Aurora and the chainsaw
In brief:
- zoeiona and multiclassgeek's party was excellent.
- gnine has tragically left us to return to the barren wastelands of her home country. This is very sad.
- my Yuletide assignment involves not a single one of the characters I offered. This is tragic beyond words.
- Merlin is back to being crap. (Uther/Gaius is still hot though.)
- Supernatural is shiny and pretty, but NEEDS MOAR BALTHAZAR.
- the Horniman Museum in Forest Hill is random. It is a random museum in a random part of London with a random Aquarium! So, so random.
- Etruscan weaving? FUCK YEAH!!
- continuing with the ancient theme, I subjected myself to the Ancient Worlds programme again. Apparently, Egypt matters now. Also, apparently, writing systems not based on alphabets are BACKWARDS. *stabs* I'm sorry, but if he could read hieroglyphs he might actually see that it's completely fucking logical and very expressive and not that hard. The OMGWESTERNCULTUREISSOGREAT-centrism of this series is turning me into a crazed, frothing at the mouth maniac. Why oh why do I continue to watch it?
- I bought a poinsettia.
- this happy, world-hopping team free will fic is my new favourite thing.
- I had writer's block, so I wrote porn.
Title: In Communication
Rating: R, for a whole lot of sex
Words: 7,451
Summary/warnings: Dean/Castiel. Set somewhere between 6x03 and 6x06-ish. Cas isn't there. Dean thinks he should be.
As always, thanks to cienna for beta-duties-extroadinaire.
.In Communication.
Dean misses the days when he had an angel on speed dial.
It used to be so much easier to get a hold of Cas, and didn't involve talking to an empty room like a complete tool, almost certain the asshole wouldn't even show.
Before, Cas had answered more times than not, and occasionally, towards the end when Cas was more human than angel, they'd talked about shit other than death and destruction and impending doom. Maybe Cas wanted to know about some weird human thing, and maybe Dean had asked if Cas has freaked anyone out recently, and it'd been like two normal people, having a normal conversation. Sort of.
Dean didn't know what had happened to Cas's phone, but it didn't pick up anymore. When Dean saw Cas these days he was hurried and abrupt in a way he hadn't been even back when they'd only just met and Cas was Heaven’s bitch and Dean felt like he was still Hell's.
He feels like a dick for it, but sometimes Dean kind of wishes Cas hadn't been revamped as a bigger, shinier, meaner angel of the Lord. It's like Dean's lost a friend, somewhere along the line, and he doesn't even know how.
When Dean looks at Cas though, he wonders if Cas doesn't wish it too.
The poor bastard looks angry half the time, and just so tired the rest. Hopeless. Like he doesn’t have enough time, and he's losing a battle, and there's nothing he can do about it. And yeah, Dean knows that feeling. It's exactly the same as he feels when he wakes up in the morning and remembers he can't trust his brother any more, and he can never go back to the life he had, and that for everything they lost and everything he's given it just never fucking ends. It never gets any better. He sees the same look in the mirror every morning and thinks that maybe Cas and him could start a club. Bobby might like to join.
Those times that Cas does show up Dean never knows what to say. He isn't convinced there's anything he could say.
Most times, Cas rolls up, does his thing, and is gone, and it pisses the hell out of Dean. Cas is at war, yeah, he gets that. But Dean's been at war all his life and he knows that if Cas doesn't slow down, if he doesn't stop sometimes, he's going to forget who he is and what he's fighting for.
Maybe, Dean thinks, he's already forgotten.
So Dean makes a point of praying to Cas the same way he used to call him. It helps that Dean's pretty sure the praying thing annoys the crap out of Cas.
With relish, Dean prays to Cas that his burger was greasier (Dean hasn't missed the way Cas can't stand to even look at meat anymore). He sings to Cas in the shower. He gives him a running commentary on what he's doing when he's fine-tuning the Impala. And when he's had the crap beaten out of him and he's been taking painkillers and is so fucking tired he can't sleep, Dean prays that Cas is okay. That he's not so far gone and angel-ish that he's forgotten that there are humans that do actually care if he gets himself killed.
Sometimes, on those nights in the dark and the quiet, restless, Dean imagines he can feel someone listening.
There were a ton of times, Dean prays, When I wanted to pluck out every last one of your feathers for that creepy stalker thing you used to do.
It's fucking stupid, and if anyone ever found out he would deny it to his dying breath, but it's all Dean's got when the crap just keeps on piling up. He wonders if shit ever gets to Cas and he just has to go out and smite demons to relieve the stress, or if he's too hopped up on angel-juice for that now.
For a long time Cas doesn't say anything about the praying thing, like he hasn't noticed at all, so Dean doubles his efforts. It would be something, Dean reasons, if Cas would just get pissed and all up in his face like he used to.
He's ridiculously pleased with himself when it works, and Dean's glee just pisses Cas off more.
"You are loud," Cas scowls.
"I'm drunk," Dean tells him, and smiles and tries to remember exactly what the hell he'd been praying for in a dive bar on a Thursday night, being kept company by a drunk who smelled of sweat and piss and a bottle of whisky. Deodorant? A clean glass?
"All of it," Cas says. "You were also praying for pizza and an umbrella for your drink."
Dean doesn't remember that.
Cas is staring- or maybe more like glaring- at Dean and it's pretty fucking awesome.
"Pray to someone else," Cas scowls, but he sits on the stool next to Dean.
Dean scoffs. "Who the fuck else is going to listen to me?"
"People usually pray to God." Cas is looking around the bar disinterestedly. "He listens."
Dean barks out a laugh that isn't really in any way amused, and he knows he's being an ass but he's drunk and Castiel is a dick and Dean just doesn't give a fuck. "Like He listened to you, right? Like He listened when you asked for help. Sure."
Cas holds himself unnaturally still, his face blank and closed off and Dean can't look at him. He takes a drink instead, enjoying the burn of cheap liquor on the back of his throat and the bitter aftertaste. If Dean couldn't see him out the corner of his eye, he wouldn't even know Cas was there he's so silent. Not even breathing.
Dean's gotten through another shot and is contemplating another before Cas says, "He didn't let me die. I was remade."
Into what? Dean wonders. He knows Cas heard the thought even if he doesn't say anything.
"Still don't see Him helping any," Dean points out instead, because he's feeling vicious apparently. And, oh yeah, he wants Cas to do something other than just stare at him like he's some weird, unknown thing. Dean isn't sure he knows this Castiel. He doesn't know what to do to make him hang around, take a weight off. How to make him stop looking like something worse than even the apocalypse is just around the corner and there's nothing he can do to stop it.
"No," Cas agrees, and there's that tired, hopeless slump of the shoulders again as Cas turns away, looking towards the collection of liquor bottles lined up colourfully on the wall behind the bar. There's too much interest in the way he stares, and Dean thinks, no, he's not going to be responsible for an angel drinking a bar dry. He's drunk but he's not stupid.
"Come on," Dean announces, tossing some cash onto the counter and hoping it's enough. He grabs the arm of Cas's coat and tries to pull him off of the barstool. Cas doesn't budge an inch, set like stone, and for a long moment Dean just stares at Cas and Cas stares back and this, at least, is familiar.
The longer they stay like that though, the more Dean is sure Cas is going to tell him he has to go. That he's got other more important angel stuff to do, and Dean can see it in the way Cas studies him. But he doesn't say anything. Dean wonders what this must look like to the drunk and the bartender. If he were sober he might actually give a crap.
Finally, Cas seems to make a decision and slides off his stool and Dean lets his hand slide away from Cas's arm. He turns away and walks out the door. He can't hear Cas following but he's stayed this long so Dean guesses he must be.
Outside, it's cold and dark and Dean shoves his hands into his pockets. It's been raining and his feet slap through puddles as he makes his way across the parking lot towards the Impala. It's lucky, he thinks, that there are so few lights out here, because he can't tell how fucked up his vision is. Cas still hasn't made a sound.
"Just because you're at war or whatever," Dean says into the darkness in front of him, "Doesn't mean you can't take five minutes to stop and say hi or ask how Sam's doing, or let us know you're- I don't know- alive or something. You've gotta rest, man, or you'll burn out." He can already see it in Cas's short temper which- okay, Cas has always been kind of like that- but there's tension and guilt and despair in the way Cas looks at Dean now that Dean hasn't seen in Cas before.
"Angels don't require rest," Cas replies. It's not anything like haughty or prideful, but more resigned, like that's how it is and there's nothing Cas can do about it no matter how much he might want to.
"Yeah, right," Dean drawls. "Like all those other things angels don't do."
"I have already spent fifteen minutes with you," Cas argues, like that doesn't completely prove Dean's point.
"And why is that?" Dean asks. "What're you even still doing here if you have other crap you should be doing?"
Maybe it's not the greatest of ideas to push Cas, because he has the habit of pushing right back, and Dean really does kind of want him to stick around, but he wants Cas to be there because he wants to be. He wants Cas to realise that whatever is happening with his war, if he loses himself and everything he's learned and all the reasons he's fighting it in the first place then he's already lost.
They've reached the car, and Dean leans against it, looking back at Cas.
Nothing has changed in the way he looks; he still stands awkwardly, his arms hanging like he doesn't know where to put them. You wouldn't be able to tell from his face that he was feeling much of anything at all if you didn't know what to look for. Dean does know and, he thinks, Cas looks fucking miserable.
Cas is staring at the ground, like maybe it knows what he should do.
"I don't know," Cas admits. He doesn't meet Dean's eyes. "I don't... want to fight this war. But I must."
"Yeah," Dean agrees. "I get that."
It's something, Dean thinks. It's more than he's gotten out of Cas since he came back- which was exactly nothing- and Dean's kind of hopeful that they're both not too messed up to get some of that friendship crap they had before back.
Maybe, he thinks, maybe Cas just needs to be reminded how to feel. What a human feels.
Dean knows he's shitty at the emotional crap, and he's had about all the sharing he can take for one night, and from the tired slump of Cas's shoulders he has too. But the physical- now that, Dean can do.
But with Cas he just doesn't know where to start.
What fucked up relationship they've ever had has involved violence and arguments and a whole lot of anger and Dean just doesn't have the patience for much else. He doesn't even know why he's bothering to try. Cas is a grown-up angel; he can take care of himself. He sure as hell doesn't seem inclined to ask for any help- probably thinks he doesn't need it- and it's not like Cas has been any kind of useful to him. Or to Sam. Cas fucked off back to Heaven the first chance he got and he only came back when it suited him, but Dean remembers how Cas has always been a bigger picture kind of guy, and Dean hasn't got enough of an ego to pretend he's all that important in the grand scheme of things. And fuck it all but he's drunk and he's feeling generous and Cas just looks so damn pathetic.
It can't be much fun, Dean thinks, hanging out with other dick angels.
"You wanna go for a ride?" Dean asks.
The Impala is about all he's got to offer, and it's what has always made Dean feel a little less crappy. It's the feel of going somewhere else, and of the engine working just right, and control under his hands. It's the smell of home and something he knows and Dean knows it's none of that crap to Cas, but yeah, it's all he's got to offer.
Cas says, "You're drunk," and gives Dean a look like he is not impressed. Fucking know-it-all angel.
"Forget it then," Dean snaps, because he's aware, thanks very much, that he's been drinking, but he's not that trashed, and he just offered Cas pretty much the only thing he's got and Dean's pissed because Cas knows what that means to him. Or at least, he used to. "Go back to playing with your angel buddies."
Dean turns away, searching his pockets for his car keys and ignoring the way he can see Cas shifting uncomfortably out the corner of his eye.
"I meant," Cas says, "It is dangerous for you to drive."
Cas reaches out and before Dean can flinch away Cas has got his fingers pressed against Dean's forehead and in an instant any kind of relaxed softness is gone from Dean's mind. The world is all sharp edges and painful again, and Dean remembers all the crap that made him want to drink in the first place.
Sometimes, Dean thinks, Cas is a fucking pain in the ass and he's having a hard time remembering why he was bothering to be nice in the first place.
He's not feeling generous any more.
"Asshole," Dean curses under his breath. It's too easy to find the keys in his pocket now, his fingers coordinated and steady, and he pulls them out.
"It was for your own safety." Cool as ever, and Dean might've been kind of pleased that Cas even cared if he hadn't just spent several hours cultivating his perfect drunk state.
"Yeah, well, thanks for the tip."
Dean takes one look at Cas, straight-backed again, looking at Dean with nothing of the honest-maybe-tiny-bit of emotion he'd been showing moments before and then Dean thinks, fuck it.
"You know what?" he says, turning fully toward Cas, taking a step closer. Cas's eyes follow his movements closely, but he doesn't move or make any kind of reply, so at least, Dean thinks, he remembers when to shut the hell up. "I don't give a crap what you think you need to do. I don't care how much you think you're all angelic robot again." Dean takes another step closer. He'd like to be able to blame the drink, except Cas has made sure there's nothing even vaguely alcoholic left in him. "I can see that you're not. And I don't get why you think you have to go back to being a dick who thinks they can just come around and tell us what to do and then leave like we're your unfortunate one-night stands or something."
"You're not-" Cas begins, frowning, and Dean doesn't want to hear it.
"Shut the fuck up," Dean interrupts. He's taking a risk, but he's got it in his head that he's got to do something drastic or the Cas they knew is going to be lost to them. He'll go back to being big-picture man, and he won't care about Dean or Sam or any other human in existence.
It's not just that though, Dean realises. It's that he doesn't want to lose someone else, and pretty much the only someone that isn't family that he might actually kind of want to stick around.
This isn't the first time Dean's thought about doing this; about getting a hold of Cas's arms like he is now and pushing him back, hard, against the Impala and pressing his body up against Cas's.
And Cas lets him.
He watches and he doesn't push Dean away and he doesn't do anything.
It makes Dean push forward even more until he can feel Cas's belt and the buttons of Cas's coat, and Cas's breath against his face. Dean's got a grip on Cas's arm that would be painful to a human. Cas stares back at Dean like he doesn't even feel it, but there's something in his eyes that might be more than vague curiosity or that weird compassionate thing Cas does sometimes when Dean's life is about to get even more crap.
This is interest. This is watching Dean and wanting and waiting.
When Dean had thought about Cas like this; about getting into his pants, maybe kissing him, maybe just touching Cas and seeing what was under those layers of heavy clothes, it'd never been outside in a cold, dark parking lot to a bar. If he'd ever let himself think about it, there'd been a bed and great lighting and Cas had reached back and given as good as he got. Dean wants that now. He wants to see what Cas will do, because there'd always been something between them that was weird and unspoken and as Cas had become more and more human it had gotten increasingly obvious and Dean had begun to think maybe even possible.
With this Castiel, most of that is gone, or hidden, or ignored. Maybe crap like physical attraction just doesn't mean anything to him anymore, but Jesus fuck Dean wants it to.
Dean runs his hand up Cas's arm, slides his other hand under Cas's coat and jacket, finding cold cotton and rubbing his thumb against the material.
Cas lets him.
Even as Dean leans in closer, putting his mouth on Cas's and pressing in he doesn't look away. He licks his way into Cas, feels the dry, cool skin of his lips and the wetness of his tongue and Cas doesn't respond, doesn't press back, for so long that Dean thinks he's made a giant mistake here. It wouldn't be the first time he's gotten something completely backward and it's so fucking hard to know with Cas.
It's weird to feel unmoving lips under his, where usually there'd be heat and motion and something. Dean doesn't know why he doesn't just stop. Step away and pretend this all didn't happen. He thinks he should have gotten the message, that Cas has no interest in this -in whatever this is- and he's just letting Dean because he doesn't care. It doesn't mean anything.
Except for the way Cas is watching Dean still and is pliant under Dean's hands where he always looks so tense, like every muscle in his body is pulled tight.
Dean didn't expect him to feel like this, and to hell with it. There's no way Cas can't know what it means when Dean kisses the corner of his mouth and his chin, and threads his finger through Cas's hair, scratches lightly at the back of his neck and the skin is cold and Dean wants it to be warm. There's no way Cas can mistake Dean's intent when he shoves the material of his shirt out of the way so Dean can get to Cas's stomach and play along the waist of his pants.
Dean bites down on Cas's neck, and sucks and plays at the skin and that -of all things that- gets him what he wants; a reaction. Something. Anything.
They're so close together, Dean's hands and his mouth wherever he can reach Cas's skin, that Dean can feel it when Cas takes a breath, sharp and surprised and Cas shifts his body, pressing into Dean's touch rather than away from it, and Dean grins.
"You kinky bastard." Dean licks up the line of Cas's neck and Cas tilts his head like he's asking for more. Beneath him Cas shifts again and now Dean can feel Cas's fingers stretching over the hand Dean's got up Cas's shirt. Dean pushes his hand up higher and Cas doesn’t stop him, just follows Dean's movements with his own hand. His breath hitches again when Dean drags a blunt fingernail across Cas's nipple. The flesh is taut from the cold and Dean wonders if Cas registers the temperature the way his body clearly does.
"This is," Cas breathes, "unwise."
"Yeah," Dean agrees. Because yeah, he doesn't even have the excuse of being wasted anymore. He could tell himself this was all about reminding Cas how humans feel; about sensation and about getting Cas to respond to something with some real emotion, but it's not. It's not just that. Dean's thought about this before. He's had dreams of getting Cas naked and of getting to see if Cas would still stare at him while he fucked him. He's wondered what Cas would taste like, and what he would do if Dean had his hands on his dick and his mouth around Cas's fingers and now Dean can know it. Cas holds on to the back of Dean's jacket like he's holding him up, and he lets Dean take his hand, threading their fingers together so that Cas is touching himself where Dean is touching him.
Doing this, being given this, Dean knows that he's going to want more. That he won't be able to stop. And the worst of it is that he just doesn't care. He could lose this, maybe he's going to get in a great stack of trouble for molesting an angel, but it's worth it just for the taste of Cas, for the way he moves against Dean.
Under his fingers and his mouth Cas's skin is hot and his heart beats fast and Dean knows that Cas wants this, and that makes it even more dangerous. It makes it maybe mean something.
"I could stop," Dean offers.
It might be a lie.
There's nothing Dean wants less right now than to have to go, to have to take his hands off Cas.
Dean thinks that maybe he's trying to make a point when he grinds himself into Cas. He's half-hard and thinks that Cas is too, he's just not sure what point it is he's trying to make.
I want this, or I can make this good, or just Stay.
In answer, Cas pushes his hips forward to meet Dean's, hissing like this hurts.
It reminds Dean that Cas has probably never done this before, and he wonders if it should bother him that this is going to happen in the parking lot of a crappy bar in some dead-end town. It's cold and a long time past closing and way too public, but Cas doesn't seem to care and Dean's not stopping unless he has to.
"Cas," he says against Cas's throat, and then, "Fuck," against the collar of his shirt.
Dean wants to forget everything but this; the warmth they're creating, the friction between them. Cas is here now, and who the fuck knows how long for and Dean wants to make sure Cas doesn't forget him. He wants Cas to come back for more. It's kind of the opposite of what he thought he wanted, because he had Lisa and she was stable and normal and good, and Cas is unlike anything else. He could snap Dean in half. Pretty much all the time Dean doesn't have a clue what Cas is thinking or feeling, but right now, Cas touches himself where Dean moves his hand and Dean thinks Cas wants this too.
He pulls back so he can see Cas's face. Even in the dark he can make out Cas's parted, dry lips, and his eyes open wide and watching. Always fucking watching.
Cas's shirt is in the way so he can't see it, but Dean can feel his fingers against Cas’s fingers, mixed up together and both splayed over Cas’s chest. Dean can feel his sternum, the lines of ribs and he realises that Cas is a lot skinnier than he looks. He drags their hands down along Cas's side, over Cas's stomach, rubbing his thumbs along the line of Cas’s pants.
"You ever done this before?" Dean asks, meaning more if Cas has ever just touched his own skin, learned his body and its reactions, more than if he's ever gotten himself off.
Cas replies, "No," and his voice is low and Dean guesses that to most people Cas would sound unconcerned, but Dean is close enough feel the way he breathes out, like he's trying to control himself, trying to keep himself still and his voice even. Then Cas breathes in when Dean uses his free hand to unbuckle his belt. "I have never had reason to," Cas says, and Dean guides his hands down past Cas's zipper, letting their fingers linger along the shape of Cas's dick through his slacks. It's not much but Cas jerks forward anyway in an involuntary reaction.
Dean can't blame him; he just about remembers what it's like to have someone else’s hands on you for the first time. Shit, and it's so fucking hot every time he remembers that no one has ever done this to Cas before. When he thinks that no one has ever touched Cas like this and made him want more.
"Dean," Cas warns, and it's Hurry up and not Get off of me and Dean can feel himself grinning because this is what he wants. What he'd been trying for since Cas came back and was suddenly some strange, unknown other again who acted like he didn't give a crap.
This Cas here, now, wants and needs and definitely feels. He pushes back when Dean grinds them together, threads the fingers of his free hand into Dean's hair, stares and doesn't blink and looks at Dean's lips and down at where Dean's hands are all over his crotch, then back up to meet his eyes. Oh yeah, Dean knows what Cas wants.
And fucking shit but he wants it too. He knows because he can't stop staring at Cas's mouth and wanting it and he really doesn't know why he hasn't thought of it until now. Except that maybe it was too intimate. Or, like he was admitting something he doesn't want to admit.
He's trying to give Cas a handjob in a freaking parking lot and if that's not intimate then he doesn't know what is, so Dean tells himself he's got this much, he's gone this far, so he might as well take what he wants. Give Cas whatever he can.
There's not much space between them anyway, and Dean watches, transfixed, as Cas leans in and puts his lips right on Deans, weirdly tentative and chaste when he's got his hand on his dick and he's following Dean's hand in rubbing and stroking.
His lips are so dry.
It's creepy that Cas has still got his eyes open, but Dean can't say anything when he has too, because he wants to see exactly what Cas looks like when Dean pushes closer, opening his mouth and kissing Cas harder, running his tongue between the line of Cas's lips. And Cas breathes and opens and then Dean can feel teeth and Cas's tongue meeting his. Cas's eyes close, then open again, then close and Dean feels Cas grasping at his hair, yanking them closer together so hard it kind of hurts. The uncertainty is gone, and Dean tastes the inside of Cas's mouth and Cas is doing the same, maybe copying him, but learning fast, stroking down the side of Dean's face, at his neck, suddenly full of purpose and taking what Dean is offering. All Dean can think is that it's pretty awesome.
It's not easy to fumble with the buttons of Cas's pants and pull down the zipper with just one hand, but Dean wants to know what Cas will do when he gets actual hands on him. If he gets this into it just from a little groping, kissing Dean like it's going out of style. He wants to see Cas lose that angelic coldness, he wants to show Cas how awesome humanity can be.
Breaking away from Cas's mouth to scrape teeth against Cas's chin, tasting fuck knows what -but Jesus it's sweet- Dean dips his hand past the waist of Cas's underwear, taking Cas's hand with it so they're touching him together. Cas is hard as hell and Dean feels the heat and the weight of it as he wraps both their hands around his dick. His touch is light, but Cas still jerks forward again and Cas makes a noise like a growl in the back of his throat. Dean's not sure if it's irritation at his body, or just that he likes it so much.
Whatever. Dean wants to hear it again. He wants a lot of things, like more of Cas's mouth. So Dean kisses him again, because right here he can have it and who the fuck knows if he'll ever be allowed this again.
God, Cas tastes so damn good and Dean fits his lips closer, feeling Cas's nose, cold and human, against his. When he pulls back to breathe Cas's eyes are half-open, still watching, soft and alive and there, like Dean has his whole attention. Here, maybe, they can forget all the other shit going on and just be touch and lust and other crap that Dean refuses to name. It's a lot like trust though, and a lot like he might kind of missed Cas when he wasn't there and all Dean had was a fake life and memories.
This is evidence, at least, that Cas trusts Dean too. That an angel would let Dean do this to him, to kiss him slow and dirty, and to put his hands down his pants and get hands on his dick. Christ, it's hot what Cas lets him do.
It's hot, too, the way Cas pushes into Dean when he grips tighter, curls their fingers together around Cas and strokes up, slowly. He knows he's teasing, and if it was him he'd be demanding more and faster and fucking now. But Cas takes it, his mouth open and his breath hot on Dean's face and when Dean passes Cas's thumb over the head Cas makes that awesome growling noise again and shifts his legs, widening his stance so Dean can fit between them, bringing them more tightly together.
All he's got to smooth the way is sweat and pre-come and there's not much of either but there's no way he's stopping, and Cas isn't complaining so Dean goes with it. Next time, he thinks, they'll do this properly. And then wonders if there will actually be a next time. God he fucking hopes so. He's hard as fuck without even being touched in a way that he hasn't felt since before hell.
It's messed up to be thinking about that time, about all that crap, when he's got an angel under him, thrusting up against him, crushing their hands between their bodies, and Dean is glad when Cas leans in and kisses his mouth and makes Dean forget anything but this. The awesome heat of his breath and the way Cas makes his lips feel swollen and sensitive, pressed together.
Dean sucks at Cas's tongue, and hears himself grunt when Cas shifts his hips from side to side and their hands rub against Dean's dick and it's going to be really fucking embarrassing if he comes in his pants.
"I need..." he tries, and Cas won't back up, just follows his lips as Dean pulls away so Dean is talking against Cas's mouth. And he follows Dean's hands as they speed up, slow down, twist and squeeze and with every change Cas sighs or kisses harder. He responds. "Fuck, Cas," Dean says,
The way Cas jerks against him with no rhythm at all makes Dean think that maybe he doesn't even realise you kind of need one. Jesus, it's too much, and Dean uses his free hand to try and get into his own pants. He wants to get Cas off, and get himself off, and he's pretty sure that neither one is going to be very difficult.
Getting his dick out though might be a problem, with all the pushing and shoving and Dean trying to keep his fist moving with Cas and Cas is not fucking helping. He won't let Dean draw away even an inch, his hand like stone, immovable and cold against the back of his head, but he's pushing fingers down past the collar of Dean's jacket, under his shirt, pressing hard into the muscles at the back of his neck and it feels so weird and good that Dean can't bring himself to tell Cas to let him go.
He can do this. He's not freaking twelve. He can get his pants open, even if his fingers fumble and slip because it's all too urgent.
Finally, fucking finally, he manages to get past the buttons, pulls down the zipper and he shoves his hands into his shorts and the first touch of his own hand against his dick is like relief. Dean thinks he should be able to feel the cold air when he pulls himself out but he can't. Maybe because he's already jerking himself off, maybe because he's jerking Cas off, maybe because Cas has got his mouth on Dean's throat and Dean can feel his tongue and his teeth and Cas, Dean decides, learns really freaking fast.
The angles he's working at are awkward as hell. It doesn’t stop him panting against Cas's skin and shoving himself into up against Cas and into his own hand. There’s blood and pressure building below his stomach and it’s been years since he’s gotten off this damn fast. He just doesn't care. Dean hasn't had a hand on him in too damn long and now he's got Cas.
Cas, who is making really awesome noises against Dean's neck and up along his chin and then into his mouth until he's kissing Dean with what feels like everything he's got. So Dean gives as good as he gets, loving the way his and Cas's fingers move together over Cas's dick, getting off on the texture of Cas's trench coat against his hands and his dick. Not much more, Dean thinks, not much longer.
His wrists are starting to cramp, and his fingers feel wet with sweat and pre-come, and Cas tastes like nothing at all and everything Dean wants.
When Dean breaks the kiss, opens his eyes, Cas is looking back with wide eyes, mouth parted and red, and his cheeks flushed. It's a good look for him, Dean decides, it's Cas knowing sensation and liking it.
Dean twists his hands, pushes faster, causing Cas to growl and run his fingers up into Dean's hair again, pulling them together so their lips are together when Cas comes. He jerks against Dean, breathing, "Dean," and other words that Dean can't make out but sound hot. The feel of Cas's come all over Dean's hand, warm between their entwined fingers where Dean fucks Cas through the last of his orgasm, sends Dean over the edge from where he was already pulled tight and so damn ready.
He comes between them, shoving into his own hand and against Cas. It's messy and it's dirty and Dean can feel sweat pooling at the base of his spine and Cas's tongue running along his bottom lips and he keeps right on coming.
When it's over but he can still feel the high of it curling his toes and warming his stomach all Dean can think about is Cas, and holy fuck he just had sex with an angel, and Jesus Christ but he hopes he can do this again. Dean knows better, though, than to expect anything, so he lets himself lean his weight against Cas's body, his head falling to rest against Cas's shoulder, breathing him in. Cas is soft in a way that Dean doesn't think he's ever been before and he's still holding onto the back of Dean's head, stroking his thumb lightly along the base of his neck. Dean wonders if Cas even realises he's doing it.
Leaning like this, Dean can feel Cas breathing in long, deep breaths, like he's trying to calm himself. Against his cheek Dean feels the speed of Cas's pulse and it's reassuringly human enough to think that he's won something here. Some argument he's been having with Cas since they first met and Dean discovered that angels weren't all that different from humans. Ignoring the wings. They could be just as petty and spiteful. Just as full of crap. Liars, psychopaths, needy little kids. But they could be kind too. They could empathise and enjoy things and laugh, no matter how much they tried to deny it.
Between them, Dean's exposed stomach and dick are starting to feel the cold, and the sticky wetness between them is getting kind of uncomfortable. Cas must feel something of it too because he flexes his fingers slowly, brushing against Dean's where they're still wrapped loosely around Cas's length as he draws his hand away. Dean shifts back an inch so he can look down between them, and it's not a pretty sight.
"Please tell me you can clean this up?" Dean says, pulling his hands out of their ruined pants and wondering if he should just wipe them on his jeans. It's not like they don't need to go in the laundry now anyway.
Cas huffs what could be a laugh. "I can."
He doesn't do anything though, so Dean lets his hands hang at his sides and thinks that maybe Cas doesn't want this to end either. Because once they move apart, once they put themselves back together, they'll have to remember all the crap that's going on around them. Cas still has a war to fight. Dean still has a little brother who's gone wrong somewhere to deal with. Business as usual and no time to just hang out and be the friends Dean kind of wishes they were. He wonders if they even could ever be like that. The hunter life, the angel hotshot of heaven life; neither of them ever swings the way of anything normal.
Normal. Like Lisa and Ben.
Dean knows it's really bad taste to think of your girlfriend -or ex-girlfriend- or whatever, when you've just gotten off with someone else, but if that was his ideal, then maybe this is his reality.
"You think too much," Cas tells him. His voice is still low and gravelly, but it's lost the urgency and sharp edges of before.
"Yeah," Dean agrees, because it's probably best not to think much about what just happened. About whether it actually means anything, or if it's going to change them. Dean doubts it, and that's possibly the shittiest thing of all.
And then Dean realises, shit, he's been leaning against Cas for who knows how long and this has got to look disturbingly like cuddling. From a distance. Dean lifts his head from Cas's shoulder, leans away from Cas's body. This time Cas lets him, the hand at the back of Dean's head falling to Dean's shoulder. Cas lets it rest there.
"We should get back," Dean says. Cas nods, and then, because he's a freaking sappy idiot after sex Dean asks, "Do you... wanna come back to the motel?"
Dean should've guessed at the answer, and he shouldn't have been surprised when Cas replies, "I must go."
Yeah. Nothing's going to change at all, Dean thinks. He hasn't managed to prove anything.
"Right. Yeah. Whatever." Dean tries to pull away even further, straighten himself up and proceed right to the part where he tries to forget this ever happened. It's freaking childish, and he knows it, but it's not like he puts his guts out on the line like that for anyone and Cas is an ungrateful asshole.
Cas, though, grips his shoulder tightly so that Dean can't get very far.
"Dean." He's got his stern voice on, and he holds Dean's gaze, eyes wide like they're trying to tell Dean something. "I would choose to go with you, if I could," he says. He sounds like he means it too. "One day," Cas offers, "I will be able to."
There's that faith of his, clear in his eyes and his voice and the way he squeezes Dean's shoulder. And even if Dean isn't so sure he can believe that'll ever happen, he nods, because Cas believes it. In his experience there's never time, and there never will be time, because the crap just never ends.
It would be awesome, Dean thinks, to be able to have that kind of conviction.
"I'll hold you to that," Dean says.
Then, because he can, he leans back in and kisses Cas, once more, this time slow and soft though and Dean tries not to think of it as some kind of messed up goodbye. That would just be the weirdest one night stand of his life. Cas kisses back like he wants more.
"I will return." Cas speaks against Dean's mouth. "I will not always be gone."
Dean shakes his head. He doesn't know why he's being such a bitch. He started this. He got what he wanted. Except, maybe, not everything. So he looks away, over Cas's shoulder to where he's still leaning back against the Impala. "But you won't always answer."
"Neither do you," Cas retorts.
Maybe it stings, but it's true, Dean knows. And he's a selfish bastard for wanting Cas to be around, he knows that too. He wants Cas for this, yes, but he also wants his help. He wants him to fix things in a way that Dean's pretty sure not even God could anymore. Sam, himself, the fucked up world. It's not much to ask, really. And what's he got to give Cas in return? His own messed up affection or whatever. Some really great sex. Maybe he could lend Cas the car now and again, and that's about all.
Dean would like to think that coming here, and being with Dean, Cas can forget everything for a while. He kind of hopes Cas at least gets some kind of relief, or rest, or a break, out of this because as far as Dean can see he's not getting any at anywhere else. Maybe Cas's shoulders are a little less tense, his eyes a little angry, harried, because all he gets to think about, every second of every day, is a war against his own brothers he doesn't even want to fight.
Even so, it's got to be the worst deal in history and Dean really shouldn't expect Cas to hang around.
"But I will return," Cas repeats.
He lets go of Dean's shoulder, but not his gaze, like he's waiting for Dean to do something. And all Dean can think to do is to kiss Cas again, and again, and he says, "Fine," and "Okay," and "You fucking better."
When he pulls away this time, Dean notices the mess between them is gone and his jeans are done up, like nothing ever happened. It did though. From the weird look in Cas's eyes as he stands himself up fully, shoving his hands deep into his coat pockets, Dean knows that it really freaking did.
"Useful trick," Dean half-grins. Whatever is going on between them might not be sane, or even on the same planet as normal, but it's something. And Dean does, at least, trust Cas to keep his word on the whole coming back thing. Maybe Cas doesn't feel like a human does, and maybe he can't anymore, but Dean knows from the way Cas stares back that he feels something.
Cas tilts his head forward in what Dean assumes is a nod. "And useful it shall be again," Cas says, and Dean's pretty sure it's a promise. Or a come on. Or both.
With a flurry of wings beating Cas is gone and Dean is left in the dim, damp parking lot with just his car and a fucked up life, but he's still grinning because he can still taste Cas in his mouth, and he can remember the weird, unrelenting hardness of him. The completely unselfconscious way he let Dean touch him. Trust, Dean realises, and knows there is no way in hell they aren't doing that again.
.END.
This was just a writing exercise to get some words down really, but feel free to comment and concrit if you like!
- zoeiona and multiclassgeek's party was excellent.
- gnine has tragically left us to return to the barren wastelands of her home country. This is very sad.
- my Yuletide assignment involves not a single one of the characters I offered. This is tragic beyond words.
- Merlin is back to being crap. (Uther/Gaius is still hot though.)
- Supernatural is shiny and pretty, but NEEDS MOAR BALTHAZAR.
- the Horniman Museum in Forest Hill is random. It is a random museum in a random part of London with a random Aquarium! So, so random.
- Etruscan weaving? FUCK YEAH!!
- continuing with the ancient theme, I subjected myself to the Ancient Worlds programme again. Apparently, Egypt matters now. Also, apparently, writing systems not based on alphabets are BACKWARDS. *stabs* I'm sorry, but if he could read hieroglyphs he might actually see that it's completely fucking logical and very expressive and not that hard. The OMGWESTERNCULTUREISSOGREAT-centrism of this series is turning me into a crazed, frothing at the mouth maniac. Why oh why do I continue to watch it?
- I bought a poinsettia.
- this happy, world-hopping team free will fic is my new favourite thing.
- I had writer's block, so I wrote porn.
Title: In Communication
Rating: R, for a whole lot of sex
Words: 7,451
Summary/warnings: Dean/Castiel. Set somewhere between 6x03 and 6x06-ish. Cas isn't there. Dean thinks he should be.
As always, thanks to cienna for beta-duties-extroadinaire.
.In Communication.
Dean misses the days when he had an angel on speed dial.
It used to be so much easier to get a hold of Cas, and didn't involve talking to an empty room like a complete tool, almost certain the asshole wouldn't even show.
Before, Cas had answered more times than not, and occasionally, towards the end when Cas was more human than angel, they'd talked about shit other than death and destruction and impending doom. Maybe Cas wanted to know about some weird human thing, and maybe Dean had asked if Cas has freaked anyone out recently, and it'd been like two normal people, having a normal conversation. Sort of.
Dean didn't know what had happened to Cas's phone, but it didn't pick up anymore. When Dean saw Cas these days he was hurried and abrupt in a way he hadn't been even back when they'd only just met and Cas was Heaven’s bitch and Dean felt like he was still Hell's.
He feels like a dick for it, but sometimes Dean kind of wishes Cas hadn't been revamped as a bigger, shinier, meaner angel of the Lord. It's like Dean's lost a friend, somewhere along the line, and he doesn't even know how.
When Dean looks at Cas though, he wonders if Cas doesn't wish it too.
The poor bastard looks angry half the time, and just so tired the rest. Hopeless. Like he doesn’t have enough time, and he's losing a battle, and there's nothing he can do about it. And yeah, Dean knows that feeling. It's exactly the same as he feels when he wakes up in the morning and remembers he can't trust his brother any more, and he can never go back to the life he had, and that for everything they lost and everything he's given it just never fucking ends. It never gets any better. He sees the same look in the mirror every morning and thinks that maybe Cas and him could start a club. Bobby might like to join.
Those times that Cas does show up Dean never knows what to say. He isn't convinced there's anything he could say.
Most times, Cas rolls up, does his thing, and is gone, and it pisses the hell out of Dean. Cas is at war, yeah, he gets that. But Dean's been at war all his life and he knows that if Cas doesn't slow down, if he doesn't stop sometimes, he's going to forget who he is and what he's fighting for.
Maybe, Dean thinks, he's already forgotten.
So Dean makes a point of praying to Cas the same way he used to call him. It helps that Dean's pretty sure the praying thing annoys the crap out of Cas.
With relish, Dean prays to Cas that his burger was greasier (Dean hasn't missed the way Cas can't stand to even look at meat anymore). He sings to Cas in the shower. He gives him a running commentary on what he's doing when he's fine-tuning the Impala. And when he's had the crap beaten out of him and he's been taking painkillers and is so fucking tired he can't sleep, Dean prays that Cas is okay. That he's not so far gone and angel-ish that he's forgotten that there are humans that do actually care if he gets himself killed.
Sometimes, on those nights in the dark and the quiet, restless, Dean imagines he can feel someone listening.
There were a ton of times, Dean prays, When I wanted to pluck out every last one of your feathers for that creepy stalker thing you used to do.
It's fucking stupid, and if anyone ever found out he would deny it to his dying breath, but it's all Dean's got when the crap just keeps on piling up. He wonders if shit ever gets to Cas and he just has to go out and smite demons to relieve the stress, or if he's too hopped up on angel-juice for that now.
For a long time Cas doesn't say anything about the praying thing, like he hasn't noticed at all, so Dean doubles his efforts. It would be something, Dean reasons, if Cas would just get pissed and all up in his face like he used to.
He's ridiculously pleased with himself when it works, and Dean's glee just pisses Cas off more.
"You are loud," Cas scowls.
"I'm drunk," Dean tells him, and smiles and tries to remember exactly what the hell he'd been praying for in a dive bar on a Thursday night, being kept company by a drunk who smelled of sweat and piss and a bottle of whisky. Deodorant? A clean glass?
"All of it," Cas says. "You were also praying for pizza and an umbrella for your drink."
Dean doesn't remember that.
Cas is staring- or maybe more like glaring- at Dean and it's pretty fucking awesome.
"Pray to someone else," Cas scowls, but he sits on the stool next to Dean.
Dean scoffs. "Who the fuck else is going to listen to me?"
"People usually pray to God." Cas is looking around the bar disinterestedly. "He listens."
Dean barks out a laugh that isn't really in any way amused, and he knows he's being an ass but he's drunk and Castiel is a dick and Dean just doesn't give a fuck. "Like He listened to you, right? Like He listened when you asked for help. Sure."
Cas holds himself unnaturally still, his face blank and closed off and Dean can't look at him. He takes a drink instead, enjoying the burn of cheap liquor on the back of his throat and the bitter aftertaste. If Dean couldn't see him out the corner of his eye, he wouldn't even know Cas was there he's so silent. Not even breathing.
Dean's gotten through another shot and is contemplating another before Cas says, "He didn't let me die. I was remade."
Into what? Dean wonders. He knows Cas heard the thought even if he doesn't say anything.
"Still don't see Him helping any," Dean points out instead, because he's feeling vicious apparently. And, oh yeah, he wants Cas to do something other than just stare at him like he's some weird, unknown thing. Dean isn't sure he knows this Castiel. He doesn't know what to do to make him hang around, take a weight off. How to make him stop looking like something worse than even the apocalypse is just around the corner and there's nothing he can do to stop it.
"No," Cas agrees, and there's that tired, hopeless slump of the shoulders again as Cas turns away, looking towards the collection of liquor bottles lined up colourfully on the wall behind the bar. There's too much interest in the way he stares, and Dean thinks, no, he's not going to be responsible for an angel drinking a bar dry. He's drunk but he's not stupid.
"Come on," Dean announces, tossing some cash onto the counter and hoping it's enough. He grabs the arm of Cas's coat and tries to pull him off of the barstool. Cas doesn't budge an inch, set like stone, and for a long moment Dean just stares at Cas and Cas stares back and this, at least, is familiar.
The longer they stay like that though, the more Dean is sure Cas is going to tell him he has to go. That he's got other more important angel stuff to do, and Dean can see it in the way Cas studies him. But he doesn't say anything. Dean wonders what this must look like to the drunk and the bartender. If he were sober he might actually give a crap.
Finally, Cas seems to make a decision and slides off his stool and Dean lets his hand slide away from Cas's arm. He turns away and walks out the door. He can't hear Cas following but he's stayed this long so Dean guesses he must be.
Outside, it's cold and dark and Dean shoves his hands into his pockets. It's been raining and his feet slap through puddles as he makes his way across the parking lot towards the Impala. It's lucky, he thinks, that there are so few lights out here, because he can't tell how fucked up his vision is. Cas still hasn't made a sound.
"Just because you're at war or whatever," Dean says into the darkness in front of him, "Doesn't mean you can't take five minutes to stop and say hi or ask how Sam's doing, or let us know you're- I don't know- alive or something. You've gotta rest, man, or you'll burn out." He can already see it in Cas's short temper which- okay, Cas has always been kind of like that- but there's tension and guilt and despair in the way Cas looks at Dean now that Dean hasn't seen in Cas before.
"Angels don't require rest," Cas replies. It's not anything like haughty or prideful, but more resigned, like that's how it is and there's nothing Cas can do about it no matter how much he might want to.
"Yeah, right," Dean drawls. "Like all those other things angels don't do."
"I have already spent fifteen minutes with you," Cas argues, like that doesn't completely prove Dean's point.
"And why is that?" Dean asks. "What're you even still doing here if you have other crap you should be doing?"
Maybe it's not the greatest of ideas to push Cas, because he has the habit of pushing right back, and Dean really does kind of want him to stick around, but he wants Cas to be there because he wants to be. He wants Cas to realise that whatever is happening with his war, if he loses himself and everything he's learned and all the reasons he's fighting it in the first place then he's already lost.
They've reached the car, and Dean leans against it, looking back at Cas.
Nothing has changed in the way he looks; he still stands awkwardly, his arms hanging like he doesn't know where to put them. You wouldn't be able to tell from his face that he was feeling much of anything at all if you didn't know what to look for. Dean does know and, he thinks, Cas looks fucking miserable.
Cas is staring at the ground, like maybe it knows what he should do.
"I don't know," Cas admits. He doesn't meet Dean's eyes. "I don't... want to fight this war. But I must."
"Yeah," Dean agrees. "I get that."
It's something, Dean thinks. It's more than he's gotten out of Cas since he came back- which was exactly nothing- and Dean's kind of hopeful that they're both not too messed up to get some of that friendship crap they had before back.
Maybe, he thinks, maybe Cas just needs to be reminded how to feel. What a human feels.
Dean knows he's shitty at the emotional crap, and he's had about all the sharing he can take for one night, and from the tired slump of Cas's shoulders he has too. But the physical- now that, Dean can do.
But with Cas he just doesn't know where to start.
What fucked up relationship they've ever had has involved violence and arguments and a whole lot of anger and Dean just doesn't have the patience for much else. He doesn't even know why he's bothering to try. Cas is a grown-up angel; he can take care of himself. He sure as hell doesn't seem inclined to ask for any help- probably thinks he doesn't need it- and it's not like Cas has been any kind of useful to him. Or to Sam. Cas fucked off back to Heaven the first chance he got and he only came back when it suited him, but Dean remembers how Cas has always been a bigger picture kind of guy, and Dean hasn't got enough of an ego to pretend he's all that important in the grand scheme of things. And fuck it all but he's drunk and he's feeling generous and Cas just looks so damn pathetic.
It can't be much fun, Dean thinks, hanging out with other dick angels.
"You wanna go for a ride?" Dean asks.
The Impala is about all he's got to offer, and it's what has always made Dean feel a little less crappy. It's the feel of going somewhere else, and of the engine working just right, and control under his hands. It's the smell of home and something he knows and Dean knows it's none of that crap to Cas, but yeah, it's all he's got to offer.
Cas says, "You're drunk," and gives Dean a look like he is not impressed. Fucking know-it-all angel.
"Forget it then," Dean snaps, because he's aware, thanks very much, that he's been drinking, but he's not that trashed, and he just offered Cas pretty much the only thing he's got and Dean's pissed because Cas knows what that means to him. Or at least, he used to. "Go back to playing with your angel buddies."
Dean turns away, searching his pockets for his car keys and ignoring the way he can see Cas shifting uncomfortably out the corner of his eye.
"I meant," Cas says, "It is dangerous for you to drive."
Cas reaches out and before Dean can flinch away Cas has got his fingers pressed against Dean's forehead and in an instant any kind of relaxed softness is gone from Dean's mind. The world is all sharp edges and painful again, and Dean remembers all the crap that made him want to drink in the first place.
Sometimes, Dean thinks, Cas is a fucking pain in the ass and he's having a hard time remembering why he was bothering to be nice in the first place.
He's not feeling generous any more.
"Asshole," Dean curses under his breath. It's too easy to find the keys in his pocket now, his fingers coordinated and steady, and he pulls them out.
"It was for your own safety." Cool as ever, and Dean might've been kind of pleased that Cas even cared if he hadn't just spent several hours cultivating his perfect drunk state.
"Yeah, well, thanks for the tip."
Dean takes one look at Cas, straight-backed again, looking at Dean with nothing of the honest-maybe-tiny-bit of emotion he'd been showing moments before and then Dean thinks, fuck it.
"You know what?" he says, turning fully toward Cas, taking a step closer. Cas's eyes follow his movements closely, but he doesn't move or make any kind of reply, so at least, Dean thinks, he remembers when to shut the hell up. "I don't give a crap what you think you need to do. I don't care how much you think you're all angelic robot again." Dean takes another step closer. He'd like to be able to blame the drink, except Cas has made sure there's nothing even vaguely alcoholic left in him. "I can see that you're not. And I don't get why you think you have to go back to being a dick who thinks they can just come around and tell us what to do and then leave like we're your unfortunate one-night stands or something."
"You're not-" Cas begins, frowning, and Dean doesn't want to hear it.
"Shut the fuck up," Dean interrupts. He's taking a risk, but he's got it in his head that he's got to do something drastic or the Cas they knew is going to be lost to them. He'll go back to being big-picture man, and he won't care about Dean or Sam or any other human in existence.
It's not just that though, Dean realises. It's that he doesn't want to lose someone else, and pretty much the only someone that isn't family that he might actually kind of want to stick around.
This isn't the first time Dean's thought about doing this; about getting a hold of Cas's arms like he is now and pushing him back, hard, against the Impala and pressing his body up against Cas's.
And Cas lets him.
He watches and he doesn't push Dean away and he doesn't do anything.
It makes Dean push forward even more until he can feel Cas's belt and the buttons of Cas's coat, and Cas's breath against his face. Dean's got a grip on Cas's arm that would be painful to a human. Cas stares back at Dean like he doesn't even feel it, but there's something in his eyes that might be more than vague curiosity or that weird compassionate thing Cas does sometimes when Dean's life is about to get even more crap.
This is interest. This is watching Dean and wanting and waiting.
When Dean had thought about Cas like this; about getting into his pants, maybe kissing him, maybe just touching Cas and seeing what was under those layers of heavy clothes, it'd never been outside in a cold, dark parking lot to a bar. If he'd ever let himself think about it, there'd been a bed and great lighting and Cas had reached back and given as good as he got. Dean wants that now. He wants to see what Cas will do, because there'd always been something between them that was weird and unspoken and as Cas had become more and more human it had gotten increasingly obvious and Dean had begun to think maybe even possible.
With this Castiel, most of that is gone, or hidden, or ignored. Maybe crap like physical attraction just doesn't mean anything to him anymore, but Jesus fuck Dean wants it to.
Dean runs his hand up Cas's arm, slides his other hand under Cas's coat and jacket, finding cold cotton and rubbing his thumb against the material.
Cas lets him.
Even as Dean leans in closer, putting his mouth on Cas's and pressing in he doesn't look away. He licks his way into Cas, feels the dry, cool skin of his lips and the wetness of his tongue and Cas doesn't respond, doesn't press back, for so long that Dean thinks he's made a giant mistake here. It wouldn't be the first time he's gotten something completely backward and it's so fucking hard to know with Cas.
It's weird to feel unmoving lips under his, where usually there'd be heat and motion and something. Dean doesn't know why he doesn't just stop. Step away and pretend this all didn't happen. He thinks he should have gotten the message, that Cas has no interest in this -in whatever this is- and he's just letting Dean because he doesn't care. It doesn't mean anything.
Except for the way Cas is watching Dean still and is pliant under Dean's hands where he always looks so tense, like every muscle in his body is pulled tight.
Dean didn't expect him to feel like this, and to hell with it. There's no way Cas can't know what it means when Dean kisses the corner of his mouth and his chin, and threads his finger through Cas's hair, scratches lightly at the back of his neck and the skin is cold and Dean wants it to be warm. There's no way Cas can mistake Dean's intent when he shoves the material of his shirt out of the way so Dean can get to Cas's stomach and play along the waist of his pants.
Dean bites down on Cas's neck, and sucks and plays at the skin and that -of all things that- gets him what he wants; a reaction. Something. Anything.
They're so close together, Dean's hands and his mouth wherever he can reach Cas's skin, that Dean can feel it when Cas takes a breath, sharp and surprised and Cas shifts his body, pressing into Dean's touch rather than away from it, and Dean grins.
"You kinky bastard." Dean licks up the line of Cas's neck and Cas tilts his head like he's asking for more. Beneath him Cas shifts again and now Dean can feel Cas's fingers stretching over the hand Dean's got up Cas's shirt. Dean pushes his hand up higher and Cas doesn’t stop him, just follows Dean's movements with his own hand. His breath hitches again when Dean drags a blunt fingernail across Cas's nipple. The flesh is taut from the cold and Dean wonders if Cas registers the temperature the way his body clearly does.
"This is," Cas breathes, "unwise."
"Yeah," Dean agrees. Because yeah, he doesn't even have the excuse of being wasted anymore. He could tell himself this was all about reminding Cas how humans feel; about sensation and about getting Cas to respond to something with some real emotion, but it's not. It's not just that. Dean's thought about this before. He's had dreams of getting Cas naked and of getting to see if Cas would still stare at him while he fucked him. He's wondered what Cas would taste like, and what he would do if Dean had his hands on his dick and his mouth around Cas's fingers and now Dean can know it. Cas holds on to the back of Dean's jacket like he's holding him up, and he lets Dean take his hand, threading their fingers together so that Cas is touching himself where Dean is touching him.
Doing this, being given this, Dean knows that he's going to want more. That he won't be able to stop. And the worst of it is that he just doesn't care. He could lose this, maybe he's going to get in a great stack of trouble for molesting an angel, but it's worth it just for the taste of Cas, for the way he moves against Dean.
Under his fingers and his mouth Cas's skin is hot and his heart beats fast and Dean knows that Cas wants this, and that makes it even more dangerous. It makes it maybe mean something.
"I could stop," Dean offers.
It might be a lie.
There's nothing Dean wants less right now than to have to go, to have to take his hands off Cas.
Dean thinks that maybe he's trying to make a point when he grinds himself into Cas. He's half-hard and thinks that Cas is too, he's just not sure what point it is he's trying to make.
I want this, or I can make this good, or just Stay.
In answer, Cas pushes his hips forward to meet Dean's, hissing like this hurts.
It reminds Dean that Cas has probably never done this before, and he wonders if it should bother him that this is going to happen in the parking lot of a crappy bar in some dead-end town. It's cold and a long time past closing and way too public, but Cas doesn't seem to care and Dean's not stopping unless he has to.
"Cas," he says against Cas's throat, and then, "Fuck," against the collar of his shirt.
Dean wants to forget everything but this; the warmth they're creating, the friction between them. Cas is here now, and who the fuck knows how long for and Dean wants to make sure Cas doesn't forget him. He wants Cas to come back for more. It's kind of the opposite of what he thought he wanted, because he had Lisa and she was stable and normal and good, and Cas is unlike anything else. He could snap Dean in half. Pretty much all the time Dean doesn't have a clue what Cas is thinking or feeling, but right now, Cas touches himself where Dean moves his hand and Dean thinks Cas wants this too.
He pulls back so he can see Cas's face. Even in the dark he can make out Cas's parted, dry lips, and his eyes open wide and watching. Always fucking watching.
Cas's shirt is in the way so he can't see it, but Dean can feel his fingers against Cas’s fingers, mixed up together and both splayed over Cas’s chest. Dean can feel his sternum, the lines of ribs and he realises that Cas is a lot skinnier than he looks. He drags their hands down along Cas's side, over Cas's stomach, rubbing his thumbs along the line of Cas’s pants.
"You ever done this before?" Dean asks, meaning more if Cas has ever just touched his own skin, learned his body and its reactions, more than if he's ever gotten himself off.
Cas replies, "No," and his voice is low and Dean guesses that to most people Cas would sound unconcerned, but Dean is close enough feel the way he breathes out, like he's trying to control himself, trying to keep himself still and his voice even. Then Cas breathes in when Dean uses his free hand to unbuckle his belt. "I have never had reason to," Cas says, and Dean guides his hands down past Cas's zipper, letting their fingers linger along the shape of Cas's dick through his slacks. It's not much but Cas jerks forward anyway in an involuntary reaction.
Dean can't blame him; he just about remembers what it's like to have someone else’s hands on you for the first time. Shit, and it's so fucking hot every time he remembers that no one has ever done this to Cas before. When he thinks that no one has ever touched Cas like this and made him want more.
"Dean," Cas warns, and it's Hurry up and not Get off of me and Dean can feel himself grinning because this is what he wants. What he'd been trying for since Cas came back and was suddenly some strange, unknown other again who acted like he didn't give a crap.
This Cas here, now, wants and needs and definitely feels. He pushes back when Dean grinds them together, threads the fingers of his free hand into Dean's hair, stares and doesn't blink and looks at Dean's lips and down at where Dean's hands are all over his crotch, then back up to meet his eyes. Oh yeah, Dean knows what Cas wants.
And fucking shit but he wants it too. He knows because he can't stop staring at Cas's mouth and wanting it and he really doesn't know why he hasn't thought of it until now. Except that maybe it was too intimate. Or, like he was admitting something he doesn't want to admit.
He's trying to give Cas a handjob in a freaking parking lot and if that's not intimate then he doesn't know what is, so Dean tells himself he's got this much, he's gone this far, so he might as well take what he wants. Give Cas whatever he can.
There's not much space between them anyway, and Dean watches, transfixed, as Cas leans in and puts his lips right on Deans, weirdly tentative and chaste when he's got his hand on his dick and he's following Dean's hand in rubbing and stroking.
His lips are so dry.
It's creepy that Cas has still got his eyes open, but Dean can't say anything when he has too, because he wants to see exactly what Cas looks like when Dean pushes closer, opening his mouth and kissing Cas harder, running his tongue between the line of Cas's lips. And Cas breathes and opens and then Dean can feel teeth and Cas's tongue meeting his. Cas's eyes close, then open again, then close and Dean feels Cas grasping at his hair, yanking them closer together so hard it kind of hurts. The uncertainty is gone, and Dean tastes the inside of Cas's mouth and Cas is doing the same, maybe copying him, but learning fast, stroking down the side of Dean's face, at his neck, suddenly full of purpose and taking what Dean is offering. All Dean can think is that it's pretty awesome.
It's not easy to fumble with the buttons of Cas's pants and pull down the zipper with just one hand, but Dean wants to know what Cas will do when he gets actual hands on him. If he gets this into it just from a little groping, kissing Dean like it's going out of style. He wants to see Cas lose that angelic coldness, he wants to show Cas how awesome humanity can be.
Breaking away from Cas's mouth to scrape teeth against Cas's chin, tasting fuck knows what -but Jesus it's sweet- Dean dips his hand past the waist of Cas's underwear, taking Cas's hand with it so they're touching him together. Cas is hard as hell and Dean feels the heat and the weight of it as he wraps both their hands around his dick. His touch is light, but Cas still jerks forward again and Cas makes a noise like a growl in the back of his throat. Dean's not sure if it's irritation at his body, or just that he likes it so much.
Whatever. Dean wants to hear it again. He wants a lot of things, like more of Cas's mouth. So Dean kisses him again, because right here he can have it and who the fuck knows if he'll ever be allowed this again.
God, Cas tastes so damn good and Dean fits his lips closer, feeling Cas's nose, cold and human, against his. When he pulls back to breathe Cas's eyes are half-open, still watching, soft and alive and there, like Dean has his whole attention. Here, maybe, they can forget all the other shit going on and just be touch and lust and other crap that Dean refuses to name. It's a lot like trust though, and a lot like he might kind of missed Cas when he wasn't there and all Dean had was a fake life and memories.
This is evidence, at least, that Cas trusts Dean too. That an angel would let Dean do this to him, to kiss him slow and dirty, and to put his hands down his pants and get hands on his dick. Christ, it's hot what Cas lets him do.
It's hot, too, the way Cas pushes into Dean when he grips tighter, curls their fingers together around Cas and strokes up, slowly. He knows he's teasing, and if it was him he'd be demanding more and faster and fucking now. But Cas takes it, his mouth open and his breath hot on Dean's face and when Dean passes Cas's thumb over the head Cas makes that awesome growling noise again and shifts his legs, widening his stance so Dean can fit between them, bringing them more tightly together.
All he's got to smooth the way is sweat and pre-come and there's not much of either but there's no way he's stopping, and Cas isn't complaining so Dean goes with it. Next time, he thinks, they'll do this properly. And then wonders if there will actually be a next time. God he fucking hopes so. He's hard as fuck without even being touched in a way that he hasn't felt since before hell.
It's messed up to be thinking about that time, about all that crap, when he's got an angel under him, thrusting up against him, crushing their hands between their bodies, and Dean is glad when Cas leans in and kisses his mouth and makes Dean forget anything but this. The awesome heat of his breath and the way Cas makes his lips feel swollen and sensitive, pressed together.
Dean sucks at Cas's tongue, and hears himself grunt when Cas shifts his hips from side to side and their hands rub against Dean's dick and it's going to be really fucking embarrassing if he comes in his pants.
"I need..." he tries, and Cas won't back up, just follows his lips as Dean pulls away so Dean is talking against Cas's mouth. And he follows Dean's hands as they speed up, slow down, twist and squeeze and with every change Cas sighs or kisses harder. He responds. "Fuck, Cas," Dean says,
The way Cas jerks against him with no rhythm at all makes Dean think that maybe he doesn't even realise you kind of need one. Jesus, it's too much, and Dean uses his free hand to try and get into his own pants. He wants to get Cas off, and get himself off, and he's pretty sure that neither one is going to be very difficult.
Getting his dick out though might be a problem, with all the pushing and shoving and Dean trying to keep his fist moving with Cas and Cas is not fucking helping. He won't let Dean draw away even an inch, his hand like stone, immovable and cold against the back of his head, but he's pushing fingers down past the collar of Dean's jacket, under his shirt, pressing hard into the muscles at the back of his neck and it feels so weird and good that Dean can't bring himself to tell Cas to let him go.
He can do this. He's not freaking twelve. He can get his pants open, even if his fingers fumble and slip because it's all too urgent.
Finally, fucking finally, he manages to get past the buttons, pulls down the zipper and he shoves his hands into his shorts and the first touch of his own hand against his dick is like relief. Dean thinks he should be able to feel the cold air when he pulls himself out but he can't. Maybe because he's already jerking himself off, maybe because he's jerking Cas off, maybe because Cas has got his mouth on Dean's throat and Dean can feel his tongue and his teeth and Cas, Dean decides, learns really freaking fast.
The angles he's working at are awkward as hell. It doesn’t stop him panting against Cas's skin and shoving himself into up against Cas and into his own hand. There’s blood and pressure building below his stomach and it’s been years since he’s gotten off this damn fast. He just doesn't care. Dean hasn't had a hand on him in too damn long and now he's got Cas.
Cas, who is making really awesome noises against Dean's neck and up along his chin and then into his mouth until he's kissing Dean with what feels like everything he's got. So Dean gives as good as he gets, loving the way his and Cas's fingers move together over Cas's dick, getting off on the texture of Cas's trench coat against his hands and his dick. Not much more, Dean thinks, not much longer.
His wrists are starting to cramp, and his fingers feel wet with sweat and pre-come, and Cas tastes like nothing at all and everything Dean wants.
When Dean breaks the kiss, opens his eyes, Cas is looking back with wide eyes, mouth parted and red, and his cheeks flushed. It's a good look for him, Dean decides, it's Cas knowing sensation and liking it.
Dean twists his hands, pushes faster, causing Cas to growl and run his fingers up into Dean's hair again, pulling them together so their lips are together when Cas comes. He jerks against Dean, breathing, "Dean," and other words that Dean can't make out but sound hot. The feel of Cas's come all over Dean's hand, warm between their entwined fingers where Dean fucks Cas through the last of his orgasm, sends Dean over the edge from where he was already pulled tight and so damn ready.
He comes between them, shoving into his own hand and against Cas. It's messy and it's dirty and Dean can feel sweat pooling at the base of his spine and Cas's tongue running along his bottom lips and he keeps right on coming.
When it's over but he can still feel the high of it curling his toes and warming his stomach all Dean can think about is Cas, and holy fuck he just had sex with an angel, and Jesus Christ but he hopes he can do this again. Dean knows better, though, than to expect anything, so he lets himself lean his weight against Cas's body, his head falling to rest against Cas's shoulder, breathing him in. Cas is soft in a way that Dean doesn't think he's ever been before and he's still holding onto the back of Dean's head, stroking his thumb lightly along the base of his neck. Dean wonders if Cas even realises he's doing it.
Leaning like this, Dean can feel Cas breathing in long, deep breaths, like he's trying to calm himself. Against his cheek Dean feels the speed of Cas's pulse and it's reassuringly human enough to think that he's won something here. Some argument he's been having with Cas since they first met and Dean discovered that angels weren't all that different from humans. Ignoring the wings. They could be just as petty and spiteful. Just as full of crap. Liars, psychopaths, needy little kids. But they could be kind too. They could empathise and enjoy things and laugh, no matter how much they tried to deny it.
Between them, Dean's exposed stomach and dick are starting to feel the cold, and the sticky wetness between them is getting kind of uncomfortable. Cas must feel something of it too because he flexes his fingers slowly, brushing against Dean's where they're still wrapped loosely around Cas's length as he draws his hand away. Dean shifts back an inch so he can look down between them, and it's not a pretty sight.
"Please tell me you can clean this up?" Dean says, pulling his hands out of their ruined pants and wondering if he should just wipe them on his jeans. It's not like they don't need to go in the laundry now anyway.
Cas huffs what could be a laugh. "I can."
He doesn't do anything though, so Dean lets his hands hang at his sides and thinks that maybe Cas doesn't want this to end either. Because once they move apart, once they put themselves back together, they'll have to remember all the crap that's going on around them. Cas still has a war to fight. Dean still has a little brother who's gone wrong somewhere to deal with. Business as usual and no time to just hang out and be the friends Dean kind of wishes they were. He wonders if they even could ever be like that. The hunter life, the angel hotshot of heaven life; neither of them ever swings the way of anything normal.
Normal. Like Lisa and Ben.
Dean knows it's really bad taste to think of your girlfriend -or ex-girlfriend- or whatever, when you've just gotten off with someone else, but if that was his ideal, then maybe this is his reality.
"You think too much," Cas tells him. His voice is still low and gravelly, but it's lost the urgency and sharp edges of before.
"Yeah," Dean agrees, because it's probably best not to think much about what just happened. About whether it actually means anything, or if it's going to change them. Dean doubts it, and that's possibly the shittiest thing of all.
And then Dean realises, shit, he's been leaning against Cas for who knows how long and this has got to look disturbingly like cuddling. From a distance. Dean lifts his head from Cas's shoulder, leans away from Cas's body. This time Cas lets him, the hand at the back of Dean's head falling to Dean's shoulder. Cas lets it rest there.
"We should get back," Dean says. Cas nods, and then, because he's a freaking sappy idiot after sex Dean asks, "Do you... wanna come back to the motel?"
Dean should've guessed at the answer, and he shouldn't have been surprised when Cas replies, "I must go."
Yeah. Nothing's going to change at all, Dean thinks. He hasn't managed to prove anything.
"Right. Yeah. Whatever." Dean tries to pull away even further, straighten himself up and proceed right to the part where he tries to forget this ever happened. It's freaking childish, and he knows it, but it's not like he puts his guts out on the line like that for anyone and Cas is an ungrateful asshole.
Cas, though, grips his shoulder tightly so that Dean can't get very far.
"Dean." He's got his stern voice on, and he holds Dean's gaze, eyes wide like they're trying to tell Dean something. "I would choose to go with you, if I could," he says. He sounds like he means it too. "One day," Cas offers, "I will be able to."
There's that faith of his, clear in his eyes and his voice and the way he squeezes Dean's shoulder. And even if Dean isn't so sure he can believe that'll ever happen, he nods, because Cas believes it. In his experience there's never time, and there never will be time, because the crap just never ends.
It would be awesome, Dean thinks, to be able to have that kind of conviction.
"I'll hold you to that," Dean says.
Then, because he can, he leans back in and kisses Cas, once more, this time slow and soft though and Dean tries not to think of it as some kind of messed up goodbye. That would just be the weirdest one night stand of his life. Cas kisses back like he wants more.
"I will return." Cas speaks against Dean's mouth. "I will not always be gone."
Dean shakes his head. He doesn't know why he's being such a bitch. He started this. He got what he wanted. Except, maybe, not everything. So he looks away, over Cas's shoulder to where he's still leaning back against the Impala. "But you won't always answer."
"Neither do you," Cas retorts.
Maybe it stings, but it's true, Dean knows. And he's a selfish bastard for wanting Cas to be around, he knows that too. He wants Cas for this, yes, but he also wants his help. He wants him to fix things in a way that Dean's pretty sure not even God could anymore. Sam, himself, the fucked up world. It's not much to ask, really. And what's he got to give Cas in return? His own messed up affection or whatever. Some really great sex. Maybe he could lend Cas the car now and again, and that's about all.
Dean would like to think that coming here, and being with Dean, Cas can forget everything for a while. He kind of hopes Cas at least gets some kind of relief, or rest, or a break, out of this because as far as Dean can see he's not getting any at anywhere else. Maybe Cas's shoulders are a little less tense, his eyes a little angry, harried, because all he gets to think about, every second of every day, is a war against his own brothers he doesn't even want to fight.
Even so, it's got to be the worst deal in history and Dean really shouldn't expect Cas to hang around.
"But I will return," Cas repeats.
He lets go of Dean's shoulder, but not his gaze, like he's waiting for Dean to do something. And all Dean can think to do is to kiss Cas again, and again, and he says, "Fine," and "Okay," and "You fucking better."
When he pulls away this time, Dean notices the mess between them is gone and his jeans are done up, like nothing ever happened. It did though. From the weird look in Cas's eyes as he stands himself up fully, shoving his hands deep into his coat pockets, Dean knows that it really freaking did.
"Useful trick," Dean half-grins. Whatever is going on between them might not be sane, or even on the same planet as normal, but it's something. And Dean does, at least, trust Cas to keep his word on the whole coming back thing. Maybe Cas doesn't feel like a human does, and maybe he can't anymore, but Dean knows from the way Cas stares back that he feels something.
Cas tilts his head forward in what Dean assumes is a nod. "And useful it shall be again," Cas says, and Dean's pretty sure it's a promise. Or a come on. Or both.
With a flurry of wings beating Cas is gone and Dean is left in the dim, damp parking lot with just his car and a fucked up life, but he's still grinning because he can still taste Cas in his mouth, and he can remember the weird, unrelenting hardness of him. The completely unselfconscious way he let Dean touch him. Trust, Dean realises, and knows there is no way in hell they aren't doing that again.
.END.
This was just a writing exercise to get some words down really, but feel free to comment and concrit if you like!