Who: Theophilia Flowers + Castiel + Dean Winchester What: B&B When: Sat 7/20 Where: Flowers B&B Rating: High. Explicit sexy times (not with Theo). TW for mentions of domestic abuse. Status: Complete
Castiel had met Theo in the park a week or two ago. He'd helped her pick basil from the thick of the grass and the woods between gazing at his favorite view of the ocean. It had been nice. He wasn't the type to have many friends, but he thought maybe she could be. If he could ever get past the fact that she spoke in odd metaphors constantly and he had no idea what she was really speaking about.
Luckily, Dean could probably translate. Which was good, because she owned the bed and breakfast that they were going to stay in this weekend. He had no idea how these sorts of things worked, but he hoped that he might at least have time for a cup of tea with Theo. Between -- what had Dean called it? Cock riding. Yes, that.
They wandered into the place, which was quaint, but had very nice flowers outside. Castiel immediately became useless, stopping to look at everything in the lobby before even making it to the counter.
It was basically a huge house, part of which Theo lived in, and the rest of which was the B&B. She was dressed for the weather in cutoffs and one of Fred’s buttondown shirts that she’d nicked last time she was there, knowing that a) he’d never wear it, and b) it looked better on her anyway. With it tied off at the waist, her red hair was the most visible color behind the counter.
When she heard the bell, she turned to see who’d walked in. She beamed when she saw it was her friend. “James! C’mon in, do you want help with your bags?” She went to shake his hand. Normally it would’ve been hugs, but she got the feeling he wasn’t a hugger. The man next to her was a hunk if she’d ever seen one, but he might as well have had a possessive hand on James, so her admiring only went skin deep. “You must be Dean,” she smiled. “I got a room ready for the both’a y’all, lemme go get your key.”
Dean’s duffel was hooked over his shoulder like he barely even noticed the weight of it there. “Thanks,” he said, smiling charmingly at their host. She was really cute, but his concern was mostly making sure that Cas didn’t get lost in everything else he could look at. Lost like he might start rearranging furniture to suit his own needs instead of hers.
She smiled at Dean. “Y’all have the most tidy room. It’s real symmetrical, too.” She cocked her head as she watched James poke at a coffee table book of famous bridges, centering it just so.
It couldn't be helped. It'd been uneven. It was better now, centered.
Cas - James - whatever people wanted to call him these days -- glanced up from his absent ordering of the table and offered a tiny sort of smile. "Hello." Handshakes were nice, and he didn't realize that they were for professional situations only. "I'm sure it's very nice." Why was Dean looking at him like he was being weird? Was he being weird?
"It's all very nice." He was outspoken, today.
“I’m so glad you think so.” Theo smiled at James, biting her lower lip to keep from giggling at how sweet they were as a (rather odd) couple. She moved behind the front desk to check them in and hand them their card keys.
Yeah, they were going to spend as much of the weekend in the room as possible just to keep Cas from reorganizing the bookshelves. He probably wouldn’t even think it was rude only that he was being helpful.
“Sorry, I didn’t get your name?” Dean asked, tearing his attention away from his compulsive boyfriend.
“Theophilia Flowers, but call me Theo. Everyone does. Apparently somewhere way up in my daddy’s line there’s some Greek blood.” She shrugged her shoulders. Virginia family trees tended to be twisted with some weird curling branches.
“Theo,” he said, eyes practically sparkling as he worked that Winchester charm. “Glad to meet you. Thanks for,” he glanced at Cas, “the welcome.” Which was to say thanks for a symmetrical room, because he might cry otherwise and nobody wanted Cas to cry especially not Dean.
Castiel remained oblivious to all the subtext going on in this conversation - instead somehow managing an expression that was somewhere between terribly serious and amazingly pleased. "It's very nice," he said again, and took the key card since Dean was carrying the bag and that seemed fair. He turned it around in his hands and then slipped it into the pocket of his slacks.
"I don't know how a bed and breakfast works." Hey, no one could ever say he wasn't honest. Or willing to fully divulge in it.
Theo saw the Winchester charm and played along. “Oh, it works just like a regular hotel, ‘cept I make you breakfast in bed every day. And it’s a little more cosy, and you won’t have to deal with a million other people bein’ around.” She shrugged. “This used to be a mansion back in the day, so it was easy enough for the ex-husband to divvy it up B&B style and get a permit. The two rooms back thataway - “ she pointed behind the counter, “are where I live. You have a room right in the back.” It was the tidiest, and the one furthest from everyone else in case they were noisy. “If you all wanna follow me back, I’ll help you in.”
"Okay," said Castiel, as if he'd been given a very great mission as opposed to an easy description and then a slight suggestion. It was really just his way of things. He nodded, solemn, and then glanced at Theo before following. It was exceptionally difficult not to stop and look at all the pictures on the walls.
"How is the basil?" He glanced at Dean even as he spoke, but the small talk was very much meant for Theo. Dean, clearly, did not have any basil.
“Oh, it’s doin’ fine. I’ve gotten it blended into a tea mix, I can make y’some later on before bed, if you wanna.” She leaned over to pick up a toy that a child had left after checkout, sighing. She knew who’d left it, and she’d mail it back later on. That pocketed, she opened up the door to their room.
True to her word, it was sparsely yet handsomely decorated in somber greys and blues, tidy to a fault, and very, very symmetrical.
Dean let out an internal sigh of relief. This was definitely Cas’ style. At least they wouldn’t be having issues with the room while they were here. “Basil?” he asked, glancing at the pair of them while he tried to figure out where in the room would be the safest for him to drop things. Not like Cas wasn’t just going to move it later anyway.
Cas just looked around the room like he absolutely never had any issues with the set ups of any room, like it wasn't obvious that he was a little obvious in his need for order.
He nodded, taking the bag from Dean without really thinking about it, and setting it in exactly the middle of the bed. "She finds it in the park. And dandelions. For tincture?"
Theo grinned. “You remembered! I met James in the park once while I was herb scavenging. I make herbal tinctures for things that ail folks.” Shrugging, she realized how it sounded; lots of people discounted kitchen witchery. But with her dreams, it seemed to make more sense, like she’d gotten better at it. “If either’a y’all needs help sleepin’, I’ve got some tea that’ll do the trick. The basil’s good for helpin’ folks with heart problems.”
“Thanks,” Dean said, mostly because he didn’t know what else to say. “But I’m pretty sure we’ll be worn out enough by the end of the night.” He wasn’t drinking anyone’s potions, that was for damn sure. There was enough freaky stuff in his dreams and he didn’t need to add ‘magic in waking life’ to the messed up going on.
Theo couldn’t help but press her lips together and smile. “Well, let me know what y’all want for breakfast anytime before five AM, ‘kay? But if it’s after six tonight, just jot it down on the ledger at the front desk. M’boys and I have a date tonight.”
Cas gave a squint and a tilt of his head, as if considering something. Breakfast was fairly irrelevant and he knew Dean would probably want something with pork and other things. He'd get by with whatever. "You have children?" It was like he didn't know how to talk or stop talking all at the same time.
Theo shook her head and blushed. “Um, no. Boyfriends.”
“Lucky girl,” Dean said. Shit, if he could have more than one sometimes he thought he would...or before Cas he thought he would. Maybe he should just start dividing his life into BC and AC. Seemed like the easiest option to try to figure out who the hell he was becoming now versus who he’d been.
“Oh.” Well, what else was he meant to say? Less than a month ago, James Jimmy Castiel Cas (god. he was going to have a crisis here, soon) didn’t even have interest in one person let alone two. But she seemed pleased enough, and he wasn’t really the judging sort. “We will be sure not to bother you.” Dates were probably important. He wasn’t really sure. It’d gone a bit quickly and he was sure Dean skipped that phase completely.
“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that. Bother me if you wanna.” Just ignore the cat noises coming from her room. And the giggling. “If it’s an emergency or somethin’, I’d rather you did.” She offered James her hand again, smiling at Dean. “Y’all let me know if I can get you anything. I’ll leave you boys be now.” She exited the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.
Cas looked at Dean once the door was closed, and was unsure if he was just imagining Theo giggling on the way out or not.
"She's very nice," he said to Dean, eyebrows furrowed. He wanted to tell his boyfriend maybe he shouldn't flirt so much, considering that she had two boyfriends already, and he was getting to the point that he wasn't really willing to share, but instead he just shrugged and went to look at the bathroom.
“Seems so,” Dean said, dropping the charming facade to set his things down, Cas’ on one side of the room and his on the other closer to the door where he could protect his boy if he needed to. “You doing okay?” he asked while he got his toothbrush and razor out so he could have them in the morning.
Sleeping in strange beds was not at all a new thing for him. It’d been a while, yeah, but it was the sort of thing that was like riding a bike. Find the outlets, get your hygiene crap out, see if there was porn on the TV. Simple.
Cas was sure he'd never looked for porn on the TV ever. It wouldn't even occur to him to do so. He glanced into the bathroom mirror, seemed satisfied with the room and his reflection both and then glanced at Dean. "I'm fine, Dean." He wasn't sure why Dean felt the need to ask, if he had to be honest.
"Do you like it?" Because that was sort of what mattered here. They were here because he'd wanted to do something -- special? Nice? -- something that might take Dean's mind off of the dreams.
“I’m with you and you seem okay so...yeah. I’m fine. I mean I don’t want double dicks over there brewing me up some kind of potion, but I don’t think that’s going to be an issue.” He flopped on the bed, waiting for Cas to finish whatever.
"Double--" but it was so crude he couldn't even finish the sentence. "She makes tea and wine. I hardly think that's potion worthy." A pause. "I like wine."
He finished with whatever (i.e.: looking at everything and making sure everything was straight) and then perched on the side of the bed next to Dean, looking down at him.
“I hear this place has great pie, too,” Dean said. “That’s my plan for breakfast. Quiche. Do you want some wine?” He watched Cas from where he’d flopped out on the bed. What? Driving was exhausting sometimes.
Cas knew about the pie. Of course he did -- Dean loved pie, it was just something he looked for now in order to make Dean happy. "Quiche constitutes as pie?" The more you know, he supposed. Twisting a little on the bed, he pulled one leg up onto it and reached for Dean's hand.
"I wouldn't mind wine."
“Quiche is breakfast pie,” Dean said, fingers closing around Castiel’s hand, stroking those fingers gently. “Didn’t know you really drank.” Of course, no one drank like Dean did. He made an art out of it.
"I don't really." It wasn't that he never did it, just that he didn't do it with the hopeless abandon that Dean did. Even Castiel had had a few drunken benders in his time, though. He wasn't so completely strange that he didn't fall victim to vice now and again.
"But I like wine," he said again. "And have it sometimes." Usually with dinner, but they were on vacation and he could make an exception.
“Nap before dinner?” he asked. His gaze lingered on Cas’, the rough lines of his face, those eyes that seemed to pick apart his every molecule. “My friend Pen did me a pretty solid favor. Figure...maybe if I can actually get the right appointments I...can maybe be something other than your alcoholic boyfriend. Maybe just your boyfriend.” It was hope. Dean could do with a bit of hope.
“I’d...maybe like to try being someone worth your love. Even if that means I have to take some pills every day for the rest of my life. I want to be a good man and not just a fuck up.”
"You're not a fuck up." Even in repetition, the word sounded funny on Cas' tongue, like he just wasn't meant to have said it. He paid that no mind though, instead giving Dean a thoughtful sort of expression. It was true, Dean drank entirely too much - particularly when it came to dealing with his problems. It would be better for him in all regards to quit -- and if talking to someone professional in order to sort himself out and just be healthier in mind and body helped, then Castiel was behind him one hundred and ten percent.
"It would be good for you. But I don't think you should think there's anything unworthy about you currently, Dean." He was unsure how to say it. Yes you need help, but not because I think you're not worth it right now?
“Yeah, I am,” Dean said quietly, but before Cas could answer, he kissed him. Hard to talk when your mouth was occupied, right? Besides, those lips were made for kissing and this vacation was meant to allow them to keep their mouths and hands busy uninterrupted for a whole two days. Why get distracted with talking, right?
Probably not right, no. But Cas had never had a way with words, and so if Dean didn't want to talk, there was little he could do to prompt him to do so.
What was the saying? Actions speak louder than words? Maybe that was true, or at least he could try and make it true. Which was why when he kissed Dean back, it was hard -- maybe not amazingly focused, something made clear when their teeth clicked together uncomfortably -- and with as much feeling as he could muster. Maybe that would say what he couldn't.
That kiss was about twice as much intensity as Cas usually kept packed in that stare of his. And Dean just kissed him back as hard, to try to communicate reciprocal import even if he couldn’t manage understanding. Whatever existed between them, it wasn’t something to be trifled with.
He’d go back to war for Cas.
War wasn’t on the table though, unless you counted what their teeth were doing. Kissing was. Kissing and pulling his angel on top of him because Dean wanted to hold him close and maybe get his dick sucked. Definitely get his dick sucked.
Probably that could be arranged. Probably in order for that to be arranged, Dean would have to be stupidly obvious about it. Not the most shocking of things, that.
Cas delighted in kissing, though. It was as if he were trying to make up for years of never having liked it before, for years of having never done with Dean before. He was easily pulled on top of of the mechanic -- and he wasn't for a moment worried about wrinkling his jeans and button up t-shirt combo -- never quite disconnecting his lips from Dean's. Look, all those kisses said, look how worthy you are.
Dean rolled his hips against Cas’, broke the kiss to breathe only briefly before he was holding him closer, using a bit more teeth. “Cas,” he groaned, “Cas...fuck...want you.”
Teeth were good. Biting was good. Dean groaning beneath him? Better even, really. Sometimes his attraction to Dean was so surprising, Cas felt utterly lost with it all. Never before had be been so interested. Never. And yet, here he was kissing someone like his life nearly depended on it.
"I'm right here," he said, and although it was one of those too-awkward sentences, Cas managed to at least give the implication that he was indeed here and more than willing to give his all.
Dean kissed him again while he tried to ignore all those parts that were sliced open with those three simple words. Cas was right there. He wasn’t going anywhere. He didn’t care how broken Dean was because Dean was his no matter what. It hurt. He wasn’t used to having anyone he could depend on, had spent way too long being everyone else’s rock that he felt fairly like he was drowning.
“Will you?” he asked roughly, guiding his boyfriend’s hand down to the close of his jeans. In their own space, he was fine talking dirty and being a general mouthy little shit, but here and sober? It felt somehow wrong to say things like cock to Cas. Maybe it was just the whole being on his back thing.
Cas found amazing amounts of comfort in the fact that even though he didn't properly know how to explain what he was feeling or thinking, that Dean seemed to understand him and his implications with just the few words he could offer. It was relieving to know that there was at least one person who he didn't constantly need to stumble around.
Blue eyes dropped to where Dean was leading his hands, and Castiel could only nod. He scooted back a little until he wasn't directly on top of Dean anymore, and then fumbled with the button and zipper, taking care not to do anything too ambitious when dealing with those sharp notches. "I've never--" done this before.
“It’s okay,” Dean said softly. “Yours was my first too.” He’d gotten fucked before Cas, but only just barely and part of him didn’t really think John counted because John was John and it was like...well like the crap that went on when you were deployed and you couldn’t actually get privacy. He hadn’t actually choked down the guy’s cock though, so that had to count, right?
There was some solace to that, anyway. Dean seemed good enough at it. And Cas figured it was pretty self explanatory. Don't use teeth, don't forget that breathing is important. Don't pretend it's a straw because it most definitely isn't. Something like that.
Too slowly, he shimmied Dean's jeans and boxers down -- and then, because he was himself he gave a little huff of a noise before moving to pull them off completely. And shoes and socks because they weren't heathens, were they? Things were not meant to be done in halves, no matter what the reason.
Finally, he turned back to Dean -- gave him a very serious eye contact sort of look and then shifted on the bed until he could bend properly to hold Dean's erection with one hand and give it a lick which some might have described as hesitantly experimental.
Well if Cas was going to strip him completely, Dean’s only choice was to take his shirts off too. So he did. It felt odd being so fully bare in front of someone who still had their clothes on, but he got over that the moment it seemed like Cas might need him to be something other than a sexual beast, like he should be encouraging or something.
He’d been on the receiving end of enough people new to this that he liked to think that he was pretty good at it. “Take your time,” he said softly, smoothing back Cas’ bangs.
Sexual beast might have been a little overwhelming for the moment yet -- and at this point, Dean was so clearly aware of how Cas dealt with overwhelming. Which was to say, he didn't. Not really.
He liked Dean's hand in his hair, it was both comforting and -- something else. He couldn't explain it, and couldn't take the time to focus on it. Feeling properly encouraged, the angel went beyond tiny licks and took Dean into his mouth properly. Not completely because he wasn't trying to go too crazy at first.
It was weird, knowing what someone tasted like so completely beyond just mouth.
“There you go,” Dean encouraged softly, “just like that. You don’t have to take too much, only what you feel like you can handle.” And really, even a little bit felt fantastic. He liked watching Castiel learning. It was different than any other time he’d coaxed someone through this. “Don’t even have to get me off if you don’t want to.” He really was okay with that, with just Cas taking his time and doing what he needed to to work up to it.
Dean's tone did terrible things to his stomach. Every softly murmured word of instruction and encouragement made his insides clench and tumble at the same time and it was nearly distracting. Not completely though, because he was paying all of his mind to the task at hand.
He didn't nod a reply because that would be silly, but Cas felt the need to respond by dipping his head down a little lower -- figuring out exactly what to do with his tongue while his mouth was around Dean's erection. Twisting a bit seemed like a nice idea -- he was fairly certain Dean had done that for him and he'd enjoyed it greatly.
Eventually, he got little bob of his head figured out, nearly a rhythm -- one hand bracing his balance by clinging to Dean's hip. That was around the same time that he realized Dean smelled very much like Cas' own soap. It was oddly attractive.
Oh that was...that was very good. Dean closed his eyes and relaxed, well versed in how to keep his hips still even though he didn’t want to. His fingers smoothed calmingly over and over again through Cas’ hair. Fuck, he could spend all day like this just letting Cas please him. He murmured praise, voice rough. How fitting that an angel could make him feel like a god.
Surprisingly, Cas found he rather liked it too -- and would not be averse to doing it again (or often). Whether it was the action itself or Dean's calm fingers and tiny half-words of praise that made him like it so much, he wasn't sure. Maybe both.
After a time, he pulled back a bit -- sitting up enough to get a real breath of air instead of the tiny half puffs that he'd been managing just a second before. That was something that he'd need to learn -- how to manage both properly. Licking his lips, he glanced up at Dean.
Fingers knotted in Cas’ hair and Dean pulled him up for a rough kiss. That was enough for now, or at least enough of that particular thing for now.
He pulled back as much as he could and looked Cas in the eyes, fingers tracing his plump lower lip. “Hey, beautiful.”
"Hello," the word came out nearly shyly, and even Castiel wasn't sure why. This sort of intimacy was still something he was getting used to, but he liked it very much - more than what he could put words to. He smiled at Dean - a faint sort of thing before darting his tongue out to lick the tip of his thumb even as he kept that eye contact.
“Got any requests as long as you have both my attention and naked body at your disposal?” Dean asked, smirking playfully.
Shaking his head, Cas seemed a little lost by the question. He wasn't ready for things like being overly creative in situations like these -- right now it was more about even getting the normal things right. "Just you," he said, because that seemed fair and right. He crawled forward a little more until he was nearly on top of the other man, well aware of how clothed he was in comparison, and kissed him again.
Castiel wasn’t at all being helpful, but that was really to be expected at this point. Cas would be helpful possibly at anything other than intimacy. Hopefully. Dean kind of doubted it, but he would be very earnest about it.
Dean kissed him, light teasing things that weren’t given the chance to go much deeper than just lips and only barely that. Hey, Cas might come up with something or they could keep doing just this until something else happened.
Cas whimpered over that, tiny noises that spoke of his want and need for more. He might not have had huge ideas of what he wanted but he knew he wanted Dean. He wanted those touches and words and kisses. He really wanted those kisses.
Being denied anything more than simplistic touches of the lips was both awful and oddly enticing. "Dean," he said, half murmured as he suddenly saw fit to start unbuttoning his shirt.
Dean pushed the shirt off Castiel’s shoulders. It was, of course, in the way of his final goal of Cas naked and needy. Clothed and needy was nice, sure, but naked was a much better idea. He reached between them to grope for the close of pants, much as he wanted Cas to strip himself Dean knew he was crap at it. Always took so long for him to manage it, which was a damn shame.
“Talk to me, gorgeous,” he said, moving from kisses to just the brush of lips as they spoke.
"Talk?" Cas nearly faltered, as if confused about what Dean could possibly want him to say. "I --" But then he was trying to manage stripping himself out of his jeans with Dean's help -- balancing awkwardly so he didn't just fall over completely on his boyfriend.
They managed it though, and by the time his jeans and boxers were off (thrown to the floor, which sort of bothered him, but not enough to make him pause), he was out of ideas for words, but let them tumble out anyway. "I want --"
“Yes?” Dean asked, rewarding that effort with nails skimming along Castiel’s back. “Angel,” he practically purred against those lips, “tell me.”
Angel. There was no reason why he should have liked being called that so much. But he did. And Castiel should not have have been so interested in the small rewards he seemed to garner from Dean. But he was; he delighted in them, identifying each one for exactly what it was. He nuzzled against Dean, nose brushing over the curve of his cheek, hips rolling against hips. That spelled out what he wanted, most likely, without him really having to speak it.
But he did, anyway. "Sex. Please." Well, he tried. The efforts he made for Dean were monumental, but sounded like so little.
“Oh I got that much,” Dean responded, a hint of amusement in his voice, pads of his fingers now mapping the curves and planes of soft skin. “That doesn’t tell me what kind of sex you want though.”
He gingerly, playfully nudged them onto their sides. Not that he minded Cas climbing all over him, but did anyone really expect him to be able to resist touching and tasting all that exposed flesh?
No, no one expected him to resist -- in fact, Castiel was all for the idea of Dean forgetting what restraint was in general. He liked all the touching and the kisses and bites. Cas nuzzled his cheek into his own arm and offered a smile.
"Gay sex?" He laughed at his own joke like it was literally the funniest thing he had ever heard, or could possibly have come up with. The timing seemed poor, but he hadn't been able to help it.
Dean rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t really be mad. Castiel laughing was one of the most beautiful sounds he’d ever heard for the given value of sandpaper being beautiful aurally. He got up and nudged Cas onto his stomach to sit on his rear (almost wholly to keep him still and not at all be a tease, no,) and work his fingers into muscles that were unsurprisingly less tense than his own.
“Lots of different kinds of gay sex, why don’t you start with how you want me, hm?”
His laugh died off nearly as abruptly as it'd arrived, and Cas took a moment to adjust to being on his stomach -- to rearrange his arms so that his chin was rested on them. To enjoy the digging of Dean's thumbs and fingers into his shoulder blades and that spot between. To try very hard, and with a lot of difficulty to ignore the growing awfulness of his erection pressing against the bed in the worst, most constricting of ways.
It wasn't working very well, and he let out a tiny mewl of a noise, as if that might properly explain his arousal and discomfort. It was, in fact, not the answer Dean was looking for.
“Ah-ah,” Dean chided, shifting his hips in a way to keep Castiel’s actively pinned. “Use your words, angel. You’re not getting anything until you ask for it properly.”
It was an odd thing, but Castiel was learning to love the fact that Dean made clear demands - that he didn't relent until he got exactly what he asked for. He shouldn't have liked it so well, because he was bad with words and has always been. He was unsure of how to clearly convey his wants, but was making the effort because Dean wanted it.
Attempting to wriggle beneath Dean for a bit of relief proved to be a useless gesture and Cas let out a little sigh of defeat. "From behind?" He offered after a moment, because he was admittedly unaware of how many positions there might actually be -- at some point he might actually have to do some research.
“Yeah?” Dean smirked. “Think we can do that for you, lovely.” He got off of Cas then to go over to his bag and grab the lube and condoms. When he returned, he pressed a kiss to the small of Cas’ back.
“Now, I want you to keep talking. I don’t care about what, but if you stop talking, I stop moving.” His fingers brushed warm and soft between the cleft of Castiel’s ass, ghosting a little over his balls before he pulled his hips up to where he wanted them. “Understand?”
"Yes." But it was clear that even if he'd agreed he did, Cas didn't quite understand. The direction was clear, but the reasoning just wasn't. Asking for clarification just seemed like something that he shouldn't be doing though, and instead allowed Dean to arrange him as he liked, resisting the urge to shudder over small shadows of touching.
"I understand. But I don't know what I should be saying." He had a feeling that he would soon just be driven to babbling about nothing important at all. It seemed against his very nature.
“Anything,” Dean replied, literally kissing his ass for a moment, and then biting because why the hell not while he got the lube situated on his fingers, circling one slow, so slow around Castiel’s entrance. “Talk to me about what’s important to you.”
Closing his eyes for a moment, Cas only just barely kept himself still from the bite and touches. It was already too much and not enough, and he wondered how people managed this sort of thing ever.
"You," he said, as if it weren't obvious. Then again, if he was going to just continue talking he would end up saying a lot of obvious things. "You're important. And -- having a sense of order." Not that he did currently. Lists were easy -- easier than trying to explain himself and so he went on with one.
Dean pressed his finger slowly in. “Then talk about me,” he said, voice rich and gentle in the room. It might have been for Cas, but a sense of order didn’t really get Dean hard. Listening to Cas wax poetic with all that subtle emotion in his voice? Yeah, that could get him off easily. “Make me see why you love me.” It was, after all, the one thing that Dean really didn’t understand, why Cas or anyone else would care about him. Love never even really entered into his thought process.
Cas pressed his forehead into the blankets, taking a breath that seemed overly dramatic considering just one finger. How Dean expected him to talk constantly when he couldn't even remember how to breathe properly was beyond him.
But still, he tried. Licking his lips, Cas nodded, focusing on the task at hand even as he arched his back a little, as if requesting more touch. He started it from a bizarre angle, working his way outward in conversation. "Do you really not know how special you are, Dean?" But maybe he didn't. "You think yourself so undeserving of anything good in life." Castiel was so proud of himself for these complete sentences.
Dean kept working that first finger in, occasionally twisting it just so to keep Castiel on his toes, working on splitting his focus between touch and the task at hand. Of course he thought himself not worth anything good. It was the truth. He kissed down the dip of his spine, breath hot against warm skin.
“Then make me believe I am.”
"You are." There should have been nothing resolute about his thready tone, muffled by blankets, mattress and fingers that had yet to twist completely into the sheets. But it's there -- complete belief in his own words despite distraction. If Dean wanted him to talk, he had picked a very good topic in order to make it happen.
"Beautiful," he murmured out, because half formed sentences are still words, because Dean's breath on his back is distracting. "You're kinder than you think. Smarter. Because you understand people and care for them even when you'd rather not. Because --"
Dean rewarded Castiel with a second finger, though his movements didn’t speed at all. They didn’t slow either, and he took to rubbing slow circles at his boyfriend’s hip. “Doing so well,” he whispered, watching the tension radiate across his back while he worked so hard to be what Dean asked him to.
The encouragement made his heart swell, made him feel a little dizzy. Cas had to bite his own lip to focus again. It was too much.
"You think it's your job to be strong for everyone else," he murmured out after a moment. "Like you can protect everyone. Fix everything. Take punishment you don't deserve just so --" Breathing was so important, and Cas had to gasp just to remember that when he leaned further into Dean's fingers. "--someone else doesn't have to.
I would do that. For you."
In the middle of that gasp, Dean pressed in a third finger, stretching and moving them in Cas as much as he could.
“You barely know me.”
For a moment he absolutely could not speak, could find no words at all when Dean's fingers hit a particularly pleasurable spot that left him gasping and nearly stupid. But really, he didn't want to know if Dean would keep to his word of stopping if he didn't keep talking, and so he dug his fingers into the blankets, steeling himself. "I know enough."
Dean pulled out his fingers, tore open the condom packet and rolled it on, touching Cas where he could while he did.
“I don’t think you do,” he whispered, but that was all he would say to that for now, because he was pushing slow and careful into his boyfriend.
It seemed contradictory to have Dean nearly arguing against his words while applying small touches and then pressing into him with such devoted tenderness. Cas didn't know if he could ever begin to understand his own feelings on the matter, but he knew right now wasn't the time to assess it. Not with Dean in him, with his own erection becoming impossible to ignore.
"Dean," he said instead, and thought that should count toward the talking because he said so much when he said that one word. Surely it counted as so many sentences.
“Shh,” Dean said, sunk deep into Cas. He bent over him to kiss his shoulder. “It’s okay, angel. I’ve got you.” He nudged at his ear and whispered, “always,” before he pulled back to kneel properly behind him. He wasn’t in the mood for tender or gentle. He wanted to fuck the soft feelings right out of both of them. Cas was his, and Dean drove into him as if he were trying to sear that claim into his very bones.
The angel was just pleased to not have to fight for words, sentences, coherency anymore. It was too hard, and Dean must have known how much of a challenge it would be for him when he'd asked for it. He was happy to do it for him, but that didn't mean he technically liked doing it.
And this was better -- he liked Dean's primal force -- liked the way he had to brace himself in order to keep steady and not just end up face first on the mattress. He was breathless and pleased over the way that Dean didn't just assume he couldn't take this and might break. As if to further prove that point, Cas hissed out a noise of very pointed approval. "More." Even an angel could be greedy and wanting.
Dean set himself into a rhythm, using one hand at the small of Cas’ back to steady himself. The other came down sharply against his boyfriend’s rear in a smack that sounded worse than it felt. “Get up on your hands and knees.”
The sound of the smack startled Cas almost more than the impact of it -- although both combined made him gasp loudly in a way he was sure he never had before. That could happen again, and he wouldn't mind it for even a second.
He scrambled up more as instructed until he was properly kneeled. "God," he ground out, and didn't quite realize how wrong that should have been.
Up higher, Dean could reach around and jerk him swiftly, could more easily snap his hips against the other man’s. “You like that, beautiful? You want more? Wanna make a mess for me?”
Were these questions rhetorical? Castiel could never tell, and by now it was hard to pay attention to conversation. But for Dean he tried. He had the feeling that he'll always try for Dean - anything he asked.
"God," he repeated, bucking his hips for more, in order to thrust into Dean's grip. "Yes."
Dean bent over him again, snared that perfect earlobe between his teeth and growled, “do it.”
It wasn't hard to follow that command -- Cas had been so ridiculously close to the edge even before Dean had touched him that it was really a wonder he'd lasted as long as he had. He nearly sobbed in dizzy relief when he did come, fingers gripping the sheets and head tilted back against Dean's.
It was a massive effort to keep from letting go himself, but Dean grit his teeth and managed. Carefully, so fucking carefully, he pulled out of Cas and rolled the condom off, tossing it aside. “Roll over,” he said, easing back to give Cas the room to do it.
So he did, turning over -- very aware of the fact that he was being made to lay in his own mess -- for the moment, he didn't care. He was riding high on emotion and feeling and everything else and curious about what Dean had planned.
Dean stroked himself casually, holding on to Castiel’s gaze with his own. “Tell me where you want me to come.” There wasn’t much argument brokered there. Dean was going to come on or in Cas, and he was being so very generous in allowing a choice here.
Castiel had the grace to look somewhere between surprised and bemused by that and the fact that even though he was being given an option, it was still Dean telling him to make a choice. He kept that eye contact even as he sat up -- making his choice obvious when he scooted forward just enough to offer up his mouth, tongue darting out to lick at Dean's cock.
Sometimes, he was a very fast learner.
“God, you’re beautiful,” Dean groaned. He kept those blue eyes glued to his own, one hand cupping the back of his head while the other went to stroke himself furiously until he tensed and came. His eyes fell shut for that. There was way too much stimuli for him to manage to keep them open.
Cas couldn't have managed keeping his eyes open for that last bit either -- in fact he hadn't. This was a new experience completely and it was actually harder to swallow it all down than he'd been expecting - that the angel managed not to choke, cough or whatever else was in-between was commendable, as far as he was concerned.
And then, because he was feeling so smug about a job well done, he offered Dean a few more careful laps of his tongue in order to make sure there was no mess at all. Also because he was finding he rather enjoyed this.
When Dean refound his ability to move, he was kissing Cas and pushing him back into the mattress like they had all the time in the world and nothing would please him more than to spend it like this.
Although he was sweaty and a bit sticky and really just a mess in general, Cas couldn't disagree with the implied sentiment. His kisses were sweet -- less insistent than before, but not without their own wants. Fingers traced against the outlines of Dean's ribs and he sighed happily into Dean's mouth.
It wasn’t often that Dean let himself curl against someone else instead of him pulling them and making it the other way around. He stretched out next to Cas, head on his chest and thumb stroking his waist while he closed his eyes.
“Do you want to know why I can’t see what you see in me?” his voice was soft, almost scared.
That Dean nearly sounded frightened left Cas' stomach a little sick with worry. But he said nothing of it, only pulled Dean closer, petted his hands through that too-soft hair near the back of his neck.
"Tell me."
Dean closed his eyes, allowed himself to relax into the soft touches of Cas’ fingers in his hair.
Relaxing was, perhaps, an overstatement, but just as he told his angel what he’d done in hell in his dreams, he managed to find enough strength to fight through the hurt and the Not Talking About It Ever to tell Castiel all of the things Sammy didn’t know about their childhood. The drunken nights their father came home angry at the world for existing. The hidden bruises. The fractured ribs hidden even deeper. Learning how to not show pain even though you knew that getting thrown into a radiator wasn’t normal for other kids, or was stitching yourself up afterward.
After all, Dad wouldn’t remember in the morning and as long as he could serve as his brother’s shield...he could take all that hurt and be okay. It wasn’t every day, right? Hell, it wasn’t like their father was home enough for it to be every day. Dean had gotten pretty good at stealing too. Anything that would get him and Sammy what they needed on the days their dad was gone for too long. Anything to keep Sam safe on the days their dad stayed for too long. There were good moments, of course. Ones where John was sober and not a complete piece of shit, enough to make things cyclical and breaking out almost impossible.
“I told him...before I left I told him that if he ever touched a hair on Sam’s head, I’d find him and I’d kill him,” Dean said, voice almost as sandpaper rough as Cas’. “But that still doesn’t excuse the fact that I left him there knowing that...anything could happen.”
Positive that he'd never quite felt such of a mix of emotions so intensely in his life, James -- because that's what he felt like right now, certainly not any kind of angel -- actually had to stop himself from speaking for a long moment. He would have said something he regretted, he was sure. He moved, so that his chin was resting on the top of Dean's head, so that his arms were curled possessively around the other man. Mine. Mine. Mine. And if anyone hurts you or your sense of worth again, they'll answer to only me.
His heart hurt, and somehow this story felt worse than Hell. It seemed Dean was an expert in the art of being self sacrificing and thinking it still wasn't enough. "You aren't undeserving of love or praise because your father is a terrible man," he said after the silence had started to hurt his ears, and was getting to be too much. It was only a start.
Didn’t Cas see? Dean knew what their father was capable of and he still walked out on his brother. Sure, it seemed like John had taken the threat to heart and not started in on Sammy, but that didn’t mean it was a forgivable offense even if it was done in the name of saving himself. He should’ve just packed up, figured out a way to get guardianship of his brother and left.
“How do you expect me to know what to do with a hand up when it was always, always followed by a smack down?” Dean answered softly, eyes shut tight to keep his emotions in check. He couldn’t cry. He had to be strong for Cas. It didn’t matter that Cas was trying to allow him to be weak. Weakness got you hurt, got too many questions asked. And really, knowing all that, was it any wonder that he’d not only made it in the Marines, but made it far?
All this emotion was overwhelming and he was unsure what to do with it all. How was it even possible to be so sad and angry at the same time? And layer on top of that a sense of affection and possessiveness? There was more, but he wasn't even sure he could define it all, not in words or thoughts.
"I don't expect that," he said, because it was the truth. He couldn't expect Dean to do anything he couldn't, either. "But you could learn?" He stared at the far wall for a long time, and then pressed his nose into Dean's hair. It tickled. "I wouldn't hurt you, Dean."
“That’s not what I’m worried about.” Really, between the two of them, Dean was the one who’d been trained in combat, who knew how bodies worked and the quickest means of making them not work.
He shifted out of Cas’ embrace and rolled to his back to stare at the ceiling. “If I could go so far as to torture souls in hell in one life, what’s stopping me from turning into him in this one?” In the end, no one, not his father or any officer, not even heaven and hell could punish Dean the way he could punish himself.
Turning onto his side, he watched Dean while Dean watched the ceiling. Cas traced shapes against Dean's arm with his finger -- circles and swirls all absently forgotten the second they were completed.
"Maybe the fact that you worry about it."
Dean looked over at him. He lifted his arm and pulled Cas against him. It felt wrong to try for sleep without touching him some way like he was some giant stuffed animal that had been worn in all the right places.
“Can I have my nap now?” he whispered. A non-answer was better than more brooding, right?
There had been enough words from Cas for a while, and so he only nodded, pressing close and tucking his chin onto Dean’s shoulder. He doubted this was the last time this topic would come up, knew there was more time for it later. Dean could sleep, Cas would just lay with him until he wanted to get up.