SPN fic: Could I But Hold Thee {con't}

[the_diggler]

Title: Could I But Hold Thee {con't from here}
Rating: NC-17
Pairing/Characters: Dean/Castiel, Pamela
Genre: AU, smut, fluff.
Warnings: bottom!Dean, age difference, voyeurism, exhibitionism, rimming, first!time anal.
Word Count: 11,850
Summary: When Castiel is stuck without a model for his life-art class, Dean volunteers. What Dean doesn't know is that Castiel has already been sketching the young barista for months...
Author's Notes: friggin' post length restrictions :s
Disclaimer: Supernatural ain't mine. Oh the things I'd do to Dean if it was...



~

“Cas?” Dean asks, sounding so uncertain and so vulnerable, Castiel pulls at his own hair.

“This is entirely inappropriate,” Castiel grits his teeth, “You are the same age as most of my students.”

“But I’m not one of your students,” Dean shoots back. “And I want this, Cas,” he implores heatedly. “You have no idea how much I want this,” he reiterates softly.

Castiel growls in frustration at the words, because he does. He does know. He’s imagined this for so long. And even though he never thought he could ever actually have it. Castiel’s always known Dean’s too young for him, and so never tried to pursue him, no matter how much he wanted to. And he always thought Dean preferred women anyway, from what he’d gathered. Maybe Dean had, until now. But to be the first man for Dean… here, on the spur of the moment, on the dusty old chaise in the campus studio of all places… it’s not how this kind of thing should be done. If at all.

“C’mon Cas,” Dean whispers into his ear, pressing up against his back and enveloping him with his heady warmth again. “I know you want this too. The way you drew me, the way you were looking at me…”

“Not like this!” Castiel hisses. “Not for your first time.”

“Shouldn’t that be my choice?” Dean argues. “I’m old enough to know what I want, Cas,” he murmurs, leaning in closer. “C’mon, Cas. Screw propriety. Right in the face,” he says, and Castiel can’t help but huff a little laugh at that.

Encouraged by his response, Dean reaches around his waist, and Castiel feels fingertips creeping up under the hem of his shirt. “C’mon, Cas. For me. Please,” Dean urges, pressing kisses along the back of Castiel’s neck that grow more wet and solicitous with every press, dousing Castiel’s resolve. “Please, Cas,” Dean begs again, and Castiel groans, ripping himself out of Dean’s grasp and standing up off the couch.

He legs are shaky as he walks away, and he thinks he hears Dean make a small sound of distress as he leaves, but he can’t turn around now or he may do something they’ll both regret.

Instead, he keeps walking, straight to the supply room for the things they need.

It is so very hard though, to not turn around and throw himself back into Dean’s arms again. But before he does, he wants to make sure they can at least be safe.

He looks around the supply room in a daze at first, looking but not really seeing through the haze of desire still rushing through every nerve in his body, pulsing loudly in his ears. But finally he sees it, the large bottle of hand lotion left behind by one of the other teachers to help deal with the thicker oil paints. He grabs it and turns for the door again, but on his way out he sees Dean’s clothes sitting on the chair in the room, the bulge of Dean’s wallet in the back of his jeans. He bites his lip as he reaches for it, hoping Dean is at least conscientious enough to carry some kind of protection. Even though it’s not the best place to keep it, Castiel is still relieved when he finds it, and replaces Dean’s wallet back in his jeans.

When he re-emerges from the supply room though, he stops in his tracks, surprised to see Dean mirroring his own position earlier, sitting on the edge of the chaise with his head in his hands. His chest tightens in sympathy, knowing how it feels to be denied something you want so desperately, but then he realizes that thing is him, and his heart flares, sending a warmth through his chest on top of the heat that’s spreading below.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I pulled this out of your wallet,” Castiel says, holding up the condom in his fingers. Dean’s head shoots up at his words, and when he sees what Castiel’s holding, his answering grin is both stunned and relieved, widening with excitement as his eyes fire up with arousal again.

~

Dean hops up to to his knees on the chaise as he approaches, so by the time Castiel is within arm’s length Dean is already reaching out for him, pulling him into a bruising kiss. Castiel nearly topples over with the momentum of it, but Dean holds him up in his arms, clutching him for all the world like he’s not going to let Castiel get away from him again. As it is, Castiel drops the items in his hand, and they bounce onto the chaise as he grabs onto Dean for balance. He doesn’t care though. Dean’s lips are hot and wet against his mouth, and he’s got handfuls of Dean’s skin, glorious against his palms.

Dean seems to want the same thing, because as soon as Castiel is standing on his own again Dean yanks off Castiel’s tie, pulling at the buttons of Castiel’s shirt until he’s yanking that off as well. And then there’s skin, skin everywhere, velvet smooth pressed warm and hard and against… skin.

Castiel holds on even tighter, groaning the agony of his delight into Dean’s mouth. He is still reveling in it as Dean’s hands make quick work of his belt and fly, his pants and briefs being dropped unceremoniously to the floor. And then, dear God, more skin, hard flesh, hot and insistent, rubbing together. And instead of exhaling a groan he sucks in a hiss of air, their lips ceasing their frantic press in favor of the greater need below.

“Fuck, Cas…” Dean whimpers, dragging against him, slow and shaky, hanging on to Castiel’s neck as he trembles. Castiel grabs onto the flesh of Dean’s backside, and crushes him closer, grinding their lengths together in between their bodies as Dean cries out, throwing his head back and gasping for air. Castiel is torn between wanting to press his lips against the length of Dean’s outstretched neck, and wanting to watch Dean’s face, slack-jawed and awed and overwhelmed by pleasure. He tries to do both, never removing his eyes as he presses brief, butterfly kisses to Dean’s throat.

And then Dean cries out again, his eyes flying wide as Castiel accidentally brushes a finger deep against the cleft of his ass. He lifts his head to look at Castiel again, a sort of bewildered surprise in his eyes, even as he squirms his hips back for more. This time, when Castiel deliberately presses his finger there, Dean’s mouth opens in a silent cry, but he doesn’t look away, letting Castiel know how much he likes it with startled eyes and heavy breaths.

Castiel starts to move his finger, massaging in circular movements, and if he thought Dean was shaky before, it’s nothing compared to how Dean jerks and quakes against him now. Dean isn’t even wet and he’s already opening up for Castiel, taking the tip of Castiel’s finger inside him.

“Put it in,” Dean breathes. And Castiel is severely tempted. But if this is going to be Dean’s first time with a man, Castiel wants it to be good for him. Something memorable, as Castiel already knows it will be for him.

“Not yet,” he whispers back, pulling his hand away. Instead he leans forward, carefully laying Dean out on the chaise and rolling him over onto his stomach. For long moments he’s lost in the dip of Dean’s spine, the divine curve of Dean's rear, and he distractedly palms Dean’s hips, pulling him closer and up onto his knees. Dean allows himself to be shifted willingly, settling into the position with a relieved sigh. And then Dean reaches back, spreading open the flesh of his cheeks.

Seeing Dean do that punches a groan out of Castiel, and his cock twitches hard at the sight of Dean holding himself open, presenting himself for Castiel. With a sigh of his own he falls forward, dipping his tongue into that invitation, swiping and circling and jabbing it into Dean’s entrance as Dean bucks and writhes and sobs into the cushions.

Dean is overwhelmed by the sensation, Castiel can tell. But he doesn’t stop, not until Dean is cursing incoherent nonsense, then whimpering pleading ramblings, and then finally reduced to chanting Castiel’s name over and over again, completely melted into the bed of the chaise. And then, Castiel finally slides his fingers in.

First one, sinking easily inside Dean alongside a soft groan. Then two, slowly pushing and thrusting against Dean’s spit-slick rim, met with soft hums of pleasure and only the slightest squirming of his body, so thoroughly taken apart already. Dean is so relaxed, so far past ready for him, Castiel almost feels guilty when he begins to probe deeper, searching for the spot that will set Dean on fire again.

He picks up the hand lotion he found earlier, spreading it over his fingers as they push into Dean, easing his way deeper. Dean startles a little at the coolness of the lotion on his skin, being pushed inside him, but as Castiel’s fingers begin to search harder Dean begins to respond, lifting his hips again and meeting Castiel’s thrusts. As he does, Dean angles his hips, helping Castiel find what he’s looking for, and Castiel knows he’s found it when Dean cries out, bucking around him.

Slowly Castiel begins massaging that spot, working Dean into a frenzy again. The cursing resumes, the rambling and begging and chanting of his name, until finally even Castiel can’t hold out anymore, compelled to give Dean what he wants, desperate to be enveloped in that heat. He pulls his fingers out so he can put on the condom, using the hand lotion again to lube himself up, but even the time that takes is too long for Dean, as he reaches back to shove his own fingers inside himself, filling himself up where Castiel has left him wanting.

Castiel’s brain nearly implodes.

~

He almost comes right then and there, with his dick in his hands, when he see what Dean’s doing. Of all the things Castiel’s been lucky enough to see today, this very nearly undoes him. Dean may have never been with a man before, but clearly Dean has done this before, finger-fucking himself with the kind of ease that comes from experience. Lots of it. Enough to make him want the real thing. Shameslessly. Begging for it.

For Castiel.

It’s almost too much. And maybe his brain does overload in some way, because then Castiel is sliding his own finger inside once more, right alongside Dean’s, stretching him out even wider as they fuck into him together. Dean goes completely silent at first, frozen with shock, and then his litany of begging curses begins again, even more needy than before.

“OhGodCasFuckYesMoreMoreMorePleasePutItInAlreadyCasINeedYou!”

Castiel is done. He pulls Dean’s fingers out with his own, and then lines himself up behind Dean’s still squirming hips, his open and waiting entrance. And then, oh-so-slowly, Castiel begins feeding him his length.

Dean goes silent again, clutching at the pillows and breathing hard as Castiel carefully keeps guiding himself in, grunting softly in restraint. At least in this position, Dean has some control, some space to get away from him if it becomes painful, but Castiel finds he has to use his leverage to keep Dean still instead, preventing Dean from pushing back onto him.

Dean wants it so bad. And Castiel wants nothing more than to bury himself inside Dean as well, push all the way in with one thrust until he’s balls deep. But this is Dean’s first time, and he’s still so tight. Castiel forces himself to go slow, no matter how much they both want it.

Finally, he can go no further. He’s there, all the way inside Dean, and he revels in that for a moment, drops across Dean’s back and holds Dean there, so impossibly warm and snug around him. Dean twists his head around to look at where Castiel’s dropped over his shoulder, and their eyes meet again, for the first time since Castiel spread Dean out on the chaise.

Dean’s eyes convey so much more than the soft curses gasped from his lip. They are so exquisitely dark, wild with desire, focusing on Castiel with such intense heat and raw need, that Castiel find himself nodding, answering the unspoken question there and giving Dean what he wants.

His thrusts are cautious at first, giving Dean time to adjust around him, time to learn how to relax himself and take it. But the slow pace also gives him the opportunity to watch every minute reaction on Dean’s face, with every push, grounding Dean in the connection of their eyes and lips, loathe to break away from it just yet.

He doesn’t have to hide it anymore. Doesn’t have to hold back all the things he wants to feel. All the things he could only express on paper and canvas before, he tells Dean now with his eyes, and lips, and hands… with his entire body, his entire being.

It feels so good.

~

The need builds too quickly. After such a wait, it’s inevitable. And Castiel has to push himself away again, up above Dean’s back for better leverage as he begins to speed his pace. But he refuses to remove his lips again, trailing the freckled path along Dean’s shoulder, finally able to worship the constellations across his back, the bunched muscles and sharp shoulderblades there. He’s drawn these things so many times from his corner of the café, watching Dean work. And even when Castiel’s not at the café, trying to recreate these things from memory, but unveiled, bared and naked as they are now, trying to imagine how these lines would breathe in life with the strokes of his pencil, the brush of his fingertips.

He finds himself shifting his weight, freeing a hand to press against the skin of Dean’s back, tracing the lines there as he’s so often done on paper, thumbing down the knobs of Dean’s spine, tracking the muscle down Dean’s hip. Dean reacts instantly to that, hissing and squirming as he’s tickled there, grabbing Castiel’s hand away. Castiel huffs a laugh at the discovery, warmth spreading through his chest as he is endeared all over again.

Dean doesn’t let go, bringing Castiel’s hand up to his lips and pressing wet kisses into his palm. The warmth in Castiel’s chest spreads impossibly further at the tenderness of such a gesture, and in the midst of such passion. And then Dean is kissing his fingertips, every one, as if worshiping the very hand that has remade him, over and over again on paper, although Dean doesn’t know it.

Maybe he pushes, or Dean sucks, but then his fingers are inside Dean’s mouth, thrusting in time with their hips, and Dean’s tongue is laving and curling around them in a way that electrifies Castiel all the way up his arm and down to his toes. It makes him shake, unable to hold himself up any longer, and he rolls to his side behind Dean, pulling Dean with him so they are still pressed together, connected.

Dean doesn’t stop sucking his fingers, just lifts his leg a little and adjusts to the sideways position, giving Castiel better access to keep driving into him. But now there’s a whole other expanse of skin exposed to Castiel, and he wants to touch there too.

Reluctantly he pulls his fingers out of Dean’s mouth. Dean sighs as he does though, and the breath from it brushes across his wet skin and makes it tingle again. He’s had the same thing done to his nipples in the past, breath played across them after they’ve been sucked and bitten, and it’s with that thought he reaches towards Dean’s chest.

Dean gasps as he rolls the nipple there, tight between oh-so-wet fingertips, pinching and pulling and teasing the hardened nub of flesh. Then he twists Dean further onto his back so he can lean further over Dean’s chest to blow on it, and Dean bucks and gasps, his skin goose-pimpling all over. And then Dean twists back further to loop his arm around Castiel’s neck, pulling him in to mash their lips together again.

Castiel groans into the sloppy kiss, grabbing onto Dean’s thigh and lifting again as Dean readjusts. He massages the strong muscle of Dean’s leg for a moment, loving the feel of that thick flesh in his palm, and then his hand gravitates inwards, down towards Dean’s center.

His fingers are no longer wet by the time he grabs Dean’s cock, but Dean is covered with pre-come, dripping all over his length, more than enough for Castiel to create a fluid rhythm. Dean bucks again, crying out, but in his half-sideways position he can’t push back like Castiel can tell he wants to. He can only take it, split open by Castiel’s sideways thrusts. Can only hang onto Castiel’s neck, fixing him with wild eyes, slack-jawed as he meets the press of Castiel’s mouth.

Castiel never thought he’d see Dean like this. He never thought he’d ever actually hold Dean in his arms, pressed against his body, hot and tight around him and desperate for it. He’s imagined this, wanted this so much. And now that he’s finally here, he doesn’t ever want it to end.

But they’re both so close. And the need for completion is steadily outweighing Castiel’s need for this to last.

“God, Dean you don’t know what you’re doing to me…” he groans, “What you do to me!”

“Cas!” Dean whimpers, agonized, “I can’t-- I can’t hold on much longer!”

Castiel doesn’t stop pistoning as he lifts Dean’s leg high, twisting under it as he pushes Dean flat on his back, and he is lying on top of Dean, leg hooked over his shoulder. The new position angles him perfectly, allowing him all that deeper, and soon Dean is crying out with every jab of his cock, bucking up his hips to meet every plunge.

He grabs Dean’s length in his fist again, pumping tight and furiously fast, still thrusting and driving cries out of the depths of Dean’s body. And then suddenly Dean goes silent, slack-jawed and still, and Castiel can feel Dean coming from the inside, building up through Dean’s body until it throbs out of his cock, and then Dean is wailing with it, his whole body rolling with waves of pleasure.

It’s the most beautiful thing he’s seen yet. And Castiel holds out for as long as he can, trying to look his fill. Until finally Dean’s clenching heat takes him over the edge, and he’s throwing his head back with a shout, coming hard and loud as well.

~

Castiel rides Dean long after their climax, thrusting through the soft ripples afterwards until they’re both too sensitive to take anymore. Then he carefully removes himself, crawling down Dean’s body and pressing his lips to Dean’s stomach, lapping at the salty streaks of his orgasm. He runs his tongue further down, across the softening flesh there, and even sucks it off his own fingers, until it’s all gone. Dean stares up at the ceiling silently, breathlessly, twitching and gasping as his more sensitive parts are mouthed, but parting his legs for Castiel’s access nonetheless.

Castiel ties off his condom and drops it on the floor, sliding back up the chaise to lie alongside Dean. Still Dean stares upwards, but now Castiel can see the overwhelmed glaze in his eyes, the complete and utter bewilderment in them.

“Dean? Are you alright?” Castiel asks softly.

It takes a second, before Dean gives him a little nod. And then another second, before Dean shakes his head.

“Son of a bitch, Cas,” Dean huffs, laughing in amazement. Castiel grins, remembering his first time with another man, and how completely astonished he was by the whole experience afterwards.

Dean turns to look at him, his smile becoming tentative. “That was… good. Right?” he asks, biting his lip anxiously, and Castiel huffs a laugh.

“That was amazing, Dean,” he reassures, with thorough honesty.

“Okay,” Dean breathes, his smile losing its uncertainty. Castiel gives him a small smile of wonder in return, surprised to see such vulnerability, where there’s usually so much bravado.

Moved by the unintended display, Castiel tangles himself around Dean, stroking his fingers down Dean’s skin in an attempt to soothe him. It isn’t long before he feels Dean’s breath even out against him, and when he looks, Dean is fast asleep against his chest.

Castiel sighs fondly, adjusting himself alongside Dean more comfortably and wrapping the sheet around them where he can. He wants to reach up and touch Dean’s face, trace the curves and caress the lines he’s so often drawn, but he doesn’t want to wake Dean either. He doesn’t want to be denied this last chance to look his fill, before things irrevocably change between them.

It’s been an amazing afternoon. More than amazing. But realistically, Dean is still too young for him. He may not be ready for the kind of… investment that Castiel has already, unfortunately, devoted to him. Not ready for the kind of hopes Castiel has been trying to deny for as long as he’s known Dean.

He’s already been selfish enough with his desires. Dean deserved his first time to be with someone special. Not some illicit encounter with an older man he barely knows, without even dinner, or a drink first. But maybe that was Castiel’s role all along, to be the older, experienced man to guide Dean through his first time successfully. He could take comfort in the fact that at least it had been good for Dean.

He can’t go to the café anymore though. Even if Dean is able to handle this kind of transient liaison with some kind of maturity, Castiel knows he won’t be able to return to the same kind of easy casualness they’ve had in their interactions before. And he’d have to be a special kind of masochistic to even try.

As it is, he already knows he’s going to hang on to the memory of this afternoon for a lot longer than is probably healthy. Already knows he’ll be sketching a million different moments, painting with colors that flush and glow over and again, sculpting the contours of Dean’s body from touch alone.

So until then, he’s just going to look, all he can, at everything he can, until exhaustion finally claims him as well.

~

Sometime later, Castiel is awoken by a strange noise. He’s not sure he’s actually heard it at first, as he comes to consciousness slowly, but then he hears it again, much nearer, and this time instantly identifiable. It’s the shutter-click of a camera, or at least the recorded sound of it that’s used on mobile phones.

Castiel opens his eyes to see Dean sitting on the chaise beside him, fully dressed again and, as he suspected, fiddling with his phone.

“Dean?” Castiel croaks, voice still groggy from sleep, and Dean jumps at the sound of it. “Did you just take a picture of me?” he raises a questioning eyebrow. Dean bites his lip, slowly turning to meet Castiel’s gaze.

“It’s just a hobby of mine,” Dean shrugs, but there’s something evasive about the way he says it that makes Castiel frown.

“Your hobby is taking pictures of naked men as they sleep,” he deadpans.

“No!” Dean yelps, looking embarrassed. “Just… taking pictures,” he explains.

“Okay,” Castiel replies. Wrapping the sheet around his waist he sits up on the chaise next to Dean and leans over, “May I see?” he asks.

“Um…” Dean hesitates for a moment, looking down at his phone. Then he takes a deep breath and says, “Okay. But it’s just a hobby okay? I’m not a real artist or anything like that,” he rushes to add, before slowly handing over the phone.

Castiel has to blink a few times before he realizes what he’s seeing. It’s him, sleeping, mostly naked but for the sheet twisted around his skin… But the framing is unbalanced, and the lamp behind him sends a strange flare across the empty space above his head… and it’s beautiful. The picture defies all the basic rules of photography and yet Dean has used the angle and the halo-like flare in the lens to make him look like some kind of sleeping God.

“Dean…” he breathes, awed. “I didn’t know I could look like this,” he murmurs. “You are very good,” Castiel smiles at him.

Dean meets his eyes again, an embarrassed smile on his face from the compliment. “Thanks, Cas. That means a lot to me,” he says gratefully, as if Castiel’s approval truly is important to him. It makes Castiel want to kiss him, but he’s not sure if that’s okay anymore, so he quickly diverts his eyes, looking down at the phone again.

As he does though, his thumb slips across the screen, flicking the image to the previous picture, and Castiel smiles. Dean has taken a picture of the sketch Castiel drew of him earlier, and Castiel warms at the thought that Dean likes it enough to want a copy of it, even though it isn’t finished. It makes him want to kiss Dean again.

He sighs, stroking the image, forgetting that the touch will change it to the previous picture, and what he sees startles him.

It’s him again, but from much earlier that day, standing by the road outside the Haven café and talking on his phone – probably receiving the very phone call that started this whole thing. He touches the screen once more, and there he is again, but from the inside of the café, through the glass of its window.

Castiel is shocked. Grabbing the sheet around his waist, he stands up off the chaise, turning away from Dean and shielding the phone as he quickly flicks through more pictures. They’re all of him, from even earlier during his visit to the café today - drawing in his sketchpad, drinking tea, having lunch - all from unusual angles, and some of them blurred, as if they’d been taken in passing.

“Cas?” Dean calls from behind him, worry in his voice.

“Dean,” Castiel replies, turning back around as he puts the pieces together, remembering something Dean said to him outside the café. “Did you pretend to work for a whole hour after your shift finished, just to take pictures of me?” he asks incredulously.

Dean pales.

~

Castiel‘s heart hammers. He looks down at Dean’s phone again, flicking through the pictures faster, and once he gets through the pictures from this afternoon, they go back even further, from days before, weeks. Except these pictures have obviously been filtered through already, the unwanted ones discarded so only the good shots remain.

They’re all still chosen to Dean’s unconventional taste though, taken from unusual but interesting angles, often with lopsided framing or playing with reflections and light flares. And the subject is always him. From every angle. Or sometimes just a part of him – his hand hanging over the side of one of the café tables, or gripping the edge of his sketchpad… the small strip of skin showing at the back of his neck as leans over and draws… his throat where it meets the open collar of his shirt

“What is this, Dean?” he asks, completely thrown.

“Please don’t be mad, Cas,” Dean implores. “I would’ve asked for your permission but… what was I supposed to say? ‘Hey I’m an amateur photographer, can I please take lots and lots of pictures of you?’ Could that be any more creepy?!” Dean exclaims.

“I would have said Yes,” Castiel replies, the small smile inching at his lips threatening to break into an out and out grin.

“…What?” Dean replies, his turn to be confused now. "Really?"

Castiel walks over to his desk, pulling his sketchpad out of his bag, and brings it back to Dean, handing it over. “Open it,” he says, sitting down on the chaise again.

Dean’s eyes widen in shock, and for a moment he just looks down at the sketchpad in his hands with something like awe in his eyes, before he reverently opens its cover. Castiel holds his breath as for the second time that day, as he watches Dean appraise his work. Work that is comprised entirely of Dean. On every page. From a multitude of angles, and sometimes just different parts of him, drawn in detail. Much like Dean’s collection on his phone.

“I would have asked your permission, but…” Castiel says softly, echoing Dean’s earlier statement.

Dean glances up at him, expression entirely unreadable, before he looks back down at the pages of the book. He goes all the way through it, and when he reaches the end, he nods, as if considering something, and then lays the pad on the chaise beside him.

And the next moment, Dean is launching himself at Castiel’s lips, pushing Castiel back onto the chaise with the momentum of it. Castiel wraps his arms around Dean and holds onto him, laughing into the kiss until Dean steals his breath away with it.

“Dammit, Cas, I didn’t think you even cared I existed!” Dean breathes against his lips, “I was trying so hard to get you to pay attention to me, hell I had to offer to take off my clothes for you to look at me for more than two seconds!”

“Dean, how could I not pay attention to you?” Castiel huffs in disbelief, “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen!”

Dean’s mouth snaps shut at that, and he goes wide-eyed again. “Um… You too?” he shrugs helplessly.

Castiel laughs again at that, but as he does he see how closely Dean watches him, so openly, and he realizes Dean isn’t kidding. He pulls Dean down to kiss him again, but this time slow, and deep, taking his time to enjoy it, because he suspects he has that time now.

“So,” Dean says afterwards, nervous again, “Would you? Pose for me sometime?” he asks, biting his lip.

Castiel grins. “How’s Saturday night for you? After you have dinner with me?”

And that’s the night they begin a whole new series of pictures - mostly of Castiel, but some with Dean in them as well.

They even make a few videos too.

~ fin

Guys, seriously, check out artwork of Zues and Ganymede. I don't know why I'd never heard of this myth until now.

And I still fully intend to expand on this verse someday, but in the meantime, here's a short sequel :)