set there earlier, confident they would get here sooner or later. Looking at Cas lying against the sheets, cock hard and legs spread, Dean’s glad it’s sooner.
He flips open the cap on the lube and pours some on his fingers before he drops the bottle beside him, Cas watching with curiosity as he spreads it around, warming it against his skin.
Dean doesn’t ask Cas to trust him—every line of Cas’ body speaks volumes—as his slick fingers slide across Cas’ opening. Free hand wrapped around Cas’ cock, Dean strokes slowly as he carefully presses forward. He watches Cas’ face, looking for any sign that he should stop as he pauses to add more lube, another finger. But Cas looks rapt, eyes fluttering shut and hips stuttering as Dean presses deeper.
When he pulls back to work a third finger in, Cas stops him with a hand on his wrist. “Dean,” he says, voice rough. “That is enough.”
Dean swallows and nods, Cas letting him go so he can fumble with one of the condoms, fingers slipping on the foil. But then he’s got it open, focused on slipping it on himself until Cas reaches for him, hand slick with lube and tight around him. Cas meets his eye and winks at him and, fuck, that’s fucking it.
Growling low in his throat, Dean presses Cas back against the pillows, lining himself up and pushing forward until the head of his cock slips past the ring of muscle in Cas’ ass. He leans forward and kisses Cas, teeth knocking together. Cas groans beneath him, relaxing around him as Dean pushes forward. And then Dean’s there, inside him where it’s tight and hot, all the way to the hilt with nowhere else to go.
Dean pulls back until he’s almost completely out before thrusting forward again and again, Cas clutching at him as he works his hips like Dean’s the only thing keeping him grounded.
Cas kisses and clings and cries out when Dean gets the angle just right, skin flushed and sweaty and Dean hates that he might be making Cas more human every day, that he might be pulling him down into the muck with the rest of them, but he loves that he can get him dirty like this.
It doesn’t take long before Cas is gasping Dean’s name—hips moving against his, cock rubbing against Dean’s stomach—as he comes wetly between them.
Dean feels it from the inside, feels Cas tighten around him as he comes, and manages a few more thrusts before he’s coming, too, hips jerking against him.
Collapsing against him, face pressed against the curve of Cas’ neck, Dean rocks against Cas’ chest with each rise and fall of Cas’ slowing breath. He feels his own heartbeat tripping back to normal, his cock softening; feels the sweat cooling on his skin, Cas’ come cooling between their bodies. He knows that he should pull out, take care of the condom. Grab a towel from the bathroom and do some clean-up. Maybe he can persuade Cas into the shower this time…
That train of thought is derailed by Cas’ hand, gentle against his hair, Cas’ lips against his ear the whisper of a kiss. Dean resituates enough, cock slipping free in the process, to turn his head and meet Cas’ mouth with his own.
Cas looks completely blissed out when Dean props himself against his chest, hair messier than usual, lips kiss-bruised, cheeks pinking with stubble burn. His eyelids are heavy and Dean feels damn proud of himself for making an angel—for making Cas—look like that.
“So,” Dean says, feeling smug.
“Can we do that again?”
Dean grins down at him. “Sure,” he says. “We’ve got all night.”
“And the next night?”
Dean leans down to kiss him, enjoying the way Cas’ mouth moves soft and lazy against his. “I plan on doing this as often as possible,” he says once his mouth is free again.
Running a hand up Dean’s arm, Cas looks away briefly. When he looks back, there’s more color in his face than there was before and Dean would almost swear he was blushing. “Would you,” he begins, pausing before he continues. “Would you allow me to…fuck you?”
Hearing Cas say fuck, let alone ask to fuck him, is almost enough to get Dean hard again right there.
“Cas,” he says, face as serious as he can make it. “Give me an hour.”
Dean/Castiel
NC-17
3937
No spoilers. Follows Backed Against a Wall.
In which Dean and Cas make the most of a room to themselves.
I said there was a third one in the works! I just didn't expect it to take this long to write. Many thanks to
ginnith and sdrohc_ratiug for all of their patience. Thanks also to mclachlan for giving this a quick read-through.ETA: The next part can be found here: But Soon Again.
Dean shuts his phone and drops it on the table, opening the door before Cas has a chance to knock.
Rumpled and wind-blown, Cas’ lips quirk into what could almost be a smile. “Hello, De—”
Yanking him in by his tie, Cas stumbles over the threshold as Dean shuts the door behind him and shoves Cas against it, one hand still wrapped around the tie, while the other presses firmly against Cas’ chest. Beneath his palm, Dean can feel the increase of Cas’ heartbeat.
Closing the short distance between them, Dean kisses Cas like he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about since that first time more than a week ago.
Cas leans into it, meeting Dean halfway. His lips are hard against Dean’s as his hands grip Dean’s hips. Dean presses back, tongue sliding across Cas’ lips, looking for entrance and finding it.
Cas moans, letting Dean lead for a while before drawing back. His eyes shine and the corners of his mouth are soft when he says, “I am pleased to see you as well, Dean.”
Anyone else and Dean’s sure they’d be laughing at him. Cas just manages to look warm and inviting, already well-kissed.
“What can I say?” Dean shrugs, leaning forward to kiss to the corner of Cas’ jaw. “I—” missed you “—can’t keep my hands off you.”
Cas tilts his chin up to give Dean better access to his neck. “It has only been two days, Dean.”
Cas’ skin tastes like high-up places and the chill of almost-winter in the air, early morning and late night. Like something Dean’s coming to think of as indefinably Cas. It’s addicting—Cas is addicting—but Dean pulls himself away enough to murmur, “It felt longer to me.” He nips at Cas’ Adam’s apple, feels it bob as Cas swallows before he pulls back to look at him. Bracing his hands against the door on either side of Cas’ shoulders, he asks, “You saying you don’t want this?”
Cas swallows again and Dean feels Cas’ fingers flex on his hips. “No. I was simply making an observation.”
“Well,” Dean says. He grins and slips out of Cas’ grip, walking backward to the bed. “Why don’t you observe something over here.”
Cas’ eyes darken and he stalks forward. Dean feels his own blood quicken. When Cas is practically to Dean, he pauses and blinks, looking around the room as though he’s seeing it for the first time. “Where is Sam?” he asks finally, eyes returning to Dean.
“He got his own room,” Dean says, taking the few steps necessary to put them firmly within arm’s reach. “Wanted to give us some space. After, uh, last time.” Dean doesn’t blush at the memory of Sam’s knowing look when they’d gotten back to the room two nights ago. He doesn’t, but it’s close.
“That was…thoughtful of him.”
“Yeah, Sam’s a real martyr.”
Cas makes a sound that’s close to a laugh, more like a puff of air being released. Dean’s heard him make it once or twice before, almost always in response to something Dean’s said or done. Each one feels like a victory.
“I believe,” Cas begins, eyelashes dark smudges against the curve of his cheeks as he looks down at their feet, shiny black leather and worn cotton. “I believe last time”—he looks up and Dean feels those eyes slice right through him—“you said something about losing the clothes.” Cas pauses, taking in every aspect Dean’s body; it’s as good as a caress and Dean can feel himself responding. “I believe I would like that.”
It’s all Dean needs to hear. “Good.” Reaching forward, he loosens Cas’ tie and tugs it from around his neck with a soft swoosh. He tosses it somewhere over his shoulder and meets Cas’ amused gaze. “What?” he asks, grinning. “Been wanting to do that for a while.”
“Oh?” Cas says, mouth forming an ‘O’ that Dean can’t ignore, kissing Cas until his lips relax.
Dean slips two fingers between the buttons of Cas’ shirt; a brief, teasing caress across the warm skin hidden away there. “Mmmhmm. Among other things.” He fingers one of the buttons, quickly pressing a kiss against Cas’ mouth before he takes a step back.
It’s gratifying the way Cas leans into the empty space, clearly wanting to follow but holding his ground. For now anyway. Dean grins; he’s sure Cas’ patience will only last him so long in this situation. Cas was the one who couldn’t keep his hands—And mouth, fuck, his mouth—to himself after all.
Running his hands over the lapels of Cas’ trench coat, Dean says, “You do know you can take this off, right?”
This time it’s Cas who steps back, hands covering Dean’s briefly as he pulls himself away from Dean. Cas doesn’t answer, simply looks at him with his wide blue eyes and an honest to goodness smile on his face—not a big one, granted, but it’s there; genuine and happy and just a little secretive—and carefully removes his coat. Moving to the table near the window, he folds it over one of the chairs. His jacket follows.
It’s the slowest, least teasing, least revealing strip tease ever, but Dean can’t look away. He’s never seen Cas in anything less. Cas declined the shower last time, which was probably for the best, choosing instead to do…whatever it is he does to continue looking the way he always looks.
But now Cas is standing there in white shirtsleeves, watching Dean expectantly, and Dean can hardly believe that finally, finally, after all the fantasizing and getting up close and personal with his own hand, after the doubt and the wondering, the two way too brief encounters, they are actually here. This is really going to happen.
For all the world is out to fuck up his life, he really is the luckiest son of a bitch.
“Guess so,” he says, winking at Cas before he reaches up and over his own shoulders, dragging his t-shirts over his head in one smooth motion. He knows it looks good; he’s practiced.
Judging by the look on Cas’ face, he would agree.
“Cat got your tongue, Cas?” Dean asks, smirking as he plants himself in Cas’ personal space.
Cas blinks, eyes rising to meet Dean’s. There’s a slight flush to his cheeks. Brow furrowing, Cas licks his lips and says. “There is no cat, Dean.”
Rolling his eyes, Dean’s smirk softens. “No, I know. It’s an expre—”
Cas’ mouth on his is demanding, greedy. Dean revels in it, moaning in response to Cas’ own half-frustrated, half-aroused sigh. His lips slide open, tip of his tongue teasing against Dean’s as his hands reach for Dean’s hips. Dean wraps an arm around Cas’ shoulders, the other around his waist, and pulls Cas snug against him, licking into his open mouth and finding nothing but Cas there.
Sweet and heady, slow-burning want curling in the pit of Dean’s stomach, the kiss is firm without being hard, unhurried but insistent, full of promise. A light at the end of the tunnel. It’s nothing like what Dean used to fantasize about, but it’s perfect.
By the time they pull apart, they’re both breathless and Cas’ hands have migrated south to Dean’s ass, holding tight and keeping him in place. As if Dean’s going to go anywhere.
Dean leans his forehead against Cas’, tries to collect himself as Cas does the same. He can feel Cas hard against his own dick, wants nothing more than to just push Cas back a step or two and maybe have his way with him against the table. He could do just that. They do have all night. Except right now, that’s not what he wants. Not even close.
“Best thing you ever did, interrupting me that day,” he says, voice hushed between them, a secret that isn’t a secret at all.
Cas’ slowing breath stutters against Dean’s cheeks and Dean recognizes it as a laugh. “I raised you from Hell.”
Dean huffs a laugh of his own. “Okay. Second best.”
Cas draws back and looks at him like he’s crazy, except there’s something there, something behind his eyes that looks like he understands what Dean’s not saying. Dean can’t help but laugh, though, for real this time. He feels it bubble up and out of him. Cas watches it happen like it’s the best show on Earth.
Dean knows he can show him better.
“Come on,” he says, slipping out of Cas’ grip again, fingers finding the belt loops at each hip to tug him along. Dean walks backward until he feels the end of the bed against the back of his knees.
He stops there and Cas watches him with eyes dark and burning as Dean goes for the buttons on Cas’ shirt. It’s all he can do to stay focused, to force his fingers to work each small round piece through its corresponding hole, when bare skin is so close.
He gets it done, though, and soon Cas is as shirtless as he is, all pale, smooth skin and his for the taking. So he does, hands skimming over ribs and up Cas’ chest, fingers brushing over nipples as Cas shivers against him, skin tightening and muscles shifting. Licking his lips, Dean glances up from where he’s been brushing his thumb over one of Cas’ nipples to find Cas’ eyes half-shut, his mouth half-open, red and wet and inviting.
“You like that?” Dean asks, mouth pressed to the corner of Cas’, unable to say no to such an invitation. He feels a flicker of tongue, a brief twitch of lips before Cas answers, “Not enough,” and takes Dean’s mouth with his own.
They hit the mattress with a rush of air and a squeak of springs, Dean groaning as Cas lands solidly on top of him. He’s briefly stunned, breathless and aching until Cas releases his mouth and he realizes he really is breathless and aching in every good way he could possible be.
Cas noses at his cheek, mouth sliding wetly over his jaw, and Dean thinks, Fuck, there’s no way they won’t be marked up this time. He doesn’t care. He’s never shied away from letting people know exactly what he’s been up to; that’s not going to change now. He’s been wearing Castiel’s mark for a lot longer than they’ve been doing this.
“Cas,” he breathes, hands slipping down Cas’ sweat-slicked back, fingers flirting with the waistband of his pants. Cas hums in reply and Dean feels it deep in his own chest, like maybe it started there and is just now echoing back. “Cas. Still not naked.”
Lips and teeth and tongue move against his neck and Dean wonders if Cas even heard him, wonders if Cas even cares at this point. Dean certainly wouldn’t blame him, not when he’s got Cas on top of him, hot and throbbing with life and pent-up energy. He’s about ready to put any plans he might have had aside in favor of simply holding on to Cas and grinding into him when Cas moves away. He’s flushed and sweaty, pupils blown and lips swollen. He’s the most fucking beautiful thing Dean has ever seen and Dean wants him back immediately, moves his hands in an attempt to draw him back down. Cas resists, blinking down at him as his mouth curves wide and, fuck, Dean is probably single-handedly creating a sex fiend here. It shouldn’t be possible, not with an angel of the freakin’ Lord , but he’s pretty sure that’s what’s happening.
He doesn’t feel too bad about it, actually.
Except Cas is sitting back, levering himself away with hands on either side of Dean’s shoulders, pushing himself back until he’s seated right where Dean would want him, if only their pants weren’t in the way. Dean shifts his hips and feels Cas steady above him, knees bracketing his sides. He’s hot and he’s hard, but it’s not enough.
Dean shifts again and Cas’ eyes move up from where they’ve been dragging down Dean’s chest, fingers following in their wake.
“Well,” he says, once he has Cas’ attention, “like what you see?”
Cas’ hands pause, fingers tickling just shy of his nipples, and Cas simply looks at him. Dean feels himself start to blush—which shouldn’t be possible, not when the majority of his blood is currently elsewhere—and wishes Cas would just move already, wishes he’d kept his mouth shut because now Cas is looking at him, really looking at him, and there’s no way Dean can compete with all of the people and things Cas has seen in his very long existence.
“Dean.” Cas’ voice breaks into his thoughts. He rubs a thumb once over Dean’s nipple. “I have always liked what I see,” he says, hand slipping away to fit itself over the mark Cas left what feels like ages ago. “Even when you are stubborn.” He stops himself, looks amused. “No, perhaps especially when you are stubborn.” He squeezes Dean’s shoulder once. “That will not change.”
Dean looks up and believes him, reaches for Cas and pulls him down, kisses him soft and thorough until he’s got nothing left to give, until he feels raw and spread open, more naked than he’s ever been in his life and he’s still got his fucking pants on.
“Good,” he says, swallowing roughly, fingers tangling in Cas’ hair. “Now that we’ve got that cleared up…”
Cas’ lips twitch against his before he sits back, swinging to the side until he’s beside Dean only to nudge him farther up the bed. “You should remove these,” Cas says, one hand on the knee nearest him.
Dean grins at him, wide and toothy. “Yeah, you too.”
Cas stands, toeing off his shoes, and Dean inches backward until his head hits the pillows, bunching the bedspread down toward the end of the bed as he goes. Once he gets there, he flicks the button of his jeans open, pauses a moment to take a deep breath, and then carefully lowers the zipper over his dick, hissing at the welcome release of pressure. Biting his lip, Dean plants his feet against the rumpled sheets and lifts his hips, hooking his fingers beneath the waistbands of his jeans and underwear and pushing them past his dick and down his thighs. He drops back to the bed and lifts his legs, pulling his pants down until he can kick them off and to the floor, removing his socks along the way.
He can see Cas out of the corner of his eye, hands still at the fastening of his pants, watching with amusement.
“Hey,” Dean says, settling back against the pillows, “it gets the job done.”
He stretches a little, enjoys the pull in his muscles as well as the way Cas’ eyes follow the movement, and wraps a hand around his cock. “You just gonna stare all night, Cas? ‘Cause I had bigger plans than a little voyeuristic solo action.”
Cas licks his lips and Dean’s hand tightens reflexively around himself.
Dean watches him from his vantage point on the bed, watches as Cas unbuckles his belt then the button on his pants, as he lowers the zipper. Watches as he hooks his thumbs between clothing and skin and slips them down, stepping out of them as they pool on the floor, socks and all. Dean watches him and feels his pulse quicken and his mouth go dry. It may be his own cock he has in his hand, but it’s Cas’ that he wants.
“Cas,” he says, voice catching in his throat. “C’mere.”
Cas does, moving without hesitation, perching beside Dean on the bed. Dean reaches for him, hands open and wanting, but Cas wraps his own around Dean’s wrists and holds them to the bed. “Not yet, Dean,” he says, leaning over him, his lips a quick press against Dean’s own before he moves away.
Dean thinks about protesting, just barely, as Cas moves downward, lips trailing across Dean’s cheek, his jaw, down his neck and along his collarbone. By the time Cas gets to his chest, the only thing Dean’s thinking about is how happy he is that Cas has apparently developed an oral fixation. One specifically involving him. He only wishes Cas would hurry up a little. Sure they’ve got all night, but Dean’s been hard for a while and he’s only human.
He groans as Cas thumbs a nipple and traces the edge of a rib with his mouth, sliding toward Dean’s hip. Unconsciously, Dean’s fingers slip through Cas’ hair, and Cas glances up at him, pressing a deliberate kiss to the curve of Dean’s hip, like he’s saving his place.
“You stopped me before, Dean,” Cas says, looking up the plane of Dean’s stomach, over his chest. “Will you stop me now?”
No, hell no, Dean thinks. Never again. He’d only stopped him because he’d wanted so much for himself anyway. He tries to tell Cas that but can’t quite get his mouth to work, not when his vision is filled with Cas kneeling over him, mouth perfect, a breath away from his skin, inches from his cock.
It doesn’t matter. Cas just smirks at him, far more knowing than he should be, and lowers his mouth.
Dean’s gotten blowjobs before, ranging from inexperienced to damn near professional; he’s even had the beginning of one from an angel, but somehow none of that prepared him for Cas determinedly devoting all of his vast attention to him.
Cas licks and sucks, messy and sincere. In some still functioning part of Dean’s brain, he’s aware that Cas is experimenting, cataloguing every single one of Dean’s reactions, looking for what works best, what Dean likes most. Dean wants to tell him all of it works best, that he likes Cas most. He manages Fuck and Cas and So good, knows Cas gets it by the way his eyes are watching him, taking it all in.
As good as it is, though, as much as it’s beyond the things Dean’s been fantasizing about for longer than he’s ready to admit, it isn’t what he wants now.
“Cas,” he gasps, fingers sliding through his hair, tugging until Cas draws back, stroking Dean with curious, knowing hands. The tip of his tongue appears briefly, sweeping across the curve of his bottom lip. Dean groans at the sight and tugs Cas upward until they’re face to face, lined up like some pornographic connect-the-dots—one, two, three; mouths, hips, thighs—their dicks sliding together between them.
Dean rolls them until Cas is beneath him, pinned against the sheets, kisses him and tastes himself against Cas’ tongue and on Cas’ lips. “I really want to fuck you,” Dean says, in one of the moments when his mouth isn’t otherwise occupied.
Cas shifts restlessly beneath, body saying yes even before his mouth gets the chance to. “Yes,” Cas answers, fingers hard against Dean’s skin. “Yes.”
Kissing him quickly, Dean kneels between Cas’ thighs and stretches toward the nightstand and the lube and condoms he set there earlier, confident they would get here sooner or later. Looking at Cas lying against the sheets, cock hard and legs spread, Dean’s glad it’s sooner.
He flips open the cap on the lube and pours some on his fingers before he drops the bottle beside him, Cas watching with curiosity as he spreads it around, warming it against his skin.
Dean doesn’t ask Cas to trust him—every line of Cas’ body speaks volumes—as his slick fingers slide across Cas’ opening. Free hand wrapped around Cas’ cock, Dean strokes slowly as he carefully presses forward. He watches Cas’ face, looking for any sign that he should stop as he pauses to add more lube, another finger. But Cas looks rapt, eyes fluttering shut and hips stuttering as Dean presses deeper.
When he pulls back to work a third finger in, Cas stops him with a hand on his wrist. “Dean,” he says, voice rough. “That is enough.”
Dean swallows and nods, Cas letting him go so he can fumble with one of the condoms, fingers slipping on the foil. But then he’s got it open, focused on slipping it on himself until Cas reaches for him, hand slick with lube and tight around him. Cas meets his eye and winks at him and, fuck, that’s fucking it.
Growling low in his throat, Dean presses Cas back against the pillows, lining himself up and pushing forward until the head of his cock slips past the ring of muscle in Cas’ ass. He leans forward and kisses Cas, teeth knocking together. Cas groans beneath him, relaxing around him as Dean pushes forward. And then Dean’s there, inside him where it’s tight and hot, all the way to the hilt with nowhere else to go.
Dean pulls back until he’s almost completely out before thrusting forward again and again, Cas clutching at him as he works his hips like Dean’s the only thing keeping him grounded.
Cas kisses and clings and cries out when Dean gets the angle just right, skin flushed and sweaty and Dean hates that he might be making Cas more human every day, that he might be pulling him down into the muck with the rest of them, but he loves that he can get him dirty like this.
It doesn’t take long before Cas is gasping Dean’s name—hips moving against his, cock rubbing against Dean’s stomach—as he comes wetly between them.
Dean feels it from the inside, feels Cas tighten around him as he comes, and manages a few more thrusts before he’s coming, too, hips jerking against him.
Collapsing against him, face pressed against the curve of Cas’ neck, Dean rocks against Cas’ chest with each rise and fall of Cas’ slowing breath. He feels his own heartbeat tripping back to normal, his cock softening; feels the sweat cooling on his skin, Cas’ come cooling between their bodies. He knows that he should pull out, take care of the condom. Grab a towel from the bathroom and do some clean-up. Maybe he can persuade Cas into the shower this time…
That train of thought is derailed by Cas’ hand, gentle against his hair, Cas’ lips against his ear the whisper of a kiss. Dean resituates enough, cock slipping free in the process, to turn his head and meet Cas’ mouth with his own.
Cas looks completely blissed out when Dean props himself against his chest, hair messier than usual, lips kiss-bruised, cheeks pinking with stubble burn. His eyelids are heavy and Dean feels damn proud of himself for making an angel—for making Cas—look like that.
“So,” Dean says, feeling smug.
“Can we do that again?”
Dean grins down at him. “Sure,” he says. “We’ve got all night.”
“And the next night?”
Dean leans down to kiss him, enjoying the way Cas’ mouth moves soft and lazy against his. “I plan on doing this as often as possible,” he says once his mouth is free again.
Running a hand up Dean’s arm, Cas looks away briefly. When he looks back, there’s more color in his face than there was before and Dean would almost swear he was blushing. “Would you,” he begins, pausing before he continues. “Would you allow me to…fuck you?”
Hearing Cas say fuck, let alone ask to fuck him, is almost enough to get Dean hard again right there.
“Cas,” he says, face as serious as he can make it. “Give me an hour.”