Closer 2/2 (Sequel to Good Vibrations)
Title: Closer
Fandom/Pairing: Supernatural - Dean and Cas boning.
Author: Ainoche
Words: 9220
Warnings: Men banging each other. Sam being a pain in the ass. AU after 7.18-ish. We're pretending that after Sam and Dean left Cas with Meg, this shit went down.
Summary: At his brother's insistence, Dean returns to find Cas at the asylum to see what can be done to fix him.
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They found the room fairly easily, and Cas stood in the doorway a bit longer than was normal, glancing from object to object, his blue eyes perfectly round. Maybe he was seeing a different room somewhere else, Dean didn't know. Eventually, Cas shuffled forward and caught the sleeve of Dean's jacket between his fingers, just a little closer than personal space would usually allow.
Maybe the angel was afraid of red pillow-top comforters. Maybe Lucifer was sitting on one of the beds, teasing the shit out of him. Whatever the case, Dean didn't shake off the hand on his sleeve, he just looked down at it and waited, because he didn't know what it meant.
"You listened to the recording, then," Cas said, and shut the door with his free hand. He moved to the first bed and stood by the edge of it, not meeting Dean's eyes, and let his hand slip away. Maybe he was blushing, but it was hard to tell because they hadn't bothered with the light. "It... came out differently than I had intended."
Dean snorted and searched for something to look at that wasn't Cas. He couldn't keep his eyes away, not for the life in him, the alarm clock just was not distracting enough. Nothing was. And they were going to have this conversation eventually, either now or later, and later wouldn't just be worse, later would be too late. "It was... nice, though. Better that some of the crap on the internet."
"I..." Cas stopped there, shaking his head. "Dean, I don't..." He made a helpless gesture, which was not something that Cas generally did. His hand moved like a broken winged bird through the air, awkward and fumbling, before it fluttered to his side and remained there, still. "Why is it so difficult to speak to you about things we already know about?"
"You're nervous?"
"Yes."
"I make you nervous?"
"I've never had... relations with a human man, Dean. I've never confessed to the things... that I think about. When I made that recording, I thought I was dead. It never occurred to me that I would live to see you after you'd listened to it."
Dean took a step toward the angel, running on instinct. This wasn't a woman that he had to seduce, this was Cas, who had been his friend for a long while, who had been an honorary family member before everything had gone to Hell in a hand-basket. He didn't think he could put down his armor and say the things he'd said in his prayers, but he could still feel them, locked up in a cage crafted from courage and fear, bottled up in the back of his mind where he hadn't had to think about them. "I said some things, too, you know. I dunno if you heard me or not, but... if I'd thought you could..."
"The echos I heard never made much sense to me," Cas admitted. "But I understand what you're trying to say now. And there should be nothing awkward or discouraging about having our... attachments requited."
"That's one way of saying it."
The corners of Castiel's mouth turned up in a weak, pinched smile.
Dean realized a bit belatedly that he had placed himself well with Cas's personal bubble, close enough that he knew he should feel awkward about it. He didn't. Instead, he felt the angel shift just a fraction of an inch closer, like he wanted to touch but was not sure if he had been invited. "Then we've only got one more thing to ask, don't we?" Dean's voice came to his own ears in a breathy sort of whisper. "Where do we go from here? We know the score, we know the field. It ain't like it's all better. But if there's something good mixed up in all of this, I don't know if I wanna walk away from it. I don't know if I can."
"I may yet lose myself, Dean. You know that." The words were a sure warning, spoken like prophecy.
"I brought you back once, I'll do it again." Dean almost believed it himself.
"But you must know that there is no guarantee how long this will last. How long I will last." Cas met his eyes in the dark and their colorlessness was almost enough to unnerve the hunter. Vaguely, Dean had to wonder if Cas could still make out every freckle on his face or if they were equally blind in the fading light. "I'm not healed, Dean."
"Shut up then, time's a-wasting." He rocked forward on his toes and Cas rocked to meet him, fingers brushed fabric, just the barest whisper of contact. It wasn't like what had happened at the hospital. It was fundamentally different. The tension between them was two-fold and desperate, and the shadows between them made it easier for Dean to let every uncertainty he felt show on his face, hidden and exposed at once, terrified and hopeful. Whatever the tug was that he had felt between them brought his palm to the side of Cas's face, his skin catching on stubble, and he slipped his right foot forward, brought his leg flush against the angel's. To say that he could feel the other man's body heat would have been a lie - too many layers of clothing between them - but he felt something else, something like a shiver in the air that raised the hairs on his arms and caught his breath in his throat.
It didn't matter that Cas's physical body was male, or that the chest under Dean's hand was hard instead of soft, or that he only really knew what he was doing in theory. The press of fingers to his hip bones and the slightly open mouth pressed to his, mattered. For the moment, both were his. For the moment, both required his absolute, undivided attention.
In his lifetime, Dean had had a lot of sex, but that didn't mean he was absolutely prepared for the moment Cas tugged him forward and pressed them flush, body to body. There were curves to Cas that he never paid attention to before, like the dip of his waist, the angle of his chest, the gentle slope of his shoulders beneath the fabric of his coat. The scrape of facial hair against Dean's chin was somewhat new but not unpleasant. And beneath the physical contact there was something more, something like a thread, that he could barely sense, like the memory of a rope tied around his hand.
Somehow, the thought brought to mind marriage and he pulled back, his eyebrows scrunched in mild alarm. "You've got a wife, don't you?" He whispered, but could not bring himself to keep his forehead from pressing to Cas's when the angel refused to let him go.
"She never knew me."
"But you loved her."
"I loved an idea," the words were cold, calculated. "She loved an idea, as well."
That was enough. Dean wasn't going to dig too deeply into that wound just now, not when he wasn't particularly sure why it mattered. He'd never been too monogamous or too polygamous: he wasn't sure why he expected it to matter if Cas was.
Cas guided them downward and the bed creaked under their combined weight. Dean found himself straddling the other man's hips and immediately tangled his fingers in the angel's hair before his right hand slipped beneath the collar of trechcoat and shirt and found the skin just above Cas's shoulders. It was warm beneath his fingers, which was somehow reassuring. He hadn't even known he'd needed reassurance.
"Help me with this," Cas growled the words against his jaw and rolled his shoulders to indicate his coat, now trapped beneath him. Together, the two of them manged to get it off of his shoulders, which left nothing but the AC/DC shirt between his skin and Dean's, which was too much and too little at once, hardly worth mentioning. It wasn't until the hunter's leather jacket was dropped to the floor behind him that Dean had to wonder once again if Cas could make out every detail in the dark or not. The thought made him smile.
Wordlessly and gingerly, Dean leaned forward and slid his hand up Cas's chest, directly against his skin, testing how at ease the angel was.
The press of a hand to Dean's left thigh assuaged his concerns. The moment it slid upward and inward, he knew that he really did not need to worry himself about the little things, not anymore, not ever again. His mouth was greedy when he turned it to Cas's, his hands hungrily tore at the shirt that still divided them, and he found his enthusiasm met in kind, the thumb pressed to the seam of his pants suddenly exploring the length of his zipper. He had unleashed the tide. With strength he had not expected Cas to show, the angel lifted him like a wave and turned until Dean found his shoulders pressed to the mattress, Castiel's hips between his knees.
He could hardly make out Cas's silhouette while the angel withdrew enough to pull his own shirt off, exposing his stomach and chest to Dean's hands. They paused then, though Dean couldn't imagine why, his right palm pressed to the warm flesh over the angel's heart, the fingers of his left hand curled long the expanse of Cas's ribs. He could feel Cas breathe. He didn't think he'd really noticed before.
"Dean?"
"Yeah?" He didn't see the hand coming for his face until it caught him under the jaw and tilted his head back, firm. Fingertips trailed over his lips and then back to his chin. Maybe they were memorizing the feel of his skin, the lay of his features. He didn't know.
"I have never said as much but you should know, I do love you." There was something terrifyingly matter-of-fact about Catiel's tone. "But you must know that, already. After everything."
All Dean could do was nod. That was there was a hand on his face, he realized, because Cas hadn't expected him to verbally respond, because Cas didn't expect to have his confession returned. Dean felt relieved. He could take steps, it was true, he could forgive, he could get naked and he could kiss and grope until morning, but there were some words locked up in his throat that weren't about to slip through his lips all of a sudden. He hardly told anyone he loved them anymore, not now that he avoided being drunk and Sam often brought him cake instead of pie when he was sober.
"You were... my responsibility, and then you were my friend. But now-"
"Cas..."
The angel's mouth clapped shut for a moment before he started again, a smile that Dean could not see in his voice. "Is time still wasting?"
Dean nodded into the hand on his face. "C'mere," the hunter reached upward, traced a steady line up to Cas's shoulders, and pulled him closer. "Unless Sam got his own room, he's gonna be back at some point. I'd rather we were finished before then."
"As would I."
"Good," Dean grinned into the darkness. With an exaggerated roll of his hips he lifted himself into the angel, pressing their hips and thighs together for a moment before he fell away, unable to hold the position comfortably. The message was received, however, and he smiled at the movement of Cas against him, and the subtle press of the other man's cock into his groin. It surprised him a little that Castiel pressed into him so that his intentions were apparent - Dean had somehow thought he'd have to coax Cas out of his pants with promises and witty remarks and gentle touches. He'd never imagined that Cas would lean down against him and nibble at his lower lip in a kiss that told him that Cas knew exactly what he was doing and what he wanted.
Dean decided that he'd rather not be thinking about Cas and the other mouths he might have kissed. Cas wasn't kissing any other mouths any more.
The two of them tangled together, fingers exploring places along backs and arms and stomachs and faces, searching out undefined destinations, memorizing details only evident in the dark. Dean arched his back again in invitation, Cas met him with a hum in his throat. Together they worked Dean's shirt off without losing any of the buttons. A series of warm, open mouthed kisses pressed to his chest and moved lower while his hands lost themselves once more on Castiel's back, tracing the curves of his shoulders. If Cas had had tangible wings, Dean would have grabbed them and held on for dear life.
As it was, he dug his nails gently into the angel's skin and jerked at the press of Cas's tongue just under his navel.
"Do you like that?" Cas's voice rasped gently. His breath played cool against Dean's wet skin. Through the fabric of the hunter's pants a hand pressed against his hardening cock like it was the most natural thing on the world.
"I'd rather you were about four inches lower," Dean said, and moved to unbutton his jeans in suggestion.
Cas didn't seem to notice when Dean pushed himself up enough to watch his pants come open, and the angel did not suddenly turn bashful when greeted by the black cloth of the hunter's boxers. Rather, he hooked his fingers in the elastic of the waistband and tugged both garments to Dean's knees without hesitation. The pants couldn't go much farther than that without getting caught on Dean's boots, but it didn't currently mean much. Cas had what he wanted. Fluidly, he moved until his he had a hand on either of the hunter's hips and then bent his head between Dean's legs, confident and purposeful.
Dean felt a sudden spike in desire the moment before Cas's lips brushed his skin. He couldn't see much in the dark, but what he could make out made him think that Cas was enjoying himself, half-kneeling on the carpet. His face was almost relaxed but that his eyebrows had drawn together like he needed to concentrate. And the heat of his mouth - the press of his tongue before he wrapped his lips firmly around the head of Dean's cock and cautiously sucked - narrowed the hunter's awareness to nothing but the space between them.
A whispered curse slipped out of Dean that he couldn't quite strangle. He buried his right hand in Cas's hair and resisted the urge to lean back and thrust his lips forward, wanting to see.
Pressure on the underside of the head of his dick sent a ripple of pleasure running up his spine. He'd never thought Cas would blow him - not ever. And when he'd listened to that recording, he'd never thought Cas would know how to tease that sensitive place so exquisitely, or run his hand in the perfect rhythm down Dean's length, or curl his fingers just so around Dean's balls.
"You're too good at that..." Dean was shocked at the growl his voice came out as. Cas sank lower, pulling him in, stealing Dean's breath and cuing an instinctual jerk of the hunter's hips. He didn't let his pelvis move a second time. Instead, he tugged at Cas's hair and tilted his head back, the better to clear his mind of the sight of the angel's face turned slightly up at him, deep shadows masking everything but the intensity behind his eyes.
Cas hummed in his throat before he pulled away. Dean didn't care that he was likely going to leave finger-shaped bruises on Cas's scalp, he wanted too badly to kiss the angel on the mouth. He tasted just the slightest hint of himself in the kiss. He liked it. A little of him in Cas a little of Cas in him - it was like love-bites and hickeys, but he didn't think he'd get crap from Sam for it later.
"Dean..." Cas didn't have even the a hint of shyness about the hunter working his pants open. His feet, clad only in socks, helped Dean's work his boots off, one at a time, while his hands assisted Dean in getting their jeans off. When the two pairs of pants where on the floor, Cas paused with a knee between Dean's, his hands to either side of the hunter's head.
Dean took the initiative. He jerked his chin toward his discarded clothes, "There's lube in the left side pocket of my jacket, if you wanna help me find it."
Cas didn't move for a moment, just looked at him, before he nodded into the shadows and pulled back, reaching over the end of the bed for their discarded garments. Inevitably, he found the jacket and came back with the packet of apple flavored Climax Kiss, the contents of which might have been approaching their expiration date, the condom that usually traveled along side the little pack lost somewhere on the floor. Somehow, the condom wasn't important.
It wasn't until Cas had the little packet tucked between his teeth in an attempt to get it open that Dean reached out and wound his fingers around the other man's cock, comprehension easing slowly into his lust addled brain. Remembering the recording, he slipped his palm against the heated skin. Cas made a short, surprised sound, and tore the lube open so it spilled across his hand.
They didn't talk about what was going to happen next. Dean just did what he usually did and went with the flow, following the unspoken instructions written in Cas's movements. He moved himself to the edge of the bed and lay back on his shoulders, pulled up his legs, and hooked his heels on the backs of Cas's thighs. In the dark, he wasn't sure if the angel could make out the way he lifted his eyebrows or appreciated his wicked grin.
Fingers played cool and wet against the sensitive bud of his anus. He was just the slightest bit surprised how gentle Cas was, how slow, how tender and sweet. There was no rush, no urgency. Even when the tip of a finger pressed inside of him, hot and cool at once, Dean took his time stroking Cas's side with one hand and teasing at his cock with the other.
He lost count of how many times they kissed. He forgot about his worry that Sam would come back. A second digit slipped beside the first, and the tender burn of pain did nothing to dull the tingles of pleasure. He waited until he felt comfortable with two fingers sliding inside of him, scissoring in an unpredictable rhythm, and made a split second decision that had nothing to do with his fears and everything having to do with his desires. He tugged Cas down, closer, and pressed his teeth momentarily to the angel's neck before he pulled back enough to whisper into the other man's ear.
"Either get on with it or I'm gonna ride you," Dean's words came out like a threat, almost, and he saw a smile flash like a blade in the darkness above him, dangerous. He couldn't remember seeing that expression so candid on Cas's face, so pure and open, and the hunger in it sent a shiver running up his spine. He thought, for just a moment, about how Castiel really was a hurricane wrapped in human skin, how threats meant very little to him out of principle. Still, Dean did not expect Cas to press him into the mattress and lean into him, but he moved his left hand to guide Cas in, anyway. The press of teeth on his neck brought a soft groan to Dean's throat and he returned the gesture, sucking lightly on the flesh below Cas's ear.
The subtle pain on his neck distracted him from the discomfort in his ass, though he had the inkling suspicion that he wouldn't have cared even without the teeth working a bruise into his skin. Hell had expanded his threshold of pain in ways he never liked to think about; Dean was fairly sure Cas could do nothing in that moment that would turn him off. The sound of the angel's voice in a breathy, needy whisper and the tremble that shook Castiel's shoulders were perfect, the length of him pressed hot and slick within the hunter the same.
"Dean..." It was his name again, rough and wet against his flesh. There were words that went after it - words of warning and devotion - but none of them made it out of Castiel's mouth. Together, they rocked closer, deeper, until Dean's cock pressed to the cool, smooth skin of Cas's stomach, neglected and weeping between them.
Sensation and emotion told Dean two different things - pleasure and just the barest hint of pain laced from his pelvis to his abdomen, while longing and happiness and fear fought for space in his head. He never felt while he had sex, that was why he liked it so much - thoughts lost form and time turned to an ill-defined concept, and his body took over all of the important decision-making processes. But this time, with a crazy angel wrapped up in his arms and buried inside of him, he couldn't help but feel more than he would have if they were apart.
That was what he had been running from. Feeling anything deeper than his skin.
Pushing those vulnerable thoughts aside, he experimentally rocked himself into Cas as best he could, and hissed softly. It was good, different, but good. He opened his mouth to say as much, but Castiel moved without warning, drawing away and thrusting into him, slow and steady, the fingers of his left hand biting into the skin of Dean's right shoulder.
Dean's hands were not idle. He cupped his left palm on Cas's ass and squeezed it while his other hand wound up to tangle once more in the angel's hair, a little less than gently tugging them closer. He meant to keep kissing, or something. It got him a second hickey, directly next to the first.
"Cas-" Dean growled out, a bit taken with their movement, and took his hand out of Cas's hair to fist his own erection in time with their gradual rhythm. A second hand joined his and he shuddered, the response echoed itself in the body against his. Dean's jaw fell open, pressure in his abdomen growing with every little twitch of their hips together, and breathed warm air across Cas's jaw, too lost in the moment to close his mouth for a proper kiss.
They shifted just a little - Cas moved so their chests and stomachs were just slightly farther apart - and the following thrust sent a sensation clenching at Dean's insides and sent electric shivers ghosting up his whole frame. A short gasp filled the space between them and he honestly couldn't tell if it was his or not.
"There?" Cas asked.
Dean nodded. "You feel it?" His voice was a thunderous whisper.
"Yes," Castiel breathed back. "Dean-" He moved a little rougher, a little less steadily. It was obvious by the play of his hand on the turn of the hunter's knee that he was not thinking about how much Dean was going to feel when everything was over, but rather how much they were feeling at the moment. His head tilted and he snapped his hips back and forward in a motion that was half desperate, his breath puffing in quick, shallow pants. "Dean," Cas said again. His nails dug a little painfully into Dean's leg, a subtle reminder of the torrent of power that raged beneath his skin, held back by his will, even in that intimate of a moment.
Dean nodded into the angel's throat, which was work for his spine and his stomach that he did not mind in the slightest. "I know," the words were little more than air between them, even their meaning lost. Dean didn't know what he knew, but he knew that he knew it and he knew that it wasn't important, not important enough.
Cas shifted again and the hunter moved with him, until their positions were reversed. Cas leaned back on the mattress, his head a good foot from the pillow, and Dean settled on top of him, his threat suddenly the truth. He didn't wait for instructions or interruptions, the press of palms to his hips was enough.
Under him, he watched Cas's expression in the dark and thought he saw something like desperate fire burning in the angel's eyes. Every time Dean lifted himself and sank - or slammed - back down again, he became just that much more unsteady. His aim was almost too good. Between just the tiny undulations in Cas's hips and his own bucking and falling, Dean wasn't sure he'd last more than a handful of minutes. And then there were warm, sweat-slicked fingers on his cock again. A ragged gasp parted his lips and he redoubled his efforts. He wanted to look at Cas, to press his hands to the taut stomach and run the tips of his fingers up that billowing chest, but he didn't have the focus or the concentration. His world had shrank to Cas and sensation, to desire and devotion and more.
Climax clenched every muscle in the hunter's body and bowed his spine and dragged a stuttering exclamation from Cas's lips that made no sense for a number of heartbeats. Pleasure washed Dean's vision white and his dick twitched in Cas's hand, the results of his orgasm spilled across Cas's fingers and stomach. Dean moved more slowly, drawing out his own pleasure, before he felt a rush of wet heat inside of him that might have had something to do with the strangled warning he'd heard only a moment before.
Coming down, Dean first heard the heaviness of his own breathing, like the air was too thick in the room. Second, he opened eyes that he had not known were closed to find Cas nearly motionless beneath his weight, the rise and fall of his naked chest the only movement for the moment.
"That was..." Cas started, and paused to swallow audibly. "You are going to feel that tomorrow, I think."
Dean laughed, low and rumbling his his dry throat. "Damn worth it, though."
Cas nodded his agreement. "We're filthy."
"C'mon," Dean lifted his right leg gingerly and slowly, like Cas's hips were made of glass, and turned himself away. He was bone tired, but that didn't matter. Every muscle in his body wanted to quit and go to sleep, but that could wait. When he had separated the two of them - which was a sort of discomfort he'd never imagined experiencing - he caught one of the angel's hands in his own and tugged it softly. "Let's clean up before Sam gets back. If Sam gets back. He better get back. He's got the only car."
Cas made a soft, voiceless sound of amusement in the dark as they came to their feet.
The distance from bed to bathroom was a very long trek for Dean, though the afterglow dulled the ache somewhat. Without much thought about his eyes, he flicked the bathroom light on and washed the white walls in a pale pink glow, filled the sink and the tub with the same. First, he took a white washcloth and ran it under some warm water. Then he watched in the round, copper framed mirror as Cas moved behind him, naked but for a sock, to the tub and turned on the faucet, completely at ease.
It wasn't until he'd given himself a perfunctory once over with the washcloth that he offered it to Cas, and words swelled between them like a tidal wave. Before he could stop them, the wave crashed out of Dean's mouth and into the air, uncontrollable and - he feared - destructive.
"You know... I just wish..." Dean floundered, unable to put his exhausted thoughts in order. "Cas, I'm sorry. I really am. But why didn't you say something sooner? Why didn't you just... tell me?" Dean kept talking even though Castiel started to pay too much attention to getting the shower an acceptable temperature. There was the slightest tremble in the angel's hands. "You know what, never mind. I know now. And you know. I mean, you know, right? Because even if you didn't catch everything I ever prayed or what happened back there, I feel like you gotta know by now. And you're just gonna sit there and make me say it, aren't you? 'Cause it ain't enough that I'm naked and sore and freakin' desperate right now, I've gotta be all embarrassed and vulnerable, too."
"Love doesn't make people vulnerable, Dean, it makes them strong."
Dean had to roll his eyes. The sound of the shower-head burbling to life drowned his snort. "Right, remind me to try to lift a car tomorrow," he grumbled, and turned back toward the mirror to wait for Cas to give him leave to climb into the shower.
"Dean?" Cas had a smile in his voice when he stood, and his reflection moved so he could meet Dean's eyes in the mirror. "I know." He offered a hand then, and the hunter took it.
- - -
Dean was only half-aware that Cas used him as an anchor until Sam pointed it out to him, and even then he didn't worry too much about it. The fact that Cas remained sane was enough for him. The price, if it could be called that, was random kisses in dark alleys and the brush of fingers on his knee under tables, and that was not too much to pay for Dean. It was true that he was not the largest fan of public displays of affection, but he was willing to make an exception. The only time he denied Cas that contact was when the were smack in the middle of something dangerous - Cas could hold it together long enough to get them someplace safe so far, so Dean had no plans of stopping that habit anytime soon.
Still, it meant that Cas was around all the time. And it meant that he was kind of taken, though they'd never really had a conversation about how they were or were not going to define their relationship.
The strangest part in the whole affair was Sam. He was a great big beacon of happiness for the most part, because he did things like hug Cas and bring him food, suggest Dean take him out to dinner, check and double check how many rooms they were supposed to be getting at each motel. He looked at Dean with eyes that conveyed approval Dean had never seen before. It was strange. Dean didn't know what their dad would have thought about the whole situation, but it was fairly obvious that Sam supported whatever Cas and Dean were with every ounce of himself, and Sam had a lot of ounces.
"I'm happy that you're happy," Sam told him when they had a moment to themselves in the car. "You are happy, right?"
Dean had nodded at the windshield rather than at his brother and let his fingers ghost over the steering wheel like a lover's touch. "I never would have thought it was possible, you know? So much... crap in the world, so many dark roads and wrong turns and mistakes... but yeah. Between you and Cas, I'm pretty set."
Sam smiled boyishly at that, the sort of smile that made him look twenty-nine and ten years old at the same time. "Good."
Dean had his doubts, though. Not about his relationship with Cas, but about how long it would last, how long any of them would last. Every time he found the angel gazing into the eyes of a dragonfly or following the flight of a bee or staring into the night sky listlessly, he had to suppress an old, ugly fear. It clawed at him, deep in his chest, but he refused to feed it, refused to let it grow.
Two years before he had stood on a hill in the future and spoken to Lucifer clad in his brother's skin. That warning, that threat, lingered in the back of his mind like a shadow stretched long and dark over his thoughts and his happiness. Cas wasn't mortal, though. And the Cas of the future hadn't been with him.
"I've got what I want," Dean told his brother. "And I'm gonna fight for it like there's no tomorrow."