Work Text:
The Impala stops outside a cliché 50s-themed diner, John Winchester behind the wheel, Dean in the passenger seat, around 10 PM on a Wednesday. Dean is doing his best to pretend that he isn't freaking out, but it's always nerve-wracking hunting something new.
“Let's go over it one more time,” John orders. It's not the words themselves; it's the clipped tone that he uses that signifies it isn't a request.
“Yes, sir,” Dean says, and when John doesn't say anything, he continues. He starts at the beginning, so his father knows he hasn't missed anything. He's made the mistake of starting in the middle too many times before. “A Galaphagore started attacking the town eighteen days ago. It's a parasite that takes over a host, causing them to, unknowingly, turn into a monstrous being that craves human flesh between the hours of 12 AM and 6 AM. Like a Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde thing.”
Dean looks at John for recognition of the reference, for some sort of tiny bonding experience over shared knowledge. He receives an impatient roll of John's hand that tells him to keep going. It hurts, but Dean’s used to it.
“Three people have been eaten so far, but there hasn't been much evidence. People in town have said a weird guy who always wears a trench coat just recently moved here and keeps odd hours. Nobody knows where he lives exactly, but he does frequent this diner just before they close. We're gonna go in, see if he's all freaky, and if he is, we'll follow him back to his place and gank him close to the transformation time when he's weakest.” Dean hopes his dad will tell him that he did a good job.
“And how do we kill it?” John asks.
Dean deflates a little. “It must be drowned in cold salt water.”
“Let’s go.” John opens his door and gets out of the car. Dean follows suit, and they walk into the diner.
They're in boots, jeans, and flannel shirts. They don't pull out any badges or claim unearned authority; they just wait to be seated by the sign politely asking them to do so. For this hunt, they're just a father and son on a road trip. What Dean wouldn't give to just be a father and son on a road trip.
The booth is tacky under Dean's hands as he slides in. Thankfully, they're sitting so they can both see the door. Usually, he just has to rely on John to watch out and keep his back to the danger.
“What can I get you boys to drink tonight?” The tired-looking waitress asks. If Dean had to guess, he'd say she was fifty. She looks sixty under the blue eye shadow and red lipstick, but he can smell the cigarette smoke wafting off her limp blonde hair as she passes them menus.
“Coffee for the both of us…” John tilts to see the name tag attached to her pink sock hop uniform, complete with poodle skirt, “...Beverly.”
Beverly eyes John for a long moment before answering. “Coming right up.” She smiles at them both and heads towards the kitchen.
“That was weird,” Dean murmurs.
“What, you don't think women find your old paw handsome?” John asks in a rare moment of levity.
Before Dean can answer, the little bell above the door jingles, signaling that someone else has walked in. Dean looks over to find a gorgeous man with dark, unkempt hair and a runner’s body all wrapped up in an ill-fitting suit and a trench coat. Dean is disappointed to see the tan jacket - it's a shame to have to gank someone so handsome.
“You can sit in your normal spot, sugar,” Beverly tells the man as she walks out of the kitchen with two coffee mugs and a metal carafe.
The stranger turns to walk towards his table and looks up at Dean as he does so. The air feels electric as Dean looks into intense cobalt blue eyes. Dean shivers and looks away. The man had looked so unassuming before, Dean had been sure they had the wrong guy, but he can't deny that there's something supernatural about that man, now.
“Here ya go,” Beverly says as she puts down the coffee cups and fills them up. “Have you decided what you'd like to order? Or is this just a caffeine pitstop?”
“I'm a simple man, Beverly, I'll just have some bacon and eggs.” John smiles and hands her his menu.
“Apple didn't fall far from the tree. I'll have the same.” Dean holds out his menu, but Beverly misses it with her hand the first time because she's still looking at John. Dean wants to point out that he's a little young for her, but he was raised with some manners, so he keeps his mouth shut.
“Bacon and eggs all around then.” Beverly turns around to go ask the stranger with beautiful eyes what he wants.
“Damn, we're irresistible tonight.” John kicks Dean's foot under the table with a grin.
“What?” Dean asks. He was focused on the stranger’s long fingers tapping on the table as he ordered without ever looking at a menu.
“The waitress is practically crawlin’ in my lap, and our guy looked like he wanted to eat you up,” John says, like Dean is dumb. “You have to pay attention to how people are looking at you, not just when they are.” He admonishes.
“We can use his attraction in our favor, though. We'll have a better chance of getting him if we can flank him. You inside his place, and me coming in from outside,” John explains.
Dean is reeling. Something in his gut turns sour at the idea. Sure, the guy is a monster, but he doesn't know that! The whole point of the parasite is to keep itself hidden for as long as possible. Dean already has reservations about killing a guy who's basically a victim, but doing it this way feels… cruel? Dean can't put his finger on it.
“Oh, yeah, every dude wants to pick up a guy who's hanging out with his dad,” Dean says sarcastically and pats himself on the back for the good rebuttal.
“You’ll call my phone so it goes off, I'll act like I got a big emergency and need to leave. I'll confirm you can make it to the motel okay, then head out,” John says as he stirs a packet of sugar into his coffee. “You'll go over there, bat your eyelashes, and pout that you don't want to go back to the motel.”
Shit. That could actually work. Dean feels sick.
“Is it that much more of an advantage if I go inside? Couldn't I just go in through a back door while you go in through the front?” Dean asks.
“Are you arguing with me?” John asks sternly.
“No, sir.” Dean wishes Sammy were here. He'd be able to tell Dad how harebrained this scheme is.
Dean contemplates why John wants to do it this way. Is it some sort of punishment? Did John catch Dean staring back and want to make some sort of point? Dean has tried desperately to hide his less-than heterosexual tendencies from John, including playing up how much he loves women, but maybe it hasn't been enough. His father is dangerously perceptive.
“Eat up!” Beverly says, placing a plate down and startling Dean. He was lost in his thoughts while staring at the table, so he didn't notice her walking up. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
“Hurry,” John orders as he nods down to Dean's plate.
Dean eats mechanically, not tasting the food at all. It sits like lead in his stomach as he chokes each bite down with his burnt, bitter coffee.
“Showtime,” John says as he eats his last piece of bacon and polishes off his coffee.
Dean nods and pulls out his phone surreptitiously. Wasn't life easier before these damn things? He dials John's number from memory instead of having to look down and search through the contacts. He jumps at the shrill jingle coming from John’s phone, even though he was expecting it.
Dean watches John without really seeing him, but does his best to look worried. He doesn't hear what his dad says as he stands up and leaves him to court a monster; he just says, “Yeah,” because he knows that's what he's supposed to do.
Dean gives himself a silent pep-talk that includes a lot of cussing at himself in his head, downs another cup of coffee, then stands up before he can talk himself out of his father’s plan. He reminds himself that he's flirted with a million people before; this won't be any different. He doesn't convince himself before he reaches the table with the stranger.
Dean plops down on the bench seat of the booth across the table from the man in the trench coat. He notes that the man is eating a grilled cheese sandwich. It makes Dean feel even guiltier.
“I think I might scream if I have to go back to that motel,” Dean says conspiratorially.
The man looks at Dean, squints, and tilts his head. Dean's heart rate picks up when their eyes meet.
“Do I know you?” The man asks.
Well, there goes Dean’s “Are you a screamer?” line he was working up to.
“Not yet. But you could,” Dean flashes the man a flirty look. “I'm Dean.” He holds out his hand for the man to shake. It will be a little awkward over the table, but the touch should ratchet up the tension.
“Castiel.” The man shakes Dean's hand and looks both confused and alarmed.
“That fits, you sure look like an Angel.” Dean lets their touch longer than it needs to before pulling his hand back. He catches the way Castiel's eyes flick down to watch him place his hand on the table, closer to Castiel than himself. In invitation.
“Catholic?” Castiel asks with a tone of voice that tells Dean the man isn't a big fan.
“My old man is, when he isn't drinking.” Dean gets a little thrill at being a dick to John when he isn't here. “I just sort of picked up stuff through osmosis.
“My condolences,” Castiel says, then takes a bite of his grilled cheese.
Dean wonders if maybe John got it all wrong.
“My apologies if this is incorrect, but are you ‘hitting on me?’” Castiel does air quotes with his fingers that aren't occupied by his sandwich.
Dean thinks it's the most endearing thing he's ever seen.
“Yeah, Cas, I'm hitting on you,” Dean says fondly, temporarily forgetting why he's here.
“Very well, I accept your advances. And I enjoy the shortened version of my name on your lips.”
Dean thinks this is the weirdest flirting session he's ever been a part of, but it's actually really working for him.
“Anything else you'd like on my lips?” Dean intentionally, and obviously, looks down at Castiel's body. He can't see the man’s crotch because of the table, but he hopes his meaning is clear.
“Oh. Is this a situation where I pay you?” Cas asks with a confused scrunch on his face.
Dean laughs. “A guy doesn't need payment to be attracted to you, Cas.”
Castiel seems to blush. “My apologies, you are just moving quite quickly.”
“Yeah, well, I'm on a time crunch.” Dean shrugs. “And you're irresistible.”
Maybe this won't work. Maybe Cas is one of those guys who wants commitment.
“I have never had a one-night stand before, so I may make some blunders,” Cas says, almost like a warning.
“I'm a pretty ‘go with the flow’ kinda guy,” Dean fires back.
“In that case, would you like to come back to my place?”
“I thought you'd never ask!” Dean grins. It eats him up inside how easy this is. Before daylight, the man in front of him will almost certainly be dead, and Dean might have to be the one to kill him.
They pay their tabs, each leaving a hefty tip for Beverly, then walk outside into the warm, soupy air.
The only vehicle in the parking lot besides the little white sedan that was already there when Dean arrived is a beat-up pickup.
“Didn't take you for a truck guy,” Dean says as they walk over to it.
“It was the first thing I was able to purchase with my own money, and I have become attached.” Castiel shrugs. Dean can't argue about attachments to old vehicles.
Castiel steps forward quickly when they reach the truck so that he can open the door for Dean.
The gesture makes Dean sick because of how much he likes it. “Thanks, handsome.” He winks at Cas, who smiles softly.
“You naturally a night owl?” Dean asks once they get on the road. He quickly checks the mirrors to make sure they're being followed. He catches a glimpse of the Impala tucked away, off the side of the road. Dean figures John is waiting, so he doesn't look conspicuous. There aren't any other cars on the road after all.
“Yes, though it has gotten worse since taking on clients in Tokyo.”
“Woah, do you speak Japanese?” Dean asks.
“Indeed,” Castiel says proudly.
“Are you one of those anime nerds?” Dean asks, excitedly. He's one of those anime nerds. He got hooked while watching Toonami on Cartoon Network as a kid.
“Sorry, learning Japanese was a choice my parents made for me. Along with making me learn French, Spanish, and Mandarin,” Castiel does not sound happy about this fact.
“What a waste.” Dean thinks. All that knowledge will be lost to some supernatural parasite and a guy with a GED.
“I don't know any other languages, but I do know about French kissing.”
This gets a snort out of Castiel, and Dean laughs.
“Do you live around here?” Castiel asks. “Am I allowed to ask that?” He adds quickly.
“When it comes to one-night stands, a good rule of thumb is, the less you know, the better,” Dean explains.
“Well, you know I speak five languages, I would like an equivalent fact,” Castiel says decisively as he parks the car in front of a ranch-style brick house lined with rose bushes.
Dean can't argue with that; he was the first one to lob a question.
“I've read everything by Vonnegut,” Dean offers up.
“That is sufficient, thank you,” Castiel smiles at Dean, briefly. “Stay there.”
Castiel gets out of the truck and makes his way over to Dean's side to open the door again.
Dean's heart flutters as it breaks.
As soon as Dean’s boots land on the gravel, Castiel steps forward and brings their lips together in a steamy kiss. Cas isn't as shy with his kisses as Dean thought he would be; he's quick to seek access to Dean's mouth with his tongue. For all the best reasons, and for some really fucked up ones, the kiss is exhilarating for Dean. The way Castiel brings a hand up to cup his face is dizzying in its tenderness as their tongues slide together. As suddenly as the kiss starts, it ends with Castiel stepping back.
“I was just checking your knowledge of French kissing,” Cas explains as he turns towards the walkway up to his front door.
“Son of a bitch,” Dean mutters to himself. He's got to get himself together, damn it. He focuses on his breathing as he closes the door of the truck behind him, then follows after Castiel.
By the time Dean reaches Castiel, the door is swinging open. They step inside together, and Dean can't help but look around as Castiel flicks on a light. It doesn't look like a place where someone who has a parasite that makes them crave human flesh for six hours a night would live. Actually, Dean doesn't know what that kind of living situation would look like.
Castiel's place is mostly white walls and cluttered bookshelves. The floor is a millennial gray carpet, and all the furniture looks like it was purchased at the comfiest thrift stores known to man. That's all Dean really gets to see before Castiel shoves him back against the closed door, boxes him in with his arms, and resumes the kiss they started outside.
The slow intensity of the kiss has Dean's knees turning to jelly. Part of it might be the knowledge that the person he’s kissing is a guy. He’s had a couple of fumbling experiences with boys back when he was in school, but Castiel is very clearly a knowledgeable man. Dean knows that he should be doing more to keep his wits about him, but Castiel's mouth is so distracting. Every time the thought surfaces that he should break away, Cas does something magical with his tongue that shoves the thought away. Dean’s never been kissed like this before; he’s used to being the one in control.
In the end, it’s Castiel who pulls away. “My apologies,” he says with heat in his eyes. “But you are simply delectable.”
“No sorry,” Dean squeaks out, higher brain functioning all down for maintenance.
“Let's take this to the bedroom, shall we?” Castiel holds out his hand to Dean.
Dean looks down at the wide palm and long fingers and thinks about what they might feel like on his body. He takes Castiel’s hand on instinct and allows himself to be led through the house to Castiel’s bedroom. Dean doesn’t look at any of it; he’s too busy studying the man in front of him. Dean never thought that he had a thing for shoulders, but the broad expanse under the trench coat is really doing something for him.
“Get it together, Winchester!” Dean shouts at himself in his head. He wasn’t sent here to have sex with this man! He’s supposed to fucking kill him!
The reminder hits Dean like diving into cold water. By the time they make it to Castiel’s sparse bedroom, he’s thinking a little more clearly. Cas turns around and tries to pull him in, and, lord help him, Dean wants to go, but he’s got just enough sense to hesitate.
“What’s wrong, Honey?” Castiel asks with a head tilt that reminds Dean of a confused puppy. A confused puppy that might want to eat his flesh soon.
“I, uh, need to use the bathroom,” Dean says too quickly.
“Ah, yes, of course,” Cas nods. “Down the hall, first door on the left.” He smiles at Dean softly.
“Thanks,” Dean manages to get out before he darts back down the hall.
His pulse is through the roof, and he’s breathing heavy as Dean closes the bathroom door behind him. He doesn’t even bother to turn on the light, worried about what he might see in the mirror if he does. Dean needs this hunt to be over! It’s stirring up too many things and making him stupid. How can he keep forgetting that the man he’s been sucking face with is dangerous? John would be so fucking disappointed in him. Speaking of which, Dean fishes his Nokia out of his pocket and hits the button to wake up the radiation-green light. No message from John, but he sees something that threatens to bowl him over.
It is currently sixteen minutes past midnight.
Dean puts the phone to sleep, then wakes it back up again, just to check that his eyes aren’t deceiving him. Where the hell did the time go? How long did he stand around making out with Castiel? Castiel, who is, almost certainly, not the flesh-eating supernatural creature he’s supposed to be hunting. Dean’s brain throws out a weak thought about a possible delay, but Dean doesn’t pay much attention. Just before Dean spirals about what the fuck he’s supposed to do now, he gets a text message from John. Finally, some direction!
J.W> Sit tight.
Sit tight? That’s IT? Did he figure out Cas wasn't the real target? Will he be by to pick Dean up soon? What the fuck should he do? Castiel is in the other room, expecting to have sex! Dean dangled it in front of him!
Dean gives himself a pep talk as he uses the light on his phone to illuminate the toilet enough to find the handle. He flushes, then turns around to turn on the sink and pretend like he’s washing his hands. He actually just ends up washing his hands. He wipes his hands on his jeans to dry them just as the light from his phone turns off, and he heads out towards Castiel's bedroom.
Dean doesn’t know what he plans to do when he reaches the room, really, he’s winging it, like he has so many times before. Maybe he can get in another make-out sesh before his dad gets here. It will probably be a lot more pleasurable since he won’t be freaking out about killing Cas. What Dean sees as he walks into the room makes him blue screen.
Castiel is lying on his bed, shirtless, and in a pair of gray sweatpants. He looks over his book when Dean walks into the room.
“You changed,” Dean remarks.
“I had originally stripped naked, but I worried that would be too presumptuous,” Castiel says sheepishly.
All sense Dean had about this situation has been obliterated by the sight of Castiel’s naked chest, and the subtle outline of his half-hard cock through the thin sweats. Dean feels drawn to Cas like they got magnetized while Dean was in the bathroom. He reaches the side of the bed and stops, unsure what he should do now.
Castiel sets his book on the nightstand, then swings his legs over the side of the bed so he can sit up on the edge. Once vertical, he spreads his thighs wide and reaches for Dean. He reels Dean in with two large, warm hands on his hips until they're almost chest to chest.
“Am I correct in my assessment that you are not as experienced as you presented yourself to be?” Castiel asks gently, looking up at Dean.
Dean’s breath stutters, and he finds himself nodding without actually thinking about it.
“Are you certain that you wish to continue?” Castiel absentmindedly rubs his thumbs against Dean’s sides.
“Please,” Dean begs, all thoughts about anything outside of this room long forgotten.
“You must tell me if you don’t like something,” Castiel says sternly.
“Okay,” Dean practically whispers.
Castiel leans in to capture Dean’s lips in another soft, slow kiss, as he moves his hands to begin unbuttoning Dean’s flannel. The next few minutes go by in a sensual blur where Castiel undresses Dean between long, sipping kisses.
“I need to take off your boots,” Castiel says lowly.
Dean blinks at him, then looks down to see that he’s completely naked except for where fabric pools around his ankles, stopped by his footwear. He lets Cas gently guide him backwards with hands on his hips that make Dean shiver. Castiel slides off the side of the bed and onto his knees so he can lean over and untie Dean’s boots. Dean feels like he’s coming unraveled at the sight.
“Foot.” Castiel taps one of Dean’s calves. Dean lifts one foot, then the other, finally free of all of his clothing.
Dean expects Cas to stand up, but he takes hold of Dean’s hips again, then knee walks around, so that they trade places. Castiel gives a little shove, and Dean ends up sitting on the side of the bed. Castiel shoulders his way between Dean’s thighs, and Dean’s cock jumps at the proximity. Dean let’s Cas rearrange him until the backs of his knees sit in the crook of Castiel’s elbows, his ass hangs off the bed a little, and his cock is right up in Castiel’s face. Dean moans from the visual alone.
Castiel tilts his head to the side so he can kiss the inside of one of Dean’s thighs. Dean lets out a surprised noise and jumps a little.
“Shhh, settle,” Castiel says in a tone that ensures Dean absolutely will not be able to be quiet and settle. Cas is so gentle and quietly confident. It’s melting Dean’s brain.
Dean needs to touch Cas more, so he brings his hands up to card through Castiel’s hair and stroke across the tops of his shoulders. Dean internally cheers when Cas makes a pleased noise at the attention. Everything in Dean is screaming at him to take hold of Castiel’s hair and guide him to take Dean’s cock in his mouth, but Dean isn’t an asshole, so he doesn’t do that. Instead, he waits on pins and needles as Castiel makes his way there himself. Dean's had blowjobs from chicks before, but they were always quick affairs, and Dean often felt like the girls were just performing a service. Castiel acts like he’d like to stay here, driving Dean crazy, for the rest of his life.
Castiel places a kiss on Dean’s sack, and Dean groans. This is a brand-new sensation for him, and it has him shaking. There’s no fucking way he’s going to last more than a minute when Castiel actually wraps his lips around him. Cas looks up at Dean's face, then licks across the corrugated skin he was just kissing. Dean goes cross-eyed for a moment. When he focuses again, he gets to experience Castiel kiss up the underside of his throbbing cock. Dean’s vaguely aware of Castiel doing something with his arm in his periphery, but he can’t pull his focus away from Castiel’s lips on him.
By the time Castiel wraps his plush lips around the weeping tip of Dean’s cock, Dean is panting and shaking. “I won’t last,” Dean warns, humiliation flooding his system.
Castiel pulls away, causing Dean to make a pathetic sound. “I don’t need you to. Just let yourself feel good.” Cas dives back in to pull Dean’s head into his mouth again.
“Fuck!” Dean groans as Castiel starts slowly bobbing his head. He hears a noise, has a wisp of a thought telling him to focus on it, but he can’t. Not when Castiel has started to flick his tongue across the underside of Dean’s crown.
Suddenly, Dean feels something he has never felt before - wet fingers probing around his hole. He tenses up for a moment out of surprise, but then relaxes with a loud moan. “Please?” He begs Castiel’s questioning face. He is not prepared for the stretch of Castiel sliding one thick finger slowly inside. It’s so much, it's wonderful, it’s a little weird, it’s perfect.
Dean wants to keep watching, but he physically cannot. He ends up with his head thrown back as he makes loud “ah ah ah” sounds as Castiel sucks his cock and fingers his hole. He sees stars when Castiel adds a second finger alongside the first, stretching him out deliciously.
“Please?” Dean begs nonsensically as he feels his orgasm fast approaching. Castiel switches the angle of his fingers, and Dean gets the thing he didn’t know he was asking for. Dean’s brain erupts in pleasurable static, and he truly loses where his body exists in time and space. It’s so overwhelming that it actually knocks him back from the edge for a moment, but then everything comes rushing in all at once, and he doesn’t stand a chance.
Dean comes harder than he ever has in his life. His body locks up, squeezing a shout out of his lungs as his cock shoots down Castiel’s throat.
When Castiel pulls away, after Dean lets out a pathetic, overwhelmed noise, Dean realizes that he’s shivering. “Thank you,” Dean slurs when he can. This earns him a chuckle from Castiel, who removes his fingers from Dean’s loosened hole. Dean lets Castiel manhandle him until he’s face down on the bed with his head in a pillow. He is sort of aware of Castiel shuffling around, then climbing on the bed, but it’s all locked behind a cloud of cotton.
“What about you?” Dean eventually slurs. He turns his head to find Castiel on his back, lounging against the pillows, lazily fisting his pink, leaking cock. Dean is hypnotized by the movement.
“I didn’t want to overwhelm you,” Castiel explains.
“I’m good now.” Dean rolls over onto his back next to Cas. He isn’t hard again, yet, but it’s only a matter of time. He spreads his legs wide, looks down at them, then looks back at Castiel expectantly.
“Bossy bottom,” Castiel chuckles as he rolls up and over to settle between Dean’s legs.
“I kinda think you like it,” Dean fires back. This all might be new to him, but Castiel has made him feel comfortable and relaxed about the whole thing.
“I do,” Cas admits as he rearranges Dean easily to hook his arms under Dean’s knees and place a pillow under Dean’s lower back.
“It will feel like a lot, but it shouldn’t hurt. If it does, you must tell me,” Castiel orders.
“I will,” Dean says, even though he knows he probably wouldn’t. But he trusts that Cas did the prep well or whatever.
Castiel takes hold of cock and guides himself to Dean’s hole. “Touch yourself.” Castiel nods down to Dean’s cock, which has already started to fatten up again.
Dean shoves his hand down and immediately obeys. He feels Castiel against his most sensitive spot, and all he wants is more. Castiel pushes forward slowly until his head pops inside Dean’s tight ring of muscle.
The stretch is incredible! Dean groans as Cas continues to push inside. Cas isn’t moving fast enough, so Dean tries to hurry him along with a leg wrapped around his hip, but Castiel is unable to be rushed.
“More,” Dean whines.
“We’ll get there,” Castiel groans.
Dean loves it when girls are noisy, but he’s never thought much about guys making noise. He’s instantly hooked. They both moan as Castiel bottoms out. Dean keeps jerking himself, cock fully hard again, but with his unoccupied hand, he reaches out to hold on to Castiel’s arm. He needs the anchor. Castiel wasn’t kidding when he said it was overwhelming, but Dean had thought he had only meant physically. There’s a weird, emotional weight to it that Dean wasn’t expecting.
Castiel bends forward to pepper little kisses across the freckles of Dean’s cheeks. “Are you alright?” He asks kindly. Dean nods and rolls his hips to get more friction. Cas pulls back, then slowly pushes back in.
It feels so fucking good. Dean wants to do this forever; he wants more. So why are his eyes welling with tears right now?
“Have I hurt you?” Castiel stops to ask.
Dean vehemently shakes his head “no” because words are too hard for him right now.
“It's just a lot?” Castiel’s voice is so tender.
Dean switches to nodding frantically.
“Okay, Honey.” Castiel starts moving again, nuzzles Dean's nose with his, then resumes kissing Dean’s cheeks. “It's okay, you're okay.”
Is he okay? What the fuck is happening?
Arousal keeps coursing through Dean’s system, heedless of the other, bigger feelings Dean is feeling. His cock is still leaking in his hand, and he can’t stop trying to shove himself into Castiel’s thrusts. Castiel moans when Dean accidentally digs his nails into his arm, and it steers Dean towards the edge.
“Close?” Dean manages to push out of his mouth. He’s close, and he wants Cas to come first. He needs the confirmation that Castiel is feeling good, too.
“Yeah, Honey,” Castiel grunts, “I’m close.”
“Please?” Dean speeds up the hand fisting his cock.
Castiel has stopped kissing his face, presumably to focus on his impending orgasm, but Dean misses the closeness, so he tilts his face up to touch their foreheads together. This is the thing that seems to send Castiel over the edge. Cas lets out a choked-off noise as he shoves his hips forward. Dean can feel Castiel’s cock painting his insides, and it brings his own orgasm on him like a hurricane. He whimpers and whines as he makes a mess of his hand and stomach.
Dean doesn’t pass out, per se, but he does find things like higher thought or movement near impossible. He feels Castiel pull out and away, and whines at the loss. He feels a warm, wet cloth cleaning him up - how did Castiel move so quickly? There’s a blanket on him. Then Castiel is bullying him up on his side so Dean can play little spoon.
“Thank you,” Dean slurs just before he passes out.
When Dean jolts awake, it’s light outside. Castiel has rolled over so he’s facing away from Dean on the bed. It gives Dean just enough privacy to panic as he stands up, butt-naked, and grabs his phone from his jeans. He feels guilty for staying with Cas even after he knew he wasn't a threat, and he feels even guiltier for falling asleep. Sure, John had told him to “Sit Tight,” but he probably expected Dean to be near his phone in case shit went sideways! Why didn't he call or come pick Dean up? Is he hurt? Did the Galaphagore get him? Fuck! Dean is THE WORST son! He wakes up the phone and finds a text message from John waiting for him.
J.W.> It was Beverly. Took her out in the diner kitchen sink. Got an emergency from Pastor Jim, I'll call when I can.
That's it. That's all the text says. What. The. Fuck. John just LEFT him here? How long has his dad been trying to ditch him? Dean realizes he hasn't been breathing, and he sucks in a big breath all at once. What the fuck? Whatthefuck? WHAT TH-
“Dean? What's wrong?” Castiel asks, groggily. He's rolled over, and Dean can see that there’s a sky blue sleep mask with white fluffy clouds pushed up to reveal one eye.
Dean doesn't mean to answer honestly, but is powerless to stop himself. “My dad just left me here.” His breath hitches in an almost-sob. He can feel the tears prickling the back of his eyes. John leaving like he did feels significant somehow in a way he can't explain.
“Come back to bed, we'll figure it out in the morning.” Castiel holds up the blanket as an invitation.
Dean wants to argue that it is morning, but Castiel’s offer is too enticing. Cas’ sleep-warm body feels good against his as Dean cuddles in close. Despite all the big emotions Dean has gone through in the last five minutes, the arm that Castiel snakes around his waist makes him relax.
“Shower hot. Sweats… dresser. Help self to food.. in …. kitchen,” Castiel mumbles just before placing a haphazard kiss on Dean's shoulder and falling back asleep.
Dean smiles. Maybe this isn’t so terrible after all.