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Castiel was insatiable.
The moment the final bridge was crossed, the point of no return pointedly in their rearview mirror - all bets were off.
And if Dean had the foresight to think this through a little beforehand, he might have suspected it going this way. After all, the hedonistic angel of the dystopian future long since averted still haunted him. Unshaven, high, with a grin that took up most of his face but still looked slapped on over the top of pure devastation. He should have guessed that if the angel allowed himself much pleasure - he’d overindulge. He wouldn’t know when to stop. He doesn’t have the practice of moderation.
That would be a much larger issue - if Dean wasn’t enjoying every second of it.
It was the morning after those words were spoken - the morning after they’d fallen into bed following - he can admit it - making love in the shower. Dean woke early to the feel of lips against his nape. Early was relative, he supposed - they hadn’t really gotten to sleep until five in the morning. His body didn’t ache with that feeling of too little sleep, so they must have been there long enough. The lips were light, tentative, and accompanied by a soft, warm breath. Castiel’s arm was wrapped around his chest, tucked a little under his chin and held firmly in his grasp. He wriggled a little at the feeling as he stirred. Something insistent poked him in the thigh.
“That how it’s gonna be?” His voice was scratchy with sleep, and his mouth felt dry. Castiel pulled back quickly, his hips suddenly withdrawn. The angel feared rejection. That the spell would be over come daylight. Dean supposed he should expect that reaction - he’s not had the best track record in assurances towards his angel.
“Hey - I’m not complaining,” he said, rolling over still within Castiel’s embrace. The room was dark - it always was, being within a windowless bunker - so he couldn’t see the expression of worry on the other man's face. But he could feel it, in the way his grip was loose, his breath tighter. “Come ‘ere.”
He drew the angel in, towards his chest. They hadn’t bothered to put clothing on after their shower - choosing instead to crawl within the soft sheets warm and tangled together. The sensation of Castiel’s naked body against his own was instantly thrilling. Some small part of him wanted this moment to go slower - to feel more sacred. To pay reverence to the awesome fact that they were finally here, at this point, safe, happy, secure, and in love. Because let’s face it, at the end of the day - Dean Winchester’s a big sap.
But he could feel himself grow harder against solid thigh. And while he’s certainly a sap, Dean Winchester is also incredibly horny.
Besides last night, he can’t even remember the last time he got laid. Well, quite literally not remember as he strongly suspects he may have had a tryst with that waitress sometime after he rode Larry but before he woke up with Peter Cottontail.
Not that any time he’d had sex before prepared him for the undoing he’d experienced in Castiel’s hands.
Hands that now trailed along his back, caressing carefully. Waiting for a signal.
“Ask me.”
Dean’s words were huffed against wild hair.
“Are you - is this?” Castiel spoke against his breastbone, the vibrations of his voice tickling. “Can I?”
“Yeah, Cas. Please .”
Dean Winchester does not beg. Not unless it’s something he wants more than his own life. And he’s reasonably certain the way Castiel moves quickly and grips him tight, his hand searing into sensitive flesh - right about now, he’d pay that price.
They kiss and roll together, tangling sheets in legs to a chorus of breathy moans. Castiel soon has him pinned, trailing open mouthed kisses along his chest. Down the slopes of his clavicle, across the racing heart under his sternum. Trailing a pointed tongue along ribs, just enough to tickle, his body seizing. Down further still to the softness of his belly, biting at the freckled skin. Nipping at hip bones. Zeroing in and kissing closer.
“You don’t have to-” he starts - because some part of his brain realizes this is fast. Castiel has little experience. Dean should be doing this first, to show him the ropes. To lead this horse to water instead of expecting it to find it’s own way.
“Dean - shut up.” Castiel’s voice grumbles in the dark. He can hardly see him but oh God does he feel him as he strokes once, twice, then takes him tentatively into his mouth.
Dean loses most rational thought then. He’s vaguely aware of his hands gripping at sheets, hair, skin. Of the heat that encircles him, that spreads like an electric current outward through his limbs. Of his inability to draw a breath that didn’t include a moan or the angel’s name. Of the way Castiel moaned Dean’s name as he drew away briefly, kissing along the shaft. Movements and motions of a man driven, consumed by love.
He comes with a yelp, still fit deep within his angels mouth. Strong hands hold his hips hard against soft foam. The way he’s restrained only intensifies the feeling of letting go. He’s solid there. Safe. Taken care of. Cas has him - body and soul.
And if he paused to think about how complete the angel makes him feel, he might cry.
Luckily, he was far too horny, even still, for such platitudes.
Going down on Castiel was a lesson in patience. Each kiss, each swipe of his tongue seemed to lift the angel’s hips off the bed in delight, and knock Dean’s head off course. Dean tried to restrain him, to show the same courtesy he’d been shown. To take care of Castiel’s body like the temple it was, containing the angel that had changed his life.
But Cas was a squirmer.
When he finally got the main event, the angel was already a writhing mess.
“Cas - shhhhh,” he cooed against soft skin. He rested his head on Castiel’s hip bone, the rest of his body lay between thick thighs. Kissing occasionally, waiting for his breath to slow. It did in measures, his hand finding Dean’s head in the dark and stroking through his hair gently, like it anchored him.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I don’t - it’s so intense Dean. Last night was so fast but now - it’s never felt like this. Not with anyone. I’m so sorry-”
“Hey - hey,” Dean was glad they were still in near pitch darkness. It made talking easier. “It’s because you love me, you moron. It’s different when you’re in love.”
There was a beat of silence where their breaths were the only marking of the passage of time.
“Oh,” he says finally.
“And I uh - feel the same,” Dean said. “Which is why I want to do this right, ok? Just relax.”
There's a resolve in the way Castiel lets his hand fall from Dean’s head, and the muscles under Dean lose some of their tension. “I trust you, Dean.”
It almost kills him to go as slowly as he does, quietly kissing and stroking his angel. But he was trying to tell Castiel everything that was shouting to come out, one touch at a time. His thanks for saving his life, protecting his family, never leaving his side, being his best friend, knowing him when he didn’t even know himself - transferred from lips to skin.
Still, it didn’t take long before Castiel was nearly sobbing with the pleasure of it, whispering Dean’s name into the darkness like a secret. Coming and trembling and pushing his hips off the mattress, hitting the back of Dean’s throat. It was the hottest thing Dean’s ever been part of and he cursed refraction time because he wanted to do that again right now .
Except, as his stomach gave a little grumble, maybe some breakfast was in order.
He turned on the little lamp beside his bed. Castiel lay sprawled on his pillow, his mouth hanging open slightly as he still panted. Dean watched the little freckles on his unblemished chest dance in the low light. Their eyes met - Dean blushed. Castiel smiled.
“Can we - do that again?” Castiel gulped air and ran a lazy hand through his hair. It did nothing to hide the combo sex/bed head he was rocking. “I know you aren’t a fan of these types of conversations but I don’t want to...”
“Are you kidding? Hell yes .” Dean stretched himself next to the angel, propping his head up on his hand. “I just need food. Preferably - bacon. And coffee. Then we come back here to do that again. A lot.”
There was a light that lit behind the angel’s eyes. It wasn’t the blue of his grace. It was the brightness of understanding that they were on the same page.
And if Dean had been a smart man, this is where he’d have added a little addendum to “a lot”. Perhaps a caveat of ** not while we’re on a hunt , or ** not during, but after I brush my teeth , or ** not in the kitchen while Sam’s there . Because Castiel became an unrestrained sex machine. He wanted Dean everywhere, in every position, at nearly every moment. He wanted to explore parts of Dean that Dean himself had only barely ventured, with his hands, his mouth, his - well. You get the idea.
It should have annoyed Dean, the way he was constantly touched when they were together, even lightly, sometimes inappropriately. But it didn’t. And he realized, slowly, as the unfurling of a long processed thought does, it was because he’d needed this for a long time.
The touch. The attention. The reverence.
Someone he needed badly needing him, just as badly .
Castiel loved him, in every sense of the word.
So it was no bother to deal with his insatiable angel. It was the greatest pleasure he’d ever known.