Work Text:
break (noun / verb)
1. To burst and force a way through
→ Break the sound barrier
2. To stop or bring to an end suddenly
→ Break a deadlock
3. To make known
→ Break the bad news gently
4. To demonstrate the falsity of
→ Break an alibi
5. Billiards: to make the opening shot of a game of pool
6. A stroke of luck and especially good luck
→ Got a lucky break
***
Dean first came to the bar for the pool tables. That was it. That was the whole reason. He’d googled places near his campus apartment that had decent tables and cheap beer. This one, Thursday’s, had popped up with a grainy photo of a jukebox and the felt on the pool tables didn’t look like it’d been torn to shit.
He hadn’t expected much, figured he’d shoot a few games, maybe hustle a couple bucks if someone was feeling cocky. He used to do it all the time, back when things were tight. Back when it was just him and Sam, scraping by. He hadn’t needed the extra cash as much lately, but old habits didn’t exactly die easy.
What he hadn’t expected was him.
Older guys weren’t normally his thing, but the bartender (owner, maybe?) was tall, and built like a brick shithouse, maybe mid-to-late thirties, with dark hair that always looked like someone had just gotten their hands in it. Add in the deep, gravel-dragged voice and flower tattoos that disappeared under rolled sleeves, and yeah, okay, Cas (because that’s what the staff called him) was stupidly hot. Like ruin-your-life hot.
Dean flirted, obviously. He flirted like it was breathing, but Cas never really responded. Sometimes, he would raise a single eyebrow (god, that eyebrow), but mostly he stayed quiet, like he’d seen a thousand Deans before and wasn’t impressed by any of them (he probably had and he probably wasn’t).
Dean told himself it didn’t matter, that he wasn’t here for that; he just liked playing pool.
He kept coming back. Every time, he’d flash a grin, throw out some line like, “Miss me, sweetheart?” and Cas would just raise that brow, or tilt his head, or, if Dean really landed one, his mouth would twitch like maybe, maybe, he was thinking about smiling.
It was infuriating and kind of addictive.
So Dean kept doing it. He’d come in, flirt and joke, then play a few games. Cas would mostly ignore him. The other staff members seemed to think it was funny that Dean was trying to get some kind of a rise out of Cas.
But at the end of the night, Dean would go home (alone) and jerk off thinking about that voice saying his name.
Eventually, some of the regulars started offering friendly bets over pool, and Dean went along with it. Nothing major, just twenty or fifty bucks. Then one night, some frat guy with more money than aim offered him a hundred, and Dean, grinning, wiped the floor with him.
The guy didn’t take it well. He got up in Dean’s face, red-cheeked and loud, clearly not used to losing. Dean laughed, tried to de-escalate, but the dude kept coming, shoving a finger into his face. Then suddenly, Cas was just there, stepping out from behind the bar, sliding in between them with a calm that made the air go still.
“Back off,” Cas had said, and something about how he said it made even the frat boy pause.
Dean stood behind him, no help at all. He watched the line of Cas’ shoulders and the way his hand hovered by his side like he didn’t need to make a fist to be dangerous. The guy backed down and took off.
Cas turned around with a glare that pinned Dean in place. “Behave,” he said. Dean had wanted to do anything but behave ever since.
He started going in more often after that. He liked the vibe of the place. He liked the dim lighting and classic rock on the jukebox. He especially liked the way Cas would nod at him when he walked in like he wasn’t surprised to see him, but wasn’t exactly inviting him closer either.
So Dean upped his game.
He started baiting people into playing. He’d play a little sloppy at first, maybe let his smile go a little crooked, and lean on the table like the room was spinning more than it actually was. He didn’t lie, exactly. He just… performed. He let guys think he was a little drunk, like he’d be easy money.
He knew what he looked like. He was twenty-four but looked younger if you didn’t know better. He was lean, maybe a little too lean. He had long lashes and green eyes and he’d had the term pretty thrown at him more times than he could count. Usually right before someone tried to take him down a peg.
That was part of the reason he wore the leather jacket. It didn’t fit him right through the shoulders but it made him feel bigger than he was, made him look tougher.
Guys (especially drunk frat boys), thought they saw through him. Maybe they wanted to knock the bad boy down. Maybe they thought the pretty boy playing it tough would fold easily if they pushed hard enough. Or maybe they just didn’t think they could be hustled by someone smaller.
Dean let them get cocky, let them raise the stakes, and then let them lose. Then all he had to do was wait for the twitch of a jaw, a slam of a fist against the side of the table, or for them to start yelling.
The moment things started to escalate, Cas would step in, all authority and steel with that gravel voice slicing through the tension like a goddamn blade. “Is there a problem?” or “Back off,” or (Dean’s personal favorite) “Behave.”
God, that one. Every time Cas said it, low and quiet and firm, Dean got the same ridiculous shiver down his spine.
He knew it was fucked up. He knew this was some grade-school bullshit, yanking pigtails to get a girl’s attention—but hell, he was long past pretending this wasn’t about Cas. At this point, it was the only thing keeping him coming back.
He just wanted Cas to see him. Not just nod and pour his drink and go back to polishing glasses or whatever the fuck he did, but look at him. He wanted the man to get in his space, grip his arms, and say his name.
So yeah, he played a little dirtier. If Cas wasn’t going to come to him? Dean would make damn sure he got noticed.
***
Dean really should’ve read these two idiots better. They’d walked in like they owned the place, loud and obviously posturing. They were the kind of guys who wanted to impress their girlfriends with big wallets and bad attitudes. He hadn’t seen them in the bar before. The taller one had curly blond hair, and the shorter one had his buzzed like he was a marine or something. They kept slamming shots like they were trying to forget their own names.
They started with a hundred on the table, friendly enough. “Double or nothing?” turned into a loop. In the beginning, Dean only let them win every other round or two, but then started playing sloppy on purpose when they kept upping the ante.
And yeah, okay, maybe Dean should’ve bailed when it hit a grand.
But when Curly pushed for two thousand with that smug little smile, like he was doing Dean a favor? Yeah, Dean decided he was done with the game and it was time to clean house.
He let Curly break and when it was Dean’s turn, he dropped the drunk act, lined up his shots, and ran the goddamn table.
He didn’t miss once.
By the time the eight ball dropped, Curly’s face had gone from cocky to furious, and Dean felt the shift in the air, like static before a storm.
“Fuckin’ bullshit,” Curly snapped, voice louder than it needed to be. “You hustled us.”
Dean stepped back, hands up, smile gone. “Hey, man, it’s just a game. You bet. I played.”
Curly threw his stick at the table and balls scattered. His friend (Moe or whatever) stood up, equally pissed. The girlfriends sat frozen behind them, wide-eyed.
Dean glanced toward the bar.
Empty. Cas must’ve gone into the back to count out or lock up or God-knows-what, and Dean suddenly felt a little too alone.
Curly got up in his face, breath hot with booze. “Little twink like you think you can come in here, act cute, steal our money?”
“No one stole anything. We played. You lost.” That was the wrong thing for Dean to say. Curly surged forward, and Dean stumbled. His back hit the edge of the pool table, and adrenaline snapped through him like a wire pulled taut.
He wasn’t scared, but Cas wasn’t here, and Dean wasn’t sure how this was going to go.
Dean took a step to the side of the table, hands still up, trying to buy space. “Alright, man, chill. You lost, it happens—”
He hadn’t done a good job of keeping track of Moe. The second guy moved behind him fast, and before Dean could fully register what was happening, there were arms under his pits and around his chest, hauling him back in a full-body hold. Dean twisted, tried to throw an elbow, but the guy held on tight. As fear kicked in, Dean’s heart jackknifed.
Curly stepped forward, fists clenched. He had a look in his eye that said he’d just been waiting for an excuse to hurt someone. Dean was very suddenly rethinking all his life choices. Especially the one where he thought provoking these guys might be worth it just to get Cas’s attention.
But before fists could fly, the unmistakable sound of a shotgun being racked echoed through the bar, as loud as a gunshot itself.
“That’s enough!” a voice barked.
Cas.
Dean whipped his head toward the sound. The bar had gone dead silent. The few patrons left were already scattering, grabbing their coats and heading to the exit like they had no interest in sticking around to see how this played out.
Cas stormed around the bar, shotgun angled up toward the ceiling, jaw set like iron, and eyes blazing with something Dean had never seen directed at him before. He looked furious and hot. Inconveniently hot.
Dean’s brain (the traitor) filed that away for later: Cas in black, sleeves rolled up, gun in hand, stalking toward him like the wrath of God.
Shit. He was in so much trouble. And also, yeah, he wanted it.
Dean tried to use the distraction to his advantage, twisting hard in Moe’s grip while the guys’ focus was on Cas. No luck. The asshole just yanked him tighter, arm digging into his ribs like a warning: Keep struggling, see what happens.
“This little bitch stole our money,” Curly snapped.
“I didn’t steal anything,” Dean shot back, breathless but still riding the adrenaline high. “We played a friendly game, and you lost. That’s not theft. That’s your dumb ass being bad at pool.”
“Dean,” Cas growled, voice low and dangerous, “for once in your life, shut the fuck up.”
Dean’s brain (absolutely unhelpful) fired off a reflexive thought: If you put your dick in my mouth, that'll shut me up. He wisely did not say that out loud. Still, it took effort to bite back the grin.
“We’re not leaving until we get our money back,” Moe said, still holding him like he thought this was going to end in a brawl.
“Let the kid go,” Cas said, voice flat and cold.
Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m not a kid, I’m twenty-four!”
“Dean,” Cas snapped forcefully.
Dean scowled, lips pressing into a tight, mutinous line.
Cas kept his focus on Moe. “How much did he take from you?”
“Two grand,” the guy barked.
Cas’ jaw ticked, the kind of motion Dean had come to recognize as 'a problem'. “Jesus Christ.”
He adjusted the shotgun slightly, still aimed skyward, but the weight of it made the room feel smaller.
“Let him down. We’ll straighten this out.”
Moe didn’t move. Cas' voice dropped lower, but with enough force to crack bone. “Do not make me ask again.”
That did it. Moe released him with a rough shove, and Dean hit the floor, catching himself with a grunt. It took a second to get his legs under him, but when he stood, he straightened his spine and clenched his jaw because fuck if he was gonna look rattled in front of Cas.
Dean wiped his palms on his jeans and glanced sideways at Cas. Yup, still pissed and still hot as hell. Dean was definitely in trouble, but that’d been the whole point. At least he’d have Cas’ full attention.
“Dean,” Cas said, voice low and far too calm, “give these men their money back.”
Dean bristled. “I won that money fair and—”
“You fucking hustled us!” Curly exploded.
Dean rolled his eyes. “It’s not my fault you’re too dumb to tell when someone’s faking drunk.”
“Dean!” Cas' voice cracked through the room like a thunderclap.
Dean froze mid-retort, jaw still half-open. Jesus fucking Christ, that voice and that glare. It hit him in the chest like a fist… and, okay, yeah, lower too. It was hard (hard!) not to be at least a little turned on when Cas used his pissed-off voice. God, that deep, righteous authority that made Dean want to say yes, sir and please do it again in the same breath.
Curly and Moe would not be impressed if they realized Dean was getting hard while being scolded like a delinquent teen, so Dean kept his expression flat as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of crumpled bills.
He peeled off a thick stack with exaggerated calm, like it was no big deal, and tossed it onto the pool table.
Moe snatched it up and counted it quickly. “This ain’t everything.”
Dean took another step back, close enough now to feel the heat coming off Cas.
“Consider the five hundred a stupid tax,” Dean said, trying to sound unaffected by everything. Moe growled and started forward, but Cas shifted slightly, and the effect was immediate. Moe halted like someone had pressed pause.
“Be on your way,” Cas said evenly, like he wasn’t two seconds from laying waste to everyone in the room.
“You protecting this little shit?” Curly barked. “We didn’t start it—he did.”
“Oh, believe me,” Cas muttered, “he’s next. But right now, I need you gone.”
The guys didn’t look satisfied, their faces were twisted in resentment, but the cash seemed to have at least taken the worst edge off.
Cas gave them his patented I will smite you and salt the earth you stand on glare. Dean had seen it before, usually directed at drunk assholes who tried to grab one of the staff members, but never at full blast.
“Fuck this place,” Curly spat, turning on his heel and stomping out.
Moe and the two women followed, radiating pissed-off energy.
The door slammed behind them, hard enough to rattle the frame. Cas followed them out, his posture rigid. He didn’t say a word to Dean. He wouldn’t even look at him.
Honestly, that was worse than if he’d yelled.
Dean hadn’t meant for it to go that far. Sure, he’d wanted to provoke them a little, get Cas’ attention. He wasn’t proud of it, but… he wanted Cas to look at him longer than the half-second it took to pour a drink or give him a mild eyebrow raise.
Now, Cas wouldn’t even look at him. Dean’s stomach twisted. Shit. What if he’d blown it? What if Cas banned him from the bar?
Dean could handle being ignored, glared at, or hell, even being manhandled a little, but being told not to come back? That’d gut him.
Cas turned then, finally, fixing Dean with a glare that could melt glass.
He pointed at him. “Stay right there.”
Dean raised both hands in a lazy, mock-innocent shrug. “Wasn’t goin’ anywhere.”
Cas didn’t respond. He stalked to the door, watching through the glass until the parking lot cleared. He locked the deadbolt, yanked the blinds down one by one, and turned around.
Dean squared his shoulders. Don’t let him see you rattled.
So he grinned, the one that usually got him out of trouble. The one he jokingly called his “panty-dropper” even though Cas had never once so much as blinked at it.
“Thanks, buddy,” he said, casual as ever, like he hadn’t been one breath away from getting his face smashed in.
Cas didn’t say a word. He went behind the bar, tucked the shotgun away like it was any other Thursday.
Dean drifted closer, leaning into the bar like he always did, trying to make it feel normal, like everything was fine. “Man, I don’t know what I would’ve—”
Cas was on him. No warning. No words. One hard shove and Dean was slammed back into the wall, the breath knocked right out of him. Cas’ forearm was across his chest, pinning him there like gravity had shifted and the only thing holding the world together was this.
Dean’s breath stuttered.
“You think this is funny?” Cas asked, voice low and furious. “You think I enjoy cleaning up after your bullshit?”
Dean blinked, mouth open, still breathless.
Cas leaned in close enough that Dean could feel the heat of him. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed tonight.”
Dean pasted on a cocky half-smile. “Didn’t ask you to save me.”
“No,” Cas growled, stepping in even closer. “You never ask. You just show up like you own the place, like nothing can touch you. And then you don’t even flinch when two grown men are about to beat you bloody.”
“I had it handled,” Dean muttered, but he dropped his gaze. Cas wasn’t having that. One large hand came up and grabbed Dean’s jaw, fingers splayed across his cheek as he forced Dean’s head back up. His grip wasn’t cruel, but it was controlling.
“No,” Cas said, voice hot against Dean’s skin. “You didn’t. And I’m tired of watching you throw yourself at the biggest threat in the room like you’ve got nothing to lose.”
Dean stilled.
The tension from Cas’ body was radiating into him, pressing him back. The solid weight of him, the anger, the way he filled the space like he owned it. Dean’s pulse was racing, but it wasn’t from fear.
He was hard. Fuck, he was already hard, pressed between Cas and the wall, and every breath made it worse. The way Cas held him. The power in his voice. It made him want to drop to his knees and beg.
Dean licked his lips, slowly and deliberately, letting his tongue linger at the corner of his mouth as he looked up through his lashes.
“Maybe I like getting myself into dangerous situations,” he said, voice low and deliberately provoking.
Cas’ eyes dropped to Dean’s mouth. “Is that why you come here?” he asked, voice gone hoarse. “To see if someone’ll finally put you in your place?”
Dean smirked. “Maybe I’m just waiting for someone to try.”
“Fuck,” Cas growled and crashed his mouth into Dean’s. The kiss was all teeth and hands and want, like Cas had finally given in to something he’d been fighting for too long. Dean opened for him instantly, a moan catching in his throat as their tongues met, rough and filthy and perfect.
The kiss stole every breath out of Dean’s lungs. Cas pulled back just enough to breathe, the hand on Dean’s jaw sliding into his hair, threading through the short strands before fisting them tight. He yanked, firm and unforgiving, tipping Dean’s head back until his throat was bared and vulnerable.
Dean shuddered. Cas’ mouth found the edge of his jaw, and he worked his way down the column of his throat, kissing and biting, the rough stubble of his cheek scratching over the sensitive flesh. His lips dragged back up and over the fluttering pulse beneath Dean’s ear, and Dean gasped, hands fisting uselessly in Cas’ shirt.
“Cas,” he whimpered, hips twitching forward, needing more. “Please.”
Cas’ mouth curved into a smile against his skin. “Please what?” he murmured, voice low and rough, a rasp that vibrated straight through Dean’s bones.
He nosed lower, breath warm, lips brushing along Dean’s throat as if he wasn’t going to give him anything until Dean said it out loud.
“Tell me what you want,” Cas murmured, voice a low command.
Dean’s breath hitched. “I wanna see you,” he said. “Wanna see your tattoos. Want to touch you.”
God, he wanted more than that. So much more. But he’d take what he could get. He wanted to see Cas—all of him. He wanted to run his hands over every inch. He wanted to sink to his knees and feel those blue eyes trained on him the whole time.
Cas’ grip tightened slightly in his hair. “Is that what this is?” he asked, voice rough. “A couple tattoos and a little adrenaline, and you’re on your knees for it?”
Dean huffed out a shaky laugh. “Add in blue eyes, dark bedhead, and that deep gravel voice, and you’re getting warmer.”
He licked his lips. “And your hands—fuck. I could watch you mix drinks or cut fruit for hours. You’ve got hands made to ruin someone. Never got the whole hand kink thing till I saw yours. Now I think about them.”
Cas’ hold loosened, fingers sliding down, cupping Dean’s jaw. The hold was gentler than it had been, but no less commanding. He tilted Dean’s face up, eyes catching his. “You’ve thought about this,” he said, and he sounded surprised.
Dean swallowed, then nodded as best he could with Cas controlling his head. “Your humor’s dry as hell, but you’re funny as fuck. I’ve been trying to get your attention for months. Figured if I couldn’t flirt my way into it, maybe I’d get into enough trouble that you’d have to notice me.”
Cas’ expression darkened into a scowl. “You’ve been provoking people… just to get my attention?”
Dean couldn’t help the smirk. “Don’t look at me like that. It worked, didn’t it?”
Cas kissed him again, but not as roughly this time. His lips just brushed Dean’s, barely there, like a question. He caught Dean’s bottom lip between his teeth and bit, hard enough to make Dean gasp.
Dean whimpered (an actual, embarrassing noise) and surged forward, chasing the contact, pressing their mouths together in a kiss that was hot and greedy and so damn overdue.
He kissed Cas like he was starving. Cas finally dropped the arm that had Dean pinned and stepped back, watching him with that quiet intensity of his.
“What do you want from me, Dean?” he asked.
Dean didn’t hesitate. “What are you offering?”
A flicker of dry amusement crossed Cas’ face. “Brat.”
Dean grinned, unrepentant. “Seriously. Whatever you’re offering, I’m down.”
Cas arched an eyebrow. “Anything?” He took a step forward. “So if I said I wanted you on your knees, worshiping my cock?”
Dean didn’t break eye contact. He just smirked and dropped to his knees. Cas sucked in a breath so quiet Dean barely heard it. He looked up at Cas, and the man’s hand came to rest in his hair, his fingers threading through with an almost reverent slowness. He looked at Dean like he couldn’t believe he was real, or maybe Cas just didn’t want to rush the moment.
“I wasn’t ordering you,” he said softly. “I was asking what you wanted.”
Dean lowered his head and shrugged, playing it cool. “I meant it. Whatever you’re offering.”
What he didn’t say (couldn’t) was that he wanted more than just this. He wanted more than the ache in his knees and the weight of Cas’ hand in his hair or his cock in his mouth.
He wanted to know Cas. He wanted to learn what made him laugh, what made him smile, really smile, not that little twitch of the mouth Dean got on rare occasions. He wanted to know how Cas ended up in this town, in this bar.
He wanted to know what the tattoos meant. There were bees and flowers on his forearms and a dark peak of something half-hidden on the back of his neck. He wanted to trace them with his fingers and his mouth.
Dean kept his head down and let his hands rest loosely on his thighs, just waiting for Cas to do or say something. It was hard to stay still when he was practically vibrating with want. If Cas knew how much Dean wanted this, if he knew the depth of it, what would he say? Would it scare him away?
“Look at me,” Cas ordered, and Dean did. The man smiled. “Follow me, we’re going upstairs.”
Dean got to his feet. “Upstairs? What’s upstairs?”
“My apartment.” Dean scrambled to his feet, eager to follow.
Cas cocked an eyebrow at him and then turned and moved through the bar, flipping lights off one by one, locking up with practiced ease.
Dean trailed after him, a little less cocky now. He’d figured that this would be a quick fuck in the bar. It’d be hot and dirty, maybe up against the wall. He hadn’t expected to be invited into Cas’ space. He wasn’t sure what being invited up meant, if it meant anything at all. It’d be nice if it meant something.
He wasn’t nervous. Just… surprised and it made something curl tight in his chest.
At the back, Cas stepped out into the cool night air. The metal door clanged shut behind them, and he locked it. A narrow staircase hugged the brick wall leading up to the second floor.
Cas paused and turned to face him. “You can come upstairs with me,” he said, voice steady. “Or you can go home. Your choice.”
Dean didn’t even hesitate. “I want to come up.”
Cas gave a single nod, then turned and started up the stairs. Dean followed.
Dean stepped inside and felt, for a split second, like he was seeing Cas for the first time. The apartment was simple, warm, and quiet. It had exposed brick walls, wood floors, and low lighting from the streetlamps filtered in through sheer curtains. There was a scattering of potted plants and a built-in bookshelf filled with worn spines and old hardcovers. There was a forgotten mug on the coffee table and a book with The Android up the spine. The place smelled wonderful, like the smell before a storm mixed with something earthy.
The moment the door clicked shut behind him, Cas was pushing him against the door. Their lips collided in a brutal kiss that knocked every thought from Dean’s head. He melted into it, hands gripping Cas’ shirt, pulling him closer, letting himself be taken. It was a relief of sorts to just let go.
Cas pulled back. “You are far too tempting.” He took Dean’s hand without another word and led him down the short hallway. It did something to Dean’s chest, how natural it felt to follow.
They stepped into the bedroom, and Cas flicked on the bedside lamp. The room bloomed in soft, golden light. The bed was neatly made, with dark green sheets and a charcoal comforter on top. The furniture was dark wood and modern looking. It was the exact aesthetic that Dean would have imagined.
Cas turned to face him, stoic in the half-light. He reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it off in one smooth motion, and Dean’s mouth went dry. Cas had strong arms with black ink flowers and vines curled up his arms and over his shoulders. A few lifelike bees were scattered on his forearms.
Dean barely had time to take it in before Cas was stepping closer, crowding into his space, tugging Dean’s clothes off with quiet efficiency. Dean didn’t stop him; he didn’t want to. Cas’ hands were everywhere, commanding, but careful, like he was undoing Dean on purpose.
“What do you want?” Cas asked in that low bedroom voice of his.
Dean smiled, still trying to play it cool. He didn’t want to come across as childish or needy. “I’m up for whatever.”
That got him a look. Cas’ eyes narrowed, and the next thing Dean knew, he was being pushed back onto the bed. He landed on the mattress with a bounce, propped on his elbows. He blinked up at the man standing over him like a goddamn storm.
“I only give my partners what they ask for,” Cas said, his tone ironclad. “So if you want something, you’d better learn how to ask.”
Dean’s breath caught, and heat surged through him like wildfire. Jesus.
“Yes,” he whispered. “I mean—I do. I want—” He trailed off, struggling to say it.
Cas raised an eyebrow, waiting.
Dean swallowed. “Can I… can I see all of you?” That earned him a real smile. It made that dangerous feeling in his chest grow.
Cas undid the rest of his clothes without a word. Naked and barefoot, every inch of him gorgeous. His body was solid and strong, but it was the way he carried it that made Dean ache. Cas inhabited a room like he was supposed to be there, like there was never any doubt that he was the one in control.
Dean’s eyes roamed, taking in the sharpness of his hips, the dusting of hair across his chest, and his deliciously thick thighs. His cock was hard and leaking. Cas stroked himself once, thumb moving precum over the head and down his shaft. Dean’s mouth watered, and he literally had to bite his lip to keep himself from saying something stupid.
Cas smirked and crawled onto the bed, straddling Dean’s hips, their cocks brushing briefly against each other. He kissed Dean’s neck slowly, licking and biting. One hand dragged down his chest, and then Cas’ fingers closed around a nipple and pinched. Dean shuddered, mouth falling open in a half-moan.
Cas leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “What else do you want?” he whispered. His hand skimmed down Dean’s chest again, then stopped just below his belly button and stayed there.
Dean’s breath hitched. Cas kissed him again, soft and almost sweet. When he pulled back, his voice was barely more than a murmur. “Still waiting, Dean.”
Dean squirmed, arching a little into the touch. “I thought I said I wanted to see you,” he said, trying for cocky but it came out breathless.
“You did,” Cas said, dragging his hand just a little lower. Fingertips brushed the skin above Dean’s dick, then disappeared. “And I gave you what you asked for. But you haven’t asked for anything else.”
Dean huffed. “You’re gonna make me beg, aren’t you?”
“I’m going to make sure you know what you want,” Cas said, dipping his head to kiss the underside of his jaw. “Because if I give you what I want? You won’t be able to take it.”
Dean gasped as teeth grazed his neck. “Wanna bet?”
A low, warm chuckle vibrated against his skin. Cas shifted, straddling him again, hands braced on either side of Dean’s head. “I don’t want to break you,” he said softly. “I want you to ask me to take you apart.”
Dean’s brain short-circuited for a second. Then Cas leaned down again, kissed him slow and deep, hands framing his face like Dean was something worth holding, but when Dean arched into it, Cas pulled back.
His hand ghosted over Dean’s hip, just shy of where he wanted it. Knuckles brushed against his stomach, the press of thighs caging him in.
Dean moaned in frustration, grinding up helplessly. “Cas…”
“Use your words.”
Dean growled. “I want—fuck. I want your hands on me.”
“You already have that,” Cas said and ran his hands up Dean’s sides.
“More,” Dean said and put his hands on either side of the man’s head and pulled him in for a kiss. “I want you to touch me like you mean it. I want you to stop teasing.”
“I’m not teasing. I’m waiting,” Cas said and pinched his nipple hard enough that Dean jerked back.
“For what?” he asked and rubbed the abused nipple.
“For you to give me permission,” Cas said and cocked his eyebrow.
Dean closed his eyes and swallowed hard. When he opened them again, Cas was still there watching him, waiting like this wasn’t about sex, but about trust. And maybe it was. It wasn’t just wanting; it was wanting to be wanted. It was needing someone to take control, not out of power, but out of care.
Cas was offering that. He wasn’t demanding or taking anything. He was offering.
Dean sucked in a breath. “Cas… I want you to fuck me. Hard. Break me and put me back together.”
The moment of silence that followed felt seismic.
Cas surged forward, kissing him like he’d been starved. His hands turned rough in an instant, gripping Dean’s hips and dragging him up. Then his hands slipped beneath Dean’s ass and hauled him further up the bed before flipping him over. Dean landed on his stomach with a gasp, his head spinning and cock twitching from the manhandling alone.
“You don’t know what you’ve just agreed to,” Cas growled against his neck. “But you’re about to learn.”
Dean moaned, pressing back instinctively.
Cas bit his shoulder, not enough to hurt, just enough to claim. “You’re going to stay right here,” he said, voice tight. “Just like this. Until I’m done with you.”
Dean whimpered.
Cas’ voice dropped. “Good boy.” And Dean felt his whole body shiver under the praise.
His hands skimmed down Dean’s back with slow pressure, then slid lower, gripping Dean's ass with both hands and squeezing hard enough to make him gasp. Cas kneaded the flesh like he was testing it, getting a feel for what was his now. Dean moaned, pressing back instinctively, but Cas held him firm.
“You’ve been driving me crazy for months,” he murmured against Dean’s spine. “Flirting. Performing. Getting yourself into trouble just to make me look. You’ve been aching for this. Pushing me. Acting out.”
“I’m not going to apologize for it, if that’s what you want from me.” Dean sassed.
Behind him, Cas growled, and slapped Dean’s ass. “Oh, that’s not at all what I want.”
His mouth found the base of Dean’s spine again, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the skin there. “You wanted someone to put you in your place,” he murmured, lips brushing over the curve of Dean’s back. “Didn’t you?”
Dean whimpered, barely holding it together. “Yes—fuck, yes—”
Cas’s voice dropped. “You wanted this. Every filthy second of it.”
He dragged a hand down Dean’s side, slow and steady, fingers skimming over the sharp edge of his hip.
“And now that I have you…”
Dean gasped, body twitching as Cas’s hand slipped between his thighs. “Jesus—”
“No,” Cas said, his voice sharp. “You didn’t ask for God. You asked for me.”
Dean let out a broken laugh and then moaned, hips jerking as Cas’s fingers grazed his inner thigh, teasing.
“Need lube and a condom. Don’t move,” Cas muttered and gave Dean’s ass another slap and leaned off the bed to reach into the nightstand.
Dean buried his face in the pillow, breath ragged, cock throbbing, every inch of him pulled tight like a live wire. His body ached for more friction, for more Cas.
The first slick press of fingers made him jolt, hips twitching before he could stop them. “Easy,” Cas murmured, one broad hand settling on Dean’s lower back. “I’ve got you.”
Dean whimpered, voice muffled in the pillow. “Fuck—Cas—”
“You’re going to take every inch I give you,” Cas said lowly. “But not until you’re ready.”
His fingers moved with devastating patience, teasing and pushing in slowly. The stretch burned just enough to make Dean shudder. Cas was savoring it as much as giving it.
“I want you loose,” Cas murmured, curling his fingers just right, hitting that spot that made Dean cry out. “I want you ruined for anyone else.”
Dean moaned, and his fingers curled in the sheets.
Cas leaned in, his breath hot against Dean’s ear. “Say it again,” he rasped. “Tell me what you want.”
Dean was shaking. “Wanna feel you,” he whispered. “Wanna be full—wanna be yours—”
Cas let out a pleased hum and said, “Good boy.” He withdrew his fingers, slow and slick, and Dean whimpered at the loss. He tilted his hips up, desperate to stay filled. But then Cas was there, his thick cock pressed against him.
The first push made Dean gasp, and his body tensed around the intrusion.
Cas moved deliberately, the blunt head of his dick slipping in, stretching him open with an intensity that made Dean’s eyes roll back. He froze there, halfway in, one hand braced on Dean’s hip, the other on his back.
“You okay?” Cas asked, voice tight and strained. Dean could hear just how much effort it took not to just thrust.
Dean moaned. “Fuck—yes—please—keep going—”
Cas exhaled like he was letting go of something he’d been holding for too long, and then he pushed deeper, inch by inch. It was far too slow, and it took too much effort for Dean not to just sob. It was too much and not enough at the same time.
By the time Cas bottomed out, hips flush to Dean’s ass, Dean could hardly breathe.
“You’re mine tonight,” Cas rasped, chest heaving, voice rough with restraint. “And I’m going to make sure you feel it for days.”
He pulled back and slammed back in, hard enough to knock the breath out of Dean’s lungs. He cried out, head dropping to the mattress, fingers clawing at the sheets.
He was gone, wrecked and panting. Each thrust sent him spiraling higher, dragging him closer to the edge.
“You’re so fucking tight,” Cas growled, voice wrecked. “You feel so perfect around me. Been dreaming about this—about you—for months.”
He leaned in close, his breath hot against the shell of Dean’s ear.
“So,” he rasped, hips grinding deep, “you said you like my voice.”
Dean let out something between a laugh and a sob. “Are you seriously asking me that right now?”
Cas thrust again, brushing up against his prostate, and Dean gasped, his whole body jolting under the weight of it.
“Yes,” Cas said, calm and brutal. “I am.”
Dean whimpered. “Yeah—I like your voice. You know I do.”
Another thrust, angled right at his prostate, punched a cry out of Dean’s throat.
“All deep and gravelly,” he panted. “Sounds like sin. Like someone poured whiskey over gravel and lit it on fire.”
Cas huffed a low, satisfied laugh and thrust again, slower this time. Cruel. Drawn out.
Dean whined.
“You ever think about it?” Cas murmured, lethally. “My voice—when you touched yourself?”
Dean shivered, chest heaving. Cas thrust again, just enough to make him gasp, and then paused, hand dragging down Dean’s side.
“Answer me,” Cas said and pinched a nipple when he didn’t get an immediate response.
“Yeah.”
Cas kissed the back of his neck, then pressed in harder. “Yeah?”
“Fuck—Cas—yeah. For months. I’d come home from the bar and—”
He broke off, groaning as Cas rolled his hips.
“Say it,” Cas murmured.
Dean shuddered. “I’d lie in bed and jerk off thinking about your voice. About you telling me what to do. About your hands—”
Cas’ rhythm stuttered, just a moment, but he recovered, thrusting again, a little harder now.
“Keep going.”
Dean moaned. “Thought about your fingers. Opening me up. Stretching me until I couldn’t take it.”
“God,” Cas breathed.
Dean kept going, voice cracking on the words. “Thought about your hand on my cock. Stroking me while you whispered in my ear. Calling me a good boy.”
Cas growled, low and dangerous, and slammed into him hard enough to make Dean gasp.
“You wanted this for months,” Cas said, hips driving into him with slow, deliberate force. Cas bent over him, chest against Dean’s back, mouth dragging heat along his neck. “Keep going,” he ordered. “Right now, while I fuck you. Tell me what you thought about.”
Dean was wrecked. He was sweating and trembling, spread open and full. “I thought about bending over the bar,” he rasped. “About you pulling me down and just… taking me. Didn’t care who saw. Just wanted your hands on me. Wanted your voice in my ear telling me I was yours.”
“You are,” Cas said roughly. “You always were.”
Dean sobbed, broken open with it. “Please—don’t stop—”
“I’m not stopping,” Cas growled. “Not until you’ve given me everything.”
He slammed into him again then wrapped a hand around Dean’s cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts.
Dean cried out, loud and desperate, rutting into the heat of Cas’ palm.
“You wanted this,” Cas said again, his voice like thunder in a dark room. “You begged for it. Now you’re gonna come for me.”
Dean barely had time to gasp before it hit him. White heat ripped through him as he came with a cry, body shuddering violently, Cas still moving behind him, fucking him through it.
Cas followed seconds later, groaning into Dean’s shoulder, hips stuttering as he came deep inside him.
For a moment, all they could do was breathe. Cas eased out carefully and tied off the condom before throwing it in the trash can beside the bed. He lay down behind Dean and wrapped an arm around him to pull him close. “Good boy,” he whispered, and Dean shivered. He was sweaty and still catching his breath, but he felt fucking awesome.
With another kiss to his hair, Cas eased off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. Dean heard the faucet run, the low creak of a door, then the water shut off.
When Cas came back, he had a warm washcloth in one hand and a towel slung over his shoulder.
Dean stirred as Cas settled beside him, gentle again now, wiping carefully between his thighs. The cloth was soft, the heat soothing, and Dean let his eyes slip shut as Cas worked in silence.
Then Cas tapped his hip lightly. “Roll over.”
Dean blinked and obeyed, his body loose and pliant. Cas cleaned the front of him in soft, unhurried strokes. He was careful now that the heat was gone.
When Cas finished, he set the cloth aside and looked at him. “You want a shower?”
Dean scrubbed a hand over his face, suddenly exhausted. The air in the room felt heavier now. “Nah,” he said finally. “Just… give me a second, and I’ll get out of your hair.”
Cas tilted his head. He wasn’t exactly frowning, but it was close. “Do you want to leave?”
Dean shrugged, eyes on the ceiling. “I’m good.”
“I know you’re good,” Cas said, and Dean could hear the faint humor under it. “That’s not what I asked.”
Dean looked back at Cas, who was studying him. “I’d like it if you stayed.”
Something fluttered in Dean’s chest, and he tried to tamp it down before it could settle too deep. That was just a thing people said, right? It didn’t necessarily mean anything.
Dean shifted onto one elbow and tried for nonchalance. “You want me to stay?”
“Yes,” Cas said plainly. “But I’m going to make you help me change the sheets.”
That pulled a startled laugh out of Dean. “Sure, yeah. I can do that.”
He sat up slowly, sore in places he hadn’t realized, and together they stripped the bed. It was quiet, but not in a bad way. They worked in easy rhythm, tugging corners, shaking out a fresh set from the closet, and smoothing it over the mattress. Cas passed him a pillowcase without a word, and Dean took it, their fingers brushing.
Cas tugged the blanket into place and looked at Dean like he wasn’t sure what to say next.
“I meant it. I like your voice,” Dean admitted. Cas raised an eyebrow, and Dean glanced away. “It does things to me.”
“I know,” he said, voice low and gravel-rich, and Dean felt it all the way down.
Cas took his wrist and pushed him into the attached bathroom. The light flicked on, and they were suddenly face to face in the mirror, both of them naked. Cas opened a drawer beneath the sink and pulled out a toothbrush still in its wrapper.
Dean took it and blinked. “You just keep extras lying around?”
Cas shrugged. “Sometimes people stay.”
The words landed harder than Dean expected. He tried not to read too much into them. He tried not to think about how many people that might’ve been. Whether Cas meant it when he’d asked Dean to stay, or if he was just being polite. His stomach twisted, but he didn’t say anything.
He turned on the faucet, unwrapped the toothbrush, and let the water run over the bristles. Cas handed him the toothpaste without a word and was already brushing, like this was just any other night.
Dean joined him, falling into rhythm beside him, the taste of mint spreading over his tongue. Their shoulders brushed every now and then, and Dean felt every point of contact like it was lit from the inside.
He kept his eyes on the sink, but his awareness was all Cas. His eyes were drawn to the tattoos on Cas’s forearms. The familiar bees and wildflowers he’d always half-seen behind the bar were clearer here, the petals trailing up Cas’s biceps and curling over the curve of his shoulders.
When Cas bent forward to spit, Dean caught a full view of his back and froze.
Wings.
Not stylized or delicate, but stark and sharp. Black ink feathered out from shoulder blades to elbows, curling down his triceps, ink coiling along the backs of his arms. They looked powerful. Looked like they belonged to someone who had fallen and gotten back up anyway.
Dean didn’t realize he’d stopped brushing until Cas glanced over and raised an eyebrow, amused. Dean quickly bent over the sink, spat, and rinsed slowly. He tried to play it off.
“You checking me out?” Cas asked, deadpan.
Dean didn’t even try to deny it. “You’re showing off a lot of real estate I’ve never seen before.”
Cas’ lip twitched around the edge of his toothbrush.
Dean rinsed his toothbrush, set it aside, and leaned against the counter as Cas finished up beside him. The light above them was too bright, but somehow that made it worse, more real.
They padded quietly back into the bedroom.
The bed was still rumpled, but clean now. Cas pulled back the covers without a word and climbed in. Dean followed, slipping in beside him.
The sheets were cold at first, but warm where Cas had already settled. When Dean turned onto his side, Cas reached for him like it was instinct.
They settled together, bodies fitting without effort.
The room was dark now, the hush of night soft and close. Cas’ arm draped over Dean’s waist, and one leg slid between his like it belonged there. Like he belonged there.
Dean was warm and loose, body sated, but something inside him was restless.
And then Cas spoke. “There’s this kid,” he murmured, voice low against the back of Dean’s neck, “only twenty-four. Keeps coming into my bar. Flirts with everyone.”
Dean blinked. “Wait—you mean me?”
“Shhh,” Cas said, lips brushing skin. “I’m talking.”
Dean huffed but went quiet, letting the weight of Cas’ voice settle over him again.
“This kid,” Cas went on, “he’s beautiful. Charming. Got these ridiculous green eyes and lashes long enough to be criminal. And a jawline that makes me want to bite it.”
Dean swallowed hard, the thud of his heart loud in his ears.
“I know you’re not a kid,” Cas said, quieter now. “I know you’re a grown man. And you keep coming into my bar, week after week, playing pool and acting like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing. I kept telling myself I was too old for you. That it was just flirting. Just a game.”
Dean smiled into the pillow, small and sheepish, but said nothing.
“But you’re funny,” Cas said. “And smart. And a bit of a brat, which—God help me—I actually like.”
Dean laughed, breathless. That spark he'd been fighting against, tamping down every chance he got, flared to life.
Cas didn’t stop. “I know you’re in college and that you got a late start because you were too busy making sure your brother got the chance first. You call him Sammy. And I know you put yourself second every time without even thinking about it.”
Dean’s breath hitched.
“You make these self-deprecating jokes. Always be the first to insult yourself, so no one else gets the chance. And I don’t even think you know you’re doing it.”
Dean’s stomach twisted, the words landing too close to home. Cas had found some hidden nerve and pressed, and God, he hadn’t meant to feel this exposed. He stiffened and his body instinctively tried to pull back, but Cas didn’t let him.
Cas let the silence stretch, then spoke again, careful and quiet.
“I find myself watching you more than I should,” he said. “Wanting to protect you. Wanting to know you. But I figured there was no way someone like you would want someone like me. So I kept my distance. Even when you flirted. Especially when you flirted.”
Dean’s throat was tight.
“It’s not that I didn’t notice you,” Cas murmured. “It’s that I noticed everything. And I didn’t want to be that creep hitting on the younger guy. I’ve got over a decade on you.”
Dean let the words wrap around him, this soft, aching confession, he held them close enough to let them burn him.
Cas shifted behind him, and their hands found each other in the dark. Dean laced their fingers together, quiet and tentative.
He didn’t know what to say. Never had he ever imagined that Cas might see him as anything more than an annoying kid. The fact that Cas had noticed him? Seen so much? It was hard to believe.
The older man let out a slow breath against Dean’s neck.
“And now that something’s happened between us,” Cas said, “I still don’t know what you want from me.”
Dean held still, but the flutter in his chest returned.
“You didn’t really answer me before,” Cas went on. “When I asked what you wanted. You just gave me that cocky line: ‘whatever you’re offering.’ Which told me exactly nothing.”
Dean winced a little, but Cas wasn’t cruel about it. “So I’m going to ask you again,” he said, voice so quiet it barely stirred the air between them. “Because I can’t give you what you want unless you ask me for it.”
Dean breathed in and out, like something had come undone in his chest. Something like hope was being pulled from the center of him.
Finally, Dean whispered, “Everything.”
Cas stilled.
Dean swallowed, staring into the dark. “I want everything.”
Their joined hands tightened. Cas leaned in, pressed his forehead to the curve of Dean’s shoulder, and didn’t say anything.
He didn’t need to.