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The thing is, Dean never has any real time to do this.
The world is ending and he’s too busy worrying about that and Sam and angels and the shit-storm that is his life, so if he has a couple hours of down time, he’s sleeping. Or more recently, fucking an angel through the bed — or wall, or dresser, or floor, or shower door — like it’s going out of style. It’s not, but again, usually he doesn’t really have the time for anything more than a quickie.
But sometimes, Dean gets lucky. There are times like this, where he’s had Castiel underneath him for an hour already, and they’ve only just started. Cas is flushed, head thrown back and spine arching, pressing back against Dean as he works a third finger inside him. Dean is sprawled between his legs, one arm slung across his stomach and his teeth digging into the flesh of Castiel’s inner thigh. Castiel’s moans grow louder, breathier as Dean slides his mouth across the groove of his hip, licking at Castiel’s cock with broad, slow stripes. He scissors his fingers, pushing as deep as he can before dragging them out slowly, agonizingly if the way Castiel jerks underneath him is anything to go by.
“Dean,” he breathes. “Dean, please, just…”
“Just what, Cas? C’mon, angel, talk to me.” Dean looks up the length of Castiel’s body, smirking. He’s always doing this, even during the times where they’re just a rush of skin against skin, he’s always trying to get Cas to talk, to open up. Castiel may be one of the most vocal partners he’s ever had, but other than Dean’s name and the occasional plead, he never actually says anything.
“Give me more,” Castiel whispers. “You know I can take it, just give it to me.”
Dean groans, burying his face into Castiel’s thigh and trying to steady himself because fuck, when he does get him to talk, it’s straightforward and hot and god, Cas’s voice alone…
Dean surges up onto his knees, spreading Castiel’s legs even further apart with one hand, the other fumbling with the bottle of lube beside him. He gets it open and slicks himself up, not much because Castiel likes it better when he can feel every inch of Dean sliding home. But Dean doesn’t so much slide as he does slam, hitting that spot inside Castiel on the first try before pulling out and drilling forward again, just as hard. He keeps the pace rough and dirty. They may have more time than usual, but that doesn’t mean Dean has more patience.
Until Dean takes a good look at Cas and sees how wrecked he looks, how gorgeous. He always looks so beautiful like this, so beautiful that it used to scare Dean, still does a little, because nothing should ever look so perfect as an angel of the Lord, fallen or not, getting fucked within an inch of his life by a man like Dean, broken and scarred and not good enough. But Castiel’s hair is a mess, ink swirls against the light blue pillow cases, and his lips are red and swollen from where Dean has been crushing his mouth against his, and his eyes are fever bright and blown wide, sliding shut as he starts to lose himself, moaning Dean’s name and bucking his hips into every thrust, one hand reaching down to bring himself off.
“No.” The word is out of his mouth before he realizes it, a harsh syllable. Dean snatches the hand away from Castiel’s body and pins it next to his head, intertwining their fingers. “Not yet, Cas. Not until I say.”
Castiel moans brokenly, tongue slipping out to wet his lips. “Dean, please…”
Dean slows his thrusts. It pains him to do so, but god, he wants this one to last, if only for a little longer. He rolls his hips, grinding into Cas in ways that would make a stripper jealous, and Castiel whines high in his throat, eyes closed again.
Dean seals his mouth over Castiel’s, reveling in the way he opens for him, how he always just opens up for Dean like it’s the only thing he was made to do, and Dean likes to think it is. He likes to think that Castiel was custom made just for him, and it’s selfish, but he doesn’t care.
“So fucking perfect, Cas. Look at you, angel. So perfect.” Dean growls into his ear when he breaks for a breath, hips still driving slowly in and out of Castiel, cock dragging against his insides like a heavy brand. He wants to keep going, but his control is slipping and the angel beneath him looks like he’s about to lose his mind, and it’s so hot that Dean snaps his hips forward, picks up the pace until Castiel arches up almost violently, free hand shooting up to find the mark on his shoulder like he always does when he’s about to come. Dean fucks him even faster, bracing himself over Castiel and squeezing the hand still tangled in his.
“Remember what I said, Cas, not yet.”
Cas keens and twitches, sucking in a breath like he’s trying to control himself, for Dean, because Dean asked him to, and Castiel always does what Dean asks.
“Fuck, fuck, Cas!” He groans, and whatever plans he had of keeping Castiel on the edge, of turning this into a marathon go out the window. He braces himself awkwardly on one elbow, releasing Castiel’s hand to grip his cock, dripping with precome. He jerks him off in time with the brutal thrusts of his hips, and Castiel arches underneath him again, practically screaming for it now, and that’s where Dean just about loses it.
“Yeah, Cas, now. Come for me, let me see you.”
Dean’s name tears out of Castiel’s throat on a wail as Castiel shoots off between them. His muscles clench down on Dean like a vise, and between the feeling of his body and seeing how bright Cas’s eyes glow when he comes, Dean has no choice but to follow him over the edge.