[Fic] As You Wish (NC-17) for caras_galadhon
Gift type: Fanfic
Title: As You Wish
Recipient: caras_galadhon
Author: bauble
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Graphic sex. Also,
roleplaying, mild D/S vibes, dirty talk.
Spoilers: all of Season 5 so far, to be safe.
Prompt: A peaceful, happy moment (or more) for Dean and Castiel in the midst of the chaos that is their normal lives during the holidays.
Summary: Two strangers hook up in a bar for the first time. Two strangers hook up in a bar for the first time... again. Dean/Castiel stablished relationship roleplay.
That day, she was amazed to discover that when he was saying "As you wish," what he meant was, "I love you." And even more amazing was the day she realized she truly loved him back. - The Princess Bride
Words: 5700
Thanks to: zelda_zee for the beta.
Written for: caras_galadhon for deancas_xmas.
As You Wish
That day, she was amazed to discover that when he was saying "As you wish," what he meant was, "I love you." And even more amazing was the day she realized she truly loved him back. - The Princess Bride
Scene I: Introduce the hero
“How’s the tuna melt?”
Castiel glances up from his soggy sandwich. “It’s fine, Dean.”
“You’ve barely touched it,” Dean says. “Is there a roach in it? One time I found this weird black crunchy stuff in a burger but I was so hungry I pulled it out and ate around where it had been. It was disgusting, but we were out of money that month.”
“There are no insects in this particular sandwich,” Castiel replies. He’d taken two bites of his sandwich and tasted only overwhelming saltiness, and since he’d ordered food only to appease Dean’s distaste for eating alone, Castiel hadn’t seen the point in continuing the exercise.
Dean’s staring at Castiel with a mix of emotions too complex for Castiel to hope to read from his expression alone. (He could reach out and try to divine the lightning-fast scuttle of thoughts and emotions through Dean’s mind, but ultimately refrains. “Sometimes I just need some privacy, you know?” Dean had said. Castiel does not, in fact, know, but he tries to respect the desire regardless.)
“Suit yourself then,” Dean says after a minute before wolfing down more French fries.
It seems like such a silly thing to Castiel, something as meaningless as whether he pretends to eat in this diner, but it matters to Dean. So, he picks up the tuna melt and starts taking methodical bites until there is nothing left. He tries to engage in the sensation of taste the way Dean does, to pick out the individual flavors surrounding the salt. There’s the faintly plastic artificiality of the melted yellow cheese, the odd sourness of the tuna, and then the surprising burst of refreshment in the celery pieces. It’s not particularly pleasant, as a whole, but Castiel supposes he is satisfied when he finishes eating.
He catches Dean hiding a smile behind a fry. “You got a little-” Dean gestures at his own cheek and Castiel stares uncomprehendingly in response. Finally, Dean reaches across the table and brushes a thumb against Castiel’s cheek, dislodging what appears to piece of tuna. His thumb lingers against Castiel’s face for a moment longer than necessary, and Castiel feels a familiar warmth begin to spread between his legs and the lower half of his body. He’s always surprised by how reactive human bodies are when it comes to sensory experiences.
Something catches Dean’s attention over Castiel’s shoulder, and Castiel cranes his head around to se a couple entering the diner together, arguing rather loudly.
“We visit your parents’ house for Christmas every year,” a middle-aged woman wearing a green coat and an orange scarf around her neck says loudly, belligerently. “What about my family? I want to see them too!”
“You see them every week,” replies the man she’s with, who has flushed, puffy cheeks and a yellow plaid overcoat on. “They live half an hour away!”
“But we don’t see them together,” the woman retorts as the hostess goes to seat them in the very back of the diner with a resigned air.
Castiel turns back to Dean, who is still watching the couple with an expression of-sadness? He peeks into Dean’s mind to confirm his guess is correct, and is surprised to find regret, and longing.
“You ever wonder what things would be like if we were normal?” Dean asks abruptly.
“I suppose fewer people would be trying to kill us,” Castiel responds as he surreptitiously closes off his connection to Dean’s thoughts.
Dean snorts. “Probably. But I meant, you know-between us. Like, if I was just some guy, and you were some other guy, and we didn’t meet in Hell or in some tricked-out magic barn where I stabbed you in the heart.”
“I suffered no permanent damage as a result of our meeting,” Castiel says, not sure of the point Dean is trying to make.
“Yeah, I noticed.” Dean takes a sip of his soda. “But you ever wonder what it would be like if we were a couple of regular guys who had some awesome sex, and the biggest problem in our lives was fighting each other instead of fighting the damn apocalypse?”
Castiel does not wonder about such things, of course. He has difficulty enough doing what he must to pass as human without raising suspicion--for it turns out that there are many unspoken rules surrounding acting 'normal' (as Dean says) that he simply cannot guess. Many make no sense. He has not had the luxury of time to consider what it would be like to truly be human, to live as they do and think as they do. “You wish to fight me?”
“Not really, no.” The downward turn of the sides of Dean’s mouth alert Castiel to the fact that he is missing something.
“If we did not meet as we did,” Castiel says slowly. “How would we have met instead?”
“Huh?”
“How would we meet?” Castiel repeats. “If we were… two guys.”
Dean pauses, fry in mid-air. “Uh, I guess probably in bar. It’s where I meet most people I bang.”
“You would solicit me for sex in a bar?”
“Nah,” Dean says and bites down on his fry thoughtfully. “I don’t really pick up guys at bars-chicks are easier, usually. But I’d probably pick you out of the crowd and then--” He looks down at his plate and then up at Castiel, pupils dilating in a signal Castiel has come to recognize. “You know what? I think I’m done eating. Let’s head back.”
Though Castiel does not fully understand what prompts this sudden shift in mood, he slides of out the booth while Dean pulls out his wallet and slaps a few bills down. He follows Dean outside into the parking lot and hesitates a moment outside the Impala. While he is fairly certain that he is a now a welcome guest in Dean’s bed, Castiel is not quite certain what rules govern the car. And while it never would have bothered him before to think that Dean might not wish his company (Dean’s thoughts on the matter would have simply been irrelevant), somehow it has come to matter to Castiel whether Dean wants him there or not.
Dean notices Castiel’s hesitation and jerks his head in the direction of the passenger seat. “Come on, already. Get in.”
When they return to Dean’s room (decorated in pastel colors and covered in white doilies and ugly flower arrangements), Dean wastes no time in backing Castiel up to the edge of the bed and pushing him down to sit on it. It had taken a solid month of Sam complaining about “sex noises” and “funky smells” before Dean had finally agreed to securing his own motel rooms so he and Castiel could conduct their fornication in private. Castiel had been indifferent to the change of venue before, but now he finds himself rather pleased with the convenience of it.
Dean moves to stand between Castiel’s legs and brings his hand up to rest lightly on Castiel’s shoulders, thumbs rubbing small circles against his neck. “I’d probably come up to you in some seedy bar, pretending to be wasted,” Dean says, and it takes Castiel a moment to connect the words back to the conversation they’d been having back at the diner. “I’d ask you for a friendly game of pool.”
“You always let the other man win the first few rounds,” Castiel says, because he is all too familiar with Dean’s tactics for ‘hustling.’
“I would,” Dean agrees, voice dropping low and smooth as he stares down at Castiel with dark, intense eyes. “But my crappy game wouldn’t be all an act. I’d get distracted, watching you handle your pool cue, watching you bend over the table with your ass in the air to make the shots.”
“You’d make me think it was my idea to put some money down,” Castiel says, amused, but he can feel the arousal building with Dean so warm and in such close physical proximity. He puts his hands on Dean’s waist.
“I would.” Dean smiles as he tips Castiel’s head back to lick at his lips, moving closer to lick inside his open mouth. Then he pulls back to undo the tie knotted at Castiel’s throat. “I’d lose again and say double or nothing.”
“Of course I’d agree,” Castiel says, because the men Dean targets always do. He runs his hands up Dean’s chest, under Dean’s jacket, and Dean shrugs it off easily.
“Yeah.” Dean tips forward a little to nip at Castiel’s neck, his throat, and it makes Castiel shiver.
“You would make me feel invincible,” Castiel says, gasping a little. “You would make me feel as though I could not lose.”
“And I’d clean up.” Dean pushes Castiel’s trench coat and suit jacket off onto the bed behind him. “I’d take you for every penny you had.”
“I’d lose everything,” Castiel murmurs, lifting the bottom of Dean’s shirt up, skimming the silky smooth skin of his abdomen underneath with his fingertips. Dean lifts his shirt over his head and then his undershirt.
“I’d be all set to leave.” Dean helps Castiel peel off the rest of his shirts, kick off his shoes, and then pushes him backwards to lie down on the bed. “But then you’d look at me with those big, sad eyes and I’d feel guilty about hustling such an easy mark.”
“Guilty?” Castiel repeats. “You?”
“Yeah me,” Dean huffs, a little indignant as he strips out of his pants, shoes and socks.
“You would give me my money back?” Castiel asks as he wriggles out of his boxers and slides over to make room for Dean.
Dean laughs as he gets onto the bed. “Not a chance. But I’d find some way to make it up to you.”
“Oh?” Castiel is definitely intrigued as Dean crawls on all fours and stops until he’s on top of Castiel, bodies not quite touching yet.
Dean reaches over Castiel for the lubricant on the bedside table. When Castiel reaches up to help Dean with it, Dean pushes his hand down onto the bed again. “Stay,” Dean growls in Castiel’s ear and Castiel can’t help the wave of arousal that runs through him.
Castiel watches as Dean squirts the lubricant onto his fingers and reaches back to prepare himself casually, efficiently. Even though Castiel’s hands itch to reach out and touch Dean, run his hands over the muscles and joints he has dedicated to memory and yet still find fascinating, he forces himself to forebear on that desire. It is not easy.
When Dean’s finished, he tilts his head forward so that his mouth is right against Castiel’s ear again, mouth breathing hot, wet air and low words. “I’d drag you into the bathroom and throw you into the first stall I saw. I’d get down on my knees on that disgusting floor and unbutton your fly with my teeth.”
“I wouldn’t even know your name,” Castiel whispers, and Dean pulls back to capture his lips again. Castiel stares up at Dean in wonder, adoration, lust.
“You wouldn’t need to,” Dean says, and reaches a hand between them to grip Castiel’s erection. “I’d suck you till you saw stars. I’d suck you till you forgot all that money you lost to me.”
Castiel moans when Dean finally sinks down onto him, a glorious slide of indescribable pleasure and heat. He manages to avoid bucking his hips up-barely-and sighs when Dean bottoms out. “I’d never forget you,” Castiel chokes out, not even sure what he’s saying anymore, half delirious with the effort of staying still.
“That’s the idea,” Dean gasps above him, beginning to move in a near perfect rhythm. It only improves when Dean fists his own cock, and even though Castiel’s fingers ache to reach out and grab Dean’s hips, to slam him up and down harder and faster, there’s something about Dean impaling himself, pleasuring himself on top of Castiel that makes the frustration worth it.
Castiel feels his orgasm build and build, coming towards him even more quickly when Dean hisses his name and comes with a shattered cry, ejaculate splattering all over Castiel’s chest and stomach, falls forward and clenches so tight that Castiel can’t hold back any longer.
Dean rolls onto his side onto the bed, panting, and Castiel waves his hand wearily to clean them both off. “That was awesome,” Dean says. “Fuckin’ A.”
Castiel looks over at Dean, who is grinning. “It is always awesome.”
“I guess it is,” Dean says lazily. “Guess that’s why I keep coming back for more.”
Castiel snakes an arm underneath Dean’s waist and trails his hand along the curve of Dean’s back. It is bizarre to be so attached to this sensation, to touching Dean; it is only a body, after all. But this flesh and blood is part of what makes Dean Dean, and that, perhaps, is enough.
Dean doesn’t move away from Castiel, but he doesn’t move closer. He seems lost in thought, and after a moment says, “Let’s do it.”
“Do what?”
“What I was just telling you about,” Dean says. “Let’s meet up at a bar and pretend we’re strangers. You try to pick me up.”
Castiel studies Dean’s face. “Why?”
“It’ll be hot. This was hot, right? Imagine how much hotter the real deal’ll be.”
Castiel finds Dean to be alluring enough quite on his own--perhaps too alluring, if truth be told. But Dean is smiling at him with so much eagerness and anticipation that Castiel doesn’t want to say no. Cannot say no.
Scene II: Meet cute
Dean’s beer is warm by now, bland on his tongue after nursing it for so long. He glances around the dimly lit, mostly empty bar even though there’s nothing remotely interesting to see other than the wilted and beer-stained ‘Merry Xmas!’ banner hanging from the back wall.
Dean glances at his watch again. Figures that this would be the one time Castiel decided to forgo the virtue of timeliness or whatever. Or maybe he’d just forgotten altogether.
The door opens and the obnoxious bell jangles, causing everyone (all three people) in the bar, including Dean, to look up. It’s Castiel-finally. He stares down at his drink and feels a twinge of excitement and maybe-and he would never admit this--nervousness in his stomach. Not that he has any reason to be nervous; it’s not like Castiel is really a stranger.
Castiel scans the bar once and then makes a beeline for Dean once he spots him. “Hello, Dean,” he says as he pulls up a barstool next to Dean.
Dean sighs internally; this might be more difficult than he expected. “Do I know you?”
Castiel frowns. “Of course you do. I--”
“Stay in character, Cas,” Dean hisses as he lifts his beer to his lips. More loudly, he adds, “I don’t think I do, man.”
“Oh.” Castiel pauses. “You are correct. We do not know each other. You are a stranger to me.”
Dean snorts into his drink because Castiel might be one of the crappiest liars he's ever seen, and that's saying something. After a few minutes go by and it becomes clear that Castiel has no intention of continuing their conversation, Dean prompts him. “Aren’t you gonna offer to buy me a drink or something?”
Castiel’s eyes flicker to the half-empty beer mug in Dean’s hands. “You already have a drink.”
Dean throws back the rest in a long chug. “Finished it.”
Castiel ponders this. “I do not have any money.”
Dean rubs a hand over his face. Yeah, so much for normal. “How’s about the first round’s on me?” Dean calls over the bartender and orders them both draft beers.
The conversation-such as it was-lapses into silence while Castiel drinks his beer like the location of God might be found at the bottom of it. Dean sips his more slowly and waits for Castiel to say or, hell, do something, but he seems perfectly content with the silence.
“So, uh,” Dean says at last. “You gonna talk or what?”
Castiel puts down his empty mug. “About what?”
“I dunno, man. You came up to me.” This is fast climbing the scale from slightly silly to absurd. Dean can practically see the wheels grinding in Castiel’s brain before he begins.
“I recently visited several libraries and rare archives in Israel and Palestine. Their collections of ancient manuscripts were not quite as comprehensive as I’d hoped, but some of the older texts did make reference to other works that might provide clues to God’s last recorded appearances. I plan to visit Istanbul next, because one source specifically states--”
“Whoa,” Dean puts a hand up to interrupt Castiel’s monologue. “That’s your line? That’s what you’re coming at me with here?”
“My line?” Castiel stares at Dean uncertainly for a moment. “You... wish for me to speak about something else?”
“Look, it’s not that I don’t--” Dean sighs, because Castiel seems almost hurt. “We’re in a bar, okay? I don’t exactly want to talk shop here.”
“I… do not now what else to say,” Castiel says hesitantly.
“That’s fine.” Dean leans forward until he’s intruding into Castiel’s personal space, but not so much that it’d attract too much attention from the other people in the bar. Although it might be too late for that already, what with Castiel rambling about libraries and God. “Because I’m not really here to talk at all.”
Comprehension dawns on Castiel’s face, and he slides easily off the bar stool. “I see. Then let us leave this place immediately so we may engage in intercourse.”
Dean laughs as he finishes his beer and stands. “You sweet talker, you.”
Scene III: Consummation
The music is very loud, Castiel notices as he steps inside. A number of gyrating bodies sway to the pulsating bass on the dance floor, movements cast in shadows and multicolored spotlights that skitter schizophrenically across the club. The bar counter is so crowded by lean bodies pressed up against it and each other that Castiel gives up on trying to get through, choosing instead to stand in an unoccupied corner by the wall. There’s a flyer that features a picture of a menorah and announces, ‘The Biggest Gay Hannakuh party this side of the River!’
As Castiel scans the crowd several men give Castiel appraising looks, but he pays them no mind: he’s only interested in finding Dean. A man in ripped dark jeans and a sleeveless shirt that hugs the lines of his chest approaches, however, putting his hand on the wall near Castiel’s head. “Hey there,” he says, eyes raking over Castiel’s body. “What’s your name?”
“Get lost,” a familiar voice says and Castiel glances behind the man to see Dean glaring.
“Excuse me?” the man says, half turning to face Dean, but not moving away.
“You heard me. Get the hell outta here,” Dean says coldly, and after a second, the other man backs down, slinking away with a muttered curse under his breath.
“Guess you’re hot stuff tonight,” Dean says as he presses closer than he usually does in public, mouth tight. “Well, they can grab a goddamn ticket and get in line.”
“They?” Castiel repeats, not sure who or what Dean is talking about.
“Everyone here who’s staring at you.” Dean leans in until he’s only inches away from Castiel’s face. “Which is the whole damn bar, apparently.”
Castiel surveys the room and there are indeed more than a few men watching him intently-and they don’t look away when he makes eye contact.
“Hey,” Dean says sharply. “You’re talking to me now.”
Castiel looks back at Dean who seems-annoyed. Anxious. “Yes.”
“Good.” Dean pauses. “So do you-do you come here often?”
“No,” Castiel replies honestly. He’s about to ask why Dean would need to even ask such a question, but then he recalls the game they are playing tonight and says nothing more.
“Me neither,” Dean says and seems pleased. “You from around here?”
“No,” Castiel says. Then he adds, “Are you?”
Dean blinks, startled, and then smiles. “Yeah, I-I’m a mechanic. I work up the road from here. Name’s Dean.”
“I am Castiel.” He tries to think of something more to say, but Dean seems satisfied with this.
“Cas,” Dean repeats. “Unusual name. It’s nice.”
Castiel does not know what to say in response to that; he has never given any though to whether his name is ‘nice’ or not. So, instead, he replies with the first thing that comes to mind. “Why did you decide to become a mechanic?”
Dean’s forehead furrows in surprise. “Why?”
“Of all the things that you could be, why a mechanic?”
Dean coughs and turns his face away for a moment before answering. “Um, I dunno. Guess it’s just something I’m good at.”
“You are good at many things, Dean,” Castiel says. “But you chose to be a mechanic.”
“Dude, what is this?” Dean scrubs the back of his neck, uncomfortable. “Giving me the third degree here? What’s with all the questions?”
“You asked me numerous questions at the beginning of this conversation,” Castiel points out, and Dean exhales with a small chuckle.
“Yeah, but those were--” He stops. “Nevermind. You really wanna know why?”
“I do.”
Dean shakes his head as if he couldn’t possibly understand why anyone would care, but starts anyway. “I guess I-I like the feel of cars, the smell. The way they sound when they’re running smooth, the way they choke up when they’re not. I like taking them apart and putting them back together again, making them better than they were before, in a way.”
Castiel thinks of how he remade Dean not so long ago, and how he’d woven the pieces of him so carefully together, and thinks he might understand. “A car is so much more than its component parts.”
Dean looks at Castiel strangely. “Yeah, I guess. Never really thought about it. But the great thing about them is that if you treat ‘em right, take care of ‘em, they just come alive under your hands, you know? They’ll never let you down because taking you where you’re going is what they’re made for.”
Castiel reaches out to touch the skin of the back of Dean’s hand, feeling the delicacy and roughness of it. “Yes.”
Dean stares down at Castiel’s hand on his and lets out a shaky laugh. “You coming onto me now?”
“I am simply happy I met you,” Castiel says, because it’s true.
Dean’s eyes fly up to meet Castiel’s, and for a moment they’re open. Vulnerable. “Why?”
Castiel cannot put into words all the reasons why, so he settles for the only words he can find. “Because you’re you.”
Dean’s eyes widen for an instant before he breaks eye contact. “Now I know you’re just--” He twists his wrist to catch Castiel’s hand in his. “Let’s get out of here, okay?”
Dean leads him out of the bar and to where the Impala is parked. Castiel takes a moment to study it--truly examine it for the first time--while Dean takes out his keys.
“It is beautiful, Dean,” Castiel says as he transports himself into the passenger seat.
Dean doesn’t reply to that, keeping his attention straight ahead of him when he starts up the engine. But about halfway back to the motel, Dean’s right hand comes up to tentatively squeeze Castiel’s knee.
Scene IV: Sexy Complication
Dean finishes off his Coors and orders another, bored out of his skull from waiting around in this bar for the past two hours for Sam to call. Apparently, the libraries in Plymouth stay open late on Tuesday nights-as Sam had so happily reported-giving him more time to research any weird town history that might explain the freaky deaths they’d been investigating in town. Whoop de fucking do.
The worst part is that there’s nothing for Dean to do in the meantime. The movie theaters are all playing unbearably shitty family friendly holiday crap, Castiel’s back on his search for God kick and hasn’t been around for days, and the town’s so small there’s really nothing besides a few dingy bars. This particular dive doesn’t even possess a pool table, and Dean’s already wiped the floor with all the people in the bar at darts, leaving him to sit and drink and half-watch the weird sumo wrestling tournament they’re playing on the LCD screens.
A couple of the women in the bar have been trying to catch Dean’s eye for the better of part of an hour, but he can’t find the energy to do anything about it. It’s been at least a week since he last saw Castiel, which mean he’s bound to turn up in the next day or two. Dean figures he can hold out until then.
He hears the door to the bar open but doesn’t bother looking over; probably just another balding, middle-aged guy trying to avoid going home to his wife. It isn’t until a gruff, raspy voice orders a beer next to him that he actually pays attention.
“Cas?” Dean asks as Castiel puts a twenty on the table to pay for his drink. “What’re you doing here?”
Castiel turns to Dean slowly, deliberately. “Are you talking to me?”
“Anyone else named ‘Cas’ in here?” Dean raises an eyebrow.
“My name is not Cas,” Castiel replies without a hint of humor.
“Okay then.” Dean rolls his eyes. “What--”
“We’ve never met before,” Castiel interrupts, voice low and serious and intense. “We are simply two strangers in a bar.”
“We--” Suddenly, all the pieces click together in Dean’s head. “Uh, right. I didn’t realize were still playing-but okay then. Stranger. Uh, what’s your name then?”
“My name is irrelevant.” Castiel puts a hand on Dean’s knee. “All that should concern you is what I wanted the moment I walked into this bar and saw you sitting here.”
Dean’s heartbeat quickens, heat beginning to pool in that place rather close to Castiel’s hand. “And what did you want?”
Castiel’s hand shifts higher up Dean’s thigh and he leans forward to whisper hotly into Dean’s ear. “I want to throw you on top of this counter and rip off all your clothes. I want to suck you until you beg me to let you orgasm, and then leave you on the edge while I turn you over and fuck you so hard the only thing you can do is scream.”
All the saliva dries up in Dean’s mouth and he shudders as Castiel moves away, his words ringing in the air behind him. “Holy fucking hell,” Dean says. Castiel’s hand is a hair away from where his cock has gone from zero to sixty and ready to burst a button. “Let’s go back to my room.”
“No,” Castiel says, hand riding up and squeezing Dean’s bulge so suddenly Dean gasps. “I don’t want to wait.” Castiel’s hand leaves Dean’s crotch and grabs his wrist instead, practically jerking Dean to his feet. “Let’s go out back.”
Dean follows Castiel in a daze and is dimly thankful that they were sitting towards the back and in a rather dark corner of the bar, but he senses that if anyone had looked over at them they would have gotten a free show anyway. Dean feels off balance, out of control, and so turned on he can barely think straight.
When they exit through the back door into a grungy, unlit alleyway, the cold night air stings Dean out of the haze slightly. “Out here?”
Castiel pushes Dean back up against the brick wall and kisses him fiercely, leaving Dean weak and gasping for air at the end of it. Castiel backs away minutely to meet Dean’s eyes and his gaze softens. “Dean,” he says, and Dean hears the question embedded in the word. Some rational part of Dean’s brain chimes in with questions about the wisdom of this, how they could get caught, and how maybe it isn’t such a good idea. But somehow, the fact that it seems like a very bad idea makes it that much hotter.
“Yeah,” Dean says as he touches Castiel’s waist. “Yeah, let’s--”
Castiel kisses Dean gently once more-as if Dean might break-and Dean bites his lips impatiently. Castiel growls in response and says, “On your knees.”
Dean inhales quickly as he obeys, lowering himself onto the cold cement. He’s so turned on his fingers tremble as he goes to unbuckle Castiel’s belt and unzip his fly. Castiel doesn’t do anything to assist him, simply stands there as Dean pulls his pants and underwear down over his erection. Dean glances up at Castiel, and his expression is dark and unreadable. “You know what to do,” is all Castiel says.
Dean looks at Castiel’s cock, hard and red, and thinks he’s probably never wanted anything so badly in his life. He practically moans when he takes it into his mouth, swallowing it as deeply as he can until it shoves up against the back of his throat uncomfortably. His eyes water with discomfort but it’s worth it when he hears the sharp hiss of pleasure above him.
Castiel doesn’t move, doesn’t touch him, but Dean can feel his stare bearing down on him like a lead weight. The intensity of it is a little overwhelming, and makes Dean want to try harder, make it better, shatter Castiel into pieces.
Dean bobs his head up and down, reaching up to massage Castiel’s balls lightly with one hand. He’s rewarded with another sharp intake of breath, and sucks harder, tonguing at the slit of Castiel’s cock when he pulls back.
“Dean, I--” Castiel’s breaking apart under him, and Dean knows what he’s trying to tell him, but he doesn’t move away, only sucks harder and relaxes his mouth. When Castiel comes, Dean swallows as much as he can, although some fluid still dribbles down his chin. He waits until Castiel’s soft again before letting go, and wipes his face with his sleeve.
Dean gets up off the ground and does up Castiel’s pants and buckle for him without needing to be told. Meanwhile, Dean’s dick is straining painfully against his underwear, the inside of his jeans, already leaking precome in an uncomfortable damp spot. When Castiel opens his eyes again, Dean asks, “Can I?”
Castiel glances down at the outline of Dean’s dick and then crowds him back against the wall again, one hand coming to rest on either side of Dean’s head. “Yes,” he says. “You may.”
Dean unbuttons his own fly clumsily, aware all the while of Castiel’s gaze roaming over him. When he finally frees his cock from the confines of his boxers, he sighs in relief. He glances up for further instruction, but Castiel doesn’t move. “Go ahead,” Castiel says.
“You just want me to--” Castiel raises an eyebrow and Dean sucks in a breath. “Okay.” Dean licks a stripe up his palm and brings his hand down to stroke himself, squeezing and moving in what’s become habit through years of jerking off. But it feels different now-hotter, better, dirtier-in this alley where anybody could catch them, with Castiel watching, allowing Dean to indulge himself after using Dean’s mouth.
Dean’s breath hitches as he strokes himself faster and more firmly, already so close to the edge. It doesn’t take long before he’s coming so hard he sees stars, harder than he ever has from only his hand alone.
When Dean comes back down to earth again, Castiel’s still watching him, face blank and neutral. Castiel pushes back from the wall and takes a step away from Dean. “We’re done here,” he says, and disappears.
Dean blinks the sweat from his eyes and stares at the spot where Castiel had just stood a moment ago. He stops himself from calling out Castiel’s name when a minute passes and he doesn’t return.
He fumbles his pants closed and stumbles back to the car. He feels-strange, like he missed a step somewhere. Not that it matters, really; he and Castiel already got to the good stuff, so there’s no point in Castiel sticking around. They had a surprise quickie-that’s all. And if there’s a hollow feeling in Dean’s chest every time he glances over at the empty passenger seat that Castiel fails to appear in, well, that doesn’t mean anything either. No one drives around with a one night stand, anyway.
Scene V: True Love based on true self
When Dean opens the door to his motel room, Castiel is sitting on the edge of the bed. At first, Dean’s not sure what to say, what to do. But when Castiel asks, “Did I get it right?” with such sincerity it makes Dean’s teeth hurt, Dean can’t do anything but walk over to him.
“Yeah,” Dean says. “You got it exactly right.”
Castiel smiles up at him, a little one that nevertheless touches his eyes and chases away all the shadows of that stranger in the alleyway, leaving only Cas. “I wanted to make it up to you.”
Dean opens his mouth to crack a joke but instead what comes out is, “I thought you’d left.” The rawness of his voice scares him.
Castiel leans forward to press a kiss Dean’s stomach through his shirt. “I’ll always come back to you,” he says. Dean doesn’t know if he believes the promise hidden in those words, not after so many people in his life have made that promise knowing full well they could never keep it, but he wants to. He wants to.
Dean allows Castiel to take off his clothing, one piece at a time, and then helps Castiel slide out of his. When they’re both fully in the nude, Dean slips under the covers and pulls Castiel close to him. “This is better,” Dean whispers.
Fin
Title: As You Wish
Recipient: caras_galadhon
Author: bauble
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Graphic sex. Also,
roleplaying, mild D/S vibes, dirty talk.
Spoilers: all of Season 5 so far, to be safe.
Prompt: A peaceful, happy moment (or more) for Dean and Castiel in the midst of the chaos that is their normal lives during the holidays.
Summary: Two strangers hook up in a bar for the first time. Two strangers hook up in a bar for the first time... again. Dean/Castiel stablished relationship roleplay.
That day, she was amazed to discover that when he was saying "As you wish," what he meant was, "I love you." And even more amazing was the day she realized she truly loved him back. - The Princess Bride
Words: 5700
Thanks to: zelda_zee for the beta.
Written for: caras_galadhon for deancas_xmas.
As You Wish
That day, she was amazed to discover that when he was saying "As you wish," what he meant was, "I love you." And even more amazing was the day she realized she truly loved him back. - The Princess Bride
Scene I: Introduce the hero
“How’s the tuna melt?”
Castiel glances up from his soggy sandwich. “It’s fine, Dean.”
“You’ve barely touched it,” Dean says. “Is there a roach in it? One time I found this weird black crunchy stuff in a burger but I was so hungry I pulled it out and ate around where it had been. It was disgusting, but we were out of money that month.”
“There are no insects in this particular sandwich,” Castiel replies. He’d taken two bites of his sandwich and tasted only overwhelming saltiness, and since he’d ordered food only to appease Dean’s distaste for eating alone, Castiel hadn’t seen the point in continuing the exercise.
Dean’s staring at Castiel with a mix of emotions too complex for Castiel to hope to read from his expression alone. (He could reach out and try to divine the lightning-fast scuttle of thoughts and emotions through Dean’s mind, but ultimately refrains. “Sometimes I just need some privacy, you know?” Dean had said. Castiel does not, in fact, know, but he tries to respect the desire regardless.)
“Suit yourself then,” Dean says after a minute before wolfing down more French fries.
It seems like such a silly thing to Castiel, something as meaningless as whether he pretends to eat in this diner, but it matters to Dean. So, he picks up the tuna melt and starts taking methodical bites until there is nothing left. He tries to engage in the sensation of taste the way Dean does, to pick out the individual flavors surrounding the salt. There’s the faintly plastic artificiality of the melted yellow cheese, the odd sourness of the tuna, and then the surprising burst of refreshment in the celery pieces. It’s not particularly pleasant, as a whole, but Castiel supposes he is satisfied when he finishes eating.
He catches Dean hiding a smile behind a fry. “You got a little-” Dean gestures at his own cheek and Castiel stares uncomprehendingly in response. Finally, Dean reaches across the table and brushes a thumb against Castiel’s cheek, dislodging what appears to piece of tuna. His thumb lingers against Castiel’s face for a moment longer than necessary, and Castiel feels a familiar warmth begin to spread between his legs and the lower half of his body. He’s always surprised by how reactive human bodies are when it comes to sensory experiences.
Something catches Dean’s attention over Castiel’s shoulder, and Castiel cranes his head around to se a couple entering the diner together, arguing rather loudly.
“We visit your parents’ house for Christmas every year,” a middle-aged woman wearing a green coat and an orange scarf around her neck says loudly, belligerently. “What about my family? I want to see them too!”
“You see them every week,” replies the man she’s with, who has flushed, puffy cheeks and a yellow plaid overcoat on. “They live half an hour away!”
“But we don’t see them together,” the woman retorts as the hostess goes to seat them in the very back of the diner with a resigned air.
Castiel turns back to Dean, who is still watching the couple with an expression of-sadness? He peeks into Dean’s mind to confirm his guess is correct, and is surprised to find regret, and longing.
“You ever wonder what things would be like if we were normal?” Dean asks abruptly.
“I suppose fewer people would be trying to kill us,” Castiel responds as he surreptitiously closes off his connection to Dean’s thoughts.
Dean snorts. “Probably. But I meant, you know-between us. Like, if I was just some guy, and you were some other guy, and we didn’t meet in Hell or in some tricked-out magic barn where I stabbed you in the heart.”
“I suffered no permanent damage as a result of our meeting,” Castiel says, not sure of the point Dean is trying to make.
“Yeah, I noticed.” Dean takes a sip of his soda. “But you ever wonder what it would be like if we were a couple of regular guys who had some awesome sex, and the biggest problem in our lives was fighting each other instead of fighting the damn apocalypse?”
Castiel does not wonder about such things, of course. He has difficulty enough doing what he must to pass as human without raising suspicion--for it turns out that there are many unspoken rules surrounding acting 'normal' (as Dean says) that he simply cannot guess. Many make no sense. He has not had the luxury of time to consider what it would be like to truly be human, to live as they do and think as they do. “You wish to fight me?”
“Not really, no.” The downward turn of the sides of Dean’s mouth alert Castiel to the fact that he is missing something.
“If we did not meet as we did,” Castiel says slowly. “How would we have met instead?”
“Huh?”
“How would we meet?” Castiel repeats. “If we were… two guys.”
Dean pauses, fry in mid-air. “Uh, I guess probably in bar. It’s where I meet most people I bang.”
“You would solicit me for sex in a bar?”
“Nah,” Dean says and bites down on his fry thoughtfully. “I don’t really pick up guys at bars-chicks are easier, usually. But I’d probably pick you out of the crowd and then--” He looks down at his plate and then up at Castiel, pupils dilating in a signal Castiel has come to recognize. “You know what? I think I’m done eating. Let’s head back.”
Though Castiel does not fully understand what prompts this sudden shift in mood, he slides of out the booth while Dean pulls out his wallet and slaps a few bills down. He follows Dean outside into the parking lot and hesitates a moment outside the Impala. While he is fairly certain that he is a now a welcome guest in Dean’s bed, Castiel is not quite certain what rules govern the car. And while it never would have bothered him before to think that Dean might not wish his company (Dean’s thoughts on the matter would have simply been irrelevant), somehow it has come to matter to Castiel whether Dean wants him there or not.
Dean notices Castiel’s hesitation and jerks his head in the direction of the passenger seat. “Come on, already. Get in.”
When they return to Dean’s room (decorated in pastel colors and covered in white doilies and ugly flower arrangements), Dean wastes no time in backing Castiel up to the edge of the bed and pushing him down to sit on it. It had taken a solid month of Sam complaining about “sex noises” and “funky smells” before Dean had finally agreed to securing his own motel rooms so he and Castiel could conduct their fornication in private. Castiel had been indifferent to the change of venue before, but now he finds himself rather pleased with the convenience of it.
Dean moves to stand between Castiel’s legs and brings his hand up to rest lightly on Castiel’s shoulders, thumbs rubbing small circles against his neck. “I’d probably come up to you in some seedy bar, pretending to be wasted,” Dean says, and it takes Castiel a moment to connect the words back to the conversation they’d been having back at the diner. “I’d ask you for a friendly game of pool.”
“You always let the other man win the first few rounds,” Castiel says, because he is all too familiar with Dean’s tactics for ‘hustling.’
“I would,” Dean agrees, voice dropping low and smooth as he stares down at Castiel with dark, intense eyes. “But my crappy game wouldn’t be all an act. I’d get distracted, watching you handle your pool cue, watching you bend over the table with your ass in the air to make the shots.”
“You’d make me think it was my idea to put some money down,” Castiel says, amused, but he can feel the arousal building with Dean so warm and in such close physical proximity. He puts his hands on Dean’s waist.
“I would.” Dean smiles as he tips Castiel’s head back to lick at his lips, moving closer to lick inside his open mouth. Then he pulls back to undo the tie knotted at Castiel’s throat. “I’d lose again and say double or nothing.”
“Of course I’d agree,” Castiel says, because the men Dean targets always do. He runs his hands up Dean’s chest, under Dean’s jacket, and Dean shrugs it off easily.
“Yeah.” Dean tips forward a little to nip at Castiel’s neck, his throat, and it makes Castiel shiver.
“You would make me feel invincible,” Castiel says, gasping a little. “You would make me feel as though I could not lose.”
“And I’d clean up.” Dean pushes Castiel’s trench coat and suit jacket off onto the bed behind him. “I’d take you for every penny you had.”
“I’d lose everything,” Castiel murmurs, lifting the bottom of Dean’s shirt up, skimming the silky smooth skin of his abdomen underneath with his fingertips. Dean lifts his shirt over his head and then his undershirt.
“I’d be all set to leave.” Dean helps Castiel peel off the rest of his shirts, kick off his shoes, and then pushes him backwards to lie down on the bed. “But then you’d look at me with those big, sad eyes and I’d feel guilty about hustling such an easy mark.”
“Guilty?” Castiel repeats. “You?”
“Yeah me,” Dean huffs, a little indignant as he strips out of his pants, shoes and socks.
“You would give me my money back?” Castiel asks as he wriggles out of his boxers and slides over to make room for Dean.
Dean laughs as he gets onto the bed. “Not a chance. But I’d find some way to make it up to you.”
“Oh?” Castiel is definitely intrigued as Dean crawls on all fours and stops until he’s on top of Castiel, bodies not quite touching yet.
Dean reaches over Castiel for the lubricant on the bedside table. When Castiel reaches up to help Dean with it, Dean pushes his hand down onto the bed again. “Stay,” Dean growls in Castiel’s ear and Castiel can’t help the wave of arousal that runs through him.
Castiel watches as Dean squirts the lubricant onto his fingers and reaches back to prepare himself casually, efficiently. Even though Castiel’s hands itch to reach out and touch Dean, run his hands over the muscles and joints he has dedicated to memory and yet still find fascinating, he forces himself to forebear on that desire. It is not easy.
When Dean’s finished, he tilts his head forward so that his mouth is right against Castiel’s ear again, mouth breathing hot, wet air and low words. “I’d drag you into the bathroom and throw you into the first stall I saw. I’d get down on my knees on that disgusting floor and unbutton your fly with my teeth.”
“I wouldn’t even know your name,” Castiel whispers, and Dean pulls back to capture his lips again. Castiel stares up at Dean in wonder, adoration, lust.
“You wouldn’t need to,” Dean says, and reaches a hand between them to grip Castiel’s erection. “I’d suck you till you saw stars. I’d suck you till you forgot all that money you lost to me.”
Castiel moans when Dean finally sinks down onto him, a glorious slide of indescribable pleasure and heat. He manages to avoid bucking his hips up-barely-and sighs when Dean bottoms out. “I’d never forget you,” Castiel chokes out, not even sure what he’s saying anymore, half delirious with the effort of staying still.
“That’s the idea,” Dean gasps above him, beginning to move in a near perfect rhythm. It only improves when Dean fists his own cock, and even though Castiel’s fingers ache to reach out and grab Dean’s hips, to slam him up and down harder and faster, there’s something about Dean impaling himself, pleasuring himself on top of Castiel that makes the frustration worth it.
Castiel feels his orgasm build and build, coming towards him even more quickly when Dean hisses his name and comes with a shattered cry, ejaculate splattering all over Castiel’s chest and stomach, falls forward and clenches so tight that Castiel can’t hold back any longer.
Dean rolls onto his side onto the bed, panting, and Castiel waves his hand wearily to clean them both off. “That was awesome,” Dean says. “Fuckin’ A.”
Castiel looks over at Dean, who is grinning. “It is always awesome.”
“I guess it is,” Dean says lazily. “Guess that’s why I keep coming back for more.”
Castiel snakes an arm underneath Dean’s waist and trails his hand along the curve of Dean’s back. It is bizarre to be so attached to this sensation, to touching Dean; it is only a body, after all. But this flesh and blood is part of what makes Dean Dean, and that, perhaps, is enough.
Dean doesn’t move away from Castiel, but he doesn’t move closer. He seems lost in thought, and after a moment says, “Let’s do it.”
“Do what?”
“What I was just telling you about,” Dean says. “Let’s meet up at a bar and pretend we’re strangers. You try to pick me up.”
Castiel studies Dean’s face. “Why?”
“It’ll be hot. This was hot, right? Imagine how much hotter the real deal’ll be.”
Castiel finds Dean to be alluring enough quite on his own--perhaps too alluring, if truth be told. But Dean is smiling at him with so much eagerness and anticipation that Castiel doesn’t want to say no. Cannot say no.
Scene II: Meet cute
Dean’s beer is warm by now, bland on his tongue after nursing it for so long. He glances around the dimly lit, mostly empty bar even though there’s nothing remotely interesting to see other than the wilted and beer-stained ‘Merry Xmas!’ banner hanging from the back wall.
Dean glances at his watch again. Figures that this would be the one time Castiel decided to forgo the virtue of timeliness or whatever. Or maybe he’d just forgotten altogether.
The door opens and the obnoxious bell jangles, causing everyone (all three people) in the bar, including Dean, to look up. It’s Castiel-finally. He stares down at his drink and feels a twinge of excitement and maybe-and he would never admit this--nervousness in his stomach. Not that he has any reason to be nervous; it’s not like Castiel is really a stranger.
Castiel scans the bar once and then makes a beeline for Dean once he spots him. “Hello, Dean,” he says as he pulls up a barstool next to Dean.
Dean sighs internally; this might be more difficult than he expected. “Do I know you?”
Castiel frowns. “Of course you do. I--”
“Stay in character, Cas,” Dean hisses as he lifts his beer to his lips. More loudly, he adds, “I don’t think I do, man.”
“Oh.” Castiel pauses. “You are correct. We do not know each other. You are a stranger to me.”
Dean snorts into his drink because Castiel might be one of the crappiest liars he's ever seen, and that's saying something. After a few minutes go by and it becomes clear that Castiel has no intention of continuing their conversation, Dean prompts him. “Aren’t you gonna offer to buy me a drink or something?”
Castiel’s eyes flicker to the half-empty beer mug in Dean’s hands. “You already have a drink.”
Dean throws back the rest in a long chug. “Finished it.”
Castiel ponders this. “I do not have any money.”
Dean rubs a hand over his face. Yeah, so much for normal. “How’s about the first round’s on me?” Dean calls over the bartender and orders them both draft beers.
The conversation-such as it was-lapses into silence while Castiel drinks his beer like the location of God might be found at the bottom of it. Dean sips his more slowly and waits for Castiel to say or, hell, do something, but he seems perfectly content with the silence.
“So, uh,” Dean says at last. “You gonna talk or what?”
Castiel puts down his empty mug. “About what?”
“I dunno, man. You came up to me.” This is fast climbing the scale from slightly silly to absurd. Dean can practically see the wheels grinding in Castiel’s brain before he begins.
“I recently visited several libraries and rare archives in Israel and Palestine. Their collections of ancient manuscripts were not quite as comprehensive as I’d hoped, but some of the older texts did make reference to other works that might provide clues to God’s last recorded appearances. I plan to visit Istanbul next, because one source specifically states--”
“Whoa,” Dean puts a hand up to interrupt Castiel’s monologue. “That’s your line? That’s what you’re coming at me with here?”
“My line?” Castiel stares at Dean uncertainly for a moment. “You... wish for me to speak about something else?”
“Look, it’s not that I don’t--” Dean sighs, because Castiel seems almost hurt. “We’re in a bar, okay? I don’t exactly want to talk shop here.”
“I… do not now what else to say,” Castiel says hesitantly.
“That’s fine.” Dean leans forward until he’s intruding into Castiel’s personal space, but not so much that it’d attract too much attention from the other people in the bar. Although it might be too late for that already, what with Castiel rambling about libraries and God. “Because I’m not really here to talk at all.”
Comprehension dawns on Castiel’s face, and he slides easily off the bar stool. “I see. Then let us leave this place immediately so we may engage in intercourse.”
Dean laughs as he finishes his beer and stands. “You sweet talker, you.”
Scene III: Consummation
The music is very loud, Castiel notices as he steps inside. A number of gyrating bodies sway to the pulsating bass on the dance floor, movements cast in shadows and multicolored spotlights that skitter schizophrenically across the club. The bar counter is so crowded by lean bodies pressed up against it and each other that Castiel gives up on trying to get through, choosing instead to stand in an unoccupied corner by the wall. There’s a flyer that features a picture of a menorah and announces, ‘The Biggest Gay Hannakuh party this side of the River!’
As Castiel scans the crowd several men give Castiel appraising looks, but he pays them no mind: he’s only interested in finding Dean. A man in ripped dark jeans and a sleeveless shirt that hugs the lines of his chest approaches, however, putting his hand on the wall near Castiel’s head. “Hey there,” he says, eyes raking over Castiel’s body. “What’s your name?”
“Get lost,” a familiar voice says and Castiel glances behind the man to see Dean glaring.
“Excuse me?” the man says, half turning to face Dean, but not moving away.
“You heard me. Get the hell outta here,” Dean says coldly, and after a second, the other man backs down, slinking away with a muttered curse under his breath.
“Guess you’re hot stuff tonight,” Dean says as he presses closer than he usually does in public, mouth tight. “Well, they can grab a goddamn ticket and get in line.”
“They?” Castiel repeats, not sure who or what Dean is talking about.
“Everyone here who’s staring at you.” Dean leans in until he’s only inches away from Castiel’s face. “Which is the whole damn bar, apparently.”
Castiel surveys the room and there are indeed more than a few men watching him intently-and they don’t look away when he makes eye contact.
“Hey,” Dean says sharply. “You’re talking to me now.”
Castiel looks back at Dean who seems-annoyed. Anxious. “Yes.”
“Good.” Dean pauses. “So do you-do you come here often?”
“No,” Castiel replies honestly. He’s about to ask why Dean would need to even ask such a question, but then he recalls the game they are playing tonight and says nothing more.
“Me neither,” Dean says and seems pleased. “You from around here?”
“No,” Castiel says. Then he adds, “Are you?”
Dean blinks, startled, and then smiles. “Yeah, I-I’m a mechanic. I work up the road from here. Name’s Dean.”
“I am Castiel.” He tries to think of something more to say, but Dean seems satisfied with this.
“Cas,” Dean repeats. “Unusual name. It’s nice.”
Castiel does not know what to say in response to that; he has never given any though to whether his name is ‘nice’ or not. So, instead, he replies with the first thing that comes to mind. “Why did you decide to become a mechanic?”
Dean’s forehead furrows in surprise. “Why?”
“Of all the things that you could be, why a mechanic?”
Dean coughs and turns his face away for a moment before answering. “Um, I dunno. Guess it’s just something I’m good at.”
“You are good at many things, Dean,” Castiel says. “But you chose to be a mechanic.”
“Dude, what is this?” Dean scrubs the back of his neck, uncomfortable. “Giving me the third degree here? What’s with all the questions?”
“You asked me numerous questions at the beginning of this conversation,” Castiel points out, and Dean exhales with a small chuckle.
“Yeah, but those were--” He stops. “Nevermind. You really wanna know why?”
“I do.”
Dean shakes his head as if he couldn’t possibly understand why anyone would care, but starts anyway. “I guess I-I like the feel of cars, the smell. The way they sound when they’re running smooth, the way they choke up when they’re not. I like taking them apart and putting them back together again, making them better than they were before, in a way.”
Castiel thinks of how he remade Dean not so long ago, and how he’d woven the pieces of him so carefully together, and thinks he might understand. “A car is so much more than its component parts.”
Dean looks at Castiel strangely. “Yeah, I guess. Never really thought about it. But the great thing about them is that if you treat ‘em right, take care of ‘em, they just come alive under your hands, you know? They’ll never let you down because taking you where you’re going is what they’re made for.”
Castiel reaches out to touch the skin of the back of Dean’s hand, feeling the delicacy and roughness of it. “Yes.”
Dean stares down at Castiel’s hand on his and lets out a shaky laugh. “You coming onto me now?”
“I am simply happy I met you,” Castiel says, because it’s true.
Dean’s eyes fly up to meet Castiel’s, and for a moment they’re open. Vulnerable. “Why?”
Castiel cannot put into words all the reasons why, so he settles for the only words he can find. “Because you’re you.”
Dean’s eyes widen for an instant before he breaks eye contact. “Now I know you’re just--” He twists his wrist to catch Castiel’s hand in his. “Let’s get out of here, okay?”
Dean leads him out of the bar and to where the Impala is parked. Castiel takes a moment to study it--truly examine it for the first time--while Dean takes out his keys.
“It is beautiful, Dean,” Castiel says as he transports himself into the passenger seat.
Dean doesn’t reply to that, keeping his attention straight ahead of him when he starts up the engine. But about halfway back to the motel, Dean’s right hand comes up to tentatively squeeze Castiel’s knee.
Scene IV: Sexy Complication
Dean finishes off his Coors and orders another, bored out of his skull from waiting around in this bar for the past two hours for Sam to call. Apparently, the libraries in Plymouth stay open late on Tuesday nights-as Sam had so happily reported-giving him more time to research any weird town history that might explain the freaky deaths they’d been investigating in town. Whoop de fucking do.
The worst part is that there’s nothing for Dean to do in the meantime. The movie theaters are all playing unbearably shitty family friendly holiday crap, Castiel’s back on his search for God kick and hasn’t been around for days, and the town’s so small there’s really nothing besides a few dingy bars. This particular dive doesn’t even possess a pool table, and Dean’s already wiped the floor with all the people in the bar at darts, leaving him to sit and drink and half-watch the weird sumo wrestling tournament they’re playing on the LCD screens.
A couple of the women in the bar have been trying to catch Dean’s eye for the better of part of an hour, but he can’t find the energy to do anything about it. It’s been at least a week since he last saw Castiel, which mean he’s bound to turn up in the next day or two. Dean figures he can hold out until then.
He hears the door to the bar open but doesn’t bother looking over; probably just another balding, middle-aged guy trying to avoid going home to his wife. It isn’t until a gruff, raspy voice orders a beer next to him that he actually pays attention.
“Cas?” Dean asks as Castiel puts a twenty on the table to pay for his drink. “What’re you doing here?”
Castiel turns to Dean slowly, deliberately. “Are you talking to me?”
“Anyone else named ‘Cas’ in here?” Dean raises an eyebrow.
“My name is not Cas,” Castiel replies without a hint of humor.
“Okay then.” Dean rolls his eyes. “What--”
“We’ve never met before,” Castiel interrupts, voice low and serious and intense. “We are simply two strangers in a bar.”
“We--” Suddenly, all the pieces click together in Dean’s head. “Uh, right. I didn’t realize were still playing-but okay then. Stranger. Uh, what’s your name then?”
“My name is irrelevant.” Castiel puts a hand on Dean’s knee. “All that should concern you is what I wanted the moment I walked into this bar and saw you sitting here.”
Dean’s heartbeat quickens, heat beginning to pool in that place rather close to Castiel’s hand. “And what did you want?”
Castiel’s hand shifts higher up Dean’s thigh and he leans forward to whisper hotly into Dean’s ear. “I want to throw you on top of this counter and rip off all your clothes. I want to suck you until you beg me to let you orgasm, and then leave you on the edge while I turn you over and fuck you so hard the only thing you can do is scream.”
All the saliva dries up in Dean’s mouth and he shudders as Castiel moves away, his words ringing in the air behind him. “Holy fucking hell,” Dean says. Castiel’s hand is a hair away from where his cock has gone from zero to sixty and ready to burst a button. “Let’s go back to my room.”
“No,” Castiel says, hand riding up and squeezing Dean’s bulge so suddenly Dean gasps. “I don’t want to wait.” Castiel’s hand leaves Dean’s crotch and grabs his wrist instead, practically jerking Dean to his feet. “Let’s go out back.”
Dean follows Castiel in a daze and is dimly thankful that they were sitting towards the back and in a rather dark corner of the bar, but he senses that if anyone had looked over at them they would have gotten a free show anyway. Dean feels off balance, out of control, and so turned on he can barely think straight.
When they exit through the back door into a grungy, unlit alleyway, the cold night air stings Dean out of the haze slightly. “Out here?”
Castiel pushes Dean back up against the brick wall and kisses him fiercely, leaving Dean weak and gasping for air at the end of it. Castiel backs away minutely to meet Dean’s eyes and his gaze softens. “Dean,” he says, and Dean hears the question embedded in the word. Some rational part of Dean’s brain chimes in with questions about the wisdom of this, how they could get caught, and how maybe it isn’t such a good idea. But somehow, the fact that it seems like a very bad idea makes it that much hotter.
“Yeah,” Dean says as he touches Castiel’s waist. “Yeah, let’s--”
Castiel kisses Dean gently once more-as if Dean might break-and Dean bites his lips impatiently. Castiel growls in response and says, “On your knees.”
Dean inhales quickly as he obeys, lowering himself onto the cold cement. He’s so turned on his fingers tremble as he goes to unbuckle Castiel’s belt and unzip his fly. Castiel doesn’t do anything to assist him, simply stands there as Dean pulls his pants and underwear down over his erection. Dean glances up at Castiel, and his expression is dark and unreadable. “You know what to do,” is all Castiel says.
Dean looks at Castiel’s cock, hard and red, and thinks he’s probably never wanted anything so badly in his life. He practically moans when he takes it into his mouth, swallowing it as deeply as he can until it shoves up against the back of his throat uncomfortably. His eyes water with discomfort but it’s worth it when he hears the sharp hiss of pleasure above him.
Castiel doesn’t move, doesn’t touch him, but Dean can feel his stare bearing down on him like a lead weight. The intensity of it is a little overwhelming, and makes Dean want to try harder, make it better, shatter Castiel into pieces.
Dean bobs his head up and down, reaching up to massage Castiel’s balls lightly with one hand. He’s rewarded with another sharp intake of breath, and sucks harder, tonguing at the slit of Castiel’s cock when he pulls back.
“Dean, I--” Castiel’s breaking apart under him, and Dean knows what he’s trying to tell him, but he doesn’t move away, only sucks harder and relaxes his mouth. When Castiel comes, Dean swallows as much as he can, although some fluid still dribbles down his chin. He waits until Castiel’s soft again before letting go, and wipes his face with his sleeve.
Dean gets up off the ground and does up Castiel’s pants and buckle for him without needing to be told. Meanwhile, Dean’s dick is straining painfully against his underwear, the inside of his jeans, already leaking precome in an uncomfortable damp spot. When Castiel opens his eyes again, Dean asks, “Can I?”
Castiel glances down at the outline of Dean’s dick and then crowds him back against the wall again, one hand coming to rest on either side of Dean’s head. “Yes,” he says. “You may.”
Dean unbuttons his own fly clumsily, aware all the while of Castiel’s gaze roaming over him. When he finally frees his cock from the confines of his boxers, he sighs in relief. He glances up for further instruction, but Castiel doesn’t move. “Go ahead,” Castiel says.
“You just want me to--” Castiel raises an eyebrow and Dean sucks in a breath. “Okay.” Dean licks a stripe up his palm and brings his hand down to stroke himself, squeezing and moving in what’s become habit through years of jerking off. But it feels different now-hotter, better, dirtier-in this alley where anybody could catch them, with Castiel watching, allowing Dean to indulge himself after using Dean’s mouth.
Dean’s breath hitches as he strokes himself faster and more firmly, already so close to the edge. It doesn’t take long before he’s coming so hard he sees stars, harder than he ever has from only his hand alone.
When Dean comes back down to earth again, Castiel’s still watching him, face blank and neutral. Castiel pushes back from the wall and takes a step away from Dean. “We’re done here,” he says, and disappears.
Dean blinks the sweat from his eyes and stares at the spot where Castiel had just stood a moment ago. He stops himself from calling out Castiel’s name when a minute passes and he doesn’t return.
He fumbles his pants closed and stumbles back to the car. He feels-strange, like he missed a step somewhere. Not that it matters, really; he and Castiel already got to the good stuff, so there’s no point in Castiel sticking around. They had a surprise quickie-that’s all. And if there’s a hollow feeling in Dean’s chest every time he glances over at the empty passenger seat that Castiel fails to appear in, well, that doesn’t mean anything either. No one drives around with a one night stand, anyway.
Scene V: True Love based on true self
When Dean opens the door to his motel room, Castiel is sitting on the edge of the bed. At first, Dean’s not sure what to say, what to do. But when Castiel asks, “Did I get it right?” with such sincerity it makes Dean’s teeth hurt, Dean can’t do anything but walk over to him.
“Yeah,” Dean says. “You got it exactly right.”
Castiel smiles up at him, a little one that nevertheless touches his eyes and chases away all the shadows of that stranger in the alleyway, leaving only Cas. “I wanted to make it up to you.”
Dean opens his mouth to crack a joke but instead what comes out is, “I thought you’d left.” The rawness of his voice scares him.
Castiel leans forward to press a kiss Dean’s stomach through his shirt. “I’ll always come back to you,” he says. Dean doesn’t know if he believes the promise hidden in those words, not after so many people in his life have made that promise knowing full well they could never keep it, but he wants to. He wants to.
Dean allows Castiel to take off his clothing, one piece at a time, and then helps Castiel slide out of his. When they’re both fully in the nude, Dean slips under the covers and pulls Castiel close to him. “This is better,” Dean whispers.
Fin