Dean promised Cas he wouldn't let him die a virgin, and it still pretty much looks like Cas is gonna get his ass smote in the morning, so if Dean has to make like Bert and Ernie to keep this one goddamn promise to a guy who full on rebelled against god for him, well, then fuck it. Bring on the Muppet sex, because Dean's let the guy down enough to owe him a good time with some magic fingers in the red light district of Sesame Street.
Not like it'll be the first time Dean's felt like a puppet, and although, really, having a stick shoved so far up your ass you can feel it in the back of your throat is more Cas's department than his--witness the spectacular fail that was Dean's first attempt to get him laid--well, it is the guy's last night on Earth. Dean can suck it up and take it like Bert (that smug fucker Ernie's way too fucking happy to be taking it up the ass every night, and Dean's thinking that You Are A Pain In My Ass look that Bert shoots Ernie's way every episode has to be more literal than the Children's Television Workshop wishes.)
Cas looks a little stiff sitting on the bed on top of the cheap motel sheets in his holy tax accountant getup, legs stick-straight along the right side of the bed, careful even now that they're in bed together to follow Dean's earlier instruction about personal space. It's a little endearing how fucking awkward Cas is. That Cas momentarily reminds Dean of Sammy at thirteen, completely oblivious to Alison Daws trying to get him to hold her hand in the back seat of the Impala while Dean was smoking getting snacks from the drive-in's concessions stand only sours Dean's stomach for a second, before it kicks in his resolve. Dean says, "Fuck it," grabs Cas's tie and lays one on him.
Cas... doesn't fucking move. That's fucking flattering. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Dean flushes and unintentionally mimic's Cas's gesture from the whore house, rubbing his still fucking baby soft hand against the back of his neck. Fucking Cas and his rehymenising laser scar removal treatment went a little bit too far when he took away Dean's hard won gun calluses.
"You wish to give yourself to me in the ways of men?" Cas asks, head cocked a little to the side, zero fucking tone in his voice to give Dean a fucking clue what's going on in that angelic little brain of his.
"I am a man of my word," Dean says, covering over his massive desire to be anywhere but here with his cockiest shit-eating grin and a wink. "I did promise to give myself over to God and all his angels, didn't I? Well, here I am. How can I service you, o' Castiel, Angel of the Lord?"
Cas just looks at him for a moment, like he's looking into Dean's fucking soul, and fuck, that is totally what he's doing. Shit. Dean looks back, meet's Cas's eyes, even knowing what Cas will see there. They sit there, staring at each other for a moment, before Cas bows his head, says, "So be it, Dean Winchester, Servant of God," and reaches for him.
Dean shivers as Cas brushes soft fingers along his cheeks, brushes his thumbs across the crinkles at the corner of Dean's eyes, pulls Dean to him and brushes chapped lips against Dean's in a chaste kiss. Their foreheads press together and they breathe in tandem. Dean can taste electricity in the air between them when he licks his lips, not like in a cheesy, romantic kind of a way, but like actual goddamn flickers of blue-white lightening Dean can see through his closed fucking eyelids, that bites at his lips and tingles on his skin and when Dean takes a shuddering gasp of air and opens his eyes he forgets all about it because Cas's eyes are crackling with need and hunger and an aching sort of desperation that Dean's all too familiar with to ignore.
They kiss. They kiss and kiss and kiss and somewhere along the way, their clothes dissolve and their skin presses together and Dean sobs a little at how good it feels to have Cas's hand pressed up against the handprint burned into Dean's shoulder. Cas grips him tight and kisses Dean's throat and Dean's pretty sure he's going to burn up in a ball of flames if he doesn't come right fucking now.
He says, "Fuck, Cas, fuck. Need you to fuck me. Please. Need to feel you inside me, please," and isn't even embarrassed because fuck, it's true, it's God's honest fucking truth, and so fucking what if Dean's never, you know, taken it up the ass, he wants it, needs it now. Here. From Cas.
Maybe it's an angel thing, or maybe it's just Cas, but he doesn't give Dean any shit about what a needy little bitch he's being begging for it the way he is, just gives it to him in a flash of white that almost blinds him before Cas covers Dean's eyes with a warm palm. Dean doesn't care about the logistics of how Cas's dick got up his ass, if there was lube, or a condom, or even how it fucking fit in there in the first place. All Dean cares about is Cas inside him, around him, bathing him in cold-hot, electric white light deeper than his skin, down to some broken place inside him that hasn't seen light since Dad told him to kill Sammy and Dean couldn't.
The thing is, Dean is all for sex. It has magical fucking healing properties if taken in the proper medicinal dosage, preferably every four to six hours, on an empty stomach, under the supervision of nurse. Two nurses, if at all possible. Naughty nurses in little white skirts. Dean has always believed this. And Dean firmly believes that if you know it's your check out date tomorrow, tonight you should be getting laid. It's just... god, Dean feels like an ass even thinking this, but it's never been like this, like he's having a fucking out of body experience, like it's making him whole. He'd be disgusted with himself if he could think, but all he can do is bask in the waves of Cas's light.
He can feel Cas come hot and wet inside him, feels the room go black, the antithesis of the light Cas filled the room with a moment before. Dean slams back into his body all at once, back into his mewling, screaming, begging, needy body and howls in frustration. His dick is throbbing so hard he can feel it in the back of his teeth, at the tips of his toes, in the edges of his fingernails as he scratches mindlessly into Cas's back, squirming under Cas's limp body and howling his frustration into the dark. He's so turned on he feels like he's having a heart attack for Christ's sake.
And then Cas opens his eyes and it happens all at once: Cas kisses him, Cas lets go his grip on Dean's shoulder and grips instead Dean's dick and finally, finally Dean comes like Old Faithful, and for Dean, it's a religious experience. He wants it again. Again and again and again, after a nap, or, more likely, after he's died and gone to heaven. Either way, Dean's not letting Cas die at dawn, because in that moment, Dean believes Cas. There is a god, and he fucking loves Dean Winchester.
Not like it'll be the first time Dean's felt like a puppet, and although, really, having a stick shoved so far up your ass you can feel it in the back of your throat is more Cas's department than his--witness the spectacular fail that was Dean's first attempt to get him laid--well, it is the guy's last night on Earth. Dean can suck it up and take it like Bert (that smug fucker Ernie's way too fucking happy to be taking it up the ass every night, and Dean's thinking that You Are A Pain In My Ass look that Bert shoots Ernie's way every episode has to be more literal than the Children's Television Workshop wishes.)
Cas looks a little stiff sitting on the bed on top of the cheap motel sheets in his holy tax accountant getup, legs stick-straight along the right side of the bed, careful even now that they're in bed together to follow Dean's earlier instruction about personal space. It's a little endearing how fucking awkward Cas is. That Cas momentarily reminds Dean of Sammy at thirteen, completely oblivious to Alison Daws trying to get him to hold her hand in the back seat of the Impala while Dean was smoking getting snacks from the drive-in's concessions stand only sours Dean's stomach for a second, before it kicks in his resolve. Dean says, "Fuck it," grabs Cas's tie and lays one on him.
Cas... doesn't fucking move. That's fucking flattering. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Dean flushes and unintentionally mimic's Cas's gesture from the whore house, rubbing his still fucking baby soft hand against the back of his neck. Fucking Cas and his rehymenising laser scar removal treatment went a little bit too far when he took away Dean's hard won gun calluses.
"You wish to give yourself to me in the ways of men?" Cas asks, head cocked a little to the side, zero fucking tone in his voice to give Dean a fucking clue what's going on in that angelic little brain of his.
"I am a man of my word," Dean says, covering over his massive desire to be anywhere but here with his cockiest shit-eating grin and a wink. "I did promise to give myself over to God and all his angels, didn't I? Well, here I am. How can I service you, o' Castiel, Angel of the Lord?"
Cas just looks at him for a moment, like he's looking into Dean's fucking soul, and fuck, that is totally what he's doing. Shit. Dean looks back, meet's Cas's eyes, even knowing what Cas will see there. They sit there, staring at each other for a moment, before Cas bows his head, says, "So be it, Dean Winchester, Servant of God," and reaches for him.
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They kiss. They kiss and kiss and kiss and somewhere along the way, their clothes dissolve and their skin presses together and Dean sobs a little at how good it feels to have Cas's hand pressed up against the handprint burned into Dean's shoulder. Cas grips him tight and kisses Dean's throat and Dean's pretty sure he's going to burn up in a ball of flames if he doesn't come right fucking now.
He says, "Fuck, Cas, fuck. Need you to fuck me. Please. Need to feel you inside me, please," and isn't even embarrassed because fuck, it's true, it's God's honest fucking truth, and so fucking what if Dean's never, you know, taken it up the ass, he wants it, needs it now. Here. From Cas.
Maybe it's an angel thing, or maybe it's just Cas, but he doesn't give Dean any shit about what a needy little bitch he's being begging for it the way he is, just gives it to him in a flash of white that almost blinds him before Cas covers Dean's eyes with a warm palm. Dean doesn't care about the logistics of how Cas's dick got up his ass, if there was lube, or a condom, or even how it fucking fit in there in the first place. All Dean cares about is Cas inside him, around him, bathing him in cold-hot, electric white light deeper than his skin, down to some broken place inside him that hasn't seen light since Dad told him to kill Sammy and Dean couldn't.
The thing is, Dean is all for sex. It has magical fucking healing properties if taken in the proper medicinal dosage, preferably every four to six hours, on an empty stomach, under the supervision of nurse. Two nurses, if at all possible. Naughty nurses in little white skirts. Dean has always believed this. And Dean firmly believes that if you know it's your check out date tomorrow, tonight you should be getting laid. It's just... god, Dean feels like an ass even thinking this, but it's never been like this, like he's having a fucking out of body experience, like it's making him whole. He'd be disgusted with himself if he could think, but all he can do is bask in the waves of Cas's light.
He can feel Cas come hot and wet inside him, feels the room go black, the antithesis of the light Cas filled the room with a moment before. Dean slams back into his body all at once, back into his mewling, screaming, begging, needy body and howls in frustration. His dick is throbbing so hard he can feel it in the back of his teeth, at the tips of his toes, in the edges of his fingernails as he scratches mindlessly into Cas's back, squirming under Cas's limp body and howling his frustration into the dark. He's so turned on he feels like he's having a heart attack for Christ's sake.
And then Cas opens his eyes and it happens all at once: Cas kisses him, Cas lets go his grip on Dean's shoulder and grips instead Dean's dick and finally, finally Dean comes like Old Faithful, and for Dean, it's a religious experience. He wants it again. Again and again and again, after a nap, or, more likely, after he's died and gone to heaven. Either way, Dean's not letting Cas die at dawn, because in that moment, Dean believes Cas. There is a god, and he fucking loves Dean Winchester.
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Bring on the Muppet sex,
I had to stop reading altogether and laugh my ass off for a while.
Furthermore:
some broken place inside him that hasn't seen light since Dad told him to kill Sammy and Dean couldn't.
Oh, my god.
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I love you so much. Even though you destroyed my childhood with the World's Best/Wrongest Extended Muppet Sex Metaphor. ;-)
This is everything I wanted and more-hilarious and hot and heartbreaking. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
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FYI, I reposted it all in one piece at my journal.
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