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annundrielBut Soon Again
Dean/Castiel
NC-17
1889
No spoilers. Follows Before the Night Is Through.
Dean asked Cas to give him an hour.
I'm starting to think of this as my AWA series: Apocalypse, What Apocalypse? Many thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ginnith. Title from the song, "It's Oh So Quiet."
ETA: The next part can be found here: Bath and Body.
They stay pressed together, side by side, trading slow, easy kisses between them. It’s as good as anything else they’ve done; a steady, low level of arousal holding through Dean the whole time. He’s not sure if it’s all him or Cas’ influence on him. Or maybe the whole newness of both of them together. It’s been so long since he’s had this; it’s difficult for Dean to tell.
Even before, it wasn’t the same. Sure, he’s had plenty of people to share a bed—a bathroom stall, the backseat of the Impala, an alley—with, but none of that is this. None of it is Cas warm and pliant against him, curious and eager and willing. Those previous people, most of them anyway, had been more about sex, about a hard tumble and a quick release, less about…feelings.
Dean’s starting to realize how much this is about both.
For the first time in a long time, Dean feels perfectly safe, comfortable and happy. His limbs feel heavy and for now all he really wants to do is sink into the bed, content with the knowledge that Cas is right there with him, sated and drifting.
Dean dozes off between kisses, Cas a quiet, steady presence beside him. He wakes up on his stomach, arms tucked under his pillow, face turned toward the nightstand. The lamp is switched to its lowest setting, but it’s still enough to make Dean blink and squint. He turns his face into the pillow and feels something brush against his shoulder.
Turning toward it, Dean finds Cas still beside him, sex-mussed and pillow-creased even though Dean would bet a month’s supply of rock salt Cas hasn’t been sleeping; he doesn’t need to.
Dean glances at the clock on the nightstand. “You could’ve woken me, Cas. I only said an hour.”
Cas’ fingers don’t pause in their exploration, moving across muscle and down the dip of Dean’s spine. “You needed rest,” he says, eyes never leaving the path his fingers take. His touch isn’t quite soft enough to tickle, but it gives Dean goose bumps, makes him shiver against the sheets. His dick starts to respond, hardening in anticipation.
Dean watches Cas from the comfort of his pillow, vision slightly skewed by the way his face is pressed against it. Cas is propped up on one elbow, hair crazier than usual—which is saying something—and Dean really has no idea how he’s going to get any actual work done now that he and Cas—they—have this.
“Mmm,” Dean hums as Cas’ fingers slip farther down, pushing at the edge of the sheet just above the curve of his ass. “What I needed was for you to wake me in an hour.” He shifts, knows Cas can feel the movement beneath his skin, and leans up on his elbows, leans in and kisses Cas, slick-tongued and dirty. “What I need is for you to fuck me.”
Cas’ eyes, impossibly deep and blue, flicker up to Dean’s as his hand slides down to palm Dean’s ass, pushing the sheet out of the way. Teasing the crease where Dean’s ass meets his thigh, Cas’ fingers come close to where Dean wants them, but not close enough.
“Like this?” Cas asks, fingers slipping between Dean’s cheeks to brush drily against his entrance.
Dean’s blood begins to boil as he squirms against the sheets. “Yeah,” he breathes. Shifting his legs to give Cas better access, Cas’ cock, well on its way to being hard, brushes his thigh. “Yeah, Cas. Like that.”
One of Cas’ fingers pushes in, and Dean relishes the accompanying burn, wants to push back and force Cas to give him more even though he knows that’s probably a bad idea. Still, he groans when Cas pulls away, hand smoothing possessively over Dean’s skin before leaning across him to get the lube Dean set on the nightstand earlier.
Cas studies the bottle curiously for a moment, then pops the cap open and pours some on his fingers. He studies that, too, sliding it between his index and thumb before dropping the bottle to the side.
Dean watches him for a moment, eyes moving from Cas’ face to his lube-shiny fingers and back, wiggling his hips against the sheets. “Well?” he says, giving Cas an expectant look when Cas drags his eyes away from his hand.
“This is my turn, Dean,” Cas says, voice rough and filled with the promise of unspeakable pleasures.
Dean’s about to open his mouth to say something smart, protest maybe, even though he’s really got no problem being at Cas’ mercy. Not here. Not like this.
Cas stops him, mouth on his, and Dean leans into it, feels Cas push back. Cas’ tongue slides against his bottom lip, and Dean sucks it in, presses back with his own until anything that might have been chaste between them is gone, obliterated by the spit-slick sound of their mouths together and the harsh intakes of their breathing.
Dean’s ready to give up on Cas fucking him and just push Cas over, rub against him until they’re both gasping with it, coming wet and sticky against their bellies.
It’s then, just when he’s really considering it, cock pressed hard between his body and the sheets, that he feels Cas’ fingers brush against his hole. Dean groans into the kiss. “Cas,” he gasps, resting his forehead against Cas’. “Fuck.”
“That’s the idea,” Cas says, dark and wicked and everything an angel really has no business being, but somehow still is. He pushes the tip of one finger forward, lips finding Dean’s again, tongue slipping in.
Dean kisses him like it’s going out of fashion, widens his legs as Cas draws his finger back only to push in with two. He pushes back against them, forcing them deeper, and Cas pulls away.
Cas’ lips are swollen and his cheeks are pink, pupils blown, and Jesus fucking Christ Dean wants him. Wants more of him. All of him. Whatever Cas has to give him, Dean’s ready to take it.
“C’mon, Cas,” Dean pants, closing the distance between them to nip at Cas’ jaw. “More.”
Cas sits up, fingers leaving Dean’s ass. Dean’s just about to groan in disappointment, drop his head face-first onto his pillow, when Cas’ hand closes around the bottle of lube.
Twisting, Dean watches him pour more lube on his fingers. Bottle beside them, Cas slides his other hand across Dean’s back, fingers following each groove and dip as he pushes slick fingers back inside. Dean groans and closes his eyes, pushes into it. He feels pressure on the small of his back, opens his eyes to find Cas holding him still, eyes trained on his own fingers.
Cas’ fingers. Inside of him. Stretching him open. It’s almost more than Dean can take.
He watches Cas, breathless and fascinated, watching the way Dean takes him, the way Dean stretches around him, accommodating. Cas watches him—he’s always watched him—and Dean feels him move inside, touch those places that make him feel lit up like Christmas and the Fourth of July.
A third finger joins the other two, and Dean can’t help but try to rock backward, forward against the sheets, looking for friction against his cock.
Cas lets him move this time, moves the hand on his back and urges him onto his knees, follows Dean with his own body so his fingers never leave. And then Dean’s the one moving, working himself back on Cas’ fingers, cock hanging hard and heavy between his legs.
“Cas,” Dean pants. “Would you fuck me already?”
Fingers suddenly gone, Dean feels Cas’ hand wrap sticky around his hip as Cas leans in, chest hot against his shoulder. “Yes, Dean,” Cas says. “Of course.” He presses a quick, messy kiss to Dean’s mouth, moving away to kneel behind Dean, knees pushing Dean’s farther apart.
Somewhere, Dean hears the snick of the bottle of lube and then the head of Cas’ cock is nudging at his entrance and Cas is pressing forward and Dean is pressing back until everything else disappears and Cas is sliding home, sure and easy and just like that. He’s hot and hard and fucking perfect, nothing separating them at all anymore, and Dean whimpers a little, though he’ll absolutely deny it.
“Dean?” Cas pauses, hips firm against Dean’s ass.
“I’m good, Cas. Real good. Just, uh, give me a second.” He’d like to last more than five seconds here. He’s a goddamn adult; he should have more control over himself. Dean takes one breath, two. Feels better for them, more centered and less likely to fly apart the moment Cas moves his hips. He rocks backward, feels Cas clutch at his hips. “You can move now.”
Dean doesn’t have to tell him twice.
Cas’ hips move against him; the sounds of his cock sliding in and out join the chorus of moans and sighs, groaned names. His easy rhythm picking up pace and power with every thrust until the springs squeak beneath them and Dean’s arms will no longer hold him up. Dropping his forehead against his forearms, Dean feels Cas’ chest against his sweaty back as he follows him down to mouth at the curve of his neck, his shoulders, as his hips work. Cas wraps a hand around Dean’s cock, gives him a place to thrust into, and that’s it, that’s all Dean needs before he’s coming fast and hard, stars exploding behind his eyelids.
“Dean,” Cas pants. “Dean, I never—I had no—F—Fu—”
There’s a fuck in there, Dean can hear it. Wants to hear it. Needs to hear it. He tightens his ass, squeezes around Cas.
“Fuck.”
There it is. Dean feels almost as proud of that as he does about what comes next.
Cas’ hips stutter against him, hand releasing Dean’s cock to find some balance against the mattress as Cas comes within him. Dean can feel him deep inside, hot and pulsing, filling him up.
Cas doesn’t have far to fall when he collapses against Dean. It’s a little uncomfortable though, so Dean nudges him back with his shoulder. Cas turns his head to press a soft kiss behind Dean’s ear before pulling away, cock slipping from Dean with a quiet sound.
Falling beside him on the bed, Cas looks stunned and happy, a little wrecked. Dean can only imagine what he must look like, completely fucked out. Taking the opportunity to straighten his legs, Dean flops the rest of the way against the mattress, right into the wet spot. He grimaces and Cas catches it.
“Dean?”
“Wet spot,” Dean says. “Scoot over.” Cas does, and Dean follows him, pressing himself against Cas and Cas against the pillows.
He’ll stay here for a minute, then he’s going to have go take care of…things.
He watches Cas blink at him, reaches out to brush his fingers through Cas’ hair.
“Was that…acceptable?” Cas asks, hesitant.
Dean snorts. “Does a bear shit in the woods?”
Cas’ brow furrows; it’s really quite fascinating to watch from this close. “I…do not know what bears have to do with…”
Dean kisses him quiet. “Never mind. Yes, it was acceptable. More than acceptable. More like, ‘really fucking fantastic.’”
“Oh,” Cas says, looking pleased with himself.
“Oh,” Dean repeats. “Like you couldn’t tell.”
Dean/Castiel
NC-17
1889
No spoilers. Follows Before the Night Is Through.
Dean asked Cas to give him an hour.
I'm starting to think of this as my AWA series: Apocalypse, What Apocalypse? Many thanks to
ginnith. Title from the song, "It's Oh So Quiet."ETA: The next part can be found here: Bath and Body.
They stay pressed together, side by side, trading slow, easy kisses between them. It’s as good as anything else they’ve done; a steady, low level of arousal holding through Dean the whole time. He’s not sure if it’s all him or Cas’ influence on him. Or maybe the whole newness of both of them together. It’s been so long since he’s had this; it’s difficult for Dean to tell.
Even before, it wasn’t the same. Sure, he’s had plenty of people to share a bed—a bathroom stall, the backseat of the Impala, an alley—with, but none of that is this. None of it is Cas warm and pliant against him, curious and eager and willing. Those previous people, most of them anyway, had been more about sex, about a hard tumble and a quick release, less about…feelings.
Dean’s starting to realize how much this is about both.
For the first time in a long time, Dean feels perfectly safe, comfortable and happy. His limbs feel heavy and for now all he really wants to do is sink into the bed, content with the knowledge that Cas is right there with him, sated and drifting.
Dean dozes off between kisses, Cas a quiet, steady presence beside him. He wakes up on his stomach, arms tucked under his pillow, face turned toward the nightstand. The lamp is switched to its lowest setting, but it’s still enough to make Dean blink and squint. He turns his face into the pillow and feels something brush against his shoulder.
Turning toward it, Dean finds Cas still beside him, sex-mussed and pillow-creased even though Dean would bet a month’s supply of rock salt Cas hasn’t been sleeping; he doesn’t need to.
Dean glances at the clock on the nightstand. “You could’ve woken me, Cas. I only said an hour.”
Cas’ fingers don’t pause in their exploration, moving across muscle and down the dip of Dean’s spine. “You needed rest,” he says, eyes never leaving the path his fingers take. His touch isn’t quite soft enough to tickle, but it gives Dean goose bumps, makes him shiver against the sheets. His dick starts to respond, hardening in anticipation.
Dean watches Cas from the comfort of his pillow, vision slightly skewed by the way his face is pressed against it. Cas is propped up on one elbow, hair crazier than usual—which is saying something—and Dean really has no idea how he’s going to get any actual work done now that he and Cas—they—have this.
“Mmm,” Dean hums as Cas’ fingers slip farther down, pushing at the edge of the sheet just above the curve of his ass. “What I needed was for you to wake me in an hour.” He shifts, knows Cas can feel the movement beneath his skin, and leans up on his elbows, leans in and kisses Cas, slick-tongued and dirty. “What I need is for you to fuck me.”
Cas’ eyes, impossibly deep and blue, flicker up to Dean’s as his hand slides down to palm Dean’s ass, pushing the sheet out of the way. Teasing the crease where Dean’s ass meets his thigh, Cas’ fingers come close to where Dean wants them, but not close enough.
“Like this?” Cas asks, fingers slipping between Dean’s cheeks to brush drily against his entrance.
Dean’s blood begins to boil as he squirms against the sheets. “Yeah,” he breathes. Shifting his legs to give Cas better access, Cas’ cock, well on its way to being hard, brushes his thigh. “Yeah, Cas. Like that.”
One of Cas’ fingers pushes in, and Dean relishes the accompanying burn, wants to push back and force Cas to give him more even though he knows that’s probably a bad idea. Still, he groans when Cas pulls away, hand smoothing possessively over Dean’s skin before leaning across him to get the lube Dean set on the nightstand earlier.
Cas studies the bottle curiously for a moment, then pops the cap open and pours some on his fingers. He studies that, too, sliding it between his index and thumb before dropping the bottle to the side.
Dean watches him for a moment, eyes moving from Cas’ face to his lube-shiny fingers and back, wiggling his hips against the sheets. “Well?” he says, giving Cas an expectant look when Cas drags his eyes away from his hand.
“This is my turn, Dean,” Cas says, voice rough and filled with the promise of unspeakable pleasures.
Dean’s about to open his mouth to say something smart, protest maybe, even though he’s really got no problem being at Cas’ mercy. Not here. Not like this.
Cas stops him, mouth on his, and Dean leans into it, feels Cas push back. Cas’ tongue slides against his bottom lip, and Dean sucks it in, presses back with his own until anything that might have been chaste between them is gone, obliterated by the spit-slick sound of their mouths together and the harsh intakes of their breathing.
Dean’s ready to give up on Cas fucking him and just push Cas over, rub against him until they’re both gasping with it, coming wet and sticky against their bellies.
It’s then, just when he’s really considering it, cock pressed hard between his body and the sheets, that he feels Cas’ fingers brush against his hole. Dean groans into the kiss. “Cas,” he gasps, resting his forehead against Cas’. “Fuck.”
“That’s the idea,” Cas says, dark and wicked and everything an angel really has no business being, but somehow still is. He pushes the tip of one finger forward, lips finding Dean’s again, tongue slipping in.
Dean kisses him like it’s going out of fashion, widens his legs as Cas draws his finger back only to push in with two. He pushes back against them, forcing them deeper, and Cas pulls away.
Cas’ lips are swollen and his cheeks are pink, pupils blown, and Jesus fucking Christ Dean wants him. Wants more of him. All of him. Whatever Cas has to give him, Dean’s ready to take it.
“C’mon, Cas,” Dean pants, closing the distance between them to nip at Cas’ jaw. “More.”
Cas sits up, fingers leaving Dean’s ass. Dean’s just about to groan in disappointment, drop his head face-first onto his pillow, when Cas’ hand closes around the bottle of lube.
Twisting, Dean watches him pour more lube on his fingers. Bottle beside them, Cas slides his other hand across Dean’s back, fingers following each groove and dip as he pushes slick fingers back inside. Dean groans and closes his eyes, pushes into it. He feels pressure on the small of his back, opens his eyes to find Cas holding him still, eyes trained on his own fingers.
Cas’ fingers. Inside of him. Stretching him open. It’s almost more than Dean can take.
He watches Cas, breathless and fascinated, watching the way Dean takes him, the way Dean stretches around him, accommodating. Cas watches him—he’s always watched him—and Dean feels him move inside, touch those places that make him feel lit up like Christmas and the Fourth of July.
A third finger joins the other two, and Dean can’t help but try to rock backward, forward against the sheets, looking for friction against his cock.
Cas lets him move this time, moves the hand on his back and urges him onto his knees, follows Dean with his own body so his fingers never leave. And then Dean’s the one moving, working himself back on Cas’ fingers, cock hanging hard and heavy between his legs.
“Cas,” Dean pants. “Would you fuck me already?”
Fingers suddenly gone, Dean feels Cas’ hand wrap sticky around his hip as Cas leans in, chest hot against his shoulder. “Yes, Dean,” Cas says. “Of course.” He presses a quick, messy kiss to Dean’s mouth, moving away to kneel behind Dean, knees pushing Dean’s farther apart.
Somewhere, Dean hears the snick of the bottle of lube and then the head of Cas’ cock is nudging at his entrance and Cas is pressing forward and Dean is pressing back until everything else disappears and Cas is sliding home, sure and easy and just like that. He’s hot and hard and fucking perfect, nothing separating them at all anymore, and Dean whimpers a little, though he’ll absolutely deny it.
“Dean?” Cas pauses, hips firm against Dean’s ass.
“I’m good, Cas. Real good. Just, uh, give me a second.” He’d like to last more than five seconds here. He’s a goddamn adult; he should have more control over himself. Dean takes one breath, two. Feels better for them, more centered and less likely to fly apart the moment Cas moves his hips. He rocks backward, feels Cas clutch at his hips. “You can move now.”
Dean doesn’t have to tell him twice.
Cas’ hips move against him; the sounds of his cock sliding in and out join the chorus of moans and sighs, groaned names. His easy rhythm picking up pace and power with every thrust until the springs squeak beneath them and Dean’s arms will no longer hold him up. Dropping his forehead against his forearms, Dean feels Cas’ chest against his sweaty back as he follows him down to mouth at the curve of his neck, his shoulders, as his hips work. Cas wraps a hand around Dean’s cock, gives him a place to thrust into, and that’s it, that’s all Dean needs before he’s coming fast and hard, stars exploding behind his eyelids.
“Dean,” Cas pants. “Dean, I never—I had no—F—Fu—”
There’s a fuck in there, Dean can hear it. Wants to hear it. Needs to hear it. He tightens his ass, squeezes around Cas.
“Fuck.”
There it is. Dean feels almost as proud of that as he does about what comes next.
Cas’ hips stutter against him, hand releasing Dean’s cock to find some balance against the mattress as Cas comes within him. Dean can feel him deep inside, hot and pulsing, filling him up.
Cas doesn’t have far to fall when he collapses against Dean. It’s a little uncomfortable though, so Dean nudges him back with his shoulder. Cas turns his head to press a soft kiss behind Dean’s ear before pulling away, cock slipping from Dean with a quiet sound.
Falling beside him on the bed, Cas looks stunned and happy, a little wrecked. Dean can only imagine what he must look like, completely fucked out. Taking the opportunity to straighten his legs, Dean flops the rest of the way against the mattress, right into the wet spot. He grimaces and Cas catches it.
“Dean?”
“Wet spot,” Dean says. “Scoot over.” Cas does, and Dean follows him, pressing himself against Cas and Cas against the pillows.
He’ll stay here for a minute, then he’s going to have go take care of…things.
He watches Cas blink at him, reaches out to brush his fingers through Cas’ hair.
“Was that…acceptable?” Cas asks, hesitant.
Dean snorts. “Does a bear shit in the woods?”
Cas’ brow furrows; it’s really quite fascinating to watch from this close. “I…do not know what bears have to do with…”
Dean kisses him quiet. “Never mind. Yes, it was acceptable. More than acceptable. More like, ‘really fucking fantastic.’”
“Oh,” Cas says, looking pleased with himself.
“Oh,” Dean repeats. “Like you couldn’t tell.”
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Date: 2010-02-11 11:40 pm (UTC)Dean wringing profanity out of Cas...
Okay, so sometimes I write things and I don't really think about them until later. This strikes me as one of those because, yeaaaah, there should be more instances where Dean wrings profanity out of Cas. Mmmmmm.