Chapter Text
Your Love (The Outfield)
It wasn’t like he expected any different, but every time something like this came to his attention, Castiel felt the barest twinge of regret. What he was regretting he couldn’t exactly say, whether it was the marriage itself, his choice of wife (not that he’d had much choice in the matter), or letting things get this far. The first time he’d met her, at one of his father’s corporate retreats, he knew she’d be trouble. Her immediate dismissal of him had been somewhat of a relief. Even though she was stunningly beautiful, her personality was obviously not something he would ever be attracted to, and her change of opinion when she heard his last name didn’t help in that regard. While she’d been rude and almost hostile to a random corporate drone, she was solicitous and falsely coquettish to the boss’ son. But at that age, Castiel had been all about obedience at work and towing the family line, two ideals he had felt were synonymous with each other. Ten years later, he wasn’t so sure, about obeying his father in any aspect of life and about marrying Josie Sands.
Their courtship had been quick and efficient, once the elder Mr. Novak had been presented (by Josie, herself) with a business proposition/marriage proposal. It seemed that Sandover Bridge and Iron, Inc was more than a little in arrears with their creditors and Josie’s proposed merger with her family’s small but lucrative shipping firm was the godsend Castiel’s father had been praying for. So, his father got to continue the company Castiel’s mother’s family had founded over a hundred years ago, and Josie’s family got the prestige and vastly expanded customer base they desired. Castiel got a wife he had no need or desire for, and Josie got someone to do her taxes and walk her ugly lap dog while she was away.
Castiel sighed and looked out the window of his home office, where he’d spent the last few hours reviewing his lovely wife’s expenses from her last ‘business trip’ to New Orleans. Said business trip had incurred bills from the hotel for a couple’s massage, eight bottles of champagne, and two ‘amenities’ (read: prophylactics) baskets during her three-day stay. Not that he was one to criticize, seeing as their wedding night had been the one and only time he’d touched her, and it had been memorable only for its awkwardness. For the first nine years of their marriage, she had been professionally discrete in her numerous affairs, but in the last year, she had thrown all discretion out the window, even going so far as to have some of her ‘friends’ drop her off home after their visits. The increased frequency of her ‘business trips’ spoke very ill of the state of their marriage. He’d sat at his desk all morning, pouring over the details of her indiscretions and found the only emotion he could muster was relief that she had only stayed home for a week before leaving on a two-week ‘working’ vacation.
Movement at the periphery of his vision caught his eye and Castiel leaned further back in his chair to look over the row of low bushes demarking their back yard from their neighbors’. Their house had been a gift from Josie’s family and was, by far, the biggest in their suburban neighborhood. Castiel had cringed every time he drove into their four-car garage the first year they’d lived there. He’d gotten used to the big, empty house by limiting his habitation of it to his bedroom and its en suite, his office, and their elaborate kitchen. The back yard was also his domain. He wasn’t even sure Josie knew they had a back yard. In ten years, he’d yet to see her step foot past the French doors at the back of the kitchen. The big yard was where Castiel spent as much of his waking hours as possible, whether tending his multiple gardens or simply enjoying the fresh air and sunshine. Josie had a redhead’s distrust of the sun, so Castiel had always felt safe from her increasingly spiteful attentions there.
The back yard had gotten even better in the last year, since the arrival of the Winchesters. Winchester the elder was a ghost, away more than not, leaving his two sons to raise themselves. Or, more to the point, leaving the oldest to raise the youngest. Castiel had thought little of the small family of Winchester men for some time, preferring to adhere to the ‘good fences’ rule of dealing with neighbors, but recently, something very important had begun to change.
Of course, he’d noted, entirely objectively, the physical beauty of the oldest Winchester boy when he’d first seen him, but the boy was barely fifteen and hadn’t even been a blip on Castiel’s radar. He’d admired the way Dean looked after his younger brother, watching both boys grow up together from the short distance between houses, like watching an after-school special about latch-key kids with the sound turned down. In the last couple of months, though, Castiel’s fascination with the family of two next door had increased exponentially. The older boy, Dean, had blossomed this spring and now, even at the tender age of just-turned-sixteen, seemed inclined to be always in Castiel’s line of sight. And oh, what a sight he was! The relentless California sun had been generous to Dean, tanning him in all the right spots to highlight his freshly-grown musculature, just this side of twink. Castiel had never really thought of himself as a dirty old lecher, but the more he watched Dean sweat it out behind their rusty lawnmower, with his shirt discarded haphazardly on a lawn chair and his cargo shorts riding dangerously low and exposing what should be an illegal amount of white skin below his tan line, the more he thought Nabokov may have had the right of it. Although a sixteen-year old boy was a far cry from a twelve-year old girl, Castiel felt nearly helpless to his growing obsession. Dean’s soft skin and nubile body had replaced the faceless hardbodies in Castiel’s nightly fantasies, even encroaching on his daily shower, until Castiel had mentally put the boy through enough debauchery to make a whorehouse madam blush.
Castiel was torn from his musings by the sputtering growl of the Winchesters’ lawnmower giving its last, dying gasp under the hot, June sky. Castiel watched, bemused, as Dean cursed the ancient machine and kicked it repeatedly after multiple attempts at restarting it met with dismal failure. The boy finally walked over to retrieve his shirt from the lawn chair and wiped the sweat from his face and chest as he walked back to stare down at the dead mower. Standing with his hands on his hips, Dean looked up at the sky, then back at the mower, finally scanning the lawn absently, as if the answer lay in the hedgerow between their houses. He stopped when his eyes lit on Castiel as he stared enraptured out the office window. Dean’s face broke in a wide grin and he raised his hand in greeting. Castiel gasped at being caught out and jerked his head back where he’d apparently been leaning his face against the cool glass of the window. His chair nearly went over but he caught himself on the desk and stared at the smudge his skin had left on the window in embarrassment and disbelief. He cleared his throat and, turning back to his desk, resolved to stop staring at delectable teenage boys and get some actual work done. His wife’s affairs weren’t going to pay for themselves, after all.
The doorbell ringing startled Castiel almost as badly as being caught lusting after his hot (and totally underage) neighbor. Seeing Dean’s wavy but unmistakable form through the pebbly glass next to the front door was slightly less of a shock. Castiel straightened his tie and brushed at the creases in his slacks before opening the door.
Dean’s smile was easily the most incredible thing Castiel had seen all day. Or even all week, Hell, probably in his whole life, “Hey, Mr. Novak!” The overly-bright greeting would have seemed insincere coming from anyone else, but something about Dean just radiated good intentions and purity. The quick up-and-down he gave Castiel, however, did not.
Castiel returned the favor, an appreciative smile stretching his lips because Dean hadn’t bothered to put on a shirt, “Dean, I’ve told you, call me Castiel.”
“Oh, right, sorry,” Was that an actual blush? How utterly unfair. “Castiel, sorry, I…uh, well, my mower kind of crapped out on me.”
The two stood there, staring at each other for a long moment. Too long, Castiel suddenly realized, “Um, yes, I, uh, I saw that.” Now it was Castiel’s turn to blush. “How can I have you?” Dean’s eyes widened almost comically. “Not have, help!” Castiel blurted out, “How can I help you?” Jesus, Novak, way to scare the kid! But Dean didn’t look scared, he looked…interested.
“Well,” and there was that trademark smirk he’d seen Dean flashing at the many girls he’d dated. It was a small town and Castiel had noticed him at several places with a different girl each time. “For starters, we can have this convo inside your nice, air-conditioned house instead of the porch…” Dean raised his eyebrows expectantly.
“Oh, yes, my apologies, please come in,” Castiel stepped aside and tried not to inhale audibly as Dean passed by him into the foyer. He couldn’t help but feel the heat radiating off Dean’s perfectly-tanned and sweat-sheened skin, though and as they stood there, Castiel got a good whiff anyway as Dean’s natural scent filled the small space thanks to the aforementioned air conditioning. Castiel quickly realized he was staring an inordinately long time again, “I’m so sorry, Dean, I’m being rude. Would you like something cold to drink?”
Dean licked those perfectly pink lips, “Yeah, definitely feelin’ a little thirsty right now.” He blatantly glanced at Castiel’s mouth and smiled knowingly.
Castiel felt another flush of warmth creeping up his neck and cleared his throat, “Um, well, yes, uh, this way.” Castiel indicated to his right and led Dean through the living room to the kitchen. All along the way, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Dean was watching his ass as the boy followed him. Castiel shook his head at his own stupid imagination. Dean was a gorgeous, painfully straight, teenager. He certainly had no interest in his quickly-creeping-up-on-middle-age, male neighbor and this was not a porno, even if about 90% of the porn Castiel had ever seen started out exactly like this. Castiel walked over to the built-in refrigerator and opened both upper doors, scanning the interior for something Dean might like.
“Um, I have lemonade, cranberry juice, some diet soda…oh, and the door dispenses filtered water…” Castiel trailed off as he shuffled things around to get to the two cans of diet Coke at the back of the bottom shelf. He finally laid hands on one of the cans and turned quickly, grinning in triumph, to find Dean lounging against the nearby island, very obviously staring at Castiel’s ass.
Dean straightened and sputtered, clearly flustered, “Uh, yeah, uh, soda’s fine.” He blushed prettily as he snagged the can from Castiel’s hand and immediately backed up, popping the top and chugging half the can in one go. Castiel smiled softly in sympathy, his mouth going slack as he watched Dean’s throat work to swallow the cola. Castiel’s eyes trailed unbidden down Dean’s long neck, watching a bead of sweat as it traversed the boy’s sharp collar bone and dripped down his hard chest and over a pert nipple, the house’s cool air tightening it to a hard nub. Castiel swallowed audibly as Dean lowered the can and sighed in relief, catching Castiel’s eye as he raised them back up to Dean’s face. Dean put the can down on the butcher’s block behind him and leaned back on the island again, his tight stomach and long, adorably-bowed legs on full display.
“So, Castiel, where was Mrs. Novak going off to this time?” The way Dean said his name sent an involuntary shiver down Castiel’s spine.
“Josie’s, um, on a vacation…far away,” Castiel turned hurriedly back to the fridge, ostensibly to retrieve the pitcher of lemonade, but really it was more to break the intensity of Dean’s eyes on him, something he felt like a physical caress. “And her name is Sands, not Novak.” He took two glasses down from the cabinet and filled both with lemonade. “Try this. I, um, I make it fresh every day.”
Dean took the offered glass with a half-shrug, “Don’t really like diet soda anyway. Leaves that weird taste in my mouth,” Dean paused as Castiel took a sip of his own lemonade, looking at the older man from under his thick lashes, “I’d rather have a different sorta taste in my mouth,” he said and winked, the fucker, before taking a loud sip of lemonade. Castiel nearly choked on his drink but coughed his way through it instead, setting his lemonade down on the counter before he could spill it down his stupid self.
“Um, well, ha, yes,” Castiel muttered awkwardly, “Where are your dad and, Sam, is it?”
A dark look crossed Dean’s pleasant face at the mention of his father, showing Castiel what the boy might look like in another ten years, once life had gotten its claws in him, but his brother’s name caused the opposite reaction, the love and pride radiating out of him like a palpable thing. “Sammy’s spending the summer with our Uncle Bobby, in South Dakota.”
“And your father?” Castiel had no idea why he was pressing the issue. Besides his own curiosity, it really wasn’t any of his business, but the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.
“Um, he won’t be back…for a couple days,” Dean mumbled, unmistakable pain twisting his features again.
That tweaked something inside Castiel, some kind of adult/caregiver instinct that whispered about abandoned children from deep down in his lizard brain. He watched Dean squirm uncomfortably for a moment but decided against pushing him any further, “So, was there something I could help you with, Dean, or did you just come to visit?”
Dean visibly relaxed at the change of subject, “Yeah, I, uh, I think our mower’s done for. You don’t happen to have one I could finish the yard with, do ya?”
Castiel folded his arms over his chest and looked at Dean with a bemused smile, “I have a lawn mower, but it’s not the kind you’re used to. You might not want to use it.”
Dean smiled easily back, “Well, now, Cas, that sounds like a challenge.”
Castiel laughed lightly and beckoned Dean to follow him out to the garage. He flipped on the light above his small compact car and trotted down the three steps into the garage. He moved a bag of organic fertilizer out of the way to get to his trimmer, an antique contraption he’d picked up at a yard sale years ago. He’d taken his find home and cleaned it up, sharpening the blades with a Dremel his brother had gotten him as a housewarming gift. It was the original model grass trimmer, with rotating blades and was push-powered. He carried it over to where Dean stood in front of the car and set it on the floor in front of the teen, expecting the boy to laugh.
“Yeah, I can use this,” he said thoughtfully.
“Really?” Castiel asked, shocked that a kid his age would even recognize something this old.
“Yeah, sure. My Aunt Ellen made me use one of these when we stayed with her one summer. It’s been a few years, but I’m pretty sure I remember how to do it.” Dean took hold of the handle and carefully carried the trimmer to the side door, the one opening out to the end of Castiel’s driveway and the only break in the hedge that separated their properties. He cracked the door open but hesitated, turning halfway back, putting his perfect face in exquisite profile to the bright sunshine streaming into the dim garage. “You’re welcome to watch me, though,” he said before turning his head further to catch Castiel’s eye, “If you want to make sure I’m doin’ it right.” And with that, he was through the door, shutting it behind him and leaving Castiel in the dark, alone.
Castiel loosened his tie with a muttered ‘fuck’, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He realized he wasn’t going to be getting any more accounting done today, not with that encounter to obsess over. Maybe some time in the garden was what he needed. And if he could easily watch Dean mow the lawn through the breaks in the rose bushes, was that really so bad?
Ten minutes and a change of clothes later found Castiel unlocking the small shed set against the back of the garage and pointedly ignoring Dean as he expertly maneuvered the ancient mower around the remainder of his untrimmed yard. Castiel gathered his tools and sunk down to his knees in front of the first row of roses, snipping and clearing out dead leaves and errant branches. He was distracted enough by the state of his plants that he forgot to leer at Dean through the bushes and before he realized it, the sun was sinking behind the little patch of woods behind their houses and he couldn’t hear the snick-snick-snicking of Dean pushing the mower through the grass. With much groaning and crackling of joints, Castiel levered himself to his feet. This was how he knew he was too old to be fantasizing about sixteen-year old boys, he thought as he put his tools back into the shed, his knees popped alarmingly whenever he stood up and there was a twinge in his lower back that would be even worse in the morning unless he rubbed some arthritis cream in before bed. Massaging his back with one hand, Castiel let himself into the kitchen through the French doors and headed up the stairs to loosen the offending muscles with a hot shower.
His thoughts inevitably turned to Dean as he ran the sudsy clothe over his skin. Despite his repeated self-chastisement for thinking of the boy like that, his dick didn’t seem to be getting the morality memo. As punishment, Castiel refused to give in to his body’s demands for release and instead, turned the water to full cold to kill his traitorous erection. As he was drying off, he realized he’d neglected to bring any clean clothes with him in his hurry to get under the hot water. The ringing of the house phone reached him as he walked down the hall with only a towel wrapped around his hips.
The only person who ever called the landline anymore was his grandmother, who liked to act as if she were languishing in some cesspit of a nursing home instead of living it up in a posh retirement community in Florida. Her weekly calls to Castiel were full of stories about her routing of her arch nemesis (and best friend) Deloris at their weekly pinochle tournament and whatever hapless man had fallen for her charms lately and was just a step away from proposing. Castiel was halfway across the kitchen before he registered the person sitting casually in the breakfast nook.
“Jesus!” Castiel gasped and jumped back a full three feet, losing his towel in the process. He felt the heat of a blush spreading up his back and across his neck as he bent to grab his towel, wrapping it violently around his hips as he straightened up, only to find Dean not three feet away, lounging indolently against the kitchen’s large island. Castiel couldn’t do anything but gawp awkwardly at Dean’s knowing smirk.
“I didn’t really see anything, if that’s what you’re so red about,” Dean said lightly.
“Wh-what are you…doing in my kitchen?” Castiel managed to stammer. Despite his complete humiliation, his dick was perking up and taking an interest in an obviously-freshly showered Dean, his hair still wet and spikey-dark-bronze. He’d changed into a white wife-beater and shiny, red basketball shorts, which rode as dangerously low as the cargo shorts had earlier, exposing a tantalizing glimpse of lime-green underwear instead of pale skin.
Dean straightened up and took a step toward Castiel, one he was loathe to mirror with a step back, “I brought your trimmer back. It’s in the garage. Thought I’d,” Dean paused, licking his lips as he glanced down at where Castiel clutched the towel to his hip, “come over and thank you with dinner. Ya know, since we’re both on our own tonight.” He took another step forward and again Castiel’s initial impulse was to back away, but his feet didn’t feel the same way apparently because he stayed rooted to the expensive Italian tile. “What d’ya say, Cas? Wanna let me feed you? Or maybe…” Dean stepped up again, until he was chest-to-chest with Castiel. “you’d like to feed me…something.”
Castiel’s jaw dropped. He hadn’t been sure, all the times he’d thought he’d caught Dean checking him out, all the casual innuendos, had all seemed like the unconscious flirting that came automatically to someone just discovering the power of their own sexuality. But this…this was something altogether different. There was intent in Dean’s words, in the blatant way his eyes ate up every inch of Castiel’s exposed flesh and tracked his movements like they were hungry for more. There was the coiled heat and potential power of his newly-large body, hovering over Castiel by the bare inch Dean had on him in height. But there was still the softest lilt of uncertainty, the question there under the suggestion, the quiet whisper of ‘May I?’. Despite the young-lion-stalking-his-first-gazelle look of him, Dean was still an unsure child testing the waters of how far he could go with this recent shift in dynamics. Castiel read all of these things in the split-second it took for Dean’s left foot to finish the step required to carry him that last inch, the final syllable of ‘something’ slipping out of his clever mouth as his heel made contact with the floor; and still, Castiel reached out his left hand and dug his nails into the short hair at the back of Dean’s neck and pulled him into a bruising kiss that broke down the final wall of whatever citadel of decency he had imagined himself residing in for the last year.
The rush of pure want that pulsed through him at that first contact was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. It took his breath away even more so than the firm press of Dean’s lips or the soft gasp that had those lips opening enough for Castiel to finally, finally, slip his tongue inside. The instant his tongue slid alongside Dean’s, the switch flipped, and Dean was on him, all over him. Big, calloused hands ripped the towel away and roamed across Castiel’s back, down to his ass, gripping it hard as Dean pushed his hips into Castiel’s.
Dean wrenched his face away from Castiel on a broken moan, gasping out a shuddering ‘oh, fuck’ as Castiel pulled his shirt over his head in his hurry to get Dean as naked as he was. “God, you’re fucking huge, Cas,” Dean muttered as Castiel nibbled his way down the boy’s smooth neck, teeth catching on his collar bone when Castiel began pushing frantically on Dean’s shorts. He only got them down past Dean’s ass before he registered what Dean had said.
“Hm? My penis?” Castiel stood up and let Dean shimmy his pants down, kicking them away. Castiel’s eyes were automatically drawn to the bright green jock, Dean’s cock hard and pushing the loose cup material to its limit. He stroked a finger along its length lightly, enjoying the full-body shiver his touch induced in Dean. “Yes, it is a bit above average, I suppose,” he answered absently.
“’A bit above average’? Cas, this,” Dean wrapped his hand around the base of Castiel’s cock, bringing the older man’s attention back to his smirking face, “this is a monster cock. You’ve been hiding this thing over here the whole time?” Dean’s eyes dropped back down to where he was gripping Castiel’s dick. Castiel’s followed. Dean’s thumb and middle finger met easily around his girth, but there was no overlap as the boy began slowly, loosely stroking him. Even that light friction dragged a moan out of the older man, his thighs shaking as he grabbed onto Dean’s shoulders and brought their mouths together again for a sloppy kiss while he tried to maintain. It wasn’t like it had been that long since he’d had sex, if you counted the anonymous hookups in back hallways and bathroom stalls of gay bars in the city. Maybe it was the total sense of wrongness that surged through him at letting a sixteen-year old kid give him a handjob while they stood in his kitchen. Maybe it was the voice in the back of his head screaming No!Thisiswrong!Stop!Bad!Bad!Stopdoingthis!Thisissobad!. Maybe it was the even louder voice screaming Yes!Doit!Fuckhimtakehim!Shoveyourcockinhisprettymouth!Doit!Doithard!FuckyessoGOOD!.
All thoughts of stopping here, at this point, of not letting this get any further; any consideration for the kind of man Castiel had always thought he was; any concerns about propriety and family and his wife and his father; everything went the way of the dinosaurs when Dean swiped his thumb across the slit of Castiel’s cock and brought his thumb up to his mouth, eyes locked on Castiel’s as he sucked the drop of moisture off his skin and groaned from deep in his chest. Castiel seized Dean by his broad shoulders and flipped him, slamming the boy chest-first into the island and pushed his head down until his face was squished against the smooth wood of the butcher’s block insert. He snatched at Dean’s hands where he’d tried to catch himself on the edge of the counter and brought them up to the little vegetable sink. Castiel wrapped Dean’s fingers around the edge and growled, “Hang on here. Don’t move,” into Dean’s ear. Dean’s breathy ‘yes, sir’ in response did nothing to cool the fire burning through Castiel’s chest.
He kept his hands over Dean’s and rubbed his dick against Dean’s plush ass as he mouthed across the bunched-up muscles in the boy’s upper back and shoulders. Castiel growled when he felt Dean shift under him, until he realized the boy was just widening his stance, making room for Castiel between his legs. Castiel grinned wickedly into Dean’s skin, rewarding him with a dark mark sucked into the skin at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. Dean cried out and thrust his hips back, slotting Castiel’s cock full between his cheeks. He reached around Dean’s hip, dipping his long fingers under the waistband of the jock and slipped it under Dean’s balls. Castiel rolled the softly-haired sack between his fingers and Dean groaned again. He circled Dean’s hard cock at the base and licked a stripe up Dean’s neck to his ear, humming his approval into the shell. A single loose stroke told Castiel the boy was an average size and girth, the head wet with pre-release, and hard as diamond. Castiel rolled his hips up and back, humming happily as the soft skin of his dick slid easily along the soft skin of Dean’s cleft, but it wasn’t enough, never enough, even with this full-body contact, from hands to hips to where his thighs pressed against the insides of Dean’s. It wasn’t enough to feel Dean’s taught body squirming under him. It wasn’t enough to hear the boy’s whimpers and whining and begging. It wasn’t enough to know Dean was his, completely and totally, in this moment. No, Castiel wanted inside.
“You gonna fuck me, Cas? God, please say you’re gonna fuck me now. Come on, I want you to. Cas, please! God, your cock is so big, baby. Wanna feel it split me open so bad. Bet you’ll fill me up so good. Come on, Cas, fuck me, please…please…wanna…oh, God, Cas, please do it!” Casiel’s eye caught on the huddle of olive oil jars about a foot from the vegetable sink as he smiled at Dean’s rambling pleas. He lunged for them and came away with the plain oil he wanted.
The thing that surprised him most when he looked back on the whole incident later (and boy, did he look back on it a lot), was that his hands hadn’t shook, not even a little, as he poured a small amount of oil into his palm. And Dean just stayed exactly where Castiel had placed him, arms stretched across the counter top, hands gripping the rim of the sink, ass out and legs spread. The straps of the jock framed his butt nicely, the lime green contrasting beautifully with the tan of his legs and back, offset with the creamy white of his round ass. Castiel set the oil back on the counter and took a moment to caress that firm skin, loving how resilient and springy it was as he kneaded and pinched, before he spread the cheeks with one hand and rubbed his thumb dry over Dean’s pretty pink hole, the same shade of pink as his lips, now that he thought about it. A sobbed cry ripped out of Dean’s throat at the touch. Castiel dipped two fingers into the puddle of oil and rubbed them on his thumb a little to warm them.
He stepped back up to Dean, right hand going between his cheeks to rub and tease at his rim, left elbow keeping the remaining oil safely aloft and supporting him as he loomed over Dean, catching the boy’s eyes and smiling sweetly. “Is this what you wanted, Dean?” he purred, his voice gone deeper than he could remember it ever being. “You want my fingers inside you?” he asked as his index finger breached the softened muscle, running along the inside and spreading the oil. Dean gasped and nodded frantically, eyes squeezed shut as he visibly tried to force himself to relax. “Open your eyes. Look at me while I open you up for my cock.” Dean’s eyes popped open. “That’s a good boy, Dean.” Dean smiled wanly, his small smile slipping as Castiel added another finger and started scissoring them, fucking slowly in and out. “How many fingers do you think it will take, Dean, before you can take my dick?” Dean just looked back at him beseechingly. “Answer me. How many before I can sink into your tight little hole?”
Dean swallowed audibly before answering, “Four.” Castiel’s smile grew a little more as he added his ring finger. Dean’s body jerked involuntarily, and his thighs shook with the force of will it took to stay in position as Castiel stretched him, completely avoiding his prostate.
“You’re very responsive, Dean. So sensitive. Has anyone ever done this to you? Tell me, honestly. Has anyone ever put their fingers inside you?” Castiel rumbled as he let his slick thumb rub circles into Dean’s perineum as his fingers fucked him looser. Dean keened, and his knees went loose before they snapped straight again.
“No,” Dean gritted out, being careful not to let his eyes close, but Castiel could see how badly the boy wanted to let them flutter shut, “Just me…my own…fingers.”
“And what did you think about while you played with your asshole for the first time?”
Dean let his eyes close briefly as Castiel added his pinky and tented his fingers. “You.” That caught Castiel off-guard and he paused before pulling his fingers out. Dean whined at the lose and shook his head a little at Castiel. Castiel went back in with two fingers, going deeper and sliding along the velvet heat of Dean’s inner walls until he brushed against that hard knot of nerves. Dean shuddered and whined against the island as Castiel rubbed lightly on his prostate.
“You lay in your bed and thought of me. Did you come with your fingers in your ass, imagining it was my cock, Dean?” Dean nodded and groaned, trying to push his ass out. Castiel pulled his fingers out and stood up, his left hand slicking his dick up with the last of the oil. Dean’s ass jiggled a bit as he widened his stance even more, arching his back to create that perfect curve in his spine. Sweat broke out on Castiel’s forehead at the sight of his dick lined up with Dean’s hole as it clenched on nothing, the dark purple head incongruously erotic surrounded by all that milk-pale skin. He pressed his thumb to the tip of his cock and pushed, popping past the first ring of muscle easily. Dean’s ass swallowed the head of his dick on a choked sob from the boy and a surprised gasp from the man. He’d anticipated the tight squeeze but the heat inside Dean’s body was a shock.
“Cas, please,” Dean whispered, breaking Castiel out of his reverie. His fingers still slick with oil, he clasped his right hand on the jut of Dean’s hip and started the slow, rocking back and forth, burying his cock deeper and deeper with every roll of his hips. He knew it had to burn the farther he went, it had to hurt a little once he got past where his fingers had stretched Dean out, but the boy just groaned and panted and hissed ‘yes’ and ‘Cas’. Finally, finally, he was in to the hilt, balls squished against Dean’s perfect ass. Castiel laid his body along the length of Dean’s back, heart tripping as Dean’s inner muscles rippled around him, trying to adjust to the intrusion. Chin hooked over Dean’s shoulder, Castiel licked and nibbled on the boy’s earlobe while they waited. He smeared as much of the oil as he could along the marble counter top before reaching under Dean’s shoulders and gripping him from the front. He pulled his cock out slowly, groaning as he felt the soft skin inside Dean grip and slide reluctantly along his length. Dean whimpered under him and Castiel shushed him, sucking a dark mark into the tan skin of Dean’s neck as he picked up a languid rhythm.
Castiel lifted his chest up, moving his hands to the backs of Dean’s thick shoulders as he sped up, pumping harder and faster into Dean, his breath coming out harsh and loud in the quiet kitchen. The change in angle had his dick striking Dean’s prostate on nearly every thrust. Dean grunted, the sounds punched out of him as Castiel started going harder. “Goddamn, boy, so…fucking…tight…ungh…shit…Dean…ungh…”
“Fuck…Jesus…Cas…come…on…harder…God…so close…come on…I can…take it…please…” Dean grunted as Castiel pounded into him, “…uh…uh…so big…fuck…God…damnit…ungh…ungh…ungh…”
“Yes, Dean…gonna…gonna fill you up…fuck I’m gonna…” was as far as Castiel got before he lost the power of speech. He hunched over far enough to mouth at the back of Dean’s neck as his orgasm stream-rolled through him and he clamped his teeth on a fold of skin, setting off the boy’s orgasm. Dean screamed from far away as Castiel felt his whole body expand out into the universe, right before it contracted again, shrinking faster than the speed of light into a single pinpoint of infinite heat then exploding in a shower of sparks, whiting out his vision.
When he finally came back down, he still had Dean’s skin in his mouth and the boy was panting under him, calling his name weakly. Castiel released Dean’s skin, thankfully still intact. That one might have been a little hard to explain to his insurance. He straightened up and snagged his towel off the floor. Castiel gently cleaned between Deans legs and helped him stand up. By the time he had cleaned Deans come off the side of the island, the boy was pulling his shirt back on. Castiel looked up at him and tried to smile, but it felt like more of a grimace. He quickly stood and walked toward the stairs.
“Hey,uh, Cas?” Dean’s voice stopped him in his hasty retreat and he turned just enough, not daring to meet the boy’s eyes. “What happens now? I mean…should I leave?”
“Do you want to leave?” Castiel asked quietly.
“Not really, no,” Dean mumbled and took a step toward him.
“I believe you said something about dinner?” Castiel had no idea how he was managing to sound so calm when inside, he was panicking, his heart hammering a mile a minute, his breath shallow and fast.
Dean’s voice went up in excitement, “Yeah, I’m a real good cook! Sammy loves spaghetti, so that’s what I do best. Is that okay, spaghetti?”
Castiel closed his eyes and turned back around, “Yes, that…the pantry’s through there,” he waved a hand in the general direction of the pantry door and hustled out of the room. He tried not to run up the stairs, rushing into his room and slamming the door behind him. He slid to the floor and dropped his head in his hands.
Once he got his breathing under control and his heart had slowed down under heart-attack level, Castiel rested his head on the door, his arms propped up on his bent knees. He had really just done that. He’d really just fucked his sixteen-year old neighbor boy. In his kitchen. Castiel groaned lowly and balled up his fists. He wanted to punch something, preferably himself, but Dean might notice if he came back downstairs with a black eye. Sick piece of shit fucking pedophile, he thought. You deserve to be castrated, not punched. What the fuck are you going do now, Novak? It’s rape, you know that, don’t you? He’s below the age of consent and you just raped him. You’re going to jail. That is, if his father doesn’t find out first and just kill you. You saw him, that guy was huge, and did he look like the kind of guy who’d be okay with this because his son wanted it? You better pack a bag. Find a nice non-extradition country and get on a plane.
Castiel grunted his way up off the floor and went over to his dresser, pulling out a pair of sweatpants and an old t shirt. He dressed quickly and took a deep breath. The voice of reason, the one screaming at him to run far, far away was right, but he couldn’t face the idea of never seeing Dean again. When he pictured telling Dean to leave and then taking off himself, the heartbreak and confusion on imaginary-Dean’s face was too much to bear. Besides, he’d passed Good Judgement about ten miles back and was hurtling toward the cliff’s edge with a smile on his face. The taste of Dean in his mouth and the phantom feel of his firm skin under Castiel’s hands had made sure of that. Castiel opened his bedroom door to go downstairs and enjoy a lovely post-coital spaghetti dinner with his victim, saying good bye to the last vestiges of the good man he used to be.