SPN/SHA - Where the roads meet - Dean Winchester/Jacob Glaser
Title: Where the roads meet
Author: sephirothflame
Fandom: Supernatural and Stonehenge Apocalypse (with a shout out to Fringe)
Rating: R
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Dean Winchester/Jacob Glaser, past Dean Winchester/Castiel. Mentions of Sam Winchester, Ben and Lisa Braeden from Supernatural and Peter Bishop from Fringe.
Warning(s): Crossover, adult situations, a little angsty
Spoiler(s): Through 5.22, "Swan Song" for Supernatural, pre-movie for Stonehenge Apocalypse.
Prompt(s): robotlizards asked for "Dean/Jacob - Jake is softer under his clothes than Castiel was." at the " of assbutts and robotheads, a Stonehenge Apocalypse/Supernatural comment-thing meme." Sorry if this isn't anything like what you had in mind, I just really loved that line.
Word Count: 2,539
Beta Reader: N/A
Rants: Saw SHA for the first time today and knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that I had to write SPN crossover fanfiction for it. This is the first one. I have another, unrelated one, in the works.
Summary: Somehow, Dean always ends up back in Boston with Jacob.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the three shows mentioned.
Crossposted to: Myff.net, sn_slash , supernaturalfic , acockalypse , sn_crossovers and here.
The first time Dean met Jacob was outside a Kwik Shop in late November.
It was barely three in the morning and all Dean wanted was some goddamn caffeine so he could stay awake long enough to make it to the motel. He has never been a fan of Boston and he thought he just might hate it now. Chasing Werewolves single handedly through the cold slush in the middle of the night had never been Dean’s favorite activity.
Jacob was moving towards the Kwik Shop at the same time Dean was leaving it. Dean didn’t think when he saw him, just grabbed the front of his jacket and shoved him hard into the brick wall on the side of the building on instinct. He didn’t know whether to kiss or kill Jacob, because he hadn’t seen or heard from Castiel in months and how was he supposed to know they weren’t the same person?
“Oh God, please don’t kill me!” Jacob cried, going completely limp under Dean. “I have some money, just take it - “
Dean was completely thrown off guard, and his grip on Jacob loosened. “What the hell are you talking about, Cas?” He asked, shaking his head and planting his hands on either side of Jacob’s head.
Jacob stared at him with wide blue eyes, but something was - was different. They were the same goddamn eyes he’d fallen in lo - that he misse - that Castiel had, but at the same time they weren’t. Something was missing, something was off, something was wrong about them.
“Cas?” Dean asked, tentatively.
Jacob shook his head, ‘no’. “My name is Jacob,” he said meekly. His eyes flickered from Dean’s face, to over Dean’s arm, as if he was trying to gauge an escape route.
Jacob.
Jacob, not Castiel. Dean shot away from Jacob as if burned, and Jacob didn’t hesitate for a second before tearing off like a bat out of Hell. Dean stared after him, stricken, but didn’t move to follow him.
-
The entire drive back to Lisa’s, Dean debated calling Castiel. He hadn’t tried to in weeks, hadn’t seen the point in trying when Castiel never picked up, never called him back. If the angel ever bothered to check his voice mail he’d see Dean had called a million times, sometimes sober but usually drunk. There were even more text messages.
In the end, he decided against it.
Lisa didn’t ask him where he’d been when he showed back up after his week of abscence. She never did, and for that Dean was grateful. She smiled at him warmly, pitifully and made him a cup of coffee and pancakes before sending him off to bed in the guest bedroom.
They were together, but they weren’t together. Dean had tried, honestly tried, but couldn’t get over Castiel. Lisa wasn’t what he wanted, what he needed and Dean was grateful she had known without him telling her. She just smiled at him, took care of him, and it was more than Dean deserved.
-
It was early January the next time Dean was up in Boston, trying to figure out why people were randomly dying from what appeared to be radiation poisoning. In the end he met a man named Peter Bishop and somehow they managed to figure out what the Hell was going on. Dean didn’t wait for any explanations before he left, he didn’t want to think about science when he already had the supernatural biting his ass.
He wasn’t sure what compelled him to do it, but somehow he ended up across from the same Kwik Shop where he’d first met Jacob. Two bottles of coke, a bag of beef jerky and almost four hours later Dean was still sitting in the front seat of the Impala, just waiting. He didn’t know why he waited, didn’t even remember about Jacob until he showed up just after three.
Dean wasn’t sure what the odds were of meeting Jacob again at the same Kwik Shop, at the same time - same day of the week too, if he’d been bothered to check - were, but he the minute Jacob showed up Dean left. He didn’t want to think about odds after he spent the last few days chasing a radioactive little girl who didn’t know what was wrong with her. He definitely didn’t want to think about Castiel, because even after all the time Castiel has been gone, Dean’s heart still thudded loudly in his chest when he thought about him.
So Dean left and Jacob never knew.
-
Dean didn’t go back to Lisa but he called her to let him know that he was still alive. He spent five minutes reassuring her that he was okay and another hour talking to Ben about whatever Ben could think of before Dean managed to get off the phone and curl up in the cheap motel bed. Once the musty, moldy smell would never have bothered him but without Sam by his side it just seemed nauseating.
-
He spent the next month and a half driving up and down the Atlantic coastline, taking cases as he found them. He called Lisa, if not daily then as often as he remembered to. She and Ben were keeping him sane, even through his absence. They never asked him to come home because it wasn’t really his home to begin with. Dean missed them, but not as much as he missed Sam and Castiel.
Somehow, whenever he ended up in Boston, he always ended up at Kwik Shop just past three in the morning. Nightly, without fail, Jacob showed up and Dean - Dean just liked to watch him. He liked how tousled Jacob always looked, liked the way his eyes lit up after the first sip of caffeine, liked the way Jacob smiled and it reminded him of Castiel and didn’t at the exact same time.
-
“Do I know you?” Jacob asked him one night, eyes narrowed as he watched Dean suspiciously.
Dean was lounged against the door on the passenger side of the Impala, sipping a coke absentmindedly and Jacob was standing ten feet away in an empty parking spot. “No,” Dean said slowly, “you don’t.”
“Are you stalking me?” Jacob asked, fists clenched at his side. “Because, I gotta tell you, it’s a little disconcerting seeing you here all the time.”
“I’m not stalking you,” Dean said, a thin smile on his face. In truth, he wasn’t. At least, as far as Dean was concerned, he wasn’t. He never followed Jacob home, never took pictures of him or stole his wallet. He just liked to watch sometimes, and only from afar at night. He’d never expected to confront Jacob, had never intended to.
“Okay,” Jacob said slowly, his annoyed expression slipping into confusion. “So what the hell are you doing here all the time?”
“I can ask you the same question,” Dean shot back impassively. “I just wanted a coke.”
“Just a coke, every morning?” Jacob asked, wrinkling his nose in distaste. Not that he had any right to judge, he came by every morning to buy mountain dew.
“Sometimes I get peanut M&Ms,” Dean replied, shrugging. Jacob guffawed, probably without meaning to, and Dean smiled thinly. “I’m Dean.”
“Jacob.”
They didn’t speak again for three weeks.
-
Dean spent more time in Boston than he had anywhere in a really long time. He’d stay for a few days, even if he didn’t have a case, and sometimes, just past three in the morning, he would show up at Jacob’s Kwik Shop and they would sit and talk. He was never in town for long, he always left for two or three weeks at a time, but he always came back, and Jacob never asked him where he went.
Instead, Jacob told Dean about a robot head on the moon (which Dean highly doubted, but Jacob seemed adamant about, and who was he to crush peoples’ dreams?) and how it had gotten his tenure revoked at MIT. He told Dean about how he used to have a twin brother, but they hadn’t talked in ages - so long that Jacob wondered if his brother even thought about him anymore but he was too scared to pick up the phone and call first. He told Dean about his radio show and how everyone he knew thought he was crazy.
And Dean talked back and Jacob was an excellent listener. He watched Dean with this calculating look, like he was storing everything Dean said away in some mental file for later. He didn’t interrupt when Dean told him about losing his mother when he was four, of pulling Sam from a burning building. He told Jacob about his father and his never ending quest for revenge, about how his dad died to save him. He told Jacob everything; Demons, witches, wendigos, Hell, angels, the Apocalypse, the search for God, losing Sam and Castiel and his promise to try and be normal for Sam, and oh how he tried, but he just couldn’t.
And Jacob didn’t call him crazy, didn’t run away screaming. He would make a face, like he didn’t quite believe Dean, but he never left. He was the closest thing Dean had had to a friend in so long he didn’t remember how to be grateful.
-
Dean was surprised when he showed up at the Kwik Shop and Jacob was waiting for him, rolling a half empty bottle of mountain dew in his hands. He offered Dean an unopened coke when Dean approached him and they sat side by side on the curb, in their usual spot on the side of the building under a street light.
“You’re late,” Jacob said simply.
“Were you waiting for me?” Dean asked, and Jacob shrugged his shoulders noncommittally. “How long?”
“Every now and then,” Jacob replied. “Usually I don’t bother. It’s obvious if you’re here or not.” He gestured vaguely at Dean’s Impala with his mountain dew bottle, before finally looking at Dean. “I guess I was hoping you would be.”
“Oh,” Dean said, but it really hadn’t answered his question, and Jacob nodded. “Why?”
Jacob stared down at the bottle in his hands, unscrewing the cap before screwing it back on, tossing it from hand to hand. Dean wasn’t sure he was ever going to answer when Jacob spoke timidly. “I think I’m in love with you.”
It was so strange to see Jacob timid. They’d been sitting on the curb talking, bonding, slowly moving from friends to confidants to something Dean didn’t even know how to describe. Dean wasn’t surprised by Jacob’s confession, just the delivery.
“Okay,” Dean said, shaking his head and smiling faintly. “Cool.”
“Okay, cool?” Jacob repeated, bristling beside him. “That’s all you have to say?”
“Shut up, Jacob,” Dean sighed. Jacob looked ready to snap when Dean placed a hand on his cheek, ignoring the feel of stubble under his palm in favor of taking in Jacob’s shocked expression. “I figured you would prefer this,” Dean said, before leaning towards Jacob and kissing him.
-
The next time Dean showed up at the Kwik Shop, Jacob climbed into his car without permission and directed him to his house. “It’s too cold to sit outside all the time,” Jacob explained, shrugging. Jacob’s house was small and cluttered and was on the livable side of hectic and potentially dangerous. It reminded Dean of Bobby’s place, and he had to bite back a smile.
They spent the evening on the couch, sipping beers instead of sodas and Jacob tried to explain something about electromagnetic fields that ran under the surface of Earth and their connection to the pyramids between placing kisses across Dean’s neck and jaw and Dean didn’t even pretend not to be distracted. If Jacob honestly minded, he didn’t comment.
-
It was late November the first time they tumbled into Jacob’s bed, barely over a year after they’d first met, months after they’d started talking but only a few weeks after the first time Dean had been to Jacob’s house.
Jacob was softer under his clothes than Castiel was, his skin warm and soft and pliable under Dean’s hands where Castiel’s had been solid and strong and hot. Jacob was far more experienced than Castiel, though just as eager to please, and he sounded so similar to Castiel when he moaned that Dean had to bite back the “Cas” from slipping from his lips.
Jacob memorized Dean’s body with roaming hands and peppered kisses, his deft fingers and probing tongue quickly finding every spot on Dean’s body that made him quake and moan wantonly. Jacob may have looked like Castiel, but he didn’t react like him, didn’t like the same things and Dean was relieved. He went easily, fluidly when Dean pushed him onto his back, arching into Dean’s touch when Dean slicked his fingers with lube and started to stretch him.
“Dean,” Jacob moaned, over and over again. “Dean, Dean, Dean,” a litany of praise and adoration and need, whimpered and moaned and gasped as Dean worked his fingers in and out of Jacob’s body. The astrophysicist nearly cried out when Dean pulled his fingers out, but Dean silenced him with a desperate kiss before slicking himself up and breaching Jacob’s body.
“Jesus,” Dean swore, bracing himself with one hand at the side of Jacob’s head while the other clutched at a sweaty hip. Jacob made a pathetic sound of agreement before wrapping his legs around Dean’s waist and forcing him to move. His thrusts started off slow and shallow before Dean switched his weight from his hand to his forearm and tugged Jacob closer.
Jacob dug his nails into Dean’s back, lower lip caught between his teeth as he arched up, grinding his own erection into Dean’s stomach before rocking back into Dean’s thrusts. Dean laughed breathily against Jacob’s cheek, urging Jacob’s hips up, changing the angle. He thrust harder, eliciting a shocked “oh!” from Jacob’s pretty, chapped lips and Jacob’s nails dug even deeper into Dean’s skin.
Dean kept aiming for the spot that turned Jacob’s occasional groans into long, drawn out keening sounds, fingers curling into Jacob’s hip hard enough to bruise. Jacob let go of Dean with one hand to jerk himself off, panting heavily as he continued his chorus of “Dean, Dean, Dean,” and Dean wasn’t surprised when Jacob’s body suddenly went tight and rigid as he came before melting boneless underneath Dean.
Dean continued to fuck him, hard and fast, and Jacob continued to moan prettily, eyes half lidded as he watched Dean. He was completely blindsided by his own orgasm, his hips rocking in a broken rhythm while he came inside of Jacob and he barely remembered to roll away before collapsing beside Jacob, instead of on top of him.
“Dean,” Jacob purred, wrapping himself around Dean like an octopus in a tight embrace before kissing him languidly. Dean hummed his agreement, wrapping his own arms around Jacob and tugging him close.
Jacob wasn’t Castiel, would never be Castiel, but he would never have to be.
-
“You don’t have to leave,” Jacob said later, softly, his voice barely a whisper, his eyes pleading.
And Dean didn’t.
Author: sephirothflame
Fandom: Supernatural and Stonehenge Apocalypse (with a shout out to Fringe)
Rating: R
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Dean Winchester/Jacob Glaser, past Dean Winchester/Castiel. Mentions of Sam Winchester, Ben and Lisa Braeden from Supernatural and Peter Bishop from Fringe.
Warning(s): Crossover, adult situations, a little angsty
Spoiler(s): Through 5.22, "Swan Song" for Supernatural, pre-movie for Stonehenge Apocalypse.
Prompt(s): robotlizards asked for "Dean/Jacob - Jake is softer under his clothes than Castiel was." at the " of assbutts and robotheads, a Stonehenge Apocalypse/Supernatural comment-thing meme." Sorry if this isn't anything like what you had in mind, I just really loved that line.
Word Count: 2,539
Beta Reader: N/A
Rants: Saw SHA for the first time today and knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that I had to write SPN crossover fanfiction for it. This is the first one. I have another, unrelated one, in the works.
Summary: Somehow, Dean always ends up back in Boston with Jacob.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the three shows mentioned.
Crossposted to: Myff.net, sn_slash , supernaturalfic , acockalypse , sn_crossovers and here.
The first time Dean met Jacob was outside a Kwik Shop in late November.
It was barely three in the morning and all Dean wanted was some goddamn caffeine so he could stay awake long enough to make it to the motel. He has never been a fan of Boston and he thought he just might hate it now. Chasing Werewolves single handedly through the cold slush in the middle of the night had never been Dean’s favorite activity.
Jacob was moving towards the Kwik Shop at the same time Dean was leaving it. Dean didn’t think when he saw him, just grabbed the front of his jacket and shoved him hard into the brick wall on the side of the building on instinct. He didn’t know whether to kiss or kill Jacob, because he hadn’t seen or heard from Castiel in months and how was he supposed to know they weren’t the same person?
“Oh God, please don’t kill me!” Jacob cried, going completely limp under Dean. “I have some money, just take it - “
Dean was completely thrown off guard, and his grip on Jacob loosened. “What the hell are you talking about, Cas?” He asked, shaking his head and planting his hands on either side of Jacob’s head.
Jacob stared at him with wide blue eyes, but something was - was different. They were the same goddamn eyes he’d fallen in lo - that he misse - that Castiel had, but at the same time they weren’t. Something was missing, something was off, something was wrong about them.
“Cas?” Dean asked, tentatively.
Jacob shook his head, ‘no’. “My name is Jacob,” he said meekly. His eyes flickered from Dean’s face, to over Dean’s arm, as if he was trying to gauge an escape route.
Jacob.
Jacob, not Castiel. Dean shot away from Jacob as if burned, and Jacob didn’t hesitate for a second before tearing off like a bat out of Hell. Dean stared after him, stricken, but didn’t move to follow him.
-
The entire drive back to Lisa’s, Dean debated calling Castiel. He hadn’t tried to in weeks, hadn’t seen the point in trying when Castiel never picked up, never called him back. If the angel ever bothered to check his voice mail he’d see Dean had called a million times, sometimes sober but usually drunk. There were even more text messages.
In the end, he decided against it.
Lisa didn’t ask him where he’d been when he showed back up after his week of abscence. She never did, and for that Dean was grateful. She smiled at him warmly, pitifully and made him a cup of coffee and pancakes before sending him off to bed in the guest bedroom.
They were together, but they weren’t together. Dean had tried, honestly tried, but couldn’t get over Castiel. Lisa wasn’t what he wanted, what he needed and Dean was grateful she had known without him telling her. She just smiled at him, took care of him, and it was more than Dean deserved.
-
It was early January the next time Dean was up in Boston, trying to figure out why people were randomly dying from what appeared to be radiation poisoning. In the end he met a man named Peter Bishop and somehow they managed to figure out what the Hell was going on. Dean didn’t wait for any explanations before he left, he didn’t want to think about science when he already had the supernatural biting his ass.
He wasn’t sure what compelled him to do it, but somehow he ended up across from the same Kwik Shop where he’d first met Jacob. Two bottles of coke, a bag of beef jerky and almost four hours later Dean was still sitting in the front seat of the Impala, just waiting. He didn’t know why he waited, didn’t even remember about Jacob until he showed up just after three.
Dean wasn’t sure what the odds were of meeting Jacob again at the same Kwik Shop, at the same time - same day of the week too, if he’d been bothered to check - were, but he the minute Jacob showed up Dean left. He didn’t want to think about odds after he spent the last few days chasing a radioactive little girl who didn’t know what was wrong with her. He definitely didn’t want to think about Castiel, because even after all the time Castiel has been gone, Dean’s heart still thudded loudly in his chest when he thought about him.
So Dean left and Jacob never knew.
-
Dean didn’t go back to Lisa but he called her to let him know that he was still alive. He spent five minutes reassuring her that he was okay and another hour talking to Ben about whatever Ben could think of before Dean managed to get off the phone and curl up in the cheap motel bed. Once the musty, moldy smell would never have bothered him but without Sam by his side it just seemed nauseating.
-
He spent the next month and a half driving up and down the Atlantic coastline, taking cases as he found them. He called Lisa, if not daily then as often as he remembered to. She and Ben were keeping him sane, even through his absence. They never asked him to come home because it wasn’t really his home to begin with. Dean missed them, but not as much as he missed Sam and Castiel.
Somehow, whenever he ended up in Boston, he always ended up at Kwik Shop just past three in the morning. Nightly, without fail, Jacob showed up and Dean - Dean just liked to watch him. He liked how tousled Jacob always looked, liked the way his eyes lit up after the first sip of caffeine, liked the way Jacob smiled and it reminded him of Castiel and didn’t at the exact same time.
-
“Do I know you?” Jacob asked him one night, eyes narrowed as he watched Dean suspiciously.
Dean was lounged against the door on the passenger side of the Impala, sipping a coke absentmindedly and Jacob was standing ten feet away in an empty parking spot. “No,” Dean said slowly, “you don’t.”
“Are you stalking me?” Jacob asked, fists clenched at his side. “Because, I gotta tell you, it’s a little disconcerting seeing you here all the time.”
“I’m not stalking you,” Dean said, a thin smile on his face. In truth, he wasn’t. At least, as far as Dean was concerned, he wasn’t. He never followed Jacob home, never took pictures of him or stole his wallet. He just liked to watch sometimes, and only from afar at night. He’d never expected to confront Jacob, had never intended to.
“Okay,” Jacob said slowly, his annoyed expression slipping into confusion. “So what the hell are you doing here all the time?”
“I can ask you the same question,” Dean shot back impassively. “I just wanted a coke.”
“Just a coke, every morning?” Jacob asked, wrinkling his nose in distaste. Not that he had any right to judge, he came by every morning to buy mountain dew.
“Sometimes I get peanut M&Ms,” Dean replied, shrugging. Jacob guffawed, probably without meaning to, and Dean smiled thinly. “I’m Dean.”
“Jacob.”
They didn’t speak again for three weeks.
-
Dean spent more time in Boston than he had anywhere in a really long time. He’d stay for a few days, even if he didn’t have a case, and sometimes, just past three in the morning, he would show up at Jacob’s Kwik Shop and they would sit and talk. He was never in town for long, he always left for two or three weeks at a time, but he always came back, and Jacob never asked him where he went.
Instead, Jacob told Dean about a robot head on the moon (which Dean highly doubted, but Jacob seemed adamant about, and who was he to crush peoples’ dreams?) and how it had gotten his tenure revoked at MIT. He told Dean about how he used to have a twin brother, but they hadn’t talked in ages - so long that Jacob wondered if his brother even thought about him anymore but he was too scared to pick up the phone and call first. He told Dean about his radio show and how everyone he knew thought he was crazy.
And Dean talked back and Jacob was an excellent listener. He watched Dean with this calculating look, like he was storing everything Dean said away in some mental file for later. He didn’t interrupt when Dean told him about losing his mother when he was four, of pulling Sam from a burning building. He told Jacob about his father and his never ending quest for revenge, about how his dad died to save him. He told Jacob everything; Demons, witches, wendigos, Hell, angels, the Apocalypse, the search for God, losing Sam and Castiel and his promise to try and be normal for Sam, and oh how he tried, but he just couldn’t.
And Jacob didn’t call him crazy, didn’t run away screaming. He would make a face, like he didn’t quite believe Dean, but he never left. He was the closest thing Dean had had to a friend in so long he didn’t remember how to be grateful.
-
Dean was surprised when he showed up at the Kwik Shop and Jacob was waiting for him, rolling a half empty bottle of mountain dew in his hands. He offered Dean an unopened coke when Dean approached him and they sat side by side on the curb, in their usual spot on the side of the building under a street light.
“You’re late,” Jacob said simply.
“Were you waiting for me?” Dean asked, and Jacob shrugged his shoulders noncommittally. “How long?”
“Every now and then,” Jacob replied. “Usually I don’t bother. It’s obvious if you’re here or not.” He gestured vaguely at Dean’s Impala with his mountain dew bottle, before finally looking at Dean. “I guess I was hoping you would be.”
“Oh,” Dean said, but it really hadn’t answered his question, and Jacob nodded. “Why?”
Jacob stared down at the bottle in his hands, unscrewing the cap before screwing it back on, tossing it from hand to hand. Dean wasn’t sure he was ever going to answer when Jacob spoke timidly. “I think I’m in love with you.”
It was so strange to see Jacob timid. They’d been sitting on the curb talking, bonding, slowly moving from friends to confidants to something Dean didn’t even know how to describe. Dean wasn’t surprised by Jacob’s confession, just the delivery.
“Okay,” Dean said, shaking his head and smiling faintly. “Cool.”
“Okay, cool?” Jacob repeated, bristling beside him. “That’s all you have to say?”
“Shut up, Jacob,” Dean sighed. Jacob looked ready to snap when Dean placed a hand on his cheek, ignoring the feel of stubble under his palm in favor of taking in Jacob’s shocked expression. “I figured you would prefer this,” Dean said, before leaning towards Jacob and kissing him.
-
The next time Dean showed up at the Kwik Shop, Jacob climbed into his car without permission and directed him to his house. “It’s too cold to sit outside all the time,” Jacob explained, shrugging. Jacob’s house was small and cluttered and was on the livable side of hectic and potentially dangerous. It reminded Dean of Bobby’s place, and he had to bite back a smile.
They spent the evening on the couch, sipping beers instead of sodas and Jacob tried to explain something about electromagnetic fields that ran under the surface of Earth and their connection to the pyramids between placing kisses across Dean’s neck and jaw and Dean didn’t even pretend not to be distracted. If Jacob honestly minded, he didn’t comment.
-
It was late November the first time they tumbled into Jacob’s bed, barely over a year after they’d first met, months after they’d started talking but only a few weeks after the first time Dean had been to Jacob’s house.
Jacob was softer under his clothes than Castiel was, his skin warm and soft and pliable under Dean’s hands where Castiel’s had been solid and strong and hot. Jacob was far more experienced than Castiel, though just as eager to please, and he sounded so similar to Castiel when he moaned that Dean had to bite back the “Cas” from slipping from his lips.
Jacob memorized Dean’s body with roaming hands and peppered kisses, his deft fingers and probing tongue quickly finding every spot on Dean’s body that made him quake and moan wantonly. Jacob may have looked like Castiel, but he didn’t react like him, didn’t like the same things and Dean was relieved. He went easily, fluidly when Dean pushed him onto his back, arching into Dean’s touch when Dean slicked his fingers with lube and started to stretch him.
“Dean,” Jacob moaned, over and over again. “Dean, Dean, Dean,” a litany of praise and adoration and need, whimpered and moaned and gasped as Dean worked his fingers in and out of Jacob’s body. The astrophysicist nearly cried out when Dean pulled his fingers out, but Dean silenced him with a desperate kiss before slicking himself up and breaching Jacob’s body.
“Jesus,” Dean swore, bracing himself with one hand at the side of Jacob’s head while the other clutched at a sweaty hip. Jacob made a pathetic sound of agreement before wrapping his legs around Dean’s waist and forcing him to move. His thrusts started off slow and shallow before Dean switched his weight from his hand to his forearm and tugged Jacob closer.
Jacob dug his nails into Dean’s back, lower lip caught between his teeth as he arched up, grinding his own erection into Dean’s stomach before rocking back into Dean’s thrusts. Dean laughed breathily against Jacob’s cheek, urging Jacob’s hips up, changing the angle. He thrust harder, eliciting a shocked “oh!” from Jacob’s pretty, chapped lips and Jacob’s nails dug even deeper into Dean’s skin.
Dean kept aiming for the spot that turned Jacob’s occasional groans into long, drawn out keening sounds, fingers curling into Jacob’s hip hard enough to bruise. Jacob let go of Dean with one hand to jerk himself off, panting heavily as he continued his chorus of “Dean, Dean, Dean,” and Dean wasn’t surprised when Jacob’s body suddenly went tight and rigid as he came before melting boneless underneath Dean.
Dean continued to fuck him, hard and fast, and Jacob continued to moan prettily, eyes half lidded as he watched Dean. He was completely blindsided by his own orgasm, his hips rocking in a broken rhythm while he came inside of Jacob and he barely remembered to roll away before collapsing beside Jacob, instead of on top of him.
“Dean,” Jacob purred, wrapping himself around Dean like an octopus in a tight embrace before kissing him languidly. Dean hummed his agreement, wrapping his own arms around Jacob and tugging him close.
Jacob wasn’t Castiel, would never be Castiel, but he would never have to be.
-
“You don’t have to leave,” Jacob said later, softly, his voice barely a whisper, his eyes pleading.
And Dean didn’t.