(no subject)
Title: Marty McFly Never Had To Deal With This Shit
Rating: NC-17. Yay porn!
Ship: Dean/Castiel
Spoilers: 504. No, seriously.
Summary: Dean spies with his little eye... Something he really didn’t expect to see.
Thanks to moodymuse19 for the beta. ♥
Dean was Not. Happy.
There were several reasons for this, the first and foremost being his complete and utter dismissal from his own strategy meeting.
Well. Not his own. Seeing as the person running it was Not Him.
And, honestly? He's done he time travel thing before, but going to the past was a lot less complicated. For one, there wasn't another frickin' Dean running around. Everything was cool, as long as he didn't step on any butterflies or cause any untimely deaths.
... Err. Moving on.
The point being, that Dean did not appreciate being tossed on the benches just when the game was starting to hit its high point. They needed all the players they could manage at this point.
Not to mention, Future Him? Kind of a prick.
So, Dean, being, well, Dean, did what he does best. He skulks, sneaks, and strategically places himself outside the cabin door with his ear pressed to the crack.
They're talking resistance, weapons, war. Lucifer.
God, Sammy, he thinks. What the hell happened to you?
This goes on for a good hour, before shuffling sounds and voices indicate the pow-wow is done with, and Dean has just enough time to duck into the shadows as people come spilling out.
Dean waits, counting silently to a hundred in his head, before emerging from his hiding place to make his way back to the little room Future Him shut him up in, when he hears footsteps coming down the path. He backtracks once again to the side of the cabin, breathing only when he hears the door shut behind the visitor.
Well, almost shut. It bounces slightly on the frame, leaving a crack roughly an inch wide. Dean grins to himself, this turn of events pleasing him in a way usually reserved for sex and pie.
And wasn't that a fucked up comparison.
"You look stressed," a voice murmurs, just out of his view range. But he knows that voice, the raspy tones as familiar to him as the purr of the Impala's engine. Or, he used to know. This Cas though... He's just. Wrong.
Future Him grunts, tipping back in his chair enough that Dean can see his full profile. The expression on his face is hard, his eyes weary and old.
Dean doesn't want to become this person. He just has to figure out where it went wrong. what to do differently. If someone would just talk to him.
"I can help with that," Cas says, coming around to lean against the table, his hip tilted out as he surveys future him with a serene smile. "Let me help, Dean." He moves forward, circling until he's standing behind his counterpart, fingers dragging lightly up and down the back of his neck. Future Him exhales suddenly, tilting his head to allow those long fingers easier access. He nods, eyes slipping closed.
Both of Castiel's hands come up, kneading on the doppelgangers shoulders, and Dean is a bit taken aback, but yeah, okay. He guesses if all he's had to lean on in the last five years is Cas, then maybe they'd grown somewhat closer, and --
Oh. Oh.
Castiel is leaning over now, his mouth pressed to the sensitive place behind his, but not his, Not His, fuck this is confusing. Other Dean's right ear. He rolls himself around, like some kind of serpent, dragging future him up, out of his chair, backing him carefully to the wall.
Future Him’s hands are clenched at his sides now, eyes tightly shut while Cas is. Everywhere, all at once.
Dean had no idea the angel was part octopus, because, really, what the hell?
Castiel's hands are working at his belt now, and Dean feels himself flush. He swallows hard and bites his lip, mind sending demands to his feet to get the fuck out while the gettin' is good.
His feet have apparently conspired with the rest of his body into rebellion, because not only is he not moving, he's starting to get hard.
Cas moves down Future Him's body, his face nuzzling at whatever it touches as his fingers snap open the button on Future Dean's jeans and drag the zipper down. The sound echoes obscenely in the stillness of the room, silent except for the heavy breathing of the two men. Castiel drops to his knees, and Dean just about chokes on his own tongue when the affectionate touches continue right onto his twin’s groin.
He resists the urge to press the heel of his palm against his own cock to relieve the sudden pressure. Instead, he twists uncomfortably in his jeans, and shoves his hands deep into his coat pockets.
The angel is tugging insistently on his other's pants now, pulling them down to mid thigh. His dick pops out, almost popping Cas in the eye, and Dean has to hold back a hysterical giggle at the sight.
Cas is looking up at Future Him now, with a look that comes across as a combination of heady lust, adoration, mischief, and complete and utter trust. Dean's breath catches in his throat again, becomes even more ragged than before. It's almost.
But no. He's not going down that road. He can't afford to.
Future Him has his eyes opened now, unclenching his fists. One hand lifts itself to rest on Castiel's head, while the other tries to grip at the way. The hand on Cas guides him forward, and Dean has to hold back a groan of his own at the first flick of pink tongue to the head of his (not his) cock.
The whole time, neither of them break eye contact, even as Cas trails his mouth up and down, never quite taking the tip into his mouth. He's teasing him, Dean realizes. It’s the exact way Dean himself likes to be teased.
How many times have they done this?
Enough, it seems, because Cas knows exactly what to do next. Dragging his teeth up the length, before swallowing it down like a true professional. Dean hisses, glancing down to find out the rebellion has continued because his own hand has somehow managed to find itself inside his briefs, gripping his cock hard.
It's downright obscene now, with Castiel's head bobbing up and down. Future Him's hand is gripping his hair tight, but Dean can't tell if he's guiding him or just holding on for dear life. His counterpart throws his head back, swearing as it cracks off the wall loudly. His hips are starting to thrust forward, deeper into what Dean can only imagine is a hot little haven, a slice of heaven.
Everything starts to speed up, and Cas reaches his other hand up to slide inside Future Dean's pants. The older him screws his face into a grimace (Dean really hopes that's not a reflection of his own orgasm face, because. Well. Huh), and shoves Castiel's head down hard. He jerks, once, twice, and Dean comes close to climax himself as Cas releases Future Him’s softening cock, spit and... Other stuff, connecting them like tiny strings. Castiel sighs, rubbing his forehead against a jean clad thigh as a large hand runs through his hair.
As Dean tries to get his breathing under control (holy. Hell), his doublemint twin slides down the wall until he’s sitting, legs spread out in a wide v shape. His eyes are still closed, but he reaches out anyways, grasping at the air until he finds Castiel, dragging him forward until he’s resting in the cradle of his thighs.
Noses touch, and Dean can’t take anymore, not a single second. He stumbles backwards, somehow making it away from the cabin without being noticed by anyone, a miraculous feat when one considers sneaking with a huge boner isn’t the easiest of tasks. Never let it be said that Dean Winchester isn’t up for a challenge.
When he gets home, and man, this little jaunt into future land cannot possibly end fast enough for his tastes, now he gets the added bonus of never being able to look the angel in the eye ever again.
Because. You know. End of the fucking world wasn’t enough to deal with.
Christ.
Rating: NC-17. Yay porn!
Ship: Dean/Castiel
Spoilers: 504. No, seriously.
Summary: Dean spies with his little eye... Something he really didn’t expect to see.
Thanks to moodymuse19 for the beta. ♥
Dean was Not. Happy.
There were several reasons for this, the first and foremost being his complete and utter dismissal from his own strategy meeting.
Well. Not his own. Seeing as the person running it was Not Him.
And, honestly? He's done he time travel thing before, but going to the past was a lot less complicated. For one, there wasn't another frickin' Dean running around. Everything was cool, as long as he didn't step on any butterflies or cause any untimely deaths.
... Err. Moving on.
The point being, that Dean did not appreciate being tossed on the benches just when the game was starting to hit its high point. They needed all the players they could manage at this point.
Not to mention, Future Him? Kind of a prick.
So, Dean, being, well, Dean, did what he does best. He skulks, sneaks, and strategically places himself outside the cabin door with his ear pressed to the crack.
They're talking resistance, weapons, war. Lucifer.
God, Sammy, he thinks. What the hell happened to you?
This goes on for a good hour, before shuffling sounds and voices indicate the pow-wow is done with, and Dean has just enough time to duck into the shadows as people come spilling out.
Dean waits, counting silently to a hundred in his head, before emerging from his hiding place to make his way back to the little room Future Him shut him up in, when he hears footsteps coming down the path. He backtracks once again to the side of the cabin, breathing only when he hears the door shut behind the visitor.
Well, almost shut. It bounces slightly on the frame, leaving a crack roughly an inch wide. Dean grins to himself, this turn of events pleasing him in a way usually reserved for sex and pie.
And wasn't that a fucked up comparison.
"You look stressed," a voice murmurs, just out of his view range. But he knows that voice, the raspy tones as familiar to him as the purr of the Impala's engine. Or, he used to know. This Cas though... He's just. Wrong.
Future Him grunts, tipping back in his chair enough that Dean can see his full profile. The expression on his face is hard, his eyes weary and old.
Dean doesn't want to become this person. He just has to figure out where it went wrong. what to do differently. If someone would just talk to him.
"I can help with that," Cas says, coming around to lean against the table, his hip tilted out as he surveys future him with a serene smile. "Let me help, Dean." He moves forward, circling until he's standing behind his counterpart, fingers dragging lightly up and down the back of his neck. Future Him exhales suddenly, tilting his head to allow those long fingers easier access. He nods, eyes slipping closed.
Both of Castiel's hands come up, kneading on the doppelgangers shoulders, and Dean is a bit taken aback, but yeah, okay. He guesses if all he's had to lean on in the last five years is Cas, then maybe they'd grown somewhat closer, and --
Oh. Oh.
Castiel is leaning over now, his mouth pressed to the sensitive place behind his, but not his, Not His, fuck this is confusing. Other Dean's right ear. He rolls himself around, like some kind of serpent, dragging future him up, out of his chair, backing him carefully to the wall.
Future Him’s hands are clenched at his sides now, eyes tightly shut while Cas is. Everywhere, all at once.
Dean had no idea the angel was part octopus, because, really, what the hell?
Castiel's hands are working at his belt now, and Dean feels himself flush. He swallows hard and bites his lip, mind sending demands to his feet to get the fuck out while the gettin' is good.
His feet have apparently conspired with the rest of his body into rebellion, because not only is he not moving, he's starting to get hard.
Cas moves down Future Him's body, his face nuzzling at whatever it touches as his fingers snap open the button on Future Dean's jeans and drag the zipper down. The sound echoes obscenely in the stillness of the room, silent except for the heavy breathing of the two men. Castiel drops to his knees, and Dean just about chokes on his own tongue when the affectionate touches continue right onto his twin’s groin.
He resists the urge to press the heel of his palm against his own cock to relieve the sudden pressure. Instead, he twists uncomfortably in his jeans, and shoves his hands deep into his coat pockets.
The angel is tugging insistently on his other's pants now, pulling them down to mid thigh. His dick pops out, almost popping Cas in the eye, and Dean has to hold back a hysterical giggle at the sight.
Cas is looking up at Future Him now, with a look that comes across as a combination of heady lust, adoration, mischief, and complete and utter trust. Dean's breath catches in his throat again, becomes even more ragged than before. It's almost.
But no. He's not going down that road. He can't afford to.
Future Him has his eyes opened now, unclenching his fists. One hand lifts itself to rest on Castiel's head, while the other tries to grip at the way. The hand on Cas guides him forward, and Dean has to hold back a groan of his own at the first flick of pink tongue to the head of his (not his) cock.
The whole time, neither of them break eye contact, even as Cas trails his mouth up and down, never quite taking the tip into his mouth. He's teasing him, Dean realizes. It’s the exact way Dean himself likes to be teased.
How many times have they done this?
Enough, it seems, because Cas knows exactly what to do next. Dragging his teeth up the length, before swallowing it down like a true professional. Dean hisses, glancing down to find out the rebellion has continued because his own hand has somehow managed to find itself inside his briefs, gripping his cock hard.
It's downright obscene now, with Castiel's head bobbing up and down. Future Him's hand is gripping his hair tight, but Dean can't tell if he's guiding him or just holding on for dear life. His counterpart throws his head back, swearing as it cracks off the wall loudly. His hips are starting to thrust forward, deeper into what Dean can only imagine is a hot little haven, a slice of heaven.
Everything starts to speed up, and Cas reaches his other hand up to slide inside Future Dean's pants. The older him screws his face into a grimace (Dean really hopes that's not a reflection of his own orgasm face, because. Well. Huh), and shoves Castiel's head down hard. He jerks, once, twice, and Dean comes close to climax himself as Cas releases Future Him’s softening cock, spit and... Other stuff, connecting them like tiny strings. Castiel sighs, rubbing his forehead against a jean clad thigh as a large hand runs through his hair.
As Dean tries to get his breathing under control (holy. Hell), his doublemint twin slides down the wall until he’s sitting, legs spread out in a wide v shape. His eyes are still closed, but he reaches out anyways, grasping at the air until he finds Castiel, dragging him forward until he’s resting in the cradle of his thighs.
Noses touch, and Dean can’t take anymore, not a single second. He stumbles backwards, somehow making it away from the cabin without being noticed by anyone, a miraculous feat when one considers sneaking with a huge boner isn’t the easiest of tasks. Never let it be said that Dean Winchester isn’t up for a challenge.
When he gets home, and man, this little jaunt into future land cannot possibly end fast enough for his tastes, now he gets the added bonus of never being able to look the angel in the eye ever again.
Because. You know. End of the fucking world wasn’t enough to deal with.
Christ.