The Bucket List
Title: The Bucket List (1/?)
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Romance/depends on the chapter
Summary: Dean and Castiel make a bucket list of places to have sex in before they die.
Timeline: set right in between 5x21 and 5x22
Disclaimer: No owneth.
Notes: A series of oneshots all open to suggestion and connected very loosely by a vague plot and the over-hanging Apocalypse.
Chapter 1: In which there is sex in a motel room
Body being pushed against the wall, a mouth hot and hungry on his, open and wet and welcoming. Hands rough and desperate grip his clothes, slipping under to palm sensitive smooth skin, muscles rippling and breath gasping.
"Dean, Dean," Castiel is panting, eyes half-lidded and focused on the temptation of the hunter's swollen lips, green eyes nearly black with hunger. A nipple gets twisted expertly by a rough, calloused hand and Castiel keens, head tucked in the hollow of Dean's throat, biting at his collarbone. He feels the full-body shudder against him as he laves his tongue across the bite, sucking more skin into his mouth.
"Cas," Dean hisses, arching into the touch, fingers searching for purchase on the wall in front of him, the nearly-human's body effectively pinned.
"Fuck," he growls, feeling as Castiel's clever fingers slide his pants and boxers down, and the cool air on his leaking cock makes him bite back another hiss.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, Jesus Christ, Cas," he whines, body seizing as he feels Castiel manhandle him to the bed, pulling off both his and Dean's shirt in the process, biting and sucking another mark on his throat.
"Do not blaspheme, Dean," the almost-human says lowly, rich, deep voice making the hunter shiver.
"I-fuck, just keep going, Cas!" He bites out, shaking fingers nearly ripping off the angel's (because he is, no matter how much mojo he's got,) clothes, hands roaming restlessly across that pale expanse of skin. Castiel threads his fingers through Dean's hair, bringing his face up to kiss him warmly, hot tongue sliding against his own, need burning low in his gut.
"Always so impatient," he murmurs against Dean's mouth, fingers playing idly at the sensitive spot on the nape of his neck, feeling him melt against him and effectively slowing down their movements, bodies losing their frantic, desperate need and turning to slow, churning passion. They arch into each other, bodies slick with the sheen of sweat.
Dean gazes up at his…well, his Cas, taking in the blue-black eyes, full pouted lips, and heaving chest. A chest not as flawless as the rest of him, long silver scars standing out like beacons. Dean takes a short breath, chest tight, thrumming with a deep ache. He looks up from Cas' chest to find his familiar stare, eyes large and fathomless in the low motel light. It's moments like these, caught in that bewitching, ancient gaze, where Dean knows that Cas is Castiel, angel of the Lord. Although at the moment he appears human in more than one way, his nature, his entire being is otherworldly and alien. Dean, if he's honest with himself-which he rarely is-prefers it that way. Cas isn't part of this world, and Dean knows he should remember, even if he hardly ever does, but that just means the reminder is that much more thrilling when it makes its appearance.
With this thought in mind, he leans up and just breathes on the scar, hot pants on overheated skin. Cas shivers, eyes darkening above him, low groan rumbling deep in his throat.
"Dean," he breathes, and Dean's tongue darts to lick at the silver skin, relishing in the nearly imperceptible tremble until he finally seals his mouth over the mark near his belly button. There's the angel's hot, explosive breath on the back of his neck and a zing of electricity crawling up Dean's spine and tingling warmly on his own scar, settled permanently on his shoulder.
"Dean, Dean," Cas babbles, and Dean flips them, holding down the angel's trembling body while he scrapes along the scar with his mouth, tongue, and teeth, drawing out long, wavering moans, body heaving and glinting with moonshine sweat.
"Shh, Cas, I got you. I got you," Dean croons, voice like fine-drawn whiskey, smooth, throaty, and coated in honey. The angel freezes, and then suddenly he's keening, bringing up his rough-shaven cheek to rub it against Dean's, practically purring in loose-limbed, quivering contentment.
Huh.
So the angel's got a thing for the ol' accent.
Dean grins, turning his head to catch at those full lips, contented groan when Cas opens up immediately and reaches back, seeming like he's trying to climb inside Dean's mouth and never come out. Which, gross as that image might be, it feels awesome.
Unfortunately, they both need to breathe; only parting enough to get oxygen in, still close enough for lips to be touching as they pant.
All of a sudden, he's flipped on his stomach and an angel is sitting on his ass and damn if he isn't happy to see him.
"Cas," he croaks, voice broken and just wrecked.
"Dean," Castiel says in that low, smoke on gravel voice, and fuck if that doesn't get Dean even harder, so he's rolling his hips against the mattress, trying desperately to get some sort of friction.
"Yeah," he gasps.
"I'm going to fuck you now." Jesus, motherfucking Christ.
Dean freezes, eyes flying wide open, so black he could easily be mistaken as possessed, and fuck it all, he whimpers, Jesus fuck.
"Please."
And, Cas, God bless his soul, takes mercy on his charge, hips grinding frantically against nothing, eyes nearly rolling back into his head. He barely feels it when the weight on his ass is gone for only a second, and only jumps out of his trance when a cool, slicked finger presses up against his hole.
"Relax," he says in that dark voice and if he doesn't stop with the phone sex operation he's got going on, Dean's going to come by just listening to him. He swallows, muscles giving way as Castiel slowly, agonizingly slowly, presses a single, slender finger all the way in and slowly pulls it out before pushing back in, pace slow and careful. On the third or fourth time, he crooks his finger a certain way and white hot pleasure rockets up Dean's spine and he's whimpering again, pushing back against that finger.
Castiel swallows, watching the golden arched line of his charge's spine as he fucks himself against one, two, three of his fingers, head thrown back, neck bared, lashes long and burnt gold, freckles standing out against rose-bitten lips.
"Cas, fuck, please, n-need-ah-you in me. Cas," he rasps, Adam's apple bobbing as his hips undulate into the mattress.
The fallen angel narrows his eyes, only a small sliver of blue left in an overwhelming expanse of black.
"On all fours," he barks, and Dean gulps, limbs shaking as he does what he says. He crawls behind him, looking at that puckered, red hole, licking at it once, slipping his tongue in to taste inside the man he gave everything for, and said man yelps, hips stuttering, high, shocked whimper falling from those feminine lips. Castiel catalogues that response in his memory, saving it for another time in another motel with this same exact man, but then slips his tongue out, storing the taste of him in his mind and treasuring it, keeping it, always.
Standing up, he lubes himself, distantly wondering how on earth he hasn't come yet, before pressing the head gently inside, waiting for the hunter to relax before easing his way inside. By the time he's bottomed out, his legs are shaking with the effort to keep from snapping and he knows his grip on Dean's hips is going to leave bruises.
But, blessed, is Dean tight.
"Cas, you feathery son of a bitch, move." Normally, Castiel would growl at the order, but in this case he feels he can make an exception. With too much grace and fluidity to be human, he slides halfway out before thrusting back, catching the part that makes Dean scream on the first try, before settling back and following with shallow thrusts, finding a rhythm that makes Dean babble blasphemies and Cas, Cas, Cas over and over again.
Castiel's not much better, Dean's suffocating heat making his eyes roll back and making him regress into other languages, the word for beloved, mine, beautiful, mine all interflowing from Greek, Latin, Hebrew, Enochian, until it all ends the same. It all ends with Dean.
And that's how he comes, Dean's name on his lips, his ass clenching around his own cock, and Dean's own strangled Caaaassss that never seems to end.
He falls, sweaty and exhausted on top of a loose-limbed, drowsy Dean, sliding out with a squelch that causes a sated whine from Dean, whose hands paw at Castiel to curl next to him. The nearly-human slides down, ignoring the mess for the moment to lean into his charge's warmth, loving the muscled arm that comes around his waist and the lips nuzzling at his hair.
"You know," Dean breathes, exhale tickling the hair on the back of Castiel's neck. He hums questioningly.
"We should make this a goal."
"Make what a goal?"
"To fuck in as many places we can, as long as we still can."
They're too well-fucked and sleepy to linger on the unmentioned ending of Dean's sentence, so Castiel only turns around to face Dean, lips curling slightly at his automatic tightening of his arms.
"And when you say as many places…"
Dean smiles, and really that just shows how worn out they both are, because Dean only smiles when he's sleepy and relaxed, walls finally down enough to be vulnerable.
"I mean everywhere," he slurs, eyelids drooping on every word. His bright green eyes are hazy and warm, and Castiel dares anyone to say no to Dean when he's like this, all loose-limbed and lazy-eyed, burnt golden hair and sun-kissed skin spread akimbo over the bed.
So, Castiel does what every sane person would do. He kisses his charge deeply, pulling away to murmur into his skin:
"Anything you want, Dean. Anything you want."
I don't know why all my smut ends so schmoopy.
Hmm.
Anyway, FIRST TIME WRITING BUTT-SEX HERE, PEOPLES. DID I DO IT WRITE? I iz nervous about posting.
ALSO, in case you missed it the first time, this story is continued WITH SUGGESTIONS. As in, you review and give me a place where they should have sex, (and maybe a kink if you would like to dare) and WHO KNOWS? I might just pick YOURS next.
Is that incentive enough to review? If it isn't well, review and you'll each get a lovely tube of SASSY Lube! (It exists, dudes, FORREALZ.) Whatever you wanna use it for...go ahead!
SAYANORA, BITCHES.