Any Way You Want It
Title: Any Way You Want it
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: NC-17
Genre: romance, smut
Words: 2,600
Summary: Somehow they've slipped into slight domestic bliss, but Dean can't bring himself to care.
Notes: Takes place in my own little alternate reality in which season six happened differently, Castiel decided to stay with Dean, and they obviously hooked up. Title from the Journey song of the same name which is also the one mentioned in this story.
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When they finally get their own house, still in Sioux Falls but far away enough from Bobby’s and, by association, Sam, Dean is expecting the endless teasing he receives from his brother. Even Bobby joins in at first, but that dissolves into calm gratitude over having some of his house back to himself, the three younger men having taken over for the better half of a year. Sam keeps on with the ball-and-chain jokes and constantly asks the couple if they’re going curtain shopping soon, but it’s a habit Dean easily breaks when he starts mentioning the loud sex he can have with Castiel now that they have their own place. Sam quickly catches on that any teasing is met with retaliation of the sexcapade-sharing variety, and soon they fall into a group consensus that Dean and Castiel living on their own is a good thing.
Dean was worried that having a house might solidify the whole “mortal life” thing for Castiel, who’s still got enough Grace left to be called an angel but not enough for long-distant flying or heavy healing. He takes to it like a duck to water, though, playing the role of a primping bird painstakingly building the ideal nest. They do, in fact, go shopping for curtains, along with paint and tables and chairs and throw pillows and a thousand other things Dean never had names for before now. He still remembers what his family home looked like, back when things were simple and his biggest worry was his father finding out he’d thrown a baseball through the neighbor’s window. All of the little things Castiel picks out for their home seem like unnecessary details, but part of Dean can’t help but let him carry on as if they were a normal couple that didn’t decapitate vampires for a living. It’s nice and simple, nothing fancy that makes Dean scared to actually live in the house, and it’s theirs.
The house is small, single story, so they find no trouble putting almost every room to use. There’s the living room that melts into a dinning area tucked between it and the kitchen, a traditional set up originally sectioned off with walls but made roomier one weekend when Dean had come home with a pair of sledge hammers. The other half of the house is taken up by the master bedroom in the back and another smaller room towards the front door, a decent-sized bathroom sandwiched in-between. They have no idea what to do with the spare room, having contemplated an office at one point but realizing they always did research across town at Bobby’s anyways. So it stays bare, a few boxes and other things piled in the corners opposite the large front window. Storage, Dean explains, and Castiel seems happy to leave it alone while he fixes up the rest of the house.
When Dean comes home in the middle of the day from a weekend hunt with Sam, bone tired and ready to fall into a decent bed, he’s surprised to hear faint music coming from the spare room. Dropping his duffle in the hallway and rolling his shoulders as he walks, Dean pushes open the door and lets the sound of Journey and the smell of wet paint wash over him. Castiel has his back to the door, paint roller in hand, as he bobs and sways to the music churning out from a beat up boom box sitting in the middle of the wood floor. Dean just leans against the doorjamb, smiling to himself when he catches the faint sound of Castiel singing along to the song.
“Any way I want it, huh?” he finally speaks up as Steve Perry’s wailing fades away into a quieter song.
Castiel whips around, smiling a bit sheepishly at being caught. There are specks of light blue pant on his cheeks, and Dean gets the urge to wipe them into biggere streaks against the pale skin.
“You’re home early.”
Shrugging away from the door and toeing off his boots, Dean steps further inside. “I’m pretty good at my job sometimes,” he replies, slipping up behind Castiel when the angel turns back towards the wall. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“That’s because you know the answer, Dean,” Castiel replies casually, making a show of going back to painting even as his body tenses against Dean’s chest.
“I do, huh?” Dean teases, slipping his arms around Castiel’s thin waist and splaying his hands on the angel’s stomach. “Must’ve forgotten.”
Castiel sighs, making a show of bending over to put the roller in the paint tray and press his ass back against Dean’s hips. “You are growing forgetful in your old age.”
Dean sputters a bit at that before catching the smirk on Castiel’s lips, tightening his hold on him to bring them back to standing chest-to-back. “Maybe you should remind me then.”
Setting his hands on top of Dean’s and entwining their fingers together, Castiel pushes one hand lower as he brings the other to his lips to kiss at Dean’s knuckles, smiling against the callouses. “I’m sure we could find a way to stimulate your memory.”
Dean resists the urge to push him up against the wall, figuring a face-full of wet paint would be a serious mood killer. He turns Castiel in his arms instead, detangling their fingers to press his hands against the small of his back. Castiel fits against him perfectly, like they’ve molded each other into corresponding shapes over the last three years. Even before they’d admitted their feelings, before they gave into each other, they’d started this process of becoming more. It had scared Dean at first, like every close relationship he’d ever had, but now he was just thankful that Castiel had been too stubborn to let him slip away.
He’s distracted from his thoughts as Castiel mouths at the side of his neck, long fingers slipping beneath the waist of his jeans to press at the hot skin beneath. Shivering, he lifts a hand to cup Castiel’s chin and tilt his head back to claim his lips, losing himself in the familiar yet still somehow inhuman taste of the angel.
They end up collapsing to the floor, Castiel laughing as he squishes the breath out of Dean by landing on top of him. Rolling over and pinning him down, Dean grins before capturing his lips in another searing kiss, hands slipping up under Castiel’s paint-spattered shirt. They wrestle playfully, connecting with a slide of tongues or a nip of teeth as they fight for dominance. Castiel’s the one on top in the end, straddling Dean’s hips and rocking against him obscenely as he braces his hands on Dean’s chest and stares down at him with fierce blue eyes. It had unnerved him once, long long ago, at how concentrated Castiel looked no matter what they were doing; he’d practically stared a hole through Dean’s forehead the first time they’d had sex, barely blinking until the pleasure had forced his eyes to flutter shut. He’s slightly different now, more relaxed and willing to give up on sense to give in to another, but his eyes never really lose that intense spark that makes him so distinctly Cas.
Dean bucks up beneath him, angling his hips against Castiel’s to draw out the friction and is rewarded with a broken moan from above. He grins and slides his hands back beneath Castiel’s shirt, pressing against the smooth planes of his stomach and splaying out to tickle his ribs. Slipping his hands higher, the worn cotton bunching around his wrists, he stops when he can’t reach any further and smirks when Castiel finishes the job of removing the shirt. It’s lost behind him with an easy toss, landing with a soft noise Dean barely hears as Castiel surprises a moan from him by shifting just right.
It’s strange, Dean thinks as he rolls his hips to meet Castiel’s, how the angel makes him feel like a teenager again when they’re like this, yet there’s so much more to it. They could both be horny bastards, Castiel surprising Dean with the intensity of his libido once they’d stirred the coals. But it had stopped being about sex almost as soon as it had started, the emotional build up never allowing for it to be anything less than love, even if they hadn’t admitted it right away. It was still a word that got caught in the back of his throat at times, a word that had been synonymous with weakness and betrayal for so long, but Dean poured that word into every touch whenever he pressed his fingers into Castiel’s skin.
Quickly growing tired of the foreplay, Dean’s hands find the fly of Castiel’s jeans, working at the zip as best he can with the angel still grinding down against him. When his knuckles brush over the tip of Castiel’s cock, the angel jackknifes against him, leaning over to suck Dean’s lower lip between his teeth as he moves to help divest them of their jeans and boxers. Mullet rock continues to churn out from the boom box at his feet, Styx and Foreigner and Boston blurring together beneath their pants for breath, and not for the first time Dean wonders how he’d ended up with the only angel with a good taste in music. The rock ballads fade further into the background when Castiel raises Dean’s hand to his lips, sucking two calloused fingers between his lips, deceptively soft despite their chapped appearance. Dean groans as Castiel’s talented tongue paints swirls against his skin, slipping in lazy figure eights between the digits. All he can do is watch in rapt attention as Castiel pulls back with a wet pop, guiding Dean’s hand lower as he shifts higher on his knees.
Castiel’s hand tightens around Dean’s forearm as he strokes his slick fingers against the angel’s entrance, teasingly dipping the tip of one digit inside before pulling back out. Breathlessly moaning Dean’s name, Castiel tilts his hips, chasing the touch and Dean can only oblige him. He dips his middle finger back in, stroking at the tight ring of muscles before pressing further inside. Castiel is almost still above him, fingers digging into Dean’s chest as he rocks down onto the finger. After building up a steady pace, Dean slips the second in alongside the first, crooking to press against the familiar spot inside his angel. Castiel hiccups in pleasure, his walls fluttering around Dean’s fingers as he builds up to the same agonizing pace as before.
“Dean,” Castiel breaths, breaking the silence as he leans over to rest his forehead between Dean’s collarbones. “Dean, please.”
And he doesn’t have to be asked twice. Pulling his fingers back and letting the tips catch on Castiel’s rim on the way out, Dean reaches for his cock only for Castiel to swat his hand away. Looking up at him, Dean’s stomach flips at the smirk on the angel’s face as he spits into his hand, wrapping his fingers around Dean and jacking him slowly. Dean’s eyes roll back as he finally gets some skin-on-skin contact to his neglected cock, but Castiel’s fingers pause at the base and tighten. Forcing his eyes open to watch, Dean groans as Castiel presses down against the head of his cock, sinking lower inch by glorious inch. They both sit there, panting for a few moments, before Dean reaches out to grip Castiel’s hips and rolls up into him. Castiel groans as Dean presses even further inside, bracing his hands against the hunter’s chest once more as he pushes himself up on shaky knees. He’s beautiful like this, vulnerable to Dean’s touch yet still the dominating, powerful angel Dean knew him to be.
They build up to a faster pace as a random commercial interrupts the flow of music, some guy droning on about garden supplies before Guns N’ Roses finally shuts him up. He can barely hear it over the sound of skin slapping against skin, their heavy breathing making the air thick and Dean even more lightheaded. Looking up, his gaze connects with Castiel’s, and he spaces out between staring up at him and thrusting up into his tight heat. He’s saying nonsense little words, letting his usual filter short-circuit as he mumbles sweet things and dirty things and things he only voices in moments like this or when Castiel’s asleep next to him. He feels another tendril of arousal curl in the pit of his stomach as Castiel reaches for his neglected cock, head lolling to one side as he cracks his eyes open to gaze down at Dean with parted lips. Hips jumping at the shameless look on Castiel’s face, Dean tightens the grip on his hips and lifts him higher, giving himself more room to pound up into the angel. Castiel gasps, coming hard over his stomach after a few brutal thrusts and sinking lower on his knees. Dean continues to thrust shallowly, thighs burning as he presses up into the tight heat of Castiel’s body. When he finally comes moments later, it’s with Castiel’s lips mouthing against the pulse point beneath his jawline and the angel’s name on his lips, feeling boneless satisfaction sink into his worn out body.
***
When they wake up, the sky is dark and the house with it, everything silent now that the boom box batteries have died. Dean lies there a while, Castiel’s head resting against his shoulder, and stares upside-down out of the big window. Even with a pane of glass between them and the night, Dean can make out the bright pinpoints of stars in the sky above the houses across the street, dark outlines of a few scarce trees cutting into the deep blue heavens. After he’s been staring for God knows how long, he feels Castiel shift and roll onto his back next to Dean, blue eyes blinking open in the corner of his vision.
“It’s late,” Castiel points out, a hand resting on Dean’s chest to keep them connected even with only a breath’s distance between them. Dean shifts closer, pressing their hips and shoulders together before lifting a hand to entwine with Castiel’s.
“Yep,” he replies, still staring at the stars. Castiel watches him a while longer before following his gaze, and they stare through the window at the night sky for a while.
“We should get a telescope,” Dean announces some time later, startling Castiel with his sudden statement after such an extended period of silence. “Could set it up in here, have a window seat or something. Book shelves. It could be like a library. You’d have a place for all your books.”
Castiel remains silent, and Dean is just starting to think maybe his idea was stupid when the angel shifts and props himself up on his elbow to gaze down at Dean.
“I like that,” he replies simply, leaning closer to kiss the corner of Dean’s mouth.
They stay there on the floor, too boneless and content to move to the bedroom. They watch the sun rise and chase away the stars with brilliant shades of red and orange and pink that Dean swears he’s never seen anyways but the Midwest. Castiel demands breakfast, with bacon, and it if it takes them an hour longer to get up from the floor of their newly-dubbed library, neither of them have the heart to care.
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: NC-17
Genre: romance, smut
Words: 2,600
Summary: Somehow they've slipped into slight domestic bliss, but Dean can't bring himself to care.
Notes: Takes place in my own little alternate reality in which season six happened differently, Castiel decided to stay with Dean, and they obviously hooked up. Title from the Journey song of the same name which is also the one mentioned in this story.
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When they finally get their own house, still in Sioux Falls but far away enough from Bobby’s and, by association, Sam, Dean is expecting the endless teasing he receives from his brother. Even Bobby joins in at first, but that dissolves into calm gratitude over having some of his house back to himself, the three younger men having taken over for the better half of a year. Sam keeps on with the ball-and-chain jokes and constantly asks the couple if they’re going curtain shopping soon, but it’s a habit Dean easily breaks when he starts mentioning the loud sex he can have with Castiel now that they have their own place. Sam quickly catches on that any teasing is met with retaliation of the sexcapade-sharing variety, and soon they fall into a group consensus that Dean and Castiel living on their own is a good thing.
Dean was worried that having a house might solidify the whole “mortal life” thing for Castiel, who’s still got enough Grace left to be called an angel but not enough for long-distant flying or heavy healing. He takes to it like a duck to water, though, playing the role of a primping bird painstakingly building the ideal nest. They do, in fact, go shopping for curtains, along with paint and tables and chairs and throw pillows and a thousand other things Dean never had names for before now. He still remembers what his family home looked like, back when things were simple and his biggest worry was his father finding out he’d thrown a baseball through the neighbor’s window. All of the little things Castiel picks out for their home seem like unnecessary details, but part of Dean can’t help but let him carry on as if they were a normal couple that didn’t decapitate vampires for a living. It’s nice and simple, nothing fancy that makes Dean scared to actually live in the house, and it’s theirs.
The house is small, single story, so they find no trouble putting almost every room to use. There’s the living room that melts into a dinning area tucked between it and the kitchen, a traditional set up originally sectioned off with walls but made roomier one weekend when Dean had come home with a pair of sledge hammers. The other half of the house is taken up by the master bedroom in the back and another smaller room towards the front door, a decent-sized bathroom sandwiched in-between. They have no idea what to do with the spare room, having contemplated an office at one point but realizing they always did research across town at Bobby’s anyways. So it stays bare, a few boxes and other things piled in the corners opposite the large front window. Storage, Dean explains, and Castiel seems happy to leave it alone while he fixes up the rest of the house.
When Dean comes home in the middle of the day from a weekend hunt with Sam, bone tired and ready to fall into a decent bed, he’s surprised to hear faint music coming from the spare room. Dropping his duffle in the hallway and rolling his shoulders as he walks, Dean pushes open the door and lets the sound of Journey and the smell of wet paint wash over him. Castiel has his back to the door, paint roller in hand, as he bobs and sways to the music churning out from a beat up boom box sitting in the middle of the wood floor. Dean just leans against the doorjamb, smiling to himself when he catches the faint sound of Castiel singing along to the song.
“Any way I want it, huh?” he finally speaks up as Steve Perry’s wailing fades away into a quieter song.
Castiel whips around, smiling a bit sheepishly at being caught. There are specks of light blue pant on his cheeks, and Dean gets the urge to wipe them into biggere streaks against the pale skin.
“You’re home early.”
Shrugging away from the door and toeing off his boots, Dean steps further inside. “I’m pretty good at my job sometimes,” he replies, slipping up behind Castiel when the angel turns back towards the wall. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“That’s because you know the answer, Dean,” Castiel replies casually, making a show of going back to painting even as his body tenses against Dean’s chest.
“I do, huh?” Dean teases, slipping his arms around Castiel’s thin waist and splaying his hands on the angel’s stomach. “Must’ve forgotten.”
Castiel sighs, making a show of bending over to put the roller in the paint tray and press his ass back against Dean’s hips. “You are growing forgetful in your old age.”
Dean sputters a bit at that before catching the smirk on Castiel’s lips, tightening his hold on him to bring them back to standing chest-to-back. “Maybe you should remind me then.”
Setting his hands on top of Dean’s and entwining their fingers together, Castiel pushes one hand lower as he brings the other to his lips to kiss at Dean’s knuckles, smiling against the callouses. “I’m sure we could find a way to stimulate your memory.”
Dean resists the urge to push him up against the wall, figuring a face-full of wet paint would be a serious mood killer. He turns Castiel in his arms instead, detangling their fingers to press his hands against the small of his back. Castiel fits against him perfectly, like they’ve molded each other into corresponding shapes over the last three years. Even before they’d admitted their feelings, before they gave into each other, they’d started this process of becoming more. It had scared Dean at first, like every close relationship he’d ever had, but now he was just thankful that Castiel had been too stubborn to let him slip away.
He’s distracted from his thoughts as Castiel mouths at the side of his neck, long fingers slipping beneath the waist of his jeans to press at the hot skin beneath. Shivering, he lifts a hand to cup Castiel’s chin and tilt his head back to claim his lips, losing himself in the familiar yet still somehow inhuman taste of the angel.
They end up collapsing to the floor, Castiel laughing as he squishes the breath out of Dean by landing on top of him. Rolling over and pinning him down, Dean grins before capturing his lips in another searing kiss, hands slipping up under Castiel’s paint-spattered shirt. They wrestle playfully, connecting with a slide of tongues or a nip of teeth as they fight for dominance. Castiel’s the one on top in the end, straddling Dean’s hips and rocking against him obscenely as he braces his hands on Dean’s chest and stares down at him with fierce blue eyes. It had unnerved him once, long long ago, at how concentrated Castiel looked no matter what they were doing; he’d practically stared a hole through Dean’s forehead the first time they’d had sex, barely blinking until the pleasure had forced his eyes to flutter shut. He’s slightly different now, more relaxed and willing to give up on sense to give in to another, but his eyes never really lose that intense spark that makes him so distinctly Cas.
Dean bucks up beneath him, angling his hips against Castiel’s to draw out the friction and is rewarded with a broken moan from above. He grins and slides his hands back beneath Castiel’s shirt, pressing against the smooth planes of his stomach and splaying out to tickle his ribs. Slipping his hands higher, the worn cotton bunching around his wrists, he stops when he can’t reach any further and smirks when Castiel finishes the job of removing the shirt. It’s lost behind him with an easy toss, landing with a soft noise Dean barely hears as Castiel surprises a moan from him by shifting just right.
It’s strange, Dean thinks as he rolls his hips to meet Castiel’s, how the angel makes him feel like a teenager again when they’re like this, yet there’s so much more to it. They could both be horny bastards, Castiel surprising Dean with the intensity of his libido once they’d stirred the coals. But it had stopped being about sex almost as soon as it had started, the emotional build up never allowing for it to be anything less than love, even if they hadn’t admitted it right away. It was still a word that got caught in the back of his throat at times, a word that had been synonymous with weakness and betrayal for so long, but Dean poured that word into every touch whenever he pressed his fingers into Castiel’s skin.
Quickly growing tired of the foreplay, Dean’s hands find the fly of Castiel’s jeans, working at the zip as best he can with the angel still grinding down against him. When his knuckles brush over the tip of Castiel’s cock, the angel jackknifes against him, leaning over to suck Dean’s lower lip between his teeth as he moves to help divest them of their jeans and boxers. Mullet rock continues to churn out from the boom box at his feet, Styx and Foreigner and Boston blurring together beneath their pants for breath, and not for the first time Dean wonders how he’d ended up with the only angel with a good taste in music. The rock ballads fade further into the background when Castiel raises Dean’s hand to his lips, sucking two calloused fingers between his lips, deceptively soft despite their chapped appearance. Dean groans as Castiel’s talented tongue paints swirls against his skin, slipping in lazy figure eights between the digits. All he can do is watch in rapt attention as Castiel pulls back with a wet pop, guiding Dean’s hand lower as he shifts higher on his knees.
Castiel’s hand tightens around Dean’s forearm as he strokes his slick fingers against the angel’s entrance, teasingly dipping the tip of one digit inside before pulling back out. Breathlessly moaning Dean’s name, Castiel tilts his hips, chasing the touch and Dean can only oblige him. He dips his middle finger back in, stroking at the tight ring of muscles before pressing further inside. Castiel is almost still above him, fingers digging into Dean’s chest as he rocks down onto the finger. After building up a steady pace, Dean slips the second in alongside the first, crooking to press against the familiar spot inside his angel. Castiel hiccups in pleasure, his walls fluttering around Dean’s fingers as he builds up to the same agonizing pace as before.
“Dean,” Castiel breaths, breaking the silence as he leans over to rest his forehead between Dean’s collarbones. “Dean, please.”
And he doesn’t have to be asked twice. Pulling his fingers back and letting the tips catch on Castiel’s rim on the way out, Dean reaches for his cock only for Castiel to swat his hand away. Looking up at him, Dean’s stomach flips at the smirk on the angel’s face as he spits into his hand, wrapping his fingers around Dean and jacking him slowly. Dean’s eyes roll back as he finally gets some skin-on-skin contact to his neglected cock, but Castiel’s fingers pause at the base and tighten. Forcing his eyes open to watch, Dean groans as Castiel presses down against the head of his cock, sinking lower inch by glorious inch. They both sit there, panting for a few moments, before Dean reaches out to grip Castiel’s hips and rolls up into him. Castiel groans as Dean presses even further inside, bracing his hands against the hunter’s chest once more as he pushes himself up on shaky knees. He’s beautiful like this, vulnerable to Dean’s touch yet still the dominating, powerful angel Dean knew him to be.
They build up to a faster pace as a random commercial interrupts the flow of music, some guy droning on about garden supplies before Guns N’ Roses finally shuts him up. He can barely hear it over the sound of skin slapping against skin, their heavy breathing making the air thick and Dean even more lightheaded. Looking up, his gaze connects with Castiel’s, and he spaces out between staring up at him and thrusting up into his tight heat. He’s saying nonsense little words, letting his usual filter short-circuit as he mumbles sweet things and dirty things and things he only voices in moments like this or when Castiel’s asleep next to him. He feels another tendril of arousal curl in the pit of his stomach as Castiel reaches for his neglected cock, head lolling to one side as he cracks his eyes open to gaze down at Dean with parted lips. Hips jumping at the shameless look on Castiel’s face, Dean tightens the grip on his hips and lifts him higher, giving himself more room to pound up into the angel. Castiel gasps, coming hard over his stomach after a few brutal thrusts and sinking lower on his knees. Dean continues to thrust shallowly, thighs burning as he presses up into the tight heat of Castiel’s body. When he finally comes moments later, it’s with Castiel’s lips mouthing against the pulse point beneath his jawline and the angel’s name on his lips, feeling boneless satisfaction sink into his worn out body.
***
When they wake up, the sky is dark and the house with it, everything silent now that the boom box batteries have died. Dean lies there a while, Castiel’s head resting against his shoulder, and stares upside-down out of the big window. Even with a pane of glass between them and the night, Dean can make out the bright pinpoints of stars in the sky above the houses across the street, dark outlines of a few scarce trees cutting into the deep blue heavens. After he’s been staring for God knows how long, he feels Castiel shift and roll onto his back next to Dean, blue eyes blinking open in the corner of his vision.
“It’s late,” Castiel points out, a hand resting on Dean’s chest to keep them connected even with only a breath’s distance between them. Dean shifts closer, pressing their hips and shoulders together before lifting a hand to entwine with Castiel’s.
“Yep,” he replies, still staring at the stars. Castiel watches him a while longer before following his gaze, and they stare through the window at the night sky for a while.
“We should get a telescope,” Dean announces some time later, startling Castiel with his sudden statement after such an extended period of silence. “Could set it up in here, have a window seat or something. Book shelves. It could be like a library. You’d have a place for all your books.”
Castiel remains silent, and Dean is just starting to think maybe his idea was stupid when the angel shifts and props himself up on his elbow to gaze down at Dean.
“I like that,” he replies simply, leaning closer to kiss the corner of Dean’s mouth.
They stay there on the floor, too boneless and content to move to the bedroom. They watch the sun rise and chase away the stars with brilliant shades of red and orange and pink that Dean swears he’s never seen anyways but the Midwest. Castiel demands breakfast, with bacon, and it if it takes them an hour longer to get up from the floor of their newly-dubbed library, neither of them have the heart to care.