SPN fic: Any Old Music Will Do - chapter 4/4 - I'll show you

[the_diggler]

Chapter 4 - I'll show you.

Please see the fic masterpost for warnings and other information.



[ prologue] [ chapter 1] [ chapter 2] [ chapter 3]

~

Dean doesn’t know how far, or for how long he runs, but when his brain starts functioning again, he finds himself hunched over and gasping for breath in the middle of the street, halfway to nowhere. The glare of lights burning bright around him tell Dean he’s still in the red-light district, though he doesn’t recognize which part. Maybe it just goes on forever, or he’s been running around in circles, trapped in a maze or one of the many rings of hell, but he doesn’t really care anymore. He doesn’t really know what to do with himself either, so he just keeps walking.

At least he’s got clothes on. Then again, it wouldn’t have mattered either way. Clothed or not, there’s no way Dean’s going back to the club right now. Not even to get his car. He doesn’t even want to think about the club right now. And he sure as hell isn’t going to think about Crowley’s office, and what happened there, or wonder whether he imagined the look of horror on Cas’ face, just before he ran out.

Did Crowley turn Castiel out slow? Watch Cas jerk off while he took care of his own business, before suggesting mutual handjobs? Then blow jobs? Then

Probably. Just like Crowley probably did with Dean, getting his clients to make certain suggestions, see how far he would go.

Did Cas enjoy it like Dean did?

Of course he did. Dean taught him how.

Fuck.

Where the hell did Dean’s ability to shut down go all of a sudden, now that he really needs it? The ability to avoid thinking about anything at all, and deny the knowledge of every goddamn thing that happened?

Clearly it was working fine before, when Dean was ignoring how Castiel never bottomed for him anymore (because Dean would’ve noticed someone had already been inside him). Or how, lately, Castiel always wanted to shower before letting Dean touch him (because Dean would’ve smelled Crowley all over him). Or more importantly, how Crowley never complained about Castiel monopolizing Dean’s nights (because Crowley was too busy monopolizing Castiel).

And clearly, it was working great, when Dean thought that telling himself he wasn’t in love with Castiel would actually protect him from getting hurt when it ended.

He should’ve known better than to layer denial upon denial – like a house of cards that would collapse upon itself at the barest breath. Should’ve known better than to pretend his usual pretences would work. Not this time. Not with Cas. Because no matter how many times he told himself that he didn’t feel anything, Dean knew it was going to hurt anyway.

Because he did feel something. Something real. And there’s no denying it now, because he wouldn’t feel so betrayed otherwise.

Not that he has any right to be. He never made any kind of claim on Castiel. And maybe he’d hoped that Castiel had wanted to make some kind of claim on him, but that obviously wasn’t the case.

Eventually the harsh lights of the red-light district begin to fade, and Dean reaches streets that are no longer awash with their relentless blinking, on and off, designed to catch the attention of any passersby, but only a nuisance to his stinging eyes. As he reaches the edge of the district, a few last stragglers gleam announcements for the occasional liquor shop or convenience store, but they slowly peter out, until he’s completely engulfed by the bleak emptiness of the adjacent industrial district.

He keeps walking. There’s barely anyone in this part of the town at night, and Dean finds the dull greyness of it comforting. Pure. Without any pretence. He almost wishes he could stay there forever, wandering the purgatory of these streets… but they don’t last either. Nothing does. Inevitably, hints of greenery begin to peek out of the ground – dry, trampled, uncared for – but there nonetheless. And soon after, houses begin to appear. Nothing more than ramshackle wrecks and abandoned remains at first, but eventually more solid structures. Nothing pretty, but stable enough to live in at least. And familiar.

Dean finally regains his bearings. He’s been here before. Usually in his car, but he definitely recognises the area. Maybe he’d been heading this way all along. The thought of his too-large, empty apartment doesn’t really seem all too welcoming at the moment. He doesn’t even have his wallet on him, so hopping a bus to California and hoping his brother will forgive him long enough to give him any kind of sympathy isn’t an option either. Benny is probably the next best thing. Dean works out which direction he needs to go, and picks up his pace, spurred on by his destination.

Benny is a great big bear of a man with a real thing for twinks. He used to work as a bouncer at the Inferno, and Dean is close enough to Benny’s type that the man was always happy to help out when Dean needed someone for a threesome, or had a client with a voyeur kink. They worked well together. Benny took care of him in bed, completely soft at heart despite his gruff exterior, and always accepting, rolling with the punches judgement-free. Dean had come to trust the man enough to know that Benny will still take care of him, if he needs it.

It’s a fifty-fifty chance Benny will actually be home though, since these days Benny spends half the year working Security on a luxury liner. So when Benny answers his door, Dean can’t help but fall through it with relief.

“Woah, hey there, brother,” Benny rumbles, catching Dean with his big, solid arms.

“Benny!” Dean gasps, slumping against him.

“What’s the matter, cher?” Benny asks, immediately concerned. He pulls away just enough to tilt Dean’s face up by the chin, frowning as he checks Dean over. “Did someone hurt you?” Benny asks gently, searching Dean’s eyes.

“Benny…” Dean chokes out, unable to find the words to reply, but Benny sees the answer in his face anyway.

“Someone did, didn’t they?” he rumbles, pulling Dean close again. “What you need, cher? Tell Benny how to make it better.”

And that’s all it takes for Dean to launch himself at Benny’s mouth. “Fuck me, Benny, please, I need to be fucked,” Dean gasps in between frantic presses of his lips, pushing Benny towards the bedroom.

“Mmmm, you sure?” Benny rumbles, though he’s already responding to Dean’s kisses. “That’s what you want?”

“Yes!” Dean practically yells, “Yes!”

“Well alrighty then, sugar,” Benny chuckles, lifting Dean off the floor and carrying him the rest of the way.

After that, it’s no more questions asked. Which is exactly what Dean wants. As soon as Benny drops him on the mattress, they get naked as quickly as possible, spend the bare minimum of time prepping, and then he’s taking Benny’s thick cock, hard and fast, just the way he likes.

“Mmm, missed this,” Benny moans, his big, meaty hands kneading the insides of Dean’s thighs. And yeah, Dean’s missed this too. It’s simple. Uncomplicated. It’s just sex, and it’s fucking fantastic… and yet, everytime he looks into Benny’s eyes, he can’t help but think that they’re the wrong shade of blue.

He shoves Benny back just enough to be able to turn onto his stomach, presses his face into a pillow so he doesn’t have to see, then offers his ass up into the air and growls, “harder.”

Benny sinks back into him with a groan, easy, and picks up the pace again, but faster, hips slapping obscenely loud against the skin of Dean’s ass.

“Damn, cher,” Benny mumbles, “Forgot how good you take it.”

“Give it to me, Benny! Need it,” Dean hisses in response, clawing at the sheets.

“You like that cock?” Benny asks, the smirk audible in his voice.

“Yeah Benny, it’s all I fucking want,” Dean groans mindlessly, reaching back to spread his cheeks, holding himself open for it.

“Merde,” Benny curses at that, his thrusts becoming erratic. “I’m gettin’ real close, cher,” he warns.

“C’mon then! Come on me!” Dean snarls. “Do it!”

“Yeah?” Benny asks shakily. Dean glares over his shoulder, and Benny doesn’t need to be told twice. Pulling his dick out, he shoves his thick fingers inside Dean’s hole, keeping it filled and fucking into it. Then with his other hand he rips off the condom, fisting himself frantically until he’s painting himself all over Dean’s ass and thighs.

Benny takes a long moment to catch his breath after that, then like a true gentlemen, he crooks his fingers inside Dean, massaging at just the right angle as he takes Dean’s cock with his come-covered hand. Dean writhes on Benny’s fingers, fucking into that slick grip until he comes, shouting, in what feels like mere seconds. Benny still knows how to get him off, just right.

Dean squirms on the sheets afterwards, running his fingers through the come on his stomach and on the backs of his thighs, mixing it together and smearing it all over his skin, like he’s trying to mark himself with it.

“Ain’t you a picture,” Benny chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement as he watches. “Better now?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow.

“Thanks, Benny,” Dean replies. Though it’s not exactly an answer. He feels well-used and thoroughly fucked-out, which is exactly what he came here for… but it’s just not enough.

Benny sighs, too observant to miss what Dean’s not saying, but he doesn’t try to pry any further, and Dean’s grateful. Instead, Benny slides out of bed, wiping himself off with a t-shirt before pulling on his boxers. “I’m gon’ go cook some breakfast. Feel free to use the shower whenever you’re ready to get up,” he says, gesturing towards the en-suite.

“Thanks, Benny,” Dean says again, and it’s much more genuine this time.

He doesn’t know why he and Benny never tried for something more. Benny’s easy to get along with, the sex is usually fantastic, and fuck does Benny know how to take care of him. By the time Dean’s done burning his skin off in the shower, Benny’s got a full meal of Dean’s favourite comfort foods waiting for him in the kitchen, complete with pie baking in the oven.

“For that other hungry hole o’ yours,” Benny smirks when Dean nearly drools at it all.

It’s still so early the sun’s hardly up yet, but they sit down in Benny’s tiny, but cosy kitchen, and tuck in anyway. It’s easy, and companionable, and maybe in time, it could be enough… But there will always be this difference, that Dean is aware of now, and suspects he’ll never be able to ignore. As soon as Dean stepped through Benny’s door, the man gave him everything he wanted… but it wasn’t what he needed.

Yes, the sex was great, but it just wasn’t enough. Not anymore. Blanket acceptance isn’t the answer either. Dean needs to be seen. Dean needs Castiel.

He just doesn’t feel Benny deep down in his bones the way Castiel has seared himself there, right on his ribcage and impossible to erase or hide or cover up, no matter how filthy Dean makes himself. And he knows that no matter how far he runs, there will always be something inside him, whispering to see Cas again, like a goddamn prayer.

Benny invites Dean to stay the rest of the night, and as appealing as it sounds, Dean knows he’s not going to be able to sleep until he picks up his car, clears out his locker, and never has to see the club or the hotel ever again.

Benny is kind enough to drive Dean back to the club in the rattling deathtrap he calls a vehicle. One day Dean’s going to pop the hood and see what he can do with the thing, whether Benny likes it or not. It’s the least Dean can do. They’re still arguing about it good-naturedly when Benny pulls into the club’s parking lot, but when Dean looks up, he trails off into silence mid-sentence.

There’s a huddled trenchcoat on the ground next to the Impala, that quickly unfurls into the shape of Castiel, rumpled and red-eyed and hair a mess from running his hands through it… for hours. Waiting for Dean, all night. While Dean was off getting fucked by Benny.

Dean thinks he sees a brief flash of hurt cross Castiel’s face, when Cas sees him with the other man, and feels a vindictive rush of satisfaction at that. But then Dean remembers what he actually came here to do, and realizes that he’s still going to have to get out Benny’s car, and face it.

“You want me to take you somewhere else?” Benny asks, taking one look at Dean and putting two and two together.

Dean takes a deep breath, steeling himself. “No. It’s okay,” he replies. He’ll just get it over with as quickly as he can, like ripping off a band-aid.

“You want me to stay?” Benny offers then, eyeing Castiel warily.

“No. Thanks, Benny,” Dean says, giving him a small smile of gratitude for the thought. Benny can’t protect Dean from this kind of hurt.

“Okay, chief,” Benny replies, giving Dean a mock-salute. “You know where to find me if you need me.”

Dean nods, giving Benny one last grateful smile as he reaches for the door handle.

Castiel rushes forward as soon as Dean steps out of the truck, but Dean doesn’t even wait for the glare of Benny’s headlights to recede before he’s pushing past, heading straight for the club’s back entrance.

“Dean! Please, wait! Please, just let me just explain,” Cas babbles frantically, scrambling to catch up with him. Dean just keeps walking, pretending Cas isn’t even there, pretending the wrecked sound of Castiel’s voice isn’t twisting at him inside.

“Dean, please,” Castiel persists. “I’m so sorry. Crowley means nothing to me! It was just sex--”

Almost as soon as the words are out of Castiel’s mouth Dean whirls around, punching him square in the jaw.

Castiel staggers back, cradling his jaw and stunned into silence.

Dean takes the moment of reprieve and turns back towards the club, throwing himself through the backdoor. When it slams shut behind him, he has to lean back against it for a second, taking deep breaths and regaining his bearings.

The club is deserted, the last of the staff having left hours ago, but there’s still some safety lights on, so Dean finds his way to the dressing room easy enough. He pulls his duffel out of his locker and haphazardly starts throwing everything inside it, then picks out the things on the dressing table that are his and throws them in the bag too. He briefly wonders if there’s a chance that Crowley’s still around so he can officially the man he’s quitting, but the thought of going anywhere near that office makes Dean’s stomach lurch. And there’s no telling what Dean will do to the man if he sees him again. Dean figures his empty locker should be enough of a message.

Only problem is, Cas is still waiting for him when he leaves. Not like he really thought the punch would throw Cas off anyway, but he’d hoped.

“Dean, please, it’s not what you think,” Castiel resumes his assault as soon as Dean steps out the door. “It was the only way Crowley would let me see you! I’m broke, Dean, it was the only way!”

That gives Dean pause. “…What?”

“I’m broke,” Castiel repeats. “And the only way Crowley would let me see you was if… I offered something in return.”

“You’re telling me you… sold yourself to Crowley, as payment to sleep with me?” Dean huffs in disbelief, utterly gobsmacked. “You dumb son of a bitch. Why?”

Castiel crumples a little then, huffing a sigh that’s half exasperation, half resignation. “Why do you think?” he says, his expression softening as he reaches out to take Dean’s hand in his own, gently caressing Dean’s skin with his thumb.

Dean is too stunned to do anything but allow it, still blinking stupidly at Castiel’s admission, and all the layers of meaning that come with it.

He supposes he’s always known, buried under layers and layers of his own, how Castiel feels about him. But he’s never really examined it before, dug it up and held it in front of his face to really look at it, to really know. And now that he does, all he can think is, “Why me?”

Castiel shakes his head. “For someone who is so pleasing to look at, I don’t know why you don’t really want to see yourself. From the first moment I saw you at the club, Dean, I knew. You are beautiful, and good, inside and out. And you have spent every moment since then, proving me right. You took care of me. You were there for me. And what kind of person would I be if I didn’t do the same for you?”

“But… I never asked you for anything,” Dean chokes out.

“That doesn’t mean you didn’t need it. Or that you don’t deserve it.”

“I--” Dean’s throat croaks when he tries to speak again. “You should’ve said something. You didn’t have to go through Crowley. We could’ve worked something out.”

“I wasn’t sure you would still want to see me,” Castiel explains. “I wasn’t sure you felt the same way… until tonight.”

Dean nods, biting his lip. If it had hurt that much to see Castiel with Crowley, how had it hurt Castiel all this time, knowing Dean was with other people? And yet, Castiel still thought he was something good, something worth loving

Dean sighs heavily, suddenly exhausted as the events of the night finally catch up to him. He doesn’t want to feel that kind of hurt again, and he doesn’t want to hurt Castiel anymore either.

“Don’t come see me here anymore, Cas,” Dean says.

“Oh,” Castiel says quietly in disappointment, starting to draw his hand away.

“No, I mean, I’m quitting. So I won’t be here,” Dean explains, squeezing Castiel’s hand tight before he can let go.

“Oh,” Castiel says again, this time soft with comprehension, something pleased flickering in his eyes and tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Come to my place?” Dean asks softly, stepping closer. Castiel nods, the small smile on his lips blooming into something more full, tension and remorse giving way to relief and hope.

On the short drive to Dean’s apartment, the sun finally dawns into the world, lighting their way, and Castiel’s eyes are clear and bright as he watches Dean from the other side of the car. It reminds Dean of something one of his clients told him once – an old widower who got lonely sometimes and came to Dean for company every now and then. Cain was only ever interested in conversation, still completely devoted to his wife, even years after her death, and at the time Dean couldn’t really understand it. So the man had tried to explain – how he’d done horrible things in his youth, but even though his wife saw who he was, what he was, she still forgave him, and loved him unconditionally. Dean thinks he’s beginning to understand now, how that kind of love can change a man, and the entire drive he clings to the very real weight of Castiel’s hand, anchored in his own.

When they arrive at his apartment, Dean pauses on the threshold, unsure what to do. He’s never brought anyone to his place before. Besides Sam, that is. And he doesn’t quite know how to proceed. It’s not even worth giving Cas a tour of the place, it’s so bare.

Thankfully, Cas seems to know what to do. He pries the duffle from Dean’s hand, dropping it on the floor, before stripping Dean out of his coat and hanging on the empty coat-rack by the door. Castiel’s familiar trenchcoat goes up next, and already Dean can’t help but think the place feels more homey with the second coat there. It’s not hard for Castiel to navigate to the bedroom after that, pulling Dean along by the hand. And when they get there Castiel continues to strip off Dean’s layers, as well is his own, carefully draping them over the foot of Dean’s bed.

Dean’s room is perhaps the homiest room in the entire apartment, as it’s the only one he really uses at all. Most of his time is spent at the club or in other people’s beds, but when he’s here it’s usually to catch some sleep before he heads back to the club again. So this is where he keeps pictures of his family, framed on his bedside table where he can see them the most often – Sam, his dad, his mom. For a second he feels a little nervous about Cas being in his room, like he’s bringing Cas to meet the family. But then Cas kisses him, careful and sweet, and it can’t feel more right.

Castiel strips them down to their boxers before pulling Dean into bed with him, like it’s actually Cas’ bed that he’s inviting Dean into, and pulls the covers over them before he tangles their limbs together, wrapping Dean up in his arms.

“What do you need, Dean?” Cas whispers, though the answer is clear.

“This. Just this.”

~

“Hey, Sam.”

“Dean.”

“I uh… I quit, Sam.”

“…What? For real?”

“For real. I’m done. I’m out.”

“Dean… that’s… I’m proud of you, Dean.”

“Thanks, Sammy.”

“So… What are you going to do now?”

“I don’t know. I was thinking of maybe getting some mechanic work again.”

“Well, you know Bobby will always have work for you.”

“Yeah I know. But I don’t think I want to move to South Dakota right now. I mean, I might move out of the city, but I don’t really want to leave Kansas altogether. It’s home, you know?”

“Even after everything that’s happened there?”

“It hasn’t all been bad.”

“… You met someone, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I guess I did.”

“So it’s serious.”

“Yeah, Sam, it is. His name’s Cas. And he’s… Sammy, he’s…”

“Huh. Utter speechlessness. He must be something special then.”

“He is.”

“Well, I’m happy for you, Dean. Really.”

“So, uh… Does that mean I’m forgiven?”

“… It’s a start.”

“Okay…?”

“Look, Dean, I get why you did what you did, even though I don’t approve of it. But… I think what hurts the most is you keeping it from me.”

“Sam…”

“No, let me finish, Dean. I hate that you had to go through that alone, but I think I get why you kept it from me too.”

“You… do?”

“Yeah, Dean. I mean, if I had to do the kinds of things… you were doing… I don’t think I’d want to talk about it either. Much less think about it.”

“Sam, it wasn’t that bad, really…”

“But it was bad enough that you felt you had to keep it from me.”

“No, Sam--“

“--Or that I wouldn’t understand, or whatever. But I know you, Dean. I know how you avoid dealing with things. I know how you try to pretend your problems don’t exist in the hopes they’ll just go away. And I know that’s probably part of why you didn’t tell me, but… it’s not a healthy way to deal with things.”

“Yeah, I know. But I think I’m ready to start working on that.”

“…That wouldn’t have anything to do with this Cas guy, would it?”

“Maybe it does.”

“So I guess I should expect a plus one for the wedding?”

“Dude that’s months away. You haven’t even sent out invites yet.”

“You’re right. Plenty of time to arrange a double wedding.”

“Oh my God, you’re such a girl.”

“Says the man who was rendered speechless by the mere thought of his new boyfriend.”

“…Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

“I’m really sorry, Sam.”

“I know. Just don’t ever keep something like that from me again.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“You know I just want you to be happy.”

“I know. I’m ready to start working on that too.”

~

Dean ends the call with a grin on his face, wondering when exactly his little brother became the parent in their relationship. Maybe around the time Dean became the big kid, misbehaving and burying himself in his vices, refusing to grow up and face his problems for far too long.

As he puts his phone back down on the bedside table, he glances at the framed picture of Sam there. It was taken at Sam’s High School graduation, and Dean has his arm slung around his brother’s shoulder, so proud of him for graduating at the top of his class. Sam looks so young, so carefree. How many mornings had Dean woken up to that picture, and let it fuel his choices, using it as justification for the things he did? It was one of those things Dean never let himself think about too much, but he realizes his error now. He’d easily fallen into the trap most parents do, always remembering how small Sammy used to be, how vulnerable and naïve, no matter how old he is now, still wanting to protect him.

But his little brother is all grown up now. Grown up enough to want to get married, get a job and a house, have kids… Grown up enough to be the bigger man, and forgive Dean, no matter what. And if that gangly little kid who used to follow Dean around can grow up, then Dean can grow up too.

“Were you talking to someone?” Castiel’s voice interrupts his thoughts, and Dean looks up to see the man emerging from the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist. Dean’s grin widens.

“Yeah, I was on the phone with Sam,” Dean replies.

“Is everything alright?” Cas asks, brows furrowing with concern.

“Yeah,” Dean answers, settling into his grin with a content sigh. “We’re working things out.”

“I’m glad,” Castiel smiles, sincere relief in his voice.

“Me too,” Dean replies. And for once, in a long time, he means it. He and Sam are on the road to becoming closer than ever, and he and Cas? Well

Dean feels his gaze soften as he takes in the sight of Castiel standing there in his bedroom, skin pink from the heat of the shower, hair towel-rumpled and sticking up in every direction, clean and seemingly untouched by the things he’d done for Dean. With Dean. Because of Dean. So clean, Dean wonders if maybe someday Cas might make him clean again too. He might already be starting to.

“C’mere,” Dean murmurs, hand reaching out to beckon Castiel closer. Castiel steps forward to take it, letting Dean pull him in until he’s close enough for Dean to comfortably grip his hips, gazing up at him.

When he’d woken up in Castiel’s arms, it was already well into the day, but Cas was still wrapped snugly around him, hardly moved from the position they’d fallen asleep in. Dean had come-to slowly, bleary from a sleep of deep exhaustion, but warm and comfortable, and when he’d finally opened his eyes Cas was already awake, watching him. From the focus in Cas’ eyes, Dean could tell Cas had been watching him for a while. And the way Cas was looking at him – soft and reverent, and maybe a little amazed that he was allowed to be there, looking at Dean at all… It’s a lot like the way Cas is looking at him now, lost in a long moment where they’re sharing the same smile, waiting to feel the shape of it against each other’s lips.

“What is it?” Castiel inquires softly when the silence draws on.

“Let me look at you,” Dean whispers, reaching for the end of Castiel’s towel where it’s tucked around his waist. “I want to see you,” he explains. He wants to see every part of Castiel, all of it, outside and in, look into Castiel’s very soul, the way Castiel looks at him.

“Wait,” Castiel reaches down, gently clasping Dean’s fingers and pulling them away. “Let me,” he murmurs.

Slowly, Castiel tugs the end of the towel free, letting it unravel around him from its own weight. Slowly still, he extends his arm, pulling the towel away from the front of his body, and uncovering himself. Dean draws in a sharp breath at the sight of him, long lines and pale planes of lean muscle, already half-hard as he lets the towel drop to the floor. It’s only one piece of material, but its removal is just as erotic to Dean as any of his elaborate strip-routines, and he responds to it as such, hardening as well.

And then, reminding Dean of their first time together, Castiel climbs into his lap, grinding softly, tentatively, just as Dean had for Cas back then. He grips Castiel’s hips, breath shaky as Castiel leans closer, and licks his lips in anticipation. But at the last moment, Dean’s gaze flicks away from Castiel’s mouth, drawn to Castiel’s eyes, addicted to them, as he has been from the very beginning.

Dean kisses him. Slow, and unhurried, because he has the time to do that now. And he doesn’t have to pretend that he’s just giving Cas what he wants anymore, or tell himself that he doesn’t want it either, because he knows that he does now. There’s a calmness in his surety, and yet, at the same time he feels ripped open and raw, like Cas has pried open his ribcage and is holding Dean’s heart in his hands.

Maybe that’s exactly what Castiel’s done, in a way, because maybe Dean had to be broken open, before he could let anyone in. And while Dean is sure about what he’s doing, sure about Castiel, it doesn’t make it any less terrifying. He’s stripped off his clothes in front of countless men and women, but he’s never felt as bared as he does now. There’s no way to hide anymore, no more roles to shield himself with, nowhere to run to. There’s just him and Cas, here and now, nothing left between them as they slide into bed together, and it feels like something different – new, and big, but Dean’s ready to learn what it is.

“Hey, Cas?” Dean whispers. “Be careful with me okay? I’ve never done this before.”

Castiel tilts his head at Dean in confusion, frowning down at their bodies, naked and pressed against each other underneath the sheets, like they have been many times before.

“I mean, I’ve never… uh… I’ve never made love to someone before,” Dean explains.

“It’s alright, Dean,” Castiel smiles. “I’ll show you.”

~ fin

A/N: So I didn't really plan for the fic to end there, but once I got there it just seemed fitting :) Also, this fic was NOT BETA'd, and the last chapter was rather hastily edited, so if there are any glaring mistakes or things that still need explaining please let me know and I'll do my best to accommodate!

Thanks again to Shen and Frea for putting together the WIP Big Bang, without which I might never have finished this mess of random scenes I'd collected over the past decade :s

And thanks again to Cat for her fantastic art!!! (There's one last bonus piece here at tumblr) <3