[Castiel] Thursday's child has far to go. (childofthursday) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2013-08-13 20:20:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, castiel, dean winchester |
Who: Dean and Castiel Winchester
What: Unapologetic amounts of sex with a d/s angle. Really, just sex. And tacos. But not at the same time, not exactly.
When: 8/13
Where: Their house
Rating: NC-really high
Status: Complete
Dean was, frankly, amazed that he still had a job, but the old man didn’t seem to care too much. He thought it was important that Dean take care of himself and was genuinely proud of him for taking steps in a positive direction. That was about what the people who were related to him should be saying, but Dean and Sam were still in the awkward getting to know each other again phase and like hell was he telling John anything.
So, when Dean got home from work to find Castiel cooking them both dinner, he couldn’t help but smile through the smudges of grease still on his face. They were both so damn happy it was disgusting. It made his stomach turn just a little in apprehension to think about the conversation that Dean needed to have with him soon that...well might not have the best of endings.
"You're home," Castiel noted, in his own personally awkward way of greeting, but offered a smile so to not make it just an observation and make it more a welcoming sort of phrase.
Nothing fancy was being made for dinner -- Cas wasn't a bad cook but he'd never gotten very creative about it considering it'd always been just him, and he had never really cared before. So tacos it was, but a healthier variety made with ground turkey, because Cas was always switching out something for the healthier version. He did allow a half gallon of normal milk to sit next to his soy in the fridge, though.
"I see you are still under employ, as well." Castiel had not doubted that he would be.
“Yeah,” Dean said, setting his bags down and going to wash his hands (again, because Cas wouldn’t be satisfied that he’d tried unless he saw Dean wash them and the grease not come off,) while Cas cooked. “You know you’re amazing to come home to right?” And absolutely the best ever. Mrs Brady had nothing on Castiel.
Cas did, in fact, watch Dean wash his hands, and mused over what kind of cleaning agent he could buy that might remove those stains from Dean's fingers without aid of a steel brush.
"I simply think it's fair to make dinner since I'm the one to get off work earlier," he pointed out before sticking a lid on the meat and turning the heat off. But he did like the compliments, even if he never did seem to take them properly. He stuck his chin on Dean's shoulder and hugged him from behind, clearly accepting of the fact that his husband was made up of whatever kind of oils and grease that made cars… do whatever cars did.
Dean turned and kissed Castiel’s temple while he got the sink turned off. “Whatever. You’re perfect.” Once his hands were dry, he wrapped his arms around Cas’ waist and leaned back against the counter to look at him properly.
“Can we talk?” he asked nervously, “nothing bad’s going on just...I think maybe talking might do us some good...about a thing.” Vague and worrisome much, Dean? Christ.
Cas blinked back at him and tilted his head to the side in that confused but also possibly a puppy sort of look. "Of course," he said, letting his fingers settle on top of Dean's at his waist. Sometimes Cas just wasn't sure why Dean didn't say what was on his mind without preamble, but supposed not everyone could lack as much subtly as he did himself.
Dean nodded and reached up to stroke his fingers through Cas’ hair. “It’s uh...about what happened before I was kind of the shittiest ever to you.” He cleared his throat and looked down at Cas’ chest, feeling all kinds of ashamed and sheepish particularly with what he knew about what went on in Hell.
“The things I’d like to do to you but...don’t know if I can because I don’t want to be my father and I don’t want to be the guy I was in Hell even though...those things aren’t this.” The dark brown smudges of grease only made his blush look all the darker.
Cas leaned into the touch without really thinking about it at all, eyelids fluttering closed for the shortest of moments. It actually took him a second-- thinking back to what happened before Dean had gone all…shittiest ever (his words, not Cas'). Oh. Yes. He'd been excited before Dean had made him forget all about it in a sudden trade of roles. A clearly needed one, but still.
He blinked his eyes back open to focus on Dean. He wasn't sure if he was meant to say something here, or if Dean had more to say, and so he remained silent, raising his eyebrows in further prompt.
“But...” Dean said, when Cas didn’t say anything, “I’d like to...to do something like what I bullied you into doing for me.” And it was clear that Dean still felt awfully about that. “If that’s something you’d like.”
Now probably wasn't the time to point out that Castiel hadn't exactly considered what Dean did bullying. But he thought perhaps he should bring it up later on.
He licked his lower lip, looking thoughtful and then gave a tiny nod. "It's-- I did find some appeal to it," he admitted softly. Possibly an understatement.
“Yeah?” Dean asked, lifting his head, brows tipped inward.
"Yes," Castiel had a habit of being very simple with his words, not saying more than he needed. He frowned, and then decided he probably needed to go on further. "It was -- I liked it. From what there was. But if you're uncomfortable with it…"
“It’s...I’m okay with it, I just don’t want to be doing anything you don’t want.” That was the crux of the issue, right? Hell and his dad were both very much non-consensual. Dean wanted enthusiastic consent from Cas. He wanted Cas begging for more of it, even what pain Dean could hand out.
Oh, so that was exactly what this was about. Cas nodded, offered a small quirk of the lips in a smile and stepped the tiny amount closer to Dean that would leave them pressed together, hips touching and Cas' nose rubbing against Dean's neck. "I do want it," he said, and knew there was not a way he could make it clearer.
Dean tipped his head back, clearly giving Cas permission. “Good,” he murmured. “But maybe you should finish dinner first.”
Cas placed an easy kiss on Dean's adam's apple and then leaned back with a short sniff and another half of a smile. "It's been done. Beyond the part where it gets eaten." His cooking prowess knew no bounds, clearly.
“Then maybe you should serve it,” Dean said low against Cas’ ear. It was very clearly more order than suggestion.
"Oh," said Cas, eyes widening slightly and a flush crossing his cheeks. It occurred to him that he was not terribly interested in eating anymore, but that he should not get in the habit of skipping meals for sex. Plus, if he had to be honest, that wasn't what Dean had asked for anyway. "Yes, Dean."
So he reached past Dean to get into the cabinet and grab plates.
Dean watched him move, arching a brow while he blatantly checked out Cas’ ass when the guy moved away. “Shame about the dick,” he murmured, “wouldn’t mind having you pregnant and barefoot in my kitchen.” It was an awful joke, but Dean couldn’t help himself.
The joke fell rather flatly on Cas though, who only offered Dean a frown as he set about making them each a taco. "Women's equality is very important, Dean."
“Not going to stop me from trying to get your ass knocked up.” And with that, he pushed off the counter and swatted Cas loudly on the rear.
That would be both inexplicable and impossible. But Cas was aware that Dean was aware, and so did not say so. Instead, he let out a little gasp of a noise and licked his lips again. Bad jokes aside, he could get used to that.
Dean smirked. Yeah, they were definitely onto a good start there. “Liked that, did you?” he asked, fitting himself into Cas’ personal space from behind, but not touching him.
"Yes," it came out heated, that one word, and Cas forgot all about the tacos in order to lean back into Dean.
Dean pushed Cas forward and stepped back in a smooth motion. “Finish what I told you to do,” he said firmly.
If anything, that just distracted Cas further. Cas, who was almost always single minded to the point of coming off as strange or slightly off. He swallowed, and was certain it was audible, before straightening himself out and focusing as best he could until the tacos were made.
And then, because he was just clever, he carried both plates out to the table without asking, or handing Dean one. "Soft drink, water or milk?"
“Milk,” Dean said, arms crossed as he watched Cas critically from his intense lean against the counter.
Cas wasn't so put off about being watched intently (he did it to others, Dean in particular, almost constantly), but more over the fact that he actually had to sit through a meal when he was already aroused to a point that was probably inappropriate. He glanced at Dean in a way that was close to plaintive before pouring out a glass of (real) milk, and then one of soy for himself. He glanced at the table and then back to Dean.
Dean looked impossibly smug. “Good boy,” he said, walking over to the table and taking a seat, gesturing for Cas to do so himself. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”
"Yes, Dean," Cas murmured, setting down their drinks on the table and taking a seat himself. He remembered himself well enough to tuck his chair closer to the table by hooking his foot around one of the legs of it and pulling it forward -- hands very clearly on the table.
Smug suited Dean more than it had any right doing.
Dean intentionally ate things as slowly as possible and without paying any obvious attention to Cas whatsoever. He knew every move Cas made, of course. He’d learned how to watch without watching long before the dreams or Castiel were part of his life. Taking his time? Oh, Dean was betting on it driving Cas halfway to mad.
Dean was not wrong there. Cas had wolfed his own food down in record time, not caring for a second about taste. He realized very quickly that maybe he should have taken his time though, since Dean was clearly being slow on purpose. And now he had absolutely nothing to do with his hands and nothing with which to distract himself.
He just stared at Dean, bright blue eyes belying his impatience, and fingers curled around the glass of soy milk he had absolutely no intention of drinking. His husband was taking so long, Cas was actually squirming in his seat.
Dean finished his food, steadfastly ignoring Cas’ silent suffering. He wiped his face with a napkin, set it back on the table and pushed away from it. “I need a shower,” he said as he walked past. “Are you coming?”
Cas' eyes darted back down to their dirty dishes, and then toward the kitchen, as if it were very clear that even in moments of arousal there should be time for the proper order of things. Or at least putting the dishes in the sink.
He licked his lips slowly and then glanced at Dean who was nearly out of the room at this point, steeled himself, and then stood to follow his husband from the room. Showers were good, he told himself. Showers involved naked and that was the point he wanted to get to, the dishes could wait until they were done with whatever this was.
Dean expected Cas to come immediately, and he couldn’t help but be quietly proud of his husband for actually breaking away from his compulsions enough to manage it. He got up to their en suite and looked over at the near angel.
“Undress me, Castiel.”
Mind still half in the kitchen, Cas turned curious eyes on Dean. The use of his real name was enough to bring him fully back to reality, and he blinked before offering another small smile. "Yes, Dean."
He stepped closer, fingers brushing against Dean's waist as he moved to pull up at the hems of his shirt. This part he knew he'd like. There was little better in the world than Dean naked.
Dean was pleased that he saw no sign of Cas having anything close to a freakout about how sweaty Dean’s clothes were (though not filthy in any other way, coveralls were good for something,) and he was prepared to reward him...sort of.
“Quickly, angel.”
Cas did know what Dean did for a living, and was under no delusion that it was clean or easy work. Anyway, he'd probably end up doing laundry before the night was through anyway. It was a thing that he did.
He moved faster (definitely noting what he thought might be irony, with being rushed while Dean had taken more than his goodly time at dinner), pulling Dean's shirt off and throwing it into the hamper before turning his fingers to undo his belt in record time before moving on to the button and zipper and then wriggling his jeans down.
Cas was really just fortunate that Dean had taken his socks off when he’d taken off his shoes and come in the house in the first place. Before Cas could get his boxers off, however, or even really stop them, Dean sank his fingers into Castiel’s hair and pulled him to standing.
“That’s enough. Go take your own clothes off. You have twenty seconds to be naked and with the shower started. I’ll be counting.”
Cas was absolutely certain he'd never moved more quickly in his life. He cursed inwardly at the fact that he always wore button down shirts and multitasked on that with one hand, undoing his belt with the other. Uncoordinated, but mostly effective. He stared at Dean the entire time, but was rather counting the seconds, himself.
Given the fact that he wasn't certain they started counting at the same time, Cas was still pretty certain he'd managed in his given time, and was twisting at the knobs of the shower on the twenty-first second. His clothes were, woefully, not in the hamper and it was more distracting than he cared to say.
His erection was really winning out against compulsion today, and that was slightly distracting, too.
“Three seconds slow,” Dean said, looking at Cas, muscle in his jaw jumping as though he were actually upset with the man. He caught Castiel by the jaw roughly and looked darkly into his eyes. “Be better next time. Do you understand?”
Meeting Dean's gaze, Cas gave a whimper of a noise. "Yes, Dean," he responded after a beat, leaning further into the touch and moving his hands to settle against Dean's hips. "I'll be better." But really, all he wanted to do was kiss his husband until he was out of breath.
Dean’s hand found Cas’ throat and he pushed him back. “Did I say to touch me?”
"You didn't say not to," Cas pointed out in a near whisper because, well, he was Cas and sometimes he was entirely too literal. He was a little confused at how he could possibly be ashamed and aroused at the same time, but he seemed to be managing it fairly well without understanding it. The hand on his neck wasn't helping.
He did, however, clasp his hands firmly together in front of him to avoid any more accidents. "I'm sorry," he said as it occurred to him that behaving better would only benefit. He would watch Dean better, and learn the cues properly until they didn't even need to be verbalized.
Dean watched him for a long, hard moment and then let him go. He put the lid down on the toilet and walked back to the shower. “Sit there. Hands on your thighs. Don’t move them.” With that, he got in the shower to tend to himself. Shame, he was looking forward to Cas washing him. Still, there was only one way for Cas to learn how to do this, right? Mistakes had consequences.
Cas silently squirmed on his assigned seat, palms flat on his thighs and his feet on the floor, curled toward each other in a way that was nearly boyish. His eyes were focused hard on the shower, expression slightly guilty and sad about being left out.
Dean took his time in the shower, and when he’d finally washed his hair (twice. It was lather, rinse, repeat after all,) and decided he was clean enough, he stepped out. “Dry me off, Castiel.” He had been a good boy over there after all. He could be allowed the touch he so desperately wanted.
Castiel was up in a flash, grabbing an overly fluffy towel off the bar and stepping close to Dean with an eagerness that probably went above and beyond. Not minding the puddle on the floor for a second, he settled an edge of the towel over Dean's shoulders and with the other corner of it, he lovingly dried his husband's hair and face.
That was much better, and Dean realized rather quickly that he liked being tended to. It was a completely foreign concept, but this? Shit, he could get used to this. He’d even let Castiel manipulate his limbs to get him dry everywhere.
Which was exactly what Cas did -- he worked slowly, diligently, running fingers over each dry part of Dean's skin before moving on to the next. When he got below waist level, Cas knelt, paying special attention to each bit of skin -- behind the towel his hands were gentle and attentive to Dean's cock, but his head was tilted upward, a hope for eye contact.
Dean did indeed watch Cas, and rewarded him by stroking his fingers gently through his hair. God, he was beautiful. Fucking angel, right? “You’ve been so hard for so long, haven’t you, beautiful? Would you like to do something about that?”
Leaning into the touch, Cas let his eyes flutter shut at the idea of some release and he made a noise that was embarrassingly needy and not a real word at all. Even now, he was a little perplexed by it, and so cleared his throat a little, glancing back up at Dean. "Yes. Yes, Dean." His erection clearly agreed with him, as if it hadn't already been making itself obvious since before dinner.
Dean nodded and motioned for Cas to stand. “Go get on the bed and show me then.” Before all that, though, he paused, catching Castiel’s arm in his grip and pulled him into a kiss because he wished for it and no other reason. “If you’re pleasing to me, I might let you suck me off.”
Practically panting into that kiss, Cas didn't think it lasted nearly long enough - he wanted more so desperately it was overwhelming - but sitting on that toilet seat for the length of Dean's shower had been a learning experience and so he only nodded, licking tingling lips before moving toward the bedroom and crawling on top of the bed.
He'd never had to put on a show before, never had to make himself pleasing like this, and he was glad blushing was right out right now, or else he might have. He settled himself in the middle of it, but sat oddly on his heels so that it was more like kneeling, really. His eyes were on Dean, questioning. Castiel knew that he needed to focus a little harder because at this point he wasn't sure he'd last long enough to even make aesthetics an issue, but he desperately wanted to. Because the end result was Dean, and Dean was the center of his everything and all he really wanted to do was be allowed to touch him and make him happy.
Dean watched him, towel snug around his waist hiding his erection absolutely not at all. God, that desperation was beautiful on Cas. He licked his lips and let him continue for absolutely too long. “Stop,” he finally said possibly not long before Cas was about ready to burst. “Open yourself for me.”
Whimpering in a way that was embarrassingly needed, Castiel stopped, pulling his hand away from himself and feeling oddly proud for even being able to do it. He'd been so ridiculously close. Only the thought of Dean actually touching him was enough to get him to stop.
He panted out a little breath and resisted the urge to lick his lips again. He felt shaky, almost and it was weird but he couldn't concentrate quite enough for proper introspection. "How --" he paused, hating to have to speak and knowing the technically Dean wouldn't need his words, but not wanting to disappoint. "would you like me?"
Dean considered him for a torturously long moment. “Leaning against the bathroom counter facing the mirror.”
Castiel's gaze in return was intense until he actually found that he couldn't look anymore (rare, for him), and he gingerly removed himself from the bed. It was slow going, nearly painful but he was clever enough to grab lube (from the drawer. yes.) before making his way to the bathroom, and glancing at Dean again on his way there.
This was ridiculous.
And he really, really liked it.
“The faster you get ready, the sooner I fuck you,” Dean said, swatting Castiel’s ass as he walked by. He turned, smirking, to watch Cas over his shoulder in the reflection of the mirror. “Come on, beautiful boy. Can’t be that difficult, can it? You do want it, don’t you?”
"Dean," Cas said, and his tone was close to brittle as if talking alone might make him fall apart. "I do want it. Please." The swatting didn't help much with that and he had to remember to breathe as he undid the cap to the lube and applied a more than generous amount to his fingers. It was not an easy thing to prepare himself -- his sense of urgency was overwhelming and he was torn between doing a rush job and enjoying the cool sensation of his own fingers, even as he looked at Dean's reflection in the mirror.
“Say please again,” Dean said, watching those fingers move. “Beg me.” His gaze flicked up again to Cas’ in the mirror while he slowly took the towel off from around his waist and tossed it on the floor to join the rest of their clothes.
That wasn't hard to do, not at all. Where once Cas might have aimed for proper behavior, for more dignified words, he couldn't even fathom doing it now -- the idea of Dean being displeased enough to change his mind and have Cas just sit somewhere ignored again was too much to handle.
"Please," he said again, heated, urgent and keeping that eye contact through the mirror. "Dean. Please fuck me." It'd come down to swearing, and Castiel couldn't even feel bad about it.
Dean took the lube and slicked himself up before he guided Cas’ hand away from his ass and placed it where he wanted it on the counter. “Good boy,” he said, bending over him to kiss his shoulder. “Such a good boy for me.” He stroked dry fingers far too lightly up Castiel’s back and knotted them into his hair.
“You’re going to look at yourself the whole time. You look away and you stop getting fucked. Do you understand?”
Head tilting back with the grip in his hair, Cas noted that it was good in all sorts of ways -- particularly in that it angled his face enough where he couldn't not be looking at himself in the mirror without intentionally looking away. Were his eyes always that blue? Was his face always that flushed? He licked lips and stared, hardly even recognizing himself like this.
"Yes. Yes, Dean. I understand." He just wanted more of those compliments, he just wanted Dean to get on with it because waiting seemed impossible. He settled his hands flat against the cool marble counter and held back a noise that would most certainly have been a whine.
“Good,” Dean said, but kept hold of Cas’ hair while he pressed ever so slowly into Castiel. That was the end of slow and easy, though, because the first thrusts he gave his husband were hard, relentlessly claiming him. Castiel was his, and like hell he was going to ever let the man forget it.
Like he would have forgotten, anyway. Castiel hadn't forgotten about Dean's claim since the moment he'd been kissed in his car the day they'd met. Even when he'd been denying it, it'd been pretty obvious.
Fingers curling up into fists, Cas dug his nails into his palms, a biting reminder to focus as best he could, to just look at himself. It was really difficult, actually, since his first instinct was to close his eyes completely with the force of Dean's thrusts. His mouth wouldn't seem to close, and his lips were too red and nearly cracked. "God," he said, and they probably both knew he was really just talking about Dean.
Frankly, Dean wasn’t going to last very long either, watching Cas watch himself, how tight and obedient he was being... It didn’t take more than a few minutes before he found himself close. His slick hand slid from Castiel’s hip to grip his cock. “Come.” A single command that brokered no argument, permission and demand all in one.
Cas definitely sobbed over that one, and nearly about cried at how pleased he was at being given permission to do so. Not needing to be told twice, the angel came hard -- vision spotty in a way that he might have once considered a cliche, Dean's name on his lips, reverent and thankful. And as best he could, he watched himself do it. It was a shockingly attractive thing to watch.
Cas’ climax was more than enough to bring Dean off, and because he was calling the shots here, he gave himself permission to do so deep in Cas and not all over his back like he’d planned originally.
When they were both headed towards calming down, he released his husband’s hair and pressed a gentle kiss to his temple. “Thank you.”
Cas' eyes closed at that contact, and he smiled in a way that said he was a little too worn out to find all the proper words he really wanted to say. "Thank you," he repeated, simply because it seemed fitting.
He needed a shower now. And there were clothes on the floor and dishes to do (no, he had not forgotten). But all he wanted to do this second was take any more gentle kisses and touches Dean had to offer; he needed them.
Ever so carefully, Dean pulled out and guided Cas to turn around so he could kiss those lips properly. “See what I see now?” he asked, fingers still stroking over Cas’ body to make sure he was okay, that he wasn’t hurt at all.
Those kisses were taken eagerly, enthusiastically but Cas made them nearly gentle, as if just making sure it was a thing he could still have. He wasn't hurt, although he knew he'd probably ache a bit in the morning -- but in a way that would remind him of what they did. And that was alright.
"Yes," he murmured, pressing closer, "that was…" But he wasn't sure how to describe it.
“Yeah?” Dean asked, not wanting to step too far from Cas, but there were a few things he needed to do first. He picked up their clothes and tossed them in the hamper and then sat on the edge of the tub to draw his husband a bath. “Will you let me wash you?”
Nodding, Cas felt a wave of relief going through him. He'd liked what they'd just done -- a lot, enough for the thought of it to make his stomach go all weird and fluttery -- but this was good too. A gentle reassurance that Dean wanted nothing more than the best for him despite (and possibly even in addition to) his previous firmness.
"Yes," he said, pleased and grateful for more than just the clothing off of the floor. "Please."