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Dean blinks, and Cas is standing directly in front of him. Far too close, as usual, but something's off. Castiel's gaze, intense at the best of times, is an extra degree of unbearable, suffused as it is with some (no doubt divine) purpose. And—are his eyes black?
It's a dream, Dean realizes, but that doesn't stop him from taking a step back under the intensity of Castiel's gaze.
"Dean," Cas says, and no, his eyes aren't demon-blacked—only dilated. Dean lets his eyes travel over Castiel's body. The angel isn't wearing Jimmy's overcoat or jacket; just his shirtsleeves and tie, cuffs rolled up to expose his strong forearms. The top two buttons of his shirt are undone, as well.
"You okay, Cas?" Dean asks. "My phone's on. You need me, you can just call me. Don't need to pull the angel routine and go all Peeping Tom on my dreams."
Cas's face wrinkles in confusion for the briefest of seconds before dismissing Dean's words. "No. I had to ensure we were in private." Maybe unconsciously, Cas glances over his shoulder at the empty place there. "To be observed by the wrong party would be… catastrophic."
Dean follows his gaze—Singer Salvage is empty, and Cas brought them back to the Impala, to the place where just a few hours ago Dean prayed and received no answer. "What is it?" Dean asks, imagining a thousand disaster scenarios.
Castiel takes a breath. If he were human, he might be nervous. As it is, he is just an angel, treading lightly in waters he can't help but disturb.
"Spit it out, Cas," Dean demands, a little annoyed.
"It's about Famine."
"But Sam ganked that bitch into a million pieces." Dean pauses, considering. "Well, you know. Not really a million pieces. In fact, not even two pieces… that's not the point!" he finishes, impatient with himself. "Point is, Famine's dead, we stole his ring, what's left?"
"My vessel, Jimmy. Red meat was not the only craving Famine awoke in him."
"Whoa, hold on there, Cas." Dean holds up a hand and fixes the angel with a look. "First of all, Famine's dead. Everyone's back to normal, including Jimmy. Second—"
"Sam isn't back to normal. He's currently experiencing withdrawal—as I told you, he just needs to get it out of his system. It is the same for all of Famine's targets. Any unfulfilled desire will be lingering, although once it is sated they will not overindulge."
Dean thinks for a moment about the logic of this, then accepts it. "Okay, but I was with you for almost every second of that day. You didn't mention anything other than burgers."
Castiel looks uncomfortable. "This hunger… I understand it is considered rude to mention in front of others. A deeply private matter, if you will."
Dean tries not to laugh. Really, he does. "Sex?"
Castiel clears his throat and won't look Dean in the eye. "A very specific kind of sex."
Dean presses his lips together. He will not laugh. He will not laugh. "Cas—are you trying to tell me that the holy vessel of one of God's warriors was into kinky sex?"
"No," Castiel answers, rather too forcefully. "Not like you're thinking. Jimmy was what one might call a… former homosexual. Dissatisfaction with his lifestyle prompted him to seek help from a religious source, and he succeeded in suppressing those desires so effectively that it took Famine to bring them to the surface again. Such as it did, anyway. He was more aware of the desire than I was, though I felt it on a lesser level."
Dean wipes his mouth with the palm of his hand, because suddenly this isn't even remotely funny anymore. Shit, what is he supposed to say? "So… while you were walking around eating cheeseburgers, Jimmy was trying not to think about fucking dudes? I—shit, Cas. You know it's, ah, perfectly natural—Jimmy, man, I know you're listening in there, it's—it's okay. Okay?" Dean feels vaguely hysterical. Of all the places life has taken him, this is among the strangest. Giving an angel and his repressed-homo vessel the "it's okay to be gay" talk.
"You're dreaming," Castiel reminds him.
Dean feels better for about four seconds. "Not really. Yeah, I'm dreaming, but you're here—actually you. I'm not dreaming this part, you're just invading my sleep and, I don't know, having a sexuality crisis. Can angels even have sexuality crises? I thought you were all—" he gestures inarticulately—"genderless masses of holy rage. Or something."
"It's not a sexuality crisis," Castiel informs him bluntly. "Jimmy's lust focused almost entirely on one individual." He takes a step forward, and Dean finds himself backed up against the driver's side doors of the Impala. Between an angel and a hard place.
"That's, uh—" Dean moves his mouth, trying to force words out of it. Which words, he doesn't know—doesn't care—anything to distract Cas, to keep the moment from reaching the crisis Dean knows it is heading to.
"You, Dean," Castiel growls, practically accusing Dean of trying to seduce his vessel, and Dean can't help it, he can't, it's just too crazy, too much—
He laughs, a shrill, nervous noise. "I don't—"
"Do you have any idea," Castiel interrupts, "how distracting it is to share close quarters with someone sexually attractive, when all you can think about is pinning them to the nearest wall and using their body for your own pleasure?"
And, as a matter of fact, Dean does. "Well, that's—"
"Jimmy and I have come to an agreement," Cas continues, as if Dean never said anything. " He needs to get it out of his system, I need to focus."
"How do you expect him to do that?" Dean asks, concerned that he's the voice of reason in this arrangement. "Cas, I'm not letting you fuck off to God knows where while I screw your vessel."
Castiel blinks at him. "I did not intend to vacate his body. He will experience it vicariously through me."
It takes Dean a second to parse that. "Right, right. You want me to have sex with Jimmy Novak's body while you're both inside of it."
"Correct."
Dean throws up his hands up, just barely stopping himself from shoving Cas backward. "No. Not correct. Not happening."
"Why not, Dean?"
"Because that—" he gestures between their bodies—"that's not my thing."
Cas takes a step forward, and it takes everything Dean has not to back up. "We both know that's not true, Dean. You forget that I can see inside of you. For instance, I know that your first sexu—"
"Stop it," Dean commands. "I'm getting really tired of people telling me they can see inside of me."
"But I have, Dean. I stitched you back together, inch by inch. I have seen your every memory and thought. You have no secrets, not from me. And I know that you're physically attracted to this vessel," Cas continues. "I have seen the way you look at it. I don't understand the problem."
Dean sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. Clearly a different approach is needed, one that doesn't rely on outright denial of his feelings. "Yeah, okay? I am physically attracted to—" he gestures between them again—"Jimmy fucking Novak. But still, there's no way I'm doing this. He's got a wife and a kid. Aren't you supposed to be some bastion of morality? Even you gotta know that's wrong."
"These are exceptional circumstances," Castiel responds, unconcerned. "The normal rules don't apply."
"Yeah, and what about his wife, anyway?" Dean asks, remembering something and latching onto it. "You're telling me he's ex-gay, what? Does that mean he didn't really love his wife? Because I met the guy, Cas, when you weren't riding around in him. He was devoted to her. You expect me to believe this?"
"Yes," Castiel tells him gravely. "Dean, there are as many forms of love as there moments in time. Until I took possession of his body, Jimmy's heart bore a Cupid's mark that matched with Amelia's."
"What do you mean, until?"
"An angel's grace rids the host body of marks, scars, and imperfections—inside and out." Cas furrows his brow. "A few minutes ago you admitted your attraction to my vessel. Why are you opposed to the coupling?"
"Because, Cas, that's weird!" Dean barely refrains from throwing his hands up in frustration. "It's him, but it'll be you at the same time, too."
"I thought that would be advantageous," Cas replies, and Dean can't even begin to count the number of ways that sentence makes zero fucking sense.
"Look. I'm not having sex with someone if part of what's inside them doesn't want it. I can't do it."
Cas tilts his head to the side, something so very Cas-like that Dean is almost relieved by it. "What makes you think I don't want to be a part of it?"
For exactly four seconds all is silent. Then: "Say that again," Dean says, low and slow.
"I don't object to the act. It's a perfectly logical course of action. You yourself said, 'When I want sex, I go get it.' Being a vessel is… not easy on Jimmy. His cooperation benefits me greatly. This is my way of thanking him, and a way to be closer to you."
"Closer… to me," Dean deadpans. "Cas, that's—"
"A perfectly valid reason for engaging in this act, I assure you. You and I share a bond, Dean. Raising you from perdition was not an easy task, and you and I are now linked in a way that most human beings cannot comprehend. Sexual intimacy is another way of achieving a more complete bond. I don't crave it the way Jimmy does, but I find the idea extremely appealing."
Dean doesn't say anything.
"You look confused." Castiel clearly doesn't understand.
"Yeah, Cas, just a little."
"Tell me what it is that you don't understand, and I will endeavor to elucidate you."
Dean snorts. Practical as always. "This—thing we share."
Castiel nods. "When an angel's love is focused on one human being, as mine has been on you, there grows an emotional bond stronger than life itself. When you bedded Anna—" Castiel's eyes flicker to the backseat of the Impala, not three feet away— "you felt a fraction of that love."
Dean winces. "Look, Cas, if you're trying to seduce someone, you probably shouldn't mention that you know the details of them sleeping with your sister."
Castiel's eyes darken, then lighten, in the space of an instant. "My apologies. But Anna is not my sister, not in the sense that Sam is your brother."
"Just… forget about it."
"Of course," Castiel nods. "I had a point in mentioning Anna. You found the encounter extremely satisfying."
"Cas—"
"Were you to bed us," the angel continues, "your memory of Anna would pale considerably."
Dean kicks his heel against the ground. "Sounds like you and her should just whip 'em out and measure." Castiel stares blankly. Dean rubs the back of his head. "Never mind. Christ. So you're good in the sack. That means I should fuck your vessel?"
"Not just my vessel," Castiel corrects. "You would be engaging in intercourse with both of us, each on a different level. Physically you would be sleeping with my vessel, spiritually you would be becoming closer to me. It would be an intensely fulfilling experience for you, since it's based partly in pure lust, and partly in pure love. Both sides of your human sexuality would be sated."
"Yeah, Cas?" Dean shades his eyes and looks up. "Sated enough not to feel so fucking empty all the time? To fill this hole inside of me Famine was talking about?"
"Nothing can fill that hole, Dean," Castiel tells him. He adds quickly, "I'm sorry. It won't even begin to touch what's wrong with you, not on any meaningful level."
"I can remember a time when I could pretend it did."
"You craved love, a family. You tried to get it through sex and food. It would never have worked, even before you sold your soul."
"You didn't even know me then, Cas. Don't pretend you know what I wanted."
Castiel's voice turns cold. "I know what you wanted. What you still want. As surely as you breathe I can feel the intense longing you have for a family, a child, a normal life and the kind of love that lasts forever."
Dean shakes his head. "Wouldn't work. I would have gotten restless. Hunting's in my blood."
"It doesn't change the fact that you're needy for love, Dean. You were then, and you still are. I mentioned being baffled by Famine's lack of an effect on you. I was expecting you to sleep with many women in an attempt to procreate."
"What, baby-make myself to death?"
"It would have been quite easy," Cas tells him. "Pleasurable at first, of course, but intensely painful later. Three years ago it might have been enough. But you will never, ever have that."
Dean closes his eyes. "Don't tell me that, Cas."
"It's true," Castiel insists, and Dean looks at him. The angel's face softens. "I'm sorry. I am. I would change that if I could, but your destiny is fixed. What I'm offering you is the closest you will ever get to that kind of happiness—intense physical and emotional happiness. Fleeting, but real."
"But there's nothing in this for you, I don't want—"
"Weren't you listening?" Castiel asks, eyes flashing with something dangerous—lust, or fury, or both. "I love you, Dean, more than any human being ever will. I am the closest thing the universe has given you to a soul mate and maybe that's enough for you, but it's not enough for me. I want you in every single way that I can possibly have you, and Jimmy has provided me with an opportunity I'm not prepared to waste."
And, really, how is Dean supposed to respond to that? He opens his mouth and finds he has nothing to say, but a few seconds later he regains a little of his composure and grabs at a coping mechanism: sarcasm. "Yeah, you're so hot for it you'll only show up in my dreams to ask for it."
Castiel's brow wrinkles. "You still disbelieve me."
"If you want it, Cas, really want me, why wait until I'm asleep and proposition me in my dreams? I needed you an hour ago. If you had come to me then, I'd have said yes without a second thought."
Castiel has the decency to look embarrassed. "Jimmy's desire was very effectively dealt with by the religious group he joined. His hunger remains so deeply embedded in his psyche that he will only allow this to happen in a dream."
"Great, shame issues. Not something I want to deal with. It's essentially the same as not wanting it."
"I assure you, Dean, he wants this. He burns for it. I can feel his desire for you in his very blood." Castiel fixes Dean with a look that would make lesser mortals spontaneously combust. "If I were not here, holding him back, he would already have tried to force himself on you. Imagine the sheer force of will it takes for a possessed human being to force the demon inside them back, even temporarily. Jimmy wants you so badly he is attempting to do that to an angel, and if he persists he may come very close to succeeding."
"I'd like to see that."
"Respond to him. Encourage him. You may yet."
Dean's hand slides up Castiel's face to cup his cheek. Castiel turns his face into the touch, and Dean brings their faces very close together. Their lips are millimeters apart. "Like this?" Dean asks, sliding his other hand down Castiel's spine.
Castiel makes a noise that can't be human and presses their lips together. He kisses like a dying man, a drowning victim burning for one last gasp of fresh air before oblivion. The desperation in Jimmy's soul seeps into the kiss, forcing the three of them closer together—as if every square inch of them needs each other to live. Dean can't tell where he ends and Cas begins; where Cas ends and Jimmy begins; where Jimmy ends and Dean himself begins.
Castiel speaks, low, almost directly into Dean's ear. "Jimmy wants you to fuck him."
"And what do you want?" Dean asks, raking his nails down Castiel's back.
Castiel shudders and Dean watches his irises disappear. "More," Castiel answers.
Dean spins Castiel around and bends him over the trunk of the Impala, bring his hips flush with the angel's ass. Castiel reaches behind him, hand gripping at Dean's bicep, then moving up his arm, underneath the sleeve of Dean's t-shirt, to cover the handprint scar.
Dean's hand slides up to fist in Castiel's hair. Aside from the expected arousal, he feels an all-over tingling, a warmth that seeps into his very bones and settles in the grooves of the Enochian on his ribs. If he could look inside himself at this moment, he's certain the letters would be glowing with a holy light—his eyes would burn, but his body feels whole.
Dean moans low. "God, Cas, I—" he curls his fingertips into Castiel's shoulders and presses his forehead to Castiel's back, between the angel's shoulder blades. "I can't possibly do anything like that to you."
"I assure you," Castiel says—he sounds absolutely wrecked—"I can feel it too. It's as if I'm inside of you, every inch of me." He presses back against Dean's erection. "I want you inside of him."
And that? That is so mind-numbingly hot that Dean can't think of what to do for a minute, just freezes there, dumb. Then all at once he recovers himself and moves, shifting his head away from Cas's back. Even as he pulls his upper body away from Cas, he brings his hips closer, settling them against the angel's backside. He slides his hands over Cas's hips, sliding them along the waistband of his trousers and unfastening the clasp. One hand cups Cas's erection while the other undoes the zip of his pants slowly.
Dean bites his lip, exhaling a breath before fumbling with the waistband of Cas's boxers, forcing them both down around the middle of Cas's thighs. He can feel the warmth of Cas's bare skin even through his jeans, and he scrambles to get his own jeans and underwear down, to feel that heat on his own naked skin.
"In my pants," Cas gasps out, face already covered in a thin sheen of sweat. "The pocket. Right side."
"Fuck, you knew I'd say yes," Dean groans, the thought inexplicably sexy. Sometimes he thinks Cas knows him better than he knows himself—sometimes. At times their synergy is jarring; at other times their lack of it is just as unsettling.
Cas turns his head to fix Dean with his patented soul-penetrating gaze. "Of course," he says, as if it's fucking obvious.
Meeting his eyes, Dean supposes it is. Fuck but this had been a long time coming. Dean fumbles in Cas's pocket, fist closing around a small packet of lube and a string of foil-wrapped condoms.
Dean wastes precisely no time ripping open the lube with his teeth. It's cherry-flavored. Dean almost laughs at the irony, but manfully restrains himself—now is really not the time to be explaining the term "pop your cherry" to Cas. Though, he muses an instant later, going by what Cas has told him, Jimmy's no virgin. The body of an experienced man and the soul of a virgin—Dean doesn't think he's ever heard anything more appealing, which means he needs to get this show on the road immediately.
Trying not to fumble, he slicks up his fingers and presses one at Cas—Jimmy's—entrance. He's surprised when Cas rocks backward, though perhaps he shouldn't be. There's something to be said for muscle memory, after all.
"Come on," Cas tells him, oddly impatient, which Dean attributes to Famine's effect even though he'd really love to think it's just a combination of their epic sexual tension and his even-more-epic good looks. "Stop wasting time. He won't break; he's done this before."
Dean can't really help the noise that escapes his throat. "But you haven't."
Castiel rocks himself back, onto Dean's finger. "I'm ready for it. Add another." When he speaks next, Dean isn't sure if it's Jimmy or Cas: "Hurry up and fuck me."
Dean is a strong man, but he broke in Hell and he'll break now. He adds another finger, enjoying the way it presses past the ring of muscle and just like that, Jimmy's body allows him in. Cas makes a noise low in his throat, deep and primal and utterly human. This is Jimmy speaking, Jimmy responding to his touch, and Dean pulls back, sliding his fingers out before he realizes quite what he's doing.
As if sensing his doubt, Cas twists his body around, leaning heavily on his right elbow and glancing over his left shoulder. "Dean," he commands. "I am with you. I promise."
Dean lets his eyes flick up, meet Cas's. He can't put what he sees there into words, but he nods once. "Turn around," he tells Cas. "I want to see your face while I do this."
Cas doesn't question the command or the sentiment, and when they're facing each other, Dean bats a hand—the one not slick with lube—at Castiel's pants. "Take these off, all the way."
Cas nods, obeying, and Dean smiles slightly. He could probably order Cas to kneel and suck him off, and Cas would do it like the good little soldier he is. Accustomed to following orders, and fuck if that isn't a nice thought. But he's not going to do it, not right now.
Because, after all, would a man in a desert settle for a drink of water when he could have a whole damn oasis?
"Sit back on the hood," Dean orders. "But not too far."
Cas braces himself against the hood of the Impala and jumps slightly, settling his body on the car. It's still too far back and Dean grabs his tie and yanks him forward.
"On the edge," he tells Cas, "so I can do this." Without any other warning, he shoves three fingers inside Cas, pressing them up as far as Cas will take them. Scissoring them open, he works them roughly inside the vessel.
Cas gasps a whine and leans forward, resting his forehead heavily against Dean's. When Dean's fingers find Cas's prostate, he makes another noise and curls his hands together behind Dean's neck, pulling Dean closer to him.
"Come on, Dean," Cas practically begs, and Dean doesn't need much more encouragement than that.
"Ready?" he asks, not waiting for an answer to rip open a condom and slide it on. The lube lies discarded on the trunk of the car and he grabs it, squeezing out the last of it and slicking himself up.
"Ready," Cas answers. Dean presses the tip of his cock to Cas's entrance and Cas sucks in a breath. They're lined up perfectly but Dean can't resist the chance to hold Cas—and Jimmy—in anticipation for just a moment longer. He presses forward slightly, not enough to slip inside but enough to make Cas think he's about to, and relishes the whine that the angel lets out when he realizes Dean's false start.
Instead of pressing forward, Dean curls his hands around Cas's hips and yanks the angel forward an inch—just enough for him to slip inside. Castiel isn't expecting it and Dean isn't expecting it to feel so good, and they both groan. Inch by torturous inch, Dean slowly presses forward, until he's fully sheathed in Jimmy's ass. For a few long seconds, he doesn't want to move, just enjoying the connection, feeding his hunger on a level beyond the physical. Cas seems to be in agreement; his eyes are shut tight, hands braced on either side of his hips and his head thrown back, exposing his throat. He's practically shaking with the sensation.
Then his head slowly moves back down, eyes blinking open to meet Dean's, and Dean is quite sure that it isn't Castiel looking at him. Jimmy holds his gaze for approximately two seconds before whispering, "Please," and he sounds so broken with longing that Dean can't do anything but start moving.
He pulls back in one fluid moment until just the tip of his cock is inside Jimmy, and then slams back into him. As he sets the rhythm—hard and fast—he can't help pulling Jimmy closer to him, trying to go as deep as physically possible and then some. Jimmy doesn't make any attempt to silence his moans or hide exactly how turned on he is by what Dean's doing to him, and in return Dean fucks into him without consideration, leaving fingerprint-shaped bruises on his hips.
He shifts slightly, trying to find a better angle, and judging by the very appreciative gasp from Jimmy, he's found the right spot. Jimmy takes his feet off the Impala's bumper, where he'd been bracing himself, and wraps his legs around Dean's hips.
"Fuck—yes—" Jimmy gasps out, and Dean drops his head, letting it rest against Jimmy's sternum. If he keeps it up like this for much longer, he's going to come, and he can't. Not yet.
"Cas," Dean groans, not bothering to hide the pure want in his voice. Jimmy slides his hand up Dean's left bicep, squeezing the muscle briefly before he presses his hand against the handprint scar Castiel left almost two years ago.
The same warmth as before floods Dean's senses, and he's suddenly, overwhelmingly aware of Castiel's presence.
"I'm here," Cas answers, and it's clear that he's taken back the control he'd partially relinquished over Jimmy's body. Dean makes a noise and snaps his hips harder, bringing one hand up to fist Jimmy's cock.
"Oh," Castiel breathes, like he hadn't been feeling the physical aspect of it until now; like he suddenly understands what bodies are for. Dean tries not to come undone, knowing what he's doing to the angel, but it's a near thing. Everything about this moment is so god-damn perfect it's like it was made just for him, but he can feel Cas and Jimmy and he knows they're right with him. The synergy between the three of them is unlike anything he's ever felt before.
"Cas," Dean groans, a warning.
Castiel understands instinctively, and his grip on Dean's shoulder tightens. Dean's coming, he knows that, but it gets lost in the literal burst of white light behind his eyelids—in the divine light washing through his body. Jimmy, bound as Dean is in the connection with Castiel, comes just before Castiel's hand slips from Dean's shoulder.
Dean blinks a few times and takes a deep breath before pulling out of Cas. Cas makes a small noise as their bodies separate, as loath as Dean is to leave the embrace.
Dean pulls off the condom and knots it before tossing it onto the Impala's trunk next to the empty packet of lube. He puts a hand on each of Castiel's thighs and looks up. Castiel is already looking down at him, smiling with satisfaction and something a little like pride. It's the first time Dean's ever seen an expression like it on Cas's face, and he knows he wants to put it there again and again.
"Hey," Dean says.
Castiel laughs, pleased and low. "Hello, Dean." He slides off the Impala; when his feet touch the ground, he's fully dressed. So is Dean. Castiel takes a step away from the car and Dean catches him by the elbow.
"Just one more thing," Dean says. Pulling Cas toward him, he kisses him, close-mouthed but thorough.
It's Cas who breaks it. He rests a hand on Dean's waist. "Thank you, Dean," he says, and the sincerity in his voice makes something inside of Dean ache. "Jimmy wishes me to express his gratitude as well."
"Yeah," Dean answers, brushing his thumb against his bottom lip. "Yeah, anytime."
"That won't be necessary," Castiel answers. "I believe that we have fully eliminated Famine's effect on Jimmy. He should not experience any more cravings in the future."
And, that? Well, Dean probably should have been expecting that, but it still catches him off-guard, yanking him out of the most pleasant afterglow he's ever had—it was practically blessed, and now it's gone. He's not sure what he was expecting, but for Cas to give him a kiss and send him on his way… it feels kind of clinical, and totally at odds with the soul-deep connection they just shared.
"It's time for you to wake up," Castiel tells him, maybe not realizing what Dean's wondering, or realizing it all too acutely.
"No—" Dean starts. But he doesn't get it out in time, not before he wakes in one of the bedrooms at Bobby's house, covered in sweat and gasping for breath, and very, very much alone.