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Dean is, likely, the most eligible bachelor in the city. No polls have come out to confirm this, but Dean is pretty sure he’s got it in the bag. Being a big time model and living in a less-than-famous California city has its perks; he lives in a large house on gated land, drives a beamer when he doesn't feel like taking the jag, and is always getting stopped for selfies whenever he’s out in public. He brings women to his house, hits it and quits it and never lets them see the light of day from the floor to ceiling windows in his bedroom, and…
It’s awful.
“I’m offended that you’re complaining about being single,” Charlie says over skype. Her eye roll gives Dean’s laptop battery an extra boost. “Maybe if you actually had a conversation with your sexcapades instead of kicking them out after you climax you could find someone to settle down with.”
Scrubbing a hand over his mouth, Dean looks around his bedroom, trying to see it from someone else’s eyes. It’s neat and orderly, everything in its place, decorated in rich earth tones and definitely too big for just one person to occupy. Currently Dean is nested on his bed amongst a huge pile of blankets and pillows, the king size feeling a bit emptier than usual as Charlie gives him her weekly ‘don’t complain about being single when us normal folk can’t even make eye contact for longer than five seconds’ speech.
Leaning back against the plush headboard, Dean sighs. “Feelings are hard. One night stands are easy. Don’t gotta talk.”
“Dirty talk doesn’t count?”
Dean can’t help the smile that spreads on his lips as he rolls his eyes in amusement. “Pretty sure it doesn’t. Besides, I’m not about to ask a chick out to dinner when I’m balls deep. Doesn’t seem like good timing.”
Charlie is seated at a desk, resting her elbow on the edge of it so she can prop her chin in her hand. “Well maybe instead of cruising the club you should cruise a dating app?”
“Did that once, remember? No one believed it was really me. People actually started sending me hate mail, calling me a horrible person for impersonating me.” Dean grins at the memory. He deleted the dating app and never came out and said that it was actually him, mostly because his fans getting in a tizzy over something like that had been pretty amusing.
Charlie laughs, “You’re right.” Both hands prop her chin now as she sends Dean a soft smile. “What about… y’know. Not girls?”
Dean resists slinking down into the safety of his blankets. “Can’t.”
Charlie huffs. “It’s not that you can’t, it’s just that you won’t. Dean, your agent isn’t gonna drop you just because you happen to also like dick. Heck- in this day and age that’s listable under ‘abilities’ on a Hollywood resume!”
Dean lies down fully, resting his laptop on his chest and getting the worst possible angle of his three chins as he glares up at the ceiling. “Yeah, yeah. Crowley would piss himself with excitement if I came out to him.”
“I’m just saying,” Charlie’s voice gets kinder. “Maybe it’s time to flip the coin. Jump to the other side of the pond. Visit the darkside of the moon. Maybe you’re not connecting with any of these cheap dates because they don’t have the right equipment.”
Dean bristles, “I’m not gay, Charlie.”
She laughs, “I know! But I’m just saying. I’ve known you were bi since high school. You’ve never had a boyfriend, Dean. You’ve never even-” she lowers her voice dramatically. “-slept with a dude.”
Groaning, Dean sits up again, putting his laptop down on the bed so he can stand up. He occupies himself by grabbing a t-shirt from his dresser, pulling it over his head and reaching to adjust the drawstring on his sweatpants so he can put off answering for as long as possible.
“I know you’re avoiding saying anything because I’m right,” Charlie announces.
Unable to keep the smile off his face, Dean finally nods. “I know you are. Look, m’not gonna make any promises, ok? You might be right or you might be horrendously wrong. But I don’t think I’m… gonna go down that road yet.”
“You can at least start poking around inside Crowley’s head,” Charlie suggests. “Start maybe dropping hints about being bi to get a reaction? I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t care, though. Dude screams ‘queer’. Plus he never shuts up about your mouth at Christmas parties?” That last thing Charlie says lilts up at the end, and when Dean glances towards the screen he sees a slightly pained expression on her features. “Then after that you can consider coming out to the public, if you wanna.”
“Yeah,” Dean nods. “Y’know, think I will do that. Start with Crowley.”
“You deserve to be happy, Dean,” Charlie says with a tone of finality. “And you gotta share that fucking mansion with someone, you’re too lonely!”
“I’ll get a dog or something,” Dean says distractedly, picking up his phone off the nightstand and unplugging the charger.
“HA,” Charlie forces the fakest, loudest laugh. “Good one, Dean.”
Smiling, Dean bends a little so he’s in better view of his webcam. “Gotta go Charles, it’s garbage day.”
“Still a wonder that you live in such a nice fucking place and do all your own chores,” Charlie says, amused.
Chuckling, Dean shrugs. “Old habits die hard. Growin’ up poor instills a good set of core beliefs.”
Charlie stares at him.
Dean shrugs again, “Also I don’t want a bunch of strangers in my shit.”
Charlie laughs, “See you next week, you barmy old codger.”
Dean winks, “Later, Red.”
The skype call ends and Dean looks around his bedroom for a moment. It’s warm in here, cozy, even. It’s his sanctuary. He’s got a huge house all to himself but spends most of his time either in the kitchen or in his bedroom, eating and sleeping being his two favorite activities. The rest of the house only gets used when he has company (summer barbecues are a hit), but for the most part he keeps to himself.
He is lonely. He’s just not quite sure how to fix that.
Rallying himself, he starts about his chores for the day. Cleaning the house is easy, since he really only occupies two spaces; he collects garbages, he sweeps, he dusts, he vacuums. He wanders around at a slow pace; it’s nearing six a.m., his phone call with Charlie always happening at the ass-crack of dawn because of the time difference between California and New York. He likes starting his Tuesdays by chatting with Charlie. A normally mundane, boring day always gets a bit brighter after they talk.
The garbage collectors come a little after seven, so Dean takes the time to shower after he puts the filled garbage bags into his bin. Tuesdays are pretty slow in general, and today Dean doesn’t have anything lined up in his schedule except for calling Crowley to get the low-down of who wants Dean’s face to represent their brand this month. Once he’s clean and moisturized he heads back to his bedroom, towel slung around his waist, fully intending on putting on his sweats and t-shirt once more.
His eyes stray towards the third drawer down in his dresser.
Walking towards it, he opens the drawer and hums at the sight of color-assorted… panties. Different sizes, shapes, textures, fabrics, styles. He drums his fingers over the top of his dresser and chews his lip, debating. He hasn’t indulged in this pleasure in a while, and there’s no harm in relaxing even further today. The weekend had been busy, brushing elbows with the Hollywood elite and plastering on the fakest smile he could muster while Crowley showed him off like some sort of prized dog. He knows Crowley’s intentions are… good, in a word; without Crowley Dean would never be able to navigate the lap of luxury and get the gigs he’s worked on over the past few years.
But Dean hadn’t been able to leave the party with a warm body and he’s feeling a bit pent up.
He deserves to treat himself.
So he grabs a pair of red boy shorts, the trim on the leg holes and waistband black lace, and swaps his towel for the soft cotton. He passes by the open ensuite door and reaches inside to drape his towel over the rack on the wall before he makes his way to the closet, opening it up and letting his fingers run over a few different shirts. He sways towards the thicker materials and when his fingers finally touch a pleasing texture he pulls down a soft cream colored sweater, grinning to himself as he puts it on.
There we go.
Tension leaves him like a deflating balloon. He doesn’t even bother looking in the mirror as he leaves his bedroom, reaching down to adjust himself a bit and shaking out a leg. Better. A glance at the clock in the kitchen shows it’s nearing seven so Dean pads barefoot onto the back patio. His home is secluded enough and tucked back far enough on the curve that his neighbors, if they’re up and about, won’t see him when he takes out the trash. The early morning sun feels amazing on Dean’s skin as he grabs both the trash and the recycling, wheeling them down the long paved driveway. At the gate he punches in the code and waits for it to open, carefully maneuvering the bins to the curb.
The sound of the garbage truck coming doesn’t alarm him. He takes a few steps away and then thinks about bringing down his green bin as well; he mowed the lawn on Sunday and it’s full, and he intends to mow the lawn again on Thursday, so he should definitely bring it down. He still has a bit of time before the truck comes so he moseys back up towards the driveway to where the green bin lays in wait. When he wheels it back down to the curb he sees the garbage man tipping the recycle bin into a different compartment on the truck, and Dean takes a moment to admire the broad stretch of shoulders and the strong looking back displayed when the jumpsuit goes taut.
What a beautiful day, indeed.
The garbage man turns around once Dean is at the curb. Dean is momentarily stunned by aviators perched on a straight nose, a strong, stubbled jaw, tan skin, dark hair covered with a baseball cap and wow, just… damn. This dude is probably the most casually gorgeous guy Dean has ever seen. And that’s saying something, given Dean’s line of work.
“Good morning,” Dean says dumbly.
It’s hard to tell with the aviators blocking his eyes, but Dean thinks the man gives him a once over. A slow smile curls pink lips, showing off straight, white teeth on top, and then the man nods. “Good morning.”
“Thanks,” Dean says intelligently.
A flash of tongue as the man licks his top row of teeth, before he lifts a hand to tip his hat. His dark hair is curled slightly from the heat where it sticks out in tufts. “Just doing my job. Sir.”
Heat ricochets through Dean and he takes a step back, his smile shaky and a little unsettled. When’s the last time he was blindsided by someone being so attractive? “Great! Uh. I’ll uh, let you get to it, then.”
The man stays silent, his mouth quirked in amusement. Dean wishes he could see his eyes, but Dean also sort of feels like dying, so he turns tail and does his best to not run up his driveway. He punches in the code to close his gate and glances over his shoulder just in time to see the garbage man (is that even the right term? Dean feels like a dick referring to such a beautiful person like that) swing himself up into the cab of the truck and shut the door.
Tall, dark, handsome… strong. Dean’s never been rattled by someone like that before. None of his one night stands made his belly swoop like that.
Once Dean is inside his house he shuts the sliding door and runs a hand through his hair, sighing and leaning back against the glass.
It’s cold against the backs of his thighs.
He glances down, and that feeling of wanting to die resurfaces with renewed vigor.
He just met the garbage man while wearing women’s panties and a feminine sweater. Shame and embarrassment burns through him and he covers his face with his hands, letting out a delirious laugh.
His fucking luck, right?
--
Just because Dean has never had sex with a guy doesn’t mean that he hasn’t taken it up the ass. A few adventurous one night stands unafraid to stick their finger where he asks and a different drawer full of toys keeps him relatively satisfied, but the next time he fucks himself on a dildo he sees a cleft chin, a confident smirk, and a stacked body. A shame that the jumpsuit the garbage man was wearing hid so much of his body, but then again, Dean’s pretty sure no sanitation worker wants to wear short sleeves while slinging garbage bins all day.
In any case, it leaves quite a bit to the imagination. The fact that the man hadn’t said anything about Dean’s state of dress (or lack thereof) has Dean fueling fantasies about being bent over, panties pulled to the side and being fucked until he screams.
It’s nothing compared to a real cock, he knows, but he’s working with what he’s got.
He does a few gigs before the weekend and actually declines an invite to a party on Saturday night, deciding to stay inside and curl up with Netflix.
His conversation with Charlie is still fresh in his mind, too. Maybe he should try hooking up with men. Sex with women has almost become repetitive and boring, especially since a lot of those Hollywood girls aren’t particularly kinky. Not that Dean is some sort of fetishist, but he’s got some carnal urges that women with delicate sensibilities would probably balk at. One time he guided a girl’s hand to his throat while she rode him and she just frowned in confusion, resting her palm over the curve almost gently. Not what he wanted at all, but hey, he tried.
Garbage man guy would probably like it rough, Dean thinks to himself on Sunday. He’s in the kitchen fixing himself a sandwich and unsurprised that his thoughts keep trailing towards the man. The guy slings heavy bins for a living, hauls himself in and out of the tall truck cab, and man, even just looking at him, jumpsuit and all, Dean had been able to tell he was packing some serious muscle.
Dean glances down at his own body. He’s a twink. He’s got a six pack and biceps that make photographers clamor for a shot; but, he’s still a bit curvy, a dip in his lower back and a curve to his hips. Matched with his face, he used to be self-conscious of his looks until Crowley recruited him in an Arby’s of all places, and now Dean knows that while he looks fairly unique, he’s also sought after.
Garbage man guy hadn’t judged Dean for wearing panties and a sweater, at least not verbally. Most straight dudes would say something, Dean knows. Then again, maybe the guy was just surprised and didn’t know how to respond? Puffing his cheeks, Dean stares at his sandwich. He’s thinking too much about that guy. He really is starved for attention.
Male attention.
Sighing, and cursing himself for projecting such a macho image when he’s out in public, Dean picks up his sandwich and starts eating it while standing at the counter. He should ask Crowley for shoots with photographers that have a bit more of a feminine touch. Maybe after the conversation about him being bi? A pretty spread of him in lingerie would sell well and also clear up any misconceptions about his sexuality.
Hm.
If he did that, would the handsome stranger see the shoot?
He resolves to stop thinking about garbage man guy for the rest of forever. He can’t get anything done.
He breaks that promise later that night with a nine-inch dildo crammed directly against his prostate.
--
On Tuesday morning Dean wakes up and immediately feels antsy. Charlie has a meeting, so their weekly Skype call has been postponed. It’s chore day, therefore garbage day, and he wonders if hot garbage guy will be on his block? He cleans his house so thoroughly he’s pretty sure it’s never been this spotless, and it takes hardly any time at all with him being so lost in thought about strong arms and a stubbled jaw. It’s just before seven and he knows if he takes the garbage down to the curb at a slow stroll, he’ll come across the garbage man. He stares at his closet, chewing his lower lip.
What if it’s a different garbage man? Dean can’t recall ever being at the curb when the workers come along, so he doesn’t know if this is that man’s regular route or if it’s alternated or something.
Best case scenario, Dean wears another slinky outfit to test the waters and the garbage man takes an impromptu break.
Worst case scenario, Dean wears another slinky outfit to test the waters and some old, grizzled man with a beer gut comes out of the cab and throws a few choice words at Dean.
Scrubbing his hands over his face, Dean tries to settle for a happy medium. Something for if the hot guy is there, and then something for if he’s not.
He puts on a black thong, hitching the straps high on his hips before adjusting his package. He tugs on a clean pair of grey sweats, leaving the drawstring loose, and then pulls on a t-shirt with a slightly longer hem than normal. There. He can wear the goods without showing them off, but in such a way that it would be easy to show off if the need arose. Satisfied, Dean stays barefoot and heads out the back patio to grab the garbage and recycle bin, wheeling them down the drive. As he’s punching in the code to the gate he hears the truck idling loudly down the road, so once he has those two bins at the curb he hurries back for the green bin, rolling it casually down the driveway just in time to see the garbage truck pull up.
One occupant in the cab. The glare of the sun keeps Dean from seeing inside, but it doesn’t matter because as soon as the door opens, Hot Garbage Man swings out and lands on the street firmly on his feet. Dean watches as the man picks up the recycling and dumps it into the special compartment; he checks out the ballcap, a faded red from sun exposure, and laments the aviators covering the upper half of that surely handsome face. Or at least- he thinks it’s handsome. Should be if the bottom half is that good looking, right?
The garbage man spots Dean coming down the driveway and offers a smile in greeting, a small private thing, and Dean does his best to not preen with the attention.
“Mornin!” Dean greets, chipper.
“Good morning,” the man says, reaching out for the green bin as Dean slings it over. “Aside from last week and today, I can’t recall you ever bringing your bins to the curb.” He says, tone slightly curious.
Good sign, good sign!
“Ah, well,” Dean shrugs a little, going for nonchalant. “I’m up this early anyway but was a little late last week in gettin’ ‘em out. This morning I thought I’d keep up the routine.”
“I see,” says the garbage man, his chin tilting down slightly. “Cold, today?”
Dean realizes that the man is commenting on his attire, which is quite a change from last week.
Good! Sign!!
“Not too cold,” Dean says. His fingers twist in the hem of his shirt idly before he hitches it up a little, going for casual and probably missing it by a mile. He hikes up his shirt enough to idly scratch at his ribs, like he’s actually contemplating the weather, and he can’t see the garbage man’s eyes but he knows exactly when they zero in on the thong straps on his hip bones exposed by his shirt being lifted oh so perfectly. His skin gets prickly, his cock swells, and the other man presses his tongue almost obscenely against the inside of his stubbled cheek.
“I see.” The garbage man reaches for the green bin.
“So,” Dean watches the man like a hawk. How big are his hands under those gloves? “Is this your normal route?”
The width of the man’s shoulders is distracting as he hefts up the container and empties it into the truck. He barely even grunts with the effort and when he puts the bin back on the curb with a slight clamor, his pink lips are spread in a knowing smirk. “It is.”
“You normally work alone?” Dean scratches his cheek, slanting his gaze to the side, going for coy.
“I do.”
“Probably don’t get a break this early in the morning, huh?”
“I usually skip it.”
Dean’s cock stirs. “Oh?” He finally looks back at the man.
The man adjusts his hat, his lips part, and his tongue rests against the bottom of his upper row of white teeth. “I could be inspired to start taking that break, though.”
Dean knows he’s being shameless. He knows he’s being everything he fights so hard not to be in public; coy, submissive, and absolutely not adverse to the idea of giving a blowjob. Which he suddenly desperately wants to do to this man. His gaze sweeps over the garbage man again, and now that Dean really looks and thinks, he realizes he’s not a garbage man; he’s running the recycle and compost unit. No wonder he doesn’t stink and his truck is clean. Great observation skills, Dean.
“You could…” Dean wracks his brain, which is suddenly firing on maybe two cylinders. “...come up for some lemonade?”
Wow, ok. Apparently Dean is now a desperate housewife.
But the garbage man smiles, radiant and beautiful, and he nods. “Let me turn off my truck.”
Holy shit.
Dean watches the man swing himself up into the cab of the truck and turn it off, the engine cutting off and exposing the sweet sounds of early morning nature. The man hops down, takes off his gloves and puts them in the pockets of his coveralls, and his warm smile has sharpened slightly at the edges as he gestures.
“Lead the way.”
Dean turns on his heel with almost military precision to lead the man up the driveway. The gate shuts with a click behind them and Dean’s excited, nervous, and frankly in shock that the man is following him up to his house. Lemonade was a good metaphor, right? Like, this dude knows that Dean wants to fuck? Dean’s never propositioned a dude before so maybe he’s reading into this totally wrong. Then again, what garbage man would accept a beverage from a guy? Right? Especially after clearly seeing said guy wearing a thong?
Right??????
“You have a lovely home,” the man comments.
Dean stubs his toe on an adirondack chair, so lost in his head he’d nearly forgotten what the hell is happening. “Uh- thanks-” he says, fumbling with the slider door to pull it open. His house smells clean, fresh, and he’s so thankful that today is cleaning day because even just imagining inviting someone over when it’s even a smidge messy is enough for a panic attack.
He barely hears the door slide shut behind them. The next thing he knows is that he’s being pushed towards the kitchen table, where the edge of the wood digs into the tops of his thighs as Sex On Legs slips his huge palms around Dean’s ribs to his front, slithering up under his loose shirt so his nipples are within pinching distance.
“Cas,” the man says.
“What-” Dean gasps, palms flat on the table, ass automatically pressing back into the man’s groin.
“My name,” the man - Cas - says with a dirty, low chuckle.
“I’m D-” Cas twists his left nipple, causing Dean to let out the most embarrassing noise in reply “De-”
“I know who you are,” Cas’s voice is near a growl. His lips are dry where they press against the back of Dean’s neck, jolts of electricity zapping down his spine in response.
“O-ok,” Dean pants out. Cas’s other hand goes to the crease of Dean’s hip, applying pressure until Dean’s body naturally hinges forward. He shuffles his bare feet to try and stay balanced, the way Cas is manhandling him shooting directly to his dick and making his skin catch fire. “I- um-”
“Stop talking,” Cas commands. His voice is fire and brimstone but his touches are worshipful, which lets Dean know that he’s not being a jerk - in fact, Cas seems to have Dean pinned (literally) without even knowing him personally (or sexually) and thank God, because Dean has a feeling trying to explain what he needs or wants would just end up with him sending Cas away. “I know you didn’t invite me up here for lemonade, Dean.”
Oh fuck, the way he says Dean’s name makes his elbows buckle a bit. The edge of the table is digging painfully into his hips, Cas’s body solid and strong behind him, and Dean is on cloud nine. Easily. Everything he fantasized about is coming true and oh, oh-
“Fuck-!” Dean cries out when Cas pinches his nipples again.
“Come back to me, Princess,” Cas growls against the shell of Dean’s ear. His tongue licks at the sensitive skin before he blows cool air over it, causing a full-bodied shudder to wrack through Dean. “I’m going to take care of you.”
“Please, holy shit,” Dean pants, squeezing his eyes shut. Being called Princess isn’t something he thought would tick a box but, welp, here we are.
Strong hands grab Dean’s hips and turn him around, their knees knocking and Dean’s arms flailing a bit to keep his balance before Cas is hefting him up onto the table, plopping Dean down on the solid wood. Dean can barely catch his breath before Cas is kissing him hungrily, deeply, passionately, and wowowow girls don’t do this, oh fuck. Dean’s arms lift to wrap around Cas’s neck and draw him in close and the man’s sunglasses go a little crooked, the bottom of their lens tapping against Dean’s cheekbone; he pulls away a fraction, breathing heavily, taking in Cas’s parted lips and the way his tongue snakes out to chase Dean’s flavor.
There’s the briefest of pauses, where they just look at each other. Very slowly Dean reaches a hand up to gently take Cas’s sunglasses in his fingers, pulling them off of his face and setting them down on the table.
“Jesus,” Dean breathes, “you’re fucking gorgeous.”
Cas’s eyes are the prettiest shade of blue Dean’s ever seen, fine lines at the corners deepening ever so slightly with his responding smile. Dean doesn’t get long to look, though, because Cas is kissing him again, reaching down to grab the outside of Dean’s thighs and wrap them around his waist. Dean scoots to the edge of the table happily, wondering how the fuck he got so lucky with this hot ass dude, but his thoughts get derailed quickly enough when Cas’s fingers find the straps of his thongs and pull them out to either side, letting them go so they snap taut against Dean’s skin.
The noise Dean lets out should be embarrassing, but it causes Cas to hum in response and do it again. The little jolts of pain from his thong straps combined with the lingering tingles in his nipples has Dean slowly going delirious. Cas’s hands are then lifting the hem of his shirt and breaking the messy kiss to pull it over Dean’s head and discard it; in reply, Dean’s fingers grab the zipper of Cas’s spectacularly clean jumpsuit, lowering it and exposing the plain white tee he’s wearing underneath. They’re both undressing each other at the same time, which is actually quite difficult, but Dean’s too horny to care. He gets Cas’s jumpsuit down to his thighs to expose the tent in his boxers and Cas gets Dean’s sweatpants off of his hips and down his legs to be tossed aside, leaving Dean in his black thong which, at this point, isn’t covering his modesty one fucking bit.
Cas pulls away, chest rising and falling rapidly with his breaths as he takes Dean in. His eyes are heavy, hot, and so intense that Dean almost squirms, but makes a conscious decision to preen, instead. Leaning back on a hand, Dean runs his palm over the front of his thong where the line of his hard cock is obvious. His fingers catch the material and tug, one of his balls popping out. Cas’s eyes are so focused, causing Dean’s toes to curl. He has no idea where this confidence is coming from but Cas is drinking it up, his palms going to Dean’s inner thighs to spread his legs to either side, exposing him like a porn star. Dean falls back on his elbow, panting, his skin flushing under Cas’s scrutiny. Cas moves a hand to hook a finger in the material covering Dean’s groin, pulling it aside, Dean’s heavy cock flopping out and pulsing out a single glob of precum.
“Beautiful,” Cas murmurs.
“Please,” Dean breathes, unsure for what, exactly, he’s asking for, and yet knowing that Cas will deliver.
Cas rolls Dean’s balls in his palm, feeling their weight, massaging his fingers over the soft, thin flesh. He cups them and then presses them up against Dean’s shaft, mashing the flesh together sensuously before dragging his palm back down, stretching his sac slightly in the opposite direction before repeating the process. His hand is fucking huge, and Dean’s not exactly lacking in the dick department, but holy fuck it feels so good to have Cas’s hand feeling him up like this. He gives a few more of those full strokes before he holds Dean’s balls cupped in his palm, his mouth lowering to the head of Dean’s cock to wrap his lips around it and give a short, but powerful suck.
Dropping his head back, Dean clumsily allows his body to fall onto the table, his fingers knocking off Cas’s faded hat so he can tangle his fingers in his slightly sweat-damp hair. Cas goes down on him like it’s what he was made to do, and Dean knows suddenly, with startling clarity, he’s ruined for blowjobs from women. Cas strokes him, licks him, sucks him, caresses him. He works his mouth and his hands and fingers in tandem and Dean is hurtling towards the edge before he realizes it, so pent up and so fucking turned on. He tugs a bit harder on Cas’s hair than he means to, but the man pulls off of Dean’s dick with an obscene pop, his pink lips now red and spit-shiny.
“I’m-” Dean lets out a disbelieving laugh. “Don’t wanna come yet.”
The smirk Cas sends up towards Dean has Dean shooting his own hand to his cock so he can pinch at the base. He curses, thunking his head back on the table and closing his eyes tightly before opening them and staring at the light fixture on the ceiling. Fuck fuck fuck.
“I would very much like to fuck you now, Dean,” Cas says, drawing physically away from Dean. The space allows him to think more clearly, and Dean desperately tries to remember where the closest batch of condoms and lube is.
“Ok,” he whuffs out as he sits up. His legs are still splayed open, his thong now partially covering his hard, wet cock. “The- bathroom. There’s stuff in the- the drawer-”
Cas slides his hands over the tops of Dean’s thighs, leaning in to nip at his lips in a playful mockery of a kiss. “Wait here.”
Dean watches Cas walk away and says, dreamily, “Wouldn’t dream of leavin’.”
It takes less than two minutes for Cas to return, condom and lube in hand. He sets them down on the table and then grabs Dean’s legs, yanking him to the edge of the table without warning, Dean letting out a surprised squawk as his feet suddenly hit the floor and he’s spun around again. Dizzy for more than one reason, Dean at least has enough going on in his upstairs brain to spread his legs and lay himself over the top of the table. Cas hums his approval, tugging his thong to the side, pressing his dry thumb to Dean’s hole, which clenches and quivers in reply.
“Stunning,” Cas murmurs.
Dean wiggles his hips slightly, knowing his ass jiggles a bit. “Fuck me, c’mon.”
Cas’s thumb drags up his cleft and then back down again, passing over his hole and then pressing against his perineum. Stars explode behind Dean’s closed eyes and he lets out a long, loud moan, pressing his hot cheek to the cool wood of the table, his arms spreading out on either side to grip the edges. He rocks up onto the balls of his feet and then back down again, bouncing his ass. Cas’s free hand slaps his left ass cheek and Dean lets out another embarrassing noise, unable to put a lid on it when his flesh jiggles. Cas slaps his ass a few more times, the skin burning and tingling pleasantly, Dean writhing with want and need as the man toys with him. His thumb returns to Dean’s hole, catching on the rim and tugging downward, Dean’s throat drying up in reply.
“Tell me, Princess,” Cas’s voice is melted chocolate over strawberries, “how often do you fuck yourself?”
Dean wants to reply, but he gets distracted when Cas slaps two fingers against his hole.
“How often do you shove a fake cock up your ass, wishing you had the real thing?”
Oh shit, Cas has him pegged. Embarrassment flares in Dean’s gut, but he doesn’t tell Cas to stop, addicted to the sound of his words washing over his heated flesh and burrowing deep into the recesses of his mind.
“You seem like such a needy slut,” Cas continues, “but I’m almost sure you’re a virgin.”
“Ooooooh shit,” Dean whines out. He turns his face to press his forehead against the table. “Fuck.”
“You are, aren’t you?” There’s the barest hint of amusement in Cas’s voice. “Lovely.”
“God, Cas, please,” Dean babbles, “please fuck me, I need it so bad, want your dick so bad-”
Cas uses both hands to spread Dean’s asscheeks open, and then spits directly on Dean’s hole. It’s derogatory and fucking hot as hell, Cas’s thick fingers swiping through the mess and smearing it around. “You want me to fuck your virgin hole, Dean? Be your first?”
“Yes, yes,” Dean is close to tears. His cock is hard, his ass is twitching, and his knuckles are white from his grip on the edges of the table.
The snick of the lube cap is all the warning Dean gets before there’s a finger sliding into his ass. His knees weaken and he arches his back, canting his hips up to present himself better for Cas, who is very careful in making sure Dean is nice and wet. He desperately wants to look back at Cas and see what he’s packing, take in the fact that Cas is fully dressed and Dean is only wearing his skimpy thong, but he doesn’t have the strength in his neck to turn that way, all of his energy focused on not blowing his load the second Cas does anything to him. The blunt head of Cas’s cock pressing against his hole has Dean nearly sobbing - it’s so much better than his toys, warm and throbbing and with a pulse. He wriggles his hips, bounces on his toes, and then Cas’s cock pops past his rim, groans leaving both of them simultaneously. Cas’s cock feels fucking huge, but it stretches so good, Dean feeling pleasantly speared. When Cas bottoms out they both go still for a nanosecond, but Cas barely lets Dean catch his breath before he pulls out and slams back in.
Dean screams. The pleasure ricocheting through his body is phenomenal, mind numbing, absolute bliss. Cas angles his hips on the second thrust and hits his prostate dead on and Jesus fucking Christ Dean really should have fucked a dude sooner than this, if this is how it feels. But there’s a tiny part of his brain that is over the moon about the fact that it’s Cas fucking him over the table, that it’s Cas’s cock shoved deep inside him. Oh, yes.
Cas’s fingers snap Dean’s thong again, harder than before. Dean hisses through his teeth. Cas slaps his right ass cheek until it’s tingling at the same treble of the left cheek. Every thrust jars Dean against the table and he can’t help but let out little hiccuping moans and groans, his cock trapped between his belly and the table, his balls feeling the swing of Cas’s on every thrust.
Cas suddenly pulls out and Dean’s about to protest, but then his fingers deliver a stinging slap on Dean’s stretched hole. The lube and spit makes the slap zing just that much harder and Dean props himself up on his elbows just as Castiel shoves those two fingers inside. He presses relentlessly on Dean’s prostate, his knees trembling and quaking in response, and just as quickly as he pulled his cock out he’s shoving it back in, absolutely pounding into Dean.
His huge hands grip Dean’s hips and pull him back a fraction, Dean’s cock finally dropping free from where it’s been pinned. The head of it smacks against the table and the pain shoots through Dean but gets crossed in the wires of pleasure. Cas slides a hand under one of Dean’s thighs and lifts it, bending his leg to prop his knee up on the edge of the table, opening him impossibly further. Resting his weight fully on his left leg Dean uses the new angle to push up on his hands, lifting his torso up off of the table. Cas’s left arm winds under his armpit, hand snaking up to grip at Dean’s throat and force his spine to arch even further, a few tears of desperation leaking out of Dean’s eyes at the hold.
“Please, please, please, I wanna come,” Dean finds himself chanting. His orgasm is right there, he can fucking feel it, tingling electricity zipping through his extremities as Cas plows into his prostate over and over again, the new angle of him being upright sinking himself further onto Cas’s dick.
“Then come,” Cas says, his voice sounding way too controlled for the way he’s utterly destroying Dean. “Just like this. Come on my cock. Ruin your panties.”
Cas could recite the fucking Encyclopedia Brittanica for all Dean cares. Getting him to talk, having that voice cascade into Dean’s eardrums and spider out into each nerve ending is fucking worth it. Dean comes, his whole body going taut as he tosses his head back against Cas’s shoulder, cum shooting messily and landing practically everywhere, his hard cock bouncing with each of Cas’s thrusts. Before he can even gather his bearings Cas pulls out and manhandles Dean down onto his knees, Dean’s eyes barely open before he has to squeeze them shut again. Cas rips off the condom and jerks himself until he spills rope after hot rope over Dean’s face; spunk catches in his lashes, drapes over his nose, smears over his lower lip. Cas is quiet when he comes, which is a little surprising given the dirty talk, but Dean’s mouth falls open anyway without prompting. Cas presses the head of his cock against Dean’s lower lip briefly, but before Dean can get a taste it’s gone, and Cas’s fingers are smoothing over Dean’s features.
When Dean’s eyelashes are wiped clean he takes a chance in opening them, pleased that no jizz is caught in them. Cas has his cum smeared all over his fingers and hand and Dean reaches up to grab his wrist, dragging it to his mouth to start cleaning it, tongue working obscenely and little, pleased moans leaving his lips as Cas’s flavor explodes over his tongue. Bitter, salty… all man. Once Cas’s hand is clean he reaches down to gently help Dean to his feet, delivering a slow, sweet kiss to his lips, a great contrast to how he’d fucked him just moments before.
“Are you alright?” Cas asks, his voice a soft murmur as he holds Dean up.
“Yeah,” Dean replies, a bit dazed. “Yeah, m’alright.” A little giggle leaves his throat. “Fuck, that was awesome.”
“Was it really your first time with a man?” Cas asks.
“Yeah,” Dean says. He looks up to see Cas frowning, and then shakes his head, patting his t-shirt covered chest with his palm affectionately. “No worries, bud. I’ve got some monster dildos.”
Cas snorts a surprised laugh, and then presses a kiss to Dean’s forehead. “Good.” He pulls away, then, starting to carefully zip up his jumpsuit, tucking his arms into the sleeves. Dean bends to pick up his hat, plunking it haphazardly on that wild hair, and they share soft, doofy smiles.
Something pings in Cas’s pocket.
“Ah,” he pulls out his cell phone, glancing at it. “I must go.”
“Right,” Dean says, suddenly remembering that Cas had been in the middle of his work day. “Shit, sorry if I kept you too long.”
Cas puts his phone back in his pocket, reaching up to swipe his thumb a bit roughly along Dean’s bottom lip. “No worries. If you’re amenable, I’d love to have some… lemonade, next week.”
Dean feels a grin splitting his features. “Fuck yeah, man.”
He leads Cas to the slider door, opening it up so the man can step out. Cas turns towards Dean, a twinkle in his eyes. “Thank you for recycling.”
Dean’s grin widens so hard, his cheeks hurt. “What can I say? Saving the Earth gets me all hot n’ bothered.”
Cas tips his hat, “I’ll keep that in mind.”
When Cas is gone, Dean lets out a delirious laugh into the silence of his home.
Time to call Crowley.
That lingerie shoot is looking mighty appealing.