[Castiel] Thursday's child has far to go. (childofthursday) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2013-10-08 00:10:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, castiel, dean winchester |
Who: Dean + Castiel Winchester
What: As per his promise the night before, Dean returns the favor
When: Sunday Night 10/6
Where: Their place
Rating: High for sexual interactions between two consenting parties.
Status: Complete
Dean was ridiculously proud of Castiel. He’d thought the night before that maybe the leaving of the lube on the nightstand was just his angelic husband being too tired to think about putting it away. But then it stayed there. All day. They’d even gone in and out of the bedroom for things occasionally and the lube just stayed there. Right where it belonged. Christ, they were married. It wasn’t like anyone was going to expect them not to fuck. Right? Right.
For dinner, Dean made soup. It was comfort food, all warm and spiced and there’d be enough leftovers that Cas could take it to work the next day and think about Dean at lunch. Or at least know that Dean loved him while he ate. Briefly, Dean’d considered just starting to make Castiel’s lunch, but he wasn’t sure if the other man was ready yet to really vary his schedule and be okay with the idea of every work lunch being something different. Soup this once, Dean thought Cas could handle, but until he could leave a dish in the sink overnight and not get up at 2 am to go wash it, Dean wasn’t going to take up cooking duties.
After dinner, Dean went up and put on rather nice clothes. Not his full suit, but a designer pair of jeans (courtesy of Lucifer who insisted that Dean own at least two pair that didn’t have some kind of work-related stain on them,) and a button down. The jeans hugged his ass almost obscenely well. He got downstairs and put on his shoes. “Come on Cas,” he said, “We’re going dancing in New York. Laid out some clothes for you on the bed.” Blues. Always blues for Castiel. He just looked good in them, and the thin stripes in the shirt would make his husband’s shoulders look a little broader than they were.
Cas, balled up on the couch with his nose in a book, looked up at Dean and gave him a very slow, very deliberate once over. Perhaps, he thought, he should send some sort of thank you note to Lucifer, because he very much liked those jeans.
"You picked out my clothes," he said, raising his eyebrows. "And we're going dancing?" Although his expression remained curiously blank, there was a slight smile that creased and wrinkled the skin around his eyes. Uncurling, he set the book down on the coffee table (it was, of course, acceptable to keep one book there, so long as it was currently being read) and stood.
Dean looked so good, Castiel had to stop himself from just kissing the other man breathless, instead brushing by him (but purposefully touching) to go upstairs and change. "Have you picked a place in particular?" It seemed a better question than bringing up the fact that he'd never gone dancing before.
“It’s a special place in hell. Very hip. Very exclusive,” Dean said dryly while he tied his shoes. “We’re breaking into an Upper East Side event. Fancy, but casual fancy. Time for you to learn the fine art of being a Winchester.” Dean paused and smirked, “and for me to tease you relentlessly in public.”
"I've heard some things about New York, but I doubt it's comparable to hell." Cas frowned, leaning on the stairway railing before shaking his head and going up the stairs. He'd just let his voice carry in conversation until Dean followed.
"Which is the fine art here? Dancing or being somewhere we don't belong?" Was it possible to break into a club? Or was Dean joking, and Castiel just not noticing it? Hard to say, so he distracted himself with slipping out of his current clothes and into the new ones Dean had pointedly set out on the bed. There was something a little warming about Dean having picked out what he'd like to see him in, and Castiel had to consider that against how he normally preferred the control of his own choices in matters like this.
Dean clearly won out, since he was already buttoning the blue striped shirt up.
“Being somewhere we don’t belong, though Winchesters are historically, very good dancers.” Bullshit. Total bullshit. They were just...enthusiastic dancers. “Do you like it?” he asked, nodding to Castiel’s outfit. “Thought...maybe it might help with this whole thing we’re trying where I help you let go a little?”
Glancing down at himself, Cas smoothed his fingers over his shirt and then gave a half a nod, nearly shy. "Yes," he said after a moment of thought -- because he was sure Dean wouldn't mind if he took the time to really consider his answer. "I like it."
He ran his hands through his hair, as if that might somehow make it manageable or even slightly presentable (it wouldn't), and then smiled. "There's an appeal to me knowing you like what I'm wearing." And that did help, it really did.
“Good,” Dean said, smiling. “Come on, gorgeous. Get your shoes on. They’re already three hours ahead of us.” A little swat on Cas’ butt and Dean turned to go downstairs again.
Cas rolled his eyes at that (a trait he was nearly positive he'd picked up from Dean, because he never used to do it), and pulled out a pair of nicer shoes from the closet, and quickly getting them on before following after Dean.
Pocket checks achieved and everything in place, Cas did what he was best at: sticking his hand on Dean's shoulder and letting that be the only warning before they ended up somewhere else completely. The Upper East Side of New York was a little colder than he'd expected, but Castiel didn't really mind the chill. "Which place are we breaking into?"
“You couldn’t wait until I gave you the address?” Dean asked, brows risen. He nodded to a brightly colored building and a line that wrapped around the block. “That one. Now, gorgeous. Do you want to magic us into the men’s room or shall I show to you the patented Winchester charm coupled with a borrowed rich guy’s name.” Hey, if you were gonna not fuck the devil, there had to be some perks.
"It's more like James Bond this way," Castiel said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world to want to look at what they were going to break into before they did it. Like it was meant to be exciting.
He considered the options for a moment, head tilted to the side. "I think I would like to see the charm at work, if only because appearing from thin air in a possibly crowded bathroom might not end as pleasantly as we hope." Plus, you know. Public bathrooms.
“Better than appearing in the middle of the dance floor,” Dean pointed out. “Alright. You make eye contact with no one. No one exists to you other than me. All those other people are beneath you. You got it?”
While Cas didn't necessarily think that other people were beneath him, he thought it was obvious that Dean was the only person he cared to stare at in the first place. The look he offered Dean said exactly that, but he went for redundancy by nodding. "Yes, Dean."
Assuming that being patently charming meant they could skip the line, Cas slipped his fingers through Dean's before they headed toward the door.
Dean didn’t let Cas slip his fingers into his. This wasn’t a hand holding situation. Instead, he put a possessive arm over Castiel’s shoulder and walked over to the man keeping the velvet rope secure.
He was all charm and confidence at the guy’s glistening bald head even in the face of ‘you’re not on the list.’ “Of course I’m not.” He looked around and handed the man a card with a number printed on it. “You should call that and verify, son.” Condescension went right along with the character Dean had invented for himself. The man with the clipboard took the card and dialed, and Dean watched the color drain from his face when that little violinist shit answered the phone from the desk of Lucifer Morningstar.
The rope raised and Dean and Castiel were admitted without further question. Just one phone call and the pair of them had become a rather big deal. “It was either that or give them the card that routed through an FBI phone loop that would never end,” Dean said against Cas’ ear once they were inside.
"Your charisma was nearly impossible to resist," Castiel replied, sounding very solemn and slightly impressed even as he leaned into Dean's touch as best he could. He thought it wisest not to note that it was hard to not get into a club when you were using the name of one of the richest men in the country.
Looking around was nearly a distraction of itself -- Cas had never been to a club of this sort, all trendy bar and half dark atmosphere, and a good deal more people than he might have expected on a Sunday night. Pointedly, he looked at none of them too closely. "Should I get us soft drinks?"
Perhaps the name helped, but without the charm, the name would’ve done nothing at all. Lucifer was really just a finishing touch. “No,” Dean said, drawing Cas close. “You, should come dance with me.” He led Castiel towards a slightly less crowded part of the floor. He kept him close, maneuvered until they were face to face and their lips nearly touching. He put one of Castiel’s hands on his hip as a point of guidance for how he was supposed to be moving in this situation. “Ignore the rest of them,” he reminded, knowing that Cas would feel him speak more than hear him. “This is just you and me and the music in our veins.”
"I can't dance," Cas admitted, but kept his hand at Dean's waist, his eyes on his face even though they were too close for him to really focus on it. But he found he wasn't really nervous or awkward feeling like he imagined he might be, and it was easy enough to just sort of move as Dean directed. It probably wasn't really dancing by most standards, but it was a decent start.
Despite the crowd and volume it was entirely too simple to focus solely on Dean (and by proxy, himself), and so he just relaxed into it, losing the tension in his shoulders and dipping his head down a little.
“There you go,” Dean encouraged, rewarding Castiel with a kiss. “Just like that.” There was no need to worry about proper dancing in a place like this. Shit, it was mostly a fully clothed orgy anyway. His hands skimmed over Castiel’s sides, his hips, gently exploring while they moved.
Another kiss was taken, and it had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Castiel liked even numbers and everything to do with the fact that he loved kissing Dean.
"Okay," he said, and it was probably lost to the music, much like Dean's words were even though Cas knew what was being said anyway. His fingers tightened on Dean's waist, curling into the material of his shirt and the angel was practically distracted over the thought of how nice it would be to just press himself forward until there was no space between them at all.
The song shifted, tempo speeding up the bass thrumming through the crowd. Dean pulled Castiel closer, let their hips grind together while his hands found his husband’s ass roughly. “So good for me,” he said against Cas’ ear. “So proud of you Castiel.”
Cas' breath hitched slightly, and he made a little moan of a noise in response, fingers splaying out widely against Dean's sides and hips tipped forward more even though it went against what the music might have been otherwise dictating. But it didn't matter, because Dean liked it, and Castiel wanted nothing more than to be good for him.
"Dean," he breathed out, stubbled cheek pressing up against his husband's neck.
“Take us home,” Dean murmured, knowing he wouldn’t have to say any more than that to get Castiel to listen.
And then they were gone, and Castiel couldn't have cared less about their lack of discretion or if anyone else on that dance floor would have thought to miss them at all.
The angel clearly knew what was up because instead of their usual arrival place of living room, they were in the bedroom -- hands still all over each other, and Cas' hips half moving to music that just wasn't anymore.
“Take off your clothes,” Dean said breathily as he pulled away. “No, wait. Nevermind. I wanna do this myself.” So he did, undressing the other man slowly, forcing the slight tremor out of his hands while he worked the buttons. He promised Cas he would learn every inch of him and he meant it.
Cas wasn't without his own tremble, although it was more subtle, easier to hide when he was allowed little movements -- helping shrug out of his shirt or bend his hands enough to get the cuffs over his wrists. Mostly though, he just kept his breath sucked in, like it might just disturb everything if he did it too loudly, like it might distract him from paying attention to what was going on.
The shirt came off and was tossed in the general direction of close enough to the hamper. Dean knelt to take care of shoes and socks and rose up on his knees for jeans and underwear, all tossed the same way as the shirt. “Go lie on your stomach,” he said, pressing a light kiss to Cas’ ridiculous hipbone.
He stood up and peeled out of his own clothes as steadily as he could manage.
Cas let his breath out, licked his lower lip and moved toward the bed -- ignoring the clothes on the floor, and feeling a strange hint of pride when his gaze drifted toward the bottle of lube on the nightstand.
He settled himself on the bed, chest resting on his forearms and eyes closed to he could focus more on listening while Dean undressed, liking to imagine jeans slipping off with the shuffle and brushing noises of the material.
When Dean came to bed, he was straddling Castiel’s hips, touching him nowhere but with the ghosting of his lips and tongue along the other man’s back. Moving ever so slowly lower, Dean had absolutely no intention of leaving any part of Castiel untouched. The small of his back, the curves of his thighs and calves, fingers traced over his feet while his lips kissed the ball of his ankle before he moved to work his way just as slowly back the other side.
"Oh," Castiel managed to mumble, the word nearly lost in the curve of his elbow even as his toes curled. It was hard not to wriggle, not to move and press himself up further into each touch and then just whine for more. It was hard not to actually laugh when Dean's touch was too light, too ticklish on the inner curve of his knee, although he could not stop the flush of faint embarrassment he got from his own reaction.
“Oh?” Dean asked, teeth grazing over the curve of Castiel’s ass on his way to settling over those hips again so he could run his fingers along the backs of those arms and press kisses to his neck.
"Yes," Castiel replied, but it was mostly just sighed out, not a real answer because he didn't really have one -- sometimes he just said things, no real reason beyond a vague verbalized appreciation. He tilted his head further forward, offering a longer space of his neck. "Please."
“Roll over,” Dean said, shifting up and away enough so that Cas could.
Rolling over was a relief. Castiel hadn't realized just how much he was affected by all this until he was wriggling up and around, hissing out a low sound when his erection rubbed against the blankets. Automatically his hands went for Dean's waist when he was on his back.
Dean’s hands moved to put Cas’ back on the mattress. “I wasn’t allowed to touch you last night,” he pointed out gently. But he did compromise a little by starting with Castiel’s left hand, kissing and nibbling (and, okay sucking on occasionally,) each finger before he moved up his arm.
The sounds coming out of Castiel were remarkably close to being pathetic, but he couldn't seem to stop them and it was just a little bit better than actually begging (although he was sure he would probably get there). His free hand twisted into the blankets, and he was completely unable to stop himself from watching Dean's mouth on his skin. His husband really was beautiful.
Just to torture Cas a bit more, Dean spent a moment or three longer sucking on that index finger before he relented and his lips found the inside of Castiel’s wrist. Patiently, he moved up that arm and across Cas’ shoulder, sucking a dark mark in a place where it could actually be hidden for once. Cas’ chest, though...god, next to the man’s eyes, that had to be one of Dean’s favourite parts of him. Did he know how gorgeous he was? Shit, how could he miss that? Cas had to be the most perfectly sculpted human being since...shit since the friggen ninja turtle did the marble guy and that marble guy didn’t even have a dick.
Cas' hand hovered over Dean's side for a moment before he wisely settled it onto the bed again, thumb brushing against the wet of his index finger as if attempting relish it for longer. He couldn't help but arch his back once Dean's attentions turned toward his chest. Eyes closing, he thought about how breathing was a recommended method for things like being alive and it wasn't as much of a help as it should have been. "Dean," he said, and his tone was beyond wrecked. He wanted -- something. More.
“Hm?” Dean asked as he finally moved away from the freckle just above Cas’ nipple and slowly down, taking care to make sure his abdomen brushed Cas’ cock. He found a spot near Castiel’s belly button that could use a matching mark to the one up on his shoulder and sucked hard just there.
"Please," Castiel somehow both tensed and writhed against the brush against his cock and Dean's mouth on his stomach. "Anything." Really, anything. He'd take anything Dean gave to him so long as it was more.
Anything. Fair enough. Dean ran his tongue up the underside of Cas’ cock, taking him in easily, but slowly. Oh so slowly. He needed Cas to be begging more than he was, to be brought down into senseless declarations of love so that Dean could hope just a little that his husband knew he loved him.
"Oh," Cas said it like it was drawn out of him, just a noise put into a short word and any discovery or understanding that usually came with it was left behind. It was like he'd gotten more and less all at the same time with how slowly Dean was moving and Cas was so damn hard he was sure he was going to faint due to a lack of blood flow everywhere else in his body.
He lifted his hands again, and held them awkwardly in the air near Dean's head, but did not touch. He was good, after all, and wanted to stay that way. But he also really wanted to touch. He reconciled by tilting his hips upward minutely.
Dean reached up to draw the nearest hand down into his hair, quietly giving permission for the other to go there as well or wherever Cas wanted to put it. It was an effort to keep things slow when Dean wanted to please Cas as badly as Cas wanted more of this.
"Thank you," he said, sounding breathless and unashamed that he felt the need to thank his husband -- being allowed to touch, especially lately, was a gift that he wouldn't take lightly. Exuding happiness, Castiel twisted all of his fingers into Dean's hair -- not really a grip so much as firmly pressing and rubbing against his scalp.
"That feels really good. Like that." He might have wanted more, but it didn't mean he wasn't appreciative of what he was currently getting either.
Dean drew away and looked up at Castiel. “Don’t think you’ve ever been so talkative,” he teased. He turned his attention over to the bottle on the nightstand. “Pass the lube?” Hey, if the stuff was going to get left out, it should be used before Cas had a freak out about it, right?
Cas let out a disapproving little huff both at being teased and because Dean stopped, but squirmed up enough to grab for the requested bottle without any real complaint. Now that Dean had pointed it out, he was a little self conscious about how much he had to say.
“Relax, gorgeous,” Dean said, nipping at the jut of his hip while he took the lube. “You know how much I love to hear you talk. I was proud of you for doing it without prompting.” He slicked his fingers, teasing a little against his husband’s entrance. “So damn proud.”
"Yeah?" Cas practically hummed his appreciation at that, and maybe he was fishing for compliments, but he did very much like it when Dean said he was proud - there was just something in his voice that made Cas' stomach do crazy excited things.
He squirmed slightly, rubbing against Dean's hand - further prompting.
“Say please,” Dean murmured, pad of his finger pressing just so where Cas wanted it, but not in just yet. “You want it, don’t you?”
"Yes," Cas tipped his head back against the pillows, fingers twisting up in the sheets again just because he wasn't sure what else to do with them. "Yes, please." Of course he wanted it.
“Good boy, Castiel,” Dean said smugly and pressed that finger into him finally. While he worked at prepping him, Dean stroked him ever so slowly, a gradual build up to the moment when he’d take Cas back into his mouth right around the time he made it to the second finger.
Dean might have thought it a gradual build up, but Castiel was more overwhelmed than all that. He squirmed minutely, tilting his hips into and against Dean's hands and pressed a palm over his closed eyes. "Please," he said again, and wasn't opposed to repeating it until it no longer sounded like a real word, but instead just letters strung together in begging.
Three fingers would have to be enough. Cas was losing way too much sense way too quickly. In some ways, that was great, but Dean wanted this to last longer than a couple thrusts for his husband. He pulled away and slicked himself up. “Talk to me, Cas,” he said, positioning the other man’s legs exactly where he wanted them. The angel on his back wasn’t getting anything at all until he went back to making whole words with that gorgeous, raspy voice of his.
He had been talking, hadn't he? Cas lost the letters on his lips and took a deep, slow breath (a little sad at those fingers leaving) before licking his lips and tilting his head back up to stare at Dean with eyes that were more dark than blue.
"Yes," he said, but wasn't sure why, because he hadn't really been asked anything. "Dean."
“Something other than my name, gorgeous,” Dean said, but pressed forward anyway, lower lip catching between his teeth while he did. “Fuck, you feel so good.”
A conversation? Dean wanted one of those right now? It was enough to make Castiel give a frustrated little moan -- that turned into something much more pleasant when Dean actually moved into him. "That's -- " his mind sort of blanked out for a second, and he forgot what words he'd been trying to put effort into. "I waited," he said, tone rough and words fast like he might lose them if he didn't spit them out immediately. "And I would forever but --" I don't want to have to.
Dean settled properly over him, peppering kisses along Cas’ neck while he began to move. “Your devotion’s a little overwhelming sometimes,” he murmured, but it was definitely not a complaint. One hand at his husband’s hip, he hitched them up a bit higher so he could fuck him properly. Teeth grazed slightly stubble rough skin. Cas was all he wanted in the whole world. Having that reflected back at him? Shit, Dean didn’t know what to do with it.
Covering the hand on his hip with his own, Cas hummed out his approval, hooked an ankle around one of Dean's thighs. "It just is," he said, and although there was nothing even about his tone, it was the truth. He tipped his head to the side, seeking out lips with his own.
Dean kissed him deeply, hoping he could match the intensity of his lips with his hips well enough for both of them. It felt like all of that paled in comparison to Cas’ devotion though. “You’re going to come without either of us touching you,” he said against those lips. “Because I want you to. Because I asked it of you.”
Done with the idea of conversation, Cas only whimpered out a response, but even that little noise spoke of agreement. Whether it was asked for or not, he'd always do as best he could for Dean; but there was definitely a drive in him to only do better yet when actually, properly asked.
"Please," he said again, fingers finding purchase on Dean's shoulders, pulling him closer and rolling his hips harder. It was intense enough already, but just a little more - a little harder. That's what he wanted.
Dean answered that pretty little word with a rougher tilt of his hips, almost snapping them against Cas’ own as he drew back to get his legs into a better position for that. “Do you like that?” he growled, a possessive perversion of their delicate questing the night before. “Nothing quite like it, is there?”
"Yes," It wasn't as if Castiel really had to say that he liked it - it was more than obvious he did. "So good," he said, feeling breathless and overwhelmed and just perfect. The angel was so close to the edge, it really wouldn't take much more -- but wasn't sure if he wanted to hold out longer to savor it (there was something very alluring about being fucked so hard he was being pushed into the mattress) or just the opposite.
Dean smirked and sat up straighter, managing to angle both of Castiel’s legs over one shoulder so he could force the angel tighter around him, the smack of skin against skin and their moans filling the room. “Do it gorgeous,” he said, eyes on Castiel’s face. “Come for me.”
It was remarkable how it was possible to feel like he was going to fall over even when he was more or less completely on the bed. Cas found himself scrambling for a handhold anyway, twisting his fingers into the sheets and eyes locked with Dean's.
Dean's prompting was just enough; he came. Hard. Ridiculously so, the breath practically knocked out of him so that he had to leave his mouth half open just to get some air. "Fuck," he gasped, almost dumbly.
There was no way Cas’ orgasm wasn’t going to bring Dean off as well, and he rocked slowly into him while they both rode the aftershocks of their respective peaks. Eventually, he eased off, set Cas’ legs gently on the bed and flopped down beside him for a long, slow kiss. “Love it when I drive you to swearing,” he murmured.
The urge to roll onto his side and curl closer to Dean was only slightly stayed by the fact that his stomach was a mess, and Cas scooted in a little closer on his back instead. He took another kiss, just as slow as the first. "I don't know why," he said, still vaguely detached from his senses in the best, warmest way possible. "But if you like it…"
Dean gathered Cas up close to him, not minding at all that he’d found his way back to his usual spot. He kissed the top of that messy head, eyes drifting shut. “Only when you’re so beyond everything you can’t stop yourself. Then I like it.”
"Okay," Cas agreed with a tiny smile, curling into Dean despite the mess, because his husband didn't seem to care and so he decided he just wouldn't either. This was the easiest way to let go -- being tired and boneless and just pleased over everything -- being sticky and sweaty seemed acceptable then.
"I love you," he said, tucking his head underneath Dean's chin and closing his eyes.
“Love you too,” Dean murmured and fell contentedly asleep, all wrapped up protecting his own guardian angel.