SPN Fic: Red-Handed, Dean/Castiel (R)
Feb. 11th, 2011 04:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
annundrielRed-Handed
Dean/Castiel
R
1305
Vague allusion to 6.10.
Dean walks in on Cas.
Yesterday I really wanted to write about Castiel's hands.![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
squeemonster suggested Dean walking in on Cas pleasuring himself. This happened. Thanks go to cautionzombies for giving it a look and helping me smooth out a couple bits. <3
When Dean returns to the motel room alone, Sam still at city hall going through land records, he’s pulled up short as soon as he opens the door by the sound of porn coming from the TV.
“Cas,” he sighs, closing the door behind him. “Didn’t we say—”
The rest of what he’s going to say dies an early death at the sight before him.
Cas is on one of the beds—Dean’s bed—with his head thrown back against the pillows, throat bared and flushed, color spreading from his cheeks downward. His mouth is open and his eyes are squeezed shut and it’s exactly the sort of thing Dean’s forced himself not to think about, the sort of thing that would get him in a world of trouble, Cas panting with want on his bed. Cas reaching out a hand for him, begging Dean to—
Worry kicks Dean in the gut. Maybe it isn’t what it looks like. Cas could be sick or hurt, dying. Something could have happened to him in Heaven, on Earth, in Hell. Who knows where he’s been in the last few days, what people or demons or angels he’s seen, what they might have done to him.
And then Dean’s brain catches up with the pieces of the picture in front of him and he shakes himself, his eyes traveling down Cas’ shirt-covered chest to Cas’ hand and—fuck.
Cas’ pants are undone, pulled just far enough out of the way, and his hand is…is.
Dean’s brain stutters.
Cas has got one hand wrapped around his cock, the other tangled in the end of his trench coat, white knuckled.
Dean stands there, speechless, and watches as Cas slowly strokes himself, the head of his cock peeking between the tight circle of his thumb and forefinger. Watches Cas’ other fingers flex along the shaft, his hand twisting slightly on the upstroke. The bend of a wrist has never made Dean so weak in the knees.
“Cas,” he groans, and Cas’ eyes slide open, his head rolling against the pillows to where Dean’s standing awkwardly at the corner of the bed.
Cas’ tongue sweeps over his bottom lip, leaving it wet and glistening. “Dean,” he breathes, voice rough. His hand doesn’t stop moving.
Dean can’t look away, doesn’t know where to look first. He watches Cas’ Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, his lips pressing tight before they part again, watches the strange bend of Cas’ thumb against his cock. Doesn’t know if he wants to press his face against the hot skin at Cas’ throat or bend and suck that thumb, those fingers, Cas’ cock into his mouth.
Without thinking, Dean moves up the side of the bed until he’s opposite Cas, his knees pressed against the mattress. Cas’ eyes follow him. “What are you—” Dean stops and swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. “What are you doing?”
Cas’ thumb sweeps the head of his cock, smearing precome over it, and Dean licks his lips. The flicker of Cas’ eyes downward makes heat race through him, pooling in his gut.
“I was curious,” Cas says.
Dean’s fingers twitch. “You were curious.”
Cas moves his hand and Dean catches sight of the pale underside of his wrist. “Yes,” Cas moans, eye lashes fluttering. “I was curious.”
“And you thought, uh. You thought this was the best way to satisfy your curiosity?”
Cas nods, dark hair caught against the pillowcase. “No other options at—” That tongue glides along his lip again. “—at hand.”
There’s groaning coming from the TV, sounds of flesh slapping against flesh, but Dean doesn’t care at all, can’t take his eyes away from Cas still mostly clothed, the most pornographic thing Dean’s ever seen.
Lifting his leg, Dean kneels on the bed. “Really,” he says, inching toward Cas. “No other options.”
Cas blinks up at him, hand stilling. “I—”
Dean reaches for him, fingers wrapping around Cas’ wrist. He can feel the tendons shift beneath his thumb as Cas’ fingers move against his cock.
“Dean,” Cas breathes, “what are you doing?”
“Let me,” Dean says, tugging at his wrist. “Just—Let me.”
Dean isn’t sure what he’s doing, but he knows he wants this, wants to touch Cas, feel Cas, make Cas come. He wants a hand in this, doesn’t want Cas to go looking for outside help, doesn’t want Cas to explore it himself. He wants Cas.
Finally admitting it like that, even if it’s just to himself, doesn’t fill Dean with dread, doesn’t make him want to hightail it out of there like he thought it would. Instead, Dean’s heart thuds in his chest and his jeans feel too tight and he realizes all he wants, all he really wants is what’s right in this room.
Cas looks at him for a moment, eyes huge and dark, and then nods. Cas’ fingers loosen and Dean pulls his hand away from his cock, eyes leaving Cas’ to follow the trusting curve of his fingers.
Leaning forward, Dean brings those fingers up to his mouth, presses a kiss to the web of flesh between Cas’ thumb and forefingers before sliding along the line of his thumb. He takes it into his mouth, tasting sweat and precome and Cas, reveling in the feel of Cas’ skin against his lips, the pad of Cas’ thumb against his tongue. Dean nibbles at the tip of it, teeth gentle, sucks hard, and Cas groans, hips shifting against the sheets.
“Dean,” Cas says, free fingers spasming, and Dean hums around his thumb before sliding off it with a slick sound and moving on to his forefinger. He sucks at the tip, mouths at the knuckle, licks down to Cas’ palm, chasing the taste of him. It’s not enough, not even close, and Dean knows what he wants now, knows without question.
He nips at the meat of Cas’ palm. “I’m going to suck you now,” he says, and then he’s kneeling over Cas, hand still tight around Cas’ wrist.
Cas is hard and wanting and, fuck, Dean doesn’t know why it took him this long, took seeing Cas like this for him to realize that this thing between them? Wasn’t just buddies. Wasn’t just weird-ass colleagues. He should’ve seen this.
Thank god Cas developed this curiosity.
Free hand wrapping around the base of Cas’ cock, Dean bends and mouths at the head, licks down the shaft. He turns so he can watch Cas’ reaction, Cas’ eyes wide and focused on him. Dean grins against his cock and lets go of Cas’ wrist, slips his fingers between Cas’. Hangs on as he sucks Cas down.
It isn’t the most comfortable position in the world, but that doesn’t matter, not when Cas is groaning above him, panting Dean’s name. Not when his other hand untangles from his coat to fist in the back of Dean’s. Not when Cas is coming apart, coming undone, coming against Dean’s tongue.
Dean swallows around him before pulling off, pressing a kiss to Cas’ softening cock.
“That was…”
“Better than your own hand?” Dean asks straightening.
Cas’ lips twitch. They’re pink and full and bitten, and Dean wants to kiss him more desperately than he’s wanted to kiss anyone in his entire life.
“Yes,” Cas says, tugging on Dean’s jacket. “Much better.”
Dean moves closer, knees pressing against Cas’ thigh. “Bet you’re glad I walked in, then.”
“Bet you’re glad I didn’t listen to you,” Cas throws back. He pauses, head tilting. “Though I was alone when I began. You never said I couldn’t—”
Cas’ lips are warm and soft, slightly chapped, completely pliant when Dean’s tongue slips against them.
“We’ll figure it out later,” Dean says. Right now he’s got other things on his mind.
“Yes,” Cas answers, lips brushing against his. “Yes. Later.”
Dean/Castiel
R
1305
Vague allusion to 6.10.
Dean walks in on Cas.
Yesterday I really wanted to write about Castiel's hands.
squeemonster suggested Dean walking in on Cas pleasuring himself. This happened. Thanks go to cautionzombies for giving it a look and helping me smooth out a couple bits. <3When Dean returns to the motel room alone, Sam still at city hall going through land records, he’s pulled up short as soon as he opens the door by the sound of porn coming from the TV.
“Cas,” he sighs, closing the door behind him. “Didn’t we say—”
The rest of what he’s going to say dies an early death at the sight before him.
Cas is on one of the beds—Dean’s bed—with his head thrown back against the pillows, throat bared and flushed, color spreading from his cheeks downward. His mouth is open and his eyes are squeezed shut and it’s exactly the sort of thing Dean’s forced himself not to think about, the sort of thing that would get him in a world of trouble, Cas panting with want on his bed. Cas reaching out a hand for him, begging Dean to—
Worry kicks Dean in the gut. Maybe it isn’t what it looks like. Cas could be sick or hurt, dying. Something could have happened to him in Heaven, on Earth, in Hell. Who knows where he’s been in the last few days, what people or demons or angels he’s seen, what they might have done to him.
And then Dean’s brain catches up with the pieces of the picture in front of him and he shakes himself, his eyes traveling down Cas’ shirt-covered chest to Cas’ hand and—fuck.
Cas’ pants are undone, pulled just far enough out of the way, and his hand is…is.
Dean’s brain stutters.
Cas has got one hand wrapped around his cock, the other tangled in the end of his trench coat, white knuckled.
Dean stands there, speechless, and watches as Cas slowly strokes himself, the head of his cock peeking between the tight circle of his thumb and forefinger. Watches Cas’ other fingers flex along the shaft, his hand twisting slightly on the upstroke. The bend of a wrist has never made Dean so weak in the knees.
“Cas,” he groans, and Cas’ eyes slide open, his head rolling against the pillows to where Dean’s standing awkwardly at the corner of the bed.
Cas’ tongue sweeps over his bottom lip, leaving it wet and glistening. “Dean,” he breathes, voice rough. His hand doesn’t stop moving.
Dean can’t look away, doesn’t know where to look first. He watches Cas’ Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, his lips pressing tight before they part again, watches the strange bend of Cas’ thumb against his cock. Doesn’t know if he wants to press his face against the hot skin at Cas’ throat or bend and suck that thumb, those fingers, Cas’ cock into his mouth.
Without thinking, Dean moves up the side of the bed until he’s opposite Cas, his knees pressed against the mattress. Cas’ eyes follow him. “What are you—” Dean stops and swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. “What are you doing?”
Cas’ thumb sweeps the head of his cock, smearing precome over it, and Dean licks his lips. The flicker of Cas’ eyes downward makes heat race through him, pooling in his gut.
“I was curious,” Cas says.
Dean’s fingers twitch. “You were curious.”
Cas moves his hand and Dean catches sight of the pale underside of his wrist. “Yes,” Cas moans, eye lashes fluttering. “I was curious.”
“And you thought, uh. You thought this was the best way to satisfy your curiosity?”
Cas nods, dark hair caught against the pillowcase. “No other options at—” That tongue glides along his lip again. “—at hand.”
There’s groaning coming from the TV, sounds of flesh slapping against flesh, but Dean doesn’t care at all, can’t take his eyes away from Cas still mostly clothed, the most pornographic thing Dean’s ever seen.
Lifting his leg, Dean kneels on the bed. “Really,” he says, inching toward Cas. “No other options.”
Cas blinks up at him, hand stilling. “I—”
Dean reaches for him, fingers wrapping around Cas’ wrist. He can feel the tendons shift beneath his thumb as Cas’ fingers move against his cock.
“Dean,” Cas breathes, “what are you doing?”
“Let me,” Dean says, tugging at his wrist. “Just—Let me.”
Dean isn’t sure what he’s doing, but he knows he wants this, wants to touch Cas, feel Cas, make Cas come. He wants a hand in this, doesn’t want Cas to go looking for outside help, doesn’t want Cas to explore it himself. He wants Cas.
Finally admitting it like that, even if it’s just to himself, doesn’t fill Dean with dread, doesn’t make him want to hightail it out of there like he thought it would. Instead, Dean’s heart thuds in his chest and his jeans feel too tight and he realizes all he wants, all he really wants is what’s right in this room.
Cas looks at him for a moment, eyes huge and dark, and then nods. Cas’ fingers loosen and Dean pulls his hand away from his cock, eyes leaving Cas’ to follow the trusting curve of his fingers.
Leaning forward, Dean brings those fingers up to his mouth, presses a kiss to the web of flesh between Cas’ thumb and forefingers before sliding along the line of his thumb. He takes it into his mouth, tasting sweat and precome and Cas, reveling in the feel of Cas’ skin against his lips, the pad of Cas’ thumb against his tongue. Dean nibbles at the tip of it, teeth gentle, sucks hard, and Cas groans, hips shifting against the sheets.
“Dean,” Cas says, free fingers spasming, and Dean hums around his thumb before sliding off it with a slick sound and moving on to his forefinger. He sucks at the tip, mouths at the knuckle, licks down to Cas’ palm, chasing the taste of him. It’s not enough, not even close, and Dean knows what he wants now, knows without question.
He nips at the meat of Cas’ palm. “I’m going to suck you now,” he says, and then he’s kneeling over Cas, hand still tight around Cas’ wrist.
Cas is hard and wanting and, fuck, Dean doesn’t know why it took him this long, took seeing Cas like this for him to realize that this thing between them? Wasn’t just buddies. Wasn’t just weird-ass colleagues. He should’ve seen this.
Thank god Cas developed this curiosity.
Free hand wrapping around the base of Cas’ cock, Dean bends and mouths at the head, licks down the shaft. He turns so he can watch Cas’ reaction, Cas’ eyes wide and focused on him. Dean grins against his cock and lets go of Cas’ wrist, slips his fingers between Cas’. Hangs on as he sucks Cas down.
It isn’t the most comfortable position in the world, but that doesn’t matter, not when Cas is groaning above him, panting Dean’s name. Not when his other hand untangles from his coat to fist in the back of Dean’s. Not when Cas is coming apart, coming undone, coming against Dean’s tongue.
Dean swallows around him before pulling off, pressing a kiss to Cas’ softening cock.
“That was…”
“Better than your own hand?” Dean asks straightening.
Cas’ lips twitch. They’re pink and full and bitten, and Dean wants to kiss him more desperately than he’s wanted to kiss anyone in his entire life.
“Yes,” Cas says, tugging on Dean’s jacket. “Much better.”
Dean moves closer, knees pressing against Cas’ thigh. “Bet you’re glad I walked in, then.”
“Bet you’re glad I didn’t listen to you,” Cas throws back. He pauses, head tilting. “Though I was alone when I began. You never said I couldn’t—”
Cas’ lips are warm and soft, slightly chapped, completely pliant when Dean’s tongue slips against them.
“We’ll figure it out later,” Dean says. Right now he’s got other things on his mind.
“Yes,” Cas answers, lips brushing against his. “Yes. Later.”
