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The thing about being a full-time monster hunter is it doesn’t exactly pay the bills. Not that they’ve ever really had bills, per se, just necessary expenses like food, gas, and somewhere to crash for the night. And at this point, having an actual long-term roof over their heads, a permanent base to come home to, has squashed a lot of their financial urgency. The credit card scams have more or less dried up lately, and Dean would be worried about that, about getting complacent with this sort of thing, but, well, Dean’s been a little… preoccupied since Cas moved in.
They’ve been doing just fine, as far as he’s concerned, managing by conning their way into some cash whenever the need or the mood strikes. Cas might technically be a third mouth to feed but he’s got a hell of a knack for hustling bar patrons out of a few bucks, so he’s been more than pulling his weight.
On the other hand, having Cas around also means that sometimes he and Dean split up from Sam to work two jobs at once. And okay, maybe in hindsight it was a little irresponsible to keep booking two rooms when they all worked together, just so he and Cas could have a little alone time, but Dean wasn’t exactly thinking with his upstairs brain. Now it seems perfectly obvious, that it was only a matter of time before the excess spending caught up to them and their wallets started feeling the strain. Dean just wishes they weren’t on the road with Sam when it happened.
It’s an upsetting realization, to say the least, when they get to their current destination only to find that renting a second room, especially if they’re going to be staying for a while, is out of the question.
It’s not like Sam’s thrilled about it either. He sighs as he counts out the cash – what little they have – throwing Dean and Cas a look over his shoulder while he hands it over at the front desk. “I hope you guys can control yourselves for a few nights,” Sam mutters once the clerk has disappeared into the back room, out of earshot. He says it with a smirk, because he know he’s getting a rise out of Dean, but Dean picks up on the genuine worry there, Sam’s fear that he’s going to hear or see something that he wants absolutely no part of.
Dean’s indignant at the implication. One time Sam walked in on him and Cas in the war room – once, and they were (mostly) still dressed – and he’s never let it go since. Dean rolls his eyes. “We’re not—” he stops and lowers his voice when the clerk returns and hands them their keys, “We’re not going to… do anything, Sammy, Jesus,” he mutters, trying to sound affronted.
By the look of Sam’s suspicious glare, he doesn’t seem to buy it. Cas, unhelpfully, doesn’t look too convinced either.
Dean’s relationship with Cas might not be a secret anymore, but it’s been a while since they’ve been stuck in a room with Dean’s cockblock of a brother. Dean has every intention of staying true to his word – it’s not like they’re gonna fool around with Sam in the same room, for god’s sake – but that turns out to be the least of Dean’s worries.
The first night’s tough. Dean spends an agonizingly long amount of time just staring down the second bed, hesitating, wearing a hole in the floor even after Sam’s already started snoring on the other side of the room, because oh, shit, is he really going to do this? Just... get under the blankets with Cas while Sam’s right there? Being in bed with Cas is a scenario Dean associates with – well, sex, sure – but also intimacy, those vulnerable moments when they’re lost in a tender embrace, breathing heated confessions against each other’s skin. The kind of stuff Sam’s not supposed to see.
Dean gets over his reluctance quickly enough, Cas already under the covers looking warm and inviting, drowsy smile on his face, reaching out a hand as Dean passes by. And yeah, fuck it, he doesn’t see the point in torturing himself, just climbs right in and cuddles up to Cas. Sam will probably find them tangled together in the morning regardless. Dean doesn’t have a whole lot of control over that in his sleep, knows he’ll just gravitate towards Cas out of instinct even if he starts off huddled on the far end of his side. Besides, it gets cold around these parts this time of year. Gotta utilize body heat, and all that.
But then, of course, there’s the fact that Dean does end up wrapped around Cas during the night but his dick doesn’t get the memo that this isn’t actually the time or place. It’s no surprise that he wakes up hard, Cas’s muscular thigh wedged firmly between his own. He instinctively gives into the urge to grind against the warm, solid pressure – this scenario has played out favorably so many times in the past – pushing his face against Cas’s neck and letting out a bleary groan. But then Sam stirs in the other bed, rolling over with a grunt, and Dean recoils when he realizes where he is, stumbling to his feet and into the bathroom to morosely rub one out in the shower. Inviting Cas to join him is probably a terrible idea, but it’s a persistent temptation, an enticing thought that speeds him to the finish line sooner than expected—sated, in some interpretations of the word, but unable to shake the lingering sense of dissatisfaction.
* * *
Being stuck in a single room would be more bearable if it were more temporary, if they could finish up the hunt quickly, get the hell outta dodge and regroup back at the bunker, but of course it ends up being one of those ‘one job led to another’ type situations. They make do with the cheapest of cheap no-tells and tiny cabins offered up by local ‘business’ acquaintances – always in frustratingly close quarters with Sam, never near close enough to Cas.
Dean remembers how this was before, how he was terrified of looking at Cas the wrong way, of blowing the lid off his secret. They’re certainly past that point now but even so, as embarrassed as he is to admit it, he’s still coming up short on all the physical affection he craves.
Sure, he’s been known to engage in his share PDA for the sake of irritating or grossing out his little brother, or just because he damn well feels like it, but that’s never something he’s really done with Cas. The fact that Cas is – for appearance’s sake, anyway – a man does have a lot to do with it, but that’s not the issue entirely. Dean finds himself, in a weird way, fiercely protective of his moments with Cas. Nothing’s ever felt quite this personal between him and someone else before, this precious and real, and he keeps it close to his heart, guards it jealously like all of his other vulnerable secrets.
So maybe he and Cas aren’t making out in front of Sam (for everyone’s sake) but Dean still allows for reassuring points of contact between the two of them: Dean squeezing Cas’s shoulder, fixing his hair or straightening his tie, or Cas catching Dean by the elbow when he gets worked up about something, thumb tracing soothing patterns in the crook of his arm until he calms down, planting a soft kiss on his cheek – when Sam’s not looking because that’s still Dean’s comfort zone. And after a long day, when Sam steps out for a second and Dean’s feeling achy and exhausted, he reels Cas in for a hug, just lets Cas hold him for a while, strong but gentle fingers massaging the back of his stiff neck. Dean withdraws from the embrace when Sam walks back in, but he’s proud of himself for letting go gradually, not springing away with guilt like he might have done not too long ago. Dean may value his privacy when it comes to this whole thing, but he’s definitely not ashamed of Cas either.
After a couple of weeks, though, those touches are as much of a tease as they are a comfort. Dean can tell even Cas is on edge, at this point, casting him looks heavy with an underlying hunger and damn, Dean would be way into that if he thought they’d actually be able to do something about it anytime soon. It’s nice not to have to hide the small, innocuous gestures of affection anymore, but a lack of time or space for anything else is just as unpleasant as it’s always been, like a fucking itch under his skin. It’s not like Dean’s never gone a while without sex before, but it’s different being in the same bed every night with someone he wants so badly, but not being able to really act on it. He can’t believe he’s still so desperate for it, how he’s been spoiled by Cas’s touch, his undivided attention in the privacy of one of their beds or a shared motel room.
Stolen moments aren’t impossible to come by, like when they’re late picking up Sam from the library one afternoon because they end up fooling around in the Impala, parked in the woods and fogging up the windows like a couple of teenagers. They scarcely have the presence of mind to get their pants undone as they urgently writhe against each other, rucking up their shirts to get at more skin – and to minimize any unsavory stains – Cas’s firm grip guiding them into a rhythm that they’re both too far gone to keep up with for long. Dean’s just glad he’s started planning for that kind of thing, pocketing wet naps each time they stop by a barbecue joint and stashing them in the glove compartment, just in case.
They’re still barely scraping by money-wise, happy to accept whatever free food that diner owners are dishing out to friendly “FBI” agents, shopping around for rock-bottom motel rates. Ten years ago, Dean might have found something sort of romantic about it, living rough on the road with nothing but the absolute essentials, but now he just wants his memory foam mattress and a door he can lock behind him, misses waking up to Cas’s grumpy face and being able to linger in bed with him, kissing his stubbled jaw until he’s fully alert and smiling.
Things finally start to calm down after a while, once they’ve wrapped up a ghoul hunt in Oregon and have no new leads to speak of. Dean’s sure as hell ready to haul ass back to Lebanon, practically giddy as they pack up and hit the highway. He’s gonna try his damnedest to make a straight shot of it. They can take it in shifts, swapping out who gets the back seat to pass out for a while. Cas worries about Dean’s back when he spends a long time in the car just driving, let alone trying to cram himself into a comfortable sleeping position, but hey, if he’s so concerned about it, maybe Dean can talk him into a massage once they get back. And that’s a thought that makes Dean’s foot even heavier on the accelerator – Cas a solid weight on top of him, powerful hands working Dean over until he turns into putty, melting into the bedding. And Cas is always so thorough, so of course his hands would wander lower and—
His fantasy is rudely interrupted by a loud chirp on Sam’s phone. Dean eyes him warily as he fishes it out of his pocket and investigates.
“Huh,” Sam says, and doesn’t elaborate.
“What?” Dean asks irritably, already not liking where this is going, just from one syllable.
And it goddamn figures that Sam just couldn’t help himself, had to give into looking at his Google alerts or whatever the fuck he’s got set up. He fills them in on an article involving the president of a regional bank in Colorado that Dean’s never heard of – and doesn’t care to hear of now either – attacked in his office in circumstances that seem like some definitely weird maybe it was a ghost type shit. “Sounds like a pretty straightforward haunting,” Sam says. “Textbook, almost.”
Dean doesn’t know how, at this point in their lives, Sam can actually call anything straightforward without bursting into laughter. “A little too textbook, if you ask me,” Dean replies indifferently.
He really wants to dismiss it, say that the situation’s probably been exaggerated because the victim’s got a little bit of money and influence. He’s not even dead, for Christ’s sake.
“The site of the attack isn’t too far off our route home,” Cas supplies helpfully, tapping away at his own phone in the back seat. He catches Dean’s eyes in the mirror. “It wouldn’t hurt to stop for the night, anyway,” he says carefully, and yep, there it is, the ever-present concern for Dean’s well-being. Dean doesn’t miss the note of apology in Cas’s tone, can see that he knows Dean’s anxious to get back, is looking forward to it himself too.
Dean’s this close to digging his heels in, saying he’s the driver and he’ll stop the damn car when they physically wrestle him away from the steering wheel, but Sam’s practically giving him the puppy dog eyes and Dean knows if Sam and Cas are in agreement, then he’s totally fucked.
Dean sighs as he looks at Sam again, injecting a little more drama than usual. “You sure it’s—” He feels like a parody of himself just saying it— “Our kinda thing?” It’s kind of a weak narrative to start with, and he’s lost track of how many ‘I saw a ghost!’ stories have turned out to be a dumb hoax, or a poorly thought-out cover story for something unfortunate but still of this earthly plane.
“It might not be,” Sam admits. “But if it is, getting the chance to nip it in the bud before someone ends up dead might be nice for a change.”
And okay, he’s got Dean there. Unconvincing story or not, they’ve ignored headlines like this before, even with a body count, only to circle back a week later with two more corpses to deal with and a lot of time wasted.
After allowing a few self-indulgent moments of scowling, Dean sighs theatrically again. “All right, I’ll give it one day. But if we don’t find any seriously freaky shit by then, we’re outta there.”
“Deal,” Sam says with a pleased little half-smile. Cas, meanwhile, has already found them somewhere to stay for the night.
It’s late by the time they check into some crappy roadside inn a few miles outside the city, where the incident took place. The walls are practically crumbling around them and there’s a disconcerting number of roach traps near the check-in desk, but of fucking course they can still only afford one room. Dean’s irritable about being stuck here, when they could be on their way home, and he gets Cas to join him in hitting up the local dive. Sam claims he’s too tired to come along, but it’s more likely that he can read Dean’s mood well enough to know he should steer clear for a little while.
They head out to blow off steam more than anything else, even if Dean claims it’s in the interest of stocking up on cash. He should be worried about replenishing their shared supply so they don’t go completely broke, but he makes no promises not to pocket whatever he earns and spend it all spoiling himself and Cas. More drinks would be nice, for starters, or they could even go somewhere nice for dinner, like – like a real date, or something. It’s both ridiculous and completely typical that they’ve never done anything like that before. Maybe if they’re really successful tonight he’ll get them the hell out of this Podunk town, book a room in one of those fancy ski lodges for the duration of the hunt. Dean doesn’t give one shit about skiing, but getting cozy by the fireplace and taking a dip in a Jacuzzi would do him some good right about now.
He and Cas take it in turns challenging people, roping them into playing fast and loose with their extraneous income. Dean’s up first, absolutely destroying some drunk blowhard at darts, while Cas hangs back, ready to step in and help out if things turn ugly. He sits at the bar, taking slow sips from his glass and watching Dean like a hawk, protectiveness and admiration in his gaze every time Dean sneaks a glance in his direction. Dean kinda… likes that, if he’s being honest, feels confident and desirable with that look in Cas’s eyes, wants to preen and show off a little.
Dean’s opponent is too hammered to be much of a challenge but he’s a total stubborn ass about it, keeps the game going for five rounds, upping the ante every damn time until he finally admits defeat. Dean’s surprised when the guy’s actually willing (and able) to pony up the full amount at the end, but apparently he’s got a wallet about the size of his ego.
Dean walks away victorious with a nice wad of cash, sauntering over to the bartender and slapping a few bills on the counter. He can feel Cas’s eyes on him, but he keeps his own gaze trained steadily ahead. In his periphery he sees Cas rise to his feet and step away from the bar, and Dean takes his drink and settles in, ready to observe as Cas takes his turn, not even exchanging a word. Lately they’ve been in the habit of pretending not to know each other when they’re out like this, looking to make a few bucks – they’re less suspicious, less likely to attract negative attention for cleaning the place out if they work more discreetly, separately.
There’s something weirdly hot about that tonight, the idea that they could just be two strangers locking eyes across a crowded room – and they do, Dean can’t help it, his gaze wandering to Cas’s face to find him already staring back, sending an honest to god smolder his way. Dean feels it like a simmering heat in his belly, has to glance away before they get too distracted or carried away.
Cas really plays up the ‘overconfident drunk’ angle at first, plastering on a wide, unassuming smile as he sidles up to a group of twenty-somethings playing pool. Dean tracks every calculated movement, can almost hear the carefully sloppy way Cas drawls, How about a game? Cas might actually be kinda buzzed, come to think of it, but he’d probably hand their asses to them even if he were half in the bag. Dean feels a not-quite-misplaced sense of fondness at how Cas’s marks aren’t quite sure what to make of him at first, even less so once the game’s underway and he smoothly segues into Care to make it interesting? – the kind of smooth that Dean knows, in this case, comes from a lot of analysis and practice. Dean can’t say it matters much if the results are the same, and Cas’s ridiculous talent for pool is one-hundred percent the real deal.
Dean loves watching him in action, the way he stalks around the table to plan his shot, muscled shoulders flexing. It’s stifling in this place so Cas is stripped down to a t-shirt and hell, Dean’s sweating too, all that toned, tan flesh taunting Dean from afar, a flash of it when Cas leans over to sink a ball in the corner pocket, shirt riding up at the hip, thick biceps stretching the sleeves tight.
Cas glances over when his opponent’s distracted, throws a fucking wink in Dean’s direction, and Dean knows he’s squirming by now, tongue darting out to wet his lips, always stupidly hot for Cas even in public like this. Goddamn, Dean wants him so much that he’s honestly entertaining the idea of a sleazy men’s room hookup, ready to employ the slight nod, the strategically raised eyebrows he’s been successful with in the past – and Cas is kind of a sure thing, here – or hell, even meeting up in the alley out back because that’s how bad he’s suffering. But this evening’s already getting close to ending in a barroom brawl, and they ought to tread lightly. Divesting people of their hard-earned money always ruffles a few feathers, and he can see this guy’s face grow stormier with each increasingly effortless shot from Cas, the dawning realization that he’s been thoroughly played. Dean doesn’t really want to risk literally getting caught with their pants down by a crowd that might not exactly be the most open-minded.
A fight could be satisfying in its own way, another option to work that itch out of his system, burn off the restless energy that’s got nowhere to go. He and Cas could probably take anybody in here, no sweat. But Dean doesn’t bounce back from an ass-kicking like he used to, even if he’s the one dishing it out, and when he does get some time alone with Cas, he’d rather not have to worry about minding bruised ribs or a sprained shoulder.
Cas collects his winnings before they slip outside together, and even once they’re alone Dean tries to avert his eyes, too stirred up by the want, the longing he sees written all over Cas’s face.
Back at the motel they crawl into bed, almost afraid to touch. They’ve both had a few drinks and the temptation’s too real – Dean surges forward, kisses Cas heatedly, sighing in bliss and relief, but he only indulges in it for mere seconds, pulling back with reluctance before it gets out of hand. He draws the line at getting busy while his freaking brother is asleep four feet away.
And Dean can’t ignore that he’s exhausted either way, has been working hard for weeks now, unable to really relax. He feels his eyelids drooping, lulled by the warmth of Cas’s palm on his cheek, his gentle breathing, his steady gaze meeting Dean’s until they both drift off.
* * *
Local authorities tend to be even more skeptical about FBI involvement when no one’s actually been killed, but playing up the organized crime angle gets their foot in the door. It’s a less grisly investigation than usual, doing the usual routine check for signs of ghost activity or whatever else might seem unusual for a swanky office on the twentieth floor.
According to the police report, company president Ron Chapman was accosted by a mysterious pale figure that ‘suddenly materialized’ in his office at approximately 2:30 A.M. The ‘ghost’ said something to Ron that he couldn’t understand, hurled a bronze paperweight at his head – yep, there it is, beneath an impressive dent in the wall – and when that missed he made a run for it. The ‘ghost’ only chased him a few yards down the hall before it seemed to give up but Ron kept right on going and hasn’t been back to work since. He’s taken an ‘indefinite’ leave of absence, so, whatever he saw, he’s clearly spooked.
Dean’s willing to bet that if this is something they need to take care of, the incident was more of the personal vendetta variety, rather than the generic, folksy sort of haunting. One look around the room tells him that this guy’s got deep pockets and likes people to know it. It’s not too hard to imagine he might’ve pissed someone off. Hell maybe he did get caught up in some crime ring and this was just a perfectly non-paranormal mob shakedown. Of course, that could be wishful thinking on Dean’s part, anxious to get home already.
“What was he doing here at that hour anyway?” Cas wonders aloud, crouching down to examine the paperweight.
Sam sighs. “He said he was working late,” he replies, injecting obvious skepticism.
Dean’s right there with him. “Yeah, poor bastard, bet he has to burn the midnight oil just to make ends meet,” he says, pointedly glancing at the ostentatious décor.
Sam snorts in agreement, amused. “Guess we’ll have to get a real explanation when we swing by his house later.”
Cas has tuned them out, already busy poking around, sitting at the giant carved-wood desk to look in the drawers, rifling through files.
“Anyway,” Sam says, “I’m gonna see what his employees have to say. Bet someone around here’s got some dirt.” He turns to Dean expectantly. “You coming?”
“Uh,” Dean says, caught off guard, distracted by the picture Cas makes in that expensive high-backed chair. “Yeah— yeah, I’ll catch up.”
Sam gives him a strange look, but leaves without further comment. Dean goes right back to staring.
He doesn’t know why he’s particularly affected by Cas right now. Maybe he’s still worked up from last night – or maybe it’s hitting him that with four walls around them and this wing of the building off limits for their investigation, this is the most privacy he and Cas have had in weeks.
He actually lets himself get lost in the fantasy of it as he wanders around the room, stealing glances, getting weirdly turned on by the idea of Cas in a position of power, even if it’s something as mundane as working in an office – not that Mr. Chapman was as much of a big shot as he probably wanted people to think, but Dean can pretend.
And as long as he’s entertaining the idea of Cas in charge of things around here, maybe Dean’s part of this too, maybe he’s an employee who gets the privilege of working under Cas, so to speak, getting asked to ‘work late’ when they both know what a flimsy pretense that is. Dean wouldn’t waste any time, would walk right up to him and climb into his lap – or maybe they can’t wait until after work hours, if they’re feeling daring, maybe Dean would slide right to his knees, suck Cas off while he takes an important phone call, one hand dutifully taking notes and the other tangled in Dean’s hair, encouraging him to take his cock deeper.
It’s a dangerous line of thought. Dean’s got an active imagination when it comes to Cas, now that he’s allowed to go down that road, but this is ridiculous. He doesn’t know where the fuck this corporate fetish is coming from. Dean didn’t exactly relish his brief, fabricated stint as an office drone but he didn’t have a smokin’ hot boss then, one that he’s hardly gotten to touch in weeks. That gets him thinking less about made up scenarios and more about the ridiculous tempting reality right in front of him. Cas hasn’t shaved in a day or two and not only does it look fucking good on him, Dean can’t stop thinking about Cas’s scruff scratching up his neck and scraping along his inner thighs, is mesmerized by Cas’s long, thick fingers, perfect for stretching him open, for digging bruises into his hips.
Christ, Dean would bend over that goddamn desk right now if they were really equipped for that.
Dean catches himself then, realizing his train of thought is getting out of hand, that there’s a low thrum of genuine arousal coursing through him, his dick stirring in interest. He’s embarrassed by his own neediness until he crosses the room to the enormous window, and Cas watches with interest, unmistakably checking out his ass. Dean glances at his face and yeah, there’s no hiding it – Cas may appear way more put together than Dean is feeling right now, but he can see it in Cas’s eyes too, that livewire of lust that they’ve had to tamp down far too often recently and fuck, he’d love to know what kind of images are running through Cas’s mind right now. Cas would probably share, in excruciatingly filthy detail, if Dean found the nerve to ask.
Dean tries again to snap himself out of it, to remind himself that there’s a job here – or that the very least, that he needs to prove that there isn’t one. “What makes this guy so sure it wasn’t, y’know, a living person that attacked him?” he asks, determined to sound calm and businesslike. If they’re going to declare this a ghost sighting they need a bit more to go on than ‘pale and mysterious.’
Cas looks away for a beat, schooling his intent stare into something more professional, but Dean notices the way he clears his throat before speaking, that there’s still a slight strain in his voice when he replies. “The only feasible way for a living person to get through is through there,” he says, nodding towards to office’s only door. “According to Mr. Chapman’s statement, the door was locked that evening, and it doesn’t appear to have been forced open.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not so sure I believe his story,” Dean says, grasping at straws, a half-baked (and probably terrible) idea taking shape.
Cas, understandably, furrows his brow at Dean’s statement. “You think he’d lie about locking the door?”
Dean licks his lips reflexively, and Cas may be in investigation mode, but he still lowers his eyes and tracks the motion. “I dunno,” Dean says, “Maybe. Maybe, uh— Maybe he just made a mistake. Or the lock’s broken.” He licks his lips again, slower and more deliberately this time, steadily training his gaze on Cas’s face. “Why don’t you make sure it works?”
Dean wasn’t aiming for subtle, exactly, but he’s slightly ashamed of how easily Cas seems to pick up on the sly note in his tone. Cas only looks confused for a second before keen understanding dawns on his face, the promising darkness returning to his eyes. He rises from his seat without another word, looking graceful and powerful, fucking poured into the suit he’s wearing – Cas pretty much always dressed in a suit before, but now he really wears one, nicely fitted to cut an even more impressive figure.
He strides over and flips the latch beneath the door handle, the lock slipping into place with a satisfying click. “It seems to be working fine,” he says, the perfect picture of seriousness. “I don’t think there’s any way for someone to get in here,” he adds, a trace of a smirk on his face and a gleam in his eye that would be virtually undetectable if Dean weren’t looking so closely, if he didn’t know Cas so well. Cas is definitely picking up what he’s laying down.
Although, Cas just looks at him then, doesn’t make a move of any kind. Dean’s not sure what he was expecting – maybe for Cas to clear off the desk in one sweeping gesture, wind a hand in Dean’s tie and haul him up onto the surface. Dean sure wouldn’t complain about that. But Dean started this, in his own veiled but ultimately obvious way, and he can see that Cas is playing along with it, keeping up with the charade of acting like they’re only discussing the case.
Dean turns towards the windows – monstrous panels of glass that extend floor to ceiling – and makes a show of innocently inspecting them. “What about over here? Think someone could get in without being a ghost?”
“It’s possible,” Cas says, and Dean’s impressed by the feigned nonchalance in his voice. “I can take a look.”
Dean can feel excitement bubbling up within him as Cas closes the distance, steps up right behind him, tantalizingly near, but not quite touching. Cas reaches a hand out over Dean’s shoulder and presses a palm to the glass, muscled arm boxing Dean in.
Dean’s almost trembling with anticipation, watching his breath fog up the window in front of his face, obscuring the image of the city beneath them, the Rockies in the distance. “Hell of a view he’s got,” Dean says, attempting to sound conversational.
“Yes,” Cas agrees, hot in Dean’s ear, “Very nice.” Feeling Cas’s presence behind him is giving him honest-to-god goosebumps, the air thick with unrealized potential in a way it hasn’t been since that first time.
Dean doesn’t know if Cas is still holding himself back or if he’s deliberately teasing, but either way it’s driving Dean crazy. Knowing Cas, it’s probably a little bit of both. He’s properly slotted in behind Dean now, a long line of heat against Dean’s back. He rests his other hand tentatively on Dean’s hip, fingertips trailing lower, brushing his thigh.
“Cas,” Dean sighs, totally breathy and embarrassing, and arches back into him until Cas pushes, presses him right up against the window and fuck, yes, that’s what Dean wanted.
“Seems solid to me,” Cas says, voice noticeably lower than before, and it takes Dean a second to realize he’s talking about the fucking window, shit, he really can’t deal with double entendres right now.
And the fantasy was fun, sure – the idea of Cas as a high-powered executive, Dean as his eager-to-please employee, vying for his attention – definitely put a little extra fire in his belly. But there’s no pretending that this isn’t Cas, someone who understands him intimately, who pulled him out of Hell, for Christ’s sake. Someone who already knows how to push all Dean’s buttons because he’s learned him so well, just as Dean’s memorized the familiar planes of Cas’s chest flush against his back, the scrape of his stubble, his teeth on Dean’s pulse point.
Cas rests both hands on Dean’s hips, gripping tight, fitting their bodies more closely together. Dean’s already shamelessly turned on, loving the feeling of Cas taking control, the way he maneuvers Dean how he pleases. He sighs happily, giving into Cas’s ministrations, as if he’d ever resist, as if he hadn’t started this whole thing, so fucking easy for Cas that just looking at him still drives him crazy with want. He tips his head back onto Cas’s shoulder as Cas slides his hands around, smoothing over his stomach, up towards his chest in one long, luxurious caress. His fingers linger to fleetingly tease at Dean’s nipples through his shirt, just a hint of a pinch through the fabric before slipping back down again, but more than enough to get Dean panting for it like always.
Cas’s hands stroke their way back down, resting low on Dean’s waist before working their way higher again, then down and back once more, the repetitive motion somehow soothing Dean and keying him up at the same time.
Dean can only stand it for so long, half out of his mind from only a few gentle touches. The next time Cas’s fingers dip maddeningly close to his erection, Dean snatches Cas’s hand before it can retreat again, presses it to the front of his pants and moans at the heat of Cas’s palm, already aching for it. Cas responds by pushing his hips against Dean’s ass and Dean shamelessly grinds back into it, thrilled by how hard Cas is getting, that he can feel how he’s not alone in his urgency. It’s probably been about a week since they’ve had any time like this, but it might as well have been centuries.
Cas touches him greedily, winding his fingers in Dean’s hair and pulling until he has access to his mouth, to the sensitive skin of his throat. Dean’s babbling a string of profanity and pleas that he’ll be mortified to remember later, an endless stream of yeah, fuck, please, yes. He tries to gives as good as he gets, at a bit of a disadvantage in this position but not complaining one bit, pushing his tongue into Cas’s mouth, no finesse at all, sloppily eager.
Cas is still touching Dean’s straining cock through his pants, strokes firm and deliberate when he’s often torturously slow. It winds Dean up real tight real quick, has him whimpering frantically, and maybe he should try to be quiet, but that idea crashes and burns once Cas undoes his belt, inches the zipper down, impatiently pulls his shirttails out of the way and wraps his fingers around Dean’s erection.
Dean gasps at Cas’s touch, relief and fire surging through him at the sensation of skin on skin. He stretches a hand out behind him, fumbling for Cas’s belt and tugging at it until Cas gets the hint and unbuckles, lets Dean help him shove his pants down his thighs. They’re still in their fed suits, Jesus, just undressed enough for Cas to stroke Dean, rough and perfect, enough for Cas to fit himself close against Dean, drag the wet tip of his dick against Dean’s ass.
Cas flattens Dean to the window, breathing harshly against his neck. “Want to fuck you,” he groans, punctuates the thought with a sharp bite on Dean’s lower lip – and god, for all that Dean knows Cas likes that, isn’t shy about expressing these things, he’s not sure he’s ever heard him say it quite like that, the tension getting to him, that raw edge of desire in his voice.
“We can’t,” Dean breathes, dismayed. He wishes it were only a coy protestation but the truth is that it’s really not a good idea, not in these circumstances, without anything to help things along. He’s willing to improvise but they’ve waited long enough by now, they can hold off to do that properly back at the bunker, no disturbances or time limits. Dean hopes they can wrap this job up fast and go home already, although they’re not speeding things along by doing this instead of working.
“I know,” Cas replies in frustration, voice dipping into a growl and goddamn, that’s so hot, Dean’s just as weak for that voice as ever. Cas keeps shoving forward insistently, cock riding so close to where Dean really wants it, like Cas wants inside so goddamn bad and yeah, yeah, that’s so good, even just that tiny bit of friction, especially with the perfect pressure of Cas’s fingers wrapped around him.
Dean’s forced up onto his toes as Cas rolls his hips hard, just a few sinuous motions before slipping lower, between Dean’s thighs. Cas groans, sounding surprised and pleased, thrusting forward experimentally, back and forward again, bracing one hand against the window and finding a rhythm.
And oh, okay, that’s—that’s new but Dean’s pretty damn sure he’s into it. There’s something exhilarating and weirdly illicit about it, the slick head of Cas’s cock against Dean’s sensitive skin, nudging his perineum, Cas using Dean’s body like this for his own pleasure even as he steadily works Dean over.
Dean smiles dazedly, closing his eyes, meeting Cas’s movements halfway. He turns his face towards Cas’s where it’s hooked over his shoulder, nuzzles at his stubbled cheek. “That feel good, Cas?” he asks, words slurred with arousal.
Cas practically purrs in satisfaction. “You’re so soft here,” he murmurs, so deep that Dean feels the reverberations. “Could you—just—” Cas asks haltingly, reaching down to encourage Dean to keep his legs closer together, sighing as they tighten around his cock, “Yes, that’s perfect,” he says, gently kissing Dean’s cheek. “You feel incredible.”
Dean feels himself blush at the compliment, always flustered by how easily Cas doles out praise, how good it sounds whispered hotly into his ear. He presses his flushed face to the glass for a moment, breathing heavily as Cas kisses his jaw, sucks a mark into the back of his neck. He tries to keep up with the tense squeeze of his thighs, wants to make this as enjoyable for Cas as he can.
His head lolls back again when Cas’s free hand touches his sternum, travels languidly up his chest, resting huge and possessive against his throat. Dean doesn’t realize how noisy he’s getting until Cas shushes him softly, as if Cas doesn’t sound louder and louder in Dean’s ear with each twitch of his hips, his hand sliding up further to cradle his jaw.
Dean expects Cas to cover his mouth to muffle his moans, the way they’ve had to do in the past, the way that gives Dean a secret little thrill, but instead two of Cas’s thick fingers slip past his lips. Cas may have initiated it but Dean’s the one who eagerly sucks them into his mouth, probably not doing much to quiet him down with the way he whimpers around them, loving the feel of Cas’s calloused fingers pressing down on his tongue, filling him up.
Dean’s out of it, lost in sensation, nearly starting in surprise when Cas suddenly speaks behind him.
“You know,” Cas says slowly, almost casual. “There’s an apartment building across the street.”
Dean’s eyes snap open and focus through the glass and yep, he can see the faint shapes of people moving around in the high-rise across the way. He feels a jolt of something at the realization, a frisson of emotion that’s not entirely embarrassment or worry.
Cas stops everything, no way he’s missed the sudden tension in Dean’s posture. “We could move away from the window,” he offers, clearly concerned.
Cas’s fingers slip free so Dean can answer, and he tries not to whine at the loss. “Don’t stop,” Dean pleads, bucking his hips back against Cas, trying to get him moving again.
Cas doesn’t question or argue, simply acquiesces with an indulgent hum, thrusting lazily, teasing Dean’s cock with a feather-light touch, fingertips grazing the oversensitive head. “Do you think anyone’s noticed us?” he asks, calm but curious. After a beat he leans in closer, lowers his voice. “Would you like that?”
It’s not even rhetorical dirty talk coming from Cas, or at least it’s also an honest question, but the effect is the same either way. Dean wonders if Cas is looking for information to use in the future as he often is, mind reeling over how Cas would explore the concept of Dean liking the risk of being caught, the possibility of being watched. So many of the images that spring to mind would be unthinkable for him to go through with in reality, but the idea of them right now nearly undoes him.
“They should be so lucky,” Cas says in a low rumble, sliding his fingers back into Dean’s mouth before he can respond. “It’s a privilege to see how gorgeous you are like this.”
Dean can’t help but think about what they’d look like, if someone saw them right now – Dean with his mouth stuffed full, face burning red, belt around his knees while Cas fucks his thighs, his long fingers wrapped around Dean’s leaking dick, stroking him with ruthless efficiency, making Dean writhe for him. What turns him on even more is that Cas is thinking about it, that he loves the sight of Dean when he’s strung out and breathless, covets it even as he entertains the idea of showing Dean off.
“You’re close, aren’t you?” Cas asks and yeah, he is – Cas doesn’t seem too far off either, given the hoarseness in his voice, the stutter in his rhythm. Dean can only hum in agreement, trailing off into a whimper when Cas tightens his grip, quickens his movements, kisses the shell of Dean’s ear. “I love the way you fall apart for me.”
Dean has no chance, not with Cas’s heated words, his hand stroking Dean rough and perfect, cock thrusting smoothly between his legs, the thought that someone could see as Dean unravels. Dean comes with a muffled cry, teeth sinking into the pads of Cas’s fingers, spilling into his hand.
Cas only gives him a moment before determinedly chasing his own orgasm, both hands on Dean’s hips, rocking against him, pulling him backward with each forward hitch. Dean has to slap a palm against the window for purchase, reaching back with the other hand to tangle it in Cas’s hair. “Yeah, Cas,” Dean hisses as Cas stifles a groan against Dean’s shoulder, the press of teeth sharp even through the fabric of his shirt. “Yeah, c’mon.”
Cas’s fingers dig in strong enough to bruise as he comes and oh fuck Dean moans right alongside him, feels Cas’s cock pulsing against every sensitive, vulnerable part, making a filthy mess of him. Dean always expects to be grossed out by something like this, but that couldn’t be further from the case. He’s squirming in nothing but reluctant, dirty pleasure as Cas’s come runs down his thighs.
Cas just sags against him for a moment, arms tight around Dean’s middle, pressing a kiss into his hair as their heart rates settle, as their breathing evens out. Dean closes his eyes briefly, calmed by the steady warmth of Cas behind him, and rests a hand on Cas’s forearm, giving it a grateful squeeze.
Too soon they break the spell and take a step back to assess the damage. The window’s looking a little worse for wear, glass streaked up with come and fingerprints and even – most mortifying of all, somehow – a faint outline of Dean’s face.
Dean looks at it with a mixture of amusement and disgust. “Think we can blame that on the ghost?” he quips, raising his eyebrows at Cas.
Cas is silent, face neutral, but Dean can see the mirth shining in his eyes as he reaches into his pocket. Dean tries to get a look at what he has in his hand and – Christ, it’s a handful of the wet naps Dean’s started keeping in the car.
Dean can’t contain his disbelief. “Jesus, Cas, you always carry those around with you?”
Cas quirks an eyebrow at him, tearing one of the packets open. “Recent events led me to believe that we might need them at an… unexpected moment,” he says airily because, well, he’s right. Always prepared like some kind of deviant Boy Scout and fuck, just the idea that Cas has been anticipating spontaneous sex already kicks his imagination back into overdrive. Only a matter of time until he starts carrying lube in his jacket, Dean thinks dizzily, and then he can only imagine the kind of trouble they’ll get into.
Cas carefully cleans them up, does what he can to salvage the window before giving up so they can help each other look presentable. Cas is usually the disheveled one but Dean’s a mess right now. They spend a few moments straightening ties, tucking in shirts, exchanging sheepish but giddy smiles, almost shy, surprisingly, considering what they were just doing.
They find Sam a couple of floors down. “That took a while,” he comments as they approach. “You find something?” he asks hopefully.
Dean uses all his willpower not to go red in the cheeks and hell, even Cas looks flustered, the reason they ‘took a while’ no doubt startlingly fresh in his mind too. They usually allow for more cool down time, don’t go rushing off to chat with Sam minutes after getting each other off – and again Dean’s reminded of the very first time they did that, caught off guard and scrambling to cover their tracks.
“Not really, just, uh—” Dean says, stopping to clear his throat. “Just being thorough.”
Sam’s all business at the moment, too preoccupied to notice the slight stammer in Dean’s voice. “Okay, well, if you guys want to wrap up the interviews, I’m gonna talk to security about the surveillance footage from the night of the attack,” he says. “They’ve already reviewed it, but there wasn’t anything clear. Besides, they don’t know what to look for.”
“They never do, do they?” Dean agrees, nodding vaguely. His brain’s a little mushy, so it takes a few seconds to register what Sam just said. “Wait, there’s a security camera in that room?” He really tries to keep his tone at a level of mild interest, but he can tell it didn’t work when Sam finally shoots him a funny look.
“Uh, yeah,” Sam says, trailing off uncertainly, eyebrows knitting together.
“In his private office? Doesn’t he want it to be, I dunno, private?” Dean continues. “What, does he want the whole staff to watch while he’s banging the secretary?” Shit, why did he have to say that of all things? As soon as the words leave his mouth Dean can feel his face heating up, that particular example hitting a little too close to home.
Sam snorts, unimpressed. “Banging the secretary?” he repeats with disdain. “This isn’t Mad Men, Dean.” Dean’s too concerned about other things to even rise to the bait of his condescension. “He keeps a lot of expensive crap in his office that he probably wants to keep an eye on. And if he did do anything scandalous or illegal, I’m sure he knows how to get people to look the other way.” Dean’s trying to summon up some kind of response, but Sam barrels on anyway, now that he’s picked up on something weird going on here. “Why do you care, anyway? This is actually helpful for us.”
Dean only exchanges a split-second guilty look with Cas, but it’s enough for Sam to put the pieces together. It’s sort of fascinating to watch the way his face cycles from confusion, to realization, and onto dismay as it all clicks into place.
“God,” Sam mutters, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Seriously?”
“It was just—”
“I don’t need the details!” Sam says, cutting Dean off. Dean doesn’t really know how he planned to finish that sentence anyway. “On second thought, you can go talk to security. Not sure how much cash it’ll take to make them forget they saw you defiling their boss’s office, so I hope you don’t mind dipping into that ‘second room fund’ you’ve been bragging about.” It’s less amusing how quickly Sam transitions from disgust into smugness. He strolls off and disappears around a corner before Dean can get a word in edgewise.
Dean sighs and jams on the button for the elevator.
“Will there be trouble for us if we can’t get rid of the footage?” Cas asks as they wait for the doors to open.
Dean shrugs. “Depends on how interested they are having a viral video of two feds getting freaky at a crime scene,” he says flippantly.
“We aren’t actually federal agents,” Cas points out after a brief pause.
“All the more reason we don’t want our asses plastered all over the internet,” Dean says, as if that explains anything. He honestly doesn’t know what the repercussions would be in terms of them posing as FBI for cases. He’s more focused on the personal humiliation aspect, for the time being.
Cas echoes Dean’s sigh. “And a bribe might help?”
Dean glances over and Cas looks just as bummed out as he is over the idea of shelling out their hard-earned cash. “We could always go the intimidation route,” he offers, just as the elevator arrives with a ‘ding.’ They step inside and start to descend, silent aside from a low hum. “Might need you to use your scary voice,” Dean adds after a moment.
“Which one is that?” Cas asks. “Is it this one?” he attempts, pitching the timbre of his words low and intense.
Dean resists the urge to fidget. “No, dude, that’s the sexy voice.”
“They’re the same voice, Dean,” Cas says immediately, rolling his eyes. After a beat he sighs again, quieter this time. “I suppose we could have restrained ourselves,” he says thoughtfully.
“We could’ve,” Dean says, although he’s not so sure about that.
“It was an unnecessary risk.” Dean tenses at how serious Cas sounds. It’s not like Cas is wrong, but he feels a pang of shame, unsettled by the idea that Cas might be experiencing some regret. But when he finally drags his gaze away from his own feet, he catches sight of Cas smirking at him in the reflective doors, face softening into a tender smile when Dean meets his eyes. “It was still worth it,” he says sincerely, turning to look at Dean directly, reaching for his hand.
“Yeah,” Dean agrees, smiling back, feeling a blush coming on again as they lace their fingers together, “Yeah, it was fun.”
“I can’t wait until we’re finally home,” Cas says wistfully, and Dean’s heart does a pathetic little flip at the sentiment, that Cas thinks of the bunker as home, that home is where he gets to be with Dean. Dean can’t deal with the sudden rush of emotion, so he cups Cas’s face and leans in for a kiss instead, melting against Cas as their lips meet.
Too soon, Cas pulls away. “Dean,” he says warningly, glancing at the corner of the ceiling and, oh, for fuck’s sake, of course there’s a security camera in here too.
Dean only hesitates for a second before making a decision. “They’ve already got us on film doing worse,” he says casually, leaning in again. He catches sight of Cas’s wicked grin before meeting Dean more than halfway, kissing the breath out of him.
Dean’s well aware that it would be irresponsible to push the emergency stop button right now, but there’s something about being with Cas, feeling his warm touch, steady and sure, that makes Dean want to risk it.