on the bright side, there isn't a bright side - 2
He can’t believe he’s doing this. He really, really, really, cannot believe he is actually doing this. With them. When they ought to be working on a case. Hell, when they ought to be figuring out how to stop the frigging Apocalypse. He thought the issue was closed days ago, for good. How the hell did Sam manage to talk him into this, anyways?
All he knows is that now, somehow, he, Sam, and Cas are walking through the door of the stag shop they passed on their way back to the motel earlier that week.
Shitshitshitshitshitshit.
It’s great that Sam is all into promoting the sort of healthy, open relationships all those progressive families are so into nowadays, where the kids (i.e. Cas) actually talk to the parents (i.e. Sam and, extremely reluctantly, Dean) about sex and stuff. Honestly. It’s great. Only it would be a whole lot more great if Sam didn’t insist on being so frigging hands-on about everything-he thinks his brother might actually cry if Cas hasn’t used all this recently gained information to jerk off at least once-and in particular, if he didn’t insist on being so frigging hands-on about everything with Dean.
But somehow when they passed that plaza again Sam asked Cas do you want to stop and take a look? And Cas thought about it for a second while Dean was still attempting to process that his brother had just asked his best friend if he wanted to go look at sex toys together, then said okay. It’s all a little hazy now, kind of like some horrible nightmare, but Dean’s pretty sure he did everything short of throwing a full-out tantrum to get them to change their minds; and yet somehow, here they are. Team Free Will-or maybe Team Free Love would be more appropriate considering the way things have been going recently-all crowded around a display of clit stimulators.
“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Dean growls to Sam as Cas stares at the goods before him with that stupid head tilt, like he’s just looking at a vaguely interesting stamp collection or something.
“It’ll be good for him,” Sam whispers back. “He’s an adult, technically, but you and I have our whole lives of accumulated experience to go on while he’s got, like, three weeks’ worth. And I’m assuming at some point he’s going to get curious about actually trying stuff, so he might as well know as much as he can. You really want to set him loose on some poor innocent girl when he still thinks getting a boner is a medical problem?”
There’s really nothing Dean can say to this because no, he definitely doesn’t think that’s a good idea (plus the only place where he wants Cas set loose at the moment is in his bed, not that he’s going to tell Sam that since he’s not even supposed to be thinking stuff like that to begin with). So instead he changes tactics and says, “Okay, but why are we looking at these? In case you haven’t noticed none of us actually have a fucking clitoris, genius.”
“Fair point,” Sam acquiesces, and drags Cas over to a rack of holy shit what the fuck are those Jesus Christ is that even legal?
Dean thought they were just going for a quick look around, a brief seeing of the sights before Cas’s curiosity had been satisfied sufficiently for them to get on with saving the world once again; but apparently Sam has other ideas, because by the time they leave twenty minutes later a bemused Cas is holding a bag and Sam is beaming as proudly as a mother watching her child graduate university with a PhD in theoretical physics.
“It’s so good for you to be exploring this on your own, you know?” Sam gushes. “A lot of kids in schools still get taught that sex is just for reproduction, but for most people it’s more for pleasure. And if you look at it that way, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with doing it yourself.”
“Right…” says Castiel. Dean has a feeling this may be directly in conflict with his previous beliefs and he’s just too polite to say anything; on the other hand it seems equally possible that he’s just as dazed by Sam’s sexual exploration whirlwind as Dean is.
Luckily things go more or less back to normal after that, or as normal as things ever are for the Winchesters. All three of them are busy-“the family business” has gone from saving some people and hunting some things to saving the entire world and hunting absolutely everything, and even without the majority of his angelic powers Cas’s third set of hands is an enormous asset. Sam still, miraculously, finds the time once in a while to drag Dean out of the motel room with clear instructions to Cas that they will be back in precisely one hour so why doesn’t he relax for a bit, whereupon Dean is forced to spend the entirety of whatever dumb outing Sam’s come up with pointedly not imagining what Cas might be doing back in that motel room on his own.
“Isn’t this kind of weird?” he asks Sam in desperation after spending the entirety of the movie he’s been coerced into attending (A Dangerous Method, which to Sam seems to be enthralling but to Dean is just weird and boring and why does his brother’s taste in everything suck so much) not wondering or picturing or thinking at all about Cas.
Sam considers the question. “Not really,” he says. “They’ve always made a lot of these types of movies. I went to see The King’s Speech while you were, um, dead, and-”
“Not the movie, idiot, Cas. We’re basically just telling him to…” Dean gestures vaguely, hoping Sam will get the message.
“Well, maybe a little,” Sam admits. “Not exactly normal, anyways-but it’s not exactly a normal situation either, is it? He needs some time to experiment and stuff, and otherwise we’re with him basically all the time. And this isn’t like brushing his teeth or making Kraft dinner or whatever, it’s not really something we can be around for-unless you want to-”
“No, thanks,” says Dean quickly. Sam laughs, and Dean laughs too, except a little awkwardly because even though he managed to get his mouth to shoot down the suggestion right away other parts of him are insisting that yes, he would like very much to stay and watch. Or help.
So life goes on, and the Apocalypse goes on, and Dean’s big gay hard-on for his best friend goes on, and Sam’s inner goddess continues to shine. In fact, Dean sometimes finds himself wondering how the hell this kid ever got himself slated as the Devil’s vessel when his greatest powers seem to consist of providing unwanted sex education, listening to really bad music, and ingesting mind-boggling amounts of salad. What’s Lucifer going to do, Taylor Swift the world into flames? Damn the human race to an eternity of putting cheap condoms on bananas?
To be honest, both prospects are pretty fucking terrifying. Dean decides he’ll take some good old fire and brimstone over an eternal loop of the dance-y radio version of Love Story any day.
They’re watching another of Sam’s random documentaries (Amazing Grace, since it’s on TV and Sam says it’s good and Cas is intrigued and Dean is really fucking bored) when Dean finds his best-friend-boner-or BFB as he’s taken to calling it in his head, for no particular reason other than why use four syllables when you can use three-acting up. It may be because his eyes keep being drawn back to the closet where he can see the black-and-red stag shop bag from a few weeks earlier peeking out, or it may be because he’s sitting really close to Cas on the too-small couch and he can feel Cas’s body heat radiating out and he’s wearing pajama pants that sit right below his hips so Dean can easily see the way his skin is stretched taught over the sharp bones and there’s a drop of water left over from his recent shower rolling oh so slowly down the dip of Cas’s collarbone that Dean is extremely tempted to lick off and he doesn’t always like to take it up the ass but at the moment he’s feeling perfectly willing to let Cas bend him over the sofa and-
-and he really needs to stop, Jesus Christ. He hasn’t taken in a single fucking word of the movie in the past five minutes. His mouth is bone-dry, his heart is racing, and he doesn’t even want to think about what’s going on in his pants right now. Stupid Cas with his stupid fucking angle pheromones, or whatever the hell it is that’s got Dean practically drooling over him.
It’s nearly midnight and Cas is looking exhausted, head drooping over every so often before he jerks upright again. Dean’s had enough of this-he doesn’t want a repeat of Julie and Julia, when they both passed out only to wake up to Sam sniggering about the fact that Cas had unconsciously snuggled up against Dean. In particular he doesn’t want it now, when he’s already so heated up that he has a bad feeling any actual physical contact might make his dick explode. So he stands up abruptly, announces he’s going to bed, and storms off to take a shower.
That’s exactly what he intends when he steps under the stream of hot water. Honestly. Just get clean and get into bed. Except he can’t seem to stop thinking about that red-and-black bag, which just gets him thinking about Cas jerking off…not even with any of the weird stuff Sam bought, just wrapping those long fingers around his cock, all flushed a pretty red-purple with blood…a few strokes, hesitant at first because he doesn’t really know what he’s doing or what he wants or how this is supposed to work, and those blue eyes are widening in surprise since hey, this is actually feels kind of good…building up a rhythm, now, maybe adding a little twist when he gets to the head the way Dean does (the way Dean’s doing now, because how can he possibly imagine any of this without touching himself in the process)…actually it feels really good, and his teeth are digging into his bottom lip as he speeds it up a little, snapping his hips forward into his hand-fuck that’s hot, and this is only what he can imagine on his own. Not even imagining those long fingers around him, or Cas’s stubble against his skin, or just Cas on his own because he is seriously that fucking attractive. Good on Cas for picking such a drop-dead gorgeous vessel, though Dean’s pretty sure the angel never intended on using Jimmy’s body exactly this way when he took up residence, and shit that’s-
Real Dean, who’s in the shower not very far away from Sam and Cas on the couch in the other room (awkward) comes before the Cas in his head, which is good because he’s kind of at a loss to guess what watching Cas orgasm would be like; really, really hot, obviously, but the details-is he loud, and is it words or just noises? Or is he quiet? Do his eyes widen or squeeze tight shut? Will he keep jerking it out, or stop right away because he doesn’t know what’s going on?-are hazy, and the details are what’s important. He has to bite his lip to keep from moaning, bracing himself against the tiled wall with one arm until the waves of pleasure have stopped shooting through him and it feels fucking fantastic to get that out, after days and weeks of growing steadily more certain that Cas’s body is by far the hottest thing around but not being able to do anything about it.
The only problem is that the water, now washing the sticky white splatters of come in a swirling mess down the drain, can’t help wash away the knowledge of the fact that Dean just got off to the thought of his best friend getting off. Which is a little… weird. Or kind of a lot weird. And in a minute he’s going to have to get out of the shower and walk into the other room to climb into bed, and he’s going to see Cas on the couch still watching that dumb movie or maybe asleep by now, and he’s going to have to try not to think about how aside from stopping the Apocalypse all Dean really wants to do is have sex with him.
Oops.
At least he’s not sharing a bed with Cas tonight-it’s his turn for a bed to himself, since they do an odd sort of musical chairs but with beds every night, each person sharing for two then by himself for one. Really they ought to just start getting a second room; but Cas doesn’t want to be by himself and Dean doesn’t want to leave Cas alone with Sam’s unquenchable thirst to help Cas with his self-exploration or whatever and Dean definitely doesn’t want to be alone in a room with Cas, especially not after that shower, so this is what they’re doing.
“Did you have to be so loud?” Sam asks in annoyance when he comes out in his towel, and Dean heart seems to stop for a second. It’s not so much the fact that Sam and Cas might have heard him that’s worrying but the possibility that they somehow knew what he was thinking about, even though that was all in his head and there’s no way they could know anything about that, right, unless-“What were you doing, juggling the shampoo?”
Oh, right. That. Well, Sam can shut up because it’s kind of hard to concentrate on holding the soap or shampoo or whatever when you’re still a little blissed out from a pretty decent orgasm and also dreading the next time you’ll have to see Cas (which, unfortunately, will be in approximately five minutes). Not that he’s going to tell Sam that, but basically the fact that the soap bar now has a weird dent in it from being dropped three times on the shower floor is perfectly justified.
“Yeah, well, that’s my prerogative, isn’t it?” says Dean snarkily, because he’s tired and guilty and how come Cas has the wildest sex hair out of all of them all the time even though he’s also the most hardcore virgin of the trio, can’t he just learn to use a hairbrush properly and stop tempting Dean to dig his fingers into it? “Juggling in the shower is how I do my own self-exploration, so suck it. By the way your toothbrush fell in the toilet.” It hasn’t, actually, but Dean knows how to push all Sam’s buttons by now and tonight he’s in the mood to push as many as he can. He holds Sam entirely responsible for this whole thing-if he’d just been normal about all Cas’s awkward questions instead of turning into Laci fucking Green Dean’s pretty sure he could have gotten away without ever noticing he had a thing for Cas.
“Augh! I hate you!” exclaims Sam, scrambling up from the couch as if hoping that if he gets there fast enough he can somehow reverse the (actually non-existent) damage.
“G’night,” Dean mumbles to Cas, without really looking at him.
“Good night, Dean,” says Cas. As far as Dean can figure, he goes back to watching the movie after that. He and Dean’s brother have been considerate enough to turn the volume down a few notches, so that Dean drifts off to sleep to the murmur of recorded voices and a conscience that is currently kicking him in the balls.
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All he knows is that now, somehow, he, Sam, and Cas are walking through the door of the stag shop they passed on their way back to the motel earlier that week.
Shitshitshitshitshitshit.
It’s great that Sam is all into promoting the sort of healthy, open relationships all those progressive families are so into nowadays, where the kids (i.e. Cas) actually talk to the parents (i.e. Sam and, extremely reluctantly, Dean) about sex and stuff. Honestly. It’s great. Only it would be a whole lot more great if Sam didn’t insist on being so frigging hands-on about everything-he thinks his brother might actually cry if Cas hasn’t used all this recently gained information to jerk off at least once-and in particular, if he didn’t insist on being so frigging hands-on about everything with Dean.
But somehow when they passed that plaza again Sam asked Cas do you want to stop and take a look? And Cas thought about it for a second while Dean was still attempting to process that his brother had just asked his best friend if he wanted to go look at sex toys together, then said okay. It’s all a little hazy now, kind of like some horrible nightmare, but Dean’s pretty sure he did everything short of throwing a full-out tantrum to get them to change their minds; and yet somehow, here they are. Team Free Will-or maybe Team Free Love would be more appropriate considering the way things have been going recently-all crowded around a display of clit stimulators.
“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Dean growls to Sam as Cas stares at the goods before him with that stupid head tilt, like he’s just looking at a vaguely interesting stamp collection or something.
“It’ll be good for him,” Sam whispers back. “He’s an adult, technically, but you and I have our whole lives of accumulated experience to go on while he’s got, like, three weeks’ worth. And I’m assuming at some point he’s going to get curious about actually trying stuff, so he might as well know as much as he can. You really want to set him loose on some poor innocent girl when he still thinks getting a boner is a medical problem?”
There’s really nothing Dean can say to this because no, he definitely doesn’t think that’s a good idea (plus the only place where he wants Cas set loose at the moment is in his bed, not that he’s going to tell Sam that since he’s not even supposed to be thinking stuff like that to begin with). So instead he changes tactics and says, “Okay, but why are we looking at these? In case you haven’t noticed none of us actually have a fucking clitoris, genius.”
“Fair point,” Sam acquiesces, and drags Cas over to a rack of holy shit what the fuck are those Jesus Christ is that even legal?
Dean thought they were just going for a quick look around, a brief seeing of the sights before Cas’s curiosity had been satisfied sufficiently for them to get on with saving the world once again; but apparently Sam has other ideas, because by the time they leave twenty minutes later a bemused Cas is holding a bag and Sam is beaming as proudly as a mother watching her child graduate university with a PhD in theoretical physics.
“It’s so good for you to be exploring this on your own, you know?” Sam gushes. “A lot of kids in schools still get taught that sex is just for reproduction, but for most people it’s more for pleasure. And if you look at it that way, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with doing it yourself.”
“Right…” says Castiel. Dean has a feeling this may be directly in conflict with his previous beliefs and he’s just too polite to say anything; on the other hand it seems equally possible that he’s just as dazed by Sam’s sexual exploration whirlwind as Dean is.
Luckily things go more or less back to normal after that, or as normal as things ever are for the Winchesters. All three of them are busy-“the family business” has gone from saving some people and hunting some things to saving the entire world and hunting absolutely everything, and even without the majority of his angelic powers Cas’s third set of hands is an enormous asset. Sam still, miraculously, finds the time once in a while to drag Dean out of the motel room with clear instructions to Cas that they will be back in precisely one hour so why doesn’t he relax for a bit, whereupon Dean is forced to spend the entirety of whatever dumb outing Sam’s come up with pointedly not imagining what Cas might be doing back in that motel room on his own.
“Isn’t this kind of weird?” he asks Sam in desperation after spending the entirety of the movie he’s been coerced into attending (A Dangerous Method, which to Sam seems to be enthralling but to Dean is just weird and boring and why does his brother’s taste in everything suck so much) not wondering or picturing or thinking at all about Cas.
Sam considers the question. “Not really,” he says. “They’ve always made a lot of these types of movies. I went to see The King’s Speech while you were, um, dead, and-”
“Not the movie, idiot, Cas. We’re basically just telling him to…” Dean gestures vaguely, hoping Sam will get the message.
“Well, maybe a little,” Sam admits. “Not exactly normal, anyways-but it’s not exactly a normal situation either, is it? He needs some time to experiment and stuff, and otherwise we’re with him basically all the time. And this isn’t like brushing his teeth or making Kraft dinner or whatever, it’s not really something we can be around for-unless you want to-”
“No, thanks,” says Dean quickly. Sam laughs, and Dean laughs too, except a little awkwardly because even though he managed to get his mouth to shoot down the suggestion right away other parts of him are insisting that yes, he would like very much to stay and watch. Or help.
So life goes on, and the Apocalypse goes on, and Dean’s big gay hard-on for his best friend goes on, and Sam’s inner goddess continues to shine. In fact, Dean sometimes finds himself wondering how the hell this kid ever got himself slated as the Devil’s vessel when his greatest powers seem to consist of providing unwanted sex education, listening to really bad music, and ingesting mind-boggling amounts of salad. What’s Lucifer going to do, Taylor Swift the world into flames? Damn the human race to an eternity of putting cheap condoms on bananas?
To be honest, both prospects are pretty fucking terrifying. Dean decides he’ll take some good old fire and brimstone over an eternal loop of the dance-y radio version of Love Story any day.
They’re watching another of Sam’s random documentaries (Amazing Grace, since it’s on TV and Sam says it’s good and Cas is intrigued and Dean is really fucking bored) when Dean finds his best-friend-boner-or BFB as he’s taken to calling it in his head, for no particular reason other than why use four syllables when you can use three-acting up. It may be because his eyes keep being drawn back to the closet where he can see the black-and-red stag shop bag from a few weeks earlier peeking out, or it may be because he’s sitting really close to Cas on the too-small couch and he can feel Cas’s body heat radiating out and he’s wearing pajama pants that sit right below his hips so Dean can easily see the way his skin is stretched taught over the sharp bones and there’s a drop of water left over from his recent shower rolling oh so slowly down the dip of Cas’s collarbone that Dean is extremely tempted to lick off and he doesn’t always like to take it up the ass but at the moment he’s feeling perfectly willing to let Cas bend him over the sofa and-
-and he really needs to stop, Jesus Christ. He hasn’t taken in a single fucking word of the movie in the past five minutes. His mouth is bone-dry, his heart is racing, and he doesn’t even want to think about what’s going on in his pants right now. Stupid Cas with his stupid fucking angle pheromones, or whatever the hell it is that’s got Dean practically drooling over him.
It’s nearly midnight and Cas is looking exhausted, head drooping over every so often before he jerks upright again. Dean’s had enough of this-he doesn’t want a repeat of Julie and Julia, when they both passed out only to wake up to Sam sniggering about the fact that Cas had unconsciously snuggled up against Dean. In particular he doesn’t want it now, when he’s already so heated up that he has a bad feeling any actual physical contact might make his dick explode. So he stands up abruptly, announces he’s going to bed, and storms off to take a shower.
That’s exactly what he intends when he steps under the stream of hot water. Honestly. Just get clean and get into bed. Except he can’t seem to stop thinking about that red-and-black bag, which just gets him thinking about Cas jerking off…not even with any of the weird stuff Sam bought, just wrapping those long fingers around his cock, all flushed a pretty red-purple with blood…a few strokes, hesitant at first because he doesn’t really know what he’s doing or what he wants or how this is supposed to work, and those blue eyes are widening in surprise since hey, this is actually feels kind of good…building up a rhythm, now, maybe adding a little twist when he gets to the head the way Dean does (the way Dean’s doing now, because how can he possibly imagine any of this without touching himself in the process)…actually it feels really good, and his teeth are digging into his bottom lip as he speeds it up a little, snapping his hips forward into his hand-fuck that’s hot, and this is only what he can imagine on his own. Not even imagining those long fingers around him, or Cas’s stubble against his skin, or just Cas on his own because he is seriously that fucking attractive. Good on Cas for picking such a drop-dead gorgeous vessel, though Dean’s pretty sure the angel never intended on using Jimmy’s body exactly this way when he took up residence, and shit that’s-
Real Dean, who’s in the shower not very far away from Sam and Cas on the couch in the other room (awkward) comes before the Cas in his head, which is good because he’s kind of at a loss to guess what watching Cas orgasm would be like; really, really hot, obviously, but the details-is he loud, and is it words or just noises? Or is he quiet? Do his eyes widen or squeeze tight shut? Will he keep jerking it out, or stop right away because he doesn’t know what’s going on?-are hazy, and the details are what’s important. He has to bite his lip to keep from moaning, bracing himself against the tiled wall with one arm until the waves of pleasure have stopped shooting through him and it feels fucking fantastic to get that out, after days and weeks of growing steadily more certain that Cas’s body is by far the hottest thing around but not being able to do anything about it.
The only problem is that the water, now washing the sticky white splatters of come in a swirling mess down the drain, can’t help wash away the knowledge of the fact that Dean just got off to the thought of his best friend getting off. Which is a little… weird. Or kind of a lot weird. And in a minute he’s going to have to get out of the shower and walk into the other room to climb into bed, and he’s going to see Cas on the couch still watching that dumb movie or maybe asleep by now, and he’s going to have to try not to think about how aside from stopping the Apocalypse all Dean really wants to do is have sex with him.
Oops.
At least he’s not sharing a bed with Cas tonight-it’s his turn for a bed to himself, since they do an odd sort of musical chairs but with beds every night, each person sharing for two then by himself for one. Really they ought to just start getting a second room; but Cas doesn’t want to be by himself and Dean doesn’t want to leave Cas alone with Sam’s unquenchable thirst to help Cas with his self-exploration or whatever and Dean definitely doesn’t want to be alone in a room with Cas, especially not after that shower, so this is what they’re doing.
“Did you have to be so loud?” Sam asks in annoyance when he comes out in his towel, and Dean heart seems to stop for a second. It’s not so much the fact that Sam and Cas might have heard him that’s worrying but the possibility that they somehow knew what he was thinking about, even though that was all in his head and there’s no way they could know anything about that, right, unless-“What were you doing, juggling the shampoo?”
Oh, right. That. Well, Sam can shut up because it’s kind of hard to concentrate on holding the soap or shampoo or whatever when you’re still a little blissed out from a pretty decent orgasm and also dreading the next time you’ll have to see Cas (which, unfortunately, will be in approximately five minutes). Not that he’s going to tell Sam that, but basically the fact that the soap bar now has a weird dent in it from being dropped three times on the shower floor is perfectly justified.
“Yeah, well, that’s my prerogative, isn’t it?” says Dean snarkily, because he’s tired and guilty and how come Cas has the wildest sex hair out of all of them all the time even though he’s also the most hardcore virgin of the trio, can’t he just learn to use a hairbrush properly and stop tempting Dean to dig his fingers into it? “Juggling in the shower is how I do my own self-exploration, so suck it. By the way your toothbrush fell in the toilet.” It hasn’t, actually, but Dean knows how to push all Sam’s buttons by now and tonight he’s in the mood to push as many as he can. He holds Sam entirely responsible for this whole thing-if he’d just been normal about all Cas’s awkward questions instead of turning into Laci fucking Green Dean’s pretty sure he could have gotten away without ever noticing he had a thing for Cas.
“Augh! I hate you!” exclaims Sam, scrambling up from the couch as if hoping that if he gets there fast enough he can somehow reverse the (actually non-existent) damage.
“G’night,” Dean mumbles to Cas, without really looking at him.
“Good night, Dean,” says Cas. As far as Dean can figure, he goes back to watching the movie after that. He and Dean’s brother have been considerate enough to turn the volume down a few notches, so that Dean drifts off to sleep to the murmur of recorded voices and a conscience that is currently kicking him in the balls.
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