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Dean doesn’t understand when Cas got so good at sex, but he’s not askin’. The angel is a passionate and thorough lover, and despite the fact that this body wasn’t originally his, he expertly wields it as a deadly weapon and an intense bed-partner.
So it’s the least Dean can do to get down on his knees on the hard tile floor of the single-stall all-gender restroom of Clint’s Tavern and swallow Cas’ fat cock until Dean is gagging.
“Dean,” Cas hisses, equal parts frustration and arousal- a line Dean walks expertly. Cas is pressed up against the subway tile wall, hair rumpled to hell and cheeks flush with color. Though disheveled, the suit, shirt, tie, slacks, and even the trenchcoat remain on the angel. Only the belt has been unbuckled and the pants zipper yanked down. In his haste, Dean only removed immediate barriers to Cas’ dick, and somehow this picture is even dirtier than Cas being undressed.
Dean takes guilty pride in the way Cas’ hands scrabble and fail to find purchase on the smooth wall behind him, in the moans he is desperately trying and failing to keep quiet. He sucks hard so that there’s a pop as Cas’ dick leaves Dean’s mouth. Dean looks up at his breathless angel, fluttering green eyes through thick lashes that he knows is a good look for him. “Now now,” he teases, “Let’s be quiet, angel. We wouldn’t want to disturb the other patrons at this fine establishment.”
Cas looks down at Dean like he’s just woken up and is trying to figure out what year it is. “And it’s your fault for gettin’ me all riled up. Touching me all night, looking at me like that.” It’s true; Cas couldn’t seem to keep his hands to himself the whole night out at the bar with Sam, Eileen, Jody, and Donna. This thing between them was new- well, not really. The pining and the eye-fucking had been going on for more or less a decade, but it was only two weeks since their relationship turned into a relationship. There was no need to hold back in the relative privacy of the bunker, especially considering that Sam and Eileen had taken an out of state hunt together for six of those days.
In Clint’s Tavern in Lebanon, Kansas, Cas seemed genuinely upset that he couldn’t grope Dean’s ass every waking minute- not that Dean would complain. He just figured Sam was scarred enough for a couple hundred lifetimes. In lieu of pushing his fingers into Dean’s mouth whenever he felt the urge, Cas spent the night undressing the human with his eyes. It surprised no one that Cas spent a lot of time looking at Dean. Even Dean noticed, however, when he tipped his beer bottle to send the last of the liquid down his throat, and Cas white-knuckled the table so hard that the wood splintered. And sitting side by side at the private but not nearly private enough booth under the window, Dean was treated to a hand grabbing the meat of his inner, very upper thigh.
How else was Dean supposed to retaliate? While Cas was up at the bar, Dean claimed to need the restroom, and yanked his boyfriend along before locking the door behind them, pushing Cas against the wall, dropping to his knees, and mouthing at the fabric between him and Cas’ dick.
Honestly, Dean loved it here. He couldn’t, wouldn’t ever get enough of the thickness of Cas’ dick in his mouth. The weight of the head resting on Dean’s tongue, the sticky noises of his wet mouth swallowing him down, and those delicious keens Cas made as he fell apart above Dean.
“Dean, please.” Cas trembles against the wall. He is holding back- a desperately horny angel refusing to push his delicate human too far. Well, Dean is having none of that.
“Cas, sweetheart, fuck my face?”
The yelp Cas lets loose is surely heard by the high-top closest to the door. Neither can find it in themselves to care very much.
“Dean,” he gasps, “Are you- are you sure?”
“Mmm-hmm,” Dean reaches out to take Cas’ hands in his own, guiding them to rest in the short sandy hair. “Like that. Hold on,” Cas’ grip tightens and he looks down at Dean with wonder. His pupils are blown black, eyes wide and lips parted in delicate awe. “Give it to me.” Dean looks up with a devilish grin, then opens his slick mouth to let Cas in.
It doesn’t take much convincing. Cas guides his cock back onto Dean’s tongue, sliding gently in and out. Dean moans in encouragement, and Cas quickens the pace.
He shoves his dick further into Dean’s mouth than ever before and the tip hits the back of Dean’s throat. There’s not a moment to rest as Cas pulls out and thrusts back in, hard. He bites his lip and keens. He’s shoving his cock into Dean’s mouth with reckless abandon now. Dean’s eyes water and he’s a little short of air, and it feels fucking awesome. This is so hot. Pliers couldn't remove the death grip Cas has in Dean’s hair.
“I’m- I’m- I- Dean, oh, oh Dean, I’m gonna-” Dean can’t even see Cas’ face with the way his head is being man-handled, but he nods as best he can and Cas gets the message. Dean hollows his cheeks as Cas pushes and pushes, then- “DEAN!” and he pushes so far into Dean’s mouth that there's not a centimeter of bare skin on Cas’ dick not inside the warm embrace of Dean’s body. Dean’s nose is pushed into the hair at Cas’ navel, and his head is covered by Cas doubling over as he releases into Dean’s mouth.
God, Dean can taste the salty wetness of Cas’ come filling his mouth, can lick individual veins as Cas gives him more.
Finally, Cas is wrung out, nearly sobbing with relief as he releases Dean from his clutches. Swallowing is hot and all, but Dean wonders if there’s something new he can try. He keeps the come in his mouth and leans back. He looks up with wide eyes, white overflowing his mouth as Dean’s tongue pushes it forward and come drips off his parted lips.
It must be a good look, because Cas curses in what must be Enochian and sobs from his chest. “You are going to kill me.” Dean smiles, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and plants a foot on the floor to stand. “I think,” a pause, “I think I understand addiction.”
They take care to put themselves together as best they can, but considering that they had been occupying a bathroom for more time than usual, they might’ve missed a detail or two in their rush to rejoin the bar crowd. Dean exits first, a boneless Castiel still collecting himself and waiting two minutes to follow Dean out.
Blessedly, Sam is silent, maybe too silent, and Donna and Jody seem none the wiser. Eileen, of course, is a deviant and her eyes light up as soon as she takes in Castiel and Dean. Dean looks over at Castiel rejoining their table and notices that his tie is perfectly set- an overcorrection from its typically askew state and it just looks wrong. Dean reaches out a hand to smooth down the shoulder of the trenchcoat. Castiel slowly and purposely turns his neck to look at Dean, and it looks like he’s just signed a death warrant. Like Dean’s simple touch has reignited what they worked so hard to quell.
I hope this honeymoon phase is over soon, Dean thinks, as he fervently wishes it will never end.
Castiel blames Dean’s pretty lips and verdant eyes and strong body for his lack of clarity back at Clint’s Tavern. He blames each freckle, those tempting bowlegs, the timbre of his laugh for utterly encompassing the angel and removing any trace of sanity he once held.
He is an angel, after all. An angel with strong wings that can take Dean to the ancient woodlands of Bedfordshire or the top of K2 in a heartbeat. Today, he takes his human to a lavish hotel overlooking the brilliant blue of the Mediterranean Sea. This room is full of warm whites. There’s a plush king bed in the center of the room, surrounded by nothing but expensive space. The room is bordered only by three walls, the fourth replaced by floor-to-ceiling windows that expose the room to the Grecian sun and spectacular views of the cobalt water below. This room would cost thousands of dollars per night- if Castiel had not simply flown them directly into a vacant suite.
Their clothes were left behind on the floor of the motel room they were sharing with Sam. They would not be needing them. Blissfully, the short flight did not interrupt the grinding of Dean’s body against Cas that he had started up while Sam was out getting food. Both of them gasp as their clothing disappears and suddenly skin brushes against skin. Cas is so hard it hurts, and Dean hadn’t done anything more than change his t-shirt to a fresh one.
“Please, Cas,” Dean pleads in between desperate kisses. “I want you.” Castiel would never tire of hearing that. His right hand holds the back of Cas’ neck and the other wanders restlessly down Cas’ bare chest, up his back.
“Anything. I will give you anything, and everything. Name it.” Cas pushes his body into Deans, leading them nowhere in particular but wanting more, more, more of him. His left hand moves to caress the sharp of Dean’s jaw and the other smooths down against Dean’s ass.
“I want you in me. Please Castiel.” The man is whining, and isn’t that a marvel. “Now, please…” he loses his words as Cas hungrily kisses up the side of his neck while the hand at the opposite side of his jaw holds him steady. As impatient as Dean, but not as willing to injure him, Cas uses his grace to stretch and slick Dean’s ass. He wonders if this use of angelic abilities is a sin, if he’s failing some theistic moral test. But that thought stops short with the loud moan pushing out from Dean’s chest and the fingers scrabbling at his biceps. The man under his fingers is good, so blindingly good, and Castiel would fall a thousand times if it meant bringing him a moment of pleasure.
“In me, please, closer,” Dean begs. With no strain at all, Castiel grabs the outsides of Dean’s thighs and lifts, the man’s hand hurrying to loop his arms around Cas’ neck. Cas nips at Dean’s neck as he places Dean slowly down onto the very tip of his cock. He feels Dean’s heels pressing into his lower back. “Yes, okay. Oh…”
The head of Cas’ dick breaches Dean’s prepped but tight hole. Castiel forces himself to pause, no more than an inch into Dean. He wants to make sure they don’t go so fast that he causes Dean any pain, and it doesn’t hurt that Cas can appreciate this most sacred moment. Every time he enters Dean is holy.
“I could hold you here, sitting on just the tip for hours. I could let you sink down, oh so slowly.” Cas lets gravity push Dean another inch down onto his cock.
Dean is practically sobbing. “Ahhh!” It’s not a loud sound this time, but one so delicate.
“But oh Dean, how can I resist?” Another inch, and Dean’s head falls into Cas’ chest. “And why would I deny such a beautiful thing as you?”
Cas walks them forward a bit more to press Dean against the nearest vertical surface, which just so happens to be the window wall. The support allows Cas to brace a hand on the glass and finally sink all the way into Dean. His inside is hot, wet and slick as it tightens around Cas’ cock. Dean’s open mouth slides against Cas’ shoulder and both his hands find purchase on Cas’ upper back.
Cas experimentally rolls his hips, and Dean uses the leverage of the window to push back down onto Cas.
Sometimes, Cas will rub his finger against the outside of Dean’s hole until Dean is begging for a hint of penetration. Then Cas will fuck him with his fingers for an hour, longer even, until Dean comes untouched. Sometimes they lavish in just touching one another, wasting a day in bed familiarizing themselves with one another's body. Often, their sex is unhurried, sugar-sweet.
This is not one of those times.
Cas fucks Dean against the window hard and fast. He pays no mind to the fact that somewhere behind him is a perfectly good bed. He pays no mind to the fact that a curious beachgoer could look up and see hot, filthy sex in broad daylight. The idyllic coastal paradise outside just on the other side of the window should weep with how inadequate it looks in comparison to the wanton man pressed against it. If he tried, Castiel would be able to hear the soothing crash of the waves, but he’d much rather listen to the delicious moans and oh-so-wonderful gasps he can elicit from Dean Winchester.
“Oh! Oh! Yes! Yesssss!” Dean bounces on Cas’ dick. Cas fucks up into the beautiful give of Dean’s hole, feeling with satisfaction the prod of his cock against Dean’s prostate and the delightful keens that accompany every stimulation of the bundle of nerves.
“Oh Dean, my Dean. So good. You’re so good for me, aren’t you?”
Dean moans even louder at that. Castiel loves how vocal the man is in bed. Once, Dean had teased Cas at how good he was at “dirty-talk”. Castiel didn’t, still doesn’t understand what he means by that- he simply feels free to voice his thoughts now that they are intimate. Apparently, Castiel expressing his reverence for the man, praising him for his beauty, his strength, his selflessness, is “dirty” to Dean. Castiel would have to fix that.
“So beautiful, taking my cock so well.” Cas’ pumps relentlessly. Okay, he'll concede that that was dirty. “Do you have any idea how lovely you are?”
“Oh god, don’t stop.”
Cas doesn’t know if Dean is asking him to continue making love to him, or speaking, but Cas does not plan to stop either. He takes on all of Dean’s weight again, and moves toward the white oak desk perpendicular to the door past the marble fireplace. Cas pushes whatever is on the desk off, hears something heavy bonk down to the floor on one side and something else shatter off the other.
“Do you feel good, Dean? I want you to feel good. Always.” Dean answers in a sharp cry, and Castiel is satisfied with that. Dean’s arms stretch above his to hang onto the edges of the desk. Castiel uses the new position to grab at the hinges of Dean’s knees and spread his legs further apart, forcing himself impossibly deeper into the man. “Good boy. Oh, good, good boy. You are incredible. I feel so fortunate to have you like this.”
Dean’s close, and Castiel has been using his grace to stave off his own orgasm until Dean is good and truly fucked out. He leans down between the extended legs in his hands to kiss Dean ravenously. The kiss is hard to maintain as Cas’ hips drive into Dean, and their mouths mash together instead.
“Oh! Oh! Cas!” Cas gets a grace-lubed hand on Dean’s weeping cock, and it only takes a few pumps before Dean’s channel is tightening around Cas’ dick and he’s coming with a scream that tears violently from his throat. Cas lets himself go, hips wildly stuttering as waves of pleasure crash into him like the ocean pummeling him deeper, deeper. He fills Dean up and it’s filthy and lovely and perfect.
As he slows, panting into Dean’s sweaty chest, he hears a distant voice coming into focus. “..in there? Hello? Hello!?”
From what he can tell, it’s a young woman’s voice, a melodic Greek accent turned angry. “You cannot be in there! I am bringing security! Η αστυνομία είναι καθ' οδόν!”
The clerk, or maid, or whoever it is leaves, and Cas looks at Dean, whose brain is still trying to process what's happening. The corner of his eyes crinkle, and he starts giggling. That might be the best noise of all. Cas laughs along with him, lets his head drop as he gently removes himself from Dean’s body. All he can do is brace himself against the desk as laughter involuntary shakes his body, and the two of them are cackling.
“What broke?” Dean asks, wiping a tear from his eye with a pointer finger.
Cas peeks over to the left side of the desk. “A vase.” Dean laughs harder, throwing his head back and exposing his neck. “I can fix it.”
“You can repair the vase, but those people on the beach can never unsee two grown men fucking like rabbits.”
Cas just smiles and uses his proximity to Dean’s belly to kiss the skin there.
“Alright, we gotta go. But first, get the robes in the closet while I grab the mini shampoo bottles.”
Charlie loves the bunker. Its long, seemingly endless corridors promise endless discoveries- already she’s found the dungeon, a shooting range, and a storage room filled with vintage spellbooks. It’s basically the world's coolest open-world map.
It’s late into the evening, bordering on what is probably night if Charlie bothered to check the time. She wanders the halls of unexplored rooms one floor under the library with a chocolate chip cookie in hand. One could say Dean Winchester suffered from a case of toxic masculinity, but damn-it the man could bake.
Charlie whips open the next door, once again hoping the Mirror of Erised would be standing alone in the center of a dramatically lit room. Once again she is disappointed. This room doesn’t even have weapons or anything in it- just rusted pipes and what she guesses is a water heater. She closes it, moves on to the next identical door.
Just as she is about to twist the doorknob, the door suddenly opens and stops short- there’s just a few inches in which striking blue eyes peer out at Charlie.
“Oh your God, Cas! You nearly gave me a heart attack!” Her left hand clutches at her chest, and thankfully her right retains its grasp on the cookie. Doors suddenly opening of their own accord in the dark depths of secret underground bunkers housing demonic artifacts is a perfectly valid cause for alarm, Charlie justifies.
“My apologies,” Castiel says in his deep grumble, but does not elaborate and does not open the door to allow Charlie entry. His face is flush and his hair stuck up in several places. It takes Charlie a second to realize that he’s not wearing any sort of coat, just a wrinkled white t-shirt, and the guy looks downright naked in just one layer.
“Sooooo,” Charlie takes a large bite of the cookie, chewing with dramatic gusto. “Watcha doing?” Charlie is not sure why, but she feels she has caught the angel red-handed and is planning on dragging this out for as long as she can.
“We were just researching.”
“We?”
“I. I was researching. I was researching druid magic as it appears in Arthurian texts," he decides.
“Mmmm-hmmm.” She’s not buying a word of this.
They are narrowing their eyes at one another, when suddenly Cas’ eyes go wide and his mouth silently bobs open and closed. He’s struggling to form words, and Charlie would take pity on him if this weren’t so damn funny. “So you, Castiel, are telling me, Charlie, that you are alone in there, reading, and not, I don’t know, actively being groped?” Another bite.
Cas struggles for another handful of moments, before giving up and heaving a great sigh. “Please don’t tell Sam.”
“Cas!”
“Dean?! ”
“Hiya Charlie.”
“We’re breaking a rule. The ‘no getting intimate in shared spaces’ rule." He winces. "It just happened.” Charlie can’t stop laughter from bubbling out of her chest.
“Oh man, this is gold.” Cas does not seem amused. In fact, he looks increasingly stressed with every passing moment.
“I- we- can-” Cas gives up on the whole conversation. “I have to go.” The door is slammed in her face.
“You sure you don’t want to hang out? Play a game of mahjong?” Charlie jokes at the very closed door in front of her.
She cackles to herself as she meanders away, polishing off the last of her cookie. “Hashtag love wins.”
Sam takes the long way back to his room from the front door. The fridge was barren and he needed to get food- a fascinating book on werewolf transgenderism had engrossed Sam so much that he forgot to eat. Midnight was rolling around, and despite the risks, Sam popped out to patronize the only Syrian restaurant in Lebanon.
The risks, as vulgarly laid out by Dean, were high. It was Castiel and Dean’s one month anniversary. They had planned a day at a vineyard (turns out they did exist in Kansas), a night out at a steakhouse, a stroll beneath the stars, and then they were to return home for some alone time.
“Hours, Sammy. Maybe days.” Earlier in the kitchen, Sam had pushed away his half-eaten bowl of Special K. “Y’know, angels have crazy stamina. I would avoid my room for the week just to be safe. Tape off the area. Men at work.” Dean waggled his eyebrows for emphasis.
Though his reply at the time had been a simple, “Gross,” Sam had taken his brother's advice to heart. He is avoiding room 11, taking the hallways around the entire library to avoid even looking at that door.
On his long walk, Sam contemplates the fact that his brother enthusiastically planned a one month anniversary. This was the same guy that forgot his own birthday- and more than once. His brother, who had once said If you’re paying more than $10 for a bottle of wine, you’ve been had. Can I introduce you to my good friend, two-buck Chuck? had spent the day at a vineyard because his boyfriend is fascinated by the process of viniculture. The man who didn’t see the light at the end of the tunnel, found by a being made of starlight.
Sam smiles to himself, plastic bag stuffed with food in hand, as he passes the open door to the Dean Cave. He pauses, backtracks. The TV is on and muted, Burt Reynolds leading Jackie Gleason on a zany car chase. Sitting on the couch is Cas, a blessedly clothed Dean slumped into his shoulder. Television lights flicker atop Dean’s closed eyelids. Cas has an arm around Dean’s shoulder, fingering gently at the cloth of Dean’s shirt as Dean’s dead weight burrows deeper into Cas’ shoulder and into slumber.
Cas smiles gently, then looks up and catches Sam’s eye. His grin only widens, and his eyes are so soft that Sam feels guilty for intruding on the vulnerable scene. “Hello, Sam.” Though gentle, his tone is not quiet, but Dean is sound asleep and apparently not moving anytime soon.
Taking Cas’ cue, Sam replies, “Hey, Cas. You guys have a good time?”
“Oh yes, perfect. Did you know that rootstock from midwestern grapes were used as a graft for European grape varieties, because of their resistance to the bacterial infection that plagued European vineyards in the 19th century?”
“Huh, no, I didn’t.” They pause in a silence that is not uncomfortable. “Not too disappointed that this one conked out early?”
Cas looks down at the fast asleep hunter. “On the contrary. He gets so little sleep as it is, I’m happy whenever he feels safe enough to take care of himself.” Sam is always struck by Cas’ insight on humanity. Cas looks back up, “Imagine my surprise as a new human when four hours of sleep left me borderline homicidal.” Sam chuckles, relating a bit too much to that feeling. “I’m happy to be rid of that need again. Though,” a thumb strokes Dean’s chin, “he looks so peaceful, so unburdened like this. I enjoy it very much.”
There’s another quiet moment in which Sam doesn’t feel like speaking. Doesn’t want to interrupt the serenity. “Well,” he starts, voice quieter than necessary, “I’m glad you're happy. And that you make Dean feel… safe. I’ll leave you to it. Goodnight.”
Cas just smiles up at Sam, blue eyes sparkling with the reflection of the television set. He hums a soft goodnight, and Sam turns to take his leave.
Sam is truly, wholly happy that Dean finally has someone to dote on him, to love him so completely, after spending a lifetime as everyone else's caretaker. Sam relishes the way Dean smiles easier now, how his shoulders hold a little less tension with each passing day.
That’s not gonna stop him from mercilessly teasing Dean for falling asleep like an old man on his big date. He’s still a little brother, after all.