Fic: Wasn't he pointing the other way? part 18c & 18d in Oz
Wasn't he pointing the other way? & Of course, some people do go both ways
5400 words, SPN Dean/Castiel slash. Spoilers for all of season 4.
Thanks to kayote_pb_rl for agreeing to take part in my madness!
Continuing my Welcome to Oz series. Master post of links here.
As the edges of sleep retreat from Dean’s mind, he becomes suddenly and horrifyingly aware that somehow, in the course of falling asleep after a satisfying round of bodily exploration between him and Cas,
Wasn't he pointing the other way?
Saturday
As the edges of sleep retreat from Dean’s mind, he becomes suddenly and horrifyingly aware that somehow, in the course of falling asleep after a satisfying round of bodily exploration between him and Cas, they’d ended up cuddling. Not just any kind of cuddling, though-spooning to be exact, with Dean as the big spoon. Dean’s arms are wrapped around Castiel’s waist, chest to legs lined up with Castiel’s back and legs, Dean’s nose buried in Castiel’s surprisingly soft hair.
Dean barely suppresses the wave of panic that rises up in his abdomen and tries to guess at how this happened; after Castiel had made his stupidly earnest, “You amaze me,” comment, Dean had needed to shut him up with some intense kissing, groping, and possibly biting. They had both been too tired to do anything beyond paw at each and make out lazily, and Dean thinks he must have fallen asleep first. The sneaky bastard must have cuddled Dean while he was unconscious and powerless to stop him. Even if that doesn’t provide a thoroughly satisfying explanation as to why Dean’s arms are around Castiel’s waist instead of the other way around, Dean prefers this version of events.
Dean pulls away from Castiel, who doesn’t wake up, and rolls onto his back. Dean wonders what time it is and then glances at the clock: four in the afternoon. A low rumble reminds him that he hasn’t eaten since breakfast, and he gets up to remedy that situation.
Dean goes to the bedroom closet and contemplates putting on a new set of clothes. If Castiel wakes up in the next few hours, there’s the distinct possibility of a round three--rendering more clothing a barrier to speedy nakedness. Dean’s dick seems hopeful about the prospects, at any rate. So Dean settles on donning a new pair of underwear, and goes into the study to order hot wings, burgers, and curly fries from Red, White, and Blue.
When the delivery guy arrives, Dean barely remembers to put on a robe when he opens the door. Dean tips the guy extra once he realizes he’s now that neighborhood creep who answers the door in nothing but a robe and boxers.
He's setting the food on the kitchen table when Castiel makes his way into the kitchen, naked yet again. Not that Dean minds, per se; the view is certainly a fine one. “Dude,” Dean says as he sets the plates. “How do you always manage to wake up just in time for the food?”
Castiel shrugs and grabs a couple of bottles of beer from the fridge. On his way back to the table, he passes by Dean and plucks at the sleeve of Dean’s robe. “When did you get this?”
“Uh.” Dean glances down at the robe and is surprised to see that it is black and silky; he’d grabbed the first robe he could find in the closet when he’d answered the door. He hazards a guess, “A couple of weeks ago? The old one I had caught fire when I was trying to make that omelet.”
“The kitchen smelled like burning for a week after that,” Castiel sighs. He lets go of the sleeve, but runs a startlingly possessive hand down Dean’s back instead. “But I like this.”
Dean freezes, hit by two equally strong responses to the touch: intense arousal, and irritation. Then even more irritation at his dick for already panting after Castiel like Pavlov’s dog. “I didn’t buy it for you. This was all they had left in the store.”
Castiel frowns as he scoops some curly fries onto his plate. “I didn’t think you had.”
Dean doesn’t know what to say to that, so he changes the subject. “Are you seriously gonna walk around naked now?”
Castiel’s frown deepens. “Does it bother you?”
“No,” Dean huffs. “Like I care what you wear or don’t wear. It’s just weird, you know, eating dinner with a naked guy.”
“Dean, I can-” Castiel starts to get up but Dean stops him with a hand on his wrist, and oh boy, his dick is totally getting hooked on touching Castiel’s skin.
“Forget it,” Dean says, and releases Castiel’s wrist. “Just eat.”
Castiel sits again, and the meal is quiet and uncomfortable. Dean keeps thinking of things to say like, ‘hey, that was fun, but let’s never do it or talk about it again because this situation is way too awkward for me’ or ‘so that’s sex, Cas-good luck, go forth into the world and be merry’. He wants to clarify for Castiel that all this stuff is just sex-no deeper connection, no bigger meaning, no freaking commitment for god’s sake. But then Dean feels stupid for wanting to say it out loud because Castiel’s not some chick he has to placate, and of course he’d know sex is just something humans do to pass the time.
In the end, Dean says nothing and it’s Castiel who ends the silence. “What is the proper protocol for this situation?”
Dean nearly chokes on a fry. “What?”
“I do not know what I should-whether I should--” Castiel stops. “What happens now?”
“Uh.” Dean takes a deep swig of beer. “It’s not like we took an interstellar space trip. There isn’t a debriefing protocol here. Nothing’s changed.”
“Oh.” Castiel’s gaze wanders from Dean’s eyes to his lips. “I see.”
Dean fakes a yawn, stretching out his arms so that his robe falls open, and smirks when it has its intended effect, Castiel’s gaze traveling down to his chest and then lower still. “You finished with dinner?”
“Yes,” Castiel murmurs as he stands and abandons half a plate of curly fries.
“Good.” Dean stands too, and Castiel’s on him in an instant, hands roaming under the robe with a different kind of hunger. “I’m ready for dessert too.”
Castiel makes a dismayed face. “I thought--”
Dean bites back a laugh. “Euphemism, Cas. I’ll fill you in later.”
They end up in bed again, with Dean sitting on the edge, legs dangling. Castiel’s on his knees investigating Dean’s lap with little curious kisses. Dean runs his fingers through Castiel’s hair, mostly content to let Castiel explore at his leisure with the occasional lick or kiss. It occurs to Dean that Castiel’s never done this before, and has only had it done to him once.
“Watch the teeth,” Dean says, and hears Castiel make some kind of acknowledging noise in his crotch. “And your gag reflex. Go slow, okay?”
Castiel nods and accidentally bumps Dean’s cock with his chin. The feel of stubble against the sensitive skin is a weird one, and Dean can’t decide whether it’s good or not. He braces himself for what is probably going to be one of the lesser blowjobs of his life, but since Castiel doesn’t have braces, at least it’s definitely not going to be the worst.
Castiel begins with tongue, lots and lots of tongue. Excessive amounts of tongue, in fact, since he’s licking Dean’s dick like a lollipop. It starts out feeling good, but after a certain point there’s so much saliva Dean feels himself losing interest-both upstairs and downstairs. Castiel notices and turns to look up at Dean. “Dean?”
“It’s good, Cas, it’s just, uh,” Dean searches for a nice way to say it, but can’t think of one, and settles for, “suck me?”
Castiel nods and--okay, there’s the stubble on dick thing again, though at least it’s a change from all the tongue--but then Castiel leans forward and takes the tip of Dean’s dick into his mouth and it’s good. Good until Dean feels the slight scrape of teeth and he stutters out, “Teeth!” before they’re gone, and then it’s back to good again. It’s wet and warm and a decent amount of pressure, and Dean tries to be encouraging. “That’s it,” Dean says, and presses the back Castiel’s head very lightly, encouraging him to go further. Castiel takes the hint, taking a few more inches into his mouth, and then there’s some tongue on the head of Dean’s dick, which is great, blessedly free of teeth and braces and other erection killing things.
Castiel begins to move up and down slowly with no particular rhythm, trying to maintain suction with mixed results. It’s too slow and erratic to really get Dean going, but when he looks down at Castiel, who begins making little half sighing, half moaning sounds deep in his throat as he bobs that Dean can feel to the base of his dick, well. Okay, that gets Dean going.
It gets better when Castiel figures out how to wrap his hand around the base of Dean’s cock and jerk while his mouth works the top, and the rhythm improves. Dean feels the orgasm teasing at him on the horizon, and squeezes Castiel on the shoulder to warn him. “I’m gonna-”
Castiel pulls his mouth off, but continues jerking Dean off with his hand, thankfully, and it’s only a few minutes later that Dean comes. He’s aware of Castiel observing him as he does, face only a few inches away from Dean’s dick, and it makes it all that much more intense.
A little while later, Dean’s mind comes back online enough to realize he’s lying on his back on the bed, Castiel on his side next to him. Castiel’s looking down at him with something so soft in his eyes that it unnerves Dean, so he focuses on Castiel’s lips instead, which are red and wet.
“Thanks,” Dean croaks, and Castiel smiles suddenly, catching Dean off-guard.
“Dean,” Castiel says, voice rough and fucked up and awesome. “Why didn’t we start doing this earlier?”
“Beats the shit outta me,” Dean says, and the lights are ever so slowly coming back on in his brain. “You still need some help?”
Castiel glances down at his erection as if mildly surprised to see it. “Yes.”
“What’s your pleasure?” Dean asks. “Hand, mouth, something else? I’m in a pretty good mood right now.”
“I don’t know,” Castiel replies, kissing Dean tentatively on the mouth. “What would you suggest?”
Dean can taste himself on Castiel, and it’s hot, hotter than it has any right to be. “I could blow you again.”
Castiel smiles but doesn’t respond, merely continues kissing Dean. They’re light kisses, little sweeps of tongue that aren’t impatient or demanding at all, and Dean realizes after about ten minutes that Castiel might be content with staying like this, completely unconcerned with his hard on.
“I know I’m a little out of practice, but I didn’t think my blowjob was that bad,” Dean jokes against Castiel’s lips.
Castiel pulls away slightly, and cocks his head to one side. “I like this. I like seeing your face.”
Dean forces a chuckle, abruptly self-conscious. “Have you been kissing me with your eyes open this whole time? Because that’s kind of weird.”
“Yes,” Castiel says simply, and Dean swallows. Okay then.
“I guess there’s something else we could do,” Dean says. “If you’re really set on this watching me thing. Perv.”
“I’m afraid I am,” Castiel deadpans, but there’s a twinkle of something in his voice, and Dean suspects he might finally be growing a sense of humor, albeit a weird one.
“Okay,” Dean says, and feels a surge of something warm throughout his body, all the way down to his toes. At first he thinks it’s arousal, but a glance south is all he needs to confirm that it’s way too soon for that. Must be some kind of after-orgasm residual. “I haven’t done this in a very long time, but I guarantee you’re going to like it.”
Dean leans half off the bed to rummage through the nightstand for the unopened condoms and lubricant he he’d been saving for a rainy day. Turns out today is that rainy day.
“Lube,” Dean says, and waves the plastic bottle in front of Castiel. “And a condom. Key to this kind of sex, Cas.” Castiel raises an eyebrow but offers no comment, and Dean continues. “Now, you gotta do a little prep work before you go full force, or it’s gonna hurt like a motherfucker.”
Dean squirts a generous dollop of lubricant to his fingers and then sits up, parting his knees for easier access. The last time he did this was a much, much longer time ago than his last quick and dirty blowjob. It was sometime before he died and was reconstituted by Castiel, in fact. And there’s something shockingly sexy about the fact that Castiel was the one that put him back together and is now going to be-well, fucking him open for the first time since.
Dean exhales deeply, reminds himself of how great this felt oh so long ago, and takes the plunge with one careful finger. It’s tight as hell, requiring a lot of slow movement and un-tensing, especially when Dean gets up to three fingers. Dean cracks one eye open and yeah, he’s definitely caught Castiel’s attention now, eyes wide and rapt and trained on the place where Dean’s fingers disappear into his own body. Castiel’s obvious arousal makes it easier, a flush of anticipatory heat thrumming through Dean’s own body now.
Dean withdraws his fingers, wipes his hand on the sheets, and then takes Castiel’s hand.
“Dean, what…” Castiel’s voice is all kinds of fucked up now, and Dean retrieves the bottle of lube and squeezes some onto Castiel’s fingers for him.
Dean slides forward toward Castiel, and manages to maneuver himself into a position where Castiel has relatively easy access. He guides Castiel’s hands to his hole and lets him do the rest on his own. Castiel presses one fingertip experimentally against the ring of muscle and Dean forces himself to relax against the intrusion. Castiel gasps when Dean lets him in, and Dean moans, because it’s both uncomfortable and hot at the same time. “You can go to three,” Dean chokes out, and Castiel takes him up on his offer, heat sparking through Dean’s veins when Castiel’s twisting fingers accidentally brush against that sweet spot in him.
“Okay, okay,” Dean says, tugging at Castiel’s wrist. Castiel withdraws with notable reluctance, and Dean wastes no time in getting a condom and ripping it open. When he rolls it down Castiel’s cock, Castiel bucks up into Dean’s hand with a startled moan.
Castiel’s breathing hard and fast, clearly overwhelmed. “What are you--”
“It’s okay,” Dean says, putting a hand on Castiel’s hip, encouraging him to lay back on the bed and be still while Dean drizzles lube over his dick. “I’m gonna do the work and you’re gonna have a hell of a good time.”
Finally, all the preparation is complete and Dean straddles Castiel’s body, looking Castiel straight in the eye as he lowers himself down slowly onto his dick. At the first penetration, Dean winces and halts, because even with all the fingering before it’s still too much. Beneath him, Castiel’s gasping, barely restraining himself from bucking up again.
“Okay, okay,” Dean says more to himself than anything, and is surprised when Castiel takes his hand, fingers intertwining in his.
“Dean,” is all Castiel says, but Dean can see too much in his expression and looks away. He doesn’t try to pull away from Castiel’s hand, however, fingers tightening as Dean lowers himself down all the way, bottoming out with a shudder.
After a minute to adjust to the feeling of having Cas inside him, Dean lifts himself up and then presses down in a not very smooth motion. Castiel moans and it’s so raw and needy that Dean opens his eyes again, making eye contact once more.
Dean begins moving up and down, trying out different directions and angles until he finds it, that perfect motion that brushes Castiel’s cock right up against his prostate. Castiel’s been lying stock still this entire time, body trembling, and Dean says, “It’s okay. You can move now.” And like that, Castiel’s thrusting right up, meeting Dean’s downward motion with his own upward push, hitting that sweet spot hard enough that it sends little twitches of pleasure through Dean’s body.
“You,” Castiel says, his free hand making its way up Dean’s forearm and bicep, coming to rest on the fading handprint-his handprint-on Dean’s shoulder. The first contact shocks Dean like a thousand volts of electrical current passing straight through his body, causing him to arch his back and slam down onto Castiel. Castiel gasps too, immediately releasing Dean’s shoulder.
“Holy fuck.” Dean blinks sweat away and stares down at Castiel, who seems just as dazed. “What the fuck was that?”
“My Grace.” Castiel shakes his head in awe and touches the handprint again with only one finger, sending a tingle through Dean. It’s not overwhelming this time, more of a pleasurable buzz, and Castiel ratchets it up to four fingers before it’s too much again, electric buzzing almost vibrating Dean’s teeth.
“Too much,” Dean says breathlessly and Castiel lets go right away. There’s so much concern in Castiel’s gaze that Dean feels the need to reassure him. “I’m fine. I just need a second.”
Castiel nods, squeezing Dean’s fingers in his own, and Dean’s vaguely surprised to realize they’re still holding hands after all this time. Castiel’s free hand moves to Dean’s dick, which had, at some point, decided to join the party, and Dean begins to move again. Between the feel of Castiel’s dick filling him up inside, sending little bursts of pleasure through him with every thrust, and the coordinated motion of Castiel’s hand on his dick, Dean can feel his orgasm fast approaching. He allows himself to go over, falling forward and bracing himself with one arm on the bed as he comes.
Somewhere in the distance, he hears and feels Castiel moaning and jerking up against him, pulling Dean down further, flush against Castiel’s chest.
“Dean,” Castiel says as Dean’s coming down. When Dean opens his eyes again, Castiel’s staring up at him with a glassy, completely blissed out expression. “I-”
Dean leans forward quickly, swallowing Castiel’s words in a kiss before he says something to ruin it all.
Of course, some people do go both ways
Sunday
Dean slowly comes to when he feels Castiel attempting to wriggle out from under him. “Whas goin’ on?” Dean slurs into Castiel’s surprisingly comfortable clavicle.
“Go back to sleep,” Castiel says as he tries, and fails, to get out from under Dean. Last night had ended in him collapsing on top of Castiel after a truly tremendous ass-fucking (if Dean does say so himself). He’d figured as he was drifting off to sleep that Castiel would take care of things like clean up and moving Dean off him at some point during the night. It appears he did not.
Dean eventually summons the energy to move himself off Castiel. He feels the slip of covers as Castiel shifts, and Dean is curious as to what pressing business Castiel needs to take care on a Sunday morning. “Where you goin’?”
“I have to get up to mow the lawn, Dean,” Castiel says, sitting up.
Dean’s not quite sure he’s awake enough to do much if Castiel’s angling for round whatever the hell number they’re on, but then again, that’s never stopped Dean before. He wracks his not quite fully functional brain (it is pretty damn early after all) for what position “mow the lawn” could possibly be referring to, but comes up with nothing. “I dunno that one,” Dean says, blinking blearily at Castiel. “But you’re gonna have to do all the work because my thighs are killing me from last night.”
“What?” Castiel says. “No, Dean, I have to get out of bed for this.”
“Out of-just how kinky are you, Cas? Holy crap.” Dean yawns and rubs his eyes. “Whatever. As long as I don’t have to do anything besides lie here, go nuts.”
“That was the plan.” Castiel sounds confused, but Dean shrugs and dozes off again, figuring that whenever Castiel wants to get the party started he’ll wake Dean up again.
Some time passes, and Dean returns to the waking world when Castiel gets back into bed smelling different: clean, showered, and like fresh cut grass.
“Did I sleep through it?” Dean mumbles when Castiel cozies up to his side and puts a hand on his hip. Dean doesn’t quite understand the why he does, since the physical contact seems to carry no particular intent, sexual or otherwise. It’s like Castiel’s touching him just for the sake of touching him.
“Yes. I tried to be as quiet as I could,” Castiel replies.
Dean opens his eyes and finds Castiel lying on his side, prompted up on one elbow. “Why do you smell like grass?”
“What else would I smell like? I just finished cutting it.” Castiel’s got the ‘Dean, are you crazy?’ expression on.
“Wait,” Dean’s almost fully alert now. “You cut literal grass? As in, went outside and mowed the lawn?”
“I told you this an hour ago, Dean,” Castiel says as if he’s repeating the obvious.
“That, uh. That's weird.” Dean inhales deeply because it’s still too fucking early for this. “Since when have we started mowing our lawn? Was there some kind of memo I missed?
“Since we started receiving all these angry notes taped to the door,” Castiel replies. “From the neighbors.”
“Angry notes?” Dean laughs, but Castiel seems to be completely serious. “You’re not kidding. When did these angry notes start up?”
“Sometime in our second week here,” Castiel says. “There were quite a few because our grass had apparently grown far too long.”
Dean shakes his head. “Why didn’t you say anything to me? I would have told them all to fuck themselves.”
“I thought I would simply resolve the problem myself. The solution was obvious.” Castiel pauses, and then adds, “I also thought you might react poorly to The Neighborhood Watch Association trying to tell us what to do.”
“Neighborhood what now?” Dean says. “You telling me there’s a whole organization of bored housewives being nosy?”
Castiel shrugs. “They meet once a week at the Rockwell home and cover a very thorough agenda. NWA was the one that lobbied the Mayor to fix that pothole on Main Street.”
“You’ve been to a meeting?” Dean says, not sure what the hell he’s hearing here. “Did you bring your world famous casserole too?”
“Dean, you know I don’t know how to make a casserole,” Castiel says.
Dean raises an eyebrow. “So you just caved into their demands? Because of some angry notes and peer pressure?”
“I resisted for some time,” Castiel protests. “But Mrs. Rockwell stopped by especially to address the issue, and then someone started setting fire to bags of excrement on our doorstep.”
“Flaming bags of poop?” Dean laughs. “Cas, some punk kids were pranking you.”
“I don’t think so,” Castiel says. “By the third week, someone threatened to burn our garage down in one of their notes. I didn’t think they were serious, but I didn't want to die in my sleep in a fire.”
Dean can’t stop the tiniest shiver at the unpleasant memories that idea drudges up and stares at the ceiling. “Fucking suburbs.”
Castiel’s silent for a moment before he speaks, voice softening. “Your mother. I’m sorry.”
“Shit happens.” Dean tries to pass it off as nonchalantly as he can, but he’s almost one hundred percent certain that Castiel can see right through it. “She made the deal, she knew what was coming.”
“She could not have known it would lead to the end of the world.” Castiel catches Dean’s chin in two fingers. “And you couldn’t have, either.”
“I hate pillow talk,” Dean says, avoiding Castiel’s eyes. Castiel’s moving into dangerous territory and Dean’s not just going to stand for it, or lay for it, at as the case may be. “It’s your turn to make breakfast, neighbor boy.”
Castiel doesn’t say anything, but he lets Dean get up to take a shower. When Dean goes downstairs again, the wonderful aromas of fresh coffee and pancakes greet him. The pancakes taste every bit as delicious as they smell-fluffy and slathered in a mountain of butter and maple syrup. “These are awesome,” Dean says around a mouthful, and Castiel smiles.
“So what do you want to do now?” Dean asks once they’ve finished eating and cleaning up. Dean got a full night’s sleep, a delicious hot meal, and nothing on the agenda for the rest of the day: he’s in a damn good mood.
“Well.” Castiel glances at the grocery list taped to the fridge. “We could run some errands. We’re running low on milk.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Dean grins as he backs Castiel up against the fridge. “You wanna make a milk run?”
“I was merely pointing out that we had options,” Castiel says. His hands wander underneath Dean’s boxers, mostly canceling out the coyness of his words.
“Our sheets are gonna be disgusting,” Dean muses as he leans in to kiss Castiel. “But I guess we could fuck on the washing machine while we wait.”
“I don’t care about the sheets,” Castiel says as his kisses grow more insistent. “Let’s go upstairs.”
Dean finishes getting naked first, and sits up against the headboard of the bed while he waits for Castiel. Castiel’s movements are efficient and precise as he unbuckles his belt and takes off his pants-no wasted time or energy.
“Remember the first time you ever took off your clothes for me?” Dean says as Castiel’s stepping out of his pants. “You were kind of freaking out then, but I shoulda seen this coming from miles away.”
Castiel chuckles as he pulls down his boxers. “I don’t think I was the only one 'freaking out'.”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Dean sniffs. He looks Castiel up and down, appreciating the unobstructed sight of naked flesh. “Because I was totally cool that day. It takes a lot more than some crazy guy stripping in the middle of a strange kitchen to freak me out.”
“Is that so?” Castiel says as he crawls up the bed into Dean’s lap. “Like you’re 'totally cool' right now?”
“That is so,” Dean says, pulling Castiel close until they’re pressed together, dick against dick, chest to chest. “You surprised me, though.”
He can feel Castiel’s smile against his lips. “Surprised how?”
“I thought you’d be some prudish blushing virgin.” Dean smoothes a hand down Castiel’s back, marveling at the flawless expanse of skin layered over tight, flexing muscle. “Make me wait for years before I got to second base.”
Castiel presses even closer to grind their cocks together. “I don’t want to wait,” he says, and there’s something in his voice that lights a fire inside Dean’s belly.
Dean opens his eyes and searches the endless blue of Castiel’s gaze, wondering if he’s saying what Dean thinks he’s saying. As if seeing the question on Dean’s face, Castiel whispers, “I would like to know what it feels like to have you inside me.”
Dean’s brain ceases functioning at the sheer hotness of it all, but thankfully, his mouth forms words instead of hanging open like a goldfish. “You gotta-on your back-probably easiest-” He’s practically babbling.
Castiel nods and gets onto his back obligingly while Dean grabs at the lube and a condom. He only drops them once before he settles in between Castiel’s legs, which spread to a truly obscene angle. “Flexible,” Dean chokes out as the view just gets better and better.
Castiel’s looking up at Dean with eyes so open it makes Dean feel small inside, terrified because it’s too much, too intimate, too whatever. A part of him wants to back away, get some distance, but his aching dick instantly vetoes that decision.
Dean watches Castiel’s hands instead, which are roving restlessly over his own body, over his chest and his nipples and eventually, as if reflexively, down to his own dick. Dean nearly loses hold of the bottle of lubricant when Castiel’s eyes flutter shut and he begins to stroke himself, movements practiced like he’s done this a hundred times before, and god, maybe he has, just like this. Dean wouldn’t mind sitting back and watching Castiel spread out wantonly, masturbating himself to completion, but Dean’s dick has been itching to be inside Castiel for what feels like forever and simply will not be denied. Dean stores the idea away in his head for another time, and forces himself to focus.
After Dean’s done lubricating his fingers, he puts his left hand on Castiel’s leg to pull his attention back, and then teases a fingertip at Castiel’s opening. Castiel immediately tenses, and Dean waits patiently until he relaxes again before actually pushing in.
It’s hot, so hot, and the ring of muscle so tight around Dean’s finger he thinks he could probably die from the feel of it alone. Castiel’s breathing fast and shallow, and Dean ducks down to take Castiel’s softening cock in his mouth. That helps to distract Castiel from the discomfort, and Dean feels him relax around his finger again.
Dean sucks very lightly on Castiel’s dick while he moves inside him with one finger, increasing the pressure in his mouth only when he gets to three fingers. It’s a still too tight a fit, but he twists his fingers around a little bit until he finds the prostate and Castiel literally slams up off the bed. At that point, Dean eases his mouth away from Castiel’s cock (to Castiel’s audible disappointment) and focuses on scissoring his fingers and opening Castiel up.
Once Castiel’s sufficiently loosened-or at least as loose as he’s going to get-Dean removes his fingers to a gratifyingly disappointed sigh from Castiel, and rolls a condom onto his own dick. Castiel’s eyelids have fallen to half mast as he watches Dean with arousal and anticipation.
Castiel leans forward to kiss him and it’s sweeter than he expected, Castiel’s hands coming up to touch Dean’s face.
“Ready?” Dean asks as he lines up against Castiel’s ass.
“Yes,” Castiel says, voice in that ridiculously low register that always drives Dean crazy.
Dean pushes until the head of his dick is inside and no more, the shocking tight heat of it nearly breaking Dean’s already tenuous hold on self control. But he bites the inside of his cheek to hold himself back, and looks down at Castiel, whose eyes are wide with discomfort and something else.
“Hey,” Dean says softly. “Hey, I’m here, Cas. I’m here.”
After a moment, Castiel nods, and Dean feels Castiel relax slightly around him. Castiel pushes up a little to kiss Dean lightly on the lips. “Yes.”
Dean begins pushing forward again, reading Castiel’s face for pain and discomfort. With only a few short stops along the way, Dean is eventually buried to the hilt in that shocking, awesome, wickedly tight heat. He closes his eyes and lets himself sink into the feeling, the incredible wonderful feeling.
“Dean,” Castiel whispers, and Dean opens his eyes again. He looks down at Castiel and can’t help but smile, because Castiel’s beautiful and impossible and clueless and nothing Dean ever thought he’d want and suddenly all he can imagine ever wanting.
“I’m here,” Dean says, and begins to move, slowly. He concentrates first on finding the right angle for Castiel, and hooking his legs over Dean’s arms--and then shoulders, once Dean realizes there doesn’t seem to be a limit to his crazy flexibility. Dean knows he’s got it when Castiel begins to moan with every thrust, and Dean allows himself to pick up the pace.
“Dean,” Castiel gasps, his hands roaming mindlessly over Dean’s chest, arms, and then eventually the handprint again. The touch of three fingers sends a shockwave through Dean’s system, causing Dean to arch his back and thrust in with particular force. That seems to be all it takes for Castiel, who comes with a shattered, “Dean,” and clenches down so tight on Dean’s dick that it drives him straight off the edge too.
As Dean rides through the aftershocks of one of the best orgasms he’s had in years, Castiel’s hand slips off his shoulder and he smiles contentedly up at Dean. “Everything’s better than I imagined,” Castiel says.
Dean pulls out of Castiel and takes off the condom, tying it up and tossing it somewhere on the floor. He falls back onto the bed and doesn’t even object when Castiel sidles up next to him and sneaks an arm over his waist. “Sex is great,” Dean sighs, sleep already beginning to creep up on him.
“Yes,” Castiel replies. “It is.”
Onto the next chapter: Scarecrows don't talk
5400 words, SPN Dean/Castiel slash. Spoilers for all of season 4.
Thanks to kayote_pb_rl for agreeing to take part in my madness!
Continuing my Welcome to Oz series. Master post of links here.
As the edges of sleep retreat from Dean’s mind, he becomes suddenly and horrifyingly aware that somehow, in the course of falling asleep after a satisfying round of bodily exploration between him and Cas,
Wasn't he pointing the other way?
Saturday
As the edges of sleep retreat from Dean’s mind, he becomes suddenly and horrifyingly aware that somehow, in the course of falling asleep after a satisfying round of bodily exploration between him and Cas, they’d ended up cuddling. Not just any kind of cuddling, though-spooning to be exact, with Dean as the big spoon. Dean’s arms are wrapped around Castiel’s waist, chest to legs lined up with Castiel’s back and legs, Dean’s nose buried in Castiel’s surprisingly soft hair.
Dean barely suppresses the wave of panic that rises up in his abdomen and tries to guess at how this happened; after Castiel had made his stupidly earnest, “You amaze me,” comment, Dean had needed to shut him up with some intense kissing, groping, and possibly biting. They had both been too tired to do anything beyond paw at each and make out lazily, and Dean thinks he must have fallen asleep first. The sneaky bastard must have cuddled Dean while he was unconscious and powerless to stop him. Even if that doesn’t provide a thoroughly satisfying explanation as to why Dean’s arms are around Castiel’s waist instead of the other way around, Dean prefers this version of events.
Dean pulls away from Castiel, who doesn’t wake up, and rolls onto his back. Dean wonders what time it is and then glances at the clock: four in the afternoon. A low rumble reminds him that he hasn’t eaten since breakfast, and he gets up to remedy that situation.
Dean goes to the bedroom closet and contemplates putting on a new set of clothes. If Castiel wakes up in the next few hours, there’s the distinct possibility of a round three--rendering more clothing a barrier to speedy nakedness. Dean’s dick seems hopeful about the prospects, at any rate. So Dean settles on donning a new pair of underwear, and goes into the study to order hot wings, burgers, and curly fries from Red, White, and Blue.
When the delivery guy arrives, Dean barely remembers to put on a robe when he opens the door. Dean tips the guy extra once he realizes he’s now that neighborhood creep who answers the door in nothing but a robe and boxers.
He's setting the food on the kitchen table when Castiel makes his way into the kitchen, naked yet again. Not that Dean minds, per se; the view is certainly a fine one. “Dude,” Dean says as he sets the plates. “How do you always manage to wake up just in time for the food?”
Castiel shrugs and grabs a couple of bottles of beer from the fridge. On his way back to the table, he passes by Dean and plucks at the sleeve of Dean’s robe. “When did you get this?”
“Uh.” Dean glances down at the robe and is surprised to see that it is black and silky; he’d grabbed the first robe he could find in the closet when he’d answered the door. He hazards a guess, “A couple of weeks ago? The old one I had caught fire when I was trying to make that omelet.”
“The kitchen smelled like burning for a week after that,” Castiel sighs. He lets go of the sleeve, but runs a startlingly possessive hand down Dean’s back instead. “But I like this.”
Dean freezes, hit by two equally strong responses to the touch: intense arousal, and irritation. Then even more irritation at his dick for already panting after Castiel like Pavlov’s dog. “I didn’t buy it for you. This was all they had left in the store.”
Castiel frowns as he scoops some curly fries onto his plate. “I didn’t think you had.”
Dean doesn’t know what to say to that, so he changes the subject. “Are you seriously gonna walk around naked now?”
Castiel’s frown deepens. “Does it bother you?”
“No,” Dean huffs. “Like I care what you wear or don’t wear. It’s just weird, you know, eating dinner with a naked guy.”
“Dean, I can-” Castiel starts to get up but Dean stops him with a hand on his wrist, and oh boy, his dick is totally getting hooked on touching Castiel’s skin.
“Forget it,” Dean says, and releases Castiel’s wrist. “Just eat.”
Castiel sits again, and the meal is quiet and uncomfortable. Dean keeps thinking of things to say like, ‘hey, that was fun, but let’s never do it or talk about it again because this situation is way too awkward for me’ or ‘so that’s sex, Cas-good luck, go forth into the world and be merry’. He wants to clarify for Castiel that all this stuff is just sex-no deeper connection, no bigger meaning, no freaking commitment for god’s sake. But then Dean feels stupid for wanting to say it out loud because Castiel’s not some chick he has to placate, and of course he’d know sex is just something humans do to pass the time.
In the end, Dean says nothing and it’s Castiel who ends the silence. “What is the proper protocol for this situation?”
Dean nearly chokes on a fry. “What?”
“I do not know what I should-whether I should--” Castiel stops. “What happens now?”
“Uh.” Dean takes a deep swig of beer. “It’s not like we took an interstellar space trip. There isn’t a debriefing protocol here. Nothing’s changed.”
“Oh.” Castiel’s gaze wanders from Dean’s eyes to his lips. “I see.”
Dean fakes a yawn, stretching out his arms so that his robe falls open, and smirks when it has its intended effect, Castiel’s gaze traveling down to his chest and then lower still. “You finished with dinner?”
“Yes,” Castiel murmurs as he stands and abandons half a plate of curly fries.
“Good.” Dean stands too, and Castiel’s on him in an instant, hands roaming under the robe with a different kind of hunger. “I’m ready for dessert too.”
Castiel makes a dismayed face. “I thought--”
Dean bites back a laugh. “Euphemism, Cas. I’ll fill you in later.”
They end up in bed again, with Dean sitting on the edge, legs dangling. Castiel’s on his knees investigating Dean’s lap with little curious kisses. Dean runs his fingers through Castiel’s hair, mostly content to let Castiel explore at his leisure with the occasional lick or kiss. It occurs to Dean that Castiel’s never done this before, and has only had it done to him once.
“Watch the teeth,” Dean says, and hears Castiel make some kind of acknowledging noise in his crotch. “And your gag reflex. Go slow, okay?”
Castiel nods and accidentally bumps Dean’s cock with his chin. The feel of stubble against the sensitive skin is a weird one, and Dean can’t decide whether it’s good or not. He braces himself for what is probably going to be one of the lesser blowjobs of his life, but since Castiel doesn’t have braces, at least it’s definitely not going to be the worst.
Castiel begins with tongue, lots and lots of tongue. Excessive amounts of tongue, in fact, since he’s licking Dean’s dick like a lollipop. It starts out feeling good, but after a certain point there’s so much saliva Dean feels himself losing interest-both upstairs and downstairs. Castiel notices and turns to look up at Dean. “Dean?”
“It’s good, Cas, it’s just, uh,” Dean searches for a nice way to say it, but can’t think of one, and settles for, “suck me?”
Castiel nods and--okay, there’s the stubble on dick thing again, though at least it’s a change from all the tongue--but then Castiel leans forward and takes the tip of Dean’s dick into his mouth and it’s good. Good until Dean feels the slight scrape of teeth and he stutters out, “Teeth!” before they’re gone, and then it’s back to good again. It’s wet and warm and a decent amount of pressure, and Dean tries to be encouraging. “That’s it,” Dean says, and presses the back Castiel’s head very lightly, encouraging him to go further. Castiel takes the hint, taking a few more inches into his mouth, and then there’s some tongue on the head of Dean’s dick, which is great, blessedly free of teeth and braces and other erection killing things.
Castiel begins to move up and down slowly with no particular rhythm, trying to maintain suction with mixed results. It’s too slow and erratic to really get Dean going, but when he looks down at Castiel, who begins making little half sighing, half moaning sounds deep in his throat as he bobs that Dean can feel to the base of his dick, well. Okay, that gets Dean going.
It gets better when Castiel figures out how to wrap his hand around the base of Dean’s cock and jerk while his mouth works the top, and the rhythm improves. Dean feels the orgasm teasing at him on the horizon, and squeezes Castiel on the shoulder to warn him. “I’m gonna-”
Castiel pulls his mouth off, but continues jerking Dean off with his hand, thankfully, and it’s only a few minutes later that Dean comes. He’s aware of Castiel observing him as he does, face only a few inches away from Dean’s dick, and it makes it all that much more intense.
A little while later, Dean’s mind comes back online enough to realize he’s lying on his back on the bed, Castiel on his side next to him. Castiel’s looking down at him with something so soft in his eyes that it unnerves Dean, so he focuses on Castiel’s lips instead, which are red and wet.
“Thanks,” Dean croaks, and Castiel smiles suddenly, catching Dean off-guard.
“Dean,” Castiel says, voice rough and fucked up and awesome. “Why didn’t we start doing this earlier?”
“Beats the shit outta me,” Dean says, and the lights are ever so slowly coming back on in his brain. “You still need some help?”
Castiel glances down at his erection as if mildly surprised to see it. “Yes.”
“What’s your pleasure?” Dean asks. “Hand, mouth, something else? I’m in a pretty good mood right now.”
“I don’t know,” Castiel replies, kissing Dean tentatively on the mouth. “What would you suggest?”
Dean can taste himself on Castiel, and it’s hot, hotter than it has any right to be. “I could blow you again.”
Castiel smiles but doesn’t respond, merely continues kissing Dean. They’re light kisses, little sweeps of tongue that aren’t impatient or demanding at all, and Dean realizes after about ten minutes that Castiel might be content with staying like this, completely unconcerned with his hard on.
“I know I’m a little out of practice, but I didn’t think my blowjob was that bad,” Dean jokes against Castiel’s lips.
Castiel pulls away slightly, and cocks his head to one side. “I like this. I like seeing your face.”
Dean forces a chuckle, abruptly self-conscious. “Have you been kissing me with your eyes open this whole time? Because that’s kind of weird.”
“Yes,” Castiel says simply, and Dean swallows. Okay then.
“I guess there’s something else we could do,” Dean says. “If you’re really set on this watching me thing. Perv.”
“I’m afraid I am,” Castiel deadpans, but there’s a twinkle of something in his voice, and Dean suspects he might finally be growing a sense of humor, albeit a weird one.
“Okay,” Dean says, and feels a surge of something warm throughout his body, all the way down to his toes. At first he thinks it’s arousal, but a glance south is all he needs to confirm that it’s way too soon for that. Must be some kind of after-orgasm residual. “I haven’t done this in a very long time, but I guarantee you’re going to like it.”
Dean leans half off the bed to rummage through the nightstand for the unopened condoms and lubricant he he’d been saving for a rainy day. Turns out today is that rainy day.
“Lube,” Dean says, and waves the plastic bottle in front of Castiel. “And a condom. Key to this kind of sex, Cas.” Castiel raises an eyebrow but offers no comment, and Dean continues. “Now, you gotta do a little prep work before you go full force, or it’s gonna hurt like a motherfucker.”
Dean squirts a generous dollop of lubricant to his fingers and then sits up, parting his knees for easier access. The last time he did this was a much, much longer time ago than his last quick and dirty blowjob. It was sometime before he died and was reconstituted by Castiel, in fact. And there’s something shockingly sexy about the fact that Castiel was the one that put him back together and is now going to be-well, fucking him open for the first time since.
Dean exhales deeply, reminds himself of how great this felt oh so long ago, and takes the plunge with one careful finger. It’s tight as hell, requiring a lot of slow movement and un-tensing, especially when Dean gets up to three fingers. Dean cracks one eye open and yeah, he’s definitely caught Castiel’s attention now, eyes wide and rapt and trained on the place where Dean’s fingers disappear into his own body. Castiel’s obvious arousal makes it easier, a flush of anticipatory heat thrumming through Dean’s own body now.
Dean withdraws his fingers, wipes his hand on the sheets, and then takes Castiel’s hand.
“Dean, what…” Castiel’s voice is all kinds of fucked up now, and Dean retrieves the bottle of lube and squeezes some onto Castiel’s fingers for him.
Dean slides forward toward Castiel, and manages to maneuver himself into a position where Castiel has relatively easy access. He guides Castiel’s hands to his hole and lets him do the rest on his own. Castiel presses one fingertip experimentally against the ring of muscle and Dean forces himself to relax against the intrusion. Castiel gasps when Dean lets him in, and Dean moans, because it’s both uncomfortable and hot at the same time. “You can go to three,” Dean chokes out, and Castiel takes him up on his offer, heat sparking through Dean’s veins when Castiel’s twisting fingers accidentally brush against that sweet spot in him.
“Okay, okay,” Dean says, tugging at Castiel’s wrist. Castiel withdraws with notable reluctance, and Dean wastes no time in getting a condom and ripping it open. When he rolls it down Castiel’s cock, Castiel bucks up into Dean’s hand with a startled moan.
Castiel’s breathing hard and fast, clearly overwhelmed. “What are you--”
“It’s okay,” Dean says, putting a hand on Castiel’s hip, encouraging him to lay back on the bed and be still while Dean drizzles lube over his dick. “I’m gonna do the work and you’re gonna have a hell of a good time.”
Finally, all the preparation is complete and Dean straddles Castiel’s body, looking Castiel straight in the eye as he lowers himself down slowly onto his dick. At the first penetration, Dean winces and halts, because even with all the fingering before it’s still too much. Beneath him, Castiel’s gasping, barely restraining himself from bucking up again.
“Okay, okay,” Dean says more to himself than anything, and is surprised when Castiel takes his hand, fingers intertwining in his.
“Dean,” is all Castiel says, but Dean can see too much in his expression and looks away. He doesn’t try to pull away from Castiel’s hand, however, fingers tightening as Dean lowers himself down all the way, bottoming out with a shudder.
After a minute to adjust to the feeling of having Cas inside him, Dean lifts himself up and then presses down in a not very smooth motion. Castiel moans and it’s so raw and needy that Dean opens his eyes again, making eye contact once more.
Dean begins moving up and down, trying out different directions and angles until he finds it, that perfect motion that brushes Castiel’s cock right up against his prostate. Castiel’s been lying stock still this entire time, body trembling, and Dean says, “It’s okay. You can move now.” And like that, Castiel’s thrusting right up, meeting Dean’s downward motion with his own upward push, hitting that sweet spot hard enough that it sends little twitches of pleasure through Dean’s body.
“You,” Castiel says, his free hand making its way up Dean’s forearm and bicep, coming to rest on the fading handprint-his handprint-on Dean’s shoulder. The first contact shocks Dean like a thousand volts of electrical current passing straight through his body, causing him to arch his back and slam down onto Castiel. Castiel gasps too, immediately releasing Dean’s shoulder.
“Holy fuck.” Dean blinks sweat away and stares down at Castiel, who seems just as dazed. “What the fuck was that?”
“My Grace.” Castiel shakes his head in awe and touches the handprint again with only one finger, sending a tingle through Dean. It’s not overwhelming this time, more of a pleasurable buzz, and Castiel ratchets it up to four fingers before it’s too much again, electric buzzing almost vibrating Dean’s teeth.
“Too much,” Dean says breathlessly and Castiel lets go right away. There’s so much concern in Castiel’s gaze that Dean feels the need to reassure him. “I’m fine. I just need a second.”
Castiel nods, squeezing Dean’s fingers in his own, and Dean’s vaguely surprised to realize they’re still holding hands after all this time. Castiel’s free hand moves to Dean’s dick, which had, at some point, decided to join the party, and Dean begins to move again. Between the feel of Castiel’s dick filling him up inside, sending little bursts of pleasure through him with every thrust, and the coordinated motion of Castiel’s hand on his dick, Dean can feel his orgasm fast approaching. He allows himself to go over, falling forward and bracing himself with one arm on the bed as he comes.
Somewhere in the distance, he hears and feels Castiel moaning and jerking up against him, pulling Dean down further, flush against Castiel’s chest.
“Dean,” Castiel says as Dean’s coming down. When Dean opens his eyes again, Castiel’s staring up at him with a glassy, completely blissed out expression. “I-”
Dean leans forward quickly, swallowing Castiel’s words in a kiss before he says something to ruin it all.
Of course, some people do go both ways
Sunday
Dean slowly comes to when he feels Castiel attempting to wriggle out from under him. “Whas goin’ on?” Dean slurs into Castiel’s surprisingly comfortable clavicle.
“Go back to sleep,” Castiel says as he tries, and fails, to get out from under Dean. Last night had ended in him collapsing on top of Castiel after a truly tremendous ass-fucking (if Dean does say so himself). He’d figured as he was drifting off to sleep that Castiel would take care of things like clean up and moving Dean off him at some point during the night. It appears he did not.
Dean eventually summons the energy to move himself off Castiel. He feels the slip of covers as Castiel shifts, and Dean is curious as to what pressing business Castiel needs to take care on a Sunday morning. “Where you goin’?”
“I have to get up to mow the lawn, Dean,” Castiel says, sitting up.
Dean’s not quite sure he’s awake enough to do much if Castiel’s angling for round whatever the hell number they’re on, but then again, that’s never stopped Dean before. He wracks his not quite fully functional brain (it is pretty damn early after all) for what position “mow the lawn” could possibly be referring to, but comes up with nothing. “I dunno that one,” Dean says, blinking blearily at Castiel. “But you’re gonna have to do all the work because my thighs are killing me from last night.”
“What?” Castiel says. “No, Dean, I have to get out of bed for this.”
“Out of-just how kinky are you, Cas? Holy crap.” Dean yawns and rubs his eyes. “Whatever. As long as I don’t have to do anything besides lie here, go nuts.”
“That was the plan.” Castiel sounds confused, but Dean shrugs and dozes off again, figuring that whenever Castiel wants to get the party started he’ll wake Dean up again.
Some time passes, and Dean returns to the waking world when Castiel gets back into bed smelling different: clean, showered, and like fresh cut grass.
“Did I sleep through it?” Dean mumbles when Castiel cozies up to his side and puts a hand on his hip. Dean doesn’t quite understand the why he does, since the physical contact seems to carry no particular intent, sexual or otherwise. It’s like Castiel’s touching him just for the sake of touching him.
“Yes. I tried to be as quiet as I could,” Castiel replies.
Dean opens his eyes and finds Castiel lying on his side, prompted up on one elbow. “Why do you smell like grass?”
“What else would I smell like? I just finished cutting it.” Castiel’s got the ‘Dean, are you crazy?’ expression on.
“Wait,” Dean’s almost fully alert now. “You cut literal grass? As in, went outside and mowed the lawn?”
“I told you this an hour ago, Dean,” Castiel says as if he’s repeating the obvious.
“That, uh. That's weird.” Dean inhales deeply because it’s still too fucking early for this. “Since when have we started mowing our lawn? Was there some kind of memo I missed?
“Since we started receiving all these angry notes taped to the door,” Castiel replies. “From the neighbors.”
“Angry notes?” Dean laughs, but Castiel seems to be completely serious. “You’re not kidding. When did these angry notes start up?”
“Sometime in our second week here,” Castiel says. “There were quite a few because our grass had apparently grown far too long.”
Dean shakes his head. “Why didn’t you say anything to me? I would have told them all to fuck themselves.”
“I thought I would simply resolve the problem myself. The solution was obvious.” Castiel pauses, and then adds, “I also thought you might react poorly to The Neighborhood Watch Association trying to tell us what to do.”
“Neighborhood what now?” Dean says. “You telling me there’s a whole organization of bored housewives being nosy?”
Castiel shrugs. “They meet once a week at the Rockwell home and cover a very thorough agenda. NWA was the one that lobbied the Mayor to fix that pothole on Main Street.”
“You’ve been to a meeting?” Dean says, not sure what the hell he’s hearing here. “Did you bring your world famous casserole too?”
“Dean, you know I don’t know how to make a casserole,” Castiel says.
Dean raises an eyebrow. “So you just caved into their demands? Because of some angry notes and peer pressure?”
“I resisted for some time,” Castiel protests. “But Mrs. Rockwell stopped by especially to address the issue, and then someone started setting fire to bags of excrement on our doorstep.”
“Flaming bags of poop?” Dean laughs. “Cas, some punk kids were pranking you.”
“I don’t think so,” Castiel says. “By the third week, someone threatened to burn our garage down in one of their notes. I didn’t think they were serious, but I didn't want to die in my sleep in a fire.”
Dean can’t stop the tiniest shiver at the unpleasant memories that idea drudges up and stares at the ceiling. “Fucking suburbs.”
Castiel’s silent for a moment before he speaks, voice softening. “Your mother. I’m sorry.”
“Shit happens.” Dean tries to pass it off as nonchalantly as he can, but he’s almost one hundred percent certain that Castiel can see right through it. “She made the deal, she knew what was coming.”
“She could not have known it would lead to the end of the world.” Castiel catches Dean’s chin in two fingers. “And you couldn’t have, either.”
“I hate pillow talk,” Dean says, avoiding Castiel’s eyes. Castiel’s moving into dangerous territory and Dean’s not just going to stand for it, or lay for it, at as the case may be. “It’s your turn to make breakfast, neighbor boy.”
Castiel doesn’t say anything, but he lets Dean get up to take a shower. When Dean goes downstairs again, the wonderful aromas of fresh coffee and pancakes greet him. The pancakes taste every bit as delicious as they smell-fluffy and slathered in a mountain of butter and maple syrup. “These are awesome,” Dean says around a mouthful, and Castiel smiles.
“So what do you want to do now?” Dean asks once they’ve finished eating and cleaning up. Dean got a full night’s sleep, a delicious hot meal, and nothing on the agenda for the rest of the day: he’s in a damn good mood.
“Well.” Castiel glances at the grocery list taped to the fridge. “We could run some errands. We’re running low on milk.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Dean grins as he backs Castiel up against the fridge. “You wanna make a milk run?”
“I was merely pointing out that we had options,” Castiel says. His hands wander underneath Dean’s boxers, mostly canceling out the coyness of his words.
“Our sheets are gonna be disgusting,” Dean muses as he leans in to kiss Castiel. “But I guess we could fuck on the washing machine while we wait.”
“I don’t care about the sheets,” Castiel says as his kisses grow more insistent. “Let’s go upstairs.”
Dean finishes getting naked first, and sits up against the headboard of the bed while he waits for Castiel. Castiel’s movements are efficient and precise as he unbuckles his belt and takes off his pants-no wasted time or energy.
“Remember the first time you ever took off your clothes for me?” Dean says as Castiel’s stepping out of his pants. “You were kind of freaking out then, but I shoulda seen this coming from miles away.”
Castiel chuckles as he pulls down his boxers. “I don’t think I was the only one 'freaking out'.”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Dean sniffs. He looks Castiel up and down, appreciating the unobstructed sight of naked flesh. “Because I was totally cool that day. It takes a lot more than some crazy guy stripping in the middle of a strange kitchen to freak me out.”
“Is that so?” Castiel says as he crawls up the bed into Dean’s lap. “Like you’re 'totally cool' right now?”
“That is so,” Dean says, pulling Castiel close until they’re pressed together, dick against dick, chest to chest. “You surprised me, though.”
He can feel Castiel’s smile against his lips. “Surprised how?”
“I thought you’d be some prudish blushing virgin.” Dean smoothes a hand down Castiel’s back, marveling at the flawless expanse of skin layered over tight, flexing muscle. “Make me wait for years before I got to second base.”
Castiel presses even closer to grind their cocks together. “I don’t want to wait,” he says, and there’s something in his voice that lights a fire inside Dean’s belly.
Dean opens his eyes and searches the endless blue of Castiel’s gaze, wondering if he’s saying what Dean thinks he’s saying. As if seeing the question on Dean’s face, Castiel whispers, “I would like to know what it feels like to have you inside me.”
Dean’s brain ceases functioning at the sheer hotness of it all, but thankfully, his mouth forms words instead of hanging open like a goldfish. “You gotta-on your back-probably easiest-” He’s practically babbling.
Castiel nods and gets onto his back obligingly while Dean grabs at the lube and a condom. He only drops them once before he settles in between Castiel’s legs, which spread to a truly obscene angle. “Flexible,” Dean chokes out as the view just gets better and better.
Castiel’s looking up at Dean with eyes so open it makes Dean feel small inside, terrified because it’s too much, too intimate, too whatever. A part of him wants to back away, get some distance, but his aching dick instantly vetoes that decision.
Dean watches Castiel’s hands instead, which are roving restlessly over his own body, over his chest and his nipples and eventually, as if reflexively, down to his own dick. Dean nearly loses hold of the bottle of lubricant when Castiel’s eyes flutter shut and he begins to stroke himself, movements practiced like he’s done this a hundred times before, and god, maybe he has, just like this. Dean wouldn’t mind sitting back and watching Castiel spread out wantonly, masturbating himself to completion, but Dean’s dick has been itching to be inside Castiel for what feels like forever and simply will not be denied. Dean stores the idea away in his head for another time, and forces himself to focus.
After Dean’s done lubricating his fingers, he puts his left hand on Castiel’s leg to pull his attention back, and then teases a fingertip at Castiel’s opening. Castiel immediately tenses, and Dean waits patiently until he relaxes again before actually pushing in.
It’s hot, so hot, and the ring of muscle so tight around Dean’s finger he thinks he could probably die from the feel of it alone. Castiel’s breathing fast and shallow, and Dean ducks down to take Castiel’s softening cock in his mouth. That helps to distract Castiel from the discomfort, and Dean feels him relax around his finger again.
Dean sucks very lightly on Castiel’s dick while he moves inside him with one finger, increasing the pressure in his mouth only when he gets to three fingers. It’s a still too tight a fit, but he twists his fingers around a little bit until he finds the prostate and Castiel literally slams up off the bed. At that point, Dean eases his mouth away from Castiel’s cock (to Castiel’s audible disappointment) and focuses on scissoring his fingers and opening Castiel up.
Once Castiel’s sufficiently loosened-or at least as loose as he’s going to get-Dean removes his fingers to a gratifyingly disappointed sigh from Castiel, and rolls a condom onto his own dick. Castiel’s eyelids have fallen to half mast as he watches Dean with arousal and anticipation.
Castiel leans forward to kiss him and it’s sweeter than he expected, Castiel’s hands coming up to touch Dean’s face.
“Ready?” Dean asks as he lines up against Castiel’s ass.
“Yes,” Castiel says, voice in that ridiculously low register that always drives Dean crazy.
Dean pushes until the head of his dick is inside and no more, the shocking tight heat of it nearly breaking Dean’s already tenuous hold on self control. But he bites the inside of his cheek to hold himself back, and looks down at Castiel, whose eyes are wide with discomfort and something else.
“Hey,” Dean says softly. “Hey, I’m here, Cas. I’m here.”
After a moment, Castiel nods, and Dean feels Castiel relax slightly around him. Castiel pushes up a little to kiss Dean lightly on the lips. “Yes.”
Dean begins pushing forward again, reading Castiel’s face for pain and discomfort. With only a few short stops along the way, Dean is eventually buried to the hilt in that shocking, awesome, wickedly tight heat. He closes his eyes and lets himself sink into the feeling, the incredible wonderful feeling.
“Dean,” Castiel whispers, and Dean opens his eyes again. He looks down at Castiel and can’t help but smile, because Castiel’s beautiful and impossible and clueless and nothing Dean ever thought he’d want and suddenly all he can imagine ever wanting.
“I’m here,” Dean says, and begins to move, slowly. He concentrates first on finding the right angle for Castiel, and hooking his legs over Dean’s arms--and then shoulders, once Dean realizes there doesn’t seem to be a limit to his crazy flexibility. Dean knows he’s got it when Castiel begins to moan with every thrust, and Dean allows himself to pick up the pace.
“Dean,” Castiel gasps, his hands roaming mindlessly over Dean’s chest, arms, and then eventually the handprint again. The touch of three fingers sends a shockwave through Dean’s system, causing Dean to arch his back and thrust in with particular force. That seems to be all it takes for Castiel, who comes with a shattered, “Dean,” and clenches down so tight on Dean’s dick that it drives him straight off the edge too.
As Dean rides through the aftershocks of one of the best orgasms he’s had in years, Castiel’s hand slips off his shoulder and he smiles contentedly up at Dean. “Everything’s better than I imagined,” Castiel says.
Dean pulls out of Castiel and takes off the condom, tying it up and tossing it somewhere on the floor. He falls back onto the bed and doesn’t even object when Castiel sidles up next to him and sneaks an arm over his waist. “Sex is great,” Dean sighs, sleep already beginning to creep up on him.
“Yes,” Castiel replies. “It is.”
Onto the next chapter: Scarecrows don't talk