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There was something about Cas, Dean thought as he sipped at the dregs of his beer, and watched over the rim of his glass as some smug, slicked-hair asshole hit on his angel at the bar, that seemed to inspire lust in dirty rough-trade men. He knew because he was a dirty rough-trade man and his desires had brought Cas down from being a virginal, harp-strumming, holy warrior of God to a, well, he was still mostly holy, and still a warrior, and, okay, he had never, to Dean’s knowledge, actually strummed any harps, but he sure as shit wasn’t a virgin anymore. Dean smirked. Anyway, just because he understood why people couldn’t resist those big true blue eyes and that sweet pink mouth didn’t mean he was okay with assholes trying to edge in on what was he had already claimed, thank you very much.
Plus Cas had the annoying tendency to think that humanity was magnificent, blah blah, and not get that the dicks who approached him in bars were trying to get in his pants, not see into his soul or whatever. Which was why he was currently earnestly talking to tall, dark, and smarmy while waiting for his and Dean’s drinks, and why Dean’s narrowed-eyed glare was getting narrower and narrower by the second. He finally snapped when the interloper decided to rest a hand on Cas’s forearm and leave it there despite Cas making his uncomfortable, humans-are-confusing, face.
Dean sidled up to the pair with his trademark shit-eating grin firmly affixed, “Hey Cas, what’s taking the refills so long?”
Cas had used the distraction of Dean’s approach to slip away from the offending hand and he met Dean’s question with a look that said he knew he was up to something even if he didn’t know exactly what, but the corners of his mouth had quirked up infinitesimally. “The bartender seems much more eager to serve the young women from the local college than us, I’m afraid.”
Dean almost felt bad at how quickly the other dude’s face fell as he assessed the situation and seemed to realize there was no chance he was getting any tonight, but not really, because he decided to rub it in a little more.
“That’s okay, how about we just head back to the motel, I’m pretty sure Sammy’s got the ‘witness interview’ under control anyhow,” Dean said, nodding his head towards where Sam was flashing his dimples at the pretty brunette whose apartment had been haunted until they salted and burned the bones of the previous tenant earlier that day. Go Sammy.
Cas nodded, and Dean threw an arm around his shoulders to steer him to the exit. He didn’t bother looking back.
Dean manages to wait until they’re inside their room before kissing Cas as furiously as he’d wanted to in the bar, just to spite that jackass, and during the entire car ride, stealing glances as Cas tapped his fingers to the beat of Dean’s familiar music. He knows he could’ve done it, could’ve taken any wannabe tough guys who tried to give them any shit but he didn’t want to have to deal with that tonight. All he wants to do tonight is remind Cas of why he’s never gonna need to know when anyone’s hitting on him, and not just because Dean finds it secretly endearing, but ‘cause Cas is never going to get off harder than he does here at Dean’s hands. He’s right where he belongs.
When he pulls back, Cas’s lips are reddened and full, and Dean smiles when he unconsciously sucks the bottom one into his mouth, like he’s chasing after the kiss.
“What was that for?” Cas asks.
“Since when do I need a reason?” Dean laughs.
There’s a crease between Cas’s eyebrows formed from his puzzlement, so Dean kisses there too, as his hands work quickly to unknot Cas’s omnipresent tie. Of course, Cas could zap all their clothes away in an instant, and sometimes he does if they’re in a hurry (like last week in the backseat of the impala), but usually Dean prefers undressing him the old-fashioned way. Unwrapping each individual piece, kissing the skin where he can see the curve of his ribs through as he slips his dress shirt of his shoulders, sucking a dark mark as he reveals the softness of his inner thigh, mouthing at the rise of his nipple, until Cas is laid completely bare before him.
He makes a pretty picture when Dean’s done. There’s a flush rising high on his cheeks, his lips bitten red, his hands fisted in the cheap bedspread.
“Good boy,” Dean says, because he knows the only thing holding Cas back from touching himself is himself because Dean hasn’t told him to and that deserves a little praise. Dean climbs on the bed and leans back on the headboard, letting his legs splay open. Cas twists to see what he’s up to and Dean pats the rough denim of his jean-covered thigh. Cas rolls his eyes at him but crawls towards him anyway until they’re face to face. Dean can’t help but to kiss him again, short and sweet, and then again, open-mouthed and messy, because now that he’s started he can’t stop at just one. Somewhere along the line his hands have tangled up Cas’s already rumpled hair, threading through, his tan work-worn hands light against those soft dark locks, and he gives a tug just to hear Cas moan low in his throat.
Dean breaks the kiss and leans in to breathe out turn around hotly in Cas’s ear. He does as he’s told which, with some shuffling, puts his ass right in Dean’s line of sight. And maybe this isn’t where his original plan was going to go, but when life gives you a perfect ass right in front of your face, you go with it, even if it means improvising. Catchy. He should get that on a bumper sticker.
The slap he lands is practically a love tap for them, but it’s enough to raise a mark on that pretty skin and draw a half-startled, half-hungry gasp from Cas. He doesn’t say a word but the arch of his back, presenting himself to Dean, speaks volumes. So Dean smooths his other palm, gentle, along that curve while he lands a few more open-handed smacks until the flushed pink has spread even and Cas’s head is hung low as he pants in the inbetween.
Now he’s pliant, going where he’s guided, as Dean hooks an arm around his hips and pulls him backwards onto his lap. Cas’s back is tucked up snug to Dean’s chest, and his head tipped back in the space under Dean’s chin. The long column of his neck is exposed and Dean takes the opportunity to lean down and suck a hickey at the join between neck and shoulder. Cas hums happily and tilts his head to make it easier.
Dean takes advantage of his distraction, and the arm he’s still got resting on Cas’s sharp hipbone, to surprise him by thumbing the head of his cock, spreading the precome down his shaft, and watch Cas’s eyes fly open at the unexpected burst of pleasure.
He’s not being purely altruistic focusing only on Cas, on his arousal, because he gets his own reward once he starts to stroke him steadily, tight enough to feel good, if the breathy noises Cas is making are any indication, but too loose to actually bring him off. Cas starts to whine high in his throat and the way he moves is fucking unbelievable. He arches and writhes and rocks his hips back instinctively, craving something inside, moaning that, please, he feels so empty. Every movement rubs him against Dean, his bare skin over Dean’s clothed erection.
“No talking, baby,” Dean says, “if you want something in you, you’re gonna have to be good.”
Cas nods eagerly.
He traces his unoccupied hand down Cas’s back until he reaches the swell of his ass, he teases, slowly circling his fingers closer and closer to where he knows Cas desperately wants them.
“I know. You hole is always so hungry for anything that I give it. Just like your pretty mouth when you suck me down. Such a cumslut, aren’t you. In your mouth, spilling out of it, painted all over your whore face, dripping out of your slutty little hole, you just can’t get enough of it, can you?”
Cas grinds backwards against Dean, trying to feel him against where he wants it most, to get him to buck up into him, he can feel the swell of Dean’s cock against his ass, he just needs it to be a little closer, needs Dean to work him open and give it to him, fill him up so good-
Dean moves his hand lightning fast to Cas’s nipple and pinches it past pleasure, into pain. Cas’s eyes snap open. “Naughty boy,” Dean says, “none of that.”
He brings his hand down to join his other, bypassing Cas’s cock, working even lower, until he’s toying with Cas’s balls lightly.
“I bet you’d like to be gangbanged.” Dean says, almost off-handedly, and Cas has to fight to understand words instead of getting lost in the feelings of Dean’s hands on him, of his breath puffing hot against him every word he speaks. “All those dicks in you, painting you with come. Those men fucking you, going crazy over your pink little hole, filling you up until it’s pouring out of you, until you’re puffy and red and swollen, and your mouth is bruised from swallowing all those big cocks. Even that wouldn’t be enough for you, though.”
No, no, no, Cas is shaking his head frantically. He doesn’t want anyone but Dean inside him, Dean’s right all those men in him wouldn’t do anything because the only one who can satisfy him is Dean, the only person he can give himself over to is Dean.
“No that wouldn’t be enough for you. You’d wait until I came in, until I fucked your mouth, because it belong around my dick, until I fuck your sloppy hole, still warm with other men’s come, that’s the only time you would be happy, on my dick, no one touching your cock, just me filling you up until you finally come all over yourself like a good little whore should.”
Dean’s hand is resting on Cas’s shoulder as Cas nods his head in agreement.
“Good.” Dean says.
He wraps his hand around Cas’s neck and squeezes gently. His other hand is still around Cas’s dick and he tightens his hands at the same time, until Cas’s is gasping frantically, riding the edge of his body’s instinctive panic for air and his trust in Dean; of the pleasure one of Dean’s hands is giving him and the other one a counterpoint of pain.
“Now, Cas, I want you to listen to me and do exactly as I say.”
Cas nods his head as best he can with Dean’s hand still locked around it.
His other hand speeds up until he’s riding the crest of his orgasm, shaking in Dean’s arms, brought to pieces by just Dean’s two hands.
“I want you to come.” Dean says, breath warm against the curl of Cas’s ear.
Suddenly, blindingly, he does. It burns through him like fire, consuming his ability to see, to speak, to breathe, until he is wrung dry, limp in Dean’s arms.
Dean is petting his hair gently as he slowly regains control of his own body. He feels like he’s made of rubber, made boneless by pleasure, no structure but Dean to hold him up.
He realizes that Dean is murmuring how good he is for him under his breath and he smiles up at him, tilting his head for a kiss which Dean grants.
“You okay?” Dean asks.
“Better than.”
Dean smiles, “Good. Now, lick it off.” and brings his hand up to Cas’s mouth, splattered with his own come.
Cas smirks and does as he is told.