annundriel | SPN Fic: Corresponding Shapes, Dean/Castiel (NC-17)

Corresponding Shapes
Dean/Castiel
NC-17
2034
No spoilers. A companion to In the Mind of the Beholder.
Dean tries to share porn with Cas. It doesn't go quite as he expected.

Many thanks to

ginnith.

Cas is looking at him, all blue-eyed honesty and earnestness and, fuck, Dean doesn’t know what he was doing, showing Cas porn. Thinking it would be exciting? Or, at the very least, good for a tee-hee? (What, you can do it but you can’t watch it, Cas?) But Cas doesn’t react to things the same way other people—and there’s the keyword: “people”—do.

Dean should know better.

And maybe—maybe—be embarrassed by how quickly and completely Cas’ blunt, “I become aroused watching you,” gets to him. He could blame it on the fact that his engine was already revved, porn going down on screen and all. If he’s honest, just getting Cas alone in the same room is enough; stripped out of coat and jacket, down to his socks, tie missing, shirt loose and half unbuttoned, lounging awkwardly next to him, as he is now, even better.

Looking up at Cas beside him, Dean thinks he still might be able to get him into porn, still thinks it could be fun. But now…now…maybe Cas has a point.

Cas’ tongue slides out across his bottom lip, and Dean follows the path it takes with his eyes, blood rushing to his skin, his dick. “Yeah,” he says, voice coming out hoarser than he expected. “Yeah, I guess we don’t really need that, do we.” He reaches up, slipping his hand around Cas’ neck, Cas’ hair tickling against his skin, and pulls Cas down to him, tipping his own chin up until their mouths meet, slow and sure.

It isn’t like anything Dean has done before. Which isn’t to say that this, this particular moment isn’t like anything from before, more that they are unlike anything Dean has done before. Cas is an experience unto himself, intense and focused, curious and knowing. Dean’s had more than his fair share of experience, but he’s never been with anyone who sees him so clearly or knows him so well.

And still, somehow, wants him.

Cas leans down, into him, and kisses Dean back, mouth pliant. Dean keeps his hand firm on Cas’ neck, while everything else remains soft, easy. There’s no need to rush; not this, not now. He’d thought he needed—Well. Who cares what he’d thought earlier; he’d thought wrong.

“Dean,” Cas breathes, their mouths separating just enough for the sound to escape.

He nudges Cas’ nose with his own. “Mmm?” he hums.

Cas nudges back, hand warm on Dean’s hip, fingers slipping beneath the edge of his shirt, lips whispering across Dean’s when he says, “Show me.”

Cas’ voice brings goose bumps to his skin, makes every hair—along with some other things—stand at attention. “Show you?” There’s a waver in Dean’s voice, barely audible in the quiet around them.

“Yes,” Cas says, pulling back. Dean can still feel Cas’ breath brush his cheeks, though, and he opens his eyes to find Cas right there watching him; quiet, still, and solemn. “You said porn arouses you. I want to see.”

Dean groans and closes his eyes, feels his skin heat more as he flushes harder. “That’s all you want, huh?” he says, hand slipping away from Cas’ neck to his own dick, adjusting himself.

“For now, yes.”

Opening his eyes, he looks at Cas. There are hints of amusement and arousal showing around the edges of his otherwise serious face; it’s all there if you know where to look—in the tilt of his chin, the quirk of his mouth, a spark deep in those eyes—and Dean’s becoming an expert on where to look.

Dean doesn’t say anything, just shifts his weight and leans up to kiss Cas quick and dirty before pulling his t-shirt off and throwing it to the floor, slumping back against the pillows. Cas sits back, hand slipping from Dean’s hip to join the other still in his lap.

The TV catches Dean’s eye, people on-screen still going at it, and he reaches for the remote, shutting it off. Later, he thinks. Maybe. He tosses the remote on the nightstand and reaches for the button on his jeans, lowering the zipper over his erection, hissing a little through his teeth. He can feel Cas’ eyes on him as he hooks his thumbs between the waistband of his pants and underwear, putting his weight back into the pillows at his shoulders, into the mattress with his heels as he lifts his hips and slides them down his thighs.

Cas remains still beside him, but Dean can feel his eyes on him, moving over each newly exposed bit of skin with an intensity that makes Dean’s heart beat faster.

Released from the confines of his pants, Dean’s dick bobs as he settles his weight back on the bed. Ignoring the flush on his skin, Dean closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before wrapping a hand around the base of his cock. He’s got no reason to be self-conscious and nothing to be embarrassed about, but Cas is watching like he always does and that should be familiar, that should be every day and no big deal. But here, now…it’s a lot bigger than Dean realized it to be.

His hand feels good around his dick, just like it always does; though not, he’s finding, as good as Cas’. Someone else’s hand is always different, always better, but the way Cas touches him, careful and curious, concentrated, like Dean is of great importance not for what his body has to offer but for what Dean brings to the table…he’s not sure what to do with that.

Except have a friggin’ chick flick moment over it apparently. Internally, he rolls his eyes at himself and tries to shrug it off, relaxing further back against the bed. Cas wanted to be shown, after all; Dean should give him something to see.

Loosening his hand, Dean runs it up his cock, shivering at the light touch, the too-dry pull of skin on skin. He runs his hand back down, a little tighter this time, reaching for his balls with his empty hand, the one that’s closest to Cas. With his eyes closed, the only way Dean knows Cas hasn’t disappeared on him is the heat he can feel along that side of his body, Cas turning it out like Dean’s own personal, portable heater.

The only sounds Dean hears are those of his own slightly labored breathing, his hand on his dick; everything else is silent. He opens his eyes to make sure Cas is still there.

He is.

Lips parted and cheeks flushed, hands flat against his thighs, Cas looks like the world’s oldest virgin waiting to be debauched. Dean knows better; he did the initial debauching himself. This is not virgin land he sees before him.

Dean jacks his cock a little faster with his eyes on Cas, twisting his wrist and shifting his thighs as far as they’ll go with his pants still around his knees, fingers slipping down further to press against the skin behind his balls. It’s not ideal, but it works well enough. It could work better.

“Cas,” he says, Cas’ eyes flickering up to meet his. “Is this what you wanted?”

Cas licks his lips and, fuck, Dean wants to lick them himself, wants to kiss and nip and bite, sooth and taste and take.

“No.”

Dean stops what he’s doing. “No?”

Cas shakes his head, the barest movement from side to side. His eyes are dark, not nearly as unreadable as Dean once thought they were. “I changed my mind.”

And then Cas is leaning into him, mouth covering Dean’s carefully as his hand finds Dean’s where it’s still wrapped around himself, fingers sliding between Dean’s like interlocking puzzle pieces.

Dean doesn’t resist, lips parting under Cas’ deliberate application of tongue, hand stilling as Cas takes up the motion, his palm warm and dry against Dean’s skin.

Dean’s not sure how it happens—Cas regularly does twelve amazing things before breakfast and Dean’s mind is a little sex-addled at the moment—but somehow Cas manages to get his own shirt off. Lingering angel mojo, crazy angel dexterity; Dean doesn’t know. All he knows is that one moment Cas is leaning heavily against his side, still mostly clothed, and the next Cas is kneeling over him, shirt missing.

Moving the hand he’s still got tucked between his legs, Dean reaches out for him, runs his palm up Cas’ thigh, over bunched muscle to where Cas’ dick strains at the front of his pants. Dean outlines it with his fingers, watches Cas’ chest shiver and shake, his eyes flutter shut above him.

“What do you want, Cas?”

Cas’ hips twitch and he opens his eyes, finding Dean’s unerringly. He eases his hand away from Dean’s skin like it pains him to do so, removes Dean’s hand from his dick.

Dean’s about to protest when Cas’ fingers move to his fly, popping the button and working the zipper down. Lifting himself up, Cas lowers his pants down his thighs, giving Dean a front-row view of Cas’ cock, hard and begging for attention.

Dean licks his lips and reaches for it, wants to feel that smooth shaft in his hand, to fit his mouth around the head and taste the precome beading there against his tongue.

Cas stops him with a hand on his wrist. “No, Dean,” he says. “Like this.”

He leans over Dean, bending over him, lining them up so that their cocks slide together, pressing Dean into the mattress until his world narrows down completely, his senses overwhelmed by Cas.

Moving his hips, Cas rubs against him, the head of his dick slipping against the groove of Dean’s hip, the way made easy by sweat and precome. Dean groans and thrusts back, a counterpoint as Cas licks into his mouth, all soft lips and slick tongue.

When Dean bites at his lip, bucks his hips a little harder, Cas pulls back. “No, Dean,” he says, keeping his movements slow and languid, like they’ve got all of the time in the world. “Like this.”

Hands smoothing across Cas’ back, Dean nods against his pillow. “Okay,” he says, feeling breathless and jittery. “Yeah, okay.”

Cas returns to his mouth, centered and steady and so damn sure of this thing between them; Dean can’t resist. He lets Cas have what he wants, gives Cas exactly what he wants, because Cas wants it and he asked for it and Dean may have been a bit stupid about all of this before, but he thinks he’s starting to figure this out.

Dean’s orgasm sneaks up on him, out of the blue, somewhere between Cas’ mouth soft on his jaw and Cas’ cock hard against his hip. Dean shudders and gasps, comes with a groan, tries not to float away with it as Cas continues to rock against him. Before long, Dean feels Cas’ movements stutter, the hot splash of come against his skin, hears the sound of his name carried on Cas’ exhaled breath.

He’d stay like this forever, if he could. He’s got room service. And with Cas and cable around, Dean knows he wouldn’t get bored. Plus, there’d be plenty of physical activity.

Unfortunately, his jeans are digging into his thighs and Cas is pretty heavy slumped against him.

“Cas,” he says, hands sliding down to cup Cas’ ass before sliding back along his spine. “Gotta breathe.”

Cas levers up and blinks at him, smile a slow drag across his face. “Of course, Dean,” he says, slipping to Dean’s side, reclaiming his place.

Dean smiles back, leaning over to kiss him quickly—he can’t help it—before sliding his jeans and underwear past his knees and kicking them to the floor. Reaching for his discarded shirt, he uses it to wipe himself off, Cas’ come mingling with his own against his skin.

He turns to do the same to Cas and pauses when he finds Cas naked, too, the rest of his clothing suddenly gone. He lies against the comforter, watching Dean openly.

Dean swallows past the sudden lump in his throat. “You know it’s not just the porn, right?”

“I know.”

“Good,” Dean says, reaching out. “Good.”