the two faces of vengeance - epilogue
Epilogue
In the end they settle for Cheyenne.
They ride together in silence, and Castiel can’t help spending the entire time wondering why his hands are sweating. His hands haven’t sweated since he killed a man for the first time - they shouldn’t now. It isn’t that the silence is uncomfortable; it’s mostly that the more they go on the more he realizes that he has no idea of how to deal with this. It’s as if he’s drunk on feeling, when he has spent years carefully shutting out anything of the kind. Right now he feels drained and exhilarated at the same time, not to mention that whole other problem named Dean Winchester.
Or, well, not a problem. That would be unfair and wouldn’t take into account a number of things Castiel feels in presence of the man. After all, he decided to become a preacher quite early and he had never intended to marry, especially after realizing that women did nothing for him. He had realized that it wasn’t bound to end well, if he ever acted on his feelings. Then - then Anna had died, and after then he had just assumed that he’d track down the bastard who was responsible and worry about the rest later. After killing fifty people in four years, not counting the ones you hunted down because you needed money, you tend to think that you’ll never find a purpose beyond your current one - he couldn’t say that he wouldn’t have joined all the people he’s killed down in hell soon after. Mostly because you can’t live the life he’s been leading until now without something to drive them.
Except that now maybe he has found another purpose that might drive him for a while, and the thought makes his knees shake - he wishes he knew what to do with it. He can’t really dwell on it though, not when he’s not the one who won’t ever get a chance of an easy life whatever he decides to do.
It doesn’t take long to reach Cheyenne. They ride along the railroad tracks and Dean tells him to pick the place, they can afford whatever he chooses. Castiel picks an inn that looks fancy enough, if only because it’s apparently newly built. Dean hands him a couple of bills, not saying anything; Castiel gets down from his mule and goes inside. He makes enquiries, is assured that each room has a comfortable bed, and he asks which is the best available one that they have. He adds that he’s traveling with a friend who’s recently been sick and needs a good rest. When the clerk tells him that the best room that they have is the bridal suite, and that he’s very sorry but they don’t have rooms with more than one bed, Castiel tells him that it’s fine and he’ll sleep on the floor. It’s strange to lie about such a thing, he thinks, as he pays for three days. He asks if they can leave the horses on the outside, he’s assured that they can.
The clerk hadn’t lied, Castiel thinks when he sees it - it’s a good room. The sheets are clean, so clean that he winces as soon as he touches the side the pillow’s cover and dirt from his fingers latches on the white cloth; the bed is soft enough, there’s a lot of light coming in and there’s a small, adjacent room with a tub. The clerk said they should call a maid if they need water other than what’s in the pitcher on the bureau, but Castiel figures that it’ll do for now. They both wash their hands in silence - Castiel has taken his coat off and Dean has done the same with his poncho, but not with the scarf.
Castiel closes the curtains as soon as he’s done.
Dean sits on the bed, and is breathing sounds labored.
“Are you - are you unwell?” Castiel asks, hating the way his voice hesitates.
Dean shakes his head and looks back at him, their eyes meeting. Castiel’s stomach turns upside down at the thought of what Alastair had in program to do. Such beautiful eyes, he thinks - and he can read them without much effort. Dean has never trained himself not to give anything away - Castiel almost regrets having deemed it necessary himself. He knows that his face is mostly expressionless at any given time - he hopes it doesn’t ruin things now.
“I just - I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do now,” Dean says. His voice has gotten rougher since the first time they talked - Castiel hates how it sounds. He had like Dean’s voice when they met, it suited him for some reason. Now the more he talks the more Castiel wonders if it will ever change back. “What do I do, go around with this thing carved in my face? I don’t want to know how many people would even be willing to talk to me or sell me anything. And I can’t go visit Sam in Boston - he wouldn’t mind, but the first thing our relatives would think, that’d probably be sending me to whatever freak show’s passing through town at the moment. And I can’t even think that - I mean, what happens now? It’s not like I know that many people in our situation, and I’m pretty sure we don’t have a fucking happily ever after written on our faces.”
Good question, Castiel thinks, but he really can’t think about what happens tomorrow. He has been thinking that for four years - he’s done. He moves closer, reaching his hand up and taking the scarf off. The skin is still red and angry under it - the shape of that scar seems almost mocking itself. Castiel’s eyes go to Dean’s mouth though - that hasn’t been ruined. Maybe the idea was to slash on the sides so that it would merge with that fake smile, but as things are it’s exactly the way it used to be before. Dean’s lips look paler now - the first time they met, they had been almost red. Castiel moves even closer, a hand on Dean’s shoulder, and Dean doesn’t move back. The kiss he leaves on Dean’s lips is brief, and he doesn’t let Dean kiss back, breaking it before he can. He needs to say what he has to before letting that happen.
“Us getting a fucking happily ever after doesn’t seem likely,” Castiel agrees. “Then again, two people shooting down twenty-five with just surprise on their side doesn’t seem likely either, does it?”
He stares at Dean’s lips, relieved when Dean lets out a small smile. “Yeah, well, I guess so.”
“If I told you that when I came into town I was sure I wouldn’t be leaving it, does that change things for you?”
“Do you - do you mean that -”
“I had a purpose. I assumed that if I was done with it - then I would be done with the rest.”
“And now?”
“I guess I’m not if you’re not,” Castiel answers as sincerely as he can. “We did the first unlikely thing.”
“So what, I just send you forward anytime I need to talk with people and I can’t do it from behind your scarf?”
“It would be all right with me,” Castiel answers, quietly. “There are - there’s no need to draw attention. I have some money, too, you know. Two people can live somewhere, but to do business you just need one.” Castiel doesn’t even know what he’s saying or at which straws he’s grasping. He just knows that he can’t let things end here, if only because he might still be drunk on everything he’s feeling, but one thing he knows is that he doesn’t want to lose this.. And the next thing he knows he’s being pinned to the bed. Dean is above him, still staring down at him, his eyes wide, like he’s actually considering it, and then a hand reaches up to the top button of Castiel’s shirt.
“Well,” Dean says, “I think that we can think about it. But right now, I think that we need to avoid a risk.”
“Which would be?”
“That no one should ever risk dying a virgin, least of all you,” Dean answers, and while Castiel doesn’t know if it’s a clever way to change the subject or if he’s serious (he has to be, at least partly), he doesn’t object when Dean’s hand starts to open up all the buttons of his shirt. Dean doesn’t ask him to take it off though - and when he’s done, he runs his hand along Castiel’s chest and sternum, lightly, stopping for a second on a couple of scars he gained when someone shot him in the shoulder a couple of years ago.
“Nice,” Dean says, “I expected a lot worse, but then again I underestimate you, I guess.” He starts to take off his shirt, but Castiel sits up and shakes his head. First he takes off Dean’s hat, which for some reason had stayed there all this time, then moves up to his knees so that they’re face to face, and opens up Dean’s blue shirt as well - it’s all bandages underneath. Castiel sighs, knowing it can’t go any other way, and when Dean shrugs the shirt off he starts to do the same.
“Don’t,” Dean says, “I kind of like it on you,” he says, his hands reaching for Castiel’s hips, and Castiel puts his hands on Dean’s shoulders, or the only bare skin he can touch from the waist upwards. He leans down, placing a kiss on the left one. Dean shivers, his hands reaching down for Castiel’s belt, getting rid of it in a couple of motions. Castiel suddenly feels hot like burning, warmth pooling down below his waist, maybe because of Dean’s nearness or maybe because of the way Dean’s hands are running along the small of his back. He doesn’t know, but his heart rate suddenly speeds up and his breathing does as well. He can feel his cheeks flushing.
“Back down,” Dean says, almost teasing, and Castiel leans down on the bed again, Dean’s hands still running over his body, the left quicker than the right.
Dean moves away then, taking off his boots - Castiel does the same and gets rid of the rest of his clothes except for the shirt. He looks over at Dean when he’s done - bandages or not, he can’t help liking Dean’s body a lot. It’s toned, fit, and Castiel curses not being able to run his hands along Dean’s back the same way Dean is running his along Castiel’s hips. He can’t help arching up into the touch when Dean leans down over him a second time, touching him again - he can’t really help it. Then again, there has never been anyone else before and - as soon as he thinks that his brain almost switches off, his entire body feeling set up on fire, and his hand reaches up behind Dean’s neck, bringing his head down and crashing their lips together. Dean gasps into his mouth, his tongue meeting Castiel’s, his hands tangling in Castiel’s hair, and when it’s over they’re both out of breath.
“Fuck, it’s such a waste that you’ve never done this,” Dean says before kissing the hollow of Castiel’s throat and the moving back, placing his knees on either side of Castiel’s ankles and looking down at him.
“Well then,” Dean says, “at least I know you’re interested.”
Understatement, Castiel thinks. He was hard the second Dean pinned him to the bed, right now it almost hurts. And it’s - well, he has spent half of his life just touching himself, but he doesn’t think he has ever been this excited, not for anything. He stares down at himself, noticing that there’s some pre-come leaking out already, and he’d really just like for Dean to do anything until he notices the way Dean is looking down at him. Like he’s calculating the advantages of doing something versus the -
“Don’t,” Castiel says, “you don’t have to. Just - just your hand will be fine, I don’t - another time.”
Dean looks up at him apologetically, moving down so that he’s on top of Castiel again, his left hand closing around his cock, giving it a soft stroke. “I was hoping to give you something more exciting,” Dean says.
As if he needed it - Castiel is about to come apart just from how slow Dean’s hand is moving. Dean’s skin is rough against his cock and it feels so good that he might burst.
“Exciting can wait until it doesn’t hurt you when you eat,” Castiel replies, knowing that it’s not what you’re supposed to say, but as much as he’d have liked to feel that - no. It’s not time. When Dean leans down to kiss him again he lets him, and between the way Dean moves his tongue and the way he starts stroking faster, he thinks it’ll be enough to drive him insane with need. He’s also quite sure that he’s moaning helplessly inside Dean’s mouth, his hips jerking up to meet Dean’s hand, and - he doesn’t really know if he can last much longer, not when Dean’s thumb is rubbing against the head of his cock, not when he can feel himself ready to explode. When the kiss is over he opens his eyes and looks up into Dean’s, so green and still so unmarred, and he just - he can’t - Dean, he says, and then he jerks up and lets go. It sends tremors throughout his back and all his muscles. He can feel his entire chest shaking, and it’s probably a disproportionate reaction, but he can’t hold back. A white light explodes beneath his eyelids, and he clutches at Dean’s shoulders, still jerking up against him, and - then he can’t even think anymore.
He opens his eyes, slowly, to see Dean cleaning his hand on his discarded shirt. His lips feel suddenly dry, and his cock stirs in interest even if he should feel completely spent.
“Hey, are you -”
Castiel doesn’t let him finish and rolls them over, so that he is on top.
“I am perfectly fine,” he says kissing the corner of Dean’s mouth, not missing that Dean shivers under him at that. “And I think that you aren’t, at least not for now,” Castiel says, shifting slightly. And Dean is as hard as he was - it’s pleasing to discover that.
“You most definitely aren’t,” Castiel says.
“Yeah, well, guess you’re gonna do something about it?”
Castiel doesn’t answer, just leans down over Dean. He doesn’t go directly for something he’s never done - he’d rather take his time first. He licks a stripe on Dean’s cock, slowly, feeling it under his tongue, tasting - bitter, but not unpleasant - and he feels it harden oh-so-slightly as he does, so he does it again. Dean is looking down at him with dark eyes, his lips slightly trembling, his pupils half blown - well then. He can’t tease that much longer. He places his hands around Dean’s bandaged hips, leans down and takes the head of Dean’s cock into his mouth. Dean obviously bites his tongue in order not to moan, but the aborted sound still reach Castiel’s ears and he figures he must be doing it right. It’s not like he doesn’t know how it works, even if he never liked whorehouses. He starts to suck just on the head, feels Dean trying not to arch up too much and takes him further down - at about half he decides he’s not risking more. He licks down under the head, feeling Dean harden further inside his mouth and trying to muffle his moans against the pillow, and since he’s being doing good until now he just keeps on sucking, moving his head up and down, just slightly, and Dean gives up trying to stay silent.
“Cas, fuck -” he starts, but never goes past that, his breathing turning into panting as Castiel steps up his pace a bit, and then there’s a hand tugging on his hair.
“I’m - I’m going to -”
Well, Castiel had sort of realized that, and he isn’t about to move away now, and when Dean comes he’s ready, or so he thinks.
In reality he isn’t, because Dean comes so hard that while he does swallow at the beginning, he has to move away in order not to choke, but he recovers quick enough to wrap his hand around Dean’s cock and stroke it as Dean comes. It lasts a long time, and Castiel can’t help staring down at the way Dean’s eyelashes flutter, at the way his body twists and shivers and moves, at the way he can’t help moaning as Castiel keeps on stroking him to completion. When it’s over, Dean lies almost boneless on the mattress, a thin layer of sweat on his face, his lips half parted. He opens his eyes after a short while, his pupils still slightly blown, and Castiel can’t just help it when his hand reaches up and covers Dean’s cheek completely as he lays back down. Dean doesn’t jerk away though, which is strange because touching that scar should hurt.
“Cas, you have a talent,” Dean breathes out, and Castiel decides that it’s time to go for it. Dean was right before - there’s only a slight chance that this thing between them can actually work, but -
He just can’t let it go.
“You wouldn’t want it to go to waste then, would you?”
“You could… not waste it on someone easier to stay with,” Dean answers, and from the way he’s looking at him, Castiel can see that he isn’t joking.
“It’s a pity then, that I’m rather fond of you,” he answers, moving closer, his right hand moving in between Dean’s shoulder blades.
“You really wanna prove me wrong, don’t you?” Dean asks, but he sounds - he sounds more hopeful than anything else.
“Yes,” Castiel simply answers, not seeing the point in dancing around the subject.
“And to think that when I met you I thought I would have to convince you to crack a smile. Now you’re convincing me that this whole thing isn’t insane,” Dean says, sounding rather shocked. “You just won’t stop surprising me, will you?”
Castiel doesn’t even know what to answer at that - he shrugs, settles down on the pillow, his fingers tangling in the hair at the back of Dean’s head. It’s so soft - the skin, the hair, everything. You tend to marvel at the feeling, when you spend four years only touching guns.
“Fine,” Dean says then, his voice suddenly smaller, “you win.”
“I - it means -”
“Cas, yes, it means. Shut up. I can pay for this room for the next week without a fucking problem. We’re thinking about details another time. Can you just work with not talking?”
“… I can work with it.”
“Good,” is Dean’s only reply before he moves his head against Castiel’s shoulder and settles there, seemingly not intent on moving anytime soon.
Castiel stares for a second at the white lace curtains filtering a pink light from outside. It must be sunset. Then he lets his head fall back against the pillow, and he realizes that his left arm has moved around Dean’s shoulders and his right hand is currently the one carding through the hair at the back of Dean’s head.
He hasn’t used his right hand for anything other than shooting for three and a half years.
He takes a deep breath, then another, then he settles back down on the bed.
Yes, he can work with it. He can work with it as long as they both need.
End.
In the end they settle for Cheyenne.
They ride together in silence, and Castiel can’t help spending the entire time wondering why his hands are sweating. His hands haven’t sweated since he killed a man for the first time - they shouldn’t now. It isn’t that the silence is uncomfortable; it’s mostly that the more they go on the more he realizes that he has no idea of how to deal with this. It’s as if he’s drunk on feeling, when he has spent years carefully shutting out anything of the kind. Right now he feels drained and exhilarated at the same time, not to mention that whole other problem named Dean Winchester.
Or, well, not a problem. That would be unfair and wouldn’t take into account a number of things Castiel feels in presence of the man. After all, he decided to become a preacher quite early and he had never intended to marry, especially after realizing that women did nothing for him. He had realized that it wasn’t bound to end well, if he ever acted on his feelings. Then - then Anna had died, and after then he had just assumed that he’d track down the bastard who was responsible and worry about the rest later. After killing fifty people in four years, not counting the ones you hunted down because you needed money, you tend to think that you’ll never find a purpose beyond your current one - he couldn’t say that he wouldn’t have joined all the people he’s killed down in hell soon after. Mostly because you can’t live the life he’s been leading until now without something to drive them.
Except that now maybe he has found another purpose that might drive him for a while, and the thought makes his knees shake - he wishes he knew what to do with it. He can’t really dwell on it though, not when he’s not the one who won’t ever get a chance of an easy life whatever he decides to do.
It doesn’t take long to reach Cheyenne. They ride along the railroad tracks and Dean tells him to pick the place, they can afford whatever he chooses. Castiel picks an inn that looks fancy enough, if only because it’s apparently newly built. Dean hands him a couple of bills, not saying anything; Castiel gets down from his mule and goes inside. He makes enquiries, is assured that each room has a comfortable bed, and he asks which is the best available one that they have. He adds that he’s traveling with a friend who’s recently been sick and needs a good rest. When the clerk tells him that the best room that they have is the bridal suite, and that he’s very sorry but they don’t have rooms with more than one bed, Castiel tells him that it’s fine and he’ll sleep on the floor. It’s strange to lie about such a thing, he thinks, as he pays for three days. He asks if they can leave the horses on the outside, he’s assured that they can.
The clerk hadn’t lied, Castiel thinks when he sees it - it’s a good room. The sheets are clean, so clean that he winces as soon as he touches the side the pillow’s cover and dirt from his fingers latches on the white cloth; the bed is soft enough, there’s a lot of light coming in and there’s a small, adjacent room with a tub. The clerk said they should call a maid if they need water other than what’s in the pitcher on the bureau, but Castiel figures that it’ll do for now. They both wash their hands in silence - Castiel has taken his coat off and Dean has done the same with his poncho, but not with the scarf.
Castiel closes the curtains as soon as he’s done.
Dean sits on the bed, and is breathing sounds labored.
“Are you - are you unwell?” Castiel asks, hating the way his voice hesitates.
Dean shakes his head and looks back at him, their eyes meeting. Castiel’s stomach turns upside down at the thought of what Alastair had in program to do. Such beautiful eyes, he thinks - and he can read them without much effort. Dean has never trained himself not to give anything away - Castiel almost regrets having deemed it necessary himself. He knows that his face is mostly expressionless at any given time - he hopes it doesn’t ruin things now.
“I just - I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do now,” Dean says. His voice has gotten rougher since the first time they talked - Castiel hates how it sounds. He had like Dean’s voice when they met, it suited him for some reason. Now the more he talks the more Castiel wonders if it will ever change back. “What do I do, go around with this thing carved in my face? I don’t want to know how many people would even be willing to talk to me or sell me anything. And I can’t go visit Sam in Boston - he wouldn’t mind, but the first thing our relatives would think, that’d probably be sending me to whatever freak show’s passing through town at the moment. And I can’t even think that - I mean, what happens now? It’s not like I know that many people in our situation, and I’m pretty sure we don’t have a fucking happily ever after written on our faces.”
Good question, Castiel thinks, but he really can’t think about what happens tomorrow. He has been thinking that for four years - he’s done. He moves closer, reaching his hand up and taking the scarf off. The skin is still red and angry under it - the shape of that scar seems almost mocking itself. Castiel’s eyes go to Dean’s mouth though - that hasn’t been ruined. Maybe the idea was to slash on the sides so that it would merge with that fake smile, but as things are it’s exactly the way it used to be before. Dean’s lips look paler now - the first time they met, they had been almost red. Castiel moves even closer, a hand on Dean’s shoulder, and Dean doesn’t move back. The kiss he leaves on Dean’s lips is brief, and he doesn’t let Dean kiss back, breaking it before he can. He needs to say what he has to before letting that happen.
“Us getting a fucking happily ever after doesn’t seem likely,” Castiel agrees. “Then again, two people shooting down twenty-five with just surprise on their side doesn’t seem likely either, does it?”
He stares at Dean’s lips, relieved when Dean lets out a small smile. “Yeah, well, I guess so.”
“If I told you that when I came into town I was sure I wouldn’t be leaving it, does that change things for you?”
“Do you - do you mean that -”
“I had a purpose. I assumed that if I was done with it - then I would be done with the rest.”
“And now?”
“I guess I’m not if you’re not,” Castiel answers as sincerely as he can. “We did the first unlikely thing.”
“So what, I just send you forward anytime I need to talk with people and I can’t do it from behind your scarf?”
“It would be all right with me,” Castiel answers, quietly. “There are - there’s no need to draw attention. I have some money, too, you know. Two people can live somewhere, but to do business you just need one.” Castiel doesn’t even know what he’s saying or at which straws he’s grasping. He just knows that he can’t let things end here, if only because he might still be drunk on everything he’s feeling, but one thing he knows is that he doesn’t want to lose this.. And the next thing he knows he’s being pinned to the bed. Dean is above him, still staring down at him, his eyes wide, like he’s actually considering it, and then a hand reaches up to the top button of Castiel’s shirt.
“Well,” Dean says, “I think that we can think about it. But right now, I think that we need to avoid a risk.”
“Which would be?”
“That no one should ever risk dying a virgin, least of all you,” Dean answers, and while Castiel doesn’t know if it’s a clever way to change the subject or if he’s serious (he has to be, at least partly), he doesn’t object when Dean’s hand starts to open up all the buttons of his shirt. Dean doesn’t ask him to take it off though - and when he’s done, he runs his hand along Castiel’s chest and sternum, lightly, stopping for a second on a couple of scars he gained when someone shot him in the shoulder a couple of years ago.
“Nice,” Dean says, “I expected a lot worse, but then again I underestimate you, I guess.” He starts to take off his shirt, but Castiel sits up and shakes his head. First he takes off Dean’s hat, which for some reason had stayed there all this time, then moves up to his knees so that they’re face to face, and opens up Dean’s blue shirt as well - it’s all bandages underneath. Castiel sighs, knowing it can’t go any other way, and when Dean shrugs the shirt off he starts to do the same.
“Don’t,” Dean says, “I kind of like it on you,” he says, his hands reaching for Castiel’s hips, and Castiel puts his hands on Dean’s shoulders, or the only bare skin he can touch from the waist upwards. He leans down, placing a kiss on the left one. Dean shivers, his hands reaching down for Castiel’s belt, getting rid of it in a couple of motions. Castiel suddenly feels hot like burning, warmth pooling down below his waist, maybe because of Dean’s nearness or maybe because of the way Dean’s hands are running along the small of his back. He doesn’t know, but his heart rate suddenly speeds up and his breathing does as well. He can feel his cheeks flushing.
“Back down,” Dean says, almost teasing, and Castiel leans down on the bed again, Dean’s hands still running over his body, the left quicker than the right.
Dean moves away then, taking off his boots - Castiel does the same and gets rid of the rest of his clothes except for the shirt. He looks over at Dean when he’s done - bandages or not, he can’t help liking Dean’s body a lot. It’s toned, fit, and Castiel curses not being able to run his hands along Dean’s back the same way Dean is running his along Castiel’s hips. He can’t help arching up into the touch when Dean leans down over him a second time, touching him again - he can’t really help it. Then again, there has never been anyone else before and - as soon as he thinks that his brain almost switches off, his entire body feeling set up on fire, and his hand reaches up behind Dean’s neck, bringing his head down and crashing their lips together. Dean gasps into his mouth, his tongue meeting Castiel’s, his hands tangling in Castiel’s hair, and when it’s over they’re both out of breath.
“Fuck, it’s such a waste that you’ve never done this,” Dean says before kissing the hollow of Castiel’s throat and the moving back, placing his knees on either side of Castiel’s ankles and looking down at him.
“Well then,” Dean says, “at least I know you’re interested.”
Understatement, Castiel thinks. He was hard the second Dean pinned him to the bed, right now it almost hurts. And it’s - well, he has spent half of his life just touching himself, but he doesn’t think he has ever been this excited, not for anything. He stares down at himself, noticing that there’s some pre-come leaking out already, and he’d really just like for Dean to do anything until he notices the way Dean is looking down at him. Like he’s calculating the advantages of doing something versus the -
“Don’t,” Castiel says, “you don’t have to. Just - just your hand will be fine, I don’t - another time.”
Dean looks up at him apologetically, moving down so that he’s on top of Castiel again, his left hand closing around his cock, giving it a soft stroke. “I was hoping to give you something more exciting,” Dean says.
As if he needed it - Castiel is about to come apart just from how slow Dean’s hand is moving. Dean’s skin is rough against his cock and it feels so good that he might burst.
“Exciting can wait until it doesn’t hurt you when you eat,” Castiel replies, knowing that it’s not what you’re supposed to say, but as much as he’d have liked to feel that - no. It’s not time. When Dean leans down to kiss him again he lets him, and between the way Dean moves his tongue and the way he starts stroking faster, he thinks it’ll be enough to drive him insane with need. He’s also quite sure that he’s moaning helplessly inside Dean’s mouth, his hips jerking up to meet Dean’s hand, and - he doesn’t really know if he can last much longer, not when Dean’s thumb is rubbing against the head of his cock, not when he can feel himself ready to explode. When the kiss is over he opens his eyes and looks up into Dean’s, so green and still so unmarred, and he just - he can’t - Dean, he says, and then he jerks up and lets go. It sends tremors throughout his back and all his muscles. He can feel his entire chest shaking, and it’s probably a disproportionate reaction, but he can’t hold back. A white light explodes beneath his eyelids, and he clutches at Dean’s shoulders, still jerking up against him, and - then he can’t even think anymore.
He opens his eyes, slowly, to see Dean cleaning his hand on his discarded shirt. His lips feel suddenly dry, and his cock stirs in interest even if he should feel completely spent.
“Hey, are you -”
Castiel doesn’t let him finish and rolls them over, so that he is on top.
“I am perfectly fine,” he says kissing the corner of Dean’s mouth, not missing that Dean shivers under him at that. “And I think that you aren’t, at least not for now,” Castiel says, shifting slightly. And Dean is as hard as he was - it’s pleasing to discover that.
“You most definitely aren’t,” Castiel says.
“Yeah, well, guess you’re gonna do something about it?”
Castiel doesn’t answer, just leans down over Dean. He doesn’t go directly for something he’s never done - he’d rather take his time first. He licks a stripe on Dean’s cock, slowly, feeling it under his tongue, tasting - bitter, but not unpleasant - and he feels it harden oh-so-slightly as he does, so he does it again. Dean is looking down at him with dark eyes, his lips slightly trembling, his pupils half blown - well then. He can’t tease that much longer. He places his hands around Dean’s bandaged hips, leans down and takes the head of Dean’s cock into his mouth. Dean obviously bites his tongue in order not to moan, but the aborted sound still reach Castiel’s ears and he figures he must be doing it right. It’s not like he doesn’t know how it works, even if he never liked whorehouses. He starts to suck just on the head, feels Dean trying not to arch up too much and takes him further down - at about half he decides he’s not risking more. He licks down under the head, feeling Dean harden further inside his mouth and trying to muffle his moans against the pillow, and since he’s being doing good until now he just keeps on sucking, moving his head up and down, just slightly, and Dean gives up trying to stay silent.
“Cas, fuck -” he starts, but never goes past that, his breathing turning into panting as Castiel steps up his pace a bit, and then there’s a hand tugging on his hair.
“I’m - I’m going to -”
Well, Castiel had sort of realized that, and he isn’t about to move away now, and when Dean comes he’s ready, or so he thinks.
In reality he isn’t, because Dean comes so hard that while he does swallow at the beginning, he has to move away in order not to choke, but he recovers quick enough to wrap his hand around Dean’s cock and stroke it as Dean comes. It lasts a long time, and Castiel can’t help staring down at the way Dean’s eyelashes flutter, at the way his body twists and shivers and moves, at the way he can’t help moaning as Castiel keeps on stroking him to completion. When it’s over, Dean lies almost boneless on the mattress, a thin layer of sweat on his face, his lips half parted. He opens his eyes after a short while, his pupils still slightly blown, and Castiel can’t just help it when his hand reaches up and covers Dean’s cheek completely as he lays back down. Dean doesn’t jerk away though, which is strange because touching that scar should hurt.
“Cas, you have a talent,” Dean breathes out, and Castiel decides that it’s time to go for it. Dean was right before - there’s only a slight chance that this thing between them can actually work, but -
He just can’t let it go.
“You wouldn’t want it to go to waste then, would you?”
“You could… not waste it on someone easier to stay with,” Dean answers, and from the way he’s looking at him, Castiel can see that he isn’t joking.
“It’s a pity then, that I’m rather fond of you,” he answers, moving closer, his right hand moving in between Dean’s shoulder blades.
“You really wanna prove me wrong, don’t you?” Dean asks, but he sounds - he sounds more hopeful than anything else.
“Yes,” Castiel simply answers, not seeing the point in dancing around the subject.
“And to think that when I met you I thought I would have to convince you to crack a smile. Now you’re convincing me that this whole thing isn’t insane,” Dean says, sounding rather shocked. “You just won’t stop surprising me, will you?”
Castiel doesn’t even know what to answer at that - he shrugs, settles down on the pillow, his fingers tangling in the hair at the back of Dean’s head. It’s so soft - the skin, the hair, everything. You tend to marvel at the feeling, when you spend four years only touching guns.
“Fine,” Dean says then, his voice suddenly smaller, “you win.”
“I - it means -”
“Cas, yes, it means. Shut up. I can pay for this room for the next week without a fucking problem. We’re thinking about details another time. Can you just work with not talking?”
“… I can work with it.”
“Good,” is Dean’s only reply before he moves his head against Castiel’s shoulder and settles there, seemingly not intent on moving anytime soon.
Castiel stares for a second at the white lace curtains filtering a pink light from outside. It must be sunset. Then he lets his head fall back against the pillow, and he realizes that his left arm has moved around Dean’s shoulders and his right hand is currently the one carding through the hair at the back of Dean’s head.
He hasn’t used his right hand for anything other than shooting for three and a half years.
He takes a deep breath, then another, then he settles back down on the bed.
Yes, he can work with it. He can work with it as long as they both need.
End.