Simmer, Dean/Cas, NC-17
Title: Simmer
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Angst, a little bit of Cas!whump, frottage, schmoop
Summary: Cas is getting a little better each day. Just a little. Dean is helping. Just a little.
Part 1: Percolate
On Ao3 or below.
The month after Cas falls, Dean drives him twelve miles out to the lake every day. Cas sits on the dock and looks at the water, Dean at his side, silent. Sometimes Cas dips his fingertips into the water and swirls, creating ripples that disappear far out beyond what he can see. He doesn't say anything but the quiet 'thank you' to Dean when they get back to the bunker several hours later, dusk settling on the arch of browning hilltops.
Sometimes Cas sheds his clothes and sinks beneath the surface, floating quietly, suspended in the water. He tells Dean it's the closest he can get to flying. Dean never joins him, just watches him, ready to dive in if Cas spends too long under the surface.
Dean does this every day, through autumn and into the cold first week of November. Cas doesn't touch the water anymore, but sighs long huffs of warm breaths, watching them ghost into mist against the brisk air.
Today, he sits on the edge of the dock, legs crossed beneath him. Dean leans up against one of the wooden poles, watching the back of his friend's head. He tries empathizing, talking about Hell and losing Sam or their parents. Castiel thanks him for his effort but Dean is ultimately unhelpful.
Cas wishes he could explain to Dean how much the gesture means to him. He's having trouble with scale. Things that once seemed magnificent are now incomprehensible. Things that were miniscule are now encompassing. He doesn't understand how strongly he feels about anything. Feeling nothing is much easier. He's aware of the struggle Dean is suffering, but he's unwilling to acknowledge it.
Dean, Cas thinks. It starts abstract, just the sound in his mind. Sometimes the word appears to him suddenly, detached from meaning; a reference without its referent. Dean is something solid he can hold in the water, when he can't tell log from lifesaver. He can cling to this small word and trust it to reel him back into the safety of green eyes and a plaid shirt with blood stains below the collar. Sharp-tongued, gruff, boy who shrugged off the touch of horror but collapsed under the weight of his own failures. He deserves comforting, too. Cas knows this, but he remains still, inhaling the wind off the cool water.
“All right, buddy. We gotta get back. Sam left for Wyoming an hour ago, I owe him some research for his case.”
“You should have gone with him,” Castiel says.
“What, and leave you all alone to hitchhike out here every day? C'mon.”
Castiel doesn't reply, just gets to his feet and nods. “Thank you, Dean.”
Dean claps a hand on Cas' shoulder. “As usual, you're fucking welcome, and you owe me.”
He knows that he owes Dean. More than he could hope to express. Instead of trying, he begins walking toward the Impala.
It's been on his mind more, recently. The idea of reciprocation. Settling his debt. He chalks it up to the changing of the seasons, some sort of permanence fluttering down around him like the falling leaves. Watching the leaves change makes his gut clench. Could be Dean's unrelenting insistence on being there for him, for which Castiel is grateful but loathes deeply.
The ride back to the bunker is quiet today. Sometimes Dean talks, or the radio is on, but today the windows are unrolled and the crisp air is clean and swirling around them. Dean likes the smell of Fall, the mud and grass and whisper of frost.
Cas knows this because Dean told him a few weeks ago. He hadn't felt it from his soul or plucked it from his mind. Those are no longer options.
“Home, sweet home,” Dean mumbles, pulling up in front of the bunk and sliding out of the car. Castiel follows him obediently. “ You hungry?”
“No, Dean,” Cas says. He isn't. His stomach is churning with anxiety and what he wants is to sit on the couch and stare at the ceiling until it's time to sleep. But he knows that isn't allowed, so he'll probably read novels.
Dean rolls his eyes. “You haven't eaten in days. You have to eat.”
“I had six unsalted almonds yesterday,” he argues.
“That's not enough, dude.”
Cas doesn't like this conversation. It will end with Dean being angry with him and him being angry with Dean. Now that Cas is locked out of Dean's brain, Dean's displeasure isn't as noisy (as as explicit) as it used to be. The silence is worse. “I'll shower.”
Dean can't hold back his sigh this time, rubbing the back of his head. “Is that you trying to compromise?”
Castiel shrugs a shoulder. “I like showering.” It's the truth, but he is also trying to cut a deal. Dean always sees right through him. “It's calming. Then I may be able to eat.”
“Fine,” Dean agrees, and stomps toward the shooting range. Dean often shoots guns when he's frustrated. This is something Cas has picked up though routine observation. That is how he's meant to learn things, now.
Cas makes his way into the bathroom, tossing his clothes in the laundry hamper and stepping under the warm spray of the shower. He lets the water trap him, envelop him in heat and steam. It drowns out the sounds of his breathing, or his heart beating. His muscles relax and he dips his chin to his chest.
He imagines Dean at the gun range, gently squeezing the trigger and hitting the targets with precision. Cas will need to learn how to shoot soon, although he's in no hurry. When he could once channel the might of Heaven through his fingertips, the thought of carrying of a gun seems futile. Dean will probably teach him. Sam won't be as patient.
Steam rises thick and hot around him, obscuring his vision. The water may be too hot. His breath feels labored in the damp air, his head fuzzy, limbs loose and lethargic.
Castiel can vaguely hear Dean's voice. It's muffled by- something. Doesn't matter. Water pounds against his skin in a pleasantly dull thrum. He blinks slowly, barely jumping when a loud crash echoes through the bathroom.
“Cas, shit,” he hears Dean more closely now. His eyes focus. He's sitting on the floor of the tub, the shower soaking him with now ice-cold water. Oh. What? Dean is dragging him out of the tub.
“Jesus Christ,” Dean grunts, wrapping Castiel in a warm towel and sitting him on the closed toilet seat. Cas watches him while he rubs his hands up Cas' arms, trying to heat his skin. Cas sits and shivers, blinking occasionally.
“Dean?” He asks.
“Yeah, idiot?” He snaps, checking Cas' head for injuries.
“I think it was the steam. I got dizzy.”
“Yeah, well, that'll happen,” he grouses. “You've been in here for an hour and a half.”
Cas frowns, cognitive thought slowly returning. “I'm sorry for worrying you.” His words come out sluggish and deliberate.
Dean crosses his arms over his chest. “Just this once?” It's kind of sharp. Castiel hangs his head, shameful, but doesn't say anything. Quietly, he adds, “I'm sick of you not taking care of yourself.”
Cas starts shivering, hard. He thinks it's a mixture between not wanting to have this conversation and the mild hypothermia. His head dips again and suddenly Dean is there, wrapping him up in a hug, sharing body heat. Cas still shivers, head ducked into Dean's neck.
Dean holds him close, letting Cas' cold wet hair drip all over his shirt. Cas chatters against him, violent shakes wracking his body. “Shh,” Dean mumbles, out of nowhere, but Cas likes it. He takes a deep breath.
He wraps his arms around Dean, wanting only to be closer, to crawl into him. He's so warm. And here's Cas, leeching again. His time, his concern, his heat. His stomach flips and he's shaking, he can't stop. “D-Dean.”
Dean pulls back and looks at Cas' face, searching, asking something. He runs his hands down Cas' arms again, trying to warm him up, but Castiel shakes his head and stares at Dean. He doesn't know what he wants to say, what he wants to convey, but he's sure he's doing a very poor job at it. But Dean's hand is sliding hot to his cheek, and his convulsing lessens minutely.
Then, without warning, Dean is kissing him.
Dean's mouth is hot. His lips must be freezing. Cas' eyes stay open. He can feel Dean cupping his cheeks and kissing him. He's not shivering anymore. Dean pushes forward a little more, breathing through his nose, and Castiel remains still.
Cas chest is tight. He doesn't know if he can breathe. He hasn't been trying. Warmth is prickling him all over, though, and he's not shaking anymore. He knows what to do in this situation, he's just not sure if he should. Carefully, he presses his lips back against Dean's.
Dean reels back, fast, and stands so quickly he comes close to tipping over himself. “Uh, you got it from here?”
Cas' eyes remain downcast. “Yes, I believe so.”
The rest of the day remains awkward, with Cas pretending to read his novel on the couch while Dean sorts through the Men of Letters documents, looking for information for Sam. They speak minimally, Dean offering Cas some food and Cas quietly turning him down. Dean doesn't argue and goes to bed early.
Cas contemplates on the couch. Dean cared about him. Despite being fallen, broken, and useless, Dean will always stitch him back together. His stomach settles, and he falls asleep.
The next morning, Dean wanders out of his bedroom in his boxers, yawning and seeking coffee, per his usual routine. Castiel has situated himself at the table, munching on a sandwich.
“Cas?” He's surprised. Castiel understands.
“Hello, Dean,” he says with a grin. Dean hesitates, clearly put off by Castiel eating and smiling. He watches, dumbfounded.
Castiel notes Dean's confusion, all on his own. He can understand why Dean is so confused, and he sympathizes. Any other morning, and Cas would be laying on the couch, eyes glued to the ceiling, waiting for Dean to wake up and make coffee and drive him out to the lake. He gestures to his sandwich. “This is delicious.”
“Uh, good,” Dean says. “What is it?”
Castiel beams proudly. “It's a mixture of the red sauce and the hazelnut spread. I put a pickle on the side.”
Dean stares at him. “You're eating a Nutella and Sriracha sandwich?”
“With a pickle,” Cas says.
“That's fucking gross,” Dean grumbles, walking past him to the coffee pot. Castiel doesn't take it personally. He swallows another bite, the food settling nicely in his stomach. Dean watches him as the coffee brews, eyes narrowed, and Castiel thinks this is a good thing. “Okay, man. What's got you eating?”
Cas ponders. “I was hungry.”
“No shit. Six unsalted almonds. Jesus.” He pokes at the jar of pickles on the table.
Castiel watches him. “I haven't been hungry. I woke up hungry, today, and I think it's because you kissed me.”
Dean freezes, color rising fast to his cheeks. Cas wonders if it might be too early for Dean to have this conversation. “How, uh. What-”
He presses on. “It made me feel calm. And warm.”
Castiel observes the dark circles under Dean's eyes, the redness at the corners, his untamed hair. He decides to deduce that Dean didn't sleep well last night. He wonders, vaguely, if that's the reason. If he'll shout at Cas, blame him.
But now, he just stares. Cas puts down the crust of his sandwich. “I feel much better,” he tries. This is a good thing, he wants to express that without just saying it. How would Dean do it?
“That's good, Cas.”
“Did you like it?” Castiel's eyes stay trained on Dean. This question is weighted. If Dean says no, he risks losing Castiel's progress. If he says yes, he'll have to face actions head-on. Castiel is proud of himself. He restrains his smile.
Dean shakes his head. “Cas, I can't-”
“It's all right,” Cas interrupts calmly, taking another bite. He has a final shot. “I can practice the experiment with other people if it makes you uncomfortable.”
Dean sits stiffly. He didn't like that solution. Castiel declares victory before Dean even speaks again. “Okay, yeah, Cas. I did.”
“You did?”
“Fuck.” Dean scrubs his hands down his face, peeking at Castiel through his fingers. “Yeah. I'd do it again right now if I wasn't so goddamn worried about you.”
Cas blinks once, deliberately. “Don't be worried.”
Dean barely hears him, sending his chair scooting across the floor as he stands abruptly. He leans forward across the table. He stops several inches from Cas and nods. “Okay.”
A shiver tingles up Castiel's spine as he holds Dean's gaze. “Okay.”
Hesitation flickers across his eyes, but Dean does away with it and leans forward to kiss Castiel. He starts light but goes firm, bringing a hand up to cup warmly against his cheek. Cas wades through the unfamiliar reactions, sorting the good from the bad the best he can. He files most of this under 'good.'
Dean pulls back, just an inch, eyes searching Cas' for a response. Cas leans in, wrapping his arms around Dean's shoulders, fingers sliding along the base of his neck and up into his hair. Dean's hitched breath and his half-lidded eyes are making Cas brilliantly warm in a way he hasn't felt in literal eons.
Dean takes this as the go-ahead, pressing forward again. Cas' skin feels so warm, soft from the shower, trying to keep his mouth soft and forgiving. Dean kisses him hard, moving his lips over Cas', his pulse loud enough for Castiel to pick up. He can feel Dean breathing, smell his soap, feel the light scrape of stubble peppering his cheeks. His breath stutters into Castiel's mouth.
The feeling bursting in Cas' heart is unfamiliar. He labels it 'giddy' and dips his head to kiss Dean's collarbone. “This is helping,” he murmurs against the skin. “A lot.”
A strained noise escapes Dean's throat and he flushes, but Cas is too busy kissing up the column of his neck to bother commenting. He takes Cas' face between his hands and drags him back up to kiss him on the mouth, taking the lower lip between his own. He pulls back after a long moment. “H-hold on.”
Cas watches Dean move around the table toward him. For a moment, Dean almost looks angry, and Castiel's heart thumps hard until he realizes it's just determination. Dean stops next to Castiel, standing, running a hand from the crown of his head to the base of his skull. Cas leans into him, his tongue pressing against Dean's exposed collarbone.
“If this is what you call helping, I'll literally do anything I can to help you,” Dean says.
“I will do anything I can to accept your help,” Cas breathes back into Dean's neck, closing his lips around the skin.
“Jesus.” Dean hunches over and drags Cas' face up to his, kissing him firmly, fluidly. Cas stiffens when Dean slides his tongue against his bottom lip and too much- too much- prickles up his spine. Dean quickly draws it back in favor of running his flat hands down Cas' chest and up again to rest on his shoulders.
A noise jerks itself out of Cas' throat, bringing some clarity back to his fuzzy mind. Just when his mind starts turning, Dean is grinning and interrupting their kiss, straightening his back and standing tall. He's smiling, open and warm, gesturing for Cas to stand with him. He hesitates in the chair, hands hovering just above his lap. He makes a mental note to tell Dean he does not like sweatpants.
Dean nods encouragingly as Castiel tentatively gets to his feet. His arms go tight around his friend, pressing him into a hug. He's got one arm around Cas' middle, the other around his shoulders, just barely brushing the tip of his shoulder blade. Cas decides he likes the way they fit together, his' face just barely tucked under Dean's chin. Dean kisses the top of Cas' head, then his temple, his cheek, and his mouth. “Mm.”
Cas takes a moment to respond, letting the hug and kisses wrap him up in a cocoon. He's mildly aware that he might be breathing hard. He feels Dean hum against his mouth and he surges forward, winding his fingers in Dean's hair and drawing him into a deep kiss. He can feel something- arousal, he notes- tugging just below his navel. Dean is melting against him, pecking his lips, smoothing a hand down his cheek. When Dean presses his thumb against Castiel's bottom lip, his eyebrows knit together.
Dean clearly reads the embarrassment on Cas' face and grins. “S'all right, Cas. It's good.” Cas can feel the comfort radiating between them, almost like it used to.
“Really? M'sorry, I-”
“Why?”
“Well...I don't know,” Cas admits.
Dean laughs a little. Castiel presumes that Dean can empathize with his state. “Then don't be.” He kisses the curve of Cas' jawline, then just under his ear.
Cas feels uncomfortable with the erratic, adrenaline-fueled joy that's rocketing through him. Joy has been a foreign concept. He has come to understand that joy is felt by ignorant people who haven't seen the world for what it really is. Being neither ignorant or vacantly happy leaves Cas completely unfamiliar with the feeling. He suspects it won't last, but he holds on tight, fingers digging into Dean's back.
His arm tight around Cas' waist, holding him flush, Dean smiles into the warm skin of Cas' throat. He's so tight against Castiel's body, the gentle new-smell of Castiel's humanity drifting over them both. Cas breathes it in, unsure, the unfamiliar scent tickling something inside of him. Dean is letting his teeth scrape against Cas' neck. This feels right. Right? He's riding his endorphins, feeling Dean's heartbeat where they're pressed together.
Dean moves back up to Castiel's mouth and kisses him again, like he can't help it. Like he's propelled by an unknown force. Cas thinks that any doubts Dean has are probably being drowned out by the noises he can't keep in his throat. He slides one hand up the bottom of Castiel's borrowed undershirt, subtly dragging his fingertip along the soft skin of Cas' hip, just above where the sweatpants are slung.
“Yes,” Cas murmurs, and his cheeks heat up. Cas wants to keep it together, he does, but Dean's lips are really- “I like that.” He gives up hope of retaining his dignity and tries to wiggle closer to Dean, kissing him back, focusing on his bottom lip. Dean seems to be slowing down, though. Pulling back? Castiel's eyes open, half-lidded, and he frowns in protest.“Keep...”
Dean is grinning. “What's that, Cas?” Cas would smite him on the spot if he could.
“Sorry, I- uh-”
Dean's eyes cloud with something. Concern?. “S'just me,” he says. “Talk. Tell me how I can help.”
Cas' smile is sheepish. The dry heat from Dean's hand under his shirt, the way their hips are together just so, his pulse beating alongside Dean's much slower one. The wet spot on his neck where Dean was kissing earlier. “Everything helps.”
Warmth jerks in Cas' stomach, and at his fingertips, and somewhere behind his eyes, too. He resists a shiver and leans forward as Dean is pressing his lips back under his ear, moving up to whisper against him. “You're gonna have to be more specific.”
“Sss-I- everything,” Cas stutters. He can't think, his mind won't settle for coherency when it keeps reeling through everything Dean is doing to him. Like how he's pressing into the small of Cas' back, his other hand threading through Cas' hair and pulling very gently.
“That help?” Dean asks quietly.
Castiel's shudder should be an indication, but Dean is watching him expectantly. His hands grip Dean's shoulders tighter. He's human, and that's fine, and everything is okay. Mostly. And mostly is perfect, what Dean is doing is perfect, and he manages to choke out an answer. “Yes, so much.”
Cas tries to mumble something encouraging but it just comes out a quiet moan. An endless stream of apologies and explanations want to come spilling out of his lips, but Dean traps them there with his mouth.
He strokes along Cas' sides, his skin smooth and hot under Dean's hands. He runs his tongue along Cas' bottom lip, sucking it between his teeth before releasing him. His eyes are shut tight, and Castiel feels like Dean wants to say something. All he says is, “Cas.”
Cas wonders if maybe Dean gets it. Maybe he understands enough. Him and Dean; kings of 'just getting it enough.' He hears Dean whisper his name and he buries his head in his shoulder, running his teeth along the bare skin.
“Oh.” Dean tips his head back.
Something sits down hard in Castiel at Dean's light voice. He listens to him breathe and bites down sharply on his shoulder, reveling in the quiet hiss he evokes. He sucks gently on the skin, grinning. He's grinning. Two days ago he was sobbing. He grins harder at the improvement; holes stitching up, wounds healing. Cas is overly-conscious of the hands on his hips.
“It figures you'd know exactly where to touch me,” Dean murmurs.
“I did rebuild you,” Castiel counters.
“From scrap metal.”
“From gold.”
Dean spreads his legs and pulls Castiel's hips tight against his own, and judging by the noise he makes, he knows how hard Castiel's dick is. He begins muttering into Cas's ear, lips wet and breath warm against him.
Cas gulps breath down, Dean's voice trickling down his skin. Now that Dean is aware of how his body is reacting, he seems to approve. If Cas can trust the way Dean's eyes are all cloudy, pupils blown. Or the way he's just slightly hitching his hips forward into Castiel's. Cas leans up and kisses the bottom of Dean's chin, affectionate, but Dean's grip loosens at the contact.
“I might be pushing my luck, here,” Dean mumbles. Cas is french-kissing him, and biting his shoulder, and, Cas thinks, hard against his leg. All Cas wants to do is rock his hips forward, but Dean is staying back, pushing him back?
Dean gently pushes Castiel away from him, separating where their hips were flush. Cas is instantly cold at the loss, but tries to remind himself that he must pay attention to Dean. Listen to Dean.
But Dean cups his jaw and kisses him again, and confusion sweeps Cas before he can stop it. The hunter's tongue traces and pushes and slides along Cas', who leans forward into the contact. “Fuck, you taste good,” Dean says. “Even after sriracha and chocolate.”
Castiel narrows his eyes. Dean is pulling away but kissing him and complimenting him, and he's unfamiliar with this sort of routine. The space between them would be so easy to close, but Dean doesn't want him to. He hesitates, uncomfortable, and tries to convey something with his eyes the way he's seen so many humans do. Dean catches the gaze and and smiles in understanding, kissing the side of Cas' mouth.
“C'mon, Castiel. Do whatever you want.”
Cas shoves forward and rocks Dean backwards into the counter, bringing their hips flush again. The counter must cut into Dean's back but arousal spikes in Cas, in almost every nerve he has as he delves his tongue into Dean's mouth. A million catastrophes swirl in Cas' brain, all the ways this could go. But between the warmth and properly touching, he has to think this was the right step to take.
Cas is going with it, going for it, and Dean is left without words. Only sounds, murmured into the hollow between Castiel's lips while he rolls his hips forward. He stops, lips resting, only for a moment. “That's good. Real good, Cas.”
“Really?” Cas says, dazed, and pushes Dean harder into the counter, catching the way Dean's breath hitches. Dean nods vigorously. Cas' stubble burns against his chin and he loves it, wants more. He pulls at Cas' hair, pulls at his hips and shoulders and cheeks and legs. Closer.
“Do you even know what you're doing to me?” He asks.
“No.”
“'Course not.” He kisses him square on the mouth, pulling away slow. “Why would you?”
Cas doesn't bother trying to understand. He knows he gave Dean an erection. He can feel it pressing hot against his hip. His own is trapped against Dean's thigh which is hard and moving, rubbing into him with every roll of Dean's hips. He knows that Dean is blushing and he might be, too, but he can't think about it over the sound of his heart beating and the pleasure sparking all over his body, wherever Dean is touching.
He knows where this is going. His hands are clumsy against Dean's bare back, fingers sliding through the gathering sweat there. He opens his eyes, unclear on when he shut them, and looks at Dean's flushed face. “What do I do?”
“Fuck,” Dean mutters, kissing Cas deeply, rocking them tight together. He pulls away, panting, and strokes a hand down Cas' cheek. “Do whatever you want.” Their grinding turns rhythmic, fast. “Anything.”
Cas thinks he's smiling. He can't tell until Dean dips down to mouth at his damp neck, laving a spot on the side with his tongue and sucking hard while shoving his hands up Cas' shirt, yanking it over his head. Yeah, he's smiling. Dean's chest bare against his, their overheated skin sliding together, and Cas' grin is uncontrollable. From what he understands, the spot on his neck where Dean is focused will be still be noticeable in hours.
“S'good seeing you smile,” Dean murmurs, having, at some point, moved away from Cas' neck. His fingers are low on Cas' back, stroking over his tailbone and hips while he rocks into him.
Cas wants to say, 'it feels good to smile,' but it comes out more like “s'good t-mmgnf,” as Dean kisses him hard. Dean's hands on his back, his mouth, his hips- yeah, his hips.
It's not quite enough, just almost what they need, and Dean seems to make some sort of decision because soon he's grinding forward hard, with enthusiasm he hadn't expressed before.
The friction starts sending shocks down on Cas' legs and up his torso to tangle with his too-fast heart. He can feel Dean solid through the thin boxers, his own sweatpants doing nothing to hide his matching erection. Dean slides a hand down between them, gripping Cas through his pants, palming his dick before moving his hand back up to rest flat on Castiel's bare belly.
Castiel's eyes fly open and he moans softly, hips jerking forward, looking for more of Dean's hand. His hand felt perfect, it felt right. Instead, he falls slotted between Dean's parted legs, their cocks pressed hard together, and it's good. He grinds forward, his arms winding around Dean's neck. “This feels- really good, Dean,” Cas stutters out.
Cas must have said something right because his hands fall to Cas' ass, holding him tight against him while he grinds forward, fingers flexing into Cas' skin through the sweatpants. He can't do anything more but kiss him again, knowing that this is about to end a lot sooner than he intended. At least he's learning his own weaknesses.
“Mmm-” Cas doesn't think he should be making noises, but Dean seems to appreciate them, even reciprocating occasionally. He knows what's building inside of him but he doesn't know what it's going to be, how it's going to feel, what it's going to do to him. He reminds himself that Dean has been here many times, and he wills trust into his movements. He can do what he wants, Dean said, and what he wants it to get closer.
He sucks on Dean's tongue, a hand sliding down Dean's back to his hip to his thigh, where he curls his fingers around it and lifts. Dean moans something into his mouth and wraps his leg around Cas waist, hips thrusting forward against Cas' wantonly. Cas' brain promptly shuts down, the angle providing new heat, more flush skin, Dean's leg warm against his waist.
When Cas' hands tangle in his hair, Dean tips his head to the side and takes Cas' mouth deep and slick. Dean is blushing so hard he'd probably pass out if other priorities weren't outweighing medical needs. He pants hard against Cas, making a slew of humiliating noises. He sighs out a long breath, nosing at Cas' earlobe, taking it between his lips. Cas enjoys this, deeply.
“Still good, Cas?” He whispers into his ear. Cas nearly laughs.
“What do you think?”
Erection pressed flush to Dean's, Cas thrusts forward particularly hard. Dean shakes his head.
“I don't know, man.” Dean tucks his face into Castiel's neck, licking at a drop of sweat. “I'm not used to dry-humping my best friends in the kitchen, all right?” Dean sounds uncomfortable, stressed, exactly the opposite of what this should entail. “I just want you to be, I dunno. Ready.”
Cas hesitates. Of course he isn't ready. But he isn't afraid; he's trusting Dean to be there when it's over to call him an idiot and hug him and explain. To answer, he just grips the thigh that's hooked around his waist and pulls Dean down to kiss him, biting at his lip and rubbing against his tongue and rocking them together. He doesn't say a word, just reignites that spark, gets the slow, molten heat building.
Dean gives in, hard. He lets Cas push him against the counter with the force of his thrusts, lets Cas all but- what was that phrase- tongue-fuck him. And Dean groans quietly, Cas swallowing the vibrations.
“Keep doin' that-”
“Dean, I think you saved me-”
“Yeah, right-”
“We're even, now. We're-”
“We're never gonna be even-”
Warmth is bursting in Cas' stomach and chest, suffocating, but so, so good. He chases it, the pull behind his navel getting stronger the more he rubs himself against Dean. “Oh-”
“S'okay, Cas.” Dean is sucking on his neck again and he's saying words that Cas is having trouble registering. “It's gonna be okay. Let go.”
He's burning and freezing and melting, maybe, he doesn't know what. It's brilliant and filling his vessel- him- from top to bottom, and Dean is there. He jerks forward, his breath catching in his throat, muscles seizing tight. He's vaguely aware that he's repeating Dean's name.
Dean is thumbing at his mouth, kissing at his cheeks at neck. “So fuckin' good, Cas.”
Cas blinks his eyes open. They're on the floor, Dean sitting up against the counter, Cas collapsed in his lap. He looks up and Dean is smiling at him, offering a shrug.
“Guess we fell over. You okay?”
Castiel considers this. “Yes. Very.”
Dean strokes a hand down his back and Cas sits up on his own, pulling out of Dean's arms. Dean watches him, brows furrowed.
“Are you okay?” Castiel asks.
Dean considers this. “Yeah, m'great.” Cas leans in of his own volition and kisses Dean on the mouth experimentally. Dean's cloudy, hazy eyes blink slowly.
“I just corrupted a PTSD patient,” Dean says, and laughs to himself. Cas makes a choice to ignore the implications of that and shifts awkwardly.
“I think I need to change my clothes,” Castiel says.
Dean colors. “Uh, yeah. Me too. I'll just throw these in the wash, y'know. Immediately.”
Cas accepts this, nodding once, and standing. He's slightly wobbly, but he manages to keep his balance and help Dean get to his feet as well. They walk close, ignoring personal space and tripping all over each other's feet. Dean grins and shoves Cas into the room, watching him stumble. Cas turns to glare but finds Dean's warm mouth, and that's okay.
They change, and Dean gathers up the laundry.
“What time do you want to go to the lake today?” He asks, slinging the bag over his shoulder.
Cas shrugs, pulling on a plaid button-up. “Maybe we could do something else today. We could use groceries.”
Dean hides his surprise behind a grin. “Yup, you got that right. Can't have you gorging on hot sauce and chocolate. How 'bout I make burgers?”
Cas smiles, lopsided. “I would like that.”
End.
As always, feedback is adored in any form :)
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Angst, a little bit of Cas!whump, frottage, schmoop
Summary: Cas is getting a little better each day. Just a little. Dean is helping. Just a little.
Part 1: Percolate
On Ao3 or below.
The month after Cas falls, Dean drives him twelve miles out to the lake every day. Cas sits on the dock and looks at the water, Dean at his side, silent. Sometimes Cas dips his fingertips into the water and swirls, creating ripples that disappear far out beyond what he can see. He doesn't say anything but the quiet 'thank you' to Dean when they get back to the bunker several hours later, dusk settling on the arch of browning hilltops.
Sometimes Cas sheds his clothes and sinks beneath the surface, floating quietly, suspended in the water. He tells Dean it's the closest he can get to flying. Dean never joins him, just watches him, ready to dive in if Cas spends too long under the surface.
Dean does this every day, through autumn and into the cold first week of November. Cas doesn't touch the water anymore, but sighs long huffs of warm breaths, watching them ghost into mist against the brisk air.
Today, he sits on the edge of the dock, legs crossed beneath him. Dean leans up against one of the wooden poles, watching the back of his friend's head. He tries empathizing, talking about Hell and losing Sam or their parents. Castiel thanks him for his effort but Dean is ultimately unhelpful.
Cas wishes he could explain to Dean how much the gesture means to him. He's having trouble with scale. Things that once seemed magnificent are now incomprehensible. Things that were miniscule are now encompassing. He doesn't understand how strongly he feels about anything. Feeling nothing is much easier. He's aware of the struggle Dean is suffering, but he's unwilling to acknowledge it.
Dean, Cas thinks. It starts abstract, just the sound in his mind. Sometimes the word appears to him suddenly, detached from meaning; a reference without its referent. Dean is something solid he can hold in the water, when he can't tell log from lifesaver. He can cling to this small word and trust it to reel him back into the safety of green eyes and a plaid shirt with blood stains below the collar. Sharp-tongued, gruff, boy who shrugged off the touch of horror but collapsed under the weight of his own failures. He deserves comforting, too. Cas knows this, but he remains still, inhaling the wind off the cool water.
“All right, buddy. We gotta get back. Sam left for Wyoming an hour ago, I owe him some research for his case.”
“You should have gone with him,” Castiel says.
“What, and leave you all alone to hitchhike out here every day? C'mon.”
Castiel doesn't reply, just gets to his feet and nods. “Thank you, Dean.”
Dean claps a hand on Cas' shoulder. “As usual, you're fucking welcome, and you owe me.”
He knows that he owes Dean. More than he could hope to express. Instead of trying, he begins walking toward the Impala.
It's been on his mind more, recently. The idea of reciprocation. Settling his debt. He chalks it up to the changing of the seasons, some sort of permanence fluttering down around him like the falling leaves. Watching the leaves change makes his gut clench. Could be Dean's unrelenting insistence on being there for him, for which Castiel is grateful but loathes deeply.
The ride back to the bunker is quiet today. Sometimes Dean talks, or the radio is on, but today the windows are unrolled and the crisp air is clean and swirling around them. Dean likes the smell of Fall, the mud and grass and whisper of frost.
Cas knows this because Dean told him a few weeks ago. He hadn't felt it from his soul or plucked it from his mind. Those are no longer options.
“Home, sweet home,” Dean mumbles, pulling up in front of the bunk and sliding out of the car. Castiel follows him obediently. “ You hungry?”
“No, Dean,” Cas says. He isn't. His stomach is churning with anxiety and what he wants is to sit on the couch and stare at the ceiling until it's time to sleep. But he knows that isn't allowed, so he'll probably read novels.
Dean rolls his eyes. “You haven't eaten in days. You have to eat.”
“I had six unsalted almonds yesterday,” he argues.
“That's not enough, dude.”
Cas doesn't like this conversation. It will end with Dean being angry with him and him being angry with Dean. Now that Cas is locked out of Dean's brain, Dean's displeasure isn't as noisy (as as explicit) as it used to be. The silence is worse. “I'll shower.”
Dean can't hold back his sigh this time, rubbing the back of his head. “Is that you trying to compromise?”
Castiel shrugs a shoulder. “I like showering.” It's the truth, but he is also trying to cut a deal. Dean always sees right through him. “It's calming. Then I may be able to eat.”
“Fine,” Dean agrees, and stomps toward the shooting range. Dean often shoots guns when he's frustrated. This is something Cas has picked up though routine observation. That is how he's meant to learn things, now.
Cas makes his way into the bathroom, tossing his clothes in the laundry hamper and stepping under the warm spray of the shower. He lets the water trap him, envelop him in heat and steam. It drowns out the sounds of his breathing, or his heart beating. His muscles relax and he dips his chin to his chest.
He imagines Dean at the gun range, gently squeezing the trigger and hitting the targets with precision. Cas will need to learn how to shoot soon, although he's in no hurry. When he could once channel the might of Heaven through his fingertips, the thought of carrying of a gun seems futile. Dean will probably teach him. Sam won't be as patient.
Steam rises thick and hot around him, obscuring his vision. The water may be too hot. His breath feels labored in the damp air, his head fuzzy, limbs loose and lethargic.
Castiel can vaguely hear Dean's voice. It's muffled by- something. Doesn't matter. Water pounds against his skin in a pleasantly dull thrum. He blinks slowly, barely jumping when a loud crash echoes through the bathroom.
“Cas, shit,” he hears Dean more closely now. His eyes focus. He's sitting on the floor of the tub, the shower soaking him with now ice-cold water. Oh. What? Dean is dragging him out of the tub.
“Jesus Christ,” Dean grunts, wrapping Castiel in a warm towel and sitting him on the closed toilet seat. Cas watches him while he rubs his hands up Cas' arms, trying to heat his skin. Cas sits and shivers, blinking occasionally.
“Dean?” He asks.
“Yeah, idiot?” He snaps, checking Cas' head for injuries.
“I think it was the steam. I got dizzy.”
“Yeah, well, that'll happen,” he grouses. “You've been in here for an hour and a half.”
Cas frowns, cognitive thought slowly returning. “I'm sorry for worrying you.” His words come out sluggish and deliberate.
Dean crosses his arms over his chest. “Just this once?” It's kind of sharp. Castiel hangs his head, shameful, but doesn't say anything. Quietly, he adds, “I'm sick of you not taking care of yourself.”
Cas starts shivering, hard. He thinks it's a mixture between not wanting to have this conversation and the mild hypothermia. His head dips again and suddenly Dean is there, wrapping him up in a hug, sharing body heat. Cas still shivers, head ducked into Dean's neck.
Dean holds him close, letting Cas' cold wet hair drip all over his shirt. Cas chatters against him, violent shakes wracking his body. “Shh,” Dean mumbles, out of nowhere, but Cas likes it. He takes a deep breath.
He wraps his arms around Dean, wanting only to be closer, to crawl into him. He's so warm. And here's Cas, leeching again. His time, his concern, his heat. His stomach flips and he's shaking, he can't stop. “D-Dean.”
Dean pulls back and looks at Cas' face, searching, asking something. He runs his hands down Cas' arms again, trying to warm him up, but Castiel shakes his head and stares at Dean. He doesn't know what he wants to say, what he wants to convey, but he's sure he's doing a very poor job at it. But Dean's hand is sliding hot to his cheek, and his convulsing lessens minutely.
Then, without warning, Dean is kissing him.
Dean's mouth is hot. His lips must be freezing. Cas' eyes stay open. He can feel Dean cupping his cheeks and kissing him. He's not shivering anymore. Dean pushes forward a little more, breathing through his nose, and Castiel remains still.
Cas chest is tight. He doesn't know if he can breathe. He hasn't been trying. Warmth is prickling him all over, though, and he's not shaking anymore. He knows what to do in this situation, he's just not sure if he should. Carefully, he presses his lips back against Dean's.
Dean reels back, fast, and stands so quickly he comes close to tipping over himself. “Uh, you got it from here?”
Cas' eyes remain downcast. “Yes, I believe so.”
The rest of the day remains awkward, with Cas pretending to read his novel on the couch while Dean sorts through the Men of Letters documents, looking for information for Sam. They speak minimally, Dean offering Cas some food and Cas quietly turning him down. Dean doesn't argue and goes to bed early.
Cas contemplates on the couch. Dean cared about him. Despite being fallen, broken, and useless, Dean will always stitch him back together. His stomach settles, and he falls asleep.
The next morning, Dean wanders out of his bedroom in his boxers, yawning and seeking coffee, per his usual routine. Castiel has situated himself at the table, munching on a sandwich.
“Cas?” He's surprised. Castiel understands.
“Hello, Dean,” he says with a grin. Dean hesitates, clearly put off by Castiel eating and smiling. He watches, dumbfounded.
Castiel notes Dean's confusion, all on his own. He can understand why Dean is so confused, and he sympathizes. Any other morning, and Cas would be laying on the couch, eyes glued to the ceiling, waiting for Dean to wake up and make coffee and drive him out to the lake. He gestures to his sandwich. “This is delicious.”
“Uh, good,” Dean says. “What is it?”
Castiel beams proudly. “It's a mixture of the red sauce and the hazelnut spread. I put a pickle on the side.”
Dean stares at him. “You're eating a Nutella and Sriracha sandwich?”
“With a pickle,” Cas says.
“That's fucking gross,” Dean grumbles, walking past him to the coffee pot. Castiel doesn't take it personally. He swallows another bite, the food settling nicely in his stomach. Dean watches him as the coffee brews, eyes narrowed, and Castiel thinks this is a good thing. “Okay, man. What's got you eating?”
Cas ponders. “I was hungry.”
“No shit. Six unsalted almonds. Jesus.” He pokes at the jar of pickles on the table.
Castiel watches him. “I haven't been hungry. I woke up hungry, today, and I think it's because you kissed me.”
Dean freezes, color rising fast to his cheeks. Cas wonders if it might be too early for Dean to have this conversation. “How, uh. What-”
He presses on. “It made me feel calm. And warm.”
Castiel observes the dark circles under Dean's eyes, the redness at the corners, his untamed hair. He decides to deduce that Dean didn't sleep well last night. He wonders, vaguely, if that's the reason. If he'll shout at Cas, blame him.
But now, he just stares. Cas puts down the crust of his sandwich. “I feel much better,” he tries. This is a good thing, he wants to express that without just saying it. How would Dean do it?
“That's good, Cas.”
“Did you like it?” Castiel's eyes stay trained on Dean. This question is weighted. If Dean says no, he risks losing Castiel's progress. If he says yes, he'll have to face actions head-on. Castiel is proud of himself. He restrains his smile.
Dean shakes his head. “Cas, I can't-”
“It's all right,” Cas interrupts calmly, taking another bite. He has a final shot. “I can practice the experiment with other people if it makes you uncomfortable.”
Dean sits stiffly. He didn't like that solution. Castiel declares victory before Dean even speaks again. “Okay, yeah, Cas. I did.”
“You did?”
“Fuck.” Dean scrubs his hands down his face, peeking at Castiel through his fingers. “Yeah. I'd do it again right now if I wasn't so goddamn worried about you.”
Cas blinks once, deliberately. “Don't be worried.”
Dean barely hears him, sending his chair scooting across the floor as he stands abruptly. He leans forward across the table. He stops several inches from Cas and nods. “Okay.”
A shiver tingles up Castiel's spine as he holds Dean's gaze. “Okay.”
Hesitation flickers across his eyes, but Dean does away with it and leans forward to kiss Castiel. He starts light but goes firm, bringing a hand up to cup warmly against his cheek. Cas wades through the unfamiliar reactions, sorting the good from the bad the best he can. He files most of this under 'good.'
Dean pulls back, just an inch, eyes searching Cas' for a response. Cas leans in, wrapping his arms around Dean's shoulders, fingers sliding along the base of his neck and up into his hair. Dean's hitched breath and his half-lidded eyes are making Cas brilliantly warm in a way he hasn't felt in literal eons.
Dean takes this as the go-ahead, pressing forward again. Cas' skin feels so warm, soft from the shower, trying to keep his mouth soft and forgiving. Dean kisses him hard, moving his lips over Cas', his pulse loud enough for Castiel to pick up. He can feel Dean breathing, smell his soap, feel the light scrape of stubble peppering his cheeks. His breath stutters into Castiel's mouth.
The feeling bursting in Cas' heart is unfamiliar. He labels it 'giddy' and dips his head to kiss Dean's collarbone. “This is helping,” he murmurs against the skin. “A lot.”
A strained noise escapes Dean's throat and he flushes, but Cas is too busy kissing up the column of his neck to bother commenting. He takes Cas' face between his hands and drags him back up to kiss him on the mouth, taking the lower lip between his own. He pulls back after a long moment. “H-hold on.”
Cas watches Dean move around the table toward him. For a moment, Dean almost looks angry, and Castiel's heart thumps hard until he realizes it's just determination. Dean stops next to Castiel, standing, running a hand from the crown of his head to the base of his skull. Cas leans into him, his tongue pressing against Dean's exposed collarbone.
“If this is what you call helping, I'll literally do anything I can to help you,” Dean says.
“I will do anything I can to accept your help,” Cas breathes back into Dean's neck, closing his lips around the skin.
“Jesus.” Dean hunches over and drags Cas' face up to his, kissing him firmly, fluidly. Cas stiffens when Dean slides his tongue against his bottom lip and too much- too much- prickles up his spine. Dean quickly draws it back in favor of running his flat hands down Cas' chest and up again to rest on his shoulders.
A noise jerks itself out of Cas' throat, bringing some clarity back to his fuzzy mind. Just when his mind starts turning, Dean is grinning and interrupting their kiss, straightening his back and standing tall. He's smiling, open and warm, gesturing for Cas to stand with him. He hesitates in the chair, hands hovering just above his lap. He makes a mental note to tell Dean he does not like sweatpants.
Dean nods encouragingly as Castiel tentatively gets to his feet. His arms go tight around his friend, pressing him into a hug. He's got one arm around Cas' middle, the other around his shoulders, just barely brushing the tip of his shoulder blade. Cas decides he likes the way they fit together, his' face just barely tucked under Dean's chin. Dean kisses the top of Cas' head, then his temple, his cheek, and his mouth. “Mm.”
Cas takes a moment to respond, letting the hug and kisses wrap him up in a cocoon. He's mildly aware that he might be breathing hard. He feels Dean hum against his mouth and he surges forward, winding his fingers in Dean's hair and drawing him into a deep kiss. He can feel something- arousal, he notes- tugging just below his navel. Dean is melting against him, pecking his lips, smoothing a hand down his cheek. When Dean presses his thumb against Castiel's bottom lip, his eyebrows knit together.
Dean clearly reads the embarrassment on Cas' face and grins. “S'all right, Cas. It's good.” Cas can feel the comfort radiating between them, almost like it used to.
“Really? M'sorry, I-”
“Why?”
“Well...I don't know,” Cas admits.
Dean laughs a little. Castiel presumes that Dean can empathize with his state. “Then don't be.” He kisses the curve of Cas' jawline, then just under his ear.
Cas feels uncomfortable with the erratic, adrenaline-fueled joy that's rocketing through him. Joy has been a foreign concept. He has come to understand that joy is felt by ignorant people who haven't seen the world for what it really is. Being neither ignorant or vacantly happy leaves Cas completely unfamiliar with the feeling. He suspects it won't last, but he holds on tight, fingers digging into Dean's back.
His arm tight around Cas' waist, holding him flush, Dean smiles into the warm skin of Cas' throat. He's so tight against Castiel's body, the gentle new-smell of Castiel's humanity drifting over them both. Cas breathes it in, unsure, the unfamiliar scent tickling something inside of him. Dean is letting his teeth scrape against Cas' neck. This feels right. Right? He's riding his endorphins, feeling Dean's heartbeat where they're pressed together.
Dean moves back up to Castiel's mouth and kisses him again, like he can't help it. Like he's propelled by an unknown force. Cas thinks that any doubts Dean has are probably being drowned out by the noises he can't keep in his throat. He slides one hand up the bottom of Castiel's borrowed undershirt, subtly dragging his fingertip along the soft skin of Cas' hip, just above where the sweatpants are slung.
“Yes,” Cas murmurs, and his cheeks heat up. Cas wants to keep it together, he does, but Dean's lips are really- “I like that.” He gives up hope of retaining his dignity and tries to wiggle closer to Dean, kissing him back, focusing on his bottom lip. Dean seems to be slowing down, though. Pulling back? Castiel's eyes open, half-lidded, and he frowns in protest.“Keep...”
Dean is grinning. “What's that, Cas?” Cas would smite him on the spot if he could.
“Sorry, I- uh-”
Dean's eyes cloud with something. Concern?. “S'just me,” he says. “Talk. Tell me how I can help.”
Cas' smile is sheepish. The dry heat from Dean's hand under his shirt, the way their hips are together just so, his pulse beating alongside Dean's much slower one. The wet spot on his neck where Dean was kissing earlier. “Everything helps.”
Warmth jerks in Cas' stomach, and at his fingertips, and somewhere behind his eyes, too. He resists a shiver and leans forward as Dean is pressing his lips back under his ear, moving up to whisper against him. “You're gonna have to be more specific.”
“Sss-I- everything,” Cas stutters. He can't think, his mind won't settle for coherency when it keeps reeling through everything Dean is doing to him. Like how he's pressing into the small of Cas' back, his other hand threading through Cas' hair and pulling very gently.
“That help?” Dean asks quietly.
Castiel's shudder should be an indication, but Dean is watching him expectantly. His hands grip Dean's shoulders tighter. He's human, and that's fine, and everything is okay. Mostly. And mostly is perfect, what Dean is doing is perfect, and he manages to choke out an answer. “Yes, so much.”
Cas tries to mumble something encouraging but it just comes out a quiet moan. An endless stream of apologies and explanations want to come spilling out of his lips, but Dean traps them there with his mouth.
He strokes along Cas' sides, his skin smooth and hot under Dean's hands. He runs his tongue along Cas' bottom lip, sucking it between his teeth before releasing him. His eyes are shut tight, and Castiel feels like Dean wants to say something. All he says is, “Cas.”
Cas wonders if maybe Dean gets it. Maybe he understands enough. Him and Dean; kings of 'just getting it enough.' He hears Dean whisper his name and he buries his head in his shoulder, running his teeth along the bare skin.
“Oh.” Dean tips his head back.
Something sits down hard in Castiel at Dean's light voice. He listens to him breathe and bites down sharply on his shoulder, reveling in the quiet hiss he evokes. He sucks gently on the skin, grinning. He's grinning. Two days ago he was sobbing. He grins harder at the improvement; holes stitching up, wounds healing. Cas is overly-conscious of the hands on his hips.
“It figures you'd know exactly where to touch me,” Dean murmurs.
“I did rebuild you,” Castiel counters.
“From scrap metal.”
“From gold.”
Dean spreads his legs and pulls Castiel's hips tight against his own, and judging by the noise he makes, he knows how hard Castiel's dick is. He begins muttering into Cas's ear, lips wet and breath warm against him.
Cas gulps breath down, Dean's voice trickling down his skin. Now that Dean is aware of how his body is reacting, he seems to approve. If Cas can trust the way Dean's eyes are all cloudy, pupils blown. Or the way he's just slightly hitching his hips forward into Castiel's. Cas leans up and kisses the bottom of Dean's chin, affectionate, but Dean's grip loosens at the contact.
“I might be pushing my luck, here,” Dean mumbles. Cas is french-kissing him, and biting his shoulder, and, Cas thinks, hard against his leg. All Cas wants to do is rock his hips forward, but Dean is staying back, pushing him back?
Dean gently pushes Castiel away from him, separating where their hips were flush. Cas is instantly cold at the loss, but tries to remind himself that he must pay attention to Dean. Listen to Dean.
But Dean cups his jaw and kisses him again, and confusion sweeps Cas before he can stop it. The hunter's tongue traces and pushes and slides along Cas', who leans forward into the contact. “Fuck, you taste good,” Dean says. “Even after sriracha and chocolate.”
Castiel narrows his eyes. Dean is pulling away but kissing him and complimenting him, and he's unfamiliar with this sort of routine. The space between them would be so easy to close, but Dean doesn't want him to. He hesitates, uncomfortable, and tries to convey something with his eyes the way he's seen so many humans do. Dean catches the gaze and and smiles in understanding, kissing the side of Cas' mouth.
“C'mon, Castiel. Do whatever you want.”
Cas shoves forward and rocks Dean backwards into the counter, bringing their hips flush again. The counter must cut into Dean's back but arousal spikes in Cas, in almost every nerve he has as he delves his tongue into Dean's mouth. A million catastrophes swirl in Cas' brain, all the ways this could go. But between the warmth and properly touching, he has to think this was the right step to take.
Cas is going with it, going for it, and Dean is left without words. Only sounds, murmured into the hollow between Castiel's lips while he rolls his hips forward. He stops, lips resting, only for a moment. “That's good. Real good, Cas.”
“Really?” Cas says, dazed, and pushes Dean harder into the counter, catching the way Dean's breath hitches. Dean nods vigorously. Cas' stubble burns against his chin and he loves it, wants more. He pulls at Cas' hair, pulls at his hips and shoulders and cheeks and legs. Closer.
“Do you even know what you're doing to me?” He asks.
“No.”
“'Course not.” He kisses him square on the mouth, pulling away slow. “Why would you?”
Cas doesn't bother trying to understand. He knows he gave Dean an erection. He can feel it pressing hot against his hip. His own is trapped against Dean's thigh which is hard and moving, rubbing into him with every roll of Dean's hips. He knows that Dean is blushing and he might be, too, but he can't think about it over the sound of his heart beating and the pleasure sparking all over his body, wherever Dean is touching.
He knows where this is going. His hands are clumsy against Dean's bare back, fingers sliding through the gathering sweat there. He opens his eyes, unclear on when he shut them, and looks at Dean's flushed face. “What do I do?”
“Fuck,” Dean mutters, kissing Cas deeply, rocking them tight together. He pulls away, panting, and strokes a hand down Cas' cheek. “Do whatever you want.” Their grinding turns rhythmic, fast. “Anything.”
Cas thinks he's smiling. He can't tell until Dean dips down to mouth at his damp neck, laving a spot on the side with his tongue and sucking hard while shoving his hands up Cas' shirt, yanking it over his head. Yeah, he's smiling. Dean's chest bare against his, their overheated skin sliding together, and Cas' grin is uncontrollable. From what he understands, the spot on his neck where Dean is focused will be still be noticeable in hours.
“S'good seeing you smile,” Dean murmurs, having, at some point, moved away from Cas' neck. His fingers are low on Cas' back, stroking over his tailbone and hips while he rocks into him.
Cas wants to say, 'it feels good to smile,' but it comes out more like “s'good t-mmgnf,” as Dean kisses him hard. Dean's hands on his back, his mouth, his hips- yeah, his hips.
It's not quite enough, just almost what they need, and Dean seems to make some sort of decision because soon he's grinding forward hard, with enthusiasm he hadn't expressed before.
The friction starts sending shocks down on Cas' legs and up his torso to tangle with his too-fast heart. He can feel Dean solid through the thin boxers, his own sweatpants doing nothing to hide his matching erection. Dean slides a hand down between them, gripping Cas through his pants, palming his dick before moving his hand back up to rest flat on Castiel's bare belly.
Castiel's eyes fly open and he moans softly, hips jerking forward, looking for more of Dean's hand. His hand felt perfect, it felt right. Instead, he falls slotted between Dean's parted legs, their cocks pressed hard together, and it's good. He grinds forward, his arms winding around Dean's neck. “This feels- really good, Dean,” Cas stutters out.
Cas must have said something right because his hands fall to Cas' ass, holding him tight against him while he grinds forward, fingers flexing into Cas' skin through the sweatpants. He can't do anything more but kiss him again, knowing that this is about to end a lot sooner than he intended. At least he's learning his own weaknesses.
“Mmm-” Cas doesn't think he should be making noises, but Dean seems to appreciate them, even reciprocating occasionally. He knows what's building inside of him but he doesn't know what it's going to be, how it's going to feel, what it's going to do to him. He reminds himself that Dean has been here many times, and he wills trust into his movements. He can do what he wants, Dean said, and what he wants it to get closer.
He sucks on Dean's tongue, a hand sliding down Dean's back to his hip to his thigh, where he curls his fingers around it and lifts. Dean moans something into his mouth and wraps his leg around Cas waist, hips thrusting forward against Cas' wantonly. Cas' brain promptly shuts down, the angle providing new heat, more flush skin, Dean's leg warm against his waist.
When Cas' hands tangle in his hair, Dean tips his head to the side and takes Cas' mouth deep and slick. Dean is blushing so hard he'd probably pass out if other priorities weren't outweighing medical needs. He pants hard against Cas, making a slew of humiliating noises. He sighs out a long breath, nosing at Cas' earlobe, taking it between his lips. Cas enjoys this, deeply.
“Still good, Cas?” He whispers into his ear. Cas nearly laughs.
“What do you think?”
Erection pressed flush to Dean's, Cas thrusts forward particularly hard. Dean shakes his head.
“I don't know, man.” Dean tucks his face into Castiel's neck, licking at a drop of sweat. “I'm not used to dry-humping my best friends in the kitchen, all right?” Dean sounds uncomfortable, stressed, exactly the opposite of what this should entail. “I just want you to be, I dunno. Ready.”
Cas hesitates. Of course he isn't ready. But he isn't afraid; he's trusting Dean to be there when it's over to call him an idiot and hug him and explain. To answer, he just grips the thigh that's hooked around his waist and pulls Dean down to kiss him, biting at his lip and rubbing against his tongue and rocking them together. He doesn't say a word, just reignites that spark, gets the slow, molten heat building.
Dean gives in, hard. He lets Cas push him against the counter with the force of his thrusts, lets Cas all but- what was that phrase- tongue-fuck him. And Dean groans quietly, Cas swallowing the vibrations.
“Keep doin' that-”
“Dean, I think you saved me-”
“Yeah, right-”
“We're even, now. We're-”
“We're never gonna be even-”
Warmth is bursting in Cas' stomach and chest, suffocating, but so, so good. He chases it, the pull behind his navel getting stronger the more he rubs himself against Dean. “Oh-”
“S'okay, Cas.” Dean is sucking on his neck again and he's saying words that Cas is having trouble registering. “It's gonna be okay. Let go.”
He's burning and freezing and melting, maybe, he doesn't know what. It's brilliant and filling his vessel- him- from top to bottom, and Dean is there. He jerks forward, his breath catching in his throat, muscles seizing tight. He's vaguely aware that he's repeating Dean's name.
Dean is thumbing at his mouth, kissing at his cheeks at neck. “So fuckin' good, Cas.”
Cas blinks his eyes open. They're on the floor, Dean sitting up against the counter, Cas collapsed in his lap. He looks up and Dean is smiling at him, offering a shrug.
“Guess we fell over. You okay?”
Castiel considers this. “Yes. Very.”
Dean strokes a hand down his back and Cas sits up on his own, pulling out of Dean's arms. Dean watches him, brows furrowed.
“Are you okay?” Castiel asks.
Dean considers this. “Yeah, m'great.” Cas leans in of his own volition and kisses Dean on the mouth experimentally. Dean's cloudy, hazy eyes blink slowly.
“I just corrupted a PTSD patient,” Dean says, and laughs to himself. Cas makes a choice to ignore the implications of that and shifts awkwardly.
“I think I need to change my clothes,” Castiel says.
Dean colors. “Uh, yeah. Me too. I'll just throw these in the wash, y'know. Immediately.”
Cas accepts this, nodding once, and standing. He's slightly wobbly, but he manages to keep his balance and help Dean get to his feet as well. They walk close, ignoring personal space and tripping all over each other's feet. Dean grins and shoves Cas into the room, watching him stumble. Cas turns to glare but finds Dean's warm mouth, and that's okay.
They change, and Dean gathers up the laundry.
“What time do you want to go to the lake today?” He asks, slinging the bag over his shoulder.
Cas shrugs, pulling on a plaid button-up. “Maybe we could do something else today. We could use groceries.”
Dean hides his surprise behind a grin. “Yup, you got that right. Can't have you gorging on hot sauce and chocolate. How 'bout I make burgers?”
Cas smiles, lopsided. “I would like that.”
End.
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