More Santorum
Just so there’s no confusion this time, I will write END OF CHAPTER at the end of this chapter. I know lj is putting gibberish at the end of my posts, I have no idea why, but please don’t email me about it because 1. I already know, and 2. I don’t care. The chapters are coming up fine anyway, if a little porny :P
Sam manages to bail Dean out, but, since he was in jail for three nights waiting on a hearing, he hasn’t seen Castiel in so long that he’s worrying about him approximately seventeen times a second.
When Cas finally emerges from the police station, wearing the clothes that Sam brought for him, the first thing Dean does is hug him. Castiel is unshaven, smells like someone who had sex, then no shower for almost a week, and is about as tense and stress as a cat that’s eaten copper wire, then licked a battery. But he puts his arms around Dean’s waist and squeezes lightly.
The second thing Dean does, is punch Gabriel in the stomach.
To his credit, Gabriel takes it silently, well, with a slight ‘oomf’ but doesn’t comment. Clearly Sam’s given him a harsh talking to over the last four days, because Gabriel looks contrite, unhappy, and like he hasn’t had sex in about as long as Dean’s been in jail.
They all get into Sam’s car, Dean and Cas in the back, and as Sam manoeuvres out of the parking lot, he hits them with the bad news.
“What do you mean, ‘you can’t go home’?” Castiel says.
“Screw that, what do you mean ‘impounded’?” Dean almost yells.
“Both your homes are now crime scenes, or at least, they’re being searched from, uh...top to bottom, for evidence against you.” Sam said, “and your car...they decided it counts as ‘immoral earnings’ since you basically overhauled it with your porn money, so in addition to freezing your accounts, they’ve taken the car to the impound lot.”
Dean swears, violently and creatively, for about ten minutes. When he finally calms down, he let Cas ask the question he probably should have asked earlier.
“Where are we going to stay?”
Where, turns out to be Gabriel’s apartment. Mainly because Sam has no spare room, and Gabriel is the non-face-blurring asshole who got them into this mess. Even Dean has to admit that Gabriel is suitably cowed, and starts actually talking to him once they’re inside the apartment, being shown around.
It’s open plan, with a giant-ass TV, gumball machine and a gourmet standard kitchen. The spare room has really ugly floral wall paper, frilly bedspreads and blankets and, other silky bed covering that probably have a name, but that name is probably French, so obviously Dean has no idea what they are. There are so many tiny pillows everywhere that he could probably knock-up a padded cell if he had the time, inclination and some tacks. There’s also a crystal vase sitting on a lacy mat, only it’s got condoms in it, instead of flowers.
“I went through a tiny Martha Stewart phase,” Gabriel admits, shamefacedly. “I prefer not to talk about it.”
To that, Dean aims wide eyes at Castiel, who shrugs and goes off to the bathroom to shower off some prison dirt.
While Dean is taking his turn in the shower, Gabriel makes lasagne for all four of them, and they eat in front of the TV, which only seems to have the cooking channels, the porn channels, and some kind of Japanese game show network that just shows people getting hurt by giant inflatables, rocks, and giant hammers to the balls.
After dinner, Sam and Gabriel stay up to watch TV, and Castiel says he’s tired, and that he wants to get some sleep before they go back to court tomorrow. That’s when the whole case’ll really kick off, because luck them, someone’s running for mayor, and this porn-baron case is gonna get pushed through really fast to make some Republican dude with painted on hair look good (like that’s possible).
Dean picked himself up off of the couch and went to the guest room too, finding when he got there that Cas was sitting on the end of the bed, waiting for him.
“Ominous.”
Castiel frowned. “This is going to be really bad, isn’t it?”
“You don’t know that. Sam’s a good lawyer...I think, admittedly I don’t really listen when he talks about work, but, he hasn’t been disbarred, so, I think he’s at least OK.”
Castiel raises a reluctant smile, but Dean knows he’s still freaked out at the prospect of going to jail, and to tell the truth, Dean’s not exactly confident that he’ll make an awesome inmate. Four days in jail have made him pretty certain that he’s less Prison Break and more Jersey Shore, much as it pains him to admit it.
Still, if he’s ever attacked by terrorists at Christmas, he knows he could still pull a Bruce Willis.
That’s at least halfway comforting.
“We’re gonna be fine, and, if we go to jail...it’s like, ten years...which may be a long ass time, but it’s not the rest of our lives. We’ll get out and...” he tucks his hands into the back pockets of his jeans awkwardly. He wants to say ‘we’ll still have time together’ but that’s so unbelievably gay that he can’t actually say it. So, what he actually says (which is by no means less gay) is,
“So...did you know I’m actually a bottom?”
Castiel blinks, then blinks again, like he’s trying to clear his windshield of something. Then he tips his head on one side a little, almost like he’s trying to work out who Dean is and what the hell he’s talking about.
“That’s what was so weird, about the other night,” Dean says, uncomfortably, “at least, I think maybe I am...it’s all, very up in the air. But...I was thinking, maybe that’s why it was weird?”
“Oh.” Castiel says.
“So, you didn’t do anything wrong, if that was, if you were still worried about that.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Ok then,” Dean claps his hands, “it’s all just a thing that we don’t have to...it doesn’t matter.”
“Well, I didn’t say that,” Castiel says, looking up at him, “if you wanted to...if there was anything you wanted to do, I wouldn’t say no.”
Dean’s never gotten everything he ever wanted. You know, that thing where someone gets a gift, or a dream job, or has kids and they’re all ‘it’s everything I ever wanted’. No, that’s just not him. He’s been happy, pleasantly surprised, lucky, but he’s never suddenly wanted nothing else. He’s never had everything exactly right. But Cas looking at him, basically giving him a judgement free golden ticket to what he’s been thinking about since they had their one, proper, time together?
That’s it.
And of course his first instinct is to shake it off, say it’s no big deal, that he’s tired and aching from sleeping on a crappy little cot in a cell, and that his brother, their brothers are just down the hall. But, this might be it. One of the last days they have together, out of jail.
So what he says is,
“Yeah...ok.”
*-*
There are not many things that get awkward between him and Sam, because they’re adults, and they’ve lived together off and on over the years, they know each other better than a lot of other siblings, and they’re not above loaning each other money, condoms or occasionally having the odd, awkward trip to the emergency room (broken penis? Worst injury ever, especially if it happens in a Dairy Queen restroom).
Anyway, borrowing an enema kit from his brother?
Pretty much destroys their filial relationship in about nine seconds.
Sam looks like he’s eaten some still-living calamari, and he actually shuts his eyes before walking stiffly to the bedroom and coming back with a plastic bag, which he thrusts at Dean without looking at him. Sam goes back into the living room, loudly tells Gabriel that they have to go out for dinner, and within ten seconds, both of them are out the door and on their way downstairs. From the sounds of things, Sam might actually be running.
They’ll get over it eventually, Dean is pretty sure.
He’s at least familiar enough with the whole enema thing that he doesn’t get grossed out, but it’s a close-run thing. It’s weird, doing this and knowing that...well, he’s going to get fucked. It’s a whole new weird scenario for him...and the strangest part of it is the twisty knot of hot anticipation in his stomach whenever he thinks about what’s going to happen when he gets back to the bedroom. His knees actually feel a little weak, in a trembly-gonna-be-spread-pretty-wide-on-a-mattress way.
When he’s ready, and once the kit is stowed in the trash, he leans on the sink and looks at himself. He looks exactly like he should, normal. Shirt and pants on, and even the look on his face is regular. He’s still himself, he doesn’t look any gayer than he did, say, a month ago. But he’s standing in a bathroom not his own, with a super-clean ass, and he’s thinking about another guy’s dick going into him. Really thinking about it.
He takes a step back, then another, and then he’s out of the bathroom and heading down the hall.
Inside the spare bedroom, Castiel is sitting on the end of the bed where Dean left him.
Dean pauses, then shuts the door and takes a condom packet nervously out of the vase, rubbing the smooth foil between his fingers.
“If you don’t want to do this,” Dean starts, “I mean, I know you said you weren’t really into being the one who-”
“I like you, a lot, and for the record, this way is just fine with me.” Castiel assures him, “If you want this, of course I do too.”
Dean had no idea how nervous he’d been until Castiel said that, and he feels himself relax. He’d been worried that, somehow, what he wanted wouldn’t go with what Cas already knew he liked. It was kind of a relief to know that it was OK with him, that it wasn’t a deal breaker.
He sits down on the bed, and he’s so nervous that it’s like his first time. Only, that went smoothly, easily, transitions from one thing to the next, in that young, what-the-hell kinda way. He wants this to feel different, he want to feel something to let him know that Cas is it for him. That this means more to him than what he’s had before. He wants to be sure.
It’s him that reaches out, and he pulls Castiel closer, kisses him. It’s deep and warm and familiar, like crawling back into bed with someone he’s already been with, someone who wants him, and he lets the feeling build, that familiarity, that heat. He pushes a hand under Castiel’s shirt, feels his skin, strokes over his stomach, soft skin and rough hair against his hand. He pulls Cas’s shirt open, kisses his neck while Castiel tips his head back, one hand rubbing rough little circles over Dean’s nipple.
Stripped naked, Dean’s not as intimidated as he’d thought he’d be. They jostle between them for the position on top, and once there continue to grind and push the other’s hands to the bed, or pull them to where they’re needed, sucking bruises and whispering breath over shivering, expectant skin.
Dean’s on top right now, just rolled Cas onto the bed and rubbed his thigh up between Cas’s legs, making him breath harshly, and edge to each pant as he rubs against Dean, smears of sticky pre-come mixing with light sweat. Dean’s biting at his neck lightly, just enough to make it pink and damp with his mouth’s imprint.
“Dean,” Castiel says, like he’s in the middle of a really, really good dream. “Dean...”
Dean kisses his way down Castiel’s chest, biting and sucking, brushing his lips over his ribs. He knows that, from the way Castiel is still rolling his hips at the warm air, he’s close, and that this could all be over before they even get to where he wants to be. Where he really wants Cas to be. But he can’t help himself, lower, until that rough hair brushes his nose and he can smell what must be sex, just pure fucking, adrenaline fuelled want. He remembers what it was like, having Castiel in his mouth, silky smooth and hard and alive, wet and hot. All that is going inside of him. He kisses Castiel’s cock, making a loop out of his lips, wrapping it just around the head, softly, no pressure, just moves the ring of his mouth back and forth, from the tip, to the bottom of the wet head.
Castiel’s hand claws at the rumpled sheet, one foot digging hard into the mattress. He arches up all the same, trying to get more of Dean’s mouth, and Dean pulls away, rubs his cheek down the length of Castiel’s dick, and, while he remembered to shower, there’s still four days of stubble on his face and Castiel hisses, moans, paints Dean’s cheek with a stutter of pre-come.
That’s about all that Cas can take, he gathers all the control he has, and pushes Dean off, over onto his back, and Dean has barely time to feel the heavy weight of his own dick against his stomach, the heat that Castiel’s body has left on the sheets, before Cas is on him, pushing his thighs open, licking up the underside his cock and sucking it down as he reaches the tip. Dean stops thinking, stops everything, just rolls his hips and leans back, and feels good.
When Castiel goes lower, licks behind his balls and further, parts Dean’s limp legs and wriggles his tongue against his ass, Dean just rolls his head to one side and groans. It feels too good to not let it happen. He remembers, vividly, how it felt before, and the thought of it makes his body shiver with heat, pre-come mixing with saliva at the head of his dick.
And it feels good, so good that, all too soon, Dean has his legs spread wide open, Castiel licking hungrily, one hand on his dick and he’s going to come, and it’s going to feel so, fucking...
And then Castiel stops, moves away, leaving Dean with cool air on him, and a whimper caught in his throat.
“Dean, do you still,” Castiel is catching his breath, his mouth wet, and Dean has never seen anything so hot.
“I want it,” Dean says, he rocks his hips up, chasing that phantom tongue.
Castiel gets off his knees and Dean almost looses it when he rubs the head of his cock against his ass. It’s almost too hot on his skin, smooth and wet and, as he pushes against it, it feels scarily big. But then Castiel moves away, circles a finger against him instead, and pretty soon he’s back down there, licking and stroking, and then his finger is going in, and Dean groans and lifts his hips up for it, harder than a tongue, going deeper.
He hears Castiel pop the lube from the bathroom open, and a moment after he takes his hand away, warms the sticky liquid on his palms, and then the finger is back, only this time not alone, and Dean licks his dry lips, because he can feel his body stretching, and it’s the weirdest thing ever, and it’s also fucking addictive, because the moment the little tug of hot pain is soothed away, he wants more, more inside him.
Castiel stretches him more, dropping hot kisses over his spread thighs and muttering things that Dean hears but can’t quite understand, and he can half-imagine what he looks like down there, how his ass looks around Castiel’s fingers. They’re up to four and he’s moving with Cas’s shallow thrusts, trying to take more each time. There’s something further up, a whole stretch of his insides that are hot and dry and clenching tight, begging for touch, for a stretch, for
“Cas, fuck, do it, c’mon, please.”
He looks down his own body (and when did his chest get that red? The end of his dick is dark with blood, there’s sweat all over him, Jesus) sees Cas between his legs, sweat making his face shine, his hair a damp mess of curls and sloppy spikes. It doesn’t look like Cas is capable of hanging on any long either, because as soon as he asks, Castiel gets up, settles his knees on the mattress and pushes Dean’s legs up, bending over him. Dean feels him against his ass again, hot and thick and...fuck, he can do this, he can totally do this, because it’s,
“Cas,”
“Hey,” Castiel’s face is maybe an inch from his, and there’s a short bit of dark hair hanging into his eyes, he somehow manages to look both torn apart and hanging to the edge of his control by his fingernails, and worried, “are you sure?”
Dean pushes upwards, kisses him, tongue searching deep into his mouth as he puts everything he has into it, knowing that if he wasn’t burning up all over, he’d probably think this was pretty gross. But he doesn’t, he just wants Cas to feel him. He’s sure.
Castiel presses against him, and Dean can feel his clenching the sheets in his hands just to keep control, and he’s glad that Cas has that control, because even going slow, it hurts. But, it’s fucking hard to know which way he wants to Castiel to go, because he wants more, wants it all inside of him right now, no matter how much it hurts. Dean grips Castiel’s back, opens his legs and tips his head back because...there’s like, a hot, internal swallow, and Cas is there. Right, fucking, there. Dean has no idea when he closed his eyes, when he threw his head back on the mattress, but he feels his dry lips move when he says,
“Oh fuck, right there.”
Castiel’s hand is damp against his face, his throat, and his kiss the words right out of his mouth. The bed knocks the wall as he starts to move, and Dean holds his hips up, moves back, a little shakily, to meet Castiel every time he moves. And as far as he’s concerned, Cas can never, ever be close enough, deep enough.
They don’t pull away from each other’s mouths long enough to speak again, hungry, wet sounds and groans the only sounds aside from the increasingly insistent thuds of the headboard. Dean’s hand finds his dick, strokes, even as his other hand comes down of Castiel’s ass, pulling him closer, deeper, as feels his insides go hot and liquid, the feeling ricocheting through him, through his legs and stomach and making his cock twitch in his hand as he comes over Castiel’s belly. And even though his legs are loose and his whole body is hot, and there’s no more come in him, he keeps moaning, keeps moving against Castiel as his hips meet his ass over and over again, because it feels so good that he doesn’t want it to stop, even though each deep thrust makes him shudder with pain-pleasure.
Castiel comes in a sharp movement, his body stopping completely, arching into Dean’s, then relaxing, lying on top of him, one long breath in, one out. Dean wraps an arm around his waist, and clenches a little, still hot and full.
Castiel moans, rubs his face against Dean’s throat, so Dean does it again, and again, until Castiel is soft inside him, and pulls out to roll onto his back, toss the condom into the trash, and rub a pale hand over his quivering stomach.
“That was...” Castiel lets out a breath, too tired to even pull a sheet over them.
“It,” Dean says sleeping, turning over and lying against his side, one leg thrown over Castiel’s. “That was it.”
Castiel soothes a hand over Dean’s thigh, where his own handprint is reddening, just behind the knee.
“.....how long till we can do it again?” Dean asks quietly.
END OF CHAPTER