Something Stupid/5 (D/C; NC-17)

[zatnikatel]

Dean leans against the tile, a small bottle of shower gel in his hand, as the water streams down over him. He’s already hard, his cock alert and beckoning, and his vision tracks up and down Castiel’s body as he strips. His one good eye is gleaming dark, dangerous and greedy, and Castiel shivers under the weight of his gaze.

Dean clears his throat as Castiel kicks his pants and boxers over into the corner, and his voice comes out more nervous than he looks. “You’re uh… not as scrawny as we thought then.”

Castiel raises his eyebrows, steps into the cramped shower cubicle. He’s slightly shorter than Dean, has to look up, and the water is already soaking his hair so it curls down across his eyes. He offers his hand, palm up, and Dean wordlessly tips the liquid onto it.

Castiel rubs his hands together until bubbles froth. He lays his palms flat on Dean’s chest, and Dean flinches, licks his lips. His skin is smooth and warm under Castiel’s touch, lightly tanned, freckles sprinkled chaotically. Castiel presses slightly, feels the give of toned muscle, muscles that were rotting fiber the first time he did this. “I remade you,” he breathes out in wonder, and the knowledge overwhelms him for a moment, so that all he can hear is the thunderous roar of blood in his ears, and the thud of his heartbeat. He slides his hands across Dean’s skin, in ever-wider circles, inscribes intricate soap symbols around Dean’s nipples, draws geometric shapes up towards his neck and across the top of his shoulders. “I know you,” he murmurs. “I know every part of your body, down to each individual cell. I stitched them back together. I held your heart in my hands, and saw it beat again for the first time.”

Dean’s eyes drift closed, and he tips his head back, exposing the long line of his throat. Castiel leans forward, traces the tip of his tongue down Dean’s neck, and Dean sighs out a long breath. “I know you,” Castiel repeats. “But I don’t know you at all.”

He ranges long strokes down Dean’s chest, around and under his arms so the fingertips of both hands meet at the bony, pebbled ridge of Dean’s spine. He maps his way south, past the dimples at the base of Dean’s back, feels the muscles in Dean’s flanks jump urgently as his hands play over the softer flesh of his butt. He slips a foamy finger deep inside the crease, down to the perineum, where he accurately details every hidden millimeter. Dean doesn’t open his eyes, but his cheeks flush red and he makes a muffled, desperate sound.

Castiel is silent as he brings the hand back, holds it out again, and Dean doesn’t speak either as he loads it up. Castiel pins Dean with his eyes as he trails his hands down Dean’s abdomen. He soaps the coarse hair at Dean’s crotch, swirls foam down around and under his sac, and then reaches tentatively for Dean’s cock. It rests heavy on his palm, and Dean says his name, tiny and stifled.

“After I fell, Dean, I would wake hard like this,” Castiel says, and he sees Dean’s eyes widen as his fingertips brush up, along, around, slowly. “I learned my body with my hands, learned what it could do…”

He closes his fist around the root, imagines the biology of it, the blood coursing through the tissue, engorging it, imagines it coursing through his own penis, and he feels a corresponding twitch in the organ that has him biting back his own gasp. He hears Dean hiss out a breath as he strips his length gently, leisurely strokes, once, twice, and it feels like silk swathed over steel. He drifts his gaze across to his brand, sees Dean’s eyes track his movement as he hovers his other hand there, before fitting his fingers to the raised welt, barely visible now. Dean’s shoulder is warm under his touch, and he can feel that Dean is tense, and shaking.

“Shhhhh,” Castiel soothes, and he reaches his hand up to touch the deep cut on Dean’s brow. “I accused Balthazar of doing what was expedient,” he says softly then, as he trails a fingertip down over the swollen skin, sees it restored as he does so and Dean blinks at him with both eyes now. He cups the nape of Dean’s neck, and Dean’s lashes flutter closed. “Sometimes I think I did the same when I chose you. That I made my choice out of self-interest.” He smiles as he draws Dean into him. “So perhaps I’m no better than him.” He touches his lips to the raw wound splitting Dean’s lower lip, floats the tip of his tongue across it and tastes Dean’s blood as the cut seals.

Dean nuzzles his way across Castiel’s jaw and down his neck, mouth warm, desperate, leans his head on Castiel’s shoulder. “Cas, don’t run from me,” he chokes out. “Don’t run from me like you did in Waterville.”

Castiel looses his grip on Dean’s cock, rests his hands on Dean’s hips, flattens his palms against the skin, and spans his fingers out. “You remember that?” he asks. He steps in closer, and he can feel a growing, aching heaviness, low down and satisfying in the pit of his gut, can feel the tingle of anticipation gradually swelling his own penis rigid, can feel it thrill at the contact of skin on skin as it rubs against Dean’s thigh. He feels Dean’s voice vibrate against the water running down his chest.

“Of course I remember. I told you I wasn’t as drunk as you thought I was. I knew what I was doing and what I wanted. Just like I know now.” Dean pauses, and Castiel can feel his tongue lick along his collarbone. “Do you remember?”

Castiel tears his gaze away from where the tip of his penis bobs next to Dean’s, runs a hand slowly up Dean’s ribs at the side, feels the tantalizing twitch of muscles as he does. “My heart is racing,” he murmurs, close to Dean’s ear. “It isn’t atrial fibrillation. It’s you, just like it was then.” He fists his fingers gently in the longer hair at Dean’s brow, raises his head to stare into his eyes. “Do you know? Do you know what you do to me? You make me feel like I might do something stupid one day. Or now, maybe.”

Dean’s expression is astonished, dazed and disbelieving. “Say my name, Cas,” he whispers. “You say it like I mean something. You look at me like I matter.”

Castiel tilts his head. “Dean,” he gravels out. “Dean… Dean… Dean… Put your hands on me, Dean.” He smiles. “Remember, I know the mechanics of the act.”

Dean makes an explosive sound, snakes his hand around to spread it across Castiel’s lower back and tug him closer, snatches the other around Castiel’s penis, along with his own. Castiel can’t help the moan that breaks free at the feel of Dean’s capable grip, at the solid, hot press of Dean’s cock against his as Dean slides his hand up and down, dragging his thumb across the heads where they nestle together in the prison of his fingers. It’s all Castiel can do to hang onto the illusion of control as he watches, and it abruptly occurs to him that maybe he has never really had control of this.

Dean leans his forehead in against Castiel’s. “You’re such a fuckin’ tease,” he manages. “I’ll show you the fuckin’ mechanics of the act.”

Castiel ghosts his lips across Dean’s, pulls away at the last moment as Dean’s mouth opens, lips soft, eager and ready. He ignores Dean’s growl of protest, plants his hands against Dean’s chest, slides down, turning his head sideways as he goes, and the slippery, smooth hardness of Dean’s torso against his cheek as he sinks to his knees has him dizzy with desire. He kneels at Dean’s feet, in supplication, his thumbs resting on the creases of Dean’s thighs, and Dean’s cock is right there in front of him, curved ready, flushed purple at the head, and Castiel wants. He wraps a hand around it, hears Dean’s bitten-off curse at the contact, and he feels his heart hammer even faster. He looks up from under his eyelashes to where Dean is staring down at him, heavy-lidded, looking like he’s hypnotized. “I know how you work, Dean,” Castiel murmurs. “Now I’m wondering how you’ll feel in my mouth. How you’ll taste. What you like. Tell me what you like, Dean.”

Dean huffs out a bemused laugh. “Are you for real?” he marvels, and he lays a gentle hand on Castiel’s cheek, threads his fingers up into Castiel’s hair. “Your mouth, my cock. Lips, tongue, easy on the teeth. Lots of spit. Right now, or so help me-”

He cuts off with a grunt as Castiel leans to kiss the tip. Castiel tastes soap there, and a hint of something else, something darker and more basic that he guesses must be arousal. He glances up at Dean again, and Dean’s eyes are naked and wanting. Castiel slips his tongue out slowly and deliberately, moistens his lips, and Dean’s eyes glaze slightly. He shuffles an inch or two closer on his knees, licks a delicate swipe around the ridge that joins the shaft to the bulb, along to a guttural cry and the wet slap of Dean’s hand against the tile. When he casts his eyes up again, Dean’s head is lolling back. He’s shivering under the rapidly cooling stream of water, and Castiel frowns.

“We need to take this to the bed,” he decides, and he doesn’t wait for an agreement, pushes up, leans in to grasp Dean around the forearm. Before Dean can even react, Castiel is heaving him up and over his shoulder, walking him out into the motel room and throwing him down.

Dean’s eyes are huge and distracted as he sprawls there. “Jesus, Cas,” he sputters. “Manhandling? That is such a fuckin’ turn-on, I can’t even…”

His voice trails off as Castiel kneels on the bed, straddles his lower legs, and falls forward onto all fours. Castiel ignores his own cock’s clamor for attention, fastens his lips around Dean’s, worships the head, bathes it on his tongue, a hand braced on the sharp jut of Dean’s hip. He feels Dean’s fingers claw and dig at his upper arm, can hear a long, continuous keening noise stuttering out from above him as he mouths the glans and nuzzles the satin curve of the corona with his lips, before biting his incisors down.

Dean yelps, grabs a fistful of hair, pulls Castiel’s head up. “Teeth, watch the fuckin’… fuck, Cas.” His eyes are glittering bright, his cheeks are pink, and his smile is brilliant. “Careful with the teeth.”

Castiel grips Dean at the base, pulls off with a pop. “Learning curve, Dean,” he declares. “I’m learning you.”

Dean snorts. “I’m getting my revenge for this, you bastard. This isn’t over till you’re bent double and I’m fucking you into the mattress.”

Castiel smiles himself, rubs Dean’s cock along his jaw, licks up and down the shaft, finds it just as smooth as it felt in his hand. He works the head diligently with his tongue, accompanied by a soundtrack of inarticulate, garbled praise for his efforts. He tastes beads of salty pre-come at the tip, watches his spit trickle a glistening trail along its length and seep beyond it, onto Dean’s balls. He chases it, feels the distracting tickle of dense hair irritating his nose as he mouths the looser, malleable skin there. He swipes at the sac with the flat of his tongue, and Dean writhes under him, stammering out disjointed curses. He bends Dean’s leg to lift him up for better access, laps at the puckered indentation further back, then probes it experimentally, and Dean’s hips buck violently, along to a raw, strangled sound of pleasure.

“Fuck. Jesusfuck. Cas…”

Castiel nuzzles his way back up, feeling his own need throbbing now, and he pauses, fists himself briefly before he fastens his lips around the head again. He slides them down smoothly until the tip is nudging the back of his throat, bites down just barely, and Dean moans, incoherent and frantic, one hand floating up to cover his eyes and the other plucking at the blankets.

Castiel scrapes back up to the head, around flesh soaked slippery with saliva, pokes the tip of his tongue into the slit, where more fluid is leaking out, scissors his teeth gently from side to side against the delicate fold of skin underneath. Dean cries out, pulls up his knees, locks Castiel in place with his thighs either side of his head, his fingers grabbing at Castiel’s hair again as he starts to rock his hips up, pushing slowly into Castiel’s mouth. He’s propped up on his elbow, staring avidly, eyes black with lust, as Castiel glides his lips down to meet the shallow thrusts, wrapping his tongue around Dean’s length each time he pulls up and suckling so hard on the tip he can feel his cheeks go hollow. And Castiel sees the muscles of Dean’s neck suddenly tense and lock, sees Dean’s eyes close, sees his mouth drop open in a soundless cry. He feels Dean’s cock surge upwards and twitch against the back of his throat, feels it start pumping warm, brackish liquid. He swallows once, lets it slip from his mouth, sees familiar thin ribbons of milky semen spurt out and splatter Dean’s belly, and he feels his own cock leap enthusiastically at the sight.

Dean doesn’t hesitate as he empties, reaching down to haul Castiel up and flop him across his chest. He cradles Castiel’s face and seals their lips together, licking around inside Castiel’s mouth hungrily, his teeth clashing against Castiel’s. He flails a hand, finds Castiel’s, and tears his lips away, slapping Castiel’s fingers down in the messy splotches on his skin and sliding them around. “These,” he rasps out recklessly, as he holds up the digits. “In me. Now. Then your cock.”

He lifts a long leg up and wraps it around Castiel’s waist, shifting to give Castiel access and trapping him in place. Castiel groans as his aching penis finds the pressure it craves, and he grinds down against Dean, trailing a come-slicked finger over the sensitive ring of muscle, circling it around as he starts to push in. Dean shudders, his eyes flaring panic and flitting away, and Castiel falls forward, bites down on Dean’s bottom lip. “Look at me,” he orders. “Dean. At me. Tell me you want this.”

Dean’s eyes lock back on his, wild and heated, as Castiel stills his finger. “You are emotionally stunted, Dean,” he whispers tenderly, and he presses a gentle kiss to Dean’s lips. “I, on the other hand, am not. Which means I can tell you that I died for you, I fell for you, and I died for you again because I love you. Through all of this, I’ve loved you, and through all of this I will continue to love you, no matter what happens.” He tilts his head. “Now. Do you want this?”

Dean huffs out a shaky cackle. “That passive-aggressive thing you do is so damn hot, Cas.” He runs his tongue along the seal of Castiel’s mouth. “I want this. You have no fuckin’ idea how much.”

Castiel smiles, drops his head down again, nips along Dean’s jaw, swivels his finger slightly and hears Dean whimper as he breaches the entrance. He kisses his way back to Dean’s lips, and Dean’s mouth opens to him, his tongue dueling wetly with Castiel’s as Castiel dips his fingertip in and out just barely a few times, before shoving resolutely past the resistance and into tight heat, on and up, to a moan he swallows down. He pulls back, feels the muscle cling jealously, and then drives in relentlessly again, his cock swelling even harder between them as Dean pushes down to meet him. “Relax,” Castiel murmurs. He knows the mechanics, the biology, knows what he’s looking for, and he buries his finger as far as it will go, bends it forward slightly and rubs at the small bud, hears Dean make a wrecked sound and feels Dean’s whole body tremble at the spark that just exploded. He withdraws, swipes his fingers through the slippery mess on Dean’s groin again, and Dean is ahead of him.

“Wait, wait… just a-” He pushes up awkwardly onto his elbows again, reaches across to grab at the spongebag on the nightstand, upends it violently, so the contents spill across the bed, and snatches up a small bottle. “Lube.” He flips the lid, oozes the clear gel onto Castiel’s fingers. “Two now.”

Castiel obeys, two digits slotting gradually into place this time, and Dean hisses out. Castiel leans down and kisses him hard and thoroughly, and Dean bites at his lower lip like a starving man as Castiel slides his hand back and forth, long minutes ticking by as he twists and pushes against the stubborn wall of flesh that surrounds and squeezes his fingers, adding a third, forcing, stretching, circling inside, opening Dean up, stroking across the gland on each pass, so that Dean gasps against his lips, and rutting against Dean’s thigh as his cock burns its own need.

Dean is twitching erect again against Castiel’s belly, and he babbles out words into Castiel’s mouth, a mantra he chants breathlessly. “More. Fuck… Cas. More, need more, need your dick in me. Please. Cas, please, more, do it now…”

Castiel pulls his fingers free, heaves himself up. Dean gropes for the lubricant, squirts a generous glob onto Castiel’s penis and slides his fingers along and around it, before flopping back, shielding his face with his hands. His body is wracked by tremors, gleaming with sweat, the tendons of his neck corded.

Castiel lines himself up, pauses. “Look at me, Dean,” he says softly. “I want to see you when I do this.”

Dean’s hands fall away and his eyes snap open, lock on Castiel’s. His mouth forms an awestruck O around a harsh whine as Castiel pushes in. The muscle fights him at first, and Castiel winces at the pressure squeezing on the head of his cock as it eases in achingly slow, watches, fascinated, as the shaft disappears in tiny increments. It’s tight inside Dean, hot, a sleek tube that clutches and compresses him as he sinks into it. It’s bliss, and he gasps out, “Dean… you feel… God. So good. Dean…”

Dean is shuddering, breath wheezing in and out. His leg hooks around under Castiel’s butt and his hand reaches to grip the arm Castiel is bracing on, fingers digging in. “Did you mean all that crap?” he pants. “All that crap about dying, falling, dying again?”

Castiel bends at the elbows, lowers himself so his lips hover just above Dean’s. “What do you think, Dean?” he murmurs.

“I think I love your cock,” Dean whispers raggedly. “That’s what I think.”

Castiel smiles, rains kisses on Dean’s face, his sweat-spiked hair, presses his body the length of Dean as he nests himself gradually deeper, until their bellies are flush. He waits for Dean to adjust, teasing his tongue, slippery passes around his mouth as Dean parries back, until he can’t hold off any longer, needs to move, needs to feel himself against and inside Dean. He shifts his hips just barely, and a lightning bolt of pleasure electrifies its way up him so suddenly that he curls in on himself, blinks hard and sobs out words in the ancient tongue, blessings and endearments he knows Dean won’t even understand.

Dean’s arms close around him instantly, the fingers of one hand sliding up into his hair and burying themselves there, playing across his scalp. “Hey, sshhhh…” he reassures, low and gentle. “It’s okay, buddy, stay with me. It’s all good…”

Castiel drops his brow down against Dean’s as it hits him, a wave of delight, elation, rapture, and he can’t help himself, he stutters out his disbelief and his joy. “I’m inside you, Dean… Dean…”

Dean splays out his other hand on Castiel’s back, smoothes it languidly up and down. “Yeah, you are,” he says reverently. “You really are. You feel so fuckin’ good.” He sighs out a long breath as Castiel nudges in again, and his voice is a comforting purr in Castiel’s ear. “Just like that… you’re doing just fine, buddy, we can go slow and easy. Fuck, yeah… Cas… again. Right there…”

Castiel slides his penis out a few inches and back in, groans at the perfect satisfaction of being sheathed to the hilt in sultry heat, cocooned by smooth, velvet skin, massaged on all sides by resilient outer muscle, and Dean rolls his hips up sinuously to meet him, gripping his butt and pulling him in on the upthrust, easy and unhurried, crooning encouragement and lewd appreciation. Castiel focuses on what he’s doing, remembers the mechanics, butts the tip of his penis up against that spot, deliberate, shallow nudges, the briefest, slightest circular movements, punctuated by deep, careful, devoted kisses, Dean’s tongue twirling lazily around his. He can feel the hard line of Dean’s cock pressed in between them, feel Dean pulsing against him inside, grasping him as he glides in and out, and he hears Dean moaning his name now, and speeds up his thrusts instinctively.

“Harder,” Dean mutters, and his voice cracks. “You’re doing great. Yeah. Cas… so fuckin’ good. Faster now… fuck.”

Dean’s hands start to twitch on his back, blunt fingernails scratching and digging into his skin as Castiel’s own urgency grows. He pushes up onto both hands, changes the angle slightly, and Dean cries out as he snaps his hips forcefully, ramming in, hearing the slap of flesh on flesh. The friction is almost abrasive now, exquisite, and it scorches through Castiel’s nerve endings. He becomes aware of a tickle deep inside, feels the muscles in his butt drawing up, feels his legs stiffen and his toes curl, feels a growing tightness and pressure screaming for release, a pressure more powerful than he ever experienced in his fumbling attempts to learn what his body could do after his fall. He whimpers out a mixture of panic and ecstasy as he starts to convulse inside, the explosion building from within as Dean flexes against him.

Dean reaches to grip his own penis, starts pumping it fast and hard, staring intently down at the tangle of dark hair where they join, biting on his lip and puffing out frenzied gasps. Castiel sees the moment when it hits Dean, sees his face go slack and his eyes roll up dreamily as white stripes paint his belly again. Castiel’s rhythm falters as Dean clenches tightly around him, and his own climax tingles and throbs up through his shaft in response. He pushes in once, twice, freezes for an instant of slow-motion disorientation that swells into giddy euphoria and then erupts in warm, wet, fiery sensation that pulsates up and out, washing around him, slippery slick. He cries out Dean’s name, and collapses on top of him, chest heaving, heart pounding, sweat and tears stinging his eyes. “Dean,” he chokes out again. “Dean…”

Dean’s breath heaves out in concert with Castiel’s, and he wraps his arms and legs tight around Castiel, grounding him. He nuzzles his lips against Castiel’s brow, oddly chaste. “S’okay, I’ve got you,” he slurs exhaustedly. “You did good. I’ve got you… You hear? Cas. I’ve got you.”



Dean is warm and solid lying on his front next to Castiel, a long, smooth, hard press of flesh starting at Castiel’s shoulders, an arm heavy and careless across Castiel’s belly, fingers stroking the jut of his hipbone. “I think you broke my ass,” he mumbles out from somewhere deep in the pillow.

“Don’t panic, Dean,” Castiel deadpans. “I can heal it with my magic finger.”

He feels Dean’s shoulder shake beside him, hears a muffled chuckle, and then, “You wore out my dick, too.”

Dean sounds impressed, utterly sated, possibly even respectful, and it makes Castiel feel content. His chest swells, and he breathes out a long, satisfied sigh. “Then you should sleep, Dean,” he suggests smugly. “We need to preserve your stamina for next time.”

He hears an amused huff, and, “You’re preening,” Dean says. “Pride is one of the seven deadly sins.”

Castiel reflects for a second or two. “So is lust,” he observes philosophically. “I appear to be working my way through the list. I wonder if this counts as sloth?”

Dean is miles away. “Next time you should get the wings out,” he mutters randomly. “Yeah…”

It falls silent, apart from the sound of them breathing in tandem and the distant roar of cars from the highway, and an eerie glow of moonlight spills in through torn curtains.

“I’m sorry about your grandfather,” Castiel says then, out into the dark in front of his face.

Dean stretches, stifles a yawn. “He was, uh…” He sighs. “Different, somehow. Older. Sadder.”

Castiel chews his lip thoughtfully. “Yes, he was.”

Dean surges up, flops down on his chest, startling a whuff of air from him. “How do you know that?” He’s confused, peering at Castiel, skeptical and suspicious.

“I paid him a visit,” Castiel admits. “I didn’t hurt him,” he adds hastily. “Let’s just say I made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.”

He can just about make out the shape of Dean’s face as he shakes his head, blinks slowly. “You been learning from the movies again, Cas?”

“The Godfather is a classic,” Castiel concedes wryly. “And yes, your advice has come in helpful when it comes to diplomacy. My people skills are rusty, after all.”

It’s warm under the blankets, and Dean is draped half across Castiel now, sweaty and sticky, smelling acrid. Castiel knows it’s the smell of sex, and it gives him a curling sense of fulfillment and gratification low in his groin. Dean’s leg is wedged in between his, and nudging just close enough to his crotch to promise more without arousing him to distraction. It’s comfortable, and it feels right.

“You should sleep, Dean,” he says again.

Dean tenses slightly. “Are you leaving?”

Castiel smiles to himself. “No,” he says. “I’ll watch you.”

Dean snorts. “Well, that’s all kinds of fuckin’ creepy.” His lips are a soft, moist tickle in the crook of Castiel’s shoulder as he speaks. “The last time I slept properly was in Waterville with you watching me,” he adds suddenly.

Castiel frowns. “But - at Lisa’s?”

There’s a brief pause. “Not really,” Dean mutters offhandedly, then. “Too much on my mind.”

Castiel brings up his arm from where it hangs listlessly off the bed, uses a finger to trace the notches of Dean’s vertebrae. “You weren’t… alright there?” He doesn’t wait for the reply. “I’m sorry about Sam,” he continues carefully. “I thought he’d make his way to you.”

Dean shifts uncomfortably. “It wasn’t just that,” he says. “I mean - I love her. Loved her. Least, I think I did. The kid…” He huffs out ruefully, and his voice goes quieter, subdued. “I thought it could be mine, all of it.”

“Maybe it still can,” Castiel tells him.

“Nah.” Dean sniffs. “She’s moving on. And she should. It’s safer for her, for Ben.”

Castiel feels the brush of skin as Dean shrugs. He tries again. “But you could-”

“Cas, just…” Dean slides his chin up onto Castiel’s chest, and Castiel can see his eyes glinting. “Can we not? That life, in so many ways, it’s just - not me. It never was. I was pretending, living a lie. Biding time. Lisa, Ben… they kept me going, but they never really knew me. None of those people there who thought they knew me really knew me at all. And if they did… well, they wouldn’t want to.” He exhales sharply, the puff of air making Castiel blink. “But you know me. You know what I did. You saw me. I don’t have to pretend with you.”

Castiel hooks his leg over Dean’s, runs it up and down the back of his calf. I’ve done things too, Dean, he thinks. If you knew some of the things I’ve done, you might not want to know me. He thinks it, but he doesn’t voice it. “You’re worth knowing, Dean,” he says instead.

Dean is still for a moment, and the atmosphere is thicker, until he chuckles, sarcastic, and changes the subject. “More than your demon girlfriend?” he mocks.

Castiel raises his eyebrows. “Meg…” He stops, thinks on it a moment. “Meg helped clarify matters for me,” he muses. “Much like Chastity did.”

“The hooker?” Dean sounds baffled. “In Waterville?”

“Let’s just say that neither of them had the effect on me that you have,” Castiel replies dryly. “In fact, nothing seems to have quite the effect on me that you have.”

“Yeah, right,” Dean retorts. “Don’t forget the porn-flick boner, buddy.”

He’s counting his fingers down Castiel’s ribs as he speaks, and he cups the peak of Castiel’s hip, kneads the softer flesh behind it. He starts circling his thigh slightly against Castiel’s penis, and Castiel sucks in a long lungful of air as he feels it perk its interest. Dean kisses his way along Castiel’s collarbone, sinks fierce teeth into the flesh of Castiel’s shoulder and then tongues the indentations sloppily.

Castiel forces out breath, has to fight to keep the strain of his want from making him hoarse. “Perhaps it wasn’t the porn that aroused me, Dean. Perhaps it was the punishment. The spanking.”

Dean stops abruptly, his whole frame going taut. “Fuck…” he croaks out endlessly, awarding the word far more than its single syllable as he does so. He ponders it briefly, then nuzzles his lips in beside Castiel’s ear, torments the lobe with a slick, predatory tongue. “Before this night is over, I’m learning you so hard you won’t even remember your own name,” he whispers, and Castiel’s jaw goes slack.

Dean snakes his hand in, rubs the heel of it against the base of Castiel’s penis, and Castiel hears himself moan softly, thrusts up to meet the pressure. “I love your body,” Dean rumbles throatily. “It’s hard. Sharp. And I love your skin, it’s so damn smooth. Tonight I’m licking every part of you, nooks and crannies you didn’t even know you had.” He slips a finger further back, slides the pad of it past Castiel’s scrotum and presses in, the promise in his touch unmistakable. “You’re going to scream for my tongue,” he teases. “I’m going to strap you to this bed with your tie on one wrist and your belt on the other, and I’m going to spank your ass so hard you’ll have a handprint scar to match mine…”

Castiel tips his head back, grinds it into the pillow, hisses out wetly as Dean starts kissing and nipping his way up his neck, his teeth savage and stinging.

“And then I’m going to flip you over, and suck you dry.” Dean lunges for Castiel’s lips, plunders his mouth with a greedy, prehensile tongue, and Castiel chases it as it curls and collides against his. “And then you’re going to beg for my cock to split you in two,” Dean breathes into Castiel’s open mouth. “You’re going to weep for it. And after I’m done learning you, you’ll feel me for a week, angel mojo or-” He stops abruptly, stifles a yawn that has tremors dance across his whole body.

Castiel reaches up a hand, places it on Dean’s cheek. “Idiot,” he smiles. “There was no porn-flick boner. I was looking for it, not at it. Like I said… nothing has quite the effect on me that you do.”

He presses Dean’s face down onto his chest. “Sleep, Dean,” he says gently, brushing his fingertips across Dean’s brow before he can protest.

Dean sleeps.



What Castiel watched...
House • Highway to Heaven • The Shining • Ocean’s Eleven • The Blues Brothers • Bring It On • Pet Sematary • Crocodile Dundee 2 • Judge Dredd • Cobra • Sudden Impact • The Pacifier • Jackie Brown • The Terminator • Star Wars I-VI • Die Hard • Jaws • Hoosiers • Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure • Tropic Thunder • Psycho • Sin City • Pirates of the Caribbean • Deathwish • Pulp Fiction • The Godfather