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“Are you wearing them?”
Dean has never felt this nervous about sex before. Not when he lost his virginity—an awkward high school fumble with Jenny Summers behind the gym. Not even the first time with Cas, although that life-changer occurred after a particularly harrowing werewolf hunt and involved more adrenaline than actual thought.
This, though—this is intimacy, vulnerability, shit Dean Winchester doesn’tdo. Watching Cas’ expectant face, however, he realizes that’s not exactly the case. Whatever this thing with Cas has developed into ( relationship , his brain helpfully supplies and is promptly shut down) he is in it deep; the angel is now second only to Sammy on the short list of Things Dean Winchester Can’t Live Without. And a person doesn’t get on that list without earning some trust.
Which is what brought them here in the first place.
* * *
Last week, lounging together in a thoroughly worked-over motel bed, Cas brought up what he called ‘sexual diversity.’ For someone who claimed to have observed the human race for millennia (not to mention having sexed it up with a certain hunter for almost a month), the fallen angel in question frequently astounded Dean with the blank spaces in his knowledge.
So was only his sense of duty to the guy—perhaps aided by post-coital contentment—that steered their conversation through the general Cosmo/LGBT/Fifty Shades shit andonto Dean’s personal kinks. And that, of course, led to the Rhonda Hurley Episode. Cas clung to that tidbit of Dean’s sex life tighter than any of the other encounters in his past (including those more rocky road than vanilla).
“Why did she want you to wear her underwear?” Cas asked, tilting his head in what Dean thought of as Cas’ typical ‘humans are so very odd’ gesture.
“Hell if I know. I guess she just liked it.”
“Why did she like it? Why did you like it?”
Despite the temptation to joke it off, Dean found himself giving the second question the thought it deserved. “Well, I guess it’s the whole naughty factor, you know. Guys aren’t supposed to wear girls’ panties—and before you ask” he continued, raising a hand to Cas’ open mouth, “I don’t know why we’re not supposed to. It’s just not manly or something.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Cas muttered from behind Dean’s palm. “One’s undergarments have nothing to do with one’s masculinity—and for that matter, masculinity itself is a rather arbitrary designation of certain behavior.”
“Thanks, PFLAG. I’m just trying to explain why it gets people hot and bothered.”
“People like you.”
“Lots of people, but yeah, me included.”
“Is that something we could try?”
* * *
A week later, they’re back in the bunker, and Dean walks into the bedroom hiding pink satin beneath his usual uniform of denim and cotton. He’s already shucked off his outer layers, but Cas has asked him to keep some clothes on, and Dean’s curious enough to oblige him.
Cas, on the other hand, isn’t hiding much of anything. The fallen angel is one long line of tanned, toned flesh, and Dean’s brain stalls at the sight of Cas’ firm ass presented to him. Mental faculty returning, his lips twitch into a grin when he realizes Cas is bent over not in some sensual display, but in the process of placing his folded clothes on the desk chair.
“I know neatness is next to godliness, Cas, but it’s generally more fun when we take each other’s clothes off.”
“Cleanliness.”Cas straightens and turns to face Dean, clarifying his answer when he notices the hunter’s raised brow. “The phrase is ‘cleanliness is next to godliness,’ and I didn’t want anything to distract me from undressing you.”
“Wow,” Dean swallows, throat suddenly tight. “That’s actually…kinda hot.”
Cas smirks and pads across the carpet to his lover. Eyes locked, Dean feels his fingers—only now developing calluses despite years of fighting and rough work—brush up his sides, slowly raising the thin T-shirt from his sides. His skin flushes under the feather-light touches of Cas’ fingertips moving higher up his ribcage. He can’t speak, captured in the fallen angel’s gaze. Cas seems equally trapped, eyes meeting Dean’s instead taking in the warm flesh he’s slowly baring.
Finally, the shirt is rucked up under his arms, which Dean raises to allow Cas to remove it completely. Fabric blocks his view of the other man, and the peaceful spell is broken. Dean remembers what they’re in the middle of as a savage impatience overwhelms him. He pulls the cloth over his head and dives for the man facing him. Their kiss is hungry and wet, tongues exploring each other’s mouths and teeth nipping lips. Dean presses himself against Cas and groans when his nipples catch Cas’. The sound is loud in the empty bedroom. Cas’ hands splay across Dean’s shoulder blades, but the hunter heads straight for the firm globes of Cas’ ass. He pulls the naked man tighter to him; his lips reverberate when he hums his arousal.
“Dean,” he gasps. He starts rutting slightly against Dean’s denim-clad groin.
“Fuck.” Deans’ hands slide around to fumble with his jeans; suddenly, however, Cas’ fingers wrap around his wrists.
“Stop. I want…I want to do this. I want to see them.” Dean’s mind stuttersfor a moment, too distracted by Cas’ touch to comprehend his words. Then it hits him: he’s forgotten about the panties.
Like an icy shower, anxiety douses his arousal. Years of doubt, and shame, and the nasty things men whispered to him in bars—
You’re too pretty for a guy; you gotta pussy under those jeans of yours?
You should put some lipstick on those cocksucking lips of yours, so I have something to remember you by after I fuck your face.
Why the bowlegged walk, sweetheart? Your thong giving you a wedgie ?
—echo in his head in time with his pounding heart. Startled, he steps back. Cas is still gripping his wrists, and he can’t go far.
“Dean, what’s the matter? I thought you wanted this?”
“I did, I mean I do, I just—shit.” And like that, Dean pulls away and flees to the bathroom.
Gripping the chill porcelain of the sink, he forces his breathing to slow. His thoughts, however, continue racing with his rapid heartbeat. What the hell was I thinking? This is a fucking joke— I’m a joke—what kind of hunter wears freaking women’s underwear? Oh god, if Dad could see me now. Dean thinks he’s gonna be sick.
Thankfully, there is a knock on the door. “Dean? Is everything all right in there?”
“It’s great, Cas.” His voice sounds hoarse, unfamiliar. “Just getting caught up staring at my handsome self.” Dean can practically hear Cas’ brow furrowing as he interprets his bravado.
“You know, Dean, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” Dean’s heart clenches at the pure concern in his voice, especially since moments ago the former angel was practically begging for this. Of course, that was before Dean dashed, topless but denim-clad, into the bathroom. Perhaps his anxiety isn’t that well hidden.
With a breath he would most definitely not call shaky, Dean brings his hands to the waistband of his jeans. His fingers sneak under the rough fabric to find something softer. Dean’s eyelids flutter shut. No matter how fucked up it might make him, there is no denying this feels good. He slides to the front of his pants, unable to draw away from the feel of satin. It’s now or never.
Dean maintains eye contact with his reflection as he unbuttons, unzips, and pulls down his jeans. Untangling them from his feet proves more difficult, however; his gaze, unconsciously lowered to aid in kicking off his pants, is instantly captured by the flash of pink he has revealed. He can’t help but take in the full sight in the bathroom mirror.
“Whoa.” Dean stares at himself, desperately trying to will away the blush warming his cheeks. If nothing else, it matches the fabric clinging to his groin. The tag on the satin panties clinging to his hips had read ‘dusty rose’, but Dean thinks it might as well say ‘embarrassing sexual experimentation’ or ‘How the hell did you get into this?’ ‘Dean Winchester needs to get his shit together’ might be a little too specific for retail.
Another tentative knock on the door jolts him from his train of thought. “It’s okay, Cas. I’m coming out. I just—” He stops himself, hoping Cas knows what he’s trying to say. God knows he doesn’t. With a final once-over in the mirror, Dean throws open the door.
“Sorry to disappoint you. I know you wanted to undress me yourself—”
“I am not disappointed,” Cas growls. The shock that flashed across Cas’ features is quickly swallowed by a hunger so feral Dean braces himself to be lunged upon. The reaction goes a long way in quieting his nerves.
“Like what you see, angelcakes?” The cockiness is easier now, more natural in the face of such blatant arousal. Cas forcibly swallows as he stalks closer to the satin-clad hunter. Seeming to remember a question was asked of him, he nods, never taking his eyes off the shiny pink fabric stretched tight over his partner’s hips. Dean’s erection, briefly lost during his bathroom panic attack, returns under Cas’ stare. “They’re obviously meant for someone with a little less junk in the front,” he mutters, “but I guess that’s part of the appeal.”
“I understand why,” the angel answers, his usual stilted speech broken further in his distraction. Indeed, the undergarments barely contain Dean’s hardening length. Cas licks his lips at the sight, and Dean can’t help but move forward to taste those lips himself. Pressed against his lover, the pink panties are the only thing separating skin from skin. Dean doesn’t think he’s ever been happy about a lack of contact before; nevertheless, the sensation of hot flesh against cool satin only spikes his lust. Cas seems to feel the same, if his wanton rutting means anything.
Before Dean can process the movement, he finds himself turned around and thrown on the bed. His eyes widen as Cas crawls over him. “Fuck,” Dean murmurs, astounded. Cas has always been passionate in bed, but this—this is something new. Dean’s wonder—and arousal—grows when Cas laces his fingers with his and holds him down on the mattress. They are pressed together from the waist down, and Cas uses this leverage to roll his hips against Dean’s.
“They feel so good, Dean, so soft.” A smirk is the hunter’s only warning before Cas pushes himself down between Dean’s legs. “I wonder how they taste.” Long fingers slip under the elastic waistband of his panties; Dean watches as he stretches the fabric to his open mouth. This shouldn’t be so hot. Cas’ lips aren’t even touching his skin, yet Dean’s cock leaks at the sight of him worrying and sucking on the pink satin. He can see the cloth darkening with saliva.
“Cas.” The name comes out in a helpless groan. Cas answers with a chuckle that rumbles against Dean’s legs. Finally, though, he moves his mouth over the hunter’s cock. Hot breath ghosts over the fabric before his lips close around Dean’s dick. Holy mother of fuck, Dean realizes. He’s gonna suck me off through the panties. Dean thinks—not for the first time—that this man will be the death of him.
The satin is a thin barrier between his own rock-hard erection and the wet heat of Cas’ mouth. The former angel takes advantage of this, gently scraping his teeth over and down Dean’s length.
The pressure and right-on-the-edge-of-pain sensation riles Dean further. This is unlike any blow job he’s ever received. The garment prevents Cas from taking Dean in his mouth like usual; nevertheless, the panties are soaked with saliva as Cas worships every part of Dean’s cock he can reach. Dean grips the sheets with both hands, nearly tearing them with the strength of his grasp. Cas laps and sucks his way lower down, spreading Dean’s thighs to make room. Dean’s balls tighten under Cas’ administrations, as the former angel lays himself down between Dean’s legs.
Dean’s screwed his eyes shut, but a gentle smack has him lifting his thighs so Cas can slide his arms under them. With a jerk, Dean is pulled slightly down the bed so Cas can devour him in earnest. He’s been mostly quiet during this little escapade, but Dean feels like Cas deserves a little praise here. “This is, most definitely, the hottest thing I’ve ever—holy fucking shit!”
Cas’ hands have pressed satin against flesh, and his tongue laves Dean’s hole through the thin fabric. Dean’s orgasm rips through him with a keen. He floods his panties with cum, soaking the fabric and spattering his stomach with the force of his climax. His heartbeat rushes in his ears as he pants through his unexpected finish.
Before he can come down from his high, Cas is crawling back up over him. His lips are still slick with spit as he kisses Dean’s slack mouth. He chuckles at the hunter’s zoned-out expression. Dean starts from his daze, however, when he feels Cas’ erection rubbing his oversensitive cock through the sodden panties. “Fuck, Cas,” he groans. He’s sluggish from orgasm, but he can’t help but meet Cas’ slow thrusts with his own. Cas answers with a reverent chant of Dean’s name, soft murmurs into his ear in time with his body’s movements. “Cas, please. Are you gonna fuck me?”
Cas’ repetition breaks with a groan at the question. “I want, I want to try something.” He holds himself up with one arm; with his free hand, he pulls aside one leg hole of Dean’s underwear. It’s a tight stretch, but both men curse when Cas pushes his length into the soft fabric. Dean’s panties are hot and sticky with cum; the next moments are filled with the wet sounds and smell of sex. Cas grunts each time the tip of his cock pushes past the elastic waistband.
Dean’s cock is spent and sensitive to the touch; still, he urges Cas on with breathy moans. “C’mon, Cas. Your dick is so hot, so thick against mine. Does this feel good to you? Do you like fucking my panties?” Dean’s blathering now, hardly expecting an answer from his taciturn lover.
Cas, however, surprises him with a commentary of his own. “I like this, Dean. You’re so wet in here, wet with your own cum. You’re tight, and hot—it’s almost like fucking you.”
“Jesus, Cas. I need you to come now.” A few more thrusts, and Cas obeys his request. Cum covers Dean’s stomach and crotch. With a noise the hunter would swear was a whimper, Cas collapses onto him.
Dean embraces his weight, sticky and uncaring. “Fucking hell, Cas. That was different.”
“Was it good?” The man on top of him slurs.
Dean chuckles and runs his fingers through Cas’ sweaty hair. “It was frickin’ amazing,” he reassures him. “One downside, though.”
“Oh?”
Dean reaches down and snaps the elastic of his soaking panties. “These are totally ruined.”
“Hmm…” Cas’ pondering hum rumbles against Dean’s chest. “I suppose that means we’ll have to pick out some new ones.”
“Oh, really?”
“Well, these were lovely,” Cas expands, running his fingertips down the front of Dean’s panties; the hunter shivers at the touch. “But now I wanna know what lace would feel like. Or…” Here at last he blushes. “I know there are other kinds of women’s underwear, even more revealing.”
“Well fuck, Castiel. I think I’ve created a monster.” Cas’ blush deepens, and he bends his neck to rest his forehead on Dean’s chest. Dean chuckles and smoothes Cas’ hair with his palm. “Trust me, angel. I’m not complaining.”