((Supernatural)) If The Accident Will
Title: If The Accident Will
Word Count: 1907
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Dean/Castiel (domestic AU)
Summary: Castiel loves that Dean loves Vonnegut.
Notes: Title and excerpt from Kurt Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse Five
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Dean had taken to falling asleep on the couch after dinner. It was a habit that Castiel found equal parts annoying - particularly when Dean didn't take off his shoes first - and somewhat undeniably adorable. Tonight, Dean was snoring loudly, his boots, thankfully, resting beside the couch, and his sock-covered feet propped up on the armrest. A copy of Slaughterhouse Five, which Cas knew Dean had already read at least three times, was lying open over his stomach.
Castiel smiled as he gingerly plucked the book from Dean's limp fingers, placing it on the coffee table and crawling up his body. He laid himself overtop of him, resting his chin on Dean's collarbone; Dean stirred just as Castiel's knee came to rest between his own sleepily splayed legs.
“Hi,” Dean said, blinking blearily down at Castiel, who smiled back.
“Hello.”
“Whatcha doin'?”
Castiel nuzzled Dean's neck, feeling Dean wrap his arms around his midsection and sighing happily. “Just saying...hello.”
“Well hi,” Dean repeated with a light chuckle. Cas kissed him on the underside of his jaw as Dean's hands wandered up and down the plane of Castiel's back. He was so perfectly content to lie there in silence, enjoying the feeling of his lover's body pressed so close to his own.
Castiel folded his arms over Dean's chest and rested his chin on top of them, looking up at him with one eyebrow lazily arched. “You're reading Vonnegut again?” he asked. Dean hummed his affirmation and reached out to pick up the book from the table.
“Haven't you read Slaughterhouse Five?” he asked, leafing through the pages.
“A long time ago,” Castiel said.
Dean opened the book to Chapter One and began to read aloud...
“All this happened, more or less. The war parts, anyway, are pretty much true. One guy I knew really was shot in Dresden for taking a teapot that wasn't his. Another guy I knew really did threaten to have his personal enemies killed by hired gunmen after the war. And so on. I've changed all the names.
I really did go back to Dresden with Guggenheim money (God love it) in 1967. It looked a lot like Dayton, Ohio, more open spaces than Dayton has. There must be tons of human bone meal in the ground.
I went back there with an old war buddy, Bernard V. O'Hare, and we made friends with a cab driver, who took us to the slaughterhouse where we had been locked up at night as prisoners of war. His name was Gerhard Müller. He told us that he was a prisoner of the Americans for a while. We asked him how it was to live under Communism, and he said that it was terrible at first, because everybody had to work so hard, and because there wasn't much shelter or food or clothing. But things were much better now. He had a pleasant little apartment, and his daughter was getting an excellent education. His mother was incinerated in the Dresden fire-storm. So it goes.
He sent O'Hare a postcard at Christmastime, and here is what it said:
'I wish you and your family also as to your friend Merry Christmas and a happy New Year and I hope that we'll meet again in a world of peace and freedom in the taxi cab if the accident will.'
I like that very much: 'If the accident will.''”
He trailed off, distracted by Cas kissing across his chest. He grinned, nudging him lovingly with the end of the book in his hands. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” said Castiel innocently, almost cutely.
Dean's smile widened. “I'm trying to read,” he said.
“I know.”
“You're distracting me.”
Cas smirked. “I know.”
Dean ran his hands through Castiel's dark hair, noting absently in the back of his mind that he needed a haircut, before his palm found its way to Cas' cheek. “C'mere,” he said, putting the book to the side and gently pulling Cas up. Cas tilted his head upward, letting Dean's hand guide him forward until their lips were sealed together, and he smiled into the embrace.
“I love that you love Vonnegut,” Castiel mumbled.
“I like Vonnegut,” Dean said, smiling again as he pulled back. “I love you.”
“That's incredibly cheesy, Dean.”
“No, it's sweet. Shut up.”
“That's more like it,” Castiel chuckled, and he leaned forward to kiss Dean again.
When Cas' mouth wandered over Dean's jaw, Dean slid his hands into Cas' back pockets and muttered, “What's got you all clingy all of a sudden?”
“Oh, I don't know...Are you complaining?” He glanced up cheekily, and Dean smirked, shaking his head as Castiel pushed his hands up under his T-shirt, running his hands across Dean's skin and drawing a sigh from deep in his throat.
Dean grinned. “Never,” he said.
Cas' hands continue their playful journey, running up Dean's flanks until his shirt was scrunched up under his arms. Dean's laugh was muffled against Castiel's lips as the wandering fingers brushed over the ticklish spot just under his left nipple. They didn't stay there long, though, as Cas straddled Dean's thighs and let his hands meander downward, his index finger hooking around the tie at the front of Dean's sweatpants and giving a playful tug.
“Really?” Dean asked, trying to sound exasperated and failing magnificently. “Now?”
“Now,” Castiel said. His eyes gleamed in the firelight, bright orange mixing with deep blue.
“I thought you hated doing this on the couch.”
“Well...” he breathed against Dean's lips, “Maybe I can make an exception.”
Dean's grin would have put a fox to shame, and he reached up to pull Cas' shirt up over his head in one go. Cas laughter got lost in the folds of fabric, leaving a wide smile behind in its wake instead. He had a look in his eyes that made Dean's heart pound excitedly against his sternum.
“What are you doing now?” Dean said through his smile even as Castiel reached inside his sweatpants and wrapped his warm fingers around him and stroked, slowly and reverently, until Dean shifted his hips and started to harden against his palm.
Castiel planted a soft, almost chaste kiss on the corner of Dean's mouth. “I think you can work that out for yourself,” he said.
“Think so.” Dean sighed, massaging the back of Castiel's neck appreciatively and bending his knees, letting Cas sink down against him. He leaned forward, pressed his lips to Castiel's Adam's apple, and adored the shiver that he got in response.
He let out a long breath as Castiel slid the band of elastic down and gently drew him out, trailing kisses across his chest from one shoulder to the other. “What's got into you, Cas?” Dean asked, his voice throaty and rough, and just the slightest bit breathless. He reached down to grasp Cas' wrist tenderly; he wasn't trying to guide him or stop him, but he merely let his thumb brush across the taught skin above the wristbone, marveling at the way Cas' tendons flexed as he stroked: up and down, here a twist, there a tiny squeeze. Dean squirmed.
As an answer, Castiel took Dean's other hand in his free one, pulling it from where it had been pressed, palm flat, against his collarbone and guiding it down to his groin, where he was starting to press against his zipper. Dean chuckled as he got the hint, and without another word, he slid the zipper down and reached in, copying Castiel's actions from before as he slowly pulled him free. He brushed his thumb over the head and smirked when Cas gasped.
Castiel kissed him, tongue pushing roughly past lips and teeth as he sped up the pace of his hand's movements. Dean's hips rocked back and forth as he followed his body's natural instinct to thrust into Cas' fist, tiny, breathless sounds freeing themselves from his throat and getting lost between their mouths and in the tangle of their tongues.
Dean flicked his gaze up as Cas nudged his hand away and wrapped his own around them both. He pressed one palm to Cas' shoulder and ran the other up and down his thigh as Cas began to rock his hips against Dean's in a steady rhythm that Dean matched. It was slow, unhurried, their flushed skin sliding together, slick with sweat and pre-come. Dean stretched his neck, letting his head fall back against the arm rest of the couch, his eyes lightly closed. The firelight flickered through his eyelashes and across his shining, swollen lips as he let his mouth fall open just enough to let out a few soft, panting moans.
The heat twisting in the pit of his stomach ached for Castiel to go faster, but he didn't try; the slow, heady throb that their unhurried movements caused was addicting on its own. He opened his eyes and looked up at Cas, reaching up as he did to cup Castiel's jaw in his palm. Cas leaned back, taking his weight off of the hand that he'd been using to support himself against Dean's shoulder, and he brushed his fingers against Dean's wrist. Dean could feel Castiel's smile tugging at the tiny muscles beneath his palm.
Castiel squeezed his eyes closed and moaned, curling his back and leaning over Dean again. His body was stiff, his movements becoming more erratic even as he fought to keep the steady pace. Dean laughed softly, his hand finding a comfortable home in the crook of Cas' neck. “S'okay, Cas,” he breathed. “You can come...c'mon...”
Castiel pushed forward, burying his face in Dean's neck and letting out what could only be described as a whine. Cas' fingers dug into the fabric of Dean's T-shirt at the shoulder as he thrust against him once, twice, and then came over Dean's stomach. He trembled through his orgasm, and Dean kissed him on the jaw, just beneath the ear.
Before Dean could make another move, Cas was wriggling away, sliding down his torso. He barely had time to register the hot puff of breath against the head of his penis before Castiel took him between his lips and swirled his tongue over his flushed skin. Dean sat up on his forearms with a gasp, staring through half-lidded eyes at the dark mess of hair bobbing up and down between his legs, relentlessly. It didn't take long for his knuckles to go white against the couch cushions, and a ragged moan was the only warning he could give before his release ripped through him.
Castiel swallowed - Dean shivered when he felt it - and lazily made his way back up, dragging his nose over Dean's thigh and across his hip as he did. He smiled sleepily, lying on top of him, tangling their legs together and draping his arms over Dean's shoulders.
They let out a simultaneous breath of contentment and watched the fire together. Dean's fingers traced arbitrary patterns on Castiel's back.
“I'd like for you to read to me again sometime,” Castiel said after a few minutes, his voice so low and soft that he sounded like he was on the verge of falling asleep right then and there.
Dean let out an amused breath through his nose and glanced down at him. “Yeah?” Castiel hummed his approval. He rested his head on Dean's chest. “I hope you like Vonnegut.”
The rumble of Castiel's laughter warmed Dean to his bones.