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The final time Castiel became human, this time for good, came as a relief. Angelic powers had become a burden; what once had seemed like a great gift had become something with too much potential for destruction. Humanity suited him better: he could do less damage. And he could feel more.
Still, humanity was not without its problems. Castiel could remember many of the basics from his days as “Steve”: he needed to sleep, eat and drink, use the bathroom, wash himself and his clothes. Some ways, things were much easier now that he could stay in the Bunker. He had his own room where to sleep, a shower with exquisite water pressure and even a meal service, courtesy of Dean.
But some things were much harder. As Steve, he had worn any clothes he could get his hands on, slept wherever he could, ate whatever he found or what he could afford. There was no room for hopes and desires, no choices to be made, no decisions.
Nothing as exhausting and mundane as this ill-advised shopping trip to “get him some clothes that don’t make him look like a hobo”.
“Man, I’m gonna need something to eat first. Pizza or burgers, Cas?” Dean asked. Castiel shrugged. The relative merits of one group of fast food versus another escaped him. Both were unhealthy but quite tasty. Dean had told him that he was supposed the pick the one Castiel had a “hankering for”. He had no hankerings. Food was food.
“Burgers it is. Buddy, you really need to start making decisions for yourself. Grown men don’t just let everyone else make their decisions for them,” Dean said.
Castiel resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Dean had quite a few opinions on what “grown men” should and should not do. Or men, in general. They weren’t supposed to watch porn with other “dudes” in the room. They weren’t supposed to like caramel or pumpkin spice lattes. They weren’t supposed to eat fruit and salads. They weren’t supposed to enjoy watching romantic movies. It was, in fact, getting quite tiring.
When Castiel was still an angel, he was never this tired with Dean. Frustrated, yes, angry, definitely, but never tired of him.
They ate their burgers in relative silence. Castiel had never quite grasped the purpose of small talk, and Dean seemed to be quite content with his burger, if the pleased, but still somehow annoying sounds he was making were any indication.
Castiel finished his burger, but pushed aside most of the fries. His appetite was not as voracious as Dean’s and even Sam’s. Perhaps it was because he was slightly shorter. Or perhaps he had not yet built up his tolerance to overly greasy and salty diner food.
Dean cocked his head towards Cas’ basket of fries and Castiel nodded. Dean finished the fries in a few minutes, and after that they were ready to start their misjudged mission. While Dean was driving towards the nearest Wal-Mart, Castiel fiddled with his phone and resented Sam who had managed to avoid this endeavor by faking a headache. Castiel was sure Sam had been faking, because he had overheard Sam and Dean earlier and no one with a headache could tease their brother as mercilessly about romantic Wal-Mart dates as Sam had teased Dean.
Castiel didn’t find Wal-Mart or greasy diners very romantic, but maybe that had not been the joke; maybe the joke had been the suggestion that this was a date. Castiel still had problems with certain types of humor. This seemed to be one of them.
“Right. Basic toiletries first, they are easy,” Dean said and weaved his way through the confusing maze of shelves and aisles.
Castiel already had a toothbrush, but Dean insisted buying a few spare ones. As Castiel’s hand hovered over the beautiful ones, the ones with glitter pink and violet handles, Dean tossed a few with black and blue handles into their cart. Castiel shrugged and trailed after Dean as he picked up toothpaste, a hairbrush, some toothpicks and dental floss.
Soap and shampoo were next. Castiel bought the cheapest unscented shampoo he could find. Most shampoo’s had too strong scents and he did not want them close to his nose. Body wash, however, was another matter entirely. Dean left him alone for a while (in search of condoms), and Cas could actually peruse the staggering selection available. By the time Dean was back, Cas had limited his options to three bottles: Milk and Honey, Springtime Birch, and Lemon Tart.
“Dude, what the hell? Those are women’s scents,” Dean sighed and manhandled Castiel by his shoulder to face a shelf with unappealing black and grey and blue bottles. Castiel had scented them already: the smells were sharp and made his nose itch. One scent reminded him of Dean and he had breathed it in for a several seconds. Still, it smelled much better on Dean than in a bottle, and Castiel did not want to smell like that.
“I don’t like them,” Castiel said darkly.
“You can’t go around smelling like… I don’t know, like fucking daisies and blueberry pie. That’s weird for a dude,” Dean said as he pulled out a black bottle of men’s body wash with the word’s Anti-Hangover on it. He dropped it into the cart.
Castiel felt annoyance bloom inside himself, hot and red. Dean could sometimes be so utterly irritating that it was ridiculous.
“I did not realize scents are gender-specific,” Castiel said, but Dean did not hear the dark note of sarcasm in his voice and only snorted at him. While Dean’s attention was diverted (a pretty brunette was walking by), Cas slipped the bottle of Springtime Birch into the cart. He would have gone with the Milk and Honey, but according to the list of ingredients, there was neither milk nor honey in it, which was highly suspicious.
Clothes were next. They were the main reason for this torturous excursion, so Castiel was prepared for suffering. Dean led him straight to the clothing section and told him to “knock himself out”.
Cas wandered around the section, feeling quite lost. The dark, boring hues did not attract his attention. He had grown used to the clothes the Winchesters usually wore, so he selected a few plaid shirts, some dark t-shirts and dull-colored Henleys in his size. Dean hummed in acceptance while playing with his phone.
Jeans were more difficult. Castiel chose a slim pair of dark blue ones and a more relaxed pair in a lighter color. A few pairs of sweatpants followed: he would need to start exercising now that he was human.
Socks were easy enough: black and identical so that pairing them would not be a problem. Underwear was more challenging. Now that Castiel was human, the loose boxer shorts Jimmy had preferred had started to feel too… unsupportive. He chose a couple of pairs of tight-fitting boxer briefs, instead, after spending quite a while staring at the “novelty” briefs. The pink ones with the text “trouser snake” and a horrendous image of a vaguely penis-like anthropomorphic snake were disturbing, but Castiel quite liked the lime green ones with a bee and a text “I wanna bzzzz you”. However, they did not have his size, so he left them in the rack and went to drop his 5-pack of black and grey boxer briefs into the cart.
Dean’s eyes followed the pack and then darted away quickly. He swallowed loud enough for Castiel to hear it.
“Huh, always thought you were more of a shorts kinda guy,” Dean said. A small blush was onlymaking its way over his cheeks and Castiel could not help staring at it with fascination. Surely commenting on another man’s underwear was something “real men” weren’t supposed to do?
“Jimmy preferred shorts. However, I dislike the sensation of my genitals moving around so freely,” Castiel said.
Dean let out a choked sound. “Jesus, man! TMI, TMI!” he hissed.
Cas narrowed his eyes in irritation. “You asked.” He turned around and started to march towards the front of the store, not waiting to see if Dean would follow. He only wanted this useless excursion to be finally over.
Somehow, he almost felt cheated; he hadn’t been allowed to make his own choices, only to copy Dean’s. His new toiletries and clothes felt depressing, dark and boring. Was this an omen of things to come? Would his entire mortal life be painted in hues of black and grey, dark blue and dark green? With the occasional spot of color in the form of blood stains?
From the corner of his eye, Cas saw something sparkling. An age-old reflex made him think of blades glinting in the sun, and he turned abruptly, looking around until he saw what had caught his attention.
It was a black t-shirt, similar to many he had already seen. But this one wasn’t just plain and black and it also didn’t have a fake logo of some beer brand or other ‘manly’ pursuits. Instead, it had rhinestones attached to its back in the shape of beautiful pair of wings.
Cas stared. He gravitated closer, barely even noticing his legs moving, and touched the fabric. It wasn’t rough like the shirts he had thrown into the cart: it felt silky and smooth and a little bit stretchy.
“Dude, what the hell? Stop rubbing that shirt or we’ll get kicked out for being some kind of pervs,” Dean hissed at him. A hot flash of anger went through Cas and, for a second, he really wished he could still smite. He turned around to stare at Dean, who, to Cas’ surprise, took a hurried step backwards.
“I like this,” Cas stated and held the shirt in front of himself. It was supposedly the same size his previous t-shirts had been, but strangely enough it was a lot smaller. He went about looking for a larger size and found it.
“That’s a woman’s shirt, Cas, you can’t wear that,” Dean told him. Castiel ignored him and looked away from the shirt, glancing around the shelves and racks around them.
They were full of color: red, light blue, violet, pink. Yellow. There were flower patterns and pictures of birds. Some of the shirts here had text and logos on them, too, but instead of beer and cars they were about love, music and joy.
“Are these… are these all intended for women?” Castiel asked. He reached a hand out and touched a violet blouse. It was very soft.
“Yeah. Look, do you… do you miss your wings, or something?” Dean asked him, his voice hushed. Castiel looked at him in confusion and then at the shirt in his hands. The wing pattern glittered beautifully under the spot lights.
By the time Castiel became human, his wings had been useless for such a long time that he had been ecstatic to get rid of their weight. But maybe…
“Yes,” he said firmly, “this shirt reminds me of flying through the night sky with wind beneath my wings.”
It worked. Dean let out a long-suffering sigh and allowed Castiel to drop the shirt in their cart. Castiel felt victorious. He stepped deeper into the wonderful jungle of colors and patterns, ignoring the way Dean called after him in a hushed whisper.
Another t-shirt, this one dark purple with sweet pink rose patterns.
“This reminds me of the rose bushes of my favorite heaven, which I will never see again.”
A light blue hoodie made of something so very soft.
“Like a cloud, Dean. I will never be able to touch the clouds again.”
Comfortable, stretchy, tight pants with patterns like a tiger. Even Castiel had to admit that they were a bit of a stretch.
“Dean, these remind me of how I was free like a tiger, a powerful predator, not bound to this weak mortal form.”
Dean gave him a long, searching look, obviously attempting to look for deceit. Castiel kept his expression neutral, unmoving, and finally Dean relented.
“Fine, but that’s the last one, buddy. That security guard is looking at us funny.”
This time, Castiel followed Dean without a protest.
At least, until they turned the corner into another underwear section.
Castiel could feel his mouth opening. It was strange, how his body sometimes did things without his consent, but now was not the time to analyze bodily functions. In shocked delight, Castiel stared at the rows and rows of lace, ribbons, bows in hundreds of different colors and shapes. Before he even knew what he was doing, he moved closer to a big pile of the garments. He grabbed the closest piece of fabric, something pink and slippery with white lace.
“Dude. No,” Dean said, and he sounded so strange that Castiel turned to look. Dean’s face was almost scarlet and his eyes were very wide as he stared at the piece of clothing in Castiel’s hands.
“Are these intended for women, too?” Castiel asked.
“Yeah. Yes. Cas, you can’t… they won’t fit you,” Dean said. He almost sounded like someone was strangling him.
Castiel put away the slippery piece of cloth he was holding and picked up another pair of underwear. They were forest green, with a beautiful lattice of ribbons on the sides and a small black bow at the front.
“These look very supportive. And the color is much nicer than in the ones I picked,” Castiel pointed out.
“No! No, look, they won’t fit. Your… junk won’t fit in them,” Dean whispered and tried to snatch the pair away from Castiel. He side-stepped Dean with ease and held the garment higher at his eye level. Dean was perhaps right, there was not enough room for his penis, especially if he became erect. However, it was an easy thing to remedy. Castiel picked up a larger size and tried to put it in the cart, but Dean snatched it away from his hand and threw it back on the pile like they burned his hand.
“No, Cas, you can’t wear them. Men don’t wear those kinds of things, alright?” Dean said to him. His voice was angry, but curiously high-pitched, and his face was still very red. Castiel looked at the pile of colorful discounted underwear (Three for the price of two! declared the sign), and then back at Dean.
“Why not?” he asked, and watched with mild interest as Dean spluttered, waved his hands, and stuttered for approximately 5.4 seconds.
“Because they just don’t, okay!” Dean finally yelled, loud enough to turn heads.
Castiel shook his head. “That is not an acceptable explanation. The colors and patterns of these are preferable to those of the men’s underwear selection, and these have much more interesting details. They also look much more supportive, which is something I am looking for.” He picked up the green garment again.
“No, no, no, they don’t… they look stupid on men. They look much better on women,” Dean said. Amazingly, his ruby-red face turned a shade darker. Castiel was starting to get worried about his health. Dean also refused to meet his eyes and his Adam’s apple bounced up and down as he swallowed compulsively.
Castiel placed the pair of green underwear in front of his crotch and tilted his head to examine them. Dean let out a high, whimpering sound, which Castiel has never heard before. Perhaps his friend was coming down with a cold and had a sore throat.
Castiel put the pair into the cart. When Dean tried to reach in and throw them away again, Castiel gripped his wrist. “I don’t intend to show them around, so I don’t care what they look like on me. I like the color and the details. I want to buy them,” he said firmly. He held Dean’s eyes with his own gaze, and pulled Dean’s hand away from the cart, perhaps with a tad more force than he had intended.
However, Dean didn’t struggle, and when Castiel let go of his hand, his arm dropped and hung limply at his side. Dean looked down and then quickly shuffled behind their shopping cart, crouching down like he was trying to hide behind it. Castiel watched him for a while until he was satisfied that Dean would not try to stop him again. Then he finally started to peruse the discount pile with much more enthusiasm than he had expected from this trip.
He soon found a second pair he liked. They were light blue, made of some slippery material and the waistband and leg holes were lined with white lace. However, the third pair took a much longer; there weren’t very many in his size, at least not pretty ones. He picked up a yellow pair with little red dots that had nothing but a string in the back. He did not like the idea of the string sinking between his buttocks and pressing against his testicles, so he put those aside. He also put aside most white and black pairs because of the dull colors, but one pair of black ones caught his eye because of their sheer, shiny material. Castiel lifted them up to have a closer look, and heard a strange, choked sound from behind him. He turned to look at Dean and raised an eyebrow. He was getting irritated at the constant interruptions.
However, Dean was not trying to interrupt him, this time; he wasn’t even looking at Castiel, but the black piece of cloth in his hands. His mouth hung open, which was a curiously becoming look on him.
Castiel did not understand why Dean seemed so interested in this particular pair of underwear, when the others had so many more different, beautiful details. The black ones were in fact quite boring: they had no decorations, aside from a tiny black bow and a small fake diamond in the front. Castiel also could not understand the point of the partly transparent material. In his understanding, the purpose of underwear was to cover his genitals. This material would cover nothing.
Still, Castiel was getting tired, the black pair seemed quite supportive and they were the right size. He threw them into the cart, ignored Dean’s quiet whimper and started to make his way over to the cash registers. He had to pause and wait for Dean a few times, since he was walking at a curiously slow pace, crouched low over their shopping cart. Once Castiel even had to redirect the cart, because Dean was staring into it with an intense look he usually reserved for baked goods and willing women and was about to crash into a mobility scooter and its irate, overflowing occupant.
It felt like hours before they were finally back at the car. At least Dean seemed to be back to normal, or close to it, now that the feminine clothes that bothered him so much had been packed away in plastic bags.
They drove in silence.
Until Dean suddenly cursed quietly.
“You tricky son of a bitch,” he said, sounding almost awed, “You don’t give a crap about the night sky or cloud touching, do you? You just wanna wear women’s clothes, you perv,” Dean continued and stared at him.
“They are much more beautiful than men’s clothes. Watch the road, Dean,” Castiel said, hiding his smug smirk by looking out of the side window.
“They are much more expensive, that’s what they are! And you sure as hell are not going to wear them outside the bunker,” Dean said.
“Fine,” Castiel said. It seemed reasonable: wearing the “wrong kind” kind of clothes would draw attention, which they could not afford in their field of business. But if the women’s underwear, or “panties” as Dean called them, turned out to be comfortable, he would wear them whenever he wanted. After all, what Dean didn’t know, could not annoy him.
Castiel smiled in satisfaction, confident that this was the end of the discussion about his clothing preferences.
*
Castiel had been human for approximately 1.5 days, when he had decided that mornings were one of the most despicable aspects of mortal life. Most humans seemed to be able to face them after copious amounts of caffeine. However, the taste of coffee disgusted him. As Steve, Castiel had had an unlimited access to Gas-and-Sip’s coffee. He had drunk gallons of it, dunking in packet after packet of sugar and cream, because it was often the only nourishment he could get, aside for a few stale nachos he could scavenge at the end of the day.
Now, Castiel was adamant that he would never touch the vile liquid ever again. He had found that a hot (scalding) shower was the only thing that could make the cold, unforgiving mornings seem more bearable. His showers were luxuriously long, left his skin pink, and usually ended with Dean banging on the door and shouting at him.
Castiel took his time with washing his hair with his new, unscented shampoo. He enjoyed the feeling of massaging his scalp. He enjoyed his new shower gel even more: the fresh scent of Springtime Birch did remind him of spring, the beginning of new life. He scrubbed generous amount of the liquid into his skin, and was happy to note that the scent lingered even after he rinsed off.
Still tired and disoriented, dressed only in his most comfortable sweatpants, Castiel made his way to the kitchen. Unlike Dean and Sam, he was not able to stomach a large breakfast and often only ate a piece of fruit or some yoghurt. Dean often nagged at him, but usually stopped when Castiel told him that he sounded like a hysterical housewife.
Sam and Dean were already up. Sam was sitting by the table with a large stack of pancakes in front of him, and Dean was manning the stove, pouring the batter into the pan. Castiel stepped beside Dean to reach for an apple sitting in the fruit basket on the counter. From the corner of his eye, he noticed that Dean went still. Ignoring the man, Castiel grabbed the apple and turned around to lean on the counter next to Dean, who was still hovering in place, unmoving.
Dean cleared his throat a few times.
“You, uh, you using that Anti-Hangover shower gel I bought you?” Dean asked in a low voice.
Sam looked up from his pancakes. Castiel looked at him and shook his head minutely. He had given the sharply-scented shower gel to Sam, who had seemed to like it much better. It only took a second for Castiel to decide that Dean did not need to know this. It was far too early to get into a fight with Dean over Castiel’s “weird, pervy” preferences in personal hygiene products.
“Yes. I am,” Castiel said, decisive and firm, and took another bite of his apple. Dean took a deep breath.
“Smells nice, dude. Uh, really nice, actually,” Dean said.
Castiel watched as Sam smirked at his pancake tower.
“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel said, hoping that the note of triumph could not be heard from his voice. Perhaps, after he proved to Dean that scents did not have a gender, the man would let him buy whatever he wanted.
“I gotta… not really hungry,” Dean muttered and shuffled out of the kitchen.
Cas watched him go, slightly worried. Something was wrong: Dean was always hungry. Still, Sam seemed unconcerned, so Castiel decided not to worry either.
*
They hadn’t been on a case for over two weeks, and they were all suffering from symptoms of becoming “stir-crazy”. For Castiel, this meant long hours at the firing range or in the gym room and restless pacing around the bunker. Sam often accompanied him when he exercised, and they sparred many hours in the gym. Dean, however, was cooking and cleaning obsessively and consumed copious amounts of alcohol and junk food.
Finally, Sam had snapped and insisted that they start searching for a new case, yelling it through the closed door in the morning. So, Castiel pulled on his black shirt with the rhinestone wings and his casual pair of jeans.
He wasn’t too happy with the jeans. After a few days of use, they had turned out a size too big and hung low on his hips, below his hipbones, as he had forgotten to buy a belt. The shirt, however, was his favorite. The material felt soft and silky against his skin, which was a blessing as it also clung to his shoulders and chest. The neckline was lower than in “men’s” shirts, low enough to reveal his collarbones. Castiel liked it, because he hated the feeling of something too close to his throat, choking him. The wings in the back were the best part: although Castiel could not see them, he knew that they glittered and sparkled as he walked.
For some obscure reason, wearing the shirt made him feel powerful and in control. It was curious, how something so trivial could have such a profound effect on the mind. Yet another strange thing about humanity, Castiel supposed.
He marched into the bunker library, intent on finding a case to work on. Sam and Dean were already there, seated next to a table, newspapers spread in front of them. They both looked up as Cas entered the room.
“Hey, nice shirt, Cas,” Sam said.
“Thank you, Sam. Look, I have wings,” Castiel said and turned around to show his back.
Sam let out a surprised laugh. “That you do,” he said and went back to his newspaper.
Dean, however, did not seem as delighted to see his shirt; the man was frowning and grinding his teeth together as he stared at Castiel.
“Dude, you can’t wear that,” he finally said.
Castiel narrowed his eyes and decided to ignore Dean. He sat down and pulled the closest newspaper over.
“You’re practically naked in that! I can see your frigging treasure trail, that’s so not okay!” Dean hissed at him.
Castiel rolled his eyes. “I’m sitting down. You need an x-ray vision to see my stomach,” he pointed out.
“That’s not the point! I can see your hip bones, too!” Dean yelled. Castiel huffed in annoyance. It was far too early in the morning to get into a shouting match with an idiot who was far too set in his ways.
“I can even see your fucking nipples poking through!” Dean shouted, and that was pretty much the last straw for Castiel’s fraying patience.
“Perhaps you should stop looking, then!” he shouted back. To his astonishment, it did shut Dean up – and also made him flush scarlet. Sam snorted.
“’m not looking,” Dean mumbled. Sam started to chuckle. Castiel stared Dean in silence and marveled at the deep red color on the man’s face.
“I’m not looking!” Dean shouted again. He slammed his newspaper down on the table hard enough to make Castiel jump and stalked out of the room like all the hounds of hell were on his heels.
For a while, Castiel stared after him and wondered if he should go after Dean and try to talk it through. Or maybe he should go and change. If he had known his clothing preferences would become such a major issue, perhaps he could have compromised his comfort…
Castiel made to stand up, but Sam waved at him to stay seated.
“Hey, don’t mind him, Cas. Give him some space, alright? He’ll come around,” Sam said.
“Sometimes, I find it very hard to understand your brother,” Castiel muttered, petting the smooth surface of his shirt to calm himself down. He was tired, exhausted, although he had not been awake for more than an hour.
Sam snorted again. “Yeah, no kidding. Don’t worry about it, I think sometimes Dean finds it very hard to understand Dean.”
For some reason, this did help Cas to calm down and concentrate. Dean came back an hour later, sullen and quiet, and an hour after that they had two leads: a haunting in Denver and a possible werewolf in Oklahoma City.
They were on the road by midday.
*
They took care of the two leads quickly. The werewolf in Oklahoma City turned out to be a particularly vicious stray cat, which they took to a no-kill shelter, and then life returned to normal. Normal being insufferably calm and boring.
Some days later, Sam went for a run in the morning, got caught in a downpour five miles from the bunker and caught a cold from hell. Castiel stayed away from him. Partly because he did not want to become infected, but mostly because Dean’s mother-henning over his brother would have been enough to drive a saint into manslaughter. And Castiel was far from a saint.
Sam was still recovering, when an old hunter friend of Dean’s called about a severe case of haunting in Lexington. No one had died yet, but two people had been hospitalized, and it was only a matter of time before something even more serious would occur. They could not afford to wait for Sam to get back to full health, and Castiel would have to accompany Dean on the hunt.
Normally, Castiel would have been delighted to get out and actually do something. Now, the thought of sitting in a car with Dean (and only Dean) for several hours seemed like the worst torture in the world. Being close to Dean made him irritated, like there was an itch under his skin he could not scratch.
Of course, since Castiel became human, he had grown used to the many various, interesting, exciting and confusing sensations brought on by Dean’s closeness. But this infuriating itch, the tightness, irritation, tension, whatever it was, was new and only seemed to get worse by the day. It was also much harder to ignore or repress.
Still, lives were at stake here, and Castiel was more than willing to push aside his discomfort to help others. They packed up and spent the whole day driving, arriving at Lexington a little before midnight. As Castiel had expected, the drive had been uncomfortable and they did not talk much. And when they arrived at a motel, Dean asked for two rooms without even looking at Castiel.
Later, sitting on his own bed alone in the silent motel room, Castiel reflected on this new tension in Dean and his relationship. He was starting to suspect that perhaps Dean did not like him all that much. At least, not anymore, now that Castiel was human. The thought was rather devastating and kept him awake late into night.
The following day, they stayed focused on the case. It only took them a few hours and two terrified, embarrassed victims to find out that the ghost was the spirit of a woman, who had been cheated on by three different boyfriends. She had died in a car accident while running away after catching her latest boyfriend in bed with her own aunt. Her chosen victims were all unfaithful men, but luckily none of them had died yet.
“No wonder she’s pissed. People can be fucking nasty to each other,” Dean panted as he dug deeper into the woman’s grave. Castiel kept watch; luckily the cemetery seemed deserted this time of night.
“Not everyone is as righteous as you. And for people living normal lives, taking love granted is far too easy,” Castiel said, testing the temperature by blowing out some air. No vapor, so no ghosts nearby.
Dean did not answer him, just huffed to himself.
Fifteen minutes later, Dean forced the coffin lid open and started to sprinkle the salt. The temperature dropped below freezing and Castiel gripped his shotgun tighter.
“She is coming,” Castiel warned Dean only seconds before the ghost materialized on the other side of the grave. Castiel shot at the apparition and it disappeared, but he was sure that it would not stay gone for long. The woman had looked enraged.
True enough, the ghost was back before Castiel could reload his shotgun, just as Dean flicked open his lighter, and it charged at Dean. Castiel didn’t even stop to think: he leapt forward to put himself between the ghost and Dean, and then he was suddenly flying through the air.
Castiel hit the ground several feet from the grave, face-down. The fall was hard enough to leave him winded and gasping for breath. His ribs felt bruised and tender against the ground. Behind him, Castiel could hear the whoosh of gasoline-induced flames and the screech of the ghost as she burned out of existence. Safe in the knowledge that Dean was fine, Castiel took a minute to gather himself, wheezing and panting.
“You okay, buddy? Looked like a nasty fall,” Dean said.
“I’m fine,” Castiel said and started to push himself on all fours, slow as not to hurt himself further. Everything seemed to be in working order. Except for his far too loose jeans, which had slipped midway down his buttocks, aided by the slippery material of his satin panties. Frowning in annoyance, Castiel pulled his jeans up. When he turned to Dean, he was dismayed to see that Dean was staring at his crotch level, obviously having caught sight of Castiel’s underwear.
Castiel readied himself for an argument about proper attire, but, to his surprise and relief, Dean remained silent. Quite obviously so, opening and closing his mouth like a fish wrenched away from its natural habitat.
“Can we go now?” Castiel started towards the car, very eager to leave the scene of crime. After a few seconds he heard Dean shuffling behind him, still silent, and Castiel sighed in relief. Argument avoided.
*
They drove in silence for close to an hour, long enough to leave Lexington far behind. The original plan had been to return to the motel and check in for another night, but Dean had driven right past it without a comment. Guess they were driving through the night again.
Castiel shifted around and tried to look for a better position to fall asleep in. A curious scratching sound made it impossible, though. He glanced at Dean with irritation: the man was rubbing his right palm up and down his thigh in an uncharacteristically nervous manner.
“Can you stop that? I’m trying to sleep,” Castiel snapped. Part of him was ashamed of his irritated tone, but he could not help it. Ever since he had become human, Castiel had noticed that being tired often made him feel inexplicably angry.
“Huh? You tired?” Dean asked. He glanced at Castiel and then quickly looked away again, licking his lips.
Castiel rolled his eyes. “Well, it is three am,” he muttered. He was too awake now to sleep.
“Um. Shit. Uh, we drove past the motel?” Dean asked.
Castiel turned to look at his friend . Dean was decidedly, as they say, “out of it”.
“You drove past the motel,” he said. Dean did not say anything to that. After a while he resumed his thigh rubbing, flexing his wrist hard at every downward rub.
They were silent once again. Castiel considered switching the radio on, but at this time of night it was always a gamble. Maybe he'd find a station playing something decent. But more probable was that they would end up listening to senile ramblings about evil squirrels or today’s youth.
“You like wearing them, then?”
Dean broke the silence so suddenly that it took Castiel a few seconds to understand that he had spoken and a few more to realize Dean was speaking to him. “Wearing what?” Castiel asked to buy himself some time. He knew very well what Dean was talking about. But he really was not feeling up to fighting, again.
“The… the panties,” Dean said. His voice was curiously hushed, like he was trying to whisper the words even though no one was there to hear them.
Castiel bit back a sigh. “Yes. Not only are they supportive, but the material also feels very pleasant against my skin. And I must inform you that you were wrong: they fit me very well.” He added the last bit out of spite, but Dean did not say anything. Castiel heard the dry click of Dean’s throat as the man swallowed. He looked over.
Dean was staring straight forward with wide, glassy eyes. His posture was slumped. He had folded himself over the steering wheel, which he was gripping so hard his knuckles were white.
“Yeah?” Dean asked, his voice hoarse and strangled. He licked his lips and cleared his throat. “How… how do they look on you?”
Castiel frowned in confusion. Surely this was not a suitable topic for two “buddies” or “pals” to talk about? But then again, Dean had asked, and he would never do anything that would compromise his masculinity.
“Somewhat different than on women, I suppose,” Castiel said. He felt at loss what to say. “I have taken to shaving off most of my pubic hair, because the slippery materials feel better that way. I also like how the lace looks against my skin, especially in white as my skin is so tanned,” Castiel paused and glanced at Dean suspiciously. Dean’s breathing sounded laborious and he was shifting around on his seat. But he didn’t tell Castiel to stop speaking, didn’t yell “Dude, cross” or “TMI, man, TMI”.
“As for the fit, it is quite obvious that I, uh, ‘pack something extra’, but it feels very comfortable. Fitting in my testicles is sometimes bit of a challenge, but they feel very well protected, cradled within the soft material.”
Castiel was fairly sure he heard Dean whimper. Was he injured after all? The leather crinkled as Castiel watched Dean squirming on his seat.
“Have you… have you worn the, uh, black ones yet?” Dean asked. His voice was even lower than Castiel’s own. Sudden bout of intense throat ache?
“I have tried them on. But I don’t understand their purpose,” Castiel said and turned his attention away from Dean. There was a sign advertising a 24/7 gas station that was coming up. Castiel wondered if he could convince Dean to stop there. He was hungry.
“Purpose?” Dean asked.
Castiel rolled his eyes at the dark window. Why could they not leave this topic behind them?
“I have understood that the purpose of underwear is to cover your private areas and to keep your other clothes clean. However, the black pair covers nothing. It is quite obvious that there is a penis under the sheer cloth. In fact, the material almost seems to highlight it. I can’t even imagine what they would look like if I were to become erect,” Castiel explained, eyeing the nearing exit lane with longing.
Impala lurched on the road. “Oh fuck. Shit, shit, shit.” Dean whispered the words so quietly that Castiel suspected he was not supposed to hear them. Dean floored the gas and the car surged forward on the abandoned highway. Dean hit the blinker to the right. He swerved into the next exit lane so fast that the car’s rear end veered to right and left with barely any control, nearly hitting a rail on the left. Castiel’s heart lurched in fright.
“Dean!” he shouted and gripped at the edge of his seat.
“Sorry, sorry! Gotta… fuck, I gotta, um, pee,” Dean mumbled, eyes wild. He pulled to the stop haphazardly in front of the generic gas station. Dean didn’t even shut the engine before he was scrambling out of the car and hobbling desperately towards the restrooms, bent almost double.
Castiel watched him go and reached over and turned the key to switch off the engine. The car plinked quietly in the cool night air. Castiel frowned at the way Dean fumbled with the restroom doors. The man usually had an elephant’s bladder and they had not even drunk anything for hours.
Worriedly, Castiel contemplated his own need to urinate. These bodily functions were one of the most disgusting parts of humanity, and he usually ignored them for as long as he could. But Dean hated granting unnecessary toilet breaks and if he planned to drive through the night, perhaps it would be best if Castiel relieved himself now.
He rose from the car and locked its doors before stretching for half a minute. Then, he followed Dean to the restrooms, pulled open the door and stepped into the unpleasant odors of a public restroom.
Two steps into the muggy warmth, Castiel stopped dead.
Only one of the cubicle doors was closed, and behind it, Castiel could hear soft, stifled grunts and choked, aborted moans. There was a definite slap of a palm against concrete wall, and the smooth, damp, flapping sound of skin moving against skin in rapid, firm movements.
At this point, it was a very familiar sound to Castiel, one that accompanied many of his morning showers. And that was why he backed out slowly on silent feet and took great care to close the door without a sound. In a daze, he walked over to a nearby crop of trees and pulled down his zipper to relieve himself there instead.
He was quickly growing erect. Which was not surprising, considering that Dean, the imaginary star of many of Castiel’s morning showers, was masturbating furiously only a few short steps away. Keeping his mind carefully blank, Castiel managed to urinate despite the discomfort. Afterwards, he tugged his still half-hard member inside his satin panties, walked back to the Impala, filled her up and went to pay.
*
Castiel had eaten his Snickers bar and drunk one quarter of his water bottle by the time Dean emerged from the restroom. Dean’s face was still flushed and judging by the way the man walked, his legs were wobbly and weak. There was a small grin on his face that disappeared the second he saw Castiel, replaced by embarrassment and a hint of guilt.
Dean got in the car in silence and accepted the coffee Castiel handed to him with a grunt. Then they were on their way again.
In the dim silence of the car, with the slight scent of Dean’s sweat and aftershave only inches away, there was nothing to occupy Castiel’s mind. Over and over again, his memory played the scene of him walking into the restroom and hearing all those quiet sounds of pleasure.
Now, it was Castiel’s turn to shift on his seat. His erection had not gone fully down, and now it was returning in full force. It did not help at all that Castiel realized that Dean had not needed to pee, after all. All his squirming and shifting and whimpering had been because he had been so aroused.
The thought was almost too exciting. Dean had sat there, as hard and desperate as Castiel was now, and Castiel had known nothing. Castiel was happy with his shapeless, dull-colored sweater now. It helped hide the obvious bulge in his jeans.
Dean started to hum some mediocre rock tune, and his off-key rendition and the resulting irritation helped tame Castiel’s arousal. As his blood returned to his head, he began to consider the strangeness of the past hours.
Dean was over forty years old, far past the age of unwarranted erections. He was fairly active, but his eating habits were very poor and he was, at best, a heavy drinker and, at worst, a functioning alcoholic. In short, he should have been suffering from the first signs of erectile dysfunction. And judging by the fact that Dean’s interest in one-night-stands had been decreasing at a rapid speed and that he tended to choose Netflix and a plate of nachos over hitting the bar more and more often, it was obvious that his sexual appetite was not what it used to be. Thus, Castiel found it quite implausible that the man had reached a stage of such intense sexual arousal without any kind of stimulation.
Dean had not touched himself, Castiel was sure of that. Nor had there been any women around for Dean to ogle, unless you counted the ghost, which Castiel did not. In conclusion, Castiel had to surmise that Dean had been thinking something very arousing.
But what? At what point did Dean have the time to fantasize? They had been fighting a ghost and then they had been driving and talking. Castiel replayed their conversation over in his mind and started to wonder. They had been talking about underwear. For Castiel, there was nothing sexually appealing about a few scraps of cloth, but perhaps Dean found lingerie arousing? Maybe he had what people called a “fetish”?
Stealthily, Castiel pulled out his phone and tapped “lingerie fetish” into the search engine. According to Wikipedia, lingerie indeed aroused many people. But the image search only had pictures of females in lingerie. Castiel’s form was undoubtedly male, holding no interest to Dean.
But perhaps Dean found the idea of panties so exciting that his mind was willing to ignore Castiel’s wrongly-shaped body? Perhaps… perhaps, if Castiel wore lingerie, Dean would be willing to overlook his physical gender? Would he even be amenable to some form of sexual relations?
The thought alone made Castiel’s heart jump and his stomach contract in pleasant arousal. Dean was, without a doubt, the most beautiful man Castiel had ever seen, inside and out. Exploring his sexuality with Dean would be fulfilling both physically and mentally. It would save Castiel from the odd sense of emptiness and shame his encounter with the reaper April had left him with.
It was certainly a matter worth researching in more depth.
*
During the next few weeks, Castiel tested his theory. When Dean came by to ask if he had any laundry, Castiel dropped the green panties into the basket Dean was carrying and watched the man closely. Dean blushed and his throat worked furiously, but there was no comment, and he left too quickly for Castiel to see if he became aroused.
Other time, Castiel allowed his track pants to slip down so that Dean could get a glimpse of the white lace surrounding his waist. Dean could not tear his eyes away from the revealed strip of satin and lace. Castiel was fairly sure there was a suspicious bulge growing underneath Dean’s jeans before the man turned away.
However, the final event that cemented Castiel’s theory on Dean’s lingerie fetish was a complete accident. Castiel was putting on clothes in his room after his morning shower, only dressed in black socks and the pair of mossy green panties, when Dean barged in without knocking. He did that sometimes, forgetting that the entire bunker was no longer at his disposal, but this time the intrusion worked in Castiel’s favor. Dean froze at the doorway, his mouth open but no sound escaping. His eyes raked over Castiel’s naked form and finally settled over his panty-covered crotch.
That single-minded, focused stare made Castiel feel exposed and shy, even as it stirred an odd kind of excitement in the pit of his stomach. As Dean’s eyes started another slow journey over the uncovered expanses of Castiel’s skin, he found himself crossing his arms over his chest. There was a strange, hot feeling spreading over his face. Dean must have noticed: his gaze stopped at Castiel’s heated face and his eyes widened, pupils enlarging.
Castiel tried to hold still under Dean’s voracious scrutiny, but he could not stop himself from shifting from foot to foot. The small movement was enough to startle Dean and pull him back from the strange stupor he had seemed to have fallen into. Redness spread over his face at an alarming rate, and he started to wave his hands in mid-air.
“Sorry! Sorry! Shit, I gotta…” Dean babbled in a voice so high Castiel wondered if he would wake the bats that lived in the top floors of the bunker. Dean backed out of the door, hitting his shin on the doorframe on his way out and, by the sound of it, slamming his body against the wall outside the door.
Castiel finished putting his clothes on, his movements slow and nervous. For some reason, his hands were trembling. Just as he did the final button on his jeans, he heard a loud crash. The walls seemed to tremble. Castiel hurried out of his room and ran along the corridors until he reached the war room.
Sam was walking down the stairs. He was frowning.
“What happened? Is everything okay?” Castiel asked.
“Uh, don’t go upstairs. Or into the garage. Dean crashed the Impala and he’s pretty… well, you can guess.”
“Crashed the Impala? Is he okay?” Castiel made an aborted movement towards the stairs. He decided against it. If Sam was telling the truth, Dean was probably a blubbering, screaming mess right now.
“Yeah, he’s fine. Apparently, he forgot to lift the garage door and backed right into it. The car’s back bumper took most of the damage, so it’s not that bad. But I don’t get it. Dean’s not usually like that. Shit, it seemed like he was dreaming with his eyes wide open,” Sam said.
Castiel could feel his lips stretching into a smile and turned away from Sam to hide it. It seemed like his hypothesis had been proven correct. Dean did find lingerie arousing enough to ignore Castiel’s male form… and closed garage doors, apparently.
But how could Castiel put his proven theory into practice?
*
The following few weeks were quite uneventful. Dean fixed the Impala with ease. They took on a complicated haunting case in Iowa and dealt with an irritating fairy in Illinois. Back at the bunker, Castiel and Sam continued their training while Dean attempted to perfect his own version of coconut and lime pie. Castiel no longer flaunted his panties in front of Dean. He was attempting to lull the man into a false sense of safety.
It worked. Dean became more and more relaxed around Castiel until they were almost back to normal. Dean was able to look him in the eyes again and no longer blushed bright red if Castiel walked around without a shirt on.
On a rainy Friday, Sam got a call from a hunter named Eileen. Castiel had never met her, but Sam and Dean had told him that she was a skilled hunter, and a MoL legacy, like them. She had run into a bit of trouble in Wyoming, her cover had been blown and she needed someone to come and pose as an FBI agent.
Sam jumped at the chance with eagerness that confused Castiel and made Dean chuckle and tease his brother. Equally confusing was the way Sam insisted that this was a one-man job and Dean and Castiel would not be needed. But Dean did not seem worried, so Castiel finally acquiesced, and Sam drove away alone.
“You know, it’s actually nice to have Sam out of my hair for a while,” Dean said. He was going through the kitchen cupboards, probably looking for some kind of junk food.
“Do you have any plans? It is Friday. Are you planning to, um, ‘hit the town’?” Castiel asked, his heart plummeting somewhere to the vicinity of his kidneys.
Dean snorted. “Fuck no. There’s a pile of hot wings calling my name in the fridge. I’m gonna find something on Netflix, stuff my face and veg out on my bed in my underwear,” Dean said, “Wanna join me? We have a metric ton of nachos, too.
Castiel blinked. That was practically an invitation and Castiel would not hesitate to take the opportunity.
“Yes. Thank you, I will join you.”
*
Castiel drew in a deep, fortifying breath before he entered Dean’s room. Dean did not look up at first, too engrossed in wiping a dollop of cheese sauce off the hem of his ratty old t-shirt. True to his words, he was not wearing pants, just loose light blue boxer shorts that had seen better days.
Castiel squared his shoulders and walked closer. Finally, Dean noticed him. The man froze in the middle of pushing a salsa-covered nacho in his mouth, and a large glob of the red sauce fell off the nacho, splattering all over Dean’s chest.
Castiel sat down and took the remote, ignoring the way Dean was gaping at him, mouth open and the nacho still in mid-air.
“What would you like to watch?” Castiel asked as he navigated to Netflix.
“Are you… you gonna wear that?” Dean asked. His voice was breathless and strangled.
“You did say you wanted to watch Netflix in your underwear,” Castiel said and glanced down at himself. Sitting down, he could only see the old Led Zeppelin t-shirt he was wearing, not the sheer, black panties that covered his genitals. Or rather, failed to cover. Oh, but Dean had caught a good, hard, long look at the panties and was still trying to catch another, his eyes lingering on Castiel’s thighs.
“Yeah, but… I didn’t…” Dean stuttered.
Castiel ignored him again. “Ah, Grimm. This should be amusing.” Castiel hit play.
The show started. Castiel pretended to watch. Dean shoveled nachos into his mouth like a starving man and kept his eyes away from Castiel.
Towards the end of the first episode, Castiel leaned back. His t-shirt rode up and Dean’s eyes dropped down at his crotch and stayed there.
With slow, measured movements, Dean leaned to put the plate of nachos away. He picked up a pillow and placed it on his lap.
For an entire episode, Castiel watched the way Dean’s eyes flickered between the TV and Castiel’s lap. Then he leaned over and picked up a few nachos, purposefully jolting the pillow resting on Dean’s lap.
Dean’s breath hitched and he seemed to shiver. He grabbed at the pillow and held it tighter.
Castiel waited for some time longer before he stood up and stretched his hands high above his head. He had his back to Dean so he could not know if the man was watching him. But Dean was certainly watching when Castiel came back from fetching them a couple of beers. Dean’s face looked feverish and he was jiggling his left leg, but he accepted the beer without comment and drank deep, pillow still held firmly in place.
Castiel was getting frustrated and tired of waiting for Dean to crack. It was obvious that the man had quite a bit more practice at ignoring his desires than Castiel himself. The thought that Dean may have been sitting right next to him with an erection was enough to make Castiel feel the first stirrings of arousal. He did not want Dean to notice his excitement, at least not until he was certain that Dean was aroused, too.
Luckily Castiel has watched enough movies to have one more trick up his sleeve. He did not have a pen, but a nacho would do. He leaned over to grab a few of them and then threw one away, on the ground in front of the TV.
“Oops,” Castiel said, stood up, took a few steps into Dean’s direct line of sight and bent over to pick the nacho up.
The choked moan Castiel heard from behind him was very satisfying. He straightened his back and looked at Dean, fervently hoping that Dean could no longer control himself and his lingerie fetish.
Dean’s eyes were screwed shut and he was biting on his bottom lip, hands curled into tight fists resting on either side of his thighs. Castiel wasn’t certain if the look on Dean’s face was disgust and he hesitated and remained still, clutching the nacho in his hand.
Dean took a few deep breaths and opened his eyes. He did not look very happy, and as Castiel continued to stare, his frown only grew deeper and deeper. He didn’t look angry, but confused. Castiel stood still, uncertain whether he should return on the bed or escape to his room.
Dean blinked a few times, and the confusion slowly cleared from his face. “Are you… are you actually trying to seduce me?”
Castiel bit back the vehement denial on the tip of his tongue and gathered his courage. “Perhaps. Is it working?”
At that, Dean’s face turned a shade redder and he clutched the pillow closer to himself. Suddenly Castiel felt much braver. He let the soggy nacho drop onto the floor and moved closer to Dean with careful steps, like he was approaching a skittish animal. Castiel took hold of one corner of the pillow.
“Is it working, Dean?” he asked and tugged gently. For a second, Dean held on tight, staring right at Castiel with wide, nervous eyes.
Finally, the pillow slipped free of Dean’s fingers and Castiel slid it over the man’s lap. Dean gasped and moved against the mattress restlessly. Castiel pushed the pillow aside and could not look away.
Dean’s faded boxers were tented, the soft fabric drawn tight over the painfully erect shape of his shaft. A large wet spot had spread over the tip of his erection. Underneath Castiel’s gaze it only seemed to grow larger, the hard member inside the boxers twitching and moving with eagerness even without being touched.
Castiel felt breathless and his mind was sluggish. A single button was holding the slit in front of Dean’s frayed shorts closed. With trembling hands Castiel undid it, careful not to brush against the flesh beneath. Then he only needed to tug the cloth of the boxer shorts a little to the right, and Dean’s straining erection popped out of the slit and into the cool air.
They both moaned. Castiel’s mouth flooded with saliva.
“Cas, Cas, wait… what is…” Dean asked. He sounded panicked and confused, but for the life of him, Castiel could not look away from the tempting, twitching flesh in front of him. His hand hovered only inches away.
“Would you let me touch you, Dean?” Castiel asked, and was surprised to note that his voice was trembling.
“You… you want to?” Dean asked breathlessly. His hips shifted on the mattress again and his erection twitched up, reaching towards Castiel’s hovering hand.
“Yes,” Castiel answered, quite surprised that Dean had not figured it out yet. Perhaps the flow of blood away from his brain has made him less astute?
Dean remained quiet for a long while. His eyes raked over Castiel’s body and he licked his lips before finally taking a deep breath. “Yeah. Yeah, alright. Get… get on the bed.”
Castiel did as he was told and took his former place on the bed, leaning his back against the headboard.
“Yeah, that’s it,” Dean murmured as he twisted on his side to face Castiel. Castiel saw him looking down. Embarrassment seemed to color the man’s face when he saw his own state of arousal, which was confusing to Castiel. He, too, had become erect, but he much preferred seeing a hard cock over a flaccid one. It certainly looked more impressive.
Dean seemed to think so, too. His eyes roamed all over Castiel’s body, stopping where Castiel’s erection was pushing against the sheer material of his panties, barely contained by the flimsy cloth
“Shit. Cas, that’s…” Dean swallowed audibly and squirmed on the bed. The movement brought him closer and the wet head of his erection touched Castiel’s thigh. He heard Dean sucking in a shuddering breath.
Castiel was at a loss about what to do next. He wanted to touch Dean everywhere, but he did not want Dean to panic and leave. And he did not know the procedure in situations like this. Was he supposed to kiss Dean? Pull the man over himself? Take of his panties and allow Dean to play with them without forcing him to touch Castiel?
Luckily, Dean solved his dilemma by reaching out one shaking finger and tracing the waistline of his panties, avoiding touching his erection.
“Fucking gorgeous,” Dean rumbled, and the timber of his voice made Castiel shiver. Dean was talking about the panties, of course, but as long as his hands were on Castiel, everything was alright.
Dean squirmed more, getting out of his pre-come soaked boxers and his t-shirt. He urged Castiel to take off his shirt, too. And then Dean was plastered against Castiel’s side, naked and pushing out heat, and his hands were on Castiel’s skin.
The way Dean touched him was nothing like Castiel had imagined. Instead of rough, impatient, cursory touches, Dean’s hands were timid, slow and careful in their movements. He caressed Castiel’s arms and sides, moved his fingertips over his clavicles and pectorals.
Oddly enough, Dean was not staring at Castiel’s panties, but his face. His lips. For a second, Castiel thought that Dean was going to kiss him, and his heart leapt in joy. But then Dean’s finger travelled over his pectorals and slid over his nipple, and Castiel could not stop the sudden sound that escaped his throat or the way his body shuddered at the touch.
A smirk spread over Dean’s lips and his gaze dropped away from Castiel’s face.
“Sensitive, huh?” he murmured. Then his fingers moved again over the hardening flesh of his nipples, this time with more purpose. The sensation seemed to go straight to Castiel’s groin, and he felt his erection twitch eagerly with every pass of Dean’s fingers.
“Fuck, so responsive…” Dean whispered, seemingly to himself, as he stared down at Castiel’s body.
Something seemed to change, then. The timid touches became more sure, purposeful and gravitated closer to Castiel’s crotch. Dean moved closer, threw a leg over Castiel’s legs and pushed his hips closer until Castiel could feel the hot hardness of Dean’s erection pressing against his hip. Castiel’s breath was growing shorter. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. The other lay limply on the bed while the other was trapped beneath Dean’s lovely, warm and freckled body. Castiel curled it up, brought his palm against the nape of Dean’s neck and left it there after he saw the pleased look on Dean’s face. Castiel carded his fingers through the short hairs and enjoyed Dean’s quiet, content hum.
Dean’s fingers skirted around the cloth of Castiel’s panties, his fingernails catching on the material. Dean was no longer paying attention to Castiel’s face; his sole focus was on the panties. Partly, it made Castiel relieved, but another part of him was disappointed. The disappointed melted away when Castiel felt a warm, large palm cupping his hard flesh through the panties. He couldn’t help the surprised moan, which made Dean chuckle.
“Yeah, gonna make it so good for you,” Dean whispered. He started to move his palm, slow strokes up and down, and the entire world seemed to melt away. Nothing mattered but the pleasure of Dean’s hands on Castiel. Not on his skin, of course, Castiel was fairly certain that touching a naked penis would be too much for Dean, but this, this was good, too. Better than good, amazing. Castiel tried to remain still, but he could not help squirming a little, pushing his hips up against that blessed hand.
“Fuck, Cas, just like that…” Dean murmured in encouragement at Castiel’s unskilled movements. Dean’s breath sounded harsh, almost like panting, and he was rubbing his erection against Castiel’s hip. Suddenly, he shifted his position, rolled to sit up, and Castiel worried that he would leave. But instead, Dean shuffled over Castiel’s leg, pushed his thighs further apart and settled between them, leaning over Castiel’s lap.
Before Castiel had the time to process this new position, Dean was leaning forward. He slid his hand down to caress and cup Castiel’s testicles, and then Dean’s tongue was pressed against the crown of Castiel’s cock through the sheer cloth of his underwear.
Castiel’s long, choked groan surprised him. The feeling of Dean’s warm, soft tongue against him was wonderful and overwhelming. Castiel’s hand flew to Dean’s neck, maybe to tear him away, maybe to push him closer.
Castiel could no neither. He could only tremble and gasp for breath as Dean suckled and nibbled on the sensitive, hard flesh. Dean let out eager, obscene sounds that Castiel had only come to associate with Dean when the man was eating really good pie.
It took a while for Dean to find a good rhythm, the best way to move his talented fingers up and down the hard shaft while tonguing the sensitive head, but when he did, Castiel knew it would not be much longer. Still, orgasm built differently than when he was alone, in fits and starts, ebbing away only to come back a little later, stronger. And when Dean let out a moan loud enough to rattle the door and Castiel saw the way Dean’s hips were moving, fucking thin air in search of some relief, Castiel was suddenly there, on the brink of it.
“Dean! Dean, I’m going to…” Castiel’s voice sounded strange, strangled and breathless, but Dean understood him.
“Fuck, Cas, fuck, yeah, come one, sweetheart.” Dean was just as breathless as Castiel, and sounded near delirious, but he still kept moving his hand, stroking his fingers up and down. “Are you gonna come in your pretty panties, soak them through with your cum?”
Castiel was going to, very, very soon.
And then he did, back bowed and all muscles trembling. He released spurt after spurt inside his panties, already wet with Dean’s saliva. His orgasm seemed to last forever, and its intensity stole the last of his breath.
A wet, frantic sound made him force his eyes open much sooner than he would have liked. It was worth it when he saw the glorious sight of Dean leaning over him, face flushed and sweaty, pulling at his own erection with desperate, frantic movements.
“Fuck, oh fuck, so fucking gorgeous. Jesus, look at that mess. Are you gonna make me clean it all up, angel? Gonna make me lick it all up?”
Castiel was no longer an angel, but this was hardly the time to remind Dean of the fact. Castiel lifted a trembling hand to help Dean find his own release, but it was too late.
“Christ, fuck, I’m gonna lick it all up, yeah,” Dean gritted out through clenched teeth. Then he let out a hoarse shout, and something warm splattered over Castiel’s thighs and stomach. Looking down, Castiel saw the stripes of white covering his skin and his panties, almost hiding the mess inside.
Dean stared at the sight, too, panting, and Castiel thought that he saw some embarrassment creeping in to replace the blissed out look on his face. But then Dean just sighed, gave a small, lopsided and slightly sheepish grin at Castiel and rolled over to lie beside Castiel on his back.
*
For some time, they both lay there in silence, trying to catch their breath. Castiel was uncertain what to do. Should he leave? After his unfortunate “one-night stand” with April, the reaper had solved the issue by killing Castiel.
Obviously, that was not an option this time.
Dean let out a weak chuckle and wiped his hand over his face. Had Castiel’s performance been so bad that it was laughable? Before Castiel had the time to fret too much, Dean turned to look at him with a lazy grin on his face.
“Jesus, I haven’t come that hard since high-school,” he said, and instantly Castiel felt better. Granted, he had not done much besides lying still, but it seemed that Dean was pleased.
“Uh, you should take those off. Dried cum is a bitch, even if you don’t have pubes,” Dean said. A slight blush rose to his cheeks as he waved his hand towards Castiel’s crotch.
Castiel did not want to remove his underwear. That would mean that he would have to leave. Dean would not like to see the obvious reminder that Castiel was in a male body. Still, the feeling of semen cooling and drying on his skin was not a pleasant one, so Castiel slipped out of his panties. He discarded them on the floor while trying to hide his genitals from view.
“Here, let me…” Dean murmured and pushed at Castiel’s shoulder gently until he lay back against the headboard, all uncovered for Dean’s gaze. Castiel tried to shy away, but Dean would not let him and neither did he “freak out”. Instead, he used his own t-shirt to wipe Castiel’s stomach and thighs and crotch clean. His eyes did linger on Castiel’s now soft cock, but there was no disgust on his face, and his touches were soft and careful.
Castiel did not understand what was going on. Dean touched his jaw gently and tipped his head so that Castiel had to look him in the eyes.
“You enjoyed that, too, right?” Dean asked. Castiel blinked in confusion. Did Dean really need to ask that?
“Of course. It was very pleasurable,” Castiel said. Something in Dean’s face seemed to relax at that, and the softness in his eyes gave Castiel courage to ask for something he wanted very, very much. “If you… Perhaps you would be amenable to doing that again, sometime?”
Dean grinned. “Hell yeah. Gimme, like, 30 minutes and we’ll go again,” he said. His eyes travelled over Castiel’s prone form and his tongue slid over his plump lower lip. “Yeah, let’s make that 20 minutes.”
Castiel blinked in surprise. He had not expected Dean to agree, and even less agree to continue so soon. Of course, Castiel was not going to say no. Maybe the next time, he would actually get to touch Dean. He swung his legs out of the bed to stand up.
“Hey, hey, hey, where are you going?” Dean asked.
Castiel had rather thought it was obvious. “To get another pair of panties to wear.”
For a few, long seconds, Dean only stared at him and Castiel stared back. Dean was frowning.
“Is it some kind of… Can’t you get it up without wearing them?” Dean finally asked, and now it was Castiel’s turn to frown in confusion.
“I don’t find wearing them sexually arousing. I wore them for you.”
The confusion on Dean’s face deepened. "For me?" he asked.
Castiel sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. “Some time ago, I realized that you find lingerie very stimulating. I have wanted to explore my sexuality with you for a long time, so I decided to see if your love for beautiful underwear could overcome your distaste for my male body." He didn’t dare to look at Dean, but in the end the silence became too much and he had to see the man’s reaction.
Dean was staring at him with his mouth open. As Castiel looked back, he blinked a few times and rubbed his hand over his lips.
“You think that… You wanted… Um, distaste? Jesus…” Dean mumbled.
Castiel hated it when Dean became inarticulate. Human communication was challenging at best and without words it was downright impossible.
“You are not making any sense,” he pointed out, not even trying to hide the aggravation in his voice.
Dean snorted. “I’m not making any sense? Yeah, right.”
Castiel glared at him, but the soft fondness in Dean’s eyes gave him a pause and made his heart thump almost painfully.
“Look, Cas,” Dean said as he pulled Castiel to lie back on the bed, “I’m not saying that the panties aren’t great. Fuck, they’re fantastic, they look frigging amazing on you. Hell, maybe I’ll even give them a try myself someday. But the thing is, I like what’s inside them even better.”
“My penis?” Castiel asked. Dean closed his eyes and sighed, but he was smiling, so Castiel was not too worried.
“Yeah, that too, I suppose. It is a really, really nice penis. But I was kind of referring to you in general.”
Castiel did not know what to say to that. His heart leapt with joy and he could feel a smile forcing its way onto his face.
Dean smiled back. His lips were trembling. “And I don’t find male bodies ‘distasteful’. Kinda the opposite, really. I mean, I don’t go around advertising it and I haven’t done much about it, but… yeah. Uh, equal opportunities and free love and all that,” Dean mumbled. Even though Castiel did not quite understand all he was saying, he did understand the meaning.
“Oh. Does that mean you find my body arousing even without any embellishments?” he asked, just to make sure.
“Yeah. Yeah, your body… and also kinda everything else about you, Cas,” Dean said. The words were rushed, jumbled, and they took Castiel’s breath away.
“Unless… unless you just wanted to, uh, explore. Experiment?” Dean said. The open look on his face was already shutting off and he was drawing away. Castiel’s hand shot out and he gripped Dean’s shoulder tight before he even knew what he was doing.
“No! No, I want everything. I want everything with you,” Castiel rushed to say and was rewarded with a smile he had never before seen on Dean’s face.
“Good. That’s good,” Dean breathed.
For several moments, they only stared at each other, eyes wide and with terrified half-smiles on their faces. Castiel was still unsure what was allowed and what was not; he only knew what he wanted the most.
“May I… may I kiss you?” he asked, quiet enough that Dean could ignore it if he wanted. He could not look away from Dean’s plump lips and the tongue that swept over them, leaving them shiny and pink.
“Yeah. Yeah,” Dean murmured. In a sudden move, he rolled over onto Castiel and settled over him, covering Castiel’s body with his own. Their hips pushed together. Castiel could feel the thatch of coarse hair against his lower belly and the silky soft mound of flesh pressing against his own. Dean’s eyes fluttered shut and he bit on his lower lip, drawing Castiel’s attention back to his mouth.
Dean’s mouth was beautiful, almost indecent in its softness and plumpness. His lips were parted and trembling. As if in trance, Castiel cupped the back of Dean’s neck with his palm and pulled him closer, slow and careful.
First touch of skin against skin was a revelation. Castiel shuddered under Dean’s delightful weight and enjoyed the silky glide of Dean’s full lips against his own. He surrendered the reins to Dean, allowed him to decide the pace, because he was far more experienced in this sort of intimacy than Castiel himself.
Oh, and Dean was good. His mouth was soft and wet and careful, moving over Castiel’s lips. First feather light and then harder, more demanding and in control as he gained confidence. Castiel barely noticed when he started moving his hips, pushing them up and grinding them against Dean in little circles. He only stopped when he felt Dean starting to harden. His mind flashed back to their previous tryst and to the words Dean had spoken at the height of his passion, spurring on his own arousal.
Castiel pulled away from the kiss, with some reluctance. “This time, when we make a mess, do you want me to make you lick it all up?” he asked.
Dean’s eyes went wide and the blush that had retreated returned.
“Umm, I don’t, uh, what?” Dean stuttered, but Castiel felt the way his swelling flesh twitched with eagerness against Castiel’s and became distinctively harder between one heartbeat and the next.
Dean’s blush deepened further; he must have noticed his rising arousal, too.
“Shut up, Cas,” he muttered and took Castiel’s mouth again, presumably to keep him from talking.
Castiel had no complaints.
*
A few weeks later, Castiel and Dean were having lunch in the kitchen, when Sam stumbled in, fresh from his shower. He had been back for nearly a week. He had returned from his hunt with Eileen in high spirits, but had soon become a “mope-y, whipped, sad excuse of a man”. Dean’s words, not Castiel’s. Suffice to say, Sam had not been pleasant company, which gave Castiel and Dean ample opportunity to spend some quality time together.
Dean shifted on his chair and winced. Castiel hid his undoubtedly smug smile behind his crisp apple. Sam was rustling something behind them in sullen silence. Castiel ignored him until sudden stillness made Castiel glance back.
Sam had dug out a slip of paper from the trash and he was staring at Dean with an angry look on his face.
“Care to explain, Dean?” Sam asked, waving the small slip of paper in the air. Castiel turned to look at his beloved, who was stuffing his face with bacon without even looking at his brother.
“Explain what, Sammy?” A few crumbs of toast sprayed out of Dean’s mouth. Castiel licked his thumb and cleaned them up.
“Explain why the hell you’ve spent over 200 dollars in Victoria’s Secret,” Sammy spat out and threw the receipt onto the table.
Dean’s mouth fell open and his eyes went wide. Castiel paused, thumb midway to his mouth.
“Jesus Christ, Dean, forged credit cards don’t grow in trees!”
Dean put down his slice of toast. “Why the hell you are digging through the trash? You get turned into some raccoon-human hybrid while you were gone?” Dean asked. In Castiel’s opinion, it was rather good deflection, considering their line of business.
“Stop deflecting, Dean! Did you honestly spend over 200 dollars on some random chick? What, can’t get laid anymore without some serious bribes?”
“Hey, I can get laid just fine!” Dean shouted as he shot up from his chair. He winced again.
“Yeah right. Next you gonna tell me you bought some frigging expensive panties for a girlfriend you’ve been seeing for months. Probably works at the liquor store and takes shifts at the wings joint, right?” Sam asked snidely.
Castiel bristled. He did not like Sam’s insinuations. Dean was a very desirable man, who did not need to bribe anyone to have sex with him. And there was no girlfriend, of that Castiel was sure.
“Dean did not buy the panties for some woman,” Castiel said, raising his voice so that Sam could hear him over the noise of the brothers’ shouting at each other. They paused their screaming match, and Sam turned to look at him, his face still angry. Behind him, Castiel could see the way Dean was frantically shaking his head.
“Dean bought them for us,” Castiel said calmly.
Dean let out a quiet groan and sunk back onto the chair. He groaned and winced again.
Sam’s mouth was wide open. Castiel could see his tongue. It was an unattractive sight.
“He… he… for you?” Sam stuttered. Castiel nodded and watched as Dean burrowed his face into his hands.
“For, like, both of you, to use, like, together?” Sam asked feebly. Castiel nodded again and frowned. Sam was not usually this dimwitted.
“Oh. Oh! Uh, fuck, that’s…that’s just… great. Look, I’m gonna…” And then Sam was backing out of the room, his expression somewhere between horrified, nauseated and joyful.
Castiel watched him leaving.
Dean groaned against the table, still hiding behind his hands. “Honestly? This? This is the man I choose to love?” he mumbled, sounding exasperated and mortified.
Castiel did not think the words were meant for his ears. The tone was perhaps not the most loving, but the words still made Castiel’s heart leap and left him feeling warm and content inside.
Indeed, humans were sometimes very hard to understand. Himself included.
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