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It’s not a date, even if Sam had insisted on calling it one when Dean and Cas had left the bunker Tuesday morning. It was just Cas and Dean doing background research on a potential hunt, and now, after finding nada, they just happen to be stopping to get lunch before heading back to the bunker.
Not a date.
The entire trip had been Sam’s idea to begin with, suggesting Dean and Cas needed to get out and get some fresh air after being cooped up for too long in the bunker. Sam had had his own outing last week and came back reenergized and excited to compare his new research with the Men of Letter files.
So Dean had agreed – after battling a cold over the weekend, he had been feeling full of excess energy he wanted to burn off anyway, his skin prickling and something hot coiling around his belly. Anticipation also rolls sharp in his veins; he’s been feeling on edge all summer, like he’s waiting for something, anything, to happen.
Dean and Cas spend the morning digging through old courthouse records in Kenworth, a town on the banks of the Sawner River, somewhere east of Lawrence and west of Lebanon. They stop for lunch at Mama’s Grill, a homey little diner at the corner of Main and Pine. Here every red vinyl seat is named after a country western star. Dean and Cas end up sitting at Hank Williams Jr.’s booth, and Dean starts humming “Whiskey Bent and Hell Bound” because it seems fitting.
Cas sits across from him in the booth, eyes scoping out the bustling lunch-time crowd. Dean watches how the afternoon light falling from the window plays across the tired planes of his face.
"You good, man?" Dean asks, knocking his knees against Castiel’s under the table, feeling lazy and content. Getting out of the bunker was definitely a good idea.
Cas blinks and turns to look at Dean, a little white flash of teeth in his half-smile. “I’m good, Dean.”
“Good,” Dean says with a smirk, and returns to his menu, which just happens to be covered in little cowboy hats; this place is friggin’ cool. Between the two of them they order four bacon-double cheeseburgers, a large side of fries to share, two tall vanilla milkshakes, and two slices of strawberry-rhubarb pie for dessert. The waitress, an older woman with silvery hair and a sweet-little smile, gives them both a long look-over after they order, and apparently seeing something she approves of, promises them an extra slice of pie each to bring home with them. Dean’s not complaining; not at all.
"If it’s not a poltergeist, what are our other options?" Cas asks, slurping loudly at his glass of ice water.
Watching Cas put a straw to his mouth is giving Dean one too many complexes, so he turns away to look at the cracks in the formica tabletop. “Don’t know, man,” he says, thinking of the news clippings that had brought them here in the first place. Stories of an old haunted house on the outskirts of town; lots of local legends around it. “Town could be right that it’s just a bunch of college kids from the neighboring town messing around, trying to spook people.”
"Shouldn’t they be worrying about passing their exams?" Castiel says and frowns intently. "Kevin has been filling me in on college life, since he plans to apply."
"Yeah, they should be," Dean says, lips quirking. "But college kids can be tricky little shits, let me tell you. I can’t tell you how many reports of devil worshipping my dad and I investigated only to find out it was some weird ritualistic hazing ritual gone wrong."
Cas furrows his brow, looking about ready to smite all of frat row, but fortunately their waitress brings them their food then. There’s a giant basket piled high with fries, and the burgers are the size of Oklahoma, loaded with bacon and lettuce and giant slices of pickles, all lathered in Mama’s special sauce, ketchup dripping out of their sides. They both dig in, hungry after having skipped breakfast to drive up early. Cas dips his fries in a small blob of ketchup on his plate, but Dean soaks his in a sloppy mayo-ketchup mix the likes of which would send Sammy crying.
The burgers themselves are simply amazing, and Dean inhales both of his in no time. Cas, on the other hand, takes his time, savoring each bite and moaning like they’re little orgasms between meat and bread. He even licks the grease from his long, sticky fingers in a way that makes Dean’s heart skip a few too many beats, his cock strain against his pants.
When Castiel’s tongue flicks out, wetting his lips, Dean’s eyes follow it, trying his best not to jump across the table and repeat the action with his own tongue.
"Dean?" Cas asks, frowning as he catches Dean staring at him. His hand is paused with a fry half-way to his mouth. "Is everything all right?"
“‘Course.” Dean shakes his head, flushing as he adds, “Uh, was just thinking – wanna walk around town some more after dessert?” He pops a piece of loose bacon into his mouth, trying to keep himself from saying something really stupid like, ‘I want your hot bod’.
"There is a giant sequoia I wanted to see up close," Castiel says, brows furrowing as he turns to stare out of the window. "It’s very old."
"Okay, Cas," Dean says, biting his lip to keep from smiling when he adds, "We’ll find you this tree. And even if we hang here a couple more hours, I can still get us back home before dark." He says the latter part around a mouthful of salty fries, but he has to pause mid-chew as his own words echo around in his head. Dean forces himself to chew slower, to swallow down his food. To take a big gulp of his water to ease it all in.
Home. Is the bunker home now? Is that what they’re calling it? Sure, he’s been coming and going through its hobbit-sized front door for months now. But it’s too weird to even contemplate, right? At the same time…everything feels strangely domestic these days, strangely like they’re settling in, growing roots. Dean knows the bunker’s not the white-picket fence he’d tried to have with Lisa and Ben; it’s not the crappy motel rooms he’d lost all his virginities in; and it’s not even the familiar smell and feel of the Impala, the sound of her wheels crunching over another dark road going to another town, another hunt, another day.
The bunker is a warm bed and a nice shower. It’s loud conversation over breakfast and dinner, Sam and Kevin glued to their laptops at the kitchen table while Dean and Cas wash dishes by hand. It’s hot mugs of coffee steaming in their hands as they relax against the kitchen counter, and stubble-rough kisses and sweaty fumblings after a morning run. It’s the days they spend lazy afternoons dozing on the couch, Cas tangled around him, their fingers twined together, while Charlie and Kevin debate the merits of the Ninth Doctor vs. the Tenth Doctor (Hell, Dean likes them both pretty equally; mostly though his preference lies with Capt. Jack Harkness. Dude’s a badass. But when he mentions that to both Charlie and Kevin, they give him these looks, and Dean swears he hears Kevin mutter something about ancient dudes with trenchcoats. Kevin’s an ass though, so yeah.)
The bunker is laundry day (Saturdays) and stockpiles of mint toothpaste and unguarded moments, like when he turns around and catches Cas mid-yawn, his face scrunched up like exhaustion is still something he’s not been able to wrap his head around.
Dean’s been searching for home his entire life, his first one burnt to a crisp not too far from here. In a lot of ways, Dean’s been trying to rebuild home every moment of every day since. He remembers that first time when he was eight, and he decided to build Sam a house so that the kid wouldn’t be so sad anymore. They had pushed together their sleeping bags under a tent of draped motel blankets and sheets, and walls of stacked stained pillows; underneath their canopy of covers, Dean had read Sam stories from his class text book, had tucked Sam in and fed him Mac-n-cheese, and had played shadow puppets into the wee hours of the morning. Their blanket-fort home lasted for three amazing days before John had made them pack it up and stop “fooling around.” They had a job to do, and Dean needed to be training.
But these days Dean’s wondering if having a job to do, means he can’t have something more, something steadier. Something like…he looks up to see Cas watching him, eyes sharp and assessing, and Dean can’t look away.
The bunker is…Cas, weirdly human and trying to figure out where he fits in. They sleep in the same bed these days, a tangle of limbs and sweaty sheets, a million small touches passing between them in the night, touches that leave Dean craving more, but too unsure of what more would bring. Cas is new at this, but he’s bold about it too sometimes, wrapping his arms behind Dean at night, dropping kisses against the back of Dean’s neck and curling his fingers tightly into Dean’s hips. Cas presses so close Dean can often feel his cock’s hardness through his pajama pants, matching Dean’s own. But they haven’t exactly talked about that part yet.
Dean’s musings are fortunately interrupted by the arrival of pie. Hell yeah.
"Y’all doing good, sweetums?" their waitress asks, smiling down at them.
"Now that the pie is here, I’m doing amazing," Dean says, flashing his cheekiest grin up at her.
The waitress looks rightly pleased. Cas cocks an amused eyebrow Dean’s way, but Dean ignores him to stick his fork into the flaky crusted piece of love placed down before him. He pops a large bite into his mouth and Jesus Christ. It tastes sublime; hot and gooey and sweet and just perfectly tart. His eyes squeeze shut as he swallows bite after bite, and he knows he’s making the sort of obscene sounds that will probably get him arrested, if not thrown out of the diner.
When Dean opens his eyes, he catches Cas watching him, his mouth gaping wide, eyes dark and riveted on Dean. “What?” Dean asks, swallowing thickly.
“You,” Castiel says as if that’s an actual answer, and then turns back to his own pie and takes a bite of it, seemingly frustrated.
Dean just shrugs and continues to eat, and soon all that’s left on his plate are smudges of strawberry filling that Dean’s tempted to lick clean, but somehow refrains. It’s hard being 34.
Dean turns when he hears Cas scraping his fork against his own plate, scooping up the last bite of pie. “Good huh?” Dean asks, feeling smug.
Cas sucks the fork clean before answering. “Very good.”
Dean smiles crookedly. “Man, that was one of the best goddamn pies I’ve had all year,” he says.
Cas leans over and looks down at Dean’s plate. “But you’ve missed some of the filling,” he says, and then he proceeds to actually slide a finger across Dean’s plate, scooping up the drops of excess filling. Castiel flicks his tongue over his lips, and then he’s bringing his strawberry-filling-covered finger to his mouth, and Dean’s resultant boner is so intense he honestly doesn’t think he’ll be able to get up and leave.
Cas cocks his head at Dean, sucking thoroughly at his finger. “Cas,” Dean hisses, because Jesus fuck.
"Yes, Dean," Castiel asks, finger falling from his mouth, slick and wet, before he reaches across the table and rolls it around the remaining strawberry smudges left on Dean’s plate.
And well, Dean can’t be blamed for what happens next. He snaps forward, catches Castiel’s wrist and pulls his hand toward his own mouth.
"Dean," Cas says, sounding confused, but Dean’s too busy sliding his tongue over Castiel’s finger and sucking off the remnants of filling. Castiel’s finger is long and soft, strawberry mingling with the hint of salt from the french fries. Dean’s tongue could really get used to the taste of Cas in his mouth, but then Dean remembers where they are and he lets go with a loud, sloppy pop, pushing back into the warm vinyl of his seat and trying not to look around the diner to see if anyone actually saw him just do that. Shit.
He does eventually look up to see Cas watching him, expression strangely neutral.
"Uh, sorry," Dean offers, clearing his throat uneasily. "But that was my pie filling, dude."
"I see," Castiel says, and the bastard has a glint in his eye, the corner of his mouth hinting at the tiniest of smiles. It’s the look Cas gets whenever he knows he’s about to win a game of chess against Sam or Kevin, or clean house at poker. It’s the same look he got when Dean finally relented and let him watch that documentary series about the lifespan of whales on the Discovery Channel last week.
"Did you plan that?" Dean asks, suspicious.
Cas actually smiles. “Plan what?”
"You suck," Dean tells him. "A lot."
"I know," Cas says, and Dean can swear the bastard is friggin’ flirting with him.
And fuck, Dean’s kind of proud of him. Eyeing Cas now, Dean’s heart knocks around in his chest a little. He doesn’t know what the hell they’re even playing at here. What are they? A couple? Boyfriends? Friends with benefits? Life partners? They haven’t even been doing this for that long – a few weeks at the most, but it feels…well, it feels like they’re an old married couple approaching their silver anniversary.
Dean sighs, settling their bill when the waitress returns. She’s shooting them both the sort of wink-wink-nudge-nudge look that convinces Dean she saw everything unfold. But she doesn’t say anything, just leaves them a to-go box filled with pie and pats Dean’s cheek when he leaves her a big tip and a flirty smile. Dean was worried about him and Cas being too obvious in small-town America, but they seem to have passed through unnoticed, finger incident and all.
Cas and Dean exit through the diner door together and make their way over to the Impala parked just outside in the lot. Dean drops the food in the car and settles against the hood, Cas following behind him. The afternoon is cool and heavy, its blue sky striated by clouds. Summer hangs like a heavy hand over this part of Kansas, weighty, golden-brown mornings winding into sultry-thick afternoons. The late afternoon sunlight shimmers over everything, casting a dream-like haze over the town that makes it feel like they’re time out of time. It doesn’t help that here the storefronts look like something from the 50s, small mom-and-pop shops with hand-painted signs. The streets are lined with cast-iron antique street lamps, and an archaic-looking clock tower holds watch over the town, heralding in every hour.
"Ready?" Dean says, turning to look at Cas leaning beside him on the hood. It’s still strange to see Cas looking so casual, sporting slim dark jeans and a grey t-shirt, looking more and more comfortable in his broken-in dark leather boots. The breeze tousles Castiel’s hair as he turns to stare back at Dean.
Cas smiles and says, “I’m ready.”
They walk down Main Street together, side by side, drifting in and out of each other’s space, shoulders bumping and fingers brushing from time to time. Dean wonders if they look like a couple from the road; he wonders a lot of things. This thing between them happened so quickly that Dean’s not even sure he knows up from down when it comes to Cas. But really it’s been building for so long, it feels almost natural. All those months, years really, when Dean pushed down wanting this, didn’t think he could have this with Cas, the possibility too far-fetched given everything they were and had to deal with. Dean didn’t even let himself admit this was even what he wanted; they could be friends maybe. But not this.
Even though something in Dean knows they were always this: this something more, this something deeper, this crashing into each other and bulldozing down each other’s defenses and defying destiny together and tearing up the script, and breaking the world and falling so low they couldn’t have gotten much lower even if they tried. But still finding their way back. Somehow. Maybe there has always been this deep ache and longing between them, this push-pull toward each other. All Dean knows for sure is that the last few years are made up of these crazy moments with Cas that build on each other. That have somehow led him here.
Dean’s mind is flooding with all kind of crazy ideas, but he keeps them all to himself. Instead he starts talking, filling the silence with whatever comes to mind, letting loose a quiet stream of words that takes them down shadowed side streets and quiet tree-lined boulevards, pass antique-filled storefronts and bakeries, a barber shop and a family restaurant. There are only a few other pedestrians going about their business, moms pushing babies in strollers, kids on bicycles enjoying a summer day of freedom. He covers music of course, classic cars, his favorite tourist traps, and the diners with the best pies in the country. He talks about how Romero’s zombies are so much cooler than actual zombies, how he doesn’t understand how Virginia is for lovers when all their motels suck, and why in the hell do people even like strip malls, anyway? “They’re freaky is what they are,” he says.
Cas listens, nods occasionally, but Dean suspects he’s still not ready to talk, not really. Not about Heaven, or his brothers and sisters. Not about the shit he’s feeling now that he’s fallen. But Dean’s okay with filling the silences, giving Cas time to find the right words.
They find a local record store tucked between a coin-operated laundry-mat and a clapboard church. When they enter the shop, the bell hanging above the door chimes, and a grey calico cat nearly jumps into Castiel’s arms, but then settles for curling around his ankles, and purring up at him until Cas kneels down to pet and whisper to it. Dean chuckles and heads over to the piles of CDs crammed tight on the shelves. But what he’s really looking for are the big bins stuffed with records. Dean thumbs through a number of classic rock titles, and settles on a Black Sabbath album he’s always wanted on vinyl. He also purchases a poster for his wall – an AC/DC concert poster from their 1980 Back in Black tour. He looks for something for Cas as well, because Cas is looking kind of lost as he scrunches up his face and intently examines a collection of dusty records while cradling a purring cat in his arms. Dean finds an Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong collaboration on vinyl, something Dean thinks Cas will like based on some of the records he seems to have taken a liking to at the bunker during their impromptu music sessions.
"Thank you for this," Castiel says, after Dean’s made their final purchases, and they’ve headed back outside. Cas is holding the record in his hands, fingers caressing the cover.
"No biggie," Dean says, shrugging, trying his best to downplay it.
Cas looks straight ahead, eyes taking in the long, quiet street. “Biggie or not, this has been an enjoyable date.” He looks at Dean directly and says, “I have enjoyed you, Dean.”
Dean feels the heat flush his cheeks, something sticky and warm wrapping itself around his ribcage, making it hard to breathe. Dean wants to say something about how this is so not a date so it’s not a big deal, how this is just a thing they can do sometimes together, but Cas is watching him with knowing, deep, ancient eyes, and it looks like he understands all the things Dean’s not going to be able to say about any of this anyway. So they keep walking.
They come to the edge of the river, and on the other side of it, acres of maple and pine loom heavy and thick. The tree Cas wanted to see is here as well, a huge, looming, hulking thing that’s kind of incredible to stand under. It’s really friggin’ old, Dean can tell, the wilderness training he grew up with enough to familiarize him with the life cycles of trees.
And it’s here, standing underneath Castiel’s old-ass sequoia, that the ‘not a date’ feels a lot like ‘a date’ because Cas kisses him, out here in front of all of nature and small-town Kansas. The day is hot and humid, and they’ve both been working up a sweat all afternoon, so Cas smells spicy and tangy in the ways Dean’s come to love about him. Dean almost overbalances when Cas leans forward, but Cas reaches up, holds fast to Dean’s shoulders, and opens his mouth over Dean’s in a way that should be fucking illegal in all 50 states.
They’ve kissed before, lots of times since that first time in their tent at the mid-year jubilee. But sometimes Dean still goes a little weak in the knees. Kissing Cas is kind of overwhelming, the smell of Cas, the way his tongue pushes into Dean’s mouth like it’s found its home, like Dean’s mouth is a place he wants to know completely. This kiss still kind of tastes like strawberry filling, so fucking sweet and hot, and Dean feels like he’s drowning. Cas pulls back only enough to press his mouth to Dean’s throat, mumbling something that sounds suspiciously like Enochian. And Cas might be fallen, but he’s still this ancient force of will and strength that Dean’s still trying to wrap his mind around, and Dean’s man enough to admit he’s kind of insanely crazy about him.
So what if Cas isn’t superman anymore. So what if he can’t go all smitey, saving Dean and Sam’s ass with the force of a lightning storm, and then zapping off before he can answer any of the hard questions. He’s human now; vulnerable in ways he’s never been. He’s still damn smart though, even if sometimes clueless (who the hell can operate a washing machine anyway?). He’s still weird as fuck, but Dean’s kind of weird too, so. Maybe they kind of make sense in the way that nothing in Dean’s life actually makes any sense. Heh.
Cas kisses him dizzy, their chins and cheeks scratching together, their arms gripping, their hips grinding, their bodies twisting to accommodate each other. Cas is kissing Dean like Dean’s his oxygen. Dean knows there are fallen angels walking the earth, a new regime in Hell, but fuck it because he’s got Cas. He’s got Cas, and maybe, just maybe this time Cas will stay.
"Fuck," Dean sighs when they break apart, breathless. His lips linger, swollen and spit-slick, over Castiel’s left cheek.
"Fuck indeed," Cas mumbles against Dean’s jawline, and Dean wants to laugh because Cas never ever swears. But Castiel’s hands flex on Dean’s shoulders, and then he’s kissing Dean again and fuck, fuck, fuck indeed.
Dean wakes at some point later that night, groggy and sleep-heavy, the slippery feel of deep-blue dreams tickling at his mind. He’s been dreaming good things lately and sleeping through the night, his usual nightmares kept at bay by the curl of warmth at his back.
Castiel’s warmth presses up against Dean from behind even now, and the powdery scent of freshly-laundered sheets fills his nose as he tugs the covers up over them. He stares into the darkness of the room for a few moments, eyes adjusting quickly as he takes in the familiar shapes of his modest furnishings – his side-table and typewriter, his record collection, the lumpy pile of his and Castiel’s clothes on the floor. Mostly though, Dean’s soaking up the moment, the sleepy, relaxed heaviness of his limbs, the soft rhythm of Castiel’s snoring, and the pleasant throb between his legs, begging attention.
Dean shifts a little again, trying not to wake Cas, but Castiel’s breathing stutters and the fallen angel moves closer, his arm coming up and wrapping around Dean’s waist. “Dean?” Castiel mumbles, his voice raspy, sleep-thick, and so damn deep.
Dean smiles, turning around to face Castiel. Cas is watching him, eyes puffy and half-closed, and he’s looking grumpy and sleep-ruffled. Dean leans closer until they’re resting their heads on the same pillow, and he pulls the covers up around their shoulders again.
Their eyes meet, and Dean says, “Sorry to wake ya. It’s ass-crack o’ dawn early.”
"I could tell," Cas murmurs drowsily. "I was dreaming."
"What about?" Dean asks as he slides closer, the heat beneath the blankets drawing him back under.
Castiel’s eyes slip shut, and he breathes in deeply. “Flying.”
Dean presses their foreheads together then, his fingers trailing down the back of Castiel’s neck and settling there. “That’s one of the most common dreams for humans,” he explains softly.
"And fallen angels," Castiel says on the barest whisper, eyes still closed.
"I guess that makes sense," Dean says, not sure what else to say.
They’re quiet together for a long moment, and Dean begins to wonder if Cas has fallen back asleep. He’s thinking about ways to best extract himself to go and take care of his erection when Cas surges forward and kisses him. Dean is only momentarily surprised before he falls into it, welcomes Castiel’s seeking tongue, the warm, wet heat of his mouth, the feel of his teeth pressing against his lips, the soft hint of morning breath and the scrape of stubble. Dean welcomes everything about Cas.
When they pull away, Dean bites at his bottom lip for a moment, sighs and tips forward until his forehead presses against Castiel’s again, his heart thumping, a soft nervousness pushing through his veins. He’s contemplating how to say what’s on his mind. He decides on, “Cas, look, I know shit’s been rough.”
Castiel’s face seems to shut down, and he mumbles, “Dean, I don’t want to talk about it.”
Stubborn to the last.
Dean exhales a breath. “You suck at talking.”
"I’m aware," Castiel quips, and then goes quiet.
Dean sighs, then asks, “Your feet been doing better at least?”
"Much better," Castiel says, but his lips turn down, and he looks tired and surly as he adds: "I still don’t understand why one is required to go through so much pain in order to ‘break in’ a pair of new boots."
"Sometimes the pain…it takes going through it to get to where we need to be," Dean says, and he knows it sounds really fucking stupid and cliché, and Dr. Phil would side-eye him so hard, but Dean kind of sucks at talking too sometimes. He knows how to make Cas his favorite burger when he’s looking like a grumpy sourpuss (bacon cheddar with caramelized onions and mushrooms on wheat), and he knows how to distract him with kisses whenever he’s about to argue with him about Dean’s choice of late-night TV programming.
But this being human thing? Dean’s not even sure he’s got that part down himself, and he doesn’t really know how to catch up an aeons-old angel of the lord on the weird quirks and pitfalls of humanity.
Dean traces the curve of Castiel’s frown, fingers moving tentatively along the dimpled crease in his forehead. “Just take it one day at a time, Cas,” he whispers, letting his thumb drag down across Castiel’s lower lip, pausing there.
Castiel looks over at him, reaches out and places his hand over Dean’s hand, joining their fingers together. He leans in, and Dean’s not surprised this time. Cas likes kissing; it’s their new favorite pastime actually. Their eyelashes brush together, their noses bump, and their lips meet, pressing and clinging. The kiss is sweet and warming, and Dean smiles into it.
"Back to sleep now?" Dean asks as Cas pulls away, licking his lips and watching Cas lick his own in turn.
"Yes, let’s sleep," Castiel says.
Dean smiles, and turns around again so that his back is to Castiel. And Cas takes up his favorite position – snuggling against Dean’s back, spooning him from behind. Castiel’s hand slides from Dean’s hip and settles on his belly. Dean closes his eyes, seeks out the foggy memory of his dreams.
Dean still new to dealing with this – the sense of rightness seeping into his bones that he feels whenever Castiel’s hands spread firm and wide on his skin. Castiel’s touch is so grounding it makes Dean breathless.
"Go to sleep, Dean," Cas whispers close to Dean’s ear, his voice low and rough, the sleepy sound of it going straight to Dean’s cock.
"M’sleeping," Dean mutters, but he doesn’t argue when Cas wraps his arm tighter, one of his legs pushing in between Dean’s own.
Cas is warm, his body heat better than any blanket. The feel of his body against Dean’s sends a spark though him, images and ideas that Dean’s not sure they’re ready for, but Dean knows they’ll play out in full color and detail in his dreams. Castiel’s breathing evens out, and Dean expects the man is finally drifting back to sleep. But Cas surprises him again when he starts to kiss the back of Dean’s neck, soft and tentative.
"You call this sleeping," Dean teases, and Cas responds by sliding a hand across Dean’s jawline, pausing his thumb against Dean’s lips, swiping side to side.
"Your mind definitely isn’t on sleep," Castiel says, pressing a kiss against Dean’s nape again.
Dean follows that up by parting his lips, flicking out his tongue to taste Castiel’s thumb, running his tongue along the side of Castiel’s finger and across his cuticle.
Castiel makes a grunting sound, pressing another finger against Dean’s mouth, and Dean parts his lips, opens up wider and sucks in both digits. He holds them inside his mouth, lets his tongue swirl around each one, his teeth graze over the ridges of skin. He nips at them gently.
"Dean," Cas whispers roughly, his breath tickling the tiny hairs at he back of Dean’s neck, sending a shiver racing across his body.
Dean answers by sucking harder, working Castiel’s fingers like they’re the tastiest thing in the whole damn world, and Castiel pushes closer, his cock a solid, hard heat through his boxers, pressed up against Dean’s ass.
"Dean," Castiel growls again, and Dean releases Castiel’s fingers with a pop.
Dean’s smirking when Castiel slides his fingers, saliva-slick and soft, across Dean’s cheek, palming his hand around Dean’s face as Dean turns his head. Castiel’s other hand slips to the dip of Dean’s hipbone, curving there protectively. Dean turns the rest of the way onto his back, facing Castiel.
"What can I say," Dean says softly, smile widening as he thinks back to the diner earlier. "I really really like your fingers.”
"I’ve noticed," Castiel says, and he’s smiling now too.
Dean leans up and presses a soft kiss against Castiel’s mouth before trailing his lips down his stubbled jaw to the softer, paler skin of his throat. The kisses are gentle and slow, and their pace matches Castiel’s hand as it slides across Dean’s waist, pulling Dean closer. Dean pauses at the skin underneath Castiel’s ear, licking there and applying the right amount of pressure over his pulse point as he sucks. Castiel shivers, and then takes Dean’s head between his hands and pulls their lips back together, his tongue thorough and slow, coaxing deep into Dean’s mouth. Cas is like a snake coiling tight around Dean, and Dean closes his eyes, not wanting this to end, his thighs cradling Castiel’s body. They move together, falling into the thrill-jolt of skin on skin, the push-pull of hands on hips, the smooth-slide of kiss after kiss after kiss.
Dean feels like Cas is breaking him wide, laying him bare, the bunker like a quiet cocoon all around them. Dean gets lost in the warmth of Castiel’s mouth, in the press of his hands, in the arms of a friend he’s been chasing for years.
Cas is finally home.
When Dean wakes again later, before he even opens his eyes, he knows that it’s daytime, can feel it in the way his natural clock and morning rhythms respond to the coming day. He shifts slowly, adjusting to the sleepy, relaxed heaviness of his limbs, and the heat of Cas wrapped around him. Dean has gotten used to waking up with Cas tangled against him. Just like he’s gotten used to the constant throb between his legs in the morning. He knows Cas has his own throbbing to deal with; Dean’s noticed that Cas will sneak out of bed early in the morning to take care of it, and most days Dean wants to stop him, to say, ‘Hey, let me take care of it for you.’ But they haven’t gone there yet, even though Dean knows they both want to. The awkward scene from the bathroom last weekend is still imprinted in his mind, but it’s not something they’ve talked about.
Dean spends the next fifteen minutes in an internal battle of wills with his own self-control, but he makes up his mind. When he feels Cas shifting into wakefulness, the press of his cock warm and heavy against Dean’s thigh, Dean doesn’t move away like he usually does. Dean instead moves toward Cas.
"Mmmh?" Cas mumbles, his head popping up from under the covers; he blinks up at Dean, eyes cloudy-blue and hair tussled and sticking up. He starts to roll away, probably after he realizes he’s got a huge stiffy, but Dean throws an arm over his shoulders and holds him in place.
"Dean?" Cas asks, frowning.
Dean’s not sure what he should say, but he thinks they need to stop avoiding this, sneaking out of bed to get off in the bathroom or in the shower every morning. But he still doesn’t know if he should push things because in a lot of ways they are both new to this. Cas didn’t spend a millennia seeding the clouds, and Dean’s only been with a few other guys, mostly drunken fumbles in bar bathrooms, and even the less seedy encounters never lasted more than a night, and they were never anything serious. He couldn’t let them be. But this thing with Cas moved past serious…probably years ago if Dean’s honest with himself.
Dean sighs, trying not to overthink it. He settles for dropping a kiss to Castiel’s temple and rumbling, “Hey there Cas.”
Cas frowns again, face scrunching up adorably as he runs a hand through his hair. “Hello, Dean.”
"I guess eating leftover pie and watching Sharknado wasn’t the best idea after a long day,” Dean says, grinning.
"I enjoyed our date yesterday…and last night," Cas says, and Dean’s wondering if Cas is talking about their crazy sci-fi movie marathon or if he’s thinking back to Dean sucking on his fingers in the wee hours of the morning, and hot damn, his cock is not settling down at that memory.
"I should…" Cas says, probably feeling Dean’s excitement.
"Wait!" Dean starts, then stops. He takes a breath and says, "I mean you don’t have to pull away or leave. If you wanna stay that’s cool too."
Cas raises his head up and takes a good look at Dean, and Dean can sense that he’s trying to read Dean, work something out. So Dean takes another deep breath, and rolls closer, sliding their bodies together in a way that he hopes is self-explanatory, the heavy weight of their cocks lining up, pressing together, getting to know each other.
Cas gasps at the contact and says, his voice still rough from sleep, “Oh.”
"Is that okay?" Dean asks hurriedly, because he doesn’t really know what he’s doing with Cas other than trying to figure shit out. "Are you all right with this?"
Cas looks at him, eyes dark and clouded-over as he answers with a rumbling, “Yes.”
"Then maybe… can we try something else?" Dean asks, looking for any sign of hesitation or doubt in Castiel’s face, any desire to dash to the bathroom and take care of this himself.
Cas stares at him hard, intense like he’s thinking about it seriously, but then his expression softens, relaxes, and his lips quirk into a soft smile. He raises a hand and cups Dean’s cheek, his fingers warm where they press into Dean’s skin. “I’d like for us to try something.”
Dean smiles, heart in his throat as he grunts out, “Cool, cool then. Okay. Yeah.” He sucks in a deep breath and then looks Cas over, eyeing the soft, curious tilt of his head, the press of his shoulders through his thin t-shirt. Dean’s hand comes up to slide against the collar of Castiel’s shirt. “Maybe we can start by getting rid of this stuff?”
Cas looks down at his shirt, tracing his finger over the collar as well. “I do find clothing to be incredibly restricting.”
"I’ve noticed. Walking around shirtless and half-naked all the time. Driving me crazy. You’re kind of freaky, dude," Dean huffs out a laugh. He slides them apart and sits up in the middle of the bed up so that he can begin taking off his own shirt.
Dean has no idea why this feels like some huge thing; it’s not like they’re two virgins on their prom night, for crying out loud. He’s gotten naked so many times before, and Cas has seen him down to his friggin’ naked-ass soul, but still Dean’s hands shake a little, and he can feel heat spreading over his skin, and his fingers fumble stupidly when he pulls his shirt over his head and slides his boxers down his legs. He looks up in time to see Cas throw his own clothing over the side of the bed, and then kneel there in the middle of the bed, long and wholly naked and beautiful, his skin a soft moon-hue in the cool shadows of the room. Dean’s belly clenches at the sight of him.
"Much better," Castiel says.
Dean swallows, eyes tracking over his Castiel’s body, his miles of tight, corded muscles, and hot, smooth skin. Apparently there had been a whole lot of Cas hidden by the soft folds of his clothing. “You’re so…yeah, naked is a good look on you, man.”
Cas looks down at himself, a hand coming to rest on his chest, circling over his heart. “I’m learning this body slowly, learning its needs and desires. Learning to fluently speak its many languages.”
Dean bites his bottom lip and grins, shaking his head. “You’re doing good, whatever it is.”
"I never knew," Cas says, quieting for a moment and frowning as if he’s searching for the right words. "How much…how much you could feel in these bodies, how much there is to experience through them. I’ve always thought them to be so limiting, but…" Cas stops and looks up at Dean, a hint of a smile cresting his lips. "When you’re near me, Dean. When you touch me, I feel as if…I feel as I’m catching fire. I feel so much, so immensely."
"Cas," Dean croaks out, something raw and unwieldy twisting in his chest. He reaches out a hand and touches the warm, smooth skin of Castiel’s shoulder, lets his hand settle there. He’s having a hard time making words come out of his mouth, feeling too shaken, too taken aback. He coughs, clears his throat and manages to mumble out, "You make me feel stuff too, dude. Like crazy stuff. I don’t know, man. You make me feel like…"
Dean has to stop because he doesn’t have the words for it, for this thing that presses up inside of him every time Cas is near. So he stops talking, and looks up to see if Cas understands.
Cas is watching him, his eyes sliding over Dean’s naked body in a slow, almost lazy caress; he’s watching Dean as if Dean’s the only thing worth watching. “We don’t have to talk anymore, Dean. We can just…” he pauses, reaching out to press his hand against Dean’s chest, over the tattoo covering his heart. “Do something.”
Dean laughs, feels himself relaxing, and he smiles over at Cas; something spins loose in his chest when Cas smiles back. “Okay,” he says.
Dean hesitates though; he doesn’t want to rush or push, so he just says, “How ‘bout we try laying down for a while?”
Cas nods his agreement, and Dean pushes back into the bed, pulling back the covers and settling down under them. Cas follows, sliding down beside Dean and looking at him. They’re side by side now, naked bodies maybe an inch apart.
Dean looks at Cas, at the soft pink of his lips, the flush that’s covering his chest, the way his eyes keep mapping over Dean. Cas reaches out a hand, but hesitates.
"You can touch me, Cas, if you want. It’s okay," Dean says, reaching out and capturing Castiel’s hand and bringing it down to his stomach.
Dean releases his hand, and Castiel takes over, massaging his fingers into Dean’s belly, which nearly sends Dean giggling, because hello ticklish. Cas then moves his hand up toward Dean’s chest, tracing Dean’s tattoo again, and slowly mapping Dean’s skin, ribcage to collarbone. Dean tries to be as still as possible, eyes locked on the careful way Castiel’s hand moves down his side, before resting lightly on Dean’s shoulder. The shoulder where his handprint used to be.
"I held you there as I remade you," Castiel says quietly. He traces the tips of his fingers down Dean’s forearm, ghosting along Dean’s elbow.
Dean’s sucking in tiny, shuddering breaths, his flesh coming alive under Castiel’s fingers. Castiel’s touches are gentle, reverent almost. “I thought your soul so beautiful, and then I found that the body I weaved around your soul, was extraordinary as well.”
Dean feels heat spread across his face, and he squirms. “Cas…”
"You’re embarrassed by that," Castiel says, head tilting; he sounds surprised.
"It’s just weird," Dean says, shrugging. "The way we met…I mean, dude, it’s weird. You can’t deny that.”
Castiel’s eyes crinkle, a small curve presses at the corners of his lips. “Very weird.”
Dean exhales a little. “Your father…and the other angels, they forbid you all from doing this kind of thing right? Angels and humans shall not ‘get it on’?”
"It’s a blasphemy," Castiel says quietly. "Forbidden. But of course, my brothers and sisters…"
"Were sneaky little bastards," Dean finishes, smirking. "I’m surprised there was only one nephilim walking the earth."
Castiel’s face turns serious when he says, “And I was the one to kill her.”
"Hey hey now, none of that," Dean says, reaching up and cupping Castiel’s chin. "This is me and you getting naked time, okay? All that other stuff? We don’t need to bring it in here. All right?"
Cas reaches up and takes Dean’s hand and folds their fingers together. Cas likes to hold hands. “All right.” He releases Dean’s hand to return to exploring Dean’s body, dragging his knuckles along the bottom edge of Dean’s ribs. It feels so good that Dean has to bite his lip to suppress the moan in his throat; he’s fighting for a stillness he’s never been good at keeping.
All the while, Castiel continues to explore Dean’s chest. Dean’s breath hitches as Castiel’s hand works its way lower, crawling over the hills of Dean’s ribcage, until his palm slips down just underneath Dean’s bellybutton where the sheet barely covers Dean’s nest of honey-gold curls.
"Dean," Cas whispers and he leans in and kisses Dean, slides his tongue across Dean’s lips until he can slip it inside. Their tongues tangle together, and Cas kisses him harder, nothing shy about it, and Dean’s shaking with the force of it. All the while Castiel’s fingers keep sweeping long circles across Dean’s belly before drifting lower, teasing the soft border of his groin. With every press of Castiel’s fingers, Dean feels his breath catching, the muscles in his stomach rippling as Cas eases down. Dean wants to laugh because Cas seems to love his belly button so damn much, but then every sound is taken from him when Cas finally sinks his hand beneath the sheet and finds Dean’s cock.
Dean bucks up, and Cas is suddenly pulling away, but Dean meets his eyes. “Please,” he says, his voice ground low and thick, and so fucking needy. “Please keep touching me, Cas. Don’t stop.”
"Tell me what you need me to do," Cas breathes out, easing his hand back down and wrapping his fingers around Dean’s blood-thick shaft.
"You’re doing it," Dean says, voice shaking as he pushes his hips up. Castiel’s hold tightens even more. The feel of Castiel’s hand is amazing, and Dean keeps talking him through it, "Just like when you’re getting yourself off, Cas. Keep it slow for me. We got time."
Cas meets Dean’s eyes, and his hand starts moving, stroking Dean, once, twice, from head to tip. He’s careful, pulling softly, experimenting with the weight of Dean in his palm, the angle of his hold. It’s different, having Cas holding him like this, and Dean feels suddenly vulnerable, laid bare in a way he doesn’t let himself get often.
"Do you enjoy it this way too?" Castiel asks, and he rolls his wrist again, pulling harder in way that has Dean seeing stars. All Dean can do is release a shuttered breath, his hips jerking up as he rushes out, "Yes, fuck. Just like that, Cas."
Castiel starts to finger the wet and swollen head of Dean’s cock, his thumb moving across Dean’s slit and spreading around the drops of pre-come. “Cas, please,” Dean breaths out, and Cas responds by wrapping his whole hand around Dean’s length, fisting it in several long, quick tugs.
Dean thinks back to the bathroom last week, watching Castiel stroke himself hard and fast, and dreaming of this very moment, when Castiel would take Dean into his hand. Dean reaches down, wrapping his hand around Castiel’s hand on his cock, and Cas looks up.
"We can do it together too," Dean says, and Castiel’s eyes darken, his hand easing back into Dean’s.
They start moving together, Dean thrusting up into the tight heat of their combined fists. Just when Dean feels like he’s on the edge of falling apart, Cas stops and Dean stops, and Cas looks up, growling breathlessly, “I think I’d like to touch more of you.”
"Yeah, yeah, that would be fucking awesome too," Dean breathes, and it’s a little embarrassing how fast he moves when Cas sits up and climbs over him, draping the whole length of his body across Dean’s. Castiel’s hard erection slides over Dean’s belly, and Dean’s cock fits into the soft curve of Castiel’s thighs.
Dean relaxes as Cas rolls his body over his, enveloping him in the cage of his arms. Castiel’s hands are suddenly everywhere, sliding through Dean’s hair, caressing his face, and finally coming around to hold Dean close, fingers digging firmly into Dean’s hips. He whispers Dean’s name, low and heated as their cocks slide together perfectly. In the dim light of the shadowed room, their eyes lock, and then they’re moving again, bodies rocking together, finding a slow, perfect rhythm.
When Cas moves in for a kiss, he rocks faster against Dean, and Dean gasps against Castiel’s lips as the fallen angel rocks his hips down with sharp, desperate thrusts.
“Easy now, Cas,” Dean whispers, kissing Cas softly and slowing down their movements. “I’m not going anywhere.”
"I feel so…" Cas grunts out, voice heavy with impatience, his hands reaching out to run over Dean’s sides, to grip at Dean’s arms as they grind together. Cas is grasping at Dean like every part of Dean is something he wants to hold on to.
"I know, Cas," Dean whispers, because he’s never felt quite this crazy before, this on the verge of tumbling off some huge cliff. But for once, Dean’s not worried about where he’ll land. He hasn’t felt this sure about anything in a long time, expect maybe in Purgatory, when he knew the one thing he needed to do: find Cas and get them home.
Dean claims Castiel’s mouth now with his own, sucking on Castiel’s tongue as Cas grinds down into him, pushing Dean into the mattress, sliding his hands into the curves of Dean’s hipbones and clutching tight.
Their cocks catch and drag together, and Dean tries to keep up with the manic pace they’ve created, his fingers clutching and clawing into Castiel’s muscled back. They’re both going to be bruised black and blue tomorrow.
Dean’s learning Castiel’s body as they move together, mapping the hard muscles and graceful ridges, following the solid strength in his movements. There are things Dean’s always loved about Cas – his hairy legs and stubbled jaw. The pointed arch of his nose and the soft swell of his lips after hours of kissing. The feel of his cock is new though, long and curved, flushed beautifully as it presses against Dean’s own. There’s a hot pool of wanting deep in Dean’s chest, and every time Castiel thrusts, it reaches out for him.
“Dean,” Castiel whispers against his neck, breath moist and warm as it curls against Dean’s ear. “I need…”
"Yeah, me too," Dean whispers, one hand coming up to hold on tight to Castiel’s waist as his other hand reaches down between them and finds their cocks and rolls them together. Cas jerks forward, groaning, his legs sliding between Dean’s own as he pushes up with his hips.
"Is this good?" Dean asks in between breaths.
"More than," Castiel whispers against Dean’s neck. "I want to experience everything with you."
Cas pulls up so that he is leaning over Dean, hands coming up to rest on each side of Dean’s face as he moves forward to kiss him, messy and quick, before pulling back and pushing one of his own hands down between their bodies, his fingers tangling with Dean’s over their cocks. They stroke each other together, their cocks rolling hard and warm and heavy between them.
Dean knows they’re getting close when Castiel’s movements begin to stutter, his fingers tightening around Dean’s fist. Dean can feel the muscles in his own stomach clenching, the heat riding his veins like a wildfire.
"Dean, please," Cas pants, sucking in breath after breath, bringing up his spare hand to dig into the soft flesh of Dean’s left shoulder. He leans in and presses his mouth against Dean’s.
"You ready to come for me, Cas?" Dean whispers against Castiel’s mouth, teeth tugging at Castiel’s bottom lip, before Cas leans closer, swiping his tongue in slow, languid glides through Dean’s mouth.
They pull apart, and Cas makes a mewling sound, seizing up in Dean’s arms, his hips jerking uncontrollably as he thrusts into their joined fists. Dean watches Cas break apart, his face flushed red, spine arching tight, and his eyelashes pressing dark crescents against his cheeks as his eyes close. He spills between them, warm and slick and sloppy, but it’s the sounds Castiel’s making that take Dean’s breath away. It’s like he’s coming undone, falling again, gasping and whimpering like maybe this is one of the most amazing things he’s felt in his long angelic life.
The rush of his own orgasm hits Dean as he watches Cas, a whiplash sharp pleasure coursing through him as he thrusts up in small, quick movements. He releases their cocks in time to grab a hold of Castiel’s arms, his body quaking as he spurts all over Castiel’s stomach, splashing come across Castiel’s hips. Cas grinds down into Dean’s body as Dean rides it out. Dean’s breathless, whispering Castiel’s name, calling for him.
They come down together, face to face, sharing shaky breaths between them. Cas is beautiful like this, wild-eyed and wild-haired, mouth wet and eyes hooded dark. His skin is sweat-slick and flushed deep, and there’s something that looks like awe in his eyes.
"Was that," Dean says, still trying to catch his breath. "Was that okay, Cas?"
"That was incredible,” Castiel hums in answer, sounding high as a fucking kite and going higher still. He leans in and kisses Dean softly. Dean can feel Castiel’s ratcheting heartbeat against his chest, and Dean responds by bending his head, gently mouthing and kissing at the juncture of Castiel’s throat and shoulder, tasting and tasting, everything.
They lay together for a long while, uncaring of their mess of sheets and the stickiness of their skin. The air is heavy, thick with the scents of sweat and sex. Dean’s hand strokes down the side of Castiel’s face in a slow, aimless caress; Castiel’s eyes are closed and his breathing is soft and even, head pressed against Dean’s neck.
"I gave you an orgasm today," Castiel whispers into Dean’s skin, and he sounds so damn proud of himself.
"Yeah, yeah, stop bragging, bucko," Dean says, rolling his eyes, but he can feel himself smiling wide. He slings an arm around Cas and pulls him even more snug against his body.
“Why didn’t we do this sooner?” Dean huffs the question against the top of Castiel’s head before pressing a kiss there. “Like five years ago sooner.”
"Maybe because I was an angel?" Castiel replies, frowning as he turns to look up at Dean. "If I still had my grace would the idea of us be too…disturbing for you?"
"Man, I wanted you when you were an angel," Dean admits softly. "I wanted you so bad, Cas. But I was too chickenshit to do anything about it. I thought…I never thought you’d want me like this. I never thought you’d want to stay. I never even thought it was a possibility that we could be this way together. Given everything." With them it was always the wrong place, wrong time. Apocalypse, Hell, Heaven, Purgatory, betrayal and loss. Separations too many to count.
"You thought you’d lose me again?" Castiel asks, voice soft.
"Maybe," Dean says on a low hush. "I lose people. It’s a hardcore fact of my life."
Cas leans up then and presses cool lips over Dean’s forehead, sliding them over each cheek before landing on his mouth. Whispers, “I know.”
Dean closes his eyes for a moment, and then opens them to look at Cas. “I want you, Cas. I don’t care what you are. Angel, human, tentacled sea monster. I don’t really care. You’re you. You’re Cas.”
Cas frowns, looking away. After a beat, he whispers, “What I am is weak, Dean.”
"Fuck that noise, man," Dean huffs. Cas is the strongest, fiercest, most beautiful thing Dean’s ever seen, hands down. "I know you. You rebelled against Heaven, against your family, against Naomi’s whacked-out mind-control. You’re so freaking…you amaze me, okay dude?"
"You amaze me too," Castiel says, focusing in on Dean with a serious look.
"Whatever, Cas," Dean snorts, and so what if he’s the one to look away this time.
"You give me compliments, but shy away when I give you compliments," Castiel tells him quietly. "You don’t believe anyone would choose to stay with you. Would see the good in you."
"Can we stop talking now and go back to cuddling or s’mthing?" Dean mumbles, because this is getting way too close to shit he can’t think about. Ever.
"You’re impossible," Castiel sighs, threading their fingers together.
"Says the fallen angel with a penchant for rule-breaking," Dean cracks.
Cas leans closer and slips a hand down Dean’s stomach, mumbles into Dean’s ear, “You like when I break rules, Dean.”
Dean is so turned on right then that he laughs out loud, and soon Cas joins in, releasing these full-bellied warm chuckles that feel so new coming from his mouth, that he almost seems surprised to be making the sounds. Dean shifts so that Cas can snuggle under his chin again, their legs tangling together, and their spent cocks pressing flush against their thighs.
One hurdle passed, even if Dean really can’t believe it took them years to get here, to pull back every single layer between them, and to just…be intimate, be honest. Dean knows there’s still a shit-ton of things for them to think about, but right now Cas feels warm and good against him, and Dean’s not even surprised when Cas leans closer and whispers in his ear, “Can we do that again?”
And Dean’s got to wonder if all fallen angels have Castiel’s stamina. He turns into Castiel, and they share a kiss, quick and dirty, and Dean mumbles against Castiel’s lips, “Gonna wear me out, good, huh Cas?”
"It’s you who suggested we have years to make up for," Castiel says, and they both laugh again, mouth to mouth, bodies rolling together, sinking deeper into Dean’s memory foam.
Dean curls against Cas, and Cas runs his fingers through Dean’s hair. Dean closes his eyes, tries to slow his rushing heartbeat, while Cas slides his fingers to Dean’s mouth, trails them across his lips, following the curve of his smile.
"Ready?" Cas asks quietly, like it’s a secret.
"Damn right I’m ready," Dean whispers, winking at Cas. "Orgasm number two here we come."