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Sometimes, when in the business of killing monsters, and occasionally having monsters kill you back, the safest place to go was where monsters didn’t think to go.
This was why Sam, Dean, and Castiel were hiding out at Rufus’ cabin, and had no intention of leaving for at least two... maybe six days.
There wasn’t a lot to do in Rufus’ cabin, besides watch TV, but the TV was broken. There was a rickety old bunk bed in the mustiest corner of the room, and a big old couch in the middle that still sported Dean’s ass print from when he had a broken leg. Sam kept the fire stoked with logs from the nearby barn, and Dean kept pizza on the table.
Castiel, however, sat on the couch, ankles crossed with his legs stretched out, reading the third of the five men’s fashion magazines Dean had brought back along with the aforementioned pizza.
Castiel glanced up from his magazine as Dean emerged from the tiny bathroom, fully clothed but scrubbing his hair dry with a towel. Castiel had been waiting to speak, and now Dean was here, he announced: “I think,” he began, “I’d like to try masturbating.”
Dean froze mid-step, foot in the air.
Sam looked up from his TV-tinkering.
“This magazine says that it can improve a low mood, and I have been feeling somewhat down since I lost my wings.” Castiel pondered the featured article again, examining the headline ‘Top 10 Reasons Why Jerking Off is Good For You’. “The only thing is, I’m not fully convinced I know how.”
Dean’s breath stuttered. He glanced to his brother, then slipped his damp towel off his shoulders, tossed it on the back of a dining chair, then strode towards the door. “Well, I’m going out. You got this, Sammy, right?”
“What?” Sam yelped. “No?!”
“Yeeah, you do,” Dean said, in the tone of a big brother encouraging a younger brother to do a particularly difficult section of schoolwork. “You’re practically an expert.”
“Um? No? Dean, Dean—! Heyheyhey, wait— Wait—!”
Dean put on his leather jacket and strode out in unlaced boots, door slamming behind him.
Sam made a quiet sound of dismay, standing up beside the TV, screwdriver blade in hand.
“Are you an expert?” Castiel asked, eyebrows raised.
Sam turned to Castiel with a plain, half-strained smile. “You know, I’m really not the best person to ask about this— Maybe you could look it up, you know, on... Google.”
“What am I looking up?”
“How to... you know. Do the. The thing.”
“Masturbate.”
“Yeah. That.”
Sam hurriedly fetched his laptop, then on second thought, fetched Dean’s laptop instead, and gave it to Castiel on the couch. “Go nuts.”
“How do I ‘go nuts’?” Castiel asked, squinting. “Am I supposed to do this right now? I thought maybe Dean would give me some direction, and we could discuss it, and then he would... show me...”
“Honestly, Cas, there’s plenty of instructions online,” Sam assured him, already backing away. “Whatever you were going to ask Dean, ask Google. Google knows.”
“Um... Okay. But what do I... do?”
“Look at someone you find sexually attractive and touch yourself,” Sam suggested with a shrug.
“But... Dean already left.”
Sam burst out in a breathy laugh, then sobered, still smiling. “Yeah. Like I said. Try Google. Look for freckles or bowlegs or something.” Sam went into Dean’s bag and pulled out a blue bottle of liquid, tossing it at Castiel’s feet, then went into the bathroom, and returned with a new roll of paper. He gave that to the increasingly perplexed Castiel, then hastened away.
“Have fun?” Sam stuck his feet into the wrong boots, waved, then left. “I’ll be – somewhere. Maybe don’t call me. No, definitely don’t call me. I’ll come back in, like, an hour— three hours. Bye.”
Again, the door slammed, and Castiel squinted at it.
He opened the laptop, and opened a browser, which sent him straight to Google. He stared at the blinking line for a while, hands over the keyboard, then began to type.
Hello, Google. Do you have pictures of Dean Winchester?
He pressed enter.
A small dinosaur appeared on his screen, along with a message saying he had no network connection. He already knew that; Angel Radio went offline a long time ago.
Castiel wondered if he Googled wrong, so began again.
Pictures of a slim, muscular white man with brown hair, green eyes, bowed legs, and freckles?
The dinosaur appeared again.
“Should I just imagine him?” Castiel asked the dinosaur.
The dinosaur said nothing.
“Hm.”
Castiel leaned back on the couch arm and pulled his cellphone out of his pocket, leaning forward again as he unlocked the phone and opened his browser.
Dean once suggested Googling with simple terms and fewer words, so Castiel tried that.
Freckles?
Dinosaur.
Castiel frowned now. Either Google was presenting him a dinosaur to tell him he was too old to masturbate – possible, given he was very old indeed – or ‘network connection’ meant something about the computer, not about Angel Radio.
So Castiel called Dean, and held the phone to his ear.
- - - ♥ - - -
Dean grumbled to himself, stumbling and stomping through the forest. It was dark out, and chilly, and Dean intended to hide in his Impala until Sam had given Cas The Talk and Cas had done The Deed and the coast was well and truly clear. Dean wasn’t sure whether Cas’ first time would take twenty seconds, like Dean’s first time as a young teen, or over a hour, like a human male in his early forties who probably hadn’t bust a nut in several years. Or, alternatively, even longer, like an angel who was no longer an angel, and had almost no sense of what was pleasurable, given he barely liked food and complained about needing to sleep. Dean was willing to wait in the car for six hours if need be; thankfully there was pizza in there.
He reached the barn, and entered through the open side, one hand patting a wooden beam until he found a light switch. He grunted, squinting against the glare of the hanging bulbs, which cast their beam upon the glossy roof of the Impala, as well as stacks and stacks of hay, and piles of firewood.
Nearing the car, he startled: his phone rang.
He patted every pocket, finally grabbing his ass and finding his phone. He answered and held it to his ear, expecting to hear Sam’s wails of complaint.
“Dean,” Castiel said.
“Oh,” Dean said, shoulders sinking. He chuckled, head down, and started to grin. “You havin’ a good time back there, bud?”
“No. The Internet is broken.”
“Ah,” Dean clicked his cheek in sympathy. “Yeah, that sucks. You get Sammy to look at it?”
“The Internet left when he left.”
Dean grinned again. “Yeah, that happens. Walking wi-fi hotspot, that kid.”
“What am I supposed to do now? I can’t look at pictures.”
“Well?” Dean wandered away from the car, deeper into the barn. He swung his boots, kicking up hay. “You try imagining something fun?”
“Like a trampoline?”
“No, genius, like a hot chick. Like, uhh... a celebrity, or, or, a TV character. Or just make someone up. Someone sexy, someone you’d wanna touch naked.”
“What do I do when I’ve imagined them? Dean, what’s the point, what am I supposed to be doing? I don’t know even the first thing about imagining sex acts, and I’m sorry I’ve made you and Sam uncomfortable enough to leave, but I really would appreciate some mature input here, this is incredibly frustrating—”
“Okay, okay, chill,” Dean uttered, patting a hand down in mid-air, going to the very back of the barn, turning around and sitting down on a square hay bale. It was firmer than Dean expected; he wriggled to get comfortable. “Look, um. The point is. The point is...” He sighed, finger and thumb pinching the bridge of his nose. “Masturbation, jacking off, whatever you wanna call it— It’s like pretend sex, okay? You touch yourself and you pretend someone else is touching you.”
“Oh... Okay. I’ve never done that before.”
“Yeah, no kidding.”
“How do I start?”
Dean rolled his lower lip under his teeth, gnawing it. “Hnnnh.”
“What?”
“I’m just—” Dean squeezed his eyes tight shut, agonized by the equal forces of his desire to cut and run, and his desire to hang out and help Cas through his confusing first time. Siding with his friend’s obvious need, Dean relaxed, head back, letting go of a sigh. “Okay. I’ll talk you through the basics, alright, but then you’re on your own. Got it?”
“Got it.”
Dean gulped. “‘Kay. Well. First things first, you’re gonna need lube, and some Kleenex or something for cleanup.”
“Lube... Personal lubricant. Yes. Sam gave me the one from your bag.”
Dean felt heat in his cheeks. “Yeah. That’s, uh. Pretty good stuff.”
“It’s half-empty, do you use it a lot?”
“Enough,” Dean answered, ears burning.
“Where should I put it?”
“You’re seriously gonna ask me that? Cas, where the hell d’you think it goes?”
Castiel pondered for a few seconds, then said, “It goes on my penis?”
“Bingo.” Dean lowered his head, eyes shut as he rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “Jesus Christ.”
“Wouldn’t this be better without clothes?”
Dean sat up. “Oh, right. Yeah. Yeah, you should probably be – not necessarily naked, but at least take your pants off. And find somewhere comfortable.”
“Is the couch okay?”
“Yeah, or a bed.”
“Can I use your bed?”
Dean felt tension in his belly, fist curling on his thigh, throat tight. “I-I-I— I mean, if that’s... If that’s where you wanna, I mean, I don’t mind, I don’t care, you can— Sure, that’s. That’s fine.”
“Okay... I’m going to your bed... Wait, let me put the phone down so I can get undressed.”
Dean froze, listening, too aware of every movement Castiel made as he unbuckled his pants, dropped his drawers, then realised he needed to take his shoes off. He made the springs in the lower bunk bed creak as he sat to denude his lower half.
“Do I keep my socks on?”
Dean wet his lips. “Depends.”
“On what? Do you take your socks off?”
Dean wet his lips again. “Yeah, kinda. Mostly ‘cause – well. If it gets really good, you kind of, uh. Can grip the sheets with your toes, that’s cool.”
“Okay, I’m taking my socks off. And I’ll take my shirt off too, the hem is getting in the way.”
Dean waited, ear pressed to his phone as Castiel got naked. The bed creaked as he settled.
“Lying down,” Castiel said.
“Okay, yeah. Good. Right.” Dean took an unstable breath, free hand sliding between his thighs, squeezed numb as he pressed his bowed thighs tight, then released.
“What now? Should I put the lubricant on?”
Dean nodded.
“Dean?”
“What—? Oh! Oh, yeah. But— But, wait, hang on, don’t do that yet. We gotta talk about, like.” Dean cleared his throat, as his voice was going quiet. “Your fantasy person, the chick you’re imagining, we gotta talk about how you n’ her are gonna do this.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll— How about, I’ll describe what she does, and you say how you react, and we’ll go from there, alright?”
“Alright.”
“S-so, she.” Dean shifted forward on the hay, squirming as he reminded his body that this wasn’t his fantasy, it was Cas’. “She’s standing next to the bed, no clothes, but she’s wearing her underwear. And she, um. Smiles at you. She’s real excited, Cas, ‘cause she’s been waiting a real long time to do this with you.”
“A very long time, yes,” Castiel agreed.
“And she... takes her bra off for you, puts her hands behind her back and unclips it? And... lets that go on the floor.” Dean shifted again, trying not to let his breath hitch. “And then she bends down, she’s taking her panties off. And you can see her shape, that soft little triangle of fluff, and there’s a wet spot on her panties—”
“Dean?”
“Yeah, bud.”
“Th— The person I’m imagining is a man.”
Dean tingled from his scalp down to the soles of his feet. “Oh...”
“Is that okay? Or does that make you uncomfortable? I can change it if you don’t like that, I just—”
“No, no, it’s okay,” Dean babbled, grinning. “It’s fine, Cas, I can swing it. It’s your fantasy.” He pressed his hand to his crotch, eyebrows rising as he realised he didn’t need to change much. “So, he... he slips out of his panties? And...” Dean had to shut his eyes, holding his breath so Castiel wouldn’t hear his breath stutter. He gulped, relaxing. “And he’s hard for you, Cas. He really wants you.”
“Oh...” Dean could hear Castiel’s smile. “Does he want to kiss?”
Dean shrugged a tense shoulder, toes curled inside his boots. “Yeah. Do you wanna kiss him?”
“Very much.”
“Okay, then.” Dean licked his lips. “He, um. He gets onto the bed with you. A-and...”
He wondered if he should stop now. Cas got the idea, right? Surely.
But then Dean realised he hadn’t told Cas what to touch, or how to touch, or what would happen next – none of it. So he couldn’t stop now.
He could hear soft kissing sounds coming down the phone line.
“Cas?”
“Mhh... Yes?”
“What are you kissing?”
“Just the air. I thought I was suppose to imagine...?”
“Oh, yeah. Yeah-yeah, that’s fine, that’s good.” Dean grinned. “You do that.”
So, as Castiel kissed the air, Dean shut his eyes, and let his lips part. He didn’t need to kiss the air; he already felt his pulse in his lips, synchronized with Castiel’s smooches.
He blinked, shaking himself out of it. That was weird. He wasn’t kissing Cas, he was just telling him how to kiss his imaginary dude. Dean rubbed roughly down his thigh a few times, eyes rising to the roof beams of the barn.
“Cas?”
“Mmm...?
“So, are you...? Do you like—” Dean shrugged. “The guy you’re imagining, is he a top or a bottom?” He assumed that Castiel would think up someone who complimented his own needs, so whatever Castiel’s fantasy man was, Cas was the opposite. At least, that was the theory.
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Oh. Well—? Is he a-a-a vessel? Or is he gonna be... the angel inside you?” Dean asked, smiling as he tilted his head, swinging his feet over the hay-strewn floor.
“I’m still not following.”
Dean hung his head. “Are you gonna fuck him, Cas, or is he putting his dick in you?”
“Oh, I see. Anal intercourse. I don’t know, I’ve never asked him what he likes.”
Dean felt a weird pang of discontent. Cas talked about this guy like he was real, like he’d had conversations with him. Either he’d met his celebrity crush somewhere down the line in his multi-millennia of existence, or he had an imaginary friend he was very, very fond of. Dean was kind of bothered by both.
“Dean?”
“Uh-huh?”
“Which would you prefer to be, Dean? Top or bottom?”
Dean’s brain stopped. “Wuh?”
“If you’re going to describe his actions to me, which would you prefer to describe: penetrating me, or being penetrated?”
It took Dean a while to remember to breathe. “I want.” He breathed again. “My bed to stay clean.” He palmed his forehead, then shook his head. “Look, I gotta ask a practical question here, I know it’s not sexy, but I gotta ask: have you pooped today, or—?”
“Not since yesterday. Why?”
“Okay, yeah, no, that’s gonna be messy. You’re not putting fingers anywhere near your own ass, Cas, not today.” Dean bit his lip, then shook his head. “Here’s what’s gonna happen. Your guy, your imaginary boyfriend, he’s gonna lie down. And... you’re gonna lie on top of him, okay? Maybe grab a couple pillows so you got something to rock against...”
He instantly regretted that suggestion for the sake of his pillows, but Castiel was already grunting the grunts of someone arranging said pillows under their belly.
“Okay.”
“Okay.” Dean rubbed his inner thigh. “We’re gonna... You’re gonna finger him open, okay? Just pretend; you don’t need lube right now.”
“Ah, this is hard with the phone... I’m going to put you down in front of me, where your— his head is.”
“Good idea,” Dean said, nodding. “God, this is weird.”
“Mm, perhaps, but I’m quite enjoying it,” Castiel remarked, a lilt of amusement in his voice.
“Yeah?” Dean’s grin crawled up one side of his face. “Is it hot for you?”
“I have an erection, so I suppose, yes.”
Dean looked at his own swollen bulge. He sucked his lower lip, humming softly.
“I’m in position. He, um... He’s lying... with his legs open around me, Dean. And he’s... he’s looking at me with a shy smile, and he wants to kiss, so... Let me...”
Castiel kissed him, and Dean listened, heart softened by the sweet sounds.
Then Dean let out a breath, and let himself lie back on the hay bale, lifting each boot in turn until he lay with his legs open, hand on his denim-tight erection. He felt the heat of shame in his cheeks, but he couldn’t help it... “Mmwah! Mwah,” Dean said into the phone, half-joking. He laughed right after, and Castiel chuckled too, but then moaned.
“Oh, shit,” Dean whispered in awe. “You’re kind of into it, huh?”
“I th... thought that was the... point... Oh, Dean, I want— I want to touch now, I want—? Please, let me—?”
Dean nodded. “Okay. Okay, he wants that. He really wants that, Cas, he’s hard for you, he’s really hard.” Dean shut his eyes and rubbed his erection, frowning at the material between his cock and his hand. “Put your fingers in him, Cas. Into his tight little hole... And— And tell me, when?”
Castiel breathed shakily... then sighed. “I’m pushing two fingers in now...”
Dean let out a purr, relaxing. He pressed his fingertips against his own anus through his jeans. “Yeah... Yeah, h— He likes that.”
“What does it feel like?”
“For me or for you?”
“Um... Me. And— And you. Both.”
Dean chilled, realising both he and Cas had gotten Dean mixed up with the imaginary guy. Head full of curses, Dean whispered, “He’s real tight around you, Cas. And the lube makes it slippy, but... It’s hot. You can feel his body heat, hot and wet like it is inside your mouth.”
“Ninety-eight-point-six degrees Farenheit,” Castiel said.
Dean laughed. “Yeah. Yeah, but maybe a little hotter, ‘cause he’s real turned on, Cas, right now. And he—” Dean bit his lip, hips surging on the hay. “Mmhh...”
“Can I put my penis in now?” Castiel asked. “Oh, I’m dripping fluid on your bed... I’m sorry, it won’t stop—”
“Don’t worry,” Dean breathed, gripping his cock through his jeans and squeezing. “Daaah— Don’t worry about it, Cas, it’s fine.” His hand was sweating around the phone, his thighs trembling a little. “He likes your fingers, Cas, he’s into bein’ teased like that.”
“Is he?”
Dean nodded. “Uh-huh. He— He makes a little noise.”
“What kind of noise?”
“Like a moan.”
“Is he in pain?”
“What? No, no, it’s good. It’s good, Cas, he’s having a good time.”
“I’m not sure... what it sounds like?”
Dean cleared his throat. “It’s kind of like... Ah... Auuhh?” His skin flashed hot, self-conscious.
“Ohh— Ouhhh... Oh, I... DEEEAAAnn...!”
“Oop, found a turn-on,” Dean chuckled, as his body bristled in waves of arousal; Cas’ voice had coasted over that moan, always-deep voice turned high. Cas reacted to Dean’s noise, and Dean reacted instinctively in turn. Dean looked down, weighing the heel of his hand on his cock, humping twice to get some pressure on his arousal. “M-Maybe pull out your fingers, and— And kiss him some more. Kiss his neck, he likes that. And s— Suck his ear.”
Castiel shifted in the bed, doing as Dean suggested. “Can he moan again?” Castiel asked. “Can you make him moan when I... I play with him, like this... I enjoy when he moans...”
“Cas, I can’t just moan on demand,” Dean scoffed, embarrassed eyes darting to the side, mouth wide in an unsure smile. “You gotta make me, dude.”
“I’m touching his nipples,” Castiel whispered, his voice guttural and low and teasing, somehow hitting that part of Dean’s gut that really fucking liked everything about that. “Does he like having his nipples touched?”
“Mm-hm.” Dean nodded, exhaling, massaging his crotch, then raising his hand to stroke his erect nipples through his t-shirt. “Shit, he’s into that. Suck them? Suck them, that gets his cock all wet.”
Castiel moaned, making more kissing, sucky noises.
Dean let himself groan, gently, lower lip under his teeth, as he imagined the sleekness of Castiel’s mouth on his nipples. Thank God nobody else would hear him.
“Ah— Yes, Dean... Thank you...”
Dean chuckled, blushing. “Just for you, bud.”
“Ah... Again.”
Dean shook his head. He couldn’t just conjure up a realistic moan, not without faking it or forcing it, and for whatever reason – Dean didn’t think about the reason – faking it would be all wrong for Cas. He needed real moans, at least the first time, or he’d never know if he was doing it right in the future.
“Please, Dean... I love when he moans.”
Dean gulped. He couldn’t resist that guttural voice. “Shit. Okay. Okay, gimme a second, I gotta...” He dropped the phone on the hay, lifting his head up as he hurried to undo his jeans, unbuttoned and unzipped and pushed down to his parted thighs. He fumbled for the phone, and returned it to his ears just as he took hold of his burning-hot erection. “Okayaaaaahhhh... Shit, hahah—! Mmmm...”
“Dean... Yes, exactly like that... Just... ahhhh...”
Dean tried to keep his hand quiet, rubbing himself in silence, foreskin over his rock-hard cockhead, over and over, wetting his palm and thumb with precome.
“I want to... be inside him now...”
Dean nodded. “You can. Put lube on your hand, Cas, okay, and hold it—? Curled in a fist, bottom of the pillows, resting on the bed. And – you done that?”
“Lubricant... Just— Ah – come on— Yes. Hand’s wet. Oh, it’s cold. But it’s warming up— Okay. I’m ready. I’m ready, Dean.”
Dean stopped masturbating, waiting for Cas. “And now, lie close to him, your body pushing down heavy on his body, Cas, and—” Dean licked his swollen lips, “And press into him, real slow.”
The bed creaked, and Castiel soon sighed in relief. “Ahh... Dean...”
“Good, ain’t it?” Dean grinned. “You’re welcome.”
“And I...? I push into him now?”
“Over and over and over until you come,” Dean nodded. He let himself go, wiping his hand on his t-shirt. He squirmed, then sat up, wondering if now was the time to stop. “You got the hang of this now, Cas?”
“Is he enjoying this?”
Dean hesitated.
“Dean, is he having fun? Is this exciting for him? I want him to feel – absolute bliss.”
Dean sucked his lip, eyes roaming to the barn walls in reluctance. God, he wanted to keep going – he was hard as fuck, of course he wanted to keep going – but they’d agreed to stop when Cas got into it, and judging by the rhythm of bed-creaks and his huffed breaths, he was definitely doing it right.
“Dean... I need to know, I need to know how to make him feel good. What does he like? What do I do to make him feel unspeakable pleasure?”
Muttering, Dean answered, “He’ll do whatever you want, and he’ll be real good for you, Cas. If you want him to come early ‘cause he’s having such a swell time, he can do that. If you want him to – I dunno – cry, ‘cause slow sex makes him all emotional or whatever, he can do that, and then you can cuddle him after, he’d probably be into that. If you wanna bite him, or-or-or spank him—?” Dean’s breath caught, and he forced out, “C’mon, it’s up to you. It’s fantasy. You’re supposed to make it up, man.”
Castiel’s voice came through deep as the ocean as he replied, “Do you think he needs to be spanked? Has he done something wrong?”
Dean withheld a whimper.
“Dean...”
“Just make it up!” Dean spread his free hand in exasperation. “Take control, dude. What do you wanna do with him?”
“I—? I want... I want to kiss him... until he laughs, and feels loved. And tell him... tell him he’s beautiful, and good, until he believes me. Whisper – praises in his ears. Make him promises I’ve always kept but never told him about. And be close to him, until he... until he realises it’s okay, to be so close, and to be beautiful, and loved, and feel joy—”
Dean felt something soft and fragile inside him start to break. There was meant to be a concrete vault and an armoured door and a horde of armed guards around that soft, fragile thing, but Dean hadn’t been ready to hear Castiel say those words, and he was vulnerable. And Cas’ pleas had shot past the sleeping guards and cut through the vault and the doors like they were nothing but unflavoured Jello.
“Lucky guy,” Dean whispered, holding his erection protectively, stroking it like he was soothing it. “You must like him a lot, to tell him all that.”
“I love him, Dean. So very dearly.” Castiel said it like it was a normal thing to say.
Dean frowned. That soft, vulnerable part of him was wounded, now. It was too easy to feel jealous; Dean’s heart always took the harder path, and he quickly found he was not jealous, but heartbroken. Cas liked someone else better than he liked him.
And maybe that was a good thing. Dean and Sam had lived their share of codependent lives; Cas had every right not to devote every waking moment to Dean.
And yet Dean felt a thick, clenching sort of agony in his belly, stinging in his heart. He wanted Cas to love him, and say those special things to him, not this fantasy guy.
Dean looked away from the hay-speckled floor, sighing. He listened to Cas fake-kissing this guy, and whispering soft praises that Dean would’ve loved to hear himself. “Oh, just like that. I like that, I love that, yes. Auh-ha, yes... You’re so good. You’re so – perfect to me. So wonderful. Deeeeannnn... Dean, tell me he feels beautiful. Tell me... tell me he feels loved...”
Dean soured. He gritted his teeth, head down, and grunted. “He’s fuckin’ gorgeous, Cas. Plump lips, perfect stubble, blond hair so effortlessly mussed, straight white teeth, legs for days. Yeah.” He rolled his eyes. “He feels the love wherever he goes.”
“Blond?” Castiel asked, a laugh in his voice. “Is that how you’d describe it?”
Dean snorted. “Why’s it even matter what I think? He’s smoking hot, Cas, end of discussion.”
“Dean...?” The rocking and creaking of the bed ceased. “Did I do something wrong, are you mad at me?”
Dean shook his head forcefully, getting to his feet, shoving his flaccid dick back into his jeans. “I’m not mad, Cas. Not at you.”
But at himself? Yes. He should’ve been clearer with Cas. Should’ve told him he liked him. Should’ve been more open with Sam and Jody and Bobby or whoever, told them he was into guys years ago, maybe then it wouldn’t have been so difficult when Cas came along and Dean started falling. Maybe if he’d taken action sooner, Cas wouldn’t have let his heart wander. Dean waited too long. Dean was furious at himself.
“Does he— Do you want to stop?”
Dean shook his head. “You keep going, Cas. Tell him he’s beautiful, and you love him, or whatever. I’m— I’m gonna go, okay? We did what we were gonna do, you get the picture now.”
“Oh... I suppose that’s true.”
“Don’t sound so bummed out, Cas, you got this.” Dean pinned his phone to his ear with his shoulder, jumping in place as he shucked up his jeans, then buttoned and zipped them. “Like I said, just keep fucking your hand until you come.”
“What about him?” Castiel asked. “When will he reach climax?”
“Whenever you want, Cas.”
“Can he climax now?”
“What?”
“I want to hear him.”
Dean shut his eyes. “Cas, I can’t. I’m not doing that.”
“I think... I think he’d look at me, and he wouldn’t look away. I think he’d want a lot of – kisses, and he’d moan, and moan, and he’d say my name—”
“Cas, keep that shit to yourself, okay?” Dean said, shoulders up, scowling. “I don’t wanna know.”
“But I love him so much, Dean, and I’ve wanted to pleasure him so badly, for so long, I can’t bear it. I just? I just need you to hear me, Dean, I want you to realise, he’s actually—”
Dean lowered the phone and hung up. His heart was thudding so loud he could feel his ears moving. His palms were clammy even in the cool air of the barn. He ached, and ached, and just wanted it to stop, but he didn’t think this was going to stop, ever. This was just how he was going to feel when he thought about his best friend. Regret. Regret, resentment, and heartbreak.
Dean put his phone away, sighing as he stroked his hair back.
He’d give Cas a twenty minute head-start, then he’d make his way back to the cabin.
- - - ♥ - - -
“Dean?” Castiel spoke into the phone, grasping it to his lips. “Dean!”
He thumbed the phone screen to life again, but the call had ended. He tried calling back, but the call dropped before Dean could pick up. Maybe the phone broke like the Internet broke. Or maybe Dean didn’t want to talk any more.
Castiel sighed and rolled onto his back. He imagined Dean naked beside him, smiling as he rolled over too, grinning as he looked down, his cheeks sex-flushed and freckled like the night sky. He’d lower his head, kissing Castiel’s clavicle with a smack.
But the fantasy dissipated, and Castiel let the phone fall on the bed and his arm flop to his side. He was still hard, and it hurt not to touch, but what was the point if Dean didn’t want to be part of it?
Castiel knew what masturbation was like, now. But he also knew that he didn’t want to masturbate, and pretend to have sex, he just wanted to have sex. He didn’t want Dean to pretend to moan, he wanted him to moan. He didn’t want to imagine Dean, he wanted Dean.
Castiel lay still, with his eyes shut, until he felt his erection... slowly... ever so slowly... slump back to his thigh, tired and bored and sad.
Then Castiel got up and walked naked to the couch, taking some of the bathroom tissue Sam had given him, and cleaning his hands and his penis. His penis shied away from the touch, as it wasn’t the kind of touch it wanted.
Castiel went to wash his hands properly. He caught sight of himself in the cracked, cobwebby bathroom mirror, and saw how disappointed he looked. “Maybe Dean will listen when he gets back,” he said to himself, marvelling at how his voice still felt raw and something in his chest still felt vulnerable.
So then, in hope, Castiel went to lie on the bottom bunk of the two-tiered bed, and remained naked, hands on his stomach.
He waited, and shut his eyes.
- - - ♥ - - -
Dean shouldered open the door, holding a stack of pizza. “Anyone in?” he called. “Got supplies.”
He kicked the door closed, then dumped the food on the table, jacket on the back of a chair. “Sam?” He looked around but saw nobody.
“Cas?” He crept forward, looking around corners, eyeing the entrance to the basement. “Monsters?”
Something stirred on the bed, and Dean’s eyes shot that way, only for him to gasp and hold up a hand. “Cas!” He stared at the near-black floorboards. “I thought you’d be done and dressed by now.”
“I... I must’ve... fallen asleep,” Castiel uttered, his voice rough and his movements stiff as he sat up. The top bunk was only an inch from his rumpled hair.
Dean realised he’d peeked at Cas, and Castiel had seen him peek, so there was no point hiding. Dean strode forward, scratching the back of his neck. “So how was it?” Dean asked. “Your first go?” He mimed jacking off with a loose hand.
Castiel shoved a shoulder up, bare and round and exquisite. “Didn’t finish.”
Dean raised his eyebrows. “Really? Wow. Guess there is such a thing as being too old to party.”
“No, I—” Castiel set his lips together, sighing in frustration. “I needed you to talk to me, Dean.”
Dean slowly folded his arms. “Right. Yeah. Okay, well, there’s all kinds of audio porn things, guides or whatever. Guys, girls. Whichever. I can recommend you some good ones if you want. Tell you what to do, tell you how to do it? They can get real bossy about it, too. If the Internet was working I could’ve given you one of those straight off the bat, come to think of it.”
“I don’t need instructions,” Castiel snapped, “I wanted – you.” He stood up, glaring at Dean. “I wanted you to...” A sad look came across Castiel’s face, and his hand touched Dean’s stomach, stroking. “Let me in.”
“Uh-huh.” Dean looked back coldly. “We did that already, man. You fucked – ‘me’.” He put finger quotes around the pronoun. “The guy you like. I let you in, and you went in real deep.”
“Dean—” Castiel let his head slump, chin to his chest. He sighed. “You really are dense today. The pizza isn’t doing you any favours.”
“I— What?” Dean straightened up. “Excuse you?”
Clearly reaching the end of his patience, Castiel just snorted, grabbed Dean by his t-shirt, and yanked him in for a kiss. It was a surprise kiss, not a soft one – Dean’s nose got bruised – but damn, did it get the message across.
Dean was released, pouty-lipped, wide-eyed, nose throbbing, head swirling.
Castiel looked both smug and uncertain, then tilted his head by an inch, waiting for a response.
Dean gaped, lip bobbing. “Y-Y-You kissed me.”
“Would you like me to do it again?” Castiel took Dean by either cheek, holding him. “As I said previously,” he rumbled against Dean’s lips, eyes half-closed, dark lashes fluttering, “I’d like to kiss you a lot. And tell you wonderful things.”
“This— But you—” Dean pointed weakly towards the bed. “You were—?”
“Thinking about you,” Castiel grumbled. “Really, Dean, as much as I want to tell you you’re the smartest human I know, you do make me question it, sometimes.”
Dean tried to make his brain work, but he was still stuck on literally everything that had transpired in the past two hours, busy retroactively re-filing every assumption and opinion he’d formed under ‘wrong’, ‘wrong’, ‘very wrong’, ‘fuck fuck fuck fuck’ and ‘Cas was WHAT?!’.
Also, Cas was naked, and Dean suddenly became acutely aware of that fact.
But the warmth in Castiel’s eyes was starting to go cold; he had received no encouragement for another kiss, so probably assumed Dean didn’t want it. So he let go of him, and backed up a step, head down. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I went too far.”
He turned away, but Dean took a breath and finally got some oxygen into him – and at once, rushed to Cas’ back and kissed his shoulder, hands hovering an inch from either bicep. Dean felt his own heat flutter back from Castiel’s skin as Castiel registered the touch, then turned to meet Dean’s eyes.
Dean didn’t let him speak; he kissed him, fingertips on his stubbled jaw.
He broke away, eyes down, lips alive with a rush of electricity.
“Go further,” Dean whispered. He hesitated, then let his eyes meet Castiel’s. Sparks burst inside him; he saw Castiel light up with the flame.
Castiel did as he was told.
He reached up and brushed Dean’s jacket off his shoulders like it was dust; it collapsed around Dean’s ankles. He took his plaid shirt and peeled it from his arms and let it fall like a snakeskin, worn out, revealing a new layer below. Castiel took Dean’s t-shirt in his hand, and pulled it from him. Dean’s arms raised, revealing his bare chest, now aflush like a summer peach, ripe and ready to be devoured.
Castiel undid Dean’s jeans with his eyes lowered; he kissed Dean with his eyes shut. He took him by the hips with his eyes half-hooded, twin blue moons rising to gaze upon green pastures as the world turned and the bed took Dean’s weight.
Dean lay underneath, dazed, stunned, all adrift in Castiel’s eyes. Even when Cas moved lower down the bed to remove Dean’s underwear, socks, and shoes, the way he looked at Dean was so intent that Dean dared not look away, dared not blink. He shuddered, breath flooding his insides as Castiel touched him softly, in places he’d never touched before. Not with his hands but with his body.
God, he was heavy. Dean felt bliss at being squashed like that.
“Do you want to be kissed, Dean?” Castiel asked him, fingertips pushing Dean’s hair from his forehead. “Do you?”
Dean nodded, lips apart and licked wet.
He shut his eyes for the first time, plunged too deeply into a sensational darkness to even try to see. Castiel kissed with too much tenderness. His breaths coated Dean’s mouth with gold. Dean began to shine, polished and new and beaming, opening his eyes at last and finding himself wearing a smile.
“Do you want to be touched, Dean?” Castiel asked, dark-eyed, deep-breathed, such a human tremble of want in his lips. He couldn’t remain as steady as he tried, and Dean saw his fragility, loving it.
Dean reached up to stroke Castiel’s cheek with the side of his thumb. Cas shut his eyes, eager expression melting to bliss. He tilted into Dean’s hand, sighing out his joy. Such a quiet, heartfelt joy.
“Do you?” Dean asked back.
Castiel opened his eyes halfway, and answered, “Yes.”
Dean spread his legs, letting Cas know he’d paid attention to what he’d said before. He wrapped his thighs around Cas’ waist, and his arms behind his neck – relaxing like that, bringing Cas’s head down for kisses. They shut their eyes together, softly rocking.
Dean was hard. Cas was hard. It was strange to be hard together, but Dean thought the feeling was almost secondary to their full-mouthed French kisses; they pressed their erections together not singularly for pleasure, but to prove to each other that their long-buried feelings were mutual. They could speak but there were easier ways to say certain things.
“Cas,” Dean said, eyes shut, mouth open. “Cas.”
“Mm.” Castiel kissed Dean’s throat, his jugular vein, then bit the same places, making Dean release a silent shout. “Dean.”
Dean bared his throat further, begging to be bitten again.
Castiel let his teeth graze Dean’s windpipe but only left the sort of marks that faded in moments, and Dean cried out, wanting, wanting—
Castiel took his left nipple between thumb and finger, squeezing hard. Dean yelled, legs convulsing; he laughed, then breathed forcefully, frowning.
“Tell me,” Castiel whispered to him.
“Good,” Dean huffed out. “Good.”
“Okay.” Castiel nodded. “Good. You’re good.”
“More,” Dean said, shaky hand on Castiel’s ear. “Cas...”
Castiel lowered his head, placing a kiss on Dean’s rib, rib, rib, nipple. Dean sighed, smiling, then – bite – he grunted, teeth marking his lower lip, grinning, eyebrows colliding; hips rose from the bed, fingers clawed; his breath shook from him, his cock achingly hard.
Castiel sucked his nipple, warmer and wetter and softer than Dean had imagined.
“The fantasies you fed me,” Castiel murmured, his voice travelling from nipple to clavicle to ear, “were they all yours?”
Dean moistened his lips once more, breath gushing out between them. He let his eyes flick to Castiel’s, that oh-so-eager blue. “Yeah.”
Blood-curdling truth didn’t seem so difficult when he was naked and Cas was naked and they’d already kissed and touched.
“Do you want me inside you?” Castiel asked, watching Dean’s face carefully.
Dean’s stomach flipped. He needed to speak a full sentence, but he was all breaths and trembles and a bedsheeted fist, so couldn’t say any more than, “No condoms.”
“Ah,” Castiel’s eyes flicked up. “Yes. Real life practicality is so much more bothersome than a fantasy in our minds.”
Somehow he had a good grasp of full sentences. Dean couldn’t think how, when Cas’ dick was that hard.
Castiel rested his lips behind Dean’s ear, tickling with his breath as he asked, “Would you let me inside you anyway?” He explained what he meant with only two fingers. Dean shuddered, keening under his breath.
“Yeah.” He nodded. “Yeah, yeah.” He nodded and nodded, desperate for it already. “Shit. Yes. Pleasepleaseplease.”
Castiel chuckled, eyes sparkling. “Alright. Alright, Dean, wait a moment.” He got the lube in one hand, his other steadying Dean’s inner thigh to keep his legs open. Dean lifted his head, wanting to see the insertion take place, but his view was blocked by his stiff cock, bumping on his abdomen with the force of his heartbeat.
“Here,” Castiel said, warm and heavy again as he lay down close, fingers going to Dean’s hole, lips going to his ear. He sucked the cartilage of Dean’s ear, and Dean began to breathe heavily through his nose, then through his mouth – a lot, and then nothing, and then a gasp all at once, as Cas circled his rim with one slippery fingertip.
Soon Dean began to hum... then groan under his breath.
And then he started to moan aloud, sometimes Cas’ name, sometimes helpless noises. When he groaned too loudly, Cas moaned back, blaring sound into Dean’s ear. Dean would’ve happily gone deaf.
“C’mon,” Dean breathed, hips urging Castiel’s fingers nearer. “C’mon, I’ll be good, I’ll be good, Cas, just do it.”
“Push my fingers inside you?”
“Two of them, c’mon,” Dean begged, his voice breaking. “Fuck me. Aaugh, Caaaas, please—”
“Shhh, relax,” Castiel grinned. “You really want this, don’t you?”
Dean nodded and nodded, eyes watering. He squirmed so hard, hands gripping Castiel’s waist. “I’ll do whatever you want, Cas, just let me have— Ah-AH!” Dean’s head slammed the pillow under him as Castiel breached his supple rim, slipping inside. Dean’s legs spasmed, cold breath filling him up; he felt his cock jump in thrill, spilling precome an inch in every direction.
“Does that feel nice?” Castiel asked, purring in Dean’s ear. “Oh, it must feel amazing. My— My fingers are so big compared to you, Dean, do you feel them? Ah... all the way... inside...”
Dean sobbed, starting to weep, but he didn’t know why. “Yeah,” he said, just a breath on his lips.
“Oh, you’re crying.” Castiel nuzzled close, kissing Dean’s face, fingers pushing deep as he aligned their bodies completely. “You’re exquisite, Dean, look at you. My God...” He frowned above Dean, in a way that seemed astonished, perplexed, like a marvellous, wonderful jigsaw puzzle he’d solved, and loved, but didn’t know what the picture was. “Are you crying because of me?”
Dean just let his grin wobble, his vision blurry, lying in a riverbed, looking up at the sun. Castiel was the light in his eyes, the source of everything that grew within him. Dean felt heat trickle from his eyes and fall to his ears, and Castiel kissed him dry, only to be wet in the process.
He fingered Dean so slowly. So slowly.
“I love you, Dean,” Castiel told him, and Dean wept, sniffling, eyes pouring.
“You’re so good,” Castiel said, softly, lovingly. “You’re so good, Dean, and so kind, and so brave, and so gentle, and so loving. I don’t know how everyone who’s ever met you hasn’t fallen in love. Maybe I should be grateful. I should, shouldn’t I. You can be all mine. Can’t you? All for me.”
Castiel curled his fingers towards Dean’s prostate, and Dean barked pleasure, fingers gripping Castiel’s shoulder.
Castiel’s breath danced on Dean’s neck, and he kissed it, sucked it, nibbled it a little. “You’re good for me, Dean,” he promised. “Do you realise how perfect you have to be, to make an angel love you? Do you know where your perfection lies?” Castiel grinned, a little devilish line of teeth on Dean’s throat. “You are the single most flawed human being that ever lived. You’ve made every mistake. You’ve lived so carelessly and hurt every way there is to hurt, but it only made you careful and caring and strong, and endlessly protective of others.” Castiel’s eyes were full of praise, maybe even more than his words could ever be. “You are perfect in your way, Dean. There’s nobody else I could love like this, nor would I want there to be.”
Castiel bowed his head, smiling, resting his forehead on Dean’s left temple. He kissed him there, and let one of Dean’s tears run into his own eye. “You could let an ocean fall from you, Dean, and I’ll catch it.”
Dean almost giggled, ashamed and affectionate at the same time. He felt like a ship in a stormtide; there was no point in steering, as he couldn’t see land; he shut his eyes and went where the current led, where his heart rose and fell in dizzying swoops, where salt was spread upon his skin by a untamable force of nature. The force kissed him, having tamed itself.
The waters went calm in the eye of the storm.
“You’re beautiful,” Castiel said in the silence, and for the first time in his life, when someone said those words, Dean believed him.
He shut his eyes and let his ocean fall.
And as promised, Castiel caught it. He caught every tear on the back of his hand, on his thumbnail, on his lips, his tongue, his eyelashes. He laughed against Dean, finding his tears adorable, or amusing, but never telling him to stop, or asking why they fell in the first place. Dean didn’t have the slightest clue. It just happened sometimes. Never this much. But, yeah... it happened. People didn’t usually like it – they found it worrying – but Cas? He seemed to dig it.
“Still good?” Castiel asked quietly, nosing away one last teartrack.
Dean nodded, gulping. “I’m good.”
Castiel sank his fingers in deep again, making Dean smile. “I know you are. So good for me.”
Dean cocked his head. “How do you mean it, when you say that?”
“Hm?”
Dean licked his sticky lips, breath trembling in his throat, voice thick as he asked, “Am I... good for you, like a – a good romantic match?”
“Of course.”
“Or am I good for you, like, for your health, like that magazine said.”
“That too,” Castiel smiled.
“Or— Or am I...” Dean blushed, “am I bein’ good for you. Following the rules right. Your good little – whatever. Your bottom. Your bitch. Your— Princess— Good boy. Pet. Whatever.”
Castiel thought about that for longer, examining Dean’s face. “What do you want to be?”
Dean shrugged. “Just... yours.”
Castiel kissed his upper lip, a smile between them. “You know you are already.”
Dean sighed, relaxing, letting Cas sink in and out of him. Slowly. Gently.
One brush of his fingertips on Dean’s prostate, and Dean’s lower half clenched; an electric shock zapped up his spine, and heat splattered across his stomach, a soft cry parting his lips. He gasped after, peering out under his lashes to see Castiel. Cas looked at the mess Dean made, then back at Dean.
“Shit,” Dean complained, pained to his core. He looked at the white fluid on his chest, and complained again, “Shit.”
“What, what’s wrong?” Castiel asked, shaking his head.
“I didn’t— I mean— I wanted—?” Dean perched his torso up on his elbows, and Castiel pulled his fingers out, realising their rhythm had been wholly thrown off. All bothered, Dean grumbled, “Came way too soon.”
“Oh?” Castiel smiled, a twinkle in his eyes. “I thought you liked that.”
“Not this soon,” Dean wailed. “Dude, I could’ve done this for half a freaking hour, and now we’re— Ugh!” He threw himself back, hands in his hair in despair.
“It’s okay, Dean,” Castiel laughed, snuggling close, dirty hand hanging off the side of the bed. He kissed Dean’s chest. “You were having a ‘swell’ time. It’s only natural.”
Dean grunted.
“Do you want to play with me, now?” Castiel asked, hopeful.
Of course, he’d gone all this time without a touch. Dean kind of felt bad, remembering that.
“What do you want?” Dean asked.
Castiel’s already dark eyes seemed to darken. He took a breath, but his eyes darted away, and he couldn’t speak.
Dean raised his eyebrows. After all they’d discussed over the phone, and what they’d just done in person – all that chick-flick-moment bullcrap – Dean was momentarily blinded by awe, realising Cas was hesitant to reveal his own fantasies.
“Tell me,” Dean demanded, rolling over to face Cas side-on.
Castiel only lowered his eyes.
“Oh, you are not doing that,” Dean warned, shaking his head. “Nuh-uh. You fingerfuck me to tears and kiss me so goddamn sweet and whisper all that gooey, mushy, beautiful shit, you are not backing out ‘cause you got some kinky fantasy you think’s gonna ruin the mood. What d’ya want, Cas? Because I will— Look at me?” Dean took Castiel’s chin and raised his gaze, peering at him firmly. “I will do whatever you fucking ask, Cas. Anything.”
Castiel’s lips sank into a shape, and then phrased it: “You’re good for me.”
“Yeah.” Dean kissed him a little aggressively. “So you tell me what you want, and let me do it for you. No judgement. No complaining.”
“Oh, please,” Castiel snorted. “You’d complain if you didn’t like it.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well. Like you said, I’m flawed.”
Castiel smiled now, but he still retained what he wanted to say aloud. “The thing is,” he said, “it... it’s not like everything else.” He sucked his lower lip, sorry eyes rising to Dean. “Everything I’ve told you I’ve wanted to do with you has been—”
“Straight out of a girly magazine, yeah,” Dean said. “Totally awesome. And?”
Castiel squirmed. “I want—”
Dean waited.
Honestly, this was not how Dean had seen this going. Heck, the lovemaking thing was easy. Waiting for Cas to admit he wanted something else: that was the hard part.
Taking inspiration from a previous conversation, Dean touched Castiel’s jaw, and said, quietly, “How about this. I describe what I’d do. And you... tell me how it goes. And we go from there.”
Castiel seemed content with that. “Okay.”
“Okay.” Dean wriggled close, languid muscles and flaccid dick pushed against Cas. Cas remained hard; clearly he was thinking about what he wanted, repeatedly, and it was still driving him crazy. “Imagine that we’re kissing,” Dean started. “Deep, nice kisses. And... I stroke your back.” He did stroke Cas’ back, just to prove there was real intention behind the fantasy. “And... squeeze your ass?” He touched Cas’ ass, but Castiel laughed, and only laughed more when Dean squeezed him.
“I spank you?” Dean tried, but Castiel shook his head.
“No...”
“Then what?”
“Th—” Castiel gulped. “Then you... roll onto your back.”
“Okay?” Dean did. But Castiel clammed up again, unable to make eye contact. So Dean rolled back. “We’ll finish the fantasy and then make a move, how’s that.”
“Yeah.”
“So I’m on my back.”
“Yeah.” Castiel gulped. “And. I roll so... m-my legs are apart around your waist.”
“You wanna be fucked?”
“Um, I—”
“You want me to pretend you’re a girl while we do it or something? ‘Cause that’s not that weird, I’ve done that—”
“No, Dean— Would you shut up? I’m trying to—”
“Okay, okay, sorry,” Dean chuckled, grinning when Castiel sighed annoyedly on his forehead.
Castiel took a few seconds to get back in the zone. Dean glanced up and saw he’d shut his eyes, so Dean shut his too, cheek resting on Castiel’s collarbone.
“I move from your waist... up,” Castiel said, and Dean felt him move his hand, touching his own erection. “A-And...” He started to stroke himself.
Dean opened his eyes, watching Cas masturbate. He went slowly, his fist half-tight.
“And you’re lying comfortably,” Castiel said, nodding, like it was a pleasant, stable fact. “No pillow. And I climb—”
He gulped, fist squeezing his cockhead. His breath shuddered, and Dean took the pause as a cue; he wrapped his hand around Castiel’s, and slipped his fingers between Castiel’s, and took over the touch, jerking him ever so slowly.
“I put—” Castiel’s voice was crumbling, his sounds low and high and shaky. “I turn my hips, and push inside you – your mouth...”
Dean raised his eyebrows. Cas just wanted a blowjob?
“Ah— And y-you’re full up,” Castiel shivered, squirming into Dean’s hand, gasping softly. “All the way to your throat. And I move in you, slowly? And you— You c-can... only... breathe... when I let you...”
Dean felt chills down his spine. He’d never had someone go so far as to purposely control his breath, for the sake of control rather than by circumstance. At least not in bed. He’d never trusted anyone like that.
Fuck. He trusted Cas.
Eyes stuck on Cas, Dean shifted down in the bed, bumping and kicking until he came eye-to-eye with Cas’ erection, and both their hands entwined and wet on the veined length.
Dean let out a happy sigh of anticipation, then, as their hands descended to Cas’ base, Dean placed the tip of Cas’ cock in his mouth.
Castiel yapped in surprise, then came hard. Hot, pure-white semen sprayed in Dean’s face; he recoiled a couple of inches, one eye clenched to keep the wet gloop out of it. It was in his lashes, over the bridge of his nose, viscous between his parted lips. He looked up at Cas, hoping he hadn’t done something wrong. Castiel was panting, shaken; he saw Dean, and realised what he’d intended, and grinned. Dean licked a tickle from his lip, shocked by how salty it was.
“Good?” Dean asked, hopeful.
“So good,” Castiel promised, fingers under Dean’s chin. “Disappointing we never had a chance to— Well. But, so very good.” He wiped Dean’s eye with a thumb, but left the rest where he could see it. “Mmmh. Beautiful.”
Dean smiled, feeling awesome. He lifted himself to lie back down with Cas, their hands on each other, distant enough to see between their bodies, not yet close enough for this to count as a cuddle.
Dean licked his lips again, then asked, softly, “Do you still want to?”
“Want to...?”
Dean shrugged the shoulder that wasn’t plugged into the bed. Stretching down, he took Castiel’s hand – the clean one – and placed it on his throat.
Castiel breathed out the shape of “Oh,” but didn’t make a sound.
Dean closed their distance to kiss him. “Do it,” he said. “Take my breath away, Cas.”
“Dean, I— Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you—”
“You won’t hurt me,” Dean grinned. “And even if you do, it’s not like I mind.”
“But how do I even— I’m not sure that’s what I want— Choking you is a whole different thing from—”
“You don’t have to strangle me, Cas. Here, put your hand—?” Dean placed Castiel’s hand over his mouth, smearing their artwork as it grew sticky. Dean let out a long breath through his nose, pulse hopping already. Part of him felt the adrenaline, knowing holding his breath was dangerous and going without oxygen was deadly, but the other part – the important part – was relaxed, and knew he was in reliable hands.
Seeing Dean so willing, his breaths steady and his heart beating hard but evenly, Castiel seemed to find his resolve, and rotated himself so his weight was again on Dean, pressing his thigh down, pushing his hips steadily into the mattress.
“Squeeze my arm if you want to stop,” Castiel said.
Dean nodded.
Castiel readied himself, his face close enough that he could examine Dean’s freckles, his fluttering lashes, his own come sliding down Dean’s cheeks, and would feel his breath if Dean dared to exhale.
Dean gulped. Castiel gulped. They held each other’s eyes.
“Are you sure?” Castiel asked.
Dean smiled, and kissed Castiel’s palm.
Castiel grinned. “Okay. Don’t forget to squeeze my arm to stop. Ready?”
Dean blinked, nodding the tiniest bit. He took a normal-sized breath in.
Castiel closed Dean’s nose between his thumb and finger, mouth pressed shut with the palm and heel of his hand. Dean smiled; it felt like all the other times Cas had thrown a hand over him, keeping him quiet, shutting his damn fool mouth, or wiping blood from his lips.
But his chest started to ache right away, and he settled in for the deepening throb, the loudening heartbeat, the tension in his lungs, more and more familiar as it grew.
Castiel watched him with hunger, with a shade of fear in his eyes, but retained the brightness of awe and pleasure. Dean saw his pupils were partly dilated. But to Dean, Castiel didn’t seem particularly aroused, only absorbed with fascination. Maybe it was a human thing, obsession with life and death. Men who were once immortals must find it exciting, to find oneself at the mercy of death. Castiel toyed with mortality, letting it trace Dean’s eyelids and pull at the corners of his mouth, sinking down his throat, closing in, around air that couldn’t escape.
Dean began to hurt, and felt the pressure inside him trying to expel itself. He knew if Cas released now, he needed to exhale more than he needed to breathe in. But only moments later, the desperation to inhale became more fierce, and in a flush of panic, Dean moved to touch his fingers to Castiel’s arm.
But he didn’t grab hold, nor squeeze. He kept gazing at Cas, fingers in contact with him. Comfort.
Yeah, there was something comforting about this pain. Darkness grew inside him like a cavern, a ravenous one, a warm one. It had sharp edges and wanted to bite him, and he let it; he let it gnaw on his ribcage and tear at his throat.
These were Cas’ teeth, and he’d already proved he couldn’t bite hard.
Castiel watched Dean’s eyes.
Dean held his gaze strongly, unafraid. He tried to take an automatic breath in but found he couldn’t. Again, panic had him take Cas’ arm in his hand, but he did not squeeze.
Castiel held on, unmoving. He gave Dean a kiss, soft on his cheek. Dean shut his eyes for that moment, letting darkness swoop into him, grasping close.
He accepted another kiss.
Their eyes met once more. Dean gulped, hoping it would help, but it changed the pressure inside him and a frown flickered on his brow; he slid his hand up Castiel’s arm, ready to squeeze.
But he did not squeeze.
He’d always found that he could hold his breath longer underwater than he could on land. Maybe the surrounding pressure of the water changed things. Maybe it was the lower pressure of being below ground level. Maybe it was the implicit knowledge that there was air to breathe on land, whereas there was none underwater, so there was no point wanting it. Who even knew the truth?
Dean couldn’t think any more. Clouds fogged his mind.
He lay, waiting for Cas to free him.
He lay, not worrying about whether he’d be freed, only when.
He lay, did not move or breathe or think, only held Castiel’s eyes and trusted him.
Not in thought, but in feeling, he realised: he wasn’t going to squeeze. No matter how far this went, how badly he needed to breathe, he wasn’t going to squeeze.
Cas could kill him in the name of trust and Dean would let him.
Castiel let go. Dean gasped so hard that air scraped the back of his tender throat, a roar escaping him. He lay back, gasping, panting, head spinning, grinning, smiling, starting to cry.
Cas knew. Somehow, he knew. He knew when to let go. Whether Dean squeezed or not, Cas wouldn’t have held on for a second longer than Dean could bear. He must’ve seen the flicker in his eyes, the moment when Dean realised he trusted him absolutely. Perhaps that was what he’d been waiting for.
Now Castiel took Dean and held him and whispered to him, covering him in kisses. “That was incredible, Dean, you did so well. Oh, you’re so good. I love you. I love you. Thank you. Thank you, Dean.” He spoiled Dean for touch, for words; nobody else’s praises would ever feel this good again. “It’s okay. It’s okay, Dean, you’re safe. You’re safe, I won’t hurt you. I promised I wouldn’t hurt you. And I never will. I’ll never want to. You’re so good for me, Dean.”
Dean wept, forehead turning to press on Castiel’s shoulder. Castiel stroked his hair, shushing him, kissing his head.
“Oh, my love,” Castiel purred, his voice so deep it vibrated through Dean’s skull. “Mmm. Cry all you like, it’s okay. It’s okay, you deserve it. Sh-shhh.”
They rocked in place, Castiel kissing and kissing and cuddling Dean and then kissing him some more.
“Can you speak?” Castiel asked. “Can you tell me you’re okay?”
Dean shuddered with air but couldn’t remember how to say something.
“Nod your head,” Castiel suggested. “Are you okay?”
Dean nodded.
“Are you hurt at all? Sore?”
Dean shook his head, then shrugged, then nodded, ashamed to admit it.
“Let me kiss it.” Castiel began to kiss Dean’s lips, cheeks, getting his own semen on his face, all tacky now. “Is this helping?”
“Hm,” Dean said, eyes closing. He wanted to sleep.
“Do you feel okay?” Castiel asked, caressing Dean’s cheek. “Do you want anything? Water? Dean?”
“‘m ‘kay,” Dean mumbled.
“Okay. Good. That’s good.” Castiel smooched his nose, making Dean smile. “Do you feel safe?”
Dean let tears gush from him, watery eyes meeting Cas’ gaze. “Yeah,” he rasped, his voice shattered. “‘m safe.”
Even Castiel had a gloss in his eyes, now. He tilted his head, so loving, so adoring. He kissed Dean, and sighed, and snuggled up. “Have a rest, Dean,” Castiel said. “My good little... whatever.”
Dean laughed, feeling a happy skip in his chest.
“I love you,” Castiel said, one more time.
Dean let out a gradual breath, then breathed in again, enjoying the freedom of it, somehow attributing the pleasure of oxygen to Castiel.
“Hm... I... luvyooutoohh,” Dean answered, as he sank into the warmth, letting his heartbeat slow...
And soon... but not too soon... he let sleep take him, as death was nowhere to be found.
- - - ♥ - - -
Sam found too much pizza on the table.
Then he found an unusual number of clothes on the floor, but Cas’ trenchcoat was hung over the end of the bed.
The bottle of lube lay at the foot of Dean’s bunk, Dean huddled up under the covers. Sam could see the back of his head, hair all a mess.
But no Cas.
“Dean,” Sam said, poking his brother in the head. “Wake up. Where did Cas go?”
Dean murmured, one eye peeking open. There was something crusty and white on his nose. He rubbed it away with the side of his hand, asking, “Wuh?”
“We left Cas in here three hours ago with a laptop and a bottle of lube. Where’d he go?”
Dean frowned, as if confused. “What?”
Sam spoke slowly, a sigh in his words. “Horny. Angel. Friend. Where. Is. He?”
Dean didn’t seem any less confused. “What? He’s right here, what d’ya mean?”
Sam spread his arms. “Place looks pretty empty to me.” He looked down, nudging Dean’s plaid shirt off his boot. “Dad would roll over in his grave if he saw how you fold your crap, dude.” With renewed insistence, Sam said, “Seriously, if we don’t know where Cas is, shouldn’t we go looking for him? He left his coat behind, and that’s weird.”
Dean licked his lips, groaning as he rolled back over. “Cas, show him your goddamn mug so he shuts up and lets me sleep.”
There came a grunt from nearer the wall, and at first Sam assumed it was Dean – but then the sheets moved over there, and there emerged a bed-headed, bleary-eyed Castiel, looking forty percent more relaxed, ninety-eight percent happier, and a hundred percent more naked than Sam was used to seeing him.
“Oh,” Sam said, in surprise. He looked at the two sets of underwear on the floor. “Oooohhh,” he added, in realisation. He cleared his throat. “Right.”
Castiel grunted again and folded himself back into the covers, arms around Dean, placing a kiss on his bare, freckled shoulder.
Sam stared for a while, too stunned to look away.
Cas smiled, eyes shut, a certain look on his face that – honestly? – completely changed Sam’s perspective on the guy. He was capable of relaxing. He was capable of having personal desires, and seeking to fulfil those desires. He could be happy. He had the capacity for pleasure, whether that was mental, physical, or spiritual; in the past few hours, he’d clearly achieved all three.
Grinning widely, Sam began picking up his brother and his brother’s lover’s dropped clothing, folding them.
He stole another look at Cas, who had spooned himself comfortably around Dean as they rested.
Sam lay down the folded clothes beside the lube bottle, deciding it might be best if he slept on the couch. But before he stole away, he looked back one more time.
Yeah.
Whatever Cas did with Dean, it was clearly good for him. He’d never looked more content. Sam wondered if he’d ever been this happy, in his thousands of years of existence, whether he looked it or not.
And just from how pleasant this picture was, Sam could tell they were good for each other. Perfect, even.
Smiling, he left them be.
{ the end }