What You Do When No One's Looking Part 2
Part 1
It wasn't that Dean didn't like sex, he loved it, but he was beginning to think that he was losing his touch. It was Friday now, a few days since that blow-job with that John, and he had only had four fucks since. That would only cover rent for two weeks. Now, he knew the economy was bad, but really? Men were always ready to cheat on their partners, so why the hell not pay for a guarantee and not go through the trouble of wooing and dinners and crap? Dean was an awesome lay and was worth every penny. He'd been told so several times.
Sam, for some reason, chose tonight to talk about how Dean was never around to pay attention to him; how he was always gone to work or sleeping because he slept so late into the day so he would be awake for his night shift then crashed when he got home. It was as if he were jealous of his Johns - not that he knew anything about them - and wanted Dean all to himself. Brother's sometimes sucked when it came to making money.
“God fuckin' dammit, Sam! What the hell!” Dean boomed as he threw the milk jug back into the fridge. They'd been at this for thirty minutes already. Sam kept saying he was never home, never around, didn't seem to care, which was so off the mark he wanted to throttle the kid. He was doing what he could to put food in his brother's stomach and ass in class while saving up everything else for him to go to college next year. Same as he'd been doing for the past four years - ever since he'd graduated high school and dad left. Why he had to choose now to bring it up was really pissing Dean off.
Sam huffed. Tossing his bangs out of his eyes for the fifth time in as many minutes, he glared at Dean. “You missed my mathlete competition last month, the play I had a lead role in two weeks ago, and now a parent-teacher's conference! I know you work a lot but I need you here sometimes. I need my brother, Dean.” His glare had reduced to a pout throughout his little speech and Dean really couldn't help it if his anger slipped a few notches; he couldn't stay angry with Sammy.
To make it up to the milk, Dean closed the fridge gently with a soft snick and turned. As he rested his hands on the counter top, fingernails dragging across the surface, he spoke softly. “It's work, Sam. I need to work to keep this place. Rent’s not free, you know.”
There was a huff behind him. “That's why I should get a job to help, Dean! That's all I want! You work too hard and never have time to do anything for yourself. When was the last time you saw a movie, Dean? When was the last time you did something that didn't benefit anyone else?”
Dean was going to reply, he really was, but nothing would come because Sammy was right. Just like always. He really hadn't done anything for himself in the last four years. Everything had been done for Sam. Even so, he wasn't upset or sad over that. Dean was happy Sam would have a good, set future that would allow him to do anything he wanted. That was what Dean wanted. Anything else was extra.
“Sammy...”
“No, Dean, you need to stop. You're running yourself too thin and I can help you. Just let me.” The words were said with irritation, but Dean knew his brother, and Sam was as close to begging as he'd ever seen him.
Dean did his best to smile. “I'll take Saturdays off?” He offered. That would cut his ‘pay' by about a third. He didn't want to, but Sam was more important.
“Just... Dean, I don't know what you're doing, but placating me won't work. Let me do my job as a brother. I need you to do yours too.”
That - that stupid pride - ran amok in his stomach. How dare Sam say he wasn't doing his job? Dad had told Dean to watch over his brother and he was doing it, dammit! He was doing the best he knew how, couldn't Sam see that? Shaking his head fiercely, cracking it with the force, Dean ground out, “I'm going out.”
Sam immediately bristled. “Out where?”
“None of your fucking concern, that's where.” He circled his brother. He knew that if he touched him he might strike out and that he wouldn't allow. No one hurt Sam, not even him.
He needed to get drunk. Fast.
^X^X^X^X^X^X^
A few days passed in a blur of lectures and bad lighting and suddenly it was Friday. Castiel had no idea how the days that had been filled with stress were gone in the flutter of wings. Not that he was complaining - neither were any of the other teachers.
Especially Gabriel.
“Thank fuck!” He'd bellowed as the door to the faculty lounge crashed open. Castiel winced in sympathy and wondered how the handle hadn't cracked the wall. “I'm going to get drunk. Who's with me?”
That's how he found himself in front of the full length mirror in his room in loose-fitting blue slacks and a black Henley, Crowley sprawled on his bed, scrutinizing him. The infuriating man was already dressed in all black like always. His skin-tight clothes were glued on and hugging his man curves as he called them.
“No.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Then what?” Castiel growled. He'd gone through his entire wardrobe, a pitiful assortment, and this was the best he was able to come up with. He didn't have time between class, grading, and Crowley to go shopping.
“That's too school teachery.” Crowley pondered out loud with a put-upon, what-am-I-going-to-do-with-you look.
Castiel gave a long-suffering sigh. “Then what would you suggest?” He growled.
His friend turned his face up toward the heavens and must have gotten a response because he shot off the bed and left (without fixing the bedspread, the bastard). Castiel was reduced to pitiful whimpers of frustration by the time he had come back.
“Here. Spill anything on them tonight and I will smash your tea cups.”
At that, Castiel growled but was still handed the pants. When he unfolded them, however, he threw them back, the legs curling around the sides of Crowley's head. “No.”
“No?”
“No.”
Five minutes later he was sliding the denim over his backside and pulling up the zipper.
“Perfect.” Crowley purred as his fingers groped Castiel's ass.
Castiel slapped the hands away, but they just came back. Another smack got him one in return. “They’re too tight.” He complained, turning a little to get a look at what his friend was grabbing, but was pulled back.
“They're perfect. Shut the fuck up.”
Tugging around the crotch, he grumbled, “They show everything.”
“Exactly.” Crowley said as he smiled and kneaded again.
“Are you sure?”
“I'd fuck you.” Crowley said matter-of-factly.
“You already have.”
“I'd do it again.”
Castiel threw his body into the shove he gave his friend to get him out of the room to hide the grin that split his face. Leave it to Crowley to bring sex into every conversation they have. He could almost swear the guy wanted to see how hard he could push.
“When are Gabe and Balth supposed to show up?”
“Around eight so...” A quick glance at the clock and he continued. “about fifteen minutes. Why don't you go fluff your hair? By the time you're ready the should be here.” Castiel knew Crowley would never admit it, but the guy loved his hair. When they first moved in together, Crowley had spent at least an hour in the bathroom each morning trying to gel and brush his hair to the best look. It always looked the same. They may have come to hate each other if it weren't for the en-suite Castiel had in his room. Now, they both had to share the one. Castiel didn't take any longer than necessary after his showers in there because his friend would whine. He couldn't hold back the laugh when he heard Crowley grumble on the other side of the door.
It was a half an hour before their friends decided to show up, clothes and hair flustered looking. Balthazar's casual blazer was buttoned askew and Gabriel's leer wasn't even partially hidden by the Twizzler that stuck out from his kiss-bitten lips.
“Who's ready to get their freak on?” Gabriel exclaimed as he tugged another red treat from somewhere.
“It appears your freak has already been gotten on. Or in, whichever the case.” Castiel dead-panned.
A scoff and chuckle sounded behind Gabriel and the guy scowled. “Yeah, whatever. My freak has been freaked. Made me happy and you're fucking with my mellow. Cut the shit and let's go.”
The all crowded into Gabriel's Prius, much to the entertainment of Crowley, who called shotgun. Castiel made sure to buckle in and checked it three times - he didn't trust his friend to get them there without injury.
“No drinking tonight Gabriel or I'm going to shave your head after you pass out.” Crowley fluffed the mop around for emphasis.
Gabriel patted his hair, trying to sooth its hurt feelings and calm it down. It didn't work. “That would be overkill.” He grumbled.
^X^X^X^X^X^X^
Tossing the filter of the cigarette to the ground and stomping it out, the stench of smoke still clinging to his jacket, he grunted a hello to some stragglers and fellow cancer-stick lovers before entering the club. The lights in the club he entered were almost non-existent except for the swirling and swerving the strobes that hung from the ceiling let out. Crowded as it was, no one minded. A mob of gyrating bodies had flooded the dance floor an hour ago, singles, groups, and people simply looking for a good time. Dean had shimmed his way through the walls of heat to the bar and immediately thrown back two shots of the good stuff and now sat with a beer in one hand and his eyes surveying the pickings that looked pretty slim. He didn't go for looks - a fine ass and lips made for kissing never hurt - so much as a good dancer. If they could move their hips on the floor they could move them in a bed.
“I can hear you thinking from over here.”
Swerving the bar stool around, Dean smiled warmly at Jo. Ellen, Jo's mother, owned The Roadhouse, the bar on the other side of town for hicks and grumpy old men, but her daughter here catered to all sorts. Eric's Scandal wasn't really a place that could be categorized. They let everyone in as long as they made it past the bouncer out front. Caleb was a hard-ass though, so really, it was only people who paid him enough coming in. Jo smirked as she ran the towel over the bar top again.
“You caught me.” Dean tipped the bottle back and drained it, a small trail slipping through his lips and running down his chin. Wiping it away, he set the bottle down and tipped the top toward Jo. She silently traded it for a fresh one. “Aw, baby, you treat me so well.”
“Shut the fuck up. You're just lucky I don't collect on your tab.” Her glare and snarl came out too adorable to be frightening.
“Marry me?”
“I don't like dick.” She purred before scampering off down the bar to serve a customer who was waving a twenty.
He twisted the cap off his new brew and took a few sips. Deciding to search on foot, he shoved away from his seat.
Most of the guys here weren't his type; too short, too tall, too hairy, too something. He had no idea why nothing was catching his eye. Usually anyone would do, but tonight seemed different, felt different, and he couldn't put his finger on it. There was no need to worry though. If it came to it, he would even fuck Caleb. When he needed a good lay this bad, even he would sink that low.
Almost a whole trek around the place landed him hip to hip with a newly legal boy-toy, and half a song lead to the guy riding his leg. Dean let his arms enfold the slightly shorter man, both settling on his hips that swayed just right to the music. He let his captured leg travel upward, strong thighs cradling it all the way up to a half-hard cock that twitched at his touch. Nothing spectacular, but he wasn't the one who would be riding dick.
“What's your name?” The treat hummed in his ear as his hand wandered to Dean's backside.
“Jensen.” Dean breathed against the guys neck to make him shiver. “What's yours?” Letting his leg brush just so against his dance partner he heard a whimper.
“Ungh... Paul. Yeah, so good...” Paul whined, his fingers of one hand trailing up Dean's back to get a better grip while the other hand massaged Dean's hipbone under his shirt.
Still shuffling along to the beat, Dean curled a hand around Paul's neck and kissed him. It was nothing amazing as far as first kisses go - his heart didn't leap and his hands stayed dry, but it was a needed kiss all the same. Dean needed to feel something from one of his chosen lovers, even something as simple as lust, just to hold a piece of his humanity. The demanding ache in his heart couldn't be met with a Johns' money but the tongue of a willing man, and as Paul keened into the taste of Dean's mouth, Dean figured he'd found a way to assuage that for the night.
^X^X^X^X^X^X^
“Gabriel, stop!” Crowley called as the short bastard scurried through the crowd toward the bar. He hadn't promised to not drink, simply that he'd be careful. Logically, this means he'll do his best to not mix his liquor. It was something.
Castiel paid his friends no mind as he himself was smothered by bodies on his way through. The night wasn't going as well as he'd liked and figured a beer or two would calm his nerves and settle his constant bed hair.
A half an hour later he was two beers and one apple martini drunker but nowhere near better. The music was getting to him. He kept trying to sway to the beat but the damn chair was rubbing his ass too roughly for it to look like anything other than him having an itch. No one had ever called him a good dancer, or a good fuck (except Crowley, but he'd fuck anything), and he stood, giving a slight wave to the lady behind the bar to stray toward the crowd and see if he could get lost.
Apparently that wasn't allowed to happen because not two songs alone with his eyes closed had Crowley in front of him, hands wound around Castiel's hips, thumbs in his belt loops. “And who are you, lovely?” Crowley whispered in his ear, mouth grazing his lobe.
“Fuck off. I'm dancing.”
The response was to be pulled even closer.
“You looked awfully occupied. I wanted to interrupt.”
Castiel groaned for Crowley to shut up and get with the beat, making his friends' smirk widen. They went on like that through a number of songs before he felt more than heard Crowley laugh.
“Who needs to sparkle like Edward Cullen when all a man needs is a little oil to shine like a new penny?” Crowley chuckled as he nodded toward their left, away from the bar.
When Castiel saw the oiled barbarian, (seriously, who had that kind of muscle outside a Harlequin novel?), he cackled himself. “Seriously?”
“Mmm... New penny.”
He laughed harder. “You're sick.”
“I'm adventurous, which is more than I can say for you.” Crowley replied, an eyebrow raised in challenge. Fingers traveling upwards, one landed higher on Castiel's waist and the other curved around Castiel's neck, resting on the top of his spine.
Taking in the crowd of people around them, Castiel froze. Literally froze right in Crowley's arms, hips stopping dead. That guy, the one from the school's parking lot, was right there. Five feet from where he was, the guy who had stolen the thoughts Castiel had when he was alone, was dancing protectively around some little blond tramp. A tramp who was riding his muse's leg. Blood began to boil in his neck and Crowley must have felt the rise in temperature because he heard next to his ear, “Find something you like, adventure boy?”
He just nodded. When Crowley followed his gaze he chuckled darkly. “What, you want him?”
Again, he nodded.
His friend trailed his tongue up the side of Castiel's cheek that faced him and hummed. A soft purr of “Then what are you waiting for?” sounded in his ear and he was off like he was being chased.
Castiel’s feet moved as though they knew the way to the one person who had clouded his mind for the last few days. It felt like it took forever to cross the few feet between them, a great ocean of hardwood and stale split beer. In that time, he didn't come up with a plan further than to separate the parasite from his man. Arguably, he was a little tipsy, but he held his liquor well enough to know that this was a phenomenally bad idea, but his traitorous feet kept lifting and dropping in the man's direction. For lack of a better direction he went for it - he gripped the back of the shrimps' shirt and yanked him away and spared him a glare, making the little guy cringe and shy away poor thing, and pounced. As his tongue swept across those plump lips he'd jerked off to enough times to leave him with rug burn, he knew he'd found the place he wanted to be.
^X^X^X^X^X^X^
He hadn't seen the drop dead sexy guy until the boy-toy was ripped from his fingers. Dean wasn't able to get a good look at him besides a flash of blue before lips were crushed to his with a tease of tongue.
The press was somewhere between frantic and familiar and he didn't know something as simple as a kiss could affect him like this anymore. Nerves he hadn't known existed warmed and twitched to be closer to the owner of that wicked mouth, his toes curling in appreciation for the man's talent. He could fucking kiss.
Dean was at a loss with what to do with his hands so he rested them on the guy's waist. When those lips pulled away from his, he couldn't help the very tiny needy whimper that escaped him - those lips were all he wanted. Fuck fucking or getting fucked; lips like that had to be able to do the job when paired with that tongue.
“Who's that?” He heard near his ear as a nibble on his neck sent shivers everywhere.
Dazed, he asked, “Who?”
“Scrawny leg humper.”
Dean somehow found a laugh amongst the butterflies tearing at his insides. “He left.” He replied after glancing over mystery guy's shoulder. “I'm more interested in getting to know who you are, though. Satisfaction slithered through him when he ran his palm over the ridge of his hipbones and the guy trembled.
“Castiel.” The man told him.
He smiled, lips stretching and tipping upwards. “Hey, Cas. I'm Dean.” If Cas didn't want to divulge his last name, two could play at that game. Cas just hummed into the hollow of Dean's throat. The tip of his tongue touched Dean's hot skin, making the muscles tighten and release in pleasure.
They danced and swayed along to the thrusts and rubbing of the others in the crowd, becoming lost to everything but the feel of sweat-slick skin playing tag and hot pants fluttering over each other's necks.
^X^X^X^X^X^X^
“Nice place.” Dean said as he took in the small entryway and the part of the living room he could see. The car ride over, which as done in the impala with fingers digging into thighs and eyes meeting, had been something interesting. It wasn't that he hadn't been instantly attracted to a night's stand; it was that he had never been that into any sense of foreplay before. The tension hadn't been uncomfortable. Far from it. Those blue eyes screamed of a good time and the ability to deliver and if the peddle pushed the car a little over the speed limit, oh well. Now that they were at Cas' place, though, Dean was feeling a bit anxious.
Castiel stumbled slightly as he tried to tug his shoe off. “My roommate would disagree.” He laughed.
“I bet that's because of the picture of the mangy pup here.” Dean replied, smirking as he stared at the adorable pooch. The folds of skin and fur were so ugly it was cute. With a younger Castiel's arms wrapped around its neck, choking it, the dog was smiling, tongue lulling out the side of its mouth.
“Probably. Rufus had attacked Crowley the first time they met. It was hilarious.”
Dean smirked. “Roommate didn't like dogs?”
Castiel's smile faltered slightly. “No, the landlord didn't.”
Well, didn't that make Dean feel like shit. “Sorry.” He mumbled, shuffling his feet a moment. He hadn't meant to make his night's fun upset.
“No worries. My parents did. Yearly visitation rights.”
Nodding, Dean shimmed his leather jacket down his arms and rested it over the back of the chair in front of him. Now that he was here, he didn't really know where to begin. The guy was odd. Not like loony bin odd, but the kind where you don't really know if you'll survive, and that kind of scared Dean. They were here, there was a bed somewhere, and he really needed to get this moving along if he was going to get home before Sam morphed into the housewife he was when Dean was late.
Pulling the slightly shorter man against him, fingers playing with the hemline of the shirt that would look better on the floor, Dean murmured before his lips teased tempting skin. “Don't think your parents would approve of this.”
Those fancy fingers dragged through his hair, found a grip, and pulled him back. “Shut the fuck up and kiss me.”
Ignoring the flip of his heart at the words, Dean gripped Cas by the shoulders and spun them around, totally man-like, and dropped Cas on the couch. Climbing on to straddle him, Dean had a moment to think about whether or not this was the way he usually did this before Cas attacked him; those lips crushed his and that tongue swam while soft hands caressed his shoulders and arms so lovingly that for a minute he forgot this was a one night stand. Cas's hands grounded him, cradled him. He pulled back when reality reminded him of the situation.
“What's wrong?” Cas asked him as he ran those wonderful fingers through his hair. “Did I do something wrong?”
Dean shook his head. “No. Nothing's wrong.” He knew he was lying, everything was wrong, badbadwrong, but he wanted this, needed this. His body itched to be closer, pressed against the firm chest he could feel below those clothes, having strong legs shove him into the couch and hear springs squeak. The rush of skin on skin pulled his legs tighter around the thighs underneath him and pressed his chest down so their faces were level. Bringing his hand up, he rested it against Cas' cheek. ‘You're different.' Dean thought. ‘You're better than this.'
Cas kissed his palm. “We don't need to do anything, you know.” Lips pulled back to reveal perfect teeth. “I don't usually do this.”
'I know' Dean thought ruefully. “You sure?” He didn't want to push this guy. Usually he did, a little, because he knew they wanted it and were playing hard to get. This guy though, with his eyes and smiles and hands, made Dean want to do whatever he wanted. He would even leave if he was asked.
“Go slow?” Came the shy question.
Dean smiled. “Whatever you want.”
They kissed for a while, exploring muscles and tonsils before Castiel turned a little, dislodging Dean. When Dean sat, Cas moved above Dean to lay atop him. Dean would have protested, that he was the top, but the moment the body settled over him, he calmed. This felt right. It wasn't like with the other men - Castiel never forced, never tried to get Dean to bend to his will. Even worse, Dean felt safe. He hated safe. It made him want to keep the guy forever. He needed it, though. He needed to feel like nothing could touch him while he was with Cas, that the world would stop for them for a little bit. That the world would stop and let him have this.
“Is this okay?” Castiel asked. His fingers ran through Dean's hair again, making him purr.
“This is great.” He hated himself for relishing these feelings. Moaning when Castiel's leg came between his to rest against him, he whimpered, “This is perfect.”
^X^X^X^X^X^X^
“So?” Crowley beamed as he brought the mug up to his lips to blow across the top. “How was it?”
Castiel groaned. Why had he told his friend about last night? It had been perfect. Dean had writhed and moaned underneath him, those eyes he wanted to see again closing constantly as if to savor the pleasure running through that body. What a body it had been, too. What he'd seen of it anyway. Castiel could tell Dean hadn't wanted to go all the way, and truth be told he'd been hesitant as well, so they'd settled on an awesome rutting that left them both spent, sated, and exhausted. He hadn't wanted Dean to leave so soon afterward, but it was really for the best - if Crowley had stumbled in and found them together, Castiel would never have forgiven himself. Dean didn't seem like the type to like being seen vulnerable. “I really, really don't want to talk about this with you.”
Feigning shock, Crowley sucked in a breath and widened his eyes, his hand resting above his heart. “That's terrible! I tell you everything. In vivid detail. The least you could do is do the same for me.” Pouting, he sipped his coffee, eyes boring into Castiel as he did so.
“It's... private.” He said low.
The man seemed to ponder this for a moment, rolling the flavor of it over his tongue and coming up wanting. “Private like it's weird to tell a past conquest about a recent rumble or private like private?”
Castiel thought about that as he himself sipped his morning tea. It was a one night thing, at least to Dean. Why else would the guy have run off and not left his number? Then again, when he'd licked the strip up the side of Dean's cheek and kissed his pulse, Dean had whimpered, had tightened his grip on Castiel's biceps, had held him closer. When he'd murmured how beautiful he thought Dean was when he moaned, Dean had turned his head toward him and looked at him, really looked at him, before he'd kissed him with such submission, such passion, that Castiel couldn't breathe. It wasn't that he didn't want to talk about last night, he simply didn't want to share it. It was that kind of private. When he said so, Crowley laughed.
“What, are you becoming smitten with this guy? You've seen him every day outside the school - I've seen you watching him, darling - and now you won't tell me how it turned out? If he was all you thought he would be?” Crowley had set his drink down and was now staring at him, his head resting in his hands.
“You tell me about your conquests because you love to gloat.”
“I don't gloat about you.”
Castiel scoffed good-naturedly. “I was the best you ever had, so of course not.” He laughed.
“Good point.” Taking up his drink again, he said, “All I'm saying is, this guy is the first one in a long time since me, since Jimmy. You have that look about you. The same one you had with that asshole who broke you heart. Now, tell me, is he worth it?”
That was a very big question. Castiel had no idea of what the answer would be, and that scared the hell out of him.
^X^X^X^X^X^X^
Dean squatted on the stoop outside Sam and his apartment, running last night through his head, trying to make sense of it. On the one hand, the sex was great for what it was. It reminded him of when Dad was home and Sam was in the other room, needing to be quiet with his boyfriend in his bedroom for fear of his father's wrath. The time that felt like forever ago when hand-jobs scared the crap out of him and all he could make himself do was lay down atop his guy and push and shove and fuck up against him, getting off on the newness, the guy, and the fear of getting caught.
Then again, the sex wasn't sex at all. What was a little rutting session compared to what he did for a living? Castiel had topped him - he still couldn't get over himself for letting that happen - and yet he couldn't have seen that happening any other way. He hadn't wanted to cover up all that power, that lust, but most of all he hadn't wanted to give up the luscious feeling of affection he received from Castiel. In his line of work, he saw his fair share of lust and want, but never affection. His motto was, ‘Get it on, get it over with, get the cash', but with that blue-eyed guy it hadn't been that way.
Dean ran his eyes over the street in front of him. The sky had opened up and threw little white chills down upon the asphalt like it had personally offended it. Dean hated snow. It made him remember his mother and her love of making snow angels before returning inside for a steaming mug of cocoa that burned his throat before it reached his belly. He hated it because it made him want what he couldn't have again.
Glancing at his watch, he saw he had about a half hour before he needed to get to his spot, else some skank was going to take it. He tapped out another cigarette and sighed.
He'd just taken his third drag when he heard their apartment door swing open. “You really should quit. That shit will kill you.”
As Sam sat next to him, Dean blew another drag from his lungs. “Everything kills you these days. Hell, that cell phone you're attached to all the time can give you a hernia.”
“Cancer.”
“Same difference.”
He could feel Sam's eyes boring into the side of his face, trying to make him feel awkward enough to look at him. It was impossible to look at him though. Every time he even thought of looking at Sam, Dean felt his insides freeze and shrivel because he knew that someday he would give away his secret with one look, one glance, just by the hollow glaze of his eyes. Clearing his throat, he asked, “How's Jessica?”
What he saw of Sam's face told him his brother was nervous. “It's... great.”
“Great?”
“Yeah, actually. She's amazing. Everyone listens to her when she talks, her parents are awesome. They always let us have the door closed when I go over... not that we do anything!” Sam added quickly when he saw Dean give him a look. “I mean, you know, if we did, would it be okay?”
Dean chuckled as he exhaled. “It's totally fine if you do, just be protected.”
“That's it?” Sam gave him an incredulous, wide-eyed stare as if he couldn't believe his brother was being so okay with this, then turned his eyes down, not comfortable having this conversation at all, let alone on the stoop outside where anyone can see or hear them.
“Sam, you're growing up. You're becoming a man, hell, you are a man, and we've had the whole sex talk thing. You get it. Just, be protected and have fun. That's all I've got to say.” Dean couldn't stress the protection enough. He barely held back the ‘condom condom condom!' crap their mother yelled at him.
Sam smiled, actually smiled, and that made Dean's night. “You're actually being really cool about this. I thought you'd freak out.” His laugh could melt Antarctica. It melted Dean's heart.
“You want to invite her to Christmas?” Dean blurted suddenly. His hand went to the back of his head and he coughed. “Um, you know, I haven't met her yet. I should.” Right?
Sam smiled again. “Yeah. Definitely.”
An hour later, Dean made his way to his corner. He wasn't as sure of himself as he usually was and he blamed himself for that. Sam had been so damn happy tonight to simply sit with him and watch TV, to sip sodas and watch crappy reruns, and Dean hadn't wanted to leave. Who in their right mind would want to leave that behind and let men run their hands over their bodies when they had a great time with their brother they hadn't had in years? Shaking his head, Dean scowled. ‘Get it together.' he told himself.
His mood hadn't lightened through a blow-job and a fuck. The feel of those greasy hands rubbing and groping him left him shaken in a bad way, made shivers run up and down his spine as cum shot into his throat or filled the condom. He was shaking so hard that air was having a hard time making its way into his lungs. It hurt.
He blamed Sam's smiles and a pair of blue eyes he was never going to see again.
He swished the mouthwash for the fifth time that night and spat it out. The taste of cheese dick would not leave him alone. Sighing, he strolled back out toward his spot. ‘Fuck it,' he mumbled to himself. ‘it's too late to pick up a trick.'
Dean kicked up a tuft of snow on his way back to the Impala.
^X^X^X^X^X^X^
The last class of the day finally left and Castiel slouched against the white board, wondering why in the hell he'd decided to work here in the first place. The kids were disrespectful and obnoxious, and all he thought about was Dean, Dean, Dean. Closing his eyes, he figured the mild headache didn't help matters. Neither did the fact that he couldn't find the balls to go out and see Dean when he walked by on campus during lunch break.
It's been six days since that night and Castiel couldn't think of anything but Dean.
Packing his papers to go home, he figured he deserved it. Crowley was probably right - he was getting attached. He couldn't help it. Dean was like a drug. Somehow, the guy had gotten underneath his skin, into every detail of Castiel's life in a few days.
“There's my lovely little man!”
“Gabriel, you're shorter than I am.” Castiel laughed.
Snuffing, Gabriel said, “That's just because you were given tall genes. I was given attractive ones.” He nodded his head to himself, patting himself on the back for a dig well given. “Now, are you ready?”
“Ready for what?”
A sly, silken smile spread itself over Gabe's face. “They didn't tell you?” He asked, crossing his arms and leaning back as though withholding a secret.
“Tell me... about tonight?” Castiel hedged.
“Yeah.”
“Are you going to tell me?” Castiel sighed. Gabriel could be over-dramatic and blew things out of proportion way too often for Castiel's liking. Even so, he wanted to know.
“What's the magic word?” Gabriel purred.
Castiel scrunched his eyes closed and smacked his hand against his forehead. Hard. “Fuck.”
“Exactly.”
Four hours and three changes of clothes later found Castiel back at the club. The lights were still swinging and swaying, illuminating the bodies that practically vibrated with need to frolic, fight, and fuck, in that order, on the dance floor. Balthazar had dragged him out there with the rest of the flock for a while, grinding to the beat, albeit a little off, until he begged for a drink. A strong one.
The same girl was working behind the bar and Castiel smiled. She was snarky. He really should set up a proper introduction for her and Gabe.
“What's your poison tonight, hot stuff?” She asked as she moved the cloth against the grain and tossing a saucy grin toward him.
Castiel cocked his head to the side like a bird and smiled. “Actually, I'm thinking just a coke tonight.”
“Really?” She asked, serving up a few beers to a customer waving a twenty.
“Yeah. I, um, don't think drinking would be a very good idea tonight, especially considering what happened last week.”
She gave him a searching look, one that swept him entirely, and bit her lip in consideration. “What happened?” It was a question, Castiel could feel the question mark at the end, but the words were said as though she already knew the answer. She probably did - she was a bartender after all. Must have heard it all.
“There was this guy...” He began.
“There always is.”
Her smile was infectious. “Yeah. Well, we had ended up going back to my place and had a great time, but he left without leaving his number. It had been a guaranteed one night thing, but I just can't stop thinking about him.” Bartenders, as it happens, really do get you to open up. Even when you're stone cold sober.
That look was about her face again as she handed him the glass of soda. “What does he look like?”
“A little taller than me, spiky brown hair, leather jacket. The greenest eyes I've ever seen. You could...” He coughed and looked at his hands that fiddled with a napkin. “You could get lost in them.”
The bartender laughed good-naturedly. “I think I know who you're talking about. He's a nice guy.” Sobering, she continued. “You just need to know that he's really good at putting on a front. He's going through a lot right now, and sometimes he's a dick. I'm not saying he wants nothing to do with you or is tracking you down as we speak to have his wicked way with you. All I can say, with absolute certainty, is that he's... pressured. If what you guys had was as great as you think it was, then he'll be back. Trust me. He needs some good people in his life.”
“How do you know I'm good people?” Castiel couldn't help but ask.
“You help that blond guy keep the little one on a leash in my club. That's good enough for me.” One last smile had her floating down the bar to tend another customer waving more money.
* * *
“We were both young when I first saw you...”
Castiel smashed the snooze button and prayed for the day he figured out how to change that stupid song. Curling the covers back over his shoulders to keep in the warmth, he tried his best to fall back asleep. It would have worked, except Crowley came barreling in and threw himself on top of Castiel.
“Lovely morning, Cassie!”
Castiel grumbled in reply.
“Oh, don't be like that! Us guys are going out again tonight - different bar this time, in case you're wondering - and wanted to know if you would join us this evening?” Crowley began tugging on the covers when he didn't get an answer.
“How are you so fucking happy? Did you get laid last night?” Growling, Castiel stole back his sanctuary.
Crowley laughed. “A few times, actually. Beside the point, love. Will you be joining us on a man date?”
“Will there be more drinking?” Castiel hated hangovers, especially the one raging in his brain at the moment, but the alcohol numbed him to everything. Hell, it even made him open up and go after Dean a week ago... And there he goes again.
Crowley seemed to sense Castiel's train of thought. Tilting his head a little in a bad imitation of Castiel's confusion, he asked softly, “Do you need to get laid?” When all he got was a bitch-face, he sighed. “Was going to help out my boy, but never mind.”
“I don't want to have sex with you, Crowley.”
His friend nibbled his bottom lip in thought, then said in a serious tone, “What about Dean?”
Castiel grumbled something that sounded like ‘fuck you' but could have been ‘fuck me', slammed the still warm pillow against his face and sighed.
^X^X^X^X^X^X^
Eight days had passed since the night on the blue-eyed guys couch and chills still swam up Dean's spine when he thought about it. He remembered in perfect clarity what it felt like to be in those arms. He had never wanted to leave them. It was like there was a mark somewhere on him - his heart or just in his mind, he didn't know - that screamed Castiel; a brand upon his being that wanted to never part from its maker. There was a constant reminder, a repeated undertone of ‘CasCasCasCas...' running through his veins as thick, sugary sludge that no amount of cum from strangers could touch.
Believe him, he'd tried.
He'd just left Sam at school after stealing him away for lunch at their favorite diner in town. As usual, Sam had been a girl and ordered a salad. Dean didn't understand it; that crap tasted like dirt and left him hungry again in an hour, no matter how much of it he ate. Then again, as long as he knew Sam was eating something, even rabbit food, he was eating. That was all that he cared about.
Now, trudging back through the college campus to the Impala, he stuffed his hands into his pockets when a few cute girls sauntered by, trying to capture his attention. He simply smiled and waved. Right when he was about to shove the key into his baby to unlock her, he heard his name said breathlessly. That voice he remembered whimpering his name just the same way.
“Dean, hold up a minute!” Castiel quickly scampered toward him. Dodging some loitering students, he finally stood next to Dean and smiled. “Um, hey. I just saw you going through and wanted to say hi. Obviously.” He chuckled nervously.
Dean forced himself to grin. It was always difficult to see his former lovers on the streets, especially the one that has plagued his mind and left him with drenched boxers a few mornings in a row. He wasn't trying to be civil in the we've fucked in an alley with my knees bleeding in gravel and you want to say hello? kind of way, but more in the you gave me the best orgasm of my life and you just want to say hello? way. “It's alright. I should have given you my number before I'd left. I had to get home to my brother and it must have, you know, slipped my mind.” He heard how much of a jackass that made him sound when said aloud, even though it was true, and took a step toward Cas. Taking his hand in his, Dean pulled Cas along to an empty alcove a few yards away, glad to have him alone for a scant time, and shimmed into his space. “Seriously. I should have gotten your number.”
Castiel seemed to mull that over, roll it around with his tongue for a moment before he asked, “How about I give it to you now?” As he sank the slip of paper into Dean's jacket pocket, he let his fingers graze Dean's before traveling slightly downward and glancing over his hip-bone. Dean knew by the slight shake in his touch that Castiel was nervous and unsure about his movements. It made him wonder if anyone had ever hurt him for his efforts at affection or charm and his blood heated a degree. No one had that right.
“You still in school, teacher?” Dean asked with a slight step toward Castiel, closing the space between them another inch. Castiel sputtered something that sounded like “P-perhaps” and Dean smiled. “Bet you're one of those guys who never played hooky, huh?”
A full-belly laugh left Castiel. “No, I don't suppose so. I do want to see you again though. That is, if you want to see me.”
“Perhaps.”
Castiel laughed again. Biting his lip nervously, he shot his eyes to his watched and sighed. “I've got to...”
Dean interrupted him by pulling him in with the hand he was still holding. Sliding the fingers of one hand through silken strands to cradle Cas close, he brought his other hand up to rest on Cas' jaw. He drew out that tongue that had driven him crazy over a week ago and demanded a rematch.
Pulling his face away slightly, their lips sliding against each other, hot breath caressed Dean as Castiel groaned. “I really have to go.”
“I want to see you again.” Dean startled himself when he said those words. It wasn't until they were out there, unable to be taken back, that he realized they were true. He really did want to see Castiel again, even if it was just for a dinner date or ice cream and a movie; it was Castiel's time and attention he wanted. It was Castiel's presence that he craved more than his next meal or cigarette.
A breathy moan left Castiel when Dean's thumb rubbed against his cheek. “I want to see you later tonight.” In a smaller voice he said, “I don't want you to leave.”
“Hooky?” Dean asked hopefully.
Castiel shook his head.
“I'll call you.” Another press of lips and Dean backed up, sunlight spilling over his body as he moved from their little nook. “I really, really will.”
* * *
“Hey, Dean? You think I could have Jess over tonight? She and her mom aren't doing so well together and I really want to make sure she's okay.”
Dean secreted his grin away behind his hand that he brought up to rub against the back of his neck. It was amazing how well Sammy was doing with his girl; they were always talking on the cell phone he'd bought Sam the day after he'd told Dean he was seeing someone and would take every chance he could to say something about her. They'd decided to have her over for a Winchester dinner at Christmas when it came around and Dean was happy to meet her. His brother wouldn't shut up about her, ever. When Sam glowed this much, Dean didn't have a chance in hell of saying no to anything his little brother wanted. He was sad he wouldn't get to meet her tonight but he was excited for his brother. “Yeah, definitely. Um, I actually have a thing tonight, a...” He trailed off nervously.
“A date?” Sam squealed excitedly.
Blushing, he grumbled, “Shut up. Yes, so I'm not going to be here. Might not get back until morning if I'm lucky.” When Sam huffed, he laughed. “Seriously, shut up. Just, you know, be careful, order pizza, chill. Whatever. Protect yourself, but more importantly, protect her. Got it?”
Dean rolled his eyes at Sam's confused look. “You have the whole night with her, Romeo, make it count.”
Sam sputtered. “You... You think we'll...”
“I think you've been going out for a month and a half now. Something's bound to happen, Sammy. You're a big boy now. You'll know what to do.”
Not at all confident, Sam sighed. “Dean, I don’t know how to do any of that... stuff. She's so amazing and smart and wonderful.” He hung his head. “What if I mess it up?”
Dean was at a loss. Never one to think down upon anything he did or said, his brother was the embodiment of confidence, and to see him falter now in the face of finally being with his girl, Dean really didn't know what to say. When he lost his virginity, he was sixteen and trying to persuade himself to really, really like girls. Look how he turned out. Plopping next to his brother, Dean placed his hand reassuringly on Sam's shoulder. “You'll do what you both feel comfortable with. You're too good and too smart to screw this up. If it happens, it happens. There's nothing you can do but to go along with what feels right. If she's the one, Sam, she's it. I have the utmost confidence in you to love her the way you feel she should be.”
“Did... Did we just have a chick-flick moment? Cause that's what I think just happened.” Sam smirked around his worry.
“...And now I feel dirty.”
As he laughed, Sam stood and handed Dean his favorite jacket - their father's old one that was left behind - and smiled. “Same everything back at you, lover boy.”
It took Sam a half an hour to fix the damage to his hair after the noogie Dean gave him.
Part 3
It wasn't that Dean didn't like sex, he loved it, but he was beginning to think that he was losing his touch. It was Friday now, a few days since that blow-job with that John, and he had only had four fucks since. That would only cover rent for two weeks. Now, he knew the economy was bad, but really? Men were always ready to cheat on their partners, so why the hell not pay for a guarantee and not go through the trouble of wooing and dinners and crap? Dean was an awesome lay and was worth every penny. He'd been told so several times.
Sam, for some reason, chose tonight to talk about how Dean was never around to pay attention to him; how he was always gone to work or sleeping because he slept so late into the day so he would be awake for his night shift then crashed when he got home. It was as if he were jealous of his Johns - not that he knew anything about them - and wanted Dean all to himself. Brother's sometimes sucked when it came to making money.
“God fuckin' dammit, Sam! What the hell!” Dean boomed as he threw the milk jug back into the fridge. They'd been at this for thirty minutes already. Sam kept saying he was never home, never around, didn't seem to care, which was so off the mark he wanted to throttle the kid. He was doing what he could to put food in his brother's stomach and ass in class while saving up everything else for him to go to college next year. Same as he'd been doing for the past four years - ever since he'd graduated high school and dad left. Why he had to choose now to bring it up was really pissing Dean off.
Sam huffed. Tossing his bangs out of his eyes for the fifth time in as many minutes, he glared at Dean. “You missed my mathlete competition last month, the play I had a lead role in two weeks ago, and now a parent-teacher's conference! I know you work a lot but I need you here sometimes. I need my brother, Dean.” His glare had reduced to a pout throughout his little speech and Dean really couldn't help it if his anger slipped a few notches; he couldn't stay angry with Sammy.
To make it up to the milk, Dean closed the fridge gently with a soft snick and turned. As he rested his hands on the counter top, fingernails dragging across the surface, he spoke softly. “It's work, Sam. I need to work to keep this place. Rent’s not free, you know.”
There was a huff behind him. “That's why I should get a job to help, Dean! That's all I want! You work too hard and never have time to do anything for yourself. When was the last time you saw a movie, Dean? When was the last time you did something that didn't benefit anyone else?”
Dean was going to reply, he really was, but nothing would come because Sammy was right. Just like always. He really hadn't done anything for himself in the last four years. Everything had been done for Sam. Even so, he wasn't upset or sad over that. Dean was happy Sam would have a good, set future that would allow him to do anything he wanted. That was what Dean wanted. Anything else was extra.
“Sammy...”
“No, Dean, you need to stop. You're running yourself too thin and I can help you. Just let me.” The words were said with irritation, but Dean knew his brother, and Sam was as close to begging as he'd ever seen him.
Dean did his best to smile. “I'll take Saturdays off?” He offered. That would cut his ‘pay' by about a third. He didn't want to, but Sam was more important.
“Just... Dean, I don't know what you're doing, but placating me won't work. Let me do my job as a brother. I need you to do yours too.”
That - that stupid pride - ran amok in his stomach. How dare Sam say he wasn't doing his job? Dad had told Dean to watch over his brother and he was doing it, dammit! He was doing the best he knew how, couldn't Sam see that? Shaking his head fiercely, cracking it with the force, Dean ground out, “I'm going out.”
Sam immediately bristled. “Out where?”
“None of your fucking concern, that's where.” He circled his brother. He knew that if he touched him he might strike out and that he wouldn't allow. No one hurt Sam, not even him.
He needed to get drunk. Fast.
^X^X^X^X^X^X^
A few days passed in a blur of lectures and bad lighting and suddenly it was Friday. Castiel had no idea how the days that had been filled with stress were gone in the flutter of wings. Not that he was complaining - neither were any of the other teachers.
Especially Gabriel.
“Thank fuck!” He'd bellowed as the door to the faculty lounge crashed open. Castiel winced in sympathy and wondered how the handle hadn't cracked the wall. “I'm going to get drunk. Who's with me?”
That's how he found himself in front of the full length mirror in his room in loose-fitting blue slacks and a black Henley, Crowley sprawled on his bed, scrutinizing him. The infuriating man was already dressed in all black like always. His skin-tight clothes were glued on and hugging his man curves as he called them.
“No.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Then what?” Castiel growled. He'd gone through his entire wardrobe, a pitiful assortment, and this was the best he was able to come up with. He didn't have time between class, grading, and Crowley to go shopping.
“That's too school teachery.” Crowley pondered out loud with a put-upon, what-am-I-going-to-do-with-you look.
Castiel gave a long-suffering sigh. “Then what would you suggest?” He growled.
His friend turned his face up toward the heavens and must have gotten a response because he shot off the bed and left (without fixing the bedspread, the bastard). Castiel was reduced to pitiful whimpers of frustration by the time he had come back.
“Here. Spill anything on them tonight and I will smash your tea cups.”
At that, Castiel growled but was still handed the pants. When he unfolded them, however, he threw them back, the legs curling around the sides of Crowley's head. “No.”
“No?”
“No.”
Five minutes later he was sliding the denim over his backside and pulling up the zipper.
“Perfect.” Crowley purred as his fingers groped Castiel's ass.
Castiel slapped the hands away, but they just came back. Another smack got him one in return. “They’re too tight.” He complained, turning a little to get a look at what his friend was grabbing, but was pulled back.
“They're perfect. Shut the fuck up.”
Tugging around the crotch, he grumbled, “They show everything.”
“Exactly.” Crowley said as he smiled and kneaded again.
“Are you sure?”
“I'd fuck you.” Crowley said matter-of-factly.
“You already have.”
“I'd do it again.”
Castiel threw his body into the shove he gave his friend to get him out of the room to hide the grin that split his face. Leave it to Crowley to bring sex into every conversation they have. He could almost swear the guy wanted to see how hard he could push.
“When are Gabe and Balth supposed to show up?”
“Around eight so...” A quick glance at the clock and he continued. “about fifteen minutes. Why don't you go fluff your hair? By the time you're ready the should be here.” Castiel knew Crowley would never admit it, but the guy loved his hair. When they first moved in together, Crowley had spent at least an hour in the bathroom each morning trying to gel and brush his hair to the best look. It always looked the same. They may have come to hate each other if it weren't for the en-suite Castiel had in his room. Now, they both had to share the one. Castiel didn't take any longer than necessary after his showers in there because his friend would whine. He couldn't hold back the laugh when he heard Crowley grumble on the other side of the door.
It was a half an hour before their friends decided to show up, clothes and hair flustered looking. Balthazar's casual blazer was buttoned askew and Gabriel's leer wasn't even partially hidden by the Twizzler that stuck out from his kiss-bitten lips.
“Who's ready to get their freak on?” Gabriel exclaimed as he tugged another red treat from somewhere.
“It appears your freak has already been gotten on. Or in, whichever the case.” Castiel dead-panned.
A scoff and chuckle sounded behind Gabriel and the guy scowled. “Yeah, whatever. My freak has been freaked. Made me happy and you're fucking with my mellow. Cut the shit and let's go.”
The all crowded into Gabriel's Prius, much to the entertainment of Crowley, who called shotgun. Castiel made sure to buckle in and checked it three times - he didn't trust his friend to get them there without injury.
“No drinking tonight Gabriel or I'm going to shave your head after you pass out.” Crowley fluffed the mop around for emphasis.
Gabriel patted his hair, trying to sooth its hurt feelings and calm it down. It didn't work. “That would be overkill.” He grumbled.
^X^X^X^X^X^X^
Tossing the filter of the cigarette to the ground and stomping it out, the stench of smoke still clinging to his jacket, he grunted a hello to some stragglers and fellow cancer-stick lovers before entering the club. The lights in the club he entered were almost non-existent except for the swirling and swerving the strobes that hung from the ceiling let out. Crowded as it was, no one minded. A mob of gyrating bodies had flooded the dance floor an hour ago, singles, groups, and people simply looking for a good time. Dean had shimmed his way through the walls of heat to the bar and immediately thrown back two shots of the good stuff and now sat with a beer in one hand and his eyes surveying the pickings that looked pretty slim. He didn't go for looks - a fine ass and lips made for kissing never hurt - so much as a good dancer. If they could move their hips on the floor they could move them in a bed.
“I can hear you thinking from over here.”
Swerving the bar stool around, Dean smiled warmly at Jo. Ellen, Jo's mother, owned The Roadhouse, the bar on the other side of town for hicks and grumpy old men, but her daughter here catered to all sorts. Eric's Scandal wasn't really a place that could be categorized. They let everyone in as long as they made it past the bouncer out front. Caleb was a hard-ass though, so really, it was only people who paid him enough coming in. Jo smirked as she ran the towel over the bar top again.
“You caught me.” Dean tipped the bottle back and drained it, a small trail slipping through his lips and running down his chin. Wiping it away, he set the bottle down and tipped the top toward Jo. She silently traded it for a fresh one. “Aw, baby, you treat me so well.”
“Shut the fuck up. You're just lucky I don't collect on your tab.” Her glare and snarl came out too adorable to be frightening.
“Marry me?”
“I don't like dick.” She purred before scampering off down the bar to serve a customer who was waving a twenty.
He twisted the cap off his new brew and took a few sips. Deciding to search on foot, he shoved away from his seat.
Most of the guys here weren't his type; too short, too tall, too hairy, too something. He had no idea why nothing was catching his eye. Usually anyone would do, but tonight seemed different, felt different, and he couldn't put his finger on it. There was no need to worry though. If it came to it, he would even fuck Caleb. When he needed a good lay this bad, even he would sink that low.
Almost a whole trek around the place landed him hip to hip with a newly legal boy-toy, and half a song lead to the guy riding his leg. Dean let his arms enfold the slightly shorter man, both settling on his hips that swayed just right to the music. He let his captured leg travel upward, strong thighs cradling it all the way up to a half-hard cock that twitched at his touch. Nothing spectacular, but he wasn't the one who would be riding dick.
“What's your name?” The treat hummed in his ear as his hand wandered to Dean's backside.
“Jensen.” Dean breathed against the guys neck to make him shiver. “What's yours?” Letting his leg brush just so against his dance partner he heard a whimper.
“Ungh... Paul. Yeah, so good...” Paul whined, his fingers of one hand trailing up Dean's back to get a better grip while the other hand massaged Dean's hipbone under his shirt.
Still shuffling along to the beat, Dean curled a hand around Paul's neck and kissed him. It was nothing amazing as far as first kisses go - his heart didn't leap and his hands stayed dry, but it was a needed kiss all the same. Dean needed to feel something from one of his chosen lovers, even something as simple as lust, just to hold a piece of his humanity. The demanding ache in his heart couldn't be met with a Johns' money but the tongue of a willing man, and as Paul keened into the taste of Dean's mouth, Dean figured he'd found a way to assuage that for the night.
^X^X^X^X^X^X^
“Gabriel, stop!” Crowley called as the short bastard scurried through the crowd toward the bar. He hadn't promised to not drink, simply that he'd be careful. Logically, this means he'll do his best to not mix his liquor. It was something.
Castiel paid his friends no mind as he himself was smothered by bodies on his way through. The night wasn't going as well as he'd liked and figured a beer or two would calm his nerves and settle his constant bed hair.
A half an hour later he was two beers and one apple martini drunker but nowhere near better. The music was getting to him. He kept trying to sway to the beat but the damn chair was rubbing his ass too roughly for it to look like anything other than him having an itch. No one had ever called him a good dancer, or a good fuck (except Crowley, but he'd fuck anything), and he stood, giving a slight wave to the lady behind the bar to stray toward the crowd and see if he could get lost.
Apparently that wasn't allowed to happen because not two songs alone with his eyes closed had Crowley in front of him, hands wound around Castiel's hips, thumbs in his belt loops. “And who are you, lovely?” Crowley whispered in his ear, mouth grazing his lobe.
“Fuck off. I'm dancing.”
The response was to be pulled even closer.
“You looked awfully occupied. I wanted to interrupt.”
Castiel groaned for Crowley to shut up and get with the beat, making his friends' smirk widen. They went on like that through a number of songs before he felt more than heard Crowley laugh.
“Who needs to sparkle like Edward Cullen when all a man needs is a little oil to shine like a new penny?” Crowley chuckled as he nodded toward their left, away from the bar.
When Castiel saw the oiled barbarian, (seriously, who had that kind of muscle outside a Harlequin novel?), he cackled himself. “Seriously?”
“Mmm... New penny.”
He laughed harder. “You're sick.”
“I'm adventurous, which is more than I can say for you.” Crowley replied, an eyebrow raised in challenge. Fingers traveling upwards, one landed higher on Castiel's waist and the other curved around Castiel's neck, resting on the top of his spine.
Taking in the crowd of people around them, Castiel froze. Literally froze right in Crowley's arms, hips stopping dead. That guy, the one from the school's parking lot, was right there. Five feet from where he was, the guy who had stolen the thoughts Castiel had when he was alone, was dancing protectively around some little blond tramp. A tramp who was riding his muse's leg. Blood began to boil in his neck and Crowley must have felt the rise in temperature because he heard next to his ear, “Find something you like, adventure boy?”
He just nodded. When Crowley followed his gaze he chuckled darkly. “What, you want him?”
Again, he nodded.
His friend trailed his tongue up the side of Castiel's cheek that faced him and hummed. A soft purr of “Then what are you waiting for?” sounded in his ear and he was off like he was being chased.
Castiel’s feet moved as though they knew the way to the one person who had clouded his mind for the last few days. It felt like it took forever to cross the few feet between them, a great ocean of hardwood and stale split beer. In that time, he didn't come up with a plan further than to separate the parasite from his man. Arguably, he was a little tipsy, but he held his liquor well enough to know that this was a phenomenally bad idea, but his traitorous feet kept lifting and dropping in the man's direction. For lack of a better direction he went for it - he gripped the back of the shrimps' shirt and yanked him away and spared him a glare, making the little guy cringe and shy away poor thing, and pounced. As his tongue swept across those plump lips he'd jerked off to enough times to leave him with rug burn, he knew he'd found the place he wanted to be.
^X^X^X^X^X^X^
He hadn't seen the drop dead sexy guy until the boy-toy was ripped from his fingers. Dean wasn't able to get a good look at him besides a flash of blue before lips were crushed to his with a tease of tongue.
The press was somewhere between frantic and familiar and he didn't know something as simple as a kiss could affect him like this anymore. Nerves he hadn't known existed warmed and twitched to be closer to the owner of that wicked mouth, his toes curling in appreciation for the man's talent. He could fucking kiss.
Dean was at a loss with what to do with his hands so he rested them on the guy's waist. When those lips pulled away from his, he couldn't help the very tiny needy whimper that escaped him - those lips were all he wanted. Fuck fucking or getting fucked; lips like that had to be able to do the job when paired with that tongue.
“Who's that?” He heard near his ear as a nibble on his neck sent shivers everywhere.
Dazed, he asked, “Who?”
“Scrawny leg humper.”
Dean somehow found a laugh amongst the butterflies tearing at his insides. “He left.” He replied after glancing over mystery guy's shoulder. “I'm more interested in getting to know who you are, though. Satisfaction slithered through him when he ran his palm over the ridge of his hipbones and the guy trembled.
“Castiel.” The man told him.
He smiled, lips stretching and tipping upwards. “Hey, Cas. I'm Dean.” If Cas didn't want to divulge his last name, two could play at that game. Cas just hummed into the hollow of Dean's throat. The tip of his tongue touched Dean's hot skin, making the muscles tighten and release in pleasure.
They danced and swayed along to the thrusts and rubbing of the others in the crowd, becoming lost to everything but the feel of sweat-slick skin playing tag and hot pants fluttering over each other's necks.
^X^X^X^X^X^X^
“Nice place.” Dean said as he took in the small entryway and the part of the living room he could see. The car ride over, which as done in the impala with fingers digging into thighs and eyes meeting, had been something interesting. It wasn't that he hadn't been instantly attracted to a night's stand; it was that he had never been that into any sense of foreplay before. The tension hadn't been uncomfortable. Far from it. Those blue eyes screamed of a good time and the ability to deliver and if the peddle pushed the car a little over the speed limit, oh well. Now that they were at Cas' place, though, Dean was feeling a bit anxious.
Castiel stumbled slightly as he tried to tug his shoe off. “My roommate would disagree.” He laughed.
“I bet that's because of the picture of the mangy pup here.” Dean replied, smirking as he stared at the adorable pooch. The folds of skin and fur were so ugly it was cute. With a younger Castiel's arms wrapped around its neck, choking it, the dog was smiling, tongue lulling out the side of its mouth.
“Probably. Rufus had attacked Crowley the first time they met. It was hilarious.”
Dean smirked. “Roommate didn't like dogs?”
Castiel's smile faltered slightly. “No, the landlord didn't.”
Well, didn't that make Dean feel like shit. “Sorry.” He mumbled, shuffling his feet a moment. He hadn't meant to make his night's fun upset.
“No worries. My parents did. Yearly visitation rights.”
Nodding, Dean shimmed his leather jacket down his arms and rested it over the back of the chair in front of him. Now that he was here, he didn't really know where to begin. The guy was odd. Not like loony bin odd, but the kind where you don't really know if you'll survive, and that kind of scared Dean. They were here, there was a bed somewhere, and he really needed to get this moving along if he was going to get home before Sam morphed into the housewife he was when Dean was late.
Pulling the slightly shorter man against him, fingers playing with the hemline of the shirt that would look better on the floor, Dean murmured before his lips teased tempting skin. “Don't think your parents would approve of this.”
Those fancy fingers dragged through his hair, found a grip, and pulled him back. “Shut the fuck up and kiss me.”
Ignoring the flip of his heart at the words, Dean gripped Cas by the shoulders and spun them around, totally man-like, and dropped Cas on the couch. Climbing on to straddle him, Dean had a moment to think about whether or not this was the way he usually did this before Cas attacked him; those lips crushed his and that tongue swam while soft hands caressed his shoulders and arms so lovingly that for a minute he forgot this was a one night stand. Cas's hands grounded him, cradled him. He pulled back when reality reminded him of the situation.
“What's wrong?” Cas asked him as he ran those wonderful fingers through his hair. “Did I do something wrong?”
Dean shook his head. “No. Nothing's wrong.” He knew he was lying, everything was wrong, badbadwrong, but he wanted this, needed this. His body itched to be closer, pressed against the firm chest he could feel below those clothes, having strong legs shove him into the couch and hear springs squeak. The rush of skin on skin pulled his legs tighter around the thighs underneath him and pressed his chest down so their faces were level. Bringing his hand up, he rested it against Cas' cheek. ‘You're different.' Dean thought. ‘You're better than this.'
Cas kissed his palm. “We don't need to do anything, you know.” Lips pulled back to reveal perfect teeth. “I don't usually do this.”
'I know' Dean thought ruefully. “You sure?” He didn't want to push this guy. Usually he did, a little, because he knew they wanted it and were playing hard to get. This guy though, with his eyes and smiles and hands, made Dean want to do whatever he wanted. He would even leave if he was asked.
“Go slow?” Came the shy question.
Dean smiled. “Whatever you want.”
They kissed for a while, exploring muscles and tonsils before Castiel turned a little, dislodging Dean. When Dean sat, Cas moved above Dean to lay atop him. Dean would have protested, that he was the top, but the moment the body settled over him, he calmed. This felt right. It wasn't like with the other men - Castiel never forced, never tried to get Dean to bend to his will. Even worse, Dean felt safe. He hated safe. It made him want to keep the guy forever. He needed it, though. He needed to feel like nothing could touch him while he was with Cas, that the world would stop for them for a little bit. That the world would stop and let him have this.
“Is this okay?” Castiel asked. His fingers ran through Dean's hair again, making him purr.
“This is great.” He hated himself for relishing these feelings. Moaning when Castiel's leg came between his to rest against him, he whimpered, “This is perfect.”
^X^X^X^X^X^X^
“So?” Crowley beamed as he brought the mug up to his lips to blow across the top. “How was it?”
Castiel groaned. Why had he told his friend about last night? It had been perfect. Dean had writhed and moaned underneath him, those eyes he wanted to see again closing constantly as if to savor the pleasure running through that body. What a body it had been, too. What he'd seen of it anyway. Castiel could tell Dean hadn't wanted to go all the way, and truth be told he'd been hesitant as well, so they'd settled on an awesome rutting that left them both spent, sated, and exhausted. He hadn't wanted Dean to leave so soon afterward, but it was really for the best - if Crowley had stumbled in and found them together, Castiel would never have forgiven himself. Dean didn't seem like the type to like being seen vulnerable. “I really, really don't want to talk about this with you.”
Feigning shock, Crowley sucked in a breath and widened his eyes, his hand resting above his heart. “That's terrible! I tell you everything. In vivid detail. The least you could do is do the same for me.” Pouting, he sipped his coffee, eyes boring into Castiel as he did so.
“It's... private.” He said low.
The man seemed to ponder this for a moment, rolling the flavor of it over his tongue and coming up wanting. “Private like it's weird to tell a past conquest about a recent rumble or private like private?”
Castiel thought about that as he himself sipped his morning tea. It was a one night thing, at least to Dean. Why else would the guy have run off and not left his number? Then again, when he'd licked the strip up the side of Dean's cheek and kissed his pulse, Dean had whimpered, had tightened his grip on Castiel's biceps, had held him closer. When he'd murmured how beautiful he thought Dean was when he moaned, Dean had turned his head toward him and looked at him, really looked at him, before he'd kissed him with such submission, such passion, that Castiel couldn't breathe. It wasn't that he didn't want to talk about last night, he simply didn't want to share it. It was that kind of private. When he said so, Crowley laughed.
“What, are you becoming smitten with this guy? You've seen him every day outside the school - I've seen you watching him, darling - and now you won't tell me how it turned out? If he was all you thought he would be?” Crowley had set his drink down and was now staring at him, his head resting in his hands.
“You tell me about your conquests because you love to gloat.”
“I don't gloat about you.”
Castiel scoffed good-naturedly. “I was the best you ever had, so of course not.” He laughed.
“Good point.” Taking up his drink again, he said, “All I'm saying is, this guy is the first one in a long time since me, since Jimmy. You have that look about you. The same one you had with that asshole who broke you heart. Now, tell me, is he worth it?”
That was a very big question. Castiel had no idea of what the answer would be, and that scared the hell out of him.
^X^X^X^X^X^X^
Dean squatted on the stoop outside Sam and his apartment, running last night through his head, trying to make sense of it. On the one hand, the sex was great for what it was. It reminded him of when Dad was home and Sam was in the other room, needing to be quiet with his boyfriend in his bedroom for fear of his father's wrath. The time that felt like forever ago when hand-jobs scared the crap out of him and all he could make himself do was lay down atop his guy and push and shove and fuck up against him, getting off on the newness, the guy, and the fear of getting caught.
Then again, the sex wasn't sex at all. What was a little rutting session compared to what he did for a living? Castiel had topped him - he still couldn't get over himself for letting that happen - and yet he couldn't have seen that happening any other way. He hadn't wanted to cover up all that power, that lust, but most of all he hadn't wanted to give up the luscious feeling of affection he received from Castiel. In his line of work, he saw his fair share of lust and want, but never affection. His motto was, ‘Get it on, get it over with, get the cash', but with that blue-eyed guy it hadn't been that way.
Dean ran his eyes over the street in front of him. The sky had opened up and threw little white chills down upon the asphalt like it had personally offended it. Dean hated snow. It made him remember his mother and her love of making snow angels before returning inside for a steaming mug of cocoa that burned his throat before it reached his belly. He hated it because it made him want what he couldn't have again.
Glancing at his watch, he saw he had about a half hour before he needed to get to his spot, else some skank was going to take it. He tapped out another cigarette and sighed.
He'd just taken his third drag when he heard their apartment door swing open. “You really should quit. That shit will kill you.”
As Sam sat next to him, Dean blew another drag from his lungs. “Everything kills you these days. Hell, that cell phone you're attached to all the time can give you a hernia.”
“Cancer.”
“Same difference.”
He could feel Sam's eyes boring into the side of his face, trying to make him feel awkward enough to look at him. It was impossible to look at him though. Every time he even thought of looking at Sam, Dean felt his insides freeze and shrivel because he knew that someday he would give away his secret with one look, one glance, just by the hollow glaze of his eyes. Clearing his throat, he asked, “How's Jessica?”
What he saw of Sam's face told him his brother was nervous. “It's... great.”
“Great?”
“Yeah, actually. She's amazing. Everyone listens to her when she talks, her parents are awesome. They always let us have the door closed when I go over... not that we do anything!” Sam added quickly when he saw Dean give him a look. “I mean, you know, if we did, would it be okay?”
Dean chuckled as he exhaled. “It's totally fine if you do, just be protected.”
“That's it?” Sam gave him an incredulous, wide-eyed stare as if he couldn't believe his brother was being so okay with this, then turned his eyes down, not comfortable having this conversation at all, let alone on the stoop outside where anyone can see or hear them.
“Sam, you're growing up. You're becoming a man, hell, you are a man, and we've had the whole sex talk thing. You get it. Just, be protected and have fun. That's all I've got to say.” Dean couldn't stress the protection enough. He barely held back the ‘condom condom condom!' crap their mother yelled at him.
Sam smiled, actually smiled, and that made Dean's night. “You're actually being really cool about this. I thought you'd freak out.” His laugh could melt Antarctica. It melted Dean's heart.
“You want to invite her to Christmas?” Dean blurted suddenly. His hand went to the back of his head and he coughed. “Um, you know, I haven't met her yet. I should.” Right?
Sam smiled again. “Yeah. Definitely.”
An hour later, Dean made his way to his corner. He wasn't as sure of himself as he usually was and he blamed himself for that. Sam had been so damn happy tonight to simply sit with him and watch TV, to sip sodas and watch crappy reruns, and Dean hadn't wanted to leave. Who in their right mind would want to leave that behind and let men run their hands over their bodies when they had a great time with their brother they hadn't had in years? Shaking his head, Dean scowled. ‘Get it together.' he told himself.
His mood hadn't lightened through a blow-job and a fuck. The feel of those greasy hands rubbing and groping him left him shaken in a bad way, made shivers run up and down his spine as cum shot into his throat or filled the condom. He was shaking so hard that air was having a hard time making its way into his lungs. It hurt.
He blamed Sam's smiles and a pair of blue eyes he was never going to see again.
He swished the mouthwash for the fifth time that night and spat it out. The taste of cheese dick would not leave him alone. Sighing, he strolled back out toward his spot. ‘Fuck it,' he mumbled to himself. ‘it's too late to pick up a trick.'
Dean kicked up a tuft of snow on his way back to the Impala.
^X^X^X^X^X^X^
The last class of the day finally left and Castiel slouched against the white board, wondering why in the hell he'd decided to work here in the first place. The kids were disrespectful and obnoxious, and all he thought about was Dean, Dean, Dean. Closing his eyes, he figured the mild headache didn't help matters. Neither did the fact that he couldn't find the balls to go out and see Dean when he walked by on campus during lunch break.
It's been six days since that night and Castiel couldn't think of anything but Dean.
Packing his papers to go home, he figured he deserved it. Crowley was probably right - he was getting attached. He couldn't help it. Dean was like a drug. Somehow, the guy had gotten underneath his skin, into every detail of Castiel's life in a few days.
“There's my lovely little man!”
“Gabriel, you're shorter than I am.” Castiel laughed.
Snuffing, Gabriel said, “That's just because you were given tall genes. I was given attractive ones.” He nodded his head to himself, patting himself on the back for a dig well given. “Now, are you ready?”
“Ready for what?”
A sly, silken smile spread itself over Gabe's face. “They didn't tell you?” He asked, crossing his arms and leaning back as though withholding a secret.
“Tell me... about tonight?” Castiel hedged.
“Yeah.”
“Are you going to tell me?” Castiel sighed. Gabriel could be over-dramatic and blew things out of proportion way too often for Castiel's liking. Even so, he wanted to know.
“What's the magic word?” Gabriel purred.
Castiel scrunched his eyes closed and smacked his hand against his forehead. Hard. “Fuck.”
“Exactly.”
Four hours and three changes of clothes later found Castiel back at the club. The lights were still swinging and swaying, illuminating the bodies that practically vibrated with need to frolic, fight, and fuck, in that order, on the dance floor. Balthazar had dragged him out there with the rest of the flock for a while, grinding to the beat, albeit a little off, until he begged for a drink. A strong one.
The same girl was working behind the bar and Castiel smiled. She was snarky. He really should set up a proper introduction for her and Gabe.
“What's your poison tonight, hot stuff?” She asked as she moved the cloth against the grain and tossing a saucy grin toward him.
Castiel cocked his head to the side like a bird and smiled. “Actually, I'm thinking just a coke tonight.”
“Really?” She asked, serving up a few beers to a customer waving a twenty.
“Yeah. I, um, don't think drinking would be a very good idea tonight, especially considering what happened last week.”
She gave him a searching look, one that swept him entirely, and bit her lip in consideration. “What happened?” It was a question, Castiel could feel the question mark at the end, but the words were said as though she already knew the answer. She probably did - she was a bartender after all. Must have heard it all.
“There was this guy...” He began.
“There always is.”
Her smile was infectious. “Yeah. Well, we had ended up going back to my place and had a great time, but he left without leaving his number. It had been a guaranteed one night thing, but I just can't stop thinking about him.” Bartenders, as it happens, really do get you to open up. Even when you're stone cold sober.
That look was about her face again as she handed him the glass of soda. “What does he look like?”
“A little taller than me, spiky brown hair, leather jacket. The greenest eyes I've ever seen. You could...” He coughed and looked at his hands that fiddled with a napkin. “You could get lost in them.”
The bartender laughed good-naturedly. “I think I know who you're talking about. He's a nice guy.” Sobering, she continued. “You just need to know that he's really good at putting on a front. He's going through a lot right now, and sometimes he's a dick. I'm not saying he wants nothing to do with you or is tracking you down as we speak to have his wicked way with you. All I can say, with absolute certainty, is that he's... pressured. If what you guys had was as great as you think it was, then he'll be back. Trust me. He needs some good people in his life.”
“How do you know I'm good people?” Castiel couldn't help but ask.
“You help that blond guy keep the little one on a leash in my club. That's good enough for me.” One last smile had her floating down the bar to tend another customer waving more money.
* * *
“We were both young when I first saw you...”
Castiel smashed the snooze button and prayed for the day he figured out how to change that stupid song. Curling the covers back over his shoulders to keep in the warmth, he tried his best to fall back asleep. It would have worked, except Crowley came barreling in and threw himself on top of Castiel.
“Lovely morning, Cassie!”
Castiel grumbled in reply.
“Oh, don't be like that! Us guys are going out again tonight - different bar this time, in case you're wondering - and wanted to know if you would join us this evening?” Crowley began tugging on the covers when he didn't get an answer.
“How are you so fucking happy? Did you get laid last night?” Growling, Castiel stole back his sanctuary.
Crowley laughed. “A few times, actually. Beside the point, love. Will you be joining us on a man date?”
“Will there be more drinking?” Castiel hated hangovers, especially the one raging in his brain at the moment, but the alcohol numbed him to everything. Hell, it even made him open up and go after Dean a week ago... And there he goes again.
Crowley seemed to sense Castiel's train of thought. Tilting his head a little in a bad imitation of Castiel's confusion, he asked softly, “Do you need to get laid?” When all he got was a bitch-face, he sighed. “Was going to help out my boy, but never mind.”
“I don't want to have sex with you, Crowley.”
His friend nibbled his bottom lip in thought, then said in a serious tone, “What about Dean?”
Castiel grumbled something that sounded like ‘fuck you' but could have been ‘fuck me', slammed the still warm pillow against his face and sighed.
^X^X^X^X^X^X^
Eight days had passed since the night on the blue-eyed guys couch and chills still swam up Dean's spine when he thought about it. He remembered in perfect clarity what it felt like to be in those arms. He had never wanted to leave them. It was like there was a mark somewhere on him - his heart or just in his mind, he didn't know - that screamed Castiel; a brand upon his being that wanted to never part from its maker. There was a constant reminder, a repeated undertone of ‘CasCasCasCas...' running through his veins as thick, sugary sludge that no amount of cum from strangers could touch.
Believe him, he'd tried.
He'd just left Sam at school after stealing him away for lunch at their favorite diner in town. As usual, Sam had been a girl and ordered a salad. Dean didn't understand it; that crap tasted like dirt and left him hungry again in an hour, no matter how much of it he ate. Then again, as long as he knew Sam was eating something, even rabbit food, he was eating. That was all that he cared about.
Now, trudging back through the college campus to the Impala, he stuffed his hands into his pockets when a few cute girls sauntered by, trying to capture his attention. He simply smiled and waved. Right when he was about to shove the key into his baby to unlock her, he heard his name said breathlessly. That voice he remembered whimpering his name just the same way.
“Dean, hold up a minute!” Castiel quickly scampered toward him. Dodging some loitering students, he finally stood next to Dean and smiled. “Um, hey. I just saw you going through and wanted to say hi. Obviously.” He chuckled nervously.
Dean forced himself to grin. It was always difficult to see his former lovers on the streets, especially the one that has plagued his mind and left him with drenched boxers a few mornings in a row. He wasn't trying to be civil in the we've fucked in an alley with my knees bleeding in gravel and you want to say hello? kind of way, but more in the you gave me the best orgasm of my life and you just want to say hello? way. “It's alright. I should have given you my number before I'd left. I had to get home to my brother and it must have, you know, slipped my mind.” He heard how much of a jackass that made him sound when said aloud, even though it was true, and took a step toward Cas. Taking his hand in his, Dean pulled Cas along to an empty alcove a few yards away, glad to have him alone for a scant time, and shimmed into his space. “Seriously. I should have gotten your number.”
Castiel seemed to mull that over, roll it around with his tongue for a moment before he asked, “How about I give it to you now?” As he sank the slip of paper into Dean's jacket pocket, he let his fingers graze Dean's before traveling slightly downward and glancing over his hip-bone. Dean knew by the slight shake in his touch that Castiel was nervous and unsure about his movements. It made him wonder if anyone had ever hurt him for his efforts at affection or charm and his blood heated a degree. No one had that right.
“You still in school, teacher?” Dean asked with a slight step toward Castiel, closing the space between them another inch. Castiel sputtered something that sounded like “P-perhaps” and Dean smiled. “Bet you're one of those guys who never played hooky, huh?”
A full-belly laugh left Castiel. “No, I don't suppose so. I do want to see you again though. That is, if you want to see me.”
“Perhaps.”
Castiel laughed again. Biting his lip nervously, he shot his eyes to his watched and sighed. “I've got to...”
Dean interrupted him by pulling him in with the hand he was still holding. Sliding the fingers of one hand through silken strands to cradle Cas close, he brought his other hand up to rest on Cas' jaw. He drew out that tongue that had driven him crazy over a week ago and demanded a rematch.
Pulling his face away slightly, their lips sliding against each other, hot breath caressed Dean as Castiel groaned. “I really have to go.”
“I want to see you again.” Dean startled himself when he said those words. It wasn't until they were out there, unable to be taken back, that he realized they were true. He really did want to see Castiel again, even if it was just for a dinner date or ice cream and a movie; it was Castiel's time and attention he wanted. It was Castiel's presence that he craved more than his next meal or cigarette.
A breathy moan left Castiel when Dean's thumb rubbed against his cheek. “I want to see you later tonight.” In a smaller voice he said, “I don't want you to leave.”
“Hooky?” Dean asked hopefully.
Castiel shook his head.
“I'll call you.” Another press of lips and Dean backed up, sunlight spilling over his body as he moved from their little nook. “I really, really will.”
* * *
“Hey, Dean? You think I could have Jess over tonight? She and her mom aren't doing so well together and I really want to make sure she's okay.”
Dean secreted his grin away behind his hand that he brought up to rub against the back of his neck. It was amazing how well Sammy was doing with his girl; they were always talking on the cell phone he'd bought Sam the day after he'd told Dean he was seeing someone and would take every chance he could to say something about her. They'd decided to have her over for a Winchester dinner at Christmas when it came around and Dean was happy to meet her. His brother wouldn't shut up about her, ever. When Sam glowed this much, Dean didn't have a chance in hell of saying no to anything his little brother wanted. He was sad he wouldn't get to meet her tonight but he was excited for his brother. “Yeah, definitely. Um, I actually have a thing tonight, a...” He trailed off nervously.
“A date?” Sam squealed excitedly.
Blushing, he grumbled, “Shut up. Yes, so I'm not going to be here. Might not get back until morning if I'm lucky.” When Sam huffed, he laughed. “Seriously, shut up. Just, you know, be careful, order pizza, chill. Whatever. Protect yourself, but more importantly, protect her. Got it?”
Dean rolled his eyes at Sam's confused look. “You have the whole night with her, Romeo, make it count.”
Sam sputtered. “You... You think we'll...”
“I think you've been going out for a month and a half now. Something's bound to happen, Sammy. You're a big boy now. You'll know what to do.”
Not at all confident, Sam sighed. “Dean, I don’t know how to do any of that... stuff. She's so amazing and smart and wonderful.” He hung his head. “What if I mess it up?”
Dean was at a loss. Never one to think down upon anything he did or said, his brother was the embodiment of confidence, and to see him falter now in the face of finally being with his girl, Dean really didn't know what to say. When he lost his virginity, he was sixteen and trying to persuade himself to really, really like girls. Look how he turned out. Plopping next to his brother, Dean placed his hand reassuringly on Sam's shoulder. “You'll do what you both feel comfortable with. You're too good and too smart to screw this up. If it happens, it happens. There's nothing you can do but to go along with what feels right. If she's the one, Sam, she's it. I have the utmost confidence in you to love her the way you feel she should be.”
“Did... Did we just have a chick-flick moment? Cause that's what I think just happened.” Sam smirked around his worry.
“...And now I feel dirty.”
As he laughed, Sam stood and handed Dean his favorite jacket - their father's old one that was left behind - and smiled. “Same everything back at you, lover boy.”
It took Sam a half an hour to fix the damage to his hair after the noogie Dean gave him.
Part 3