Dark Shadows - Metaphysical Gravity - Ch. 10 - Concatenation
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Dean doesn’t know what time it is when he wakes up. It’s dark and it takes him a second to figure out where he is. His face is smashed into a pillow that smells like Cas, but… hmm.
Empty bed. And fuck it’s cold.
But he hears something. Something… crackling?
He looks up and sees Cas in a robe hunkered down in front of the fireplace. It’s funny how last night, at dinner he was Castiel and now, after, he’s Cas. He’s got the beginnings of a meagre fire and as Dean watches, he gets it going quite well.
“Do they have boy scouts in England?” Dean asks.
Cas turns and in the firelight his profile is all sharp angles and shadows. He gets up and hurries back to bed, discarding the robe.
“As I said, we didn’t have central heating growing up. You get proficient at building a fire when you need it.” Castiel slides into bed and Dean can feel the cold seep in with him.
“You also said you used to take warm bricks to bed,” says Dean as they settle. “Where’s my brick? Your feet are fucking freezing.”
Castiel laughs as they tangle up. “I’m afraid I’m all out of bricks.” Castiel burrows his nose into Dean’s neck.
“Even your nose is cold,” Dean complains, pulling Cas closer. “Is it cold like this all the time?”
“Yes. I usually have the fire lit before I go to sleep but tonight I was… distracted,” he replies with a smile against Dean’s collarbone.
“Hmm. I should probably start sleeping over on a regular basis to make sure you’re okay. You know, big, dark, scary, cold house,” Dean jokes.
Castiel chuckles again, a low rumble out of his chest. “Are you offering your protection?”
Dean laughs too and the moment feels intimate and easy. He doesn’t even feel weird about it, which in itself should be… weird. He just feels happy and content.
Although it is cold as fuck.
He shivers and Castiel huffs in amusement. “You’ll not make a very good protector if you can’t manage to stop shivering.”
“Dude, it’s cold. How do you stand it?”
Castiel’s lips are soft against Dean’s skin as he speaks. “I’m used to it, I suppose. My entire existence has been like this.”
“Mmm-hmm,” replies Dean, trying to tuck his face under the blankets where it’s just starting to warm up. “All right, this is bullshit, let’s go.” Dean yanks back the covers and starts to slide out of bed.
Castiel frowns. “Go where?”
“Fireplace, move it.”
Castiel clambers after Dean and in the firelight they are just limbs and torsos, blankets and sheets, as Dean pulls the bedding down with them. Castiel grabs pillows and in a matter of frigid moments Dean manages to make them a sort of sleeping bag with bed clothes and then wraps them up together like a tortilla.
He snorts. A sexy tortilla.
It’s warmer right in front of the fireplace and with the heat of the flames wafting over them and Castiel draped slightly on top of him, Dean feels it start to sink into his skin with glorious precision. Each skin cell is blissfully ecstatic as it gets touched by heat and starts to share it with its neighbor.
“See? Totally warm now.”
“Yes, but we are sleeping on the floor,” says Castiel dryly. “It’s hardly an improvement.”
Dean pinches Castiel in a naughty place and Castiel gives a very unmanly yelp and then looks horrified at the sound he made.
They run lazy hands over one another, mapping out arms and legs, backs and chests, necks and skulls. Castiel watches him with a focus that is unswerving and single-minded and Dean feels the weight of his gaze.
It feels safe and familiar.
Castiel slides on top of him and Dean sighs at the sensation. Castiel’s lips are working their way across his neck and collarbone and Dean tips his head down and buries his nose in Castiel’s thick hair. He smells masculine and slightly soapy, and maybe just a little bit like pears or some kind of fruit.
They’re rocking their hips together, cocks rubbing alongside, hipbones knocking every so often with a soft thud that sends shivers up Dean’s spine. Dean can’t decide on a place to put his hands; each spot feels perfect and he can’t pick one to set them and hold on. The room is filled with breathy moans and hitching sighs and then the slightly wet sound of lips and tongues tangling.
It’s like a slow moving train, gaining speed leisurely, pistons working casually, gradually at first, and then, steadily, the tempo increases. The wheels spin faster, the coil springs move up and down and inevitably what was a lazy metal sleeping giant becomes an impressive force of physics, able to plow forward at dizzying speeds.
Dean’s so fucking glad he’s on that train.
Their hips grind against each other and it feels painfully good. He’s never fallen into such a perfect rhythm so fast with anyone and it feels fantastic. All he can hear is the crazy thudding of his own heart and Castiel’s strong breathing in his ear.
And then Cas’ voice.
“Dean… please…”
Whatever it is, Dean fucking wants to give it to him, he doesn’t care.
It should scare him how willing he is to agree, how quickly he would say yes to whatever Castiel asks. But all he feels is a delicious thrill at not knowing what he’s agreeing to.
“Yes,” he moans, thrusting his hips up harding. “Anything.”
Cas straddles Dean’s hips with his legs and shifts forward slightly. Without words, Dean knows what Cas is asking for and he’s more than willing to comply. Castiel doesn’t seem to be willing to wait and Dean is scrambling madly with his arms stretched up behind him trying to find where his pants fell to the floor earlier. Even in their heated moment, they both afford a chuckle when Dean has to buck upwards to get an extra inch of leverage to snag his slacks and the motion nearly topples Castiel off his perch on Dean’s hips.
Dean gets the lube out of his pants pocket and has a split-second flashback to earlier in the evening when he had a quick debate about whether or not he should bring it. Their movements are frantic and hurried and they could probably drag it out and enjoy it more, should probably drag it out to enjoy it more but all Dean can think is they’ve got plenty of time to do just about anything they want so if they’re a little rushed this time, their first time, they can make up for it later.
He’s really looking forward to a lot of ‘laters.’
Cas sinks down onto Dean’s cock and Dean clenches his jaw and tries to control his breathing to keep from coming right the fuck now. Cas pauses, waiting for Dean to open his eyes and look back up and when he does and their eyes meet, Castiel leans forward and kisses him soundly, lips and tongue pressing hard against Dean as he starts to move his hips with hard thrusts that push Dean so deep little moans escape his throat unbidden.
Dean’s hands grab Cas’ hips and leave pink and white pressure marks. He drags one hand across Cas’ pelvis and downward, trapping Cas’ dick between the palm of his hand and his own stomach. Cas rocks back and forth, each thrust bringing gasps of breath and grunts of pleasure from both of them. Dean starts to fist Cas, matching the rhythm, going faster when Cas speeds up, harder when Cas pushes against him harder. In minutes their both gulping for air, broken sentences spilling from their lips with only the words yes, more, please, Cas, Dean comprehendible.
Cas’ fingers are digging into Dean’s biceps, his fingernails scratching over his chest and Dean grips him harder, jerks his hips up fiercely against Cas’ thrusts.
Cas comes thick and hard across Dean’s stomach and Dean slicks some of the wetness onto his hand quickly and keeps stroking Cas as his hips stutter and falter. Dean can feel Cas convulsing around him and only manages a few hard thrusts before his back arches and he’s coming inside Cas, fingers leaving deep impressions in Cas’ hip.
Dean’s body relaxes, and Cas rocks his hips against Dean a few more times, a pleasurable moan of contentment escaping his throat. Cas’ hands are splayed across Dean’s chest and Dean reaches his hand up and around Cas’ neck and yanks him down for a slow, deep kiss. Cas sags against him, pliant and loose and Dean lazily drags his hand down Cas’ back, over the swell of his ass and back up again. Dean is loathe to give this up just yet, Cas on top of him, straddling him, kissing him, but Dean’s soft cock is slowly starting to slip out. Cas shifts, Dean slides out and they roll around for a few minutes trying to rearrange blankets and pillows. Dean finds Castiel’s ripped shirt on the floor and they use it as a make-shift towel as much as they can. Dean feels giddy, he and Castiel grinning at each other like they are fifteen years old and have just discovered something new and exciting. They are grabby and touchy, running fingers wherever they want to, wherever they can reach. They end up on their sides, Castiel in between Dean and the fireplace. Dean’s tucked up as close as he can get, arm snaking around Cas’ waist and coming up to rest on Cas’ shoulder. Cas grabs his hand and places a few quick kisses on the pads of Dean’s fingers and Dean smiles against the back of Cas’ neck, lips curling and making the fine hair at the base of Cas’ head tingle and send a shiver down his spine.
“I think,” says Dean suddenly, not even realizing he was about to speak, “this is the happiest I’ve been in a long time.”
He feels Cas lips curve against his fingertips and then Cas presses another kiss to them. “Me too.”
***
Dean wakes the next morning and realizes one very important thing.
He is not eighteen anymore and sleeping on the floor is painful.
He’s still curled on his side around Castiel, and while that in itself is quite nice, the pressure points of hard floor against shoulder, hip and knee are not. He untangles himself from Cas, being careful with his movement so as not to wake the other man. Castiel doesn’t stir as Dean rolls himself over onto his back and stretches.
He’s pleasantly tired. The kind of tired you get from having a great night, where you aren’t in a bad mood the next day, but instead wear a secret smile that tends to get wider when people comment that you look like you didn’t get enough sleep.
He definitely didn’t get enough sleep.
He rolls away from Castiel and finds Cas’ discarded bathrobe from the night before in a dark pile on the floor. He grabs it and slides it on and if he takes a moment to sniff the soft fabric and pick up the scent of Cas, well no one’s the wiser but him.
After a quick stop off at the bathroom he heads over to the heavily draped window. A dim halo of sunlight is peeking its way around the heavy curtains and Dean’s surprised when he glances over at the old fashioned clock on the nightstand and sees that it’s nearly ten in the morning. He pulls back the curtains slightly and squints at the bright light. It’s already a beautiful day, bright and sunny, everything rain-wet and shiny from the storm the night before. He manages to unhinge the old lock on the window and crack it open, letting in a rush of fresh damp air that’s not yet warmed by the morning sun. It smells clean and moist, like greenery and grass.
He needs some coffee.
He bets Cas has really great coffee. Coffee that perhaps he would have sampled after dessert last night if they hadn’t moved onto other activities. Although if it came to a choice, he’d take sex over coffee any day of the week.
Well, sex with Cas. Because really, he’s had bad sex and he’d prefer the coffee.
Deciding to wake Cas up and find out the state of his coffee, he throws the curtains all the way open, letting in the sun.
He hears a sharp hiss of surprise and he turns quickly to see Castiel diving underneath the covers. Beams of sunlight are cutting across the dark room, dust sparking in the long streams.
Cas is tucked under the bedclothes and with a frown Dean steps over.
“Cas?”
“The sun… I… I can’t…”
Dean totally forgot what Ben had said. Cas is allergic to the sun.
“Oh shit,” says Dean quickly as he jumps up and yanks the curtains closed. “I’m sorry. Ben mentioned that you have an allergy and I … I didn’t think.”
He comes back over to the lump of blankets and kneels, his hand hovering nervously, not sure if he should touch or not.
“Are you… Did I… I’ve closed the curtains now.”
“It’s fine. I will be fine.”
Fuck. Dean has really messed up. “Should I… Do you have any medication or anything? Or I could call my brother…”
His voice trails off, unsure what else he can do. Finally after a few more seconds. Cas pokes his head out from under the blankets.
“Are you okay?” Dean asks.
Cas’ eyes dart over to the curtains to ensure they are closed. “Yes, I apologize. I’m fine. I do have a tolerance for it somewhat but… when I am…” unconscious, dead to the world “sleeping… or the sun is very bright…” and I haven’t fed in twelve hours, “I am slightly more sensitive. I forgot to tell you. It’s not something that usually comes up.”
“No, I’m sorry. Ben told me and I just totally forgot. But you’re okay?”
“Yes. I’m fine. Most of the glass in the house is darker but… I like to look out the window at night so I didn’t have them change this room. But I assure you, I am fine.”
“I can call Sam?” Dean hedges. “I know he would come over or we could… oh, I guess you can’t go out.”
“I could,” Castiel ventures. “Once I have,” fed, “taken my medication.” Castiel gives a wan smile. “But this is hardly the conversation I wished to have. Instead I was rather hoping we could have breakfast.”
Dean smiles. “Yeah? Yeah, okay.” He stands and gestures down at himself. “I, uh, kinda liberated your robe.”
“It looks good on you. Though it looks better off you.”
Hearing Castiel say something like with his cultured voice makes Dean simultaneously blush and snort a laugh at the same time. Castiel stands with no attempt at modesty and because he’s so relaxed and nonchalant about it, Dean finds that it’s not strange at all. Cas pulls out a similar robe in dark brown from his armoire. As Dean looks down at the one he is wearing, which is a deep burgundy, he has the fleeting thought that it’s the wrong color.
“Is something wrong?” asks Castiel as he adjusts the cuff of one sleeve.
Dean pulls at the robe. “No, I…” he shakes his head. “It’s weird but I think I used to have something like this, but in blue?” He frowns. “I don’t know when though. Or where I would have bought something like this. Or what happened to it.” He looks back up at Castiel to find him staring at Dean intently.
“Perhaps you lost it.”
“Yeah. I feel like maybe I did.”
***
Breakfast is a simple matter of left over pie and coffee.
And tea.
Castiel drinks loose leaf tea and Dean’s not even surprised.
“Breakfast of champions,” Dean snorts as he digs into a large slice of Rufus’ pie. Castiel smiles at his joke and absently picks at his own slice.
Dean was right, Cas has awesome coffee. The power was restored at some point in the evening and Cas ground the beans fresh and boiled water for the French press. Dean had never had coffee from a press before, didn’t even know such a thing existed, but after the first exquisitely sharp taste, he’s never going back.
Cas is sipping at his tea, blowing air across the meniscus automatically before taking a sip. He watches as Dean tucks into his pie.
“Dude, aren’t you starving?”
Castiel raises an eyebrow. “Do you mean after all our activity last night?”
“Hell, yeah,” Dean exclaims with a chuckle and shoves another forkful of lemon custard into his mouth. Castiel smiles at Dean’s exuberance.
“I’m afraid I’m not much for solids in the morning.” He pushes his plate away a little. “I will have something later.”
“Um, it’s not… I mean you aren’t sick or anything because of the sun…”
“Pardon? No, not at all,” Castiel says easily and then leans forward and places his hand over Dean’s. “I am simply not much of a morning person.”
Castiel’s fingers are cool against Dean’s skin and Dean turns his hand over and squeezes them for a quick second in his own.
The both give a start slightly at a light rap at the back door that leads from the kitchen out to the garden courtyard. Frowning slightly Castiel stands and makes his way to the door. Dean panics for a moment when he opens it, afraid that sunlight will come in and … fuck he’s not even sure what would happen, but then he remembers that the back of the house faces north and the sun won’t be a problem.
“Hello Benjamin,” Castiel says easily, his face directed down at Ben who is shuffling back and forth on his feet.
“Hi, Mr. Collins,” Ben says in the overly loud voice of the young.
“Ben?” calls Dean, turned around in his chair. “What are you doing here?”
Ben’s face clearly says that he’s surprised to see Dean and Dean quickly realizes that it’s the morning, he’s in Castiel’s kitchen, in Castiel’s robe.
Oops.
“Would you like some pie?” Castiel asks Ben, seemingly unaffected by the situation they are in.
“Now?” asks Ben unbelievingly.
“Yes, Dean and I were having some but I’m afraid I don’t much feel like it. You may have my piece if you like.”
“For breakfast?”
“Yes.”
“Awesome!”
Ben blasts into the kitchen and takes Castiel’s seat at the table and starts shoveling pie into his mouth.
“Is this from Rufus?”
“Yes,” intones Castiel as he places a glass of water down in front of Ben. Castiel leans against the counter easily. “So, Benjamin, what brings you here this morning?”
Ben looks from Castiel to Dean and back to Castiel. He swallows his pie. “Uh, I got a message for you?” he says nervously, eyes darting over to Dean.
“From whom?” asks Castiel.
“Um, from Sarah?”
“Ben,” begins Dean. “Mr. Shurley told me about your imaginary friend. But if you’re bothering Cas, I mean, Mr. Collins with this stuff…”
“She’s not imaginary!” Ben says loudly. “She’s real.”
Dean purses his lips, his eyebrows clearly saying ‘Oh really?’
“She is,” Ben protests hotly.
“Then how come no one else sees her?” asks Dean.
“Because she’s dead!”
“What?”
“She’s not imaginary, she’s a ghost.”
He’ll give the kid points for originality. “Ben…”
“It’s true!”
Dean doesn’t know what to make of this. Is this cause for concern? Is it a phase that kids go through? Should he mention it to Pamela? He opens his mouth to say something when Castiel speaks first.
“It’s all right, Dean. Ben hasn’t been bothering me at all. I asked him one day whom he was speaking to and he told me about Sarah. I was very interested so I asked him to tell me more.”
Ben gives Dean such a familiar ‘I-told-you’ look, such a Dean look that Dean almost laughs.
Almost.
“Now, Benjamin. What is the message?” Castiel’s voice is low and smooth as he speaks.
“She said…” he screws his face up like he’s trying to remember. “She made me say it a lot to remember ‘cause it doesn’t make sense. She said ‘Faust is a work of fiction, and no one can claim to have made a deal with the devil. Although, agreements were made and lives altered. But for grace go many. Do not fear the past. Those who own it do not repeat it.’”
Ben’s shoulders sag happily as he deems his message delivered and he plows into the pie, task over and forgotten.
Dean stares at him, nausea coiling in his stomach. He suddenly fears that this is not just some phase Ben is going through, that maybe Ben is sick or troubled beyond Dean’s knowledge or help. But he’s never seen anything like this from him before. He ransacks his brain trying to think if anything else has been off about him lately and comes up with nothing. He glances over to see if Castiel has an opinion or a thought on it.
Castiel, normally fair-skinned, has gone sick-pale. His brow is furrowed deeply and he is staring at Ben like Ben is some kind of omen.
Or harbinger.
“Thank you, Benjamin. If you see Sarah again, please thank her as well.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Collins,” says Ben, his mouth full of the final bites of pie. “I gotta go, Pamela’s taking me for new shoes. Bye!” He scampers off his chair and out the back door before either of the men can say anything.
“What the fuck?” Dean exclaims. “Is this something I should be worried about? Does he say shit like that all the time?”
Castiel shakes his head absently. “No. That is the first time he has… he’s never had a message before.”
“Chuck said you talked to him about Sarah before. What did Ben say?”
Castiel shrugs as he takes Ben’s vacated chair. “They play in the woods. They find rocks and sticks. Cubby holes to hide in. They hide treasures. I gave him a copy of Swiss Family Robinson and told him to share it with her. That is all.”
Dean mistakes Castiel’s disquiet for concern for Benjamin.
“Where did he get that? Those words?” asks Dean.
Castiel shrugs again, one shoulder lifting gracefully and falling. “I do not know,” he lies easily.
Castiel knows very well that the ghost of sister Sarah has become friends with young Benjamin Collins, and although Castiel has not seen Sarah himself, he has no doubt of her existence. He hopes that Sarah will come to him someday, as she comes to visit Ben, and speak with him as freely as she does with the young boy.
He’s often wondered if she does not or can not because Castiel damned himself when he made his deal with Ruby.
A tiny spark of hope flares up at the memory of Ben’s message. Perhaps he is not damned, if Sarah’s message is to be believed.
Perhaps there is redemption for him yet.
Dean’s voice pulls him out of his reverie.
“I’m gonna ask Sam. Maybe one of his co-workers will know if it’s something to be worried about.”
Castiel nods as he sips his tea. It’s gone cold.
Next Chapter - 11 - Interlude
Dean doesn’t know what time it is when he wakes up. It’s dark and it takes him a second to figure out where he is. His face is smashed into a pillow that smells like Cas, but… hmm.
Empty bed. And fuck it’s cold.
But he hears something. Something… crackling?
He looks up and sees Cas in a robe hunkered down in front of the fireplace. It’s funny how last night, at dinner he was Castiel and now, after, he’s Cas. He’s got the beginnings of a meagre fire and as Dean watches, he gets it going quite well.
“Do they have boy scouts in England?” Dean asks.
Cas turns and in the firelight his profile is all sharp angles and shadows. He gets up and hurries back to bed, discarding the robe.
“As I said, we didn’t have central heating growing up. You get proficient at building a fire when you need it.” Castiel slides into bed and Dean can feel the cold seep in with him.
“You also said you used to take warm bricks to bed,” says Dean as they settle. “Where’s my brick? Your feet are fucking freezing.”
Castiel laughs as they tangle up. “I’m afraid I’m all out of bricks.” Castiel burrows his nose into Dean’s neck.
“Even your nose is cold,” Dean complains, pulling Cas closer. “Is it cold like this all the time?”
“Yes. I usually have the fire lit before I go to sleep but tonight I was… distracted,” he replies with a smile against Dean’s collarbone.
“Hmm. I should probably start sleeping over on a regular basis to make sure you’re okay. You know, big, dark, scary, cold house,” Dean jokes.
Castiel chuckles again, a low rumble out of his chest. “Are you offering your protection?”
Dean laughs too and the moment feels intimate and easy. He doesn’t even feel weird about it, which in itself should be… weird. He just feels happy and content.
Although it is cold as fuck.
He shivers and Castiel huffs in amusement. “You’ll not make a very good protector if you can’t manage to stop shivering.”
“Dude, it’s cold. How do you stand it?”
Castiel’s lips are soft against Dean’s skin as he speaks. “I’m used to it, I suppose. My entire existence has been like this.”
“Mmm-hmm,” replies Dean, trying to tuck his face under the blankets where it’s just starting to warm up. “All right, this is bullshit, let’s go.” Dean yanks back the covers and starts to slide out of bed.
Castiel frowns. “Go where?”
“Fireplace, move it.”
Castiel clambers after Dean and in the firelight they are just limbs and torsos, blankets and sheets, as Dean pulls the bedding down with them. Castiel grabs pillows and in a matter of frigid moments Dean manages to make them a sort of sleeping bag with bed clothes and then wraps them up together like a tortilla.
He snorts. A sexy tortilla.
It’s warmer right in front of the fireplace and with the heat of the flames wafting over them and Castiel draped slightly on top of him, Dean feels it start to sink into his skin with glorious precision. Each skin cell is blissfully ecstatic as it gets touched by heat and starts to share it with its neighbor.
“See? Totally warm now.”
“Yes, but we are sleeping on the floor,” says Castiel dryly. “It’s hardly an improvement.”
Dean pinches Castiel in a naughty place and Castiel gives a very unmanly yelp and then looks horrified at the sound he made.
They run lazy hands over one another, mapping out arms and legs, backs and chests, necks and skulls. Castiel watches him with a focus that is unswerving and single-minded and Dean feels the weight of his gaze.
It feels safe and familiar.
Castiel slides on top of him and Dean sighs at the sensation. Castiel’s lips are working their way across his neck and collarbone and Dean tips his head down and buries his nose in Castiel’s thick hair. He smells masculine and slightly soapy, and maybe just a little bit like pears or some kind of fruit.
They’re rocking their hips together, cocks rubbing alongside, hipbones knocking every so often with a soft thud that sends shivers up Dean’s spine. Dean can’t decide on a place to put his hands; each spot feels perfect and he can’t pick one to set them and hold on. The room is filled with breathy moans and hitching sighs and then the slightly wet sound of lips and tongues tangling.
It’s like a slow moving train, gaining speed leisurely, pistons working casually, gradually at first, and then, steadily, the tempo increases. The wheels spin faster, the coil springs move up and down and inevitably what was a lazy metal sleeping giant becomes an impressive force of physics, able to plow forward at dizzying speeds.
Dean’s so fucking glad he’s on that train.
Their hips grind against each other and it feels painfully good. He’s never fallen into such a perfect rhythm so fast with anyone and it feels fantastic. All he can hear is the crazy thudding of his own heart and Castiel’s strong breathing in his ear.
And then Cas’ voice.
“Dean… please…”
Whatever it is, Dean fucking wants to give it to him, he doesn’t care.
It should scare him how willing he is to agree, how quickly he would say yes to whatever Castiel asks. But all he feels is a delicious thrill at not knowing what he’s agreeing to.
“Yes,” he moans, thrusting his hips up harding. “Anything.”
Cas straddles Dean’s hips with his legs and shifts forward slightly. Without words, Dean knows what Cas is asking for and he’s more than willing to comply. Castiel doesn’t seem to be willing to wait and Dean is scrambling madly with his arms stretched up behind him trying to find where his pants fell to the floor earlier. Even in their heated moment, they both afford a chuckle when Dean has to buck upwards to get an extra inch of leverage to snag his slacks and the motion nearly topples Castiel off his perch on Dean’s hips.
Dean gets the lube out of his pants pocket and has a split-second flashback to earlier in the evening when he had a quick debate about whether or not he should bring it. Their movements are frantic and hurried and they could probably drag it out and enjoy it more, should probably drag it out to enjoy it more but all Dean can think is they’ve got plenty of time to do just about anything they want so if they’re a little rushed this time, their first time, they can make up for it later.
He’s really looking forward to a lot of ‘laters.’
Cas sinks down onto Dean’s cock and Dean clenches his jaw and tries to control his breathing to keep from coming right the fuck now. Cas pauses, waiting for Dean to open his eyes and look back up and when he does and their eyes meet, Castiel leans forward and kisses him soundly, lips and tongue pressing hard against Dean as he starts to move his hips with hard thrusts that push Dean so deep little moans escape his throat unbidden.
Dean’s hands grab Cas’ hips and leave pink and white pressure marks. He drags one hand across Cas’ pelvis and downward, trapping Cas’ dick between the palm of his hand and his own stomach. Cas rocks back and forth, each thrust bringing gasps of breath and grunts of pleasure from both of them. Dean starts to fist Cas, matching the rhythm, going faster when Cas speeds up, harder when Cas pushes against him harder. In minutes their both gulping for air, broken sentences spilling from their lips with only the words yes, more, please, Cas, Dean comprehendible.
Cas’ fingers are digging into Dean’s biceps, his fingernails scratching over his chest and Dean grips him harder, jerks his hips up fiercely against Cas’ thrusts.
Cas comes thick and hard across Dean’s stomach and Dean slicks some of the wetness onto his hand quickly and keeps stroking Cas as his hips stutter and falter. Dean can feel Cas convulsing around him and only manages a few hard thrusts before his back arches and he’s coming inside Cas, fingers leaving deep impressions in Cas’ hip.
Dean’s body relaxes, and Cas rocks his hips against Dean a few more times, a pleasurable moan of contentment escaping his throat. Cas’ hands are splayed across Dean’s chest and Dean reaches his hand up and around Cas’ neck and yanks him down for a slow, deep kiss. Cas sags against him, pliant and loose and Dean lazily drags his hand down Cas’ back, over the swell of his ass and back up again. Dean is loathe to give this up just yet, Cas on top of him, straddling him, kissing him, but Dean’s soft cock is slowly starting to slip out. Cas shifts, Dean slides out and they roll around for a few minutes trying to rearrange blankets and pillows. Dean finds Castiel’s ripped shirt on the floor and they use it as a make-shift towel as much as they can. Dean feels giddy, he and Castiel grinning at each other like they are fifteen years old and have just discovered something new and exciting. They are grabby and touchy, running fingers wherever they want to, wherever they can reach. They end up on their sides, Castiel in between Dean and the fireplace. Dean’s tucked up as close as he can get, arm snaking around Cas’ waist and coming up to rest on Cas’ shoulder. Cas grabs his hand and places a few quick kisses on the pads of Dean’s fingers and Dean smiles against the back of Cas’ neck, lips curling and making the fine hair at the base of Cas’ head tingle and send a shiver down his spine.
“I think,” says Dean suddenly, not even realizing he was about to speak, “this is the happiest I’ve been in a long time.”
He feels Cas lips curve against his fingertips and then Cas presses another kiss to them. “Me too.”
***
Dean wakes the next morning and realizes one very important thing.
He is not eighteen anymore and sleeping on the floor is painful.
He’s still curled on his side around Castiel, and while that in itself is quite nice, the pressure points of hard floor against shoulder, hip and knee are not. He untangles himself from Cas, being careful with his movement so as not to wake the other man. Castiel doesn’t stir as Dean rolls himself over onto his back and stretches.
He’s pleasantly tired. The kind of tired you get from having a great night, where you aren’t in a bad mood the next day, but instead wear a secret smile that tends to get wider when people comment that you look like you didn’t get enough sleep.
He definitely didn’t get enough sleep.
He rolls away from Castiel and finds Cas’ discarded bathrobe from the night before in a dark pile on the floor. He grabs it and slides it on and if he takes a moment to sniff the soft fabric and pick up the scent of Cas, well no one’s the wiser but him.
After a quick stop off at the bathroom he heads over to the heavily draped window. A dim halo of sunlight is peeking its way around the heavy curtains and Dean’s surprised when he glances over at the old fashioned clock on the nightstand and sees that it’s nearly ten in the morning. He pulls back the curtains slightly and squints at the bright light. It’s already a beautiful day, bright and sunny, everything rain-wet and shiny from the storm the night before. He manages to unhinge the old lock on the window and crack it open, letting in a rush of fresh damp air that’s not yet warmed by the morning sun. It smells clean and moist, like greenery and grass.
He needs some coffee.
He bets Cas has really great coffee. Coffee that perhaps he would have sampled after dessert last night if they hadn’t moved onto other activities. Although if it came to a choice, he’d take sex over coffee any day of the week.
Well, sex with Cas. Because really, he’s had bad sex and he’d prefer the coffee.
Deciding to wake Cas up and find out the state of his coffee, he throws the curtains all the way open, letting in the sun.
He hears a sharp hiss of surprise and he turns quickly to see Castiel diving underneath the covers. Beams of sunlight are cutting across the dark room, dust sparking in the long streams.
Cas is tucked under the bedclothes and with a frown Dean steps over.
“Cas?”
“The sun… I… I can’t…”
Dean totally forgot what Ben had said. Cas is allergic to the sun.
“Oh shit,” says Dean quickly as he jumps up and yanks the curtains closed. “I’m sorry. Ben mentioned that you have an allergy and I … I didn’t think.”
He comes back over to the lump of blankets and kneels, his hand hovering nervously, not sure if he should touch or not.
“Are you… Did I… I’ve closed the curtains now.”
“It’s fine. I will be fine.”
Fuck. Dean has really messed up. “Should I… Do you have any medication or anything? Or I could call my brother…”
His voice trails off, unsure what else he can do. Finally after a few more seconds. Cas pokes his head out from under the blankets.
“Are you okay?” Dean asks.
Cas’ eyes dart over to the curtains to ensure they are closed. “Yes, I apologize. I’m fine. I do have a tolerance for it somewhat but… when I am…” unconscious, dead to the world “sleeping… or the sun is very bright…” and I haven’t fed in twelve hours, “I am slightly more sensitive. I forgot to tell you. It’s not something that usually comes up.”
“No, I’m sorry. Ben told me and I just totally forgot. But you’re okay?”
“Yes. I’m fine. Most of the glass in the house is darker but… I like to look out the window at night so I didn’t have them change this room. But I assure you, I am fine.”
“I can call Sam?” Dean hedges. “I know he would come over or we could… oh, I guess you can’t go out.”
“I could,” Castiel ventures. “Once I have,” fed, “taken my medication.” Castiel gives a wan smile. “But this is hardly the conversation I wished to have. Instead I was rather hoping we could have breakfast.”
Dean smiles. “Yeah? Yeah, okay.” He stands and gestures down at himself. “I, uh, kinda liberated your robe.”
“It looks good on you. Though it looks better off you.”
Hearing Castiel say something like with his cultured voice makes Dean simultaneously blush and snort a laugh at the same time. Castiel stands with no attempt at modesty and because he’s so relaxed and nonchalant about it, Dean finds that it’s not strange at all. Cas pulls out a similar robe in dark brown from his armoire. As Dean looks down at the one he is wearing, which is a deep burgundy, he has the fleeting thought that it’s the wrong color.
“Is something wrong?” asks Castiel as he adjusts the cuff of one sleeve.
Dean pulls at the robe. “No, I…” he shakes his head. “It’s weird but I think I used to have something like this, but in blue?” He frowns. “I don’t know when though. Or where I would have bought something like this. Or what happened to it.” He looks back up at Castiel to find him staring at Dean intently.
“Perhaps you lost it.”
“Yeah. I feel like maybe I did.”
***
Breakfast is a simple matter of left over pie and coffee.
And tea.
Castiel drinks loose leaf tea and Dean’s not even surprised.
“Breakfast of champions,” Dean snorts as he digs into a large slice of Rufus’ pie. Castiel smiles at his joke and absently picks at his own slice.
Dean was right, Cas has awesome coffee. The power was restored at some point in the evening and Cas ground the beans fresh and boiled water for the French press. Dean had never had coffee from a press before, didn’t even know such a thing existed, but after the first exquisitely sharp taste, he’s never going back.
Cas is sipping at his tea, blowing air across the meniscus automatically before taking a sip. He watches as Dean tucks into his pie.
“Dude, aren’t you starving?”
Castiel raises an eyebrow. “Do you mean after all our activity last night?”
“Hell, yeah,” Dean exclaims with a chuckle and shoves another forkful of lemon custard into his mouth. Castiel smiles at Dean’s exuberance.
“I’m afraid I’m not much for solids in the morning.” He pushes his plate away a little. “I will have something later.”
“Um, it’s not… I mean you aren’t sick or anything because of the sun…”
“Pardon? No, not at all,” Castiel says easily and then leans forward and places his hand over Dean’s. “I am simply not much of a morning person.”
Castiel’s fingers are cool against Dean’s skin and Dean turns his hand over and squeezes them for a quick second in his own.
The both give a start slightly at a light rap at the back door that leads from the kitchen out to the garden courtyard. Frowning slightly Castiel stands and makes his way to the door. Dean panics for a moment when he opens it, afraid that sunlight will come in and … fuck he’s not even sure what would happen, but then he remembers that the back of the house faces north and the sun won’t be a problem.
“Hello Benjamin,” Castiel says easily, his face directed down at Ben who is shuffling back and forth on his feet.
“Hi, Mr. Collins,” Ben says in the overly loud voice of the young.
“Ben?” calls Dean, turned around in his chair. “What are you doing here?”
Ben’s face clearly says that he’s surprised to see Dean and Dean quickly realizes that it’s the morning, he’s in Castiel’s kitchen, in Castiel’s robe.
Oops.
“Would you like some pie?” Castiel asks Ben, seemingly unaffected by the situation they are in.
“Now?” asks Ben unbelievingly.
“Yes, Dean and I were having some but I’m afraid I don’t much feel like it. You may have my piece if you like.”
“For breakfast?”
“Yes.”
“Awesome!”
Ben blasts into the kitchen and takes Castiel’s seat at the table and starts shoveling pie into his mouth.
“Is this from Rufus?”
“Yes,” intones Castiel as he places a glass of water down in front of Ben. Castiel leans against the counter easily. “So, Benjamin, what brings you here this morning?”
Ben looks from Castiel to Dean and back to Castiel. He swallows his pie. “Uh, I got a message for you?” he says nervously, eyes darting over to Dean.
“From whom?” asks Castiel.
“Um, from Sarah?”
“Ben,” begins Dean. “Mr. Shurley told me about your imaginary friend. But if you’re bothering Cas, I mean, Mr. Collins with this stuff…”
“She’s not imaginary!” Ben says loudly. “She’s real.”
Dean purses his lips, his eyebrows clearly saying ‘Oh really?’
“She is,” Ben protests hotly.
“Then how come no one else sees her?” asks Dean.
“Because she’s dead!”
“What?”
“She’s not imaginary, she’s a ghost.”
He’ll give the kid points for originality. “Ben…”
“It’s true!”
Dean doesn’t know what to make of this. Is this cause for concern? Is it a phase that kids go through? Should he mention it to Pamela? He opens his mouth to say something when Castiel speaks first.
“It’s all right, Dean. Ben hasn’t been bothering me at all. I asked him one day whom he was speaking to and he told me about Sarah. I was very interested so I asked him to tell me more.”
Ben gives Dean such a familiar ‘I-told-you’ look, such a Dean look that Dean almost laughs.
Almost.
“Now, Benjamin. What is the message?” Castiel’s voice is low and smooth as he speaks.
“She said…” he screws his face up like he’s trying to remember. “She made me say it a lot to remember ‘cause it doesn’t make sense. She said ‘Faust is a work of fiction, and no one can claim to have made a deal with the devil. Although, agreements were made and lives altered. But for grace go many. Do not fear the past. Those who own it do not repeat it.’”
Ben’s shoulders sag happily as he deems his message delivered and he plows into the pie, task over and forgotten.
Dean stares at him, nausea coiling in his stomach. He suddenly fears that this is not just some phase Ben is going through, that maybe Ben is sick or troubled beyond Dean’s knowledge or help. But he’s never seen anything like this from him before. He ransacks his brain trying to think if anything else has been off about him lately and comes up with nothing. He glances over to see if Castiel has an opinion or a thought on it.
Castiel, normally fair-skinned, has gone sick-pale. His brow is furrowed deeply and he is staring at Ben like Ben is some kind of omen.
Or harbinger.
“Thank you, Benjamin. If you see Sarah again, please thank her as well.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Collins,” says Ben, his mouth full of the final bites of pie. “I gotta go, Pamela’s taking me for new shoes. Bye!” He scampers off his chair and out the back door before either of the men can say anything.
“What the fuck?” Dean exclaims. “Is this something I should be worried about? Does he say shit like that all the time?”
Castiel shakes his head absently. “No. That is the first time he has… he’s never had a message before.”
“Chuck said you talked to him about Sarah before. What did Ben say?”
Castiel shrugs as he takes Ben’s vacated chair. “They play in the woods. They find rocks and sticks. Cubby holes to hide in. They hide treasures. I gave him a copy of Swiss Family Robinson and told him to share it with her. That is all.”
Dean mistakes Castiel’s disquiet for concern for Benjamin.
“Where did he get that? Those words?” asks Dean.
Castiel shrugs again, one shoulder lifting gracefully and falling. “I do not know,” he lies easily.
Castiel knows very well that the ghost of sister Sarah has become friends with young Benjamin Collins, and although Castiel has not seen Sarah himself, he has no doubt of her existence. He hopes that Sarah will come to him someday, as she comes to visit Ben, and speak with him as freely as she does with the young boy.
He’s often wondered if she does not or can not because Castiel damned himself when he made his deal with Ruby.
A tiny spark of hope flares up at the memory of Ben’s message. Perhaps he is not damned, if Sarah’s message is to be believed.
Perhaps there is redemption for him yet.
Dean’s voice pulls him out of his reverie.
“I’m gonna ask Sam. Maybe one of his co-workers will know if it’s something to be worried about.”
Castiel nods as he sips his tea. It’s gone cold.
Next Chapter - 11 - Interlude