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Castiel's face always fell into that pitiful, guilty shadow whenever Dean brought up the unfortunate truth that he was a married man. The truly backwards thing of it all was the way the sadness in those blue eyes made Dean feel guilty right back. It was a terrible cycle interrupted by periodic arguments and the most intense lovemaking either had ever claimed to experience.
"It's unfair to ask me to run off with you to New York when you haven't even explained how a man like you got a wife in the first place," Dean said after a long tense silence. He slid out of bed without bothering to dress. It was too hot for clothes in a Mississippi summer even if it was the middle of the night. "What will you do? Stash me away in some tiny little flat and visit whenever you happen to pass through my side of the city? I'd be little better than a prostitute, Cas."
Talking so directly of their very real problem made General Novak shrink into himself. Dean leaned on the washstand and peered at his lover sitting naked in bed through the reflection in the mirror. He hated himself for loving that general and resented a faceless woman somewhere in New York bearing his name and all the rights that came with it.
"Have you nothing to say?" Dean pressed.
"I won't converse with your back," replied Castiel, eyes flicking up to the mirror.
When Dean didn't move, Castiel fumbled his way out of the tangled sheets. Bare feet shuffled across the hardwood floor and brought him to Dean, where he slid his arms around his chest. As much as Dean didn't want to give him the satisfaction of a reaction, he leaned back into Castiel's chest as a long, solid kiss pressed into the back of his neck. They held onto each other in silence, both looking at their nakedness in the mirror. Castiel's chin hooked over his shoulder and he burrowed his face into Dean's neck. He thought he saw moisture rimming those blue eyes. Tears of regret perhaps, but well concealed in the name of the tough soldier brotherhood. Except they weren't comrades. They were in love.
"I don't understand you," Dean admitted quietly.
Arms tightened around his chest. "I asked you to come to New York with me because my wife doesn't factor into my life at all anymore. She hadn't for years. I haven't set eyes upon her face since the summer before Lincoln was elected. Asking you to join my life has nothing to do with her."
Castiel explained himself with such an apologetic tone that Dean felt his resolve softening despite wanting to hold onto anger. The anger was what kept him from loving past the point of no return.
The general foraged ahead, holding Dean as if he thought he might try to flee. "I was very young. Not really even a man yet. I married her because it was the expected thing to do, not because I was dying of love for her. Our fathers were business partners. We hardly knew each other but she was intelligent. She knew I preferred the company of men before I knew it myself and she used it to ridicule me whenever I displeased her. Our relationship quickly deteriorated to thinly veiled hatred. I took up with her father's stable hand for a while but that fizzled out too, no thanks to her. She spread lies that I was unable to perform my husbandly duties."
That made Dean laugh low and bitter in his throat. "You perform like you do in field command. Deliberate and without apology for completely conquering your target." He grinned a little. Damn it. Don't show affection.
"Yes, well, I can't seem to do that with a lady," said Castiel with a soft smile. "I never could and she hated me for it. So you see, I am married by name but not by thought, deed, or intention."
Doubts and insecurities twisted at uncomfortable angles through Dean's mind. He searched Castiel's reflection for signs of dishonesty, though he already knew there wasn't a dishonest bone in his body. Even if Dean agreed to go with him once the war ended, he feared that faceless woman who enjoyed all legal and moral rights to her husband. She could reappear at any time out of spite, cruelty, or a simple sense of womanly loneliness that might make her think she could rehabilitate him.
Dean threw off Castiel's arms and pushed away from his embrace. Wounded eyes followed him across the room, likely thinking the worst, but he knew what had to be done. Still as naked as the day he was born, Dean rustled through the desk on the opposite wall until he found paper and a jar of ink. He unscrewed the lid and, producing a pen from Castiel's valise, gave him the most hard eye he could as he set up a letter to be written. Nerves made him jumpy with the demands hanging in his throat but it had to be on his terms or no terms at all.
"Sit," he said, holding the pen out to Castiel. "You'll write to your wife. In the letter, you'll tell her that your marriage is over and you won't be seeing her anymore. Provide an allowance to support her but you've got your own life now. Tell her that she can sue you for divorce on the grounds of abandonment in three more years and then she'll be free to find a man more suited to her needs." He faltered, seeing the blank expression on Castiel's face, and feared that his demands ruined everything. Backing down just wasn't an option though. His tone softened and the pen in his hand fell slightly. "Look, Cas, I'm not gonna be your dirty little secret. People aren't going to understand us and we won't ever have a normal life like them anyway, but the least we can do is remove ourselves from the lies closest to us before we try to do this thing. I'm not gonna live in fear of this woman. I don't even know her name."
"Meg," Castiel said quietly. "Her name is Meg. I don't want you to hate her either. I imagine it must have been rather painful to have a husband like me. The things she did were because of anguish."
"Fine." Dean didn't need to know that but his nod pushed away the territorial urge.
It might have appeared comical to outsiders, two men utterly without apparel negotiating the nature of their future relationship like a peace treaty, but it had to be done. What began as a wonderful distraction of sinful games in the middle of so much destruction and death grew into sincere affection. They both lingered in their standoff knowing mutual affection had grown into the kind of love that suffocated them with a void when they were apart.
"Will you stand by me if her divorce suit comes on the grounds of infidelity? She'll have the evidence with this letter," said Castiel, glancing at the pen like a loaded gun. "Will you withstand the scandal of our ... unconventional life?"
"Deviants, Cas. You can say it. We're deviants."
Castiel vaguely retreated with the harshness of that word hitting his ears. His gaze averted to the floor and he nearly cowered. Hell, Dean did too. Nobody ever said those things out loud--not even the scores of men and women who felt that kind of unnatural love. But Dean let those thoughts marinate in his brain. They'd be called disgusting, perverted, and unnatural if Meg Novak brought charges of infidelity against him. In order to do that in the courts, she'd have to name his lover. They'd be thrust into the blinding light of a judgmental public who would, without a doubt, demand prosecution and commitment to an asylum for both of them.
"We'll face imprisonment," Castiel said as if testing it in his own mind too. "They'll say we're damaged in the head and we must be cured. Prison, hard labor, exile, sanitoriums. Are you willing to take this risk just for my freedom? Do you know how many of us are married to protect ourselves from the law, from doctors who think our lives are a matter of choice, that we choose to be deviants?"
The easy answer was to let Castiel remain married, just as he described. Dean should have let it go but nothing in his mind or heart would be satisfied sharing that general with anyone.
"Call it bullheaded possessiveness but I'd rather die than share you with someone else," he said darkly, a lump rising in his throat. The emotion welling in his eyes caught him offguard. "Are we deviants? Is there something wrong with our brains? Are we sick? Ask yourself deep down if they're right."
Unblinking, perhaps stunned with the frankness of their debate, Castiel shook his head and the candlelight glimmered over the welled emotion in his own eyes. "No, we're not sick," he whispered.
"Then I'm standing by you even if she brings these charges in the courts," promised Dean, swallowing down his fear and straightening his posture. He offered the pen one more time. "It's you and me, Cas. We can either fight for us or we can fight against us. I can't do it for you though. You have to choose me to let me choose you back."
It took a minute for Castiel to work up his nerve. Dean waited and thought how strange it was that standing up to society terrified them, yet they frequently played games of control and domination among themselves. It was easy when no one was watching, of course. The risks weren't lost on either of them, but as Castiel pushed forward and took the pen, he sank into the desk chair and scribbled out the letter to Mrs. Novak. Although Dean tried to back away and give him space, he saw his name on that paper and it suddenly felt like watching Castiel write out his criminal confession.
Once the general signed his name to the letter, he stuffed it into an envelope, addressed it, and handed it to Dean. "Post it for me, Major," he said in that tone he adopted before an oncoming battle.
"Yes, sir," Dean agreed softly.
"Are you certain about this?"
"Yep."
Castiel nodded. "Me too."
A faint smile of relief tugged at Dean's mouth. It seemed a lot easier to face everything once they both reached the decision. He bent, hands gripping the arms of Castiel's chair, and that beloved face tipped back and received a kiss. Something shifted between them with the decision to fight for each other rather than hide behind the safe normality of a wife's skirt. A surge of intimacy Dean hadn't known before flowed through his limbs and kissing Castiel wasn't just a part of the games anymore. His hands left the arms of the chair to frame the general's jaw and, though the envelope rested between two fingers, he felt free for the moment. They consciously chose not to allow police or doctors to decide for them how to live when they both knew they found love in each other under the worst of circumstances.
"I do love you," Dean whispered against his lips.
"Look at that," teased Castiel with a gentle, playful smile. "You managed to say you love me without being plagued by lust."
Low laughter rumbled in Dean's chest, setting the letter aside. "Who said I'm not plagued by lust at the moment?"
It amused Castiel, though his eyes darkened in an all too familiar way. "What a pair we are."
"Yes, well," hummed Dean, sinking to the floor between Castiel's legs, "nobody matters anymore except us. You're not gonna forget that."
Castiel lounged back in his chair and a suble grin, renewed life, added a bit of a glimmer to his deep blue eyes. His hand caressed Dean's cheek, which made Dean curl toward that touch with kisses along his palm. The rising reddened flush of an interested organ presented itself between Castiel's splayed thighs. The general never required much of a breather to get his second wind and it seemed their newly solid commitment lifted a curtain between games and sincere desires to be together.
Hands teased Castiel's inner thighs but the swiftness of his cock swelling told Dean something far more urgent burned in him. He rose on his knees and flicked his tongue over the head, listening for the hissing sucked through teeth above his head. Castiel's fingers curled into Dean's hair and nudged him down just slightly, urging him along. Full, smooth lips wrapped tightly around the general's thickness and the commencing bobbing brought out low, breathy growls down in his chest. Smooth skin sliding back and forth over Dean's lips lingered in salacious images shrouded somewhere in the rear of his thoughts.
"Wait, wait," hissed Castiel in hard syllables as he pulled Dean's head back.
"What?" He searched that face above him for signs of displeasure.
Bending forward, Castiel took him by the chin and plunged into a deep kiss. Tongues swept possessively through mouths until he finally let go with a wet pop. "Let me watch you, love," he whispered, not entirely a request.
If it was a show he wanted, Dean stood and pulled the chair a few inches facing the desk. He pushed everything aside with a clean swipe of one arm. Each foot rested on the arms of that chair as he sat on the desk, putting the entire length of his cock on display for Castiel. Hungry blue eyes roved the offering as the general slouched a bit in the chair and gave his own cock a few lazy tugs. The way his body swerved slightly told Dean he had no intention of lasting long with that private show just for him.
Still, Dean took his time, leaning against the wall and teasing himself with slow hands passing over the plaines of his skin. Castiel didn't bother to be discreet in the way he watched, almost willing Dean with his eyes to jerk himself until he shot into the air. But Dean intended to take his time and savor that night before things inevitably got ugly and complicated again. A hand snaked down along the juncture where his inner thigh met his pelvis. Biting his lip produced a low, humming moan as he pulled that hand from below his balls to palming the rigid length of his arousal. Castiel's tongue rolled across his lower lip as if watching the best meal being prepared just for him.
Seeing Castiel's fist working himself over made it impossible for Dean to stop his own fist from closing around the base of his cock and the slow stroking began. They followed each other's rhythm, only broken by sporadic and increasingly erradic moans. Precum slid between Dean's fingers as he twisted a hand around his head with each pass and he tried--he really tried to keep quiet--but Castiel watching him intensified it all beyond his endurance.
Before he knew it, Casiel's head lolled back and the grip on his cock tightened, working lightning fast. Ground teeth interrupted his groans as he came, erupting over his hand and his abdomen. Hazy and sated, he came back to reality after a few minutes, finding Dean in a perpetual state of hanging onto bliss before falling off the cliff.
It rolled through Dean slowly, building in the Mississippi heat the way storms boiled over the river as if they had all the time in the world. His focus centered on those considerate, strong, and soulful blue eyes as the glorious heat ached through each of his limbs one by one. The flooding rose slowly as each levee gave way, breaking through the last of his resistance, and only in the last moments did his body curl into the delicious eruption. Intent blue eyes memorized the sight. He leaned forward and skimmed a hand along Dean's inner thigh as liquid pearly ropes shot over his middle.
Both fell into a limp repose with quick, deep breaths slowly drifting back to normal. It had been one of their first games before they actually found the guts to touch each other. Now they sat in a room over General Grant's celebrating troops eyeing one another with lazy, happy smiles. Lazy and happy for the moment, at least. As soon as they reached reliable mail service, everything would change.
"Tell me about New York," Dean murmured after a while.
"Well," began Castiel casually, "lucky for you, I'm a monied man."
"You're rich?"
Castiel nodded as if it was no more important than chewing over the weather. "If we don't like New York, there's always Europe."
"What about my brother?" Dean asked, feeling a bit more sober.
The general shrugged. "I hear New York is crowded with pretty girls, not that I would know anything about that. If you don't want to give him up to Kansas again, perhaps he might enjoy the city."
"You don't care?"
"Why should I? He's your family." Castiel rose to his feet, wedging himself between Dean's legs. With his arms loosely slung around Dean's shoulders, their foreheads rested together and their noses rubbed. He murmured, "Write to your brother. If he makes you happy, he should remain close in your life."
"He knows about us, y'know," admitted Dean with his hands trailing Castiel's spine. "I mean, not the particulars, but he knows what I am and what you are to me."
A touch of fear lifted Castiel's eyes.
"It's fine," Dean promised. "We're gonna be fine."