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A cartoonishly overloaded tree is standing proudly below the crow’s nest, there are hanging lights everywhere, everything smells of seared meat, herbs, and now hot totties, and Dean’s on his fourth mistletoe dance.
He’s wound up under this mistletoe with Jody this time, who decides to give him a smacking kiss on his cheek, followed by patting it too harshly, which makes him laugh.
He gives her a kiss on her temple, and she tells him he’s a sweetheart.
His first mistletoe collision was earlier in the evening, in the threshold of the war room with Garth, which made him panic, but Garth being Garth, decided to lift Dean bodily off the ground in a hug that was so crushing, everyone heard Dean’s entire spinal column go off like a xylophone scale.
He gave Dean an obnoxiously loud kiss on his cheek for good measure.
This was applauded.
Dean finds forgiveness for Garth only because Garth is a light weight and was already two drinks in. (In truth, Dean thinks Garth is pretty fucking funny for treating him like a rag doll, but this is part of their schtick; a similar one to the kind Dean had with Bobby, where they pretend they’re only tolerating one another but in truth would do anything for the other—Dean’s glad Garth is with them for the holidays this year and he knows Garth knows that.)
His second collision was with Claire, who he pulled into a hug and gave a kiss on the head to, after which she demanded more liquor.
His third mistletoe encounter was Jack, who eagerly kissed both his cheeks and asked to be kissed on his head ‘like Claire.’ Dean, of course, gave that to him.
Dean helped put up a lot of the mistletoe with Sam earlier in the day, so he’s pretty good at avoiding it, or planning his entrances and exits meticulously enough that he won’t run into anyone he really doesn’t want to have to hug and kiss, but Cas is not as informed.
First, Cas seemed confused by the mistletoe tradition, caught up in the ‘medically significant reactions that occur in humans,’ when they come into contact with it, then he was confused about why it is traditionally hung in thresholds, and then he asked if there were exceptions to the rules, in the event he crosses paths with someone he does not want to kiss or hug.
Charlie, at the time, was just buzzed enough to tell Cas, “listen, no one’s gonna make you do anything, but truth be told, Castiel, only cowards ask for exceptions from mistletoe. Kissing the homies for Christmas is not only a right, but a privilege.” (Which Cas seems to have understood mostly, but Dean could tell he was itching to ask what the fuck a ‘homie,’ is.)
The evening is sparkling and full of laughter and lots of silly dances under thresholds; Sam very happily winds up under mistletoe with Eileen, at another point Kaia, and at another time Garth gets a running start to purposefully trap Sam under the mistletoe so he can give him the same treatment he gave Dean.
Kaia and Claire share such a lovely, sweet kiss under one of the thresholds, Dean’s not the only one to snap a picture.
Rowena bestows a few kisses here and there under mistletoe she’s clearly waiting by, but Dean can see her watching for Cas, who is much too distracted with the toddler Garth has named after him to sense he’s wanted.
Dean’s on his way to offer Cas a hot totty when he’s just as dumbstruck as Rowena by Cas standing near the gaudy tree, lit up in a swathe of color, a near-two year old cradled in his arm because he doesn’t want to be let down, and Garth standing right by him with Bess, just chatting.
Cas’ eyes are all for that kid, fascinated by him, allowing him to teethe on his finger.
When Cas takes a seat in an armchair so he can support the kid Castiel while he drinks from a cup (that he’s mostly able to handle without spilling), Rowena seems to give up on her hopes of ensnaring Cas at the threshold.
Sam makes a passing joke about feeling sorry for her, or anyone else for that matter, that would like to catch Cas under the mistletoe—he’s obviously much too distracted with the babies, and the girls, and Jack to be bothered with it.
Unlike the humans in the room, Cas doesn’t need to make trips to the bathroom, or seek out food or drink, so he’s pretty content to stay right where he is and let his variety pack of Earth companions crowd around him.
He takes a special interest in the kids in the room.
Dean thinks Cas must see all their promise and potential, in a way that battered and bruised humans like him typically lose sight of.
Dean gets a few pictures of Cas surrounded by their friends and he spots Sam doing the same thing at the same time, which they both huff a laugh about; Dean’s glad that Sam mentions before he does that they ought to print the pictures they take and start an album.
Dean agrees.
The bunker is full of people all night, some passing through, some staying overnight, some waiting til after midnight to get themselves home.
Donna, Jody, and the girls have all taken rooms for the night, same as Garth, Bess, and the kids, and everyone staying has wrapped gifts under the tree, which Dean has stayed firm about only opening upon the morning.
At around two in the morning, it’s down to just Dean, Sam, Eileen, and Cas sitting up by the tree, nursing hot totties; Sam and Dean keep asking Cas to go slower with his signing so they can learn from him, but Dean figures he and Sam are both a touch too tipsy to properly learn anything at this point in the night.
Eileen tells them both that their hands are slurring, and they simultaneously go to deny that, but when Sam goes to sign, his fingers visibly and noticeably drag, so he and Dean just wind up laughing until Sam’s got his head in his drunk hands.
Dean tells Sam that this is his cue to go to bed, which Sam pushes back on for a bit, because there’s cleaning up to do, but Dean’s got some excess energy anyway, and he wants to get the kitchen to rights before the morning so he can just start an assembly line of pancakes and bacon when he wakes up.
He doesn’t mind the clean-up, and predictably, Cas assures Sam that he’ll stay and help Dean make everything ready for the morning.
Intent that he’s not too drunk to help, Sam doesn’t accept that, so Eileen does, and then she carts him off to bed with Dean’s blessings.
He and Cas linger a little longer.
Dean’s reluctant to get up and start the process, but he’s glad to do it.
He’s glad to have a family to do it for.
He figures he’ll finish his drink then get himself up.
Unencumbered by slight drunkenness or fatigue, Cas gets up first, going around the room and collecting abandoned mugs, plates, and silverware.
Dean gets up shortly after that and starts rearranging some of the furniture so it’s better suited for a gathering around the tree in the morning, then starts catching up to Cas on the clean-up.
He’s happily whistling Everybody’s Waitin’ (For The Man With The Bag) to himself, on his way out of the kitchen with a garbage bag when he bumps into Cas who is on his way back into the kitchen to drop off a plate and two mugs.
Dean’s sneaking past when Cas gives him an odd look and he pauses.
Staring too long at Cas can derail Dean on perfectly sober days, so it takes Dean a beat to think to look elsewhere for the cause of Cas’ expression.
Above them is a mistletoe, because of course there is.
Flushing to his ears, Dean shrugs and sort of laughs, “oh, eh—I mean, the party’s over, right? We don’t have to…”
“Charlie conveyed to me that only cowards retreat from the tradition of mistletoe,” Cas says firmly, “so, if you would like to surrender, you’re welcome to, but I do not concede.”
“There isn’t—this isn’t combat,” Dean laughs again, smiling awkwardly at Cas’ serious brow, “it’s supposed to be a nice thing, not a competitive thing.”
“If it’s a nice thing then why would you retreat from it?”
“I’m not retreating,” Dean insists, “it’s not a—I’m just saying, we don’t actually need to do that, ‘cause it’s—”
“An exception—breaking another Christmas social more.”
Rolling his eyes, Dean asks, “what, then? You—you want a kiss?”
“We can partake in the mistletoe tradition or I will graciously accept your surrender.”
“It’s not—” Dean half groans, half laughs, smacking his own forehead, “someone should’ve explained this better.”
“I noticed you gave different types of kisses to different people,” Cas mentions, “... does the type of kiss denote something unique?”
“No, it’s—well, I guess,” Dean concedes, hand sliding down his face to scratch compulsively at the back of his neck instead, “sorta marks intention, I guess. Y’know, me kissing Claire on the head, it’s because she’s… a weird, pseudo-daughter-sister hybrid thing to me and that made the most sense to me. Eileen and Sam kissed like they did, because they’re a proper couple, so… yeah, the types of kisses denote stuff, I think it’s just sorta up to the kisser to decide how that’s gonna go down, and what or how much it means.”
“Do you know why humans kiss each other’s mouths, Dean?”
Shifting his weight, Dean admits lowly, “... no. Never gave it thought exactly.”
Nearing his face to Dean’s, Cas glances down at Dean’s lips, then scans across Dean’s nose and cheeks, murmuring, “it’s to smell one another,” his eyes flicker up to Dean’s again, “humans have many expressions of attraction. One of the most ancient is the reciprocal intrigue in prospective mates’ natural musks. You enjoy the smell of a prospective mate enough, you might be tempted to taste it. That’s where it began.”
There’s an unexpected throbbing below Dean’s belt.
“Human mouths are sensitive—a peculiar place for such a concentration of nerve endings to be,” Cas continues, “there’s plenty of evolutionary reason for that, but the social aspect is what is most fascinating to me…”
Dean gets a little lost in Cas’ eyes.
Cas’ eyes are just so intensely blue and it’s a stunning color so up-close.
Cas tilts his head and muses, “... I just wonder, if you were to grant me a kiss, what kind it would be.”
Grant? Sounds like I’m knighting you or something. My mouth is pretty cheap, it’s not that high an honor.
Somehow, Dean knows already that Cas would disagree with that sentiment, and just knowing Cas would argue with him makes his face flush.
It’s almost certainly the whiskey and the evening being so full of family and next-to-normalcy, but Dean’s feeling sweet and a little nostalgic.
He remembers Cas first bursting into the barn, potentially the most important night of Dean’s life, and it’s so strange and so warming to see him now, defiant, and strange, and funny without meaning to be, tucked away in the den Dean’s made. A nerdy little bad ass in a trench coat, carrying an innate paternal majesty about him while still managing to be kind of bitchy about nonsensical, pagan practices during Christmas.
“What’d I do? When we met? The first time, I mean,” Dean finds himself asking, “... did I… did I thank you, or anything? In Hell?”
“No,” Cas answers with a note of fond tenderness, eyes gentling and glistening with memory, “you fought me the entire way.”
Letting the garbage bag float to the floor, Dean plants his hands on Cas’ shoulders.
He rubs his hands there for a moment, then cups Cas’ neck and leans in.
With closed eyes, he touches their noses together, then their foreheads, thinks to himself that Cas’ skin is really soft and that Cas smells nice.
He veers a little to the left, his lips ghosting Cas’ under eye and cheekbone, until he can get at Cas’ temple. He kisses Cas there kinda hard, meaning to thank him and meaning to apologize, and meaning to confess and meaning to congratulate, and meaning ‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ and meaning, ‘seriously, I’d be lost without you,’ and meaning a thousand other things by it.
There’s so much he means to say to Cas and never manages.
There’s so much Cas means to him and there’s never any word for it.
He drags his lips down to the corner of Cas’ eye and kisses him gently there.
Cas’ lashes flicker against him, giving him pleasant chills.
His mouth moves lower, finding the meat of Cas’ cheek, and he kisses there hard again, his hands get firm around Cas’ neck then too, his thumbs press hard into Cas’ jaw.
Without breaking contact, Dean takes his mouth to Cas’ — just to the corner, and he lets up on the pressure in his hands, and he kisses there so gently it hardly seems like a kiss at all. Then he pulls away and lets his hands fall back to Cas’ shoulders.
He finds Cas has shut his eyes and looks to be in a sort of dream state.
He’s flushed.
Dean’s a little flattered by that.
Still, there’s a hot stone lodged in his throat.
Cas opens his eyes and gazes long at him.
The plate and mugs he’d been taking to the kitchen wind up on the floor, which Dean jumps at, his head pivoting and heart pounding, but then Cas’ hand is on his mouth, making him turn his head back, and he’s dizzy with whiplash.
He looks back at Cas and Cas is watching his own thumb trace Dean’s bottom lip.
His hands go by Cas’ elbows as Cas picks his other hand up to pet at the other corner of Dean’s mouth.
Dean isn’t sure what his hands are doing—he isn’t trying to stop Cas, he isn’t sure if he wants to. Or that he should.
A strange, uncertain utterance escapes Dean’s throat and Cas shakes his head a little, as if to dismiss any concerns or questions Dean’s got.
Crowding Dean, Cas breathes in his spiced exhale, still petting his mouth, becoming fixated on lifting Dean’s upper lip on the left side enough to expose his canine.
The pad of his other thumb depresses Dean’s lower lip and the tip of it just rests on the ridge of Dean’s lower teeth.
It takes a concentrated effort to not dart his tongue out.
To taste.
Dean’s body flashes with heat.
“That is the most eloquent you’ve ever been with me,” Cas tells him.
Dean’s heart does a strange flip-flop, the sensation alone makes him nervous, but beneath that, he’s relieved. He’s so relieved Cas somehow understands.
There aren’t any words, right? Dean thinks at him, there aren’t any words.
“I’ve rarely understood you so clearly,” Cas tells him, staring at his teeth, running his thumb over that canine, then pressing the cushion of his thumb against the point of it, “you should pray with your body more often.”
Unable to regulate the tone of his voice, Dean asks, half-hopeful, half-frightened, “... are you gonna kiss me?”
“Are we not kissing?” Cas wonders, completely transfixed.
Dean’s really not sure.
His dick certainly thinks he’s being kissed.
Cas’ hands are healers. They soothe open wounds shut, they spin blades and cut down enemies, they gently approach Dean’s back fingertips-first so as not to frighten him, they’re careful, sure, and perhaps the closest Dean can get to Cas’ real wings.
He’s not sure if Angels have mouths in their true forms and so maybe wings do for Angels what mouths do for humans, and maybe Cas’ hands—maybe this is a kiss.
The way his heart is pounding, he can’t really mark a difference.
Refusing to think about why, Dean pushes his tongue out just enough to feel the blade-callous of Cas’ thumb, and he only just catches the way Cas’ pupils blow wide before he’s slammed against the side arch of the threshold, Cas’ hands gripping both sides of his face.
Cas’ tongue sweeps into him and his enormous hands are cradling Dean’s head with a near punishing strength.
Dean’s hands move to Cas’ neck instinctively, the lights in the kitchen are sizzling threateningly, and Dean’s barely keeping up.
With his hands on Cas’ neck, he’s at least able to predict a little which way Cas’ head might turn next, but Cas’ mouth is so hungry, so desperate, he doesn’t seem to care when their teeth clack, or when Dean whines for a breath.
Getting Cas off of him never occurs to Dean.
He’s got his hands on Cas and thinks of Cas’ kiss like a mechanical bull. He’s holding on, he’ll get the air when he needs it, when the Angel deems it necessary, and he trusts Cas implicitly, which is stupid and fucked up, no one should trust anyone the way Dean trusts Cas, but Cas can take what he wants for however long he likes.
Dean won’t just ride it out—he’ll give it back.
After Dean sucks hard on Cas’ tongue, Cas presses in close enough to finally feel the fucking titanium stuffed against Dean’s leg, trapped in his jeans; Dean shivers and he thinks he hears an overhead light somewhere crack and split.
“Oh,” Cas exhales roughly, breaking away enough to allow Dean to gasp for air, “yes.”
Dean’s still dizzy, feverish, his mouth is bruised and swollen and tastes like Cas, and he’s forgotten how he got to wherever it is he’s at, so he doesn’t really notice when Cas’ hands leave his face.
He notices them on his thighs, though.
He glances down, an ancient alarm system in his head is dully trying to warn him that all this is a bad idea, but there isn’t enough blood left in his brain to remember why that is or who even put that damn alarm system in place.
Cas gets a grip on both his thighs and hoists him with no trouble at all.
Dean’s never been picked up by anyone, never mind a man who meant to do anything good to him—he’s a little mortified.
He might go to object despite language feeling overly complicated at the moment, but then Cas is standing between his legs, grinding against him, and his head falls back, his body moves in a shivering wave against Cas, seeking out more friction, and he figures this is fine actually.
Dean’s legs wrap around Cas’ waist and as Cas’ mouth latches onto the front tendon of Dean’s neck, Dean feels Cas’ hands grope further back until he’s got an ass cheek in either hand.
The shock of that, of a man’s broad, rough hands on his ass, propels Dean’s head forward again, but there’s nothing unpleasant about those hands. In fact, he feels a Heavenly tingling sensation light up his body from where Cas is grabbing his ass all the way to his scalp.
Undeterred by Dean’s gasp and jolt, Cas kisses his mouth again, grinds against him, and Dean kisses him back, tightens his legs, and lets his arms circle Cas’ shoulders and neck.
He scratches the back of Cas’ head and neck, takes Cas’ hair, threads it through his fingers and yanks back on it, pulling a sinful noise from out of Cas’ throat.
He licks Cas’ lips. He licks Cas’ teeth. He licks Cas’ tongue. He licks Cas’ soft palate, sucks on Cas’ lower lip, and pants against Cas’ open mouth.
He feels like crawling inside it, fitting himself under Cas’ skin and falling asleep.
He’d sleep so well, surrounded by Cas.
He thinks of Garth and Bess’ kids being so drawn to Cas, how Kaia, Claire, and Jack gravitated by his sides throughout the night, and how generous he was with his paternal smiles and sweet encouragements.
For the first time in his life the title ‘Daddy,’ floats around Dean’s skull and he’s nearly tempted to let it land somewhere.
His ears burn when he thinks about that, though. He doesn’t know if he could ever actually say it or if he even wants that word to fully materialize anywhere in his head. He’s embarrassed that Cas might know somehow, without him saying anything at all.
He wonders if Cas would like that. If he’d get that it isn’t literal, that it’s—something else. That it’s got to do with Cas being competent, relaxed, severe, and gentle all at once.
He wonders if Cas would prefer being called ‘Father.’
He kisses Cas’ lower lip gently.
Cas is a castle temple that fell around Dean, all pearly impenetrable shields and silver daggers that no spell or miracle can keep from bleeding a perpetrator dry.
He’d be safe inside Cas.
He thinks, in some ways, he already is kept safe inside Cas.
He kisses Cas’ cheek, rolls his forehead against Cas’, still struggling for breath, and then pulls back to better look into Cas’ eyes.
He thinks for a moment that Cas is crying, but then realizes that the tears on Cas’ face are from his own eyes.
He blinks more loose from his lashes.
“... I wanna be inside you,” Dean slurs, heart lurching with want.
“I know,” Cas rumbles back, darting his tongue out to catch one of Dean’s tears rolling down from where Dean let them fall on his face, “I heard you. You’re so full of prayer tonight.”
Dean’s not sure what that means or how it is he’s been praying without meaning to.
He doesn’t really care.
He pushes at Cas’ coat and jacket, starts loosening Cas’ tie, and Cas gets the hint, gently and effortlessly carrying Dean to the thrifted rug in front of the Christmas tree.
Cas gets to his knees, probably thinking Dean will lean back, but Dean keeps upright in Cas’ lap and goes for his clothes instead.
He pushes Cas down, pawing messily at Cas’ clothes with hands that are partially numb with pins and needles.
Dean doesn’t know how much skin he gets to see, he only knows how much he tastes.
Everywhere he can get his mouth to, he puts it. He kisses Cas’ abdomen as soon as it’s exposed to him, mouths at Cas’ Enochian tattoo, moves the broad of his tongue up Cas’ quivering abdomen, across his ribs, over his pec and pebbled nipple. He suckles and bites there, curls hard over Cas when Cas’ hands get in his hair and scrape at his scalp just right.
He fondles Cas’ sides, pets his flanks, cups under Cas’ pecs to bunch up the muscle and make it easier to suck on and teethe at. He drags his tongue up Cas’ clavicle, bites hard into Cas’ neck and sucks a hickey to the surface, tweaking Cas’ nipples with both his hands as he does and Cas keens beneath him.
“Dean,” he groans, nails scratching down the length of Dean’s neck, shoulders, and arms.
Cas keens and whines for him, but it’s hard and low. It’s raspy and deep, nothing like Dean has ever heard come from a body he’s pleasured before, besides his own.
That it feels like a foreign sound for how masculine it is makes him a little frightened, but he’s too turned on to let the anxiety stop him.
He kisses Cas’ mouth again, their lips are swollen from all this overstimulation, catching at first, then sliding messily as Dean’s kisses get wetter and less sophisticated.
While Dean luxuriates in tasting the inside of Cas’ mouth, Cas’ hands find their way back to his ass and push him down.
He spreads his legs for Dean and cants his hips up.
“Fuck, fuck—hold on,” Dean mutters drunkenly, staying a sudden orgasm right at the brink.
Panting for breath, Dean blinks down at Cas and falls into those bright blue pools like any old sucker. He’s effectively distracted enough for Cas to get a better grip on his ass.
Cas pushes him again, shoves his hands against Dean’s ass so he’s forced to press and grind against Cas’ rocking hips.
“Eager,” Dean mumbles, husky and trying hard not to crest before either of them get their pants off.
“You have no idea,” Cas urges him, eyes glowing dimly, “anxious. Wanting. Yearning.”
“Yearning?” Dean teases.
Cas’ nails bite into Dean’s ass cheeks through his jeans, he feels a wave of heat come off Cas like an aura, Cas surges up, licks up from the hollow at the front of Dean’s throat, up over his Adam’s apple, the underside of his chin and then he bites there gently.
“Desperate,” Cas answers in a thousand voices, vibrating through Dean’s skeleton.
Heart beating hard, Dean lowers his head against Cas’ chest like he would put his forehead to a wall to help him focus.
He’s not sure his dick has ever been this hard.
“For me?”
“Always.”
“Christ, shitfuck.”
Picking his head up, Dean smooths his hands over Cas’ front until his hands can get at Cas’ belt buckle.
Cas finally releases Dean’s ass, mollified that Dean’s going to give him what he apparently wants very badly.
What he is apparently desperate for.
What Dean is, apparently, more than willing and wanting to give him.
When Dean actually takes time to look down at Cas, he finds Cas splayed out, arms loosely spread out on either side of his head, hands palm-up and fingers curled, at rest. Cas’ chest is dotted with hickeys, rising and falling dramatically, pecs exposed with his undershirt pulled up, his pants, underwear, and shoes flung around them, but his socks and garters still on muscular legs spread open.
He looks kinda dorky with the socks on, but that Cas looks dorky sort of works for Dean.
Cas says something about Dean just being able to move into him if he wants, that he can’t hurt Cas, but Dean can’t think of anything outside of how thick and impressive Cas’ cock looks, jutting out like that.
Dean has the nonsensical thought of I gotta get his pussy wet enough to take me, because he’s not firing on all cylinders, but he’s still mightily rewarded by Cas gasping and then moaning when Dean leans down and sucks Cas’ cock into his mouth.
Instinctively, Dean wants to finger Cas, but he’s pretty sure asses aren’t like pussies. He’s experimented with some women here and there, not enough to be well-versed in shit like this, but the women always were. Cas is a virgin, though, as far as Dean knows, and so his instincts (which are profoundly compromised by the lack of blood in his skull) tell him to use his mouth and fingers the way he knows how. To make it easier and gentler.
Dean’s not a fuckin’ horse, but he’s no Tiny Tim either, and whenever Dean has fucked a woman’s ass, they’ve always had lube on hand.
Cas’ earlier comment about not being able to hurt him comes to mind, but Dean dismisses it like a fly buzzing a little too close to his head.
Grabbing Cas’ inner-thighs and spreading them, Dean makes himself at home there, bobbing wetly up and down Cas’ dick, making him squirm and sigh beautifully.
Cas keeps murmuring his name with such gratitude and relief, he keeps sighing in this deep-tissue-massage type way that feels like a gold medal to Dean. Cas mewls when Dean flexes his throat around the head of his cock, he makes these low whines and labored vowel sounds and they all make Dean feel like a fucking king.
You should always make such beautiful sounds, Dean thinks at Cas, bravely swallowing as much of Cas as he can without gagging, I’m so sick of you sounding hurt or sad. You should always sound like this. I should always be making you sound like this.
Leaving a shining coat of drool around Cas’ cock, Dean moves down, licks at Cas’ balls and thinks of them as tight. They’re big and hefty, too.
Based on the new noises coming from him, Cas likes Dean kissing them.
Dean rubs his face against them, breathes in Cas’ musk, mouths and sucks on them, and Cas whispers his name over and over.
Dean thinks he’s about to drain Cas dry.
He licks broad and long over Cas’ balls and then up the length of Cas’ cock where it bobs and twitches.
He gets back to his knees, grabs Cas’ hips and pulls.
“Dean—?” Cas asks breathlessly.
Cas is a heavy slab of muscle.
Dean doesn’t care.
He’s thinking he should eat Cas’ pussy, not really considering that this is different.
He’s never been so turned on like this, so turned on that he genuinely can’t think clearly.
He lifts Cas’ lower half off the floor so Cas’ lower back is on his chest, folds Cas so his legs naturally fall towards his chest. He doesn’t need to spread Cas’ ass cheeks like this, because Cas is splayed for him in this position.
Keeping one arm wrapped around Cas’ middle and the other pressing gently on Cas’ hip, Dean leans in and licks.
Cas’ asshole twitches, his muscles all jump, and Dean sighs happily.
S’not so different, Dean thinks dumbly, laving at Cas, kissing him sloppily and occasionally biting the meat of his ass cheek.
“Dean, Dean—Dean, you don’t have to do that, I can—”
“Want to,” Dean interjects, licking at the low curve of Cas’ ass cheek, hypnotized and getting drool everywhere, “want to. Want you. Want all of you. Wanna be inside you.”
“Dean—!”
Dean pushes his tongue inside Cas.
His hands grab at the front of Cas’ straining thighs and he pushes Cas harder against his face, makes his tongue go deeper, and he wishes his tongue were long enough that he could shove it through Cas’ entire body just so he could kiss Cas’ mouth and ass at the same time.
He wonders if he’s lost his mind.
Lapping wantonly at the inside of Cas, Dean notices Cas’ hole twitching around him and he worries he’s not relaxing Cas enough. He’s thinking of it like a pussy again, like a ring of muscle that his tongue ought to be massaging into a state of perfect relaxation. He worries he’s failing, so he pulls his tongue out to kiss wetly and filthily between Cas’ cheeks, licking and laving, open-mouth kissing Cas’ rim until he feels Cas begin to relax a little.
“Taste so fucking good,” Dean mutters, kissing Cas’ rim, “feel like satin inside.”
“Dean, you’re going to make me come,” Cas warns despairingly.
“Just my mouth do that to you?” Dean asks, smiling.
Playfully, Dean grabs at Cas’ still-wet cock and pulls, then licks broadly across his rim.
Cas groans, tortured beneath him.
“Dean,” he pleads.
Cas wanted to know what kind of kiss Dean would grant him; Dean reasons, now he knows. He knows that if Dean ever got the stones enough to press his mouth to Cas’ skin, he wouldn’t be able to stop. He’d want to kiss Cas everywhere, lick him everywhere, suck on him, bite at him, devour him and swallow him up.
That old alarm system in Dean’s hindbrain was put in place by some painfully sober or equally painfully drunk Dean of the past that was honest with himself long enough to put down in The Rule Book, ‘do NOT kiss Castiel under any circumstances, or you will not know how to not consume him.’
He jerks Cas slowly but firmly, lapping up and down between Cas’ cheeks, dragging his tongue back and forth over the mounds of his ass cheeks, slipping just the tip of his tongue into Cas every few strokes, and Cas warns him he’s going to come again.
Dean really doesn’t see a problem with that. Cas seems to think there is one, but Dean’s not sure what it could be. He might be more excited for Cas to come than he even is to come himself.
Using the broad of his tongue, Dean laps at Cas’ rim, and keeps his hand steady on Cas’ dick.
“Dean, Dean, Dean—I—oh, oh—Dean, I’m going to come—”
Wildly, Dean thinks he wants to feel it happen on his tongue, so he slithers it back into Cas, he moans at the flavor of him, the satin-softness of the inside of him surrounding Dean’s tongue, and then pressing his nose against Cas’ tightening balls, Dean opens his eyes and looks down Cas’ body, into Cas’ eyes.
Cas looks idiotic with pleasure. He looks dumbstruck.
In the heartbeat after the moment of eye-contact, Cas throws his head back, gritting his teeth and grunting through his orgasm.
The lights all over the bunker flicker and crackle as Cas comes for him.
Dean feels everything; Cas’ cock throbbing in his hand as it pulses with his cum, Cas’ balls flexing against the bridge of his nose, Cas’ perineum bouncing with each pulse, and Cas’ asshole constricting around his tongue, twitching uncontrollably, fluttering on Dean’s tongue.
He can nearly feel Cas’ pleasure as his own. His eyes roll back a little when he’s struck with a surge of pleasure so strong, a small burst of precum spreads over the front of his boxer briefs.
The way Cas’ hole flutters around his tongue in the aftermath of his orgasm feels a lot like Cas’ body trying to kiss him back. He likes it. He pulls his tongue back, but kisses Cas’ rim deeply, still licking broadly, still suckling at the curve of his cheeks, and biting playfully.
Gently, Dean puts Cas’ waist down and stares at him, striped with cum, glassy-eyed and trying to catch his breath.
His dick is still hard.
Dean thinks about putting it back in his mouth.
Putting it to work on Cas may be the best use Dean’s ever made of his mouth.
“Dean.”
Dean stops gazing adoringly at Cas’ cock long enough to look him in the eyes again.
“Get inside me.”
Dean’s face flushes.
The shirts go first. Dean doesn’t even realize his hands are shaking until he’s trying to manage getting undressed.
Cas sits up and his eager hands start mapping out all of Dean’s skin as it becomes available, palming at Dean’s chest and sides, running his fingers down Dean’s abdomen reverently, fingertips in Dean’s treasure trail until he’s able to grip Dean’s girth.
Dean’s on his knees, mostly undressed, jeans around his knees, hand on Cas’ shoulder to keep balance from the onslaught of sensation.
Cas’ hand feels so instantly, tantalizingly good around him, his vision blurs for a moment.
A juvenile insecurity creeps up in Dean’s throat. He wants to ask if Cas likes his body, if he’s big enough for Cas, thick enough, if Cas actually wants Dean inside him like this or would prefer they switch places, but one look at Cas and the insecurity quells.
Cas’ pupils are completely blown. He looks deranged.
“I could not have sculpted a more perfect masculine form given another billion years,” Cas murmurs to him, possibly smelling the insecurity on him; his grip around Dean’s dick tightens, “there is no man more beautiful, nor any human at all walking the Earth more desirable than you. Come into me.”
Dean’s dizzy.
He swallows roughly and nods, guiding Cas down onto his back and situating himself between Cas’ spread legs.
The skin between Cas’ ass cheeks is slick with Dean’s saliva and the skin and muscle are so soft, so inviting, Dean’s arms tremble to keep him up.
He takes himself in hand, pushes the head of his dick against Cas’ wet rim and when it gives, when Cas’ body softens even further under him, he gasps.
Slowly, he pushes, eyes fluttering open with difficulty to see if Cas’ expression has changed to anything that might indicate discomfort.
Cas is slack-jawed, though, oval lips open on a sweet, wanton ‘oh,’ face reddish and possibly embarrassed.
“More,” Cas tells him in a rasp.
Dean pushes more of himself into Cas and bites the inside of his cheek. It’s barely enough to keep him from coming.
“More,” Cas repeats, “all of you. All of you.”
Dean looks to Cas for some mercy, but he finds none. Cas is looking at him hungrily, embarrassed, but starved.
Cas’ hands come up around Dean’s face, cupping his cheeks tenderly. Cas’ fingertips brush Dean’s ears and the tingles from that run all down his neck, shoulders, and back.
The thin rings around Cas’ pupils glow dimly.
“Give me all of you,” Cas commands, voice rumbling and quivering.
Dean bottoms out, a breathless vowel sound punched out of him.
“Oh, f—fuck,” Dean says with heart.
Cas’ hands move into his hair, dull nails scraping his scalp, and Dean’s hips jump. His arms refuse to support him anymore and he has to curl them around Cas in a hug to seem at all like he meant to do that.
“Cas,” he moans, head falling forward onto Cas’ shoulder and pec.
The lights above them creak and buzz and the rainbow lights all around the tree are going absolutely berserk.
Cas’ cock is stuck between their bellies, wet with cum and sweat, hard and hot and making Dean insane. Cas so evidently feeling good makes Dean high on unspoken praise.
Cas is so warm. His body is so warm, so tight, so soft, so strong and dense, Dean can’t control how his own body responds to him.
Without thinking, without meaning to, Dean grinds into Cas, humping him like an animal even less sophisticated than the animal Dean already considers himself to be.
He feels Cas’ ass cheeks bouncing around his cock, the rounds of them pressing up against his pubic bone when he’s pushed all the way in, and he spurts more precum and has to come to a full stop to stave off the oncoming orgasm.
Breath seems scarce. Cas’ hands are so sweet on him, touching him with such tenderness, such patience and want. Dean’s hips shove forward again and Cas gasps, and they shove forward again and then again, like they’re trying to get closer to the sound in Cas’ throat even as Dean internally shouts at his body to stop.
Tailbone to the tip of his cock, Dean’s molten gold.
He shakes his head.
“Can’t stop,” he mutters regretfully into the crook of Cas’ neck, tears building in his eyes, hips picking up speed again, “oh, oh, God, I can’t—I can’t stop—I can’t stop, Cas—”
“Never stop,” Cas tells him sweetly, breathlessly, and then in a groan of intense satisfaction, “never stop, Dean.”
Whining, Dean shoves his face further into the turn of Cas’ neck, hiding there, gasping for breath as he loses control of his body. His legs are shivering, all the scratching and pushing that Cas’ fingers are doing on his head, across the backs of his shoulders and neck is making him dizzy. He bites into the meat of Cas’ shoulder and tries to think up something, anything that will help stave off his orgasm.
He can usually conjure something, he can usually get a real old lady in mind, or take himself down a darker, more fucked up path of violence and awfulness to delay the more powerful ones, but he can’t. He can’t think of a single fucking thing outside of Cas.
He’s surrounded by Cas just like he wanted to be.
All the inside of his head is Cas. His blood is Cas, each singular hair on him is Cas, every oversensitive square inch of his body is Cas.
All he can see is Cas, Cas’ skin and eyes and lips, every single time Cas has smiled at him and extended his hand to Dean. All he can smell and all he can taste is Cas, his musk, his sweat, his clean skin, his spiced breath, all he can hear is Cas, gasping and grunting on every thrust, taking him and wanting him, guttural and compromised. All he can feel is Cas. Blood-hot. Silky smooth. Cut from marble.
His thrusts grow more erratic, more desperate and more intense.
Harder. Faster.
“Dean,” Cas breathes out roughly, nails gliding down Dean’s back, “you feel—you feel so good—”
“Fuck, Cas, you have—you have no idea,” Dean slurs against Cas’ skin.
He fucks Cas deeply, losing precision, but with mounting animal desperation that seems to turn Cas on much more than any earlier composure.
Dean can tell because he can feel Cas’ dick between them, jolting and stiffening even more, and he can feel Cas tightening up around him in a pulsating, maddening rhythm.
Pulling his face up, Dean mouths at Cas’ neck, at Cas’ jaw, biting, leaving shining drool everywhere he goes because he’s never felt so good in his entire life and he’s lost control of himself. He presses his lips to Cas’ ear.
“Wanna cum in you,” Dean confesses.
His voice is so hoarse and deep, he hardly recognizes it as his own.
Cas grabs his face again, presses their mouths together, and breaks away to tell him, “I want you to. Dean. Dean—Dean, I want you to come inside me. I want to feel it happen. I want to feel you—feel you come for me.”
There’s no time to try and stave it off. Dean’s body seizes up, the breath is knocked out of him, and Cas just about sucks the soul out of him.
Cas’ body is wringing him, twitching and tightening around him, milking him.
Even as he’s coming, Dean’s pushing himself further and further into Cas, driving himself into Cas, fucking him relentlessly and he feels a second wave hit him when Cas’ body tenses up.
Cas is chanting Dean’s name as he comes again and Dean feels it happen, feels Cas’ body demanding more from him, he feels Cas’ body pulling him in, and he feels Cas spurting between them. He feels Cas spilling cum between them, writhing beneath him, clawing at Dean’s back, flexing under him and all around him.
The power goes out with a pop.
Dean’s not sure he’s ever had an orgasm last that long. He thinks he’s either had the longest orgasm of his life, or he just had two happen back-to-back and has never experienced that before. He pants against Cas’ cheek, hips still juddering at times, wracked with post-coital shivers.
He’d be more embarrassed about that if Cas weren’t just as bad off. He hasn’t dislodged his nails from Dean’s back and he’s breathless, making these sweet sounds of surprise and pleasure every time Dean reflexively fucks into him.
When Dean manages to pick his head up, Cas’ eyes are still glowing. They’re calmer, but Dean realizes now that they’re still very hungry, and that Cas looks at him like this frequently. The way Cas looks now isn’t unusual to him, it’s a familiar look in Cas’ eyes, actually, it’s just that Dean knows what that look means now.
“... that’s the kind of kiss I’d give you,” Dean tells him lamely.
Cas smiles, which Dean can only see in such darkness because of Cas’ eyes.
“I’m glad you didn’t forfeit at our meeting under the mistletoe.”
“It’s not a—nevermind,” Dean laughs, “it’s fine. I’m glad too.”
“We should perhaps go to your room, though.”
“We should’ve perhaps gone to my room several fluids ago.”
“I meant for a continuation,” Cas offers, blinking slowly like a lazy and pleased cat, “I’d like more.”
“You’re an animal,” Dean jokes, but his dick twitches inside Cas in a very telling way.
“Come back,” Cas lures him, nails scraping back up to Dean’s head so he can get Dean closer to him, close enough to kiss again, “pray to me more.”
“Will the lights come back on?” Dean mumbles against Cas’ mouth.
When Cas doesn’t answer, but instead shoves his tongue into Dean’s mouth, Dean supposes that’s Cas’ way of saying, ‘do you actually give a fuck?’
As it turns out, Dean does not.