After the other Castiel had healed him (concussion and 3 cracked ribs, among a zillion cuts and bruises) and fluttered away, Cas took a long look at himself in the mirror. He looked tired, dark circles decorated the soft skin beneath his eyes, blue and deep, which had long ago lost their luster and sparkle that was ever present when he had been a relatively powerful angel. The rest of his face felt dominated by the dark stubble on his jaw, the stuff that wouldn’t stop growing. And to make everything worse, he had felt fear. Lost, afraid, alone. He was terrified when he had gotten here; he hadn’t known yet that he wasn’t dead and everything else, people here, seemed to make it worse. It was easy to act like he wasn’t afraid though, he had been watching Dean do it for years.
That’s what it was to be ‘human’, or almost human, and over the years as his powers became less and less, he had adjusted to this. The alcohol and the pills numbed everything, he discovered, from the loss of his wings to how reckless and careless Dean had become, hellbent on something that was mostly revenge, as he was. And Cas could do nothing. He couldn’t stop him, he couldn’t sway him with words, and he damn sure couldn’t make anything easier for him with his powers. All he could do was fight when it was needed and standby and watch Dean destroy himself slowly. It was a better show if it was blurry. It hurt less. Not by much, but the narcotics took care of the rest.
Maybe their last blast had been just that; their last, just not in the sense that they thought. There seemed to be relative peace here at first glance. It wasn’t a destroyed earth. The people didn’t seem worried about anything but themselves and whatever they considered important. This could be their ‘second’ chance. He didn’t have any sort of life of substance, and he couldn’t tell you why whatever was responsible for this had brought him here, but he wanted to try it. Watch Dean get the life he always deserved. Maybe die from alcohol poisoning in a soft and clean bed instead of as a plaything for a demon in a dirty room. It didn’t matter either way in the grand scheme of things, he was still around for one reason, but it was nice to think that there might be something else.
Maybe.
Cas had never been healed by an angel before, but had always remembered the shock on Sam’s face the first time he had done so, how Sam had said that his touch had made every cell in his body come rushing to life, and gave him a high on life kind of high from the touch. Cas hadn’t understood exactly what he had meant until he was healed by an angel himself, and honestly, he felt like his insides were on fire, but the flame was gentle and the burn was delicious. Arriving there, sort of dead and injured and being confronted by a future version of yourself who still had his powers and looked down on you with every word you spoke only added to his misery, and the fight with Dean, which had almost continued today, hadn’t helped.
He was going to try not to think about it. Or anything. His issues could wait, but it sounded like Dean might need him. And so, his once soiled and bloody clothes now dry from their wash in the bathtub, he slipped them on before he left his room, the one that he assumed was his anyway, and headed out to other parts of the apartment, calling out once for Dean as he went.
Truth told, Dean wasn’t exactly sure what to make of anything in this town: a town where supernaturals didn’t bother to hide what they were, where the devil himself may not have been so bad, and everyone simply looked the other way when it came to the odd goings on. It may not have been Hell in the strictest sense of the word, but between the oddities and that garish purple that covered every damn thing, it certainly wasn’t normal.
Despite spending the majority of the evening at the bottom of a bottle, Dean was distressingly sober when he made his way back to the apartment late that morning, retreating into his room to sprawl out on the horrible purple bedspread (and there was that mental note to buy a new one as soon as he had funds to spare). By the dark circles under his eyes, it was clear he hadn’t yet slept, and though it was tempting to try, there were too many thoughts spinning circular in his head to truly make a go of it.
So he stretched and tried to relax – at least until he heard Cas moving about.
“In here,” Dean called in response, propping himself up on one elbow. A hand scrubbed tiredly across his face before he thought the better of it and pushed himself to sit up, elbows coming to rest against his knees. Half the battle in being fine was looking the part – so he tried (and failed miserably, but the effort was there).
Cas heard Dean’s voice coming from - somewhere and he realized that he needed to explore this apartment more. He wasn’t even really sure how big this place was beyond the room that appeared to be unoccupied and the bathroom. It was definitely purple though. It was a happy color to him normally, and he could hope that applied for the duration of his stay here. He followed the sound of Dean’s voice from a moment ago and gave the door a knock before he turned the knob and went in.
He stood in the doorway, folding his arms over his chest and taking in Dean’s pose and his features. “I thought you’d still be up, I wasn't aware that you were -,” Resting wasn't right, he wasn’t lying down but he looked like he should be, or could be. “I’ll let you get back to it. But I wanted to let you know that Castiel was already here, and he’s gone now. Everything is fine with me.”
“No, it’s fine. C’mere,” Dean said, sitting a little straighter and motioning for the former angel to come join him on the bed. As bone-weary as he was, the last thing he wanted was sleep – or quiet, for that matter. Sleep could happen later; right then, what he wanted was a distraction, and Cas had promised him one. What that distraction would be, well, Dean was open to most options.
“Just been a Hell of a night, that’s all. No pun intended.” Between the thing with Lucifer, then killing a few hours at the Hellfire Club, he wasn’t entirely sure which way was up right at that moment, and the numbing haze of liquor had long since faded, leaving him more than happy to seek out alternatives. Particularly, alternatives with Cas. It sure as hell beat some of the other alternatives.
Now being out of pain and being able to focus every ounce of his attention on things he said, he really didn’t regret any but one, and that was done in a moment of stupidity. What he actually felt was his secret and he had meant to die with it, too - had pretty much - and he was embarrassed that it was out now. And because it hadn’t seemed to mean a damn thing to the one he had told. As long as it wasn't mentioned again, or analyzed and dissected, he'd be able to forget it. Dean was into him in some kind of way, namely the warm and familiar body thing, and he was fine with just that. He had been for years, and there was no need to change what worked now.
Cas crossed the room and kneed his way onto the bed, coming to a stop in front of Dean, falling back on his heels as he looked at him. He took Dean's face gently between his fingers and tilted his head, "You look like shit," he said, a distinct note of fondness could be heard in his voice. This was the first time he had seen Dean since that - since his plan back at home had apparently gone sideways. But he was alright, Dean was alright. Alive. Everything he could and would piece back together, his beautiful patchwork man, as long as he was alive for Cas to do it.
"What do you need?"
“I don’t know,” was the honest answer, the tired answer, and despite himself, Dean leaned into the touch. He’d had hard and fast and hate-filled; he’d had alcohol and filled with self-loathing; right then, there was a part of him that craved something kinder, something that wouldn’t make him hate himself in the morning.
His hands settled on Cas’ hips and, after a moment of indecision, he leaned in until his forehead came to rest against the other man’s stomach, the position surprisingly intimate. “Speak for yourself, though, I look fucking fantastic,” he added, almost an afterthought. He was fine. Just fine.
"I guess I'll tie you up later then," he teased, his fingers reaching down to caress Dean's short hair. They should possibly put off the shower, too, even though Dean had asked twice for it now. Cas was worried about Dean, and getting even more so as he was with him. It was rare that he let himself be seen this vulnerable, even to him, even at their most private.
Cas laughed at Dean's quip and rolled his eyes heavenward like he'd get any help from there. "Come on pretty boy," he didn't move much aside from his fingers which were moving slow circles over Dean's scalp. "Do you want to lay in my lap and take a nap? I can work some of that tension you're holding in your shoulders out while you're sleeping."
“Promises, promises. You say that, but it never happens,” Dean replied dryly, giving a soft snort of amusement. Mostly it didn’t happen because of Dean himself -- too much of a control freak, unable to truly let go enough for that kind of fun. And it probably would have been fun; he trusted Cas enough to know that.
He pulled back enough to look up at Cas, but not enough to stop the soothing petting. “I can think of half a dozen other things I’d rather do with your lap. None of them involve sleeping,” he said, pushing a tired -- but enthusiastic -- grin. Really, sleep was the last thing Dean wanted at that moment, well behind a good roll between the sheets and a good glass of whiskey.
"I know, I know. But I like your big, strong hands on me, so I'm weak." Cas was proud of his Shibari knots and how everything had been learned from a book and practiced on members of his 'harem'. Maybe one day Dean would let go enough to enjoy it, but if not, they knew how to have fun in fifty other ways.
Chuckling, Cas looked back at him, and he shouldn't have. He shouldn't have. Dean had this way of convincing someone to do something with just a lift of his eyebrows or a twitch of his lips, and you know, freckles and green eyes. Cas was lost. Damn him. He probably didn't even realize he was doing it. "You're ridiculous," he tried to sound put out and failed so he leaned down to press their lips together. "Talk is cheap. Show me what you've got."
“Now I know you’re just fucking with me.” Which was the un-fun kind of fucking, and certainly not the sort Dean had in mind right then.
His fingers hooked through the loops of Cas’ jeans, the grin stretching a little wider as the other man caved. Score. Dean leaned into the kiss, then seemed to think the better of the positioning, instead looping his arm around Cas’ neck. He shifted backwards on the bed and gave a pull, insistent -- meant to bring the former angel down on top of him, with little regard to what might have ended where. What were a few more bruises on top of the ones he already had?
"Not yet I'm not." He was weak where Dean was concerned, stupid weakness. But weak wasn't exactly what he felt like he should be right now.
After Dean flipped them around Cas parted his legs around Dean to straddle his hips as he sat up and kissed him again. "Is this what you feel like?" he asked while he settled his ass on Dean's crotch and gave a rock forward. "Or are you thinking of something else?"
“Sonofabitch,” Dean huffed. His hands settled on Cas's hips, fingers flexing as he pulled him closer still. His mouth moved to Cas' neck, teeth and tongue working over his skin briefly before he pulled back in favor of trying to help the former angel out of his shirt.
“C'mon. Too many clothes right now.” There was a desperate impatience to the words, and his own shirt quickly followed suit, peeled over his head and tossed away with little care to where it landed.
Cas gave a small gasp and moved his head aside to give Dean more access to the skin he wanted. He felt a little off-kilter because he had known that the last time they did this was the last for him, with anyone, ever. And he was grateful for it. And that Dean was the one he'd come back to.
His shirt was slipped up, and he started to help finish the journey but paused long enough to watch Dean take off his own. Cas' eyes darkened and a look of pure lust crossed his features as his own shirt followed Dean's into the void of wherever it went. His fingers immediately went to Dean's chest, splaying over his nipples and sliding down his stomach, followed down by Cas' lips and tongue as he scooted back until he reached the hunters waist. "Lift," he said as deft, impatient fingers undid the button and zipper.
The little touches were setting his nerves alight in the most distracting of ways – not that Dean was complaining about that in the least, but it did take him a second to comply, bracing his feet in the bed to lift his hips off the mattress and, once the fly was undone, help Cas get the jeans and boxers down. It brought into view the patchwork of fresh bruises on his hips, where sex the evening before had been hard, fast, and just this side of too tough, but for the moment, Dean had forgotten about them, more concerned with the former angel in front of him.
There was a measured sort of playful cockiness in his expression as Dean propped himself up on an elbow, entirely unconcerned with being bare before Cas. Hell, what was a little nudity when a man had literally touched your fragmented soul? “Well? Now what?” he asked, his mouth twisting into a grin – as if he didn’t know exactly where it was headed.
This was always Cas' favorite part, getting Dean naked. Baring miles and miles of golden skin for his eyes to devour and lips and teeth and tongue to kiss and bite and lick at their mind-numbing leisure. As the pants and boxers came down, the half-smirk slipped from his face as the bruises were revealed more and more. They were fresh, that much he could tell. Forming fingerprints. Someone had been holding onto his hips and - he tried not to think of the only place that Dean had gone the night before, the only place that he knew of - anyone could have done that to him. Anyone.
It seemed like minutes had passed as he stared at the sight before him, but it had only been seconds and that he could play off. His smirk reappeared as if by magic and he looked up at Dean tossing his pants away from them before he undid his own and lowered them just below his hips, though not enough to be too revealing.
"Now, lay back, I'm going to tell you a bedtime story." He planted his hand in the middle of Dean's chest and pushed him easily back towards the pillows. Dipping his head down, he kissed gently around the bruises, getting a little more rough as he left the area, biting and sucking his own mark onto Dean's thigh. With his free hand, Cas took Dean's length and stroked over him, using a little saliva to wet him, jerking him to the base and then up toward his own belly button.
Cas was good, but he hesitated just a fraction of a second too long, making Dean glance down and inwardly flinch. He should have explained – he owed Cas that much, at the very least – but how did one explain the complicated thought process that had led to sleeping with the devil? Answer: they didn’t. So when Cas didn’t remark, Dean breathed a small sigh of relief; that was one awkward conversation that could be put off for later.
“If this is the story about the princess and the peach again, I’m going to be very put out,” he said, allowing himself to be gently eased back without protest. Pillow fluffed, he stuck an arm behind his head, making himself perfectly comfortable as he patiently waited – thankfully, not for too long. The press of Cas’ mouth against his thigh – no doubt leaving his own bruise on Dean’s skin – earned a soft sound of encouragement as he reached down with his other hand, gently threading his fingers through the former angel’s hair.
His breath stuttered at the first stroke, but Dean kept his expression carefully neutral – it was all part of the game they played, how long he could hold out without reacting, how long it would take Cas to have him squirming and begging for it. Given how quickly he had risen to attention, Dean was betting this time wouldn’t take long – but he had to give it his best try.
"You'll like this story. I'll spell it out on you with my tongue." If he closed his eyes he wouldn't have to see the bruises that might have been made by his archenemy, but then that wouldn't solve anything because he wouldn't be able to see what he was doing, and this morning he might have a little spark of determination to edge Dean right into the next universe. It wasn't cruel or unusual, it was just part of their usual game, but he had never felt as determined to play it as he did right now. The fingers in his hair gave him pause for a moment, and he leaned into it, enjoying the sensation in his hair. His body - hair, all of it - was still super sensitive to sensual touches - like the kisses before, the hands on his hips - the reactions always seemed stronger than those of normal humans who weren't formerly touch starved angels walking around in human vessels.
Or maybe it was the drugs, but he wasn't on anything today. Even his bottle of absinthe sat in his room unopened.
Cas knew the moment that Dean started to squirm or to make that needy sound, he'd give in and give him everything he wanted. So he had to make this good. Start slow and jar him quickly with some immense pleasure, only to take it away again.
Dean's noises were his kryptonite.
He spread the hunter's legs around him a little more, and gently pressed a thumb into the sensitive crease between his thigh and groin and began to massage over the bundle of nerves slowly, while his other hand picked up the pace on Dean's cock a little, Cas' warm saliva easing the way as he licked a long wet stripe against his entire length, from balls to tip and then again on the other side and repeated similar motions again and again.
It was only practice and sheer force of will that let Dean hold out for as long as he did, his fingers working soothing circles into Cas’ scalp as the former angel did his worst. Or best, as it were. The moments ticked by, with only the sharp intake of breath and the flush to Dean’s skin as indication of how it was going.
But then Cas hit exactly the right spot and combination, and it tore a soft moan from between Dean’s lips, his hips twitching upward in search of more of that deliciously wet heat. His fingers briefly tightened in Cas’ hair, then he thought the better of it, giving a gentle tug meant to make him raise his head even as a needy whine tore itself from his throat.
He squirmed under the touches, torn between insistent, too much, and not enough, all at once. What came out of his mouth next was rare -- not unheard of, no, but not common: “To hell with teasing, I want you to screw me senseless.” Too much of a control freak to allow it, usually, but he’d been given a taste of it earlier the day before -- just not with the right person. Right then, what he craved was intimate -- not hard and fast, but slow and steady. If that was going to happen with anyone, it would be Cas.
Cas, having already heard and felt Dean, looked up from what he was doing, a little put out that that part would soon, if not already, be over. He lifted his eyebrow - in confusion or surprise, which one he wasn't sure - and wondered briefly if what he was doing was aggravating Dean's bruises, but decided Dean would have told him so, unless he was really determined not to mention them. Cas gave a final kiss to Dean's thigh and slid beside him and back up to his face, but kept one hand firmly wrapped loosely around him. "You're so romantic," he said, teasingly, and kissed Dean on his lips, almost chaste save for the lick and tug to the hunters bottom lip.
Cas was trying to give him a second to change his mind if that was just said in the heat of the moment. He finally shimmied out of his own pants and kicked them to the floor. "I need uh - supplies. In your nightstand?"
“And you’re such a tease,” Dean replied, his hips bucking upwards into the feel of Cas’ hand. When the other man leaned up, he snaked his arm around Cas’ neck, holding him there a moment longer so that he could deepen the kiss, his fingers tangling briefly into his hair. There was no rush to it, a sharp contrast to the way he’d been on the verge of begging only moments before – but the moment passed, and he allowed the former angel to pull away, gesturing toward the nightstand.
“Fresh supply in there. I was, uh. A little optimistic.” Not that he thought there would be any complaints about that. given that supplies were needed. He didn’t bother to hide the look of appreciation as his gaze swept along Cas’ body, down, then back up to his face; his hands followed suit a moment later, settling first on his chest, then mapping a path downward, his touches lightly teasing.
When Dean kissed him like that, slow and carefree, almost like there was no end goal in mind, it took Cas' breath away. It always made it feel like what they had between them was more than it was, that they were more than just friends, but it was just a wish. Cas knew that. He knew he didn't deserve the little piece of Dean that he had, either, but he wasn't going to point it out. Especially not when Dean kissed him like that. Or looked at him like this. He blushed under those eyes that felt like Dean was caressing him already, just seconds before he was actually touching Cas, and he released a breath mingled with a soft sound of pleasure that he could barely even feel over the thudding of his heartbeat in his ears.
"Don't worry, you have a few years before you get to the expiration date, and by then you will have restocked a few dozen times over," his voice was low and deep, and ragged as he spoke slowly and reached into the nightstand to pulled out what he needed. Cas tossed them next to Dean and then warmed a bottle of lube a little between his hands and crawled over between Dean's legs. He knew he wouldn't have to do very much prep work on Dean, as he figured he was still ready from his activities earlier, but still, he teased circles over his entrance slowly, and then used a single finger and then two to fuck in and out of him until he felt ready.
While Cas prepped the lube, Dean grabbed a pillow, lifting his hips to stuff it behind his lower back to help with the angle that would be needed for comfort. It would have been easier to take hands and knees, true, but the same way he didn’t want hard and fast, he didn’t want the disconnect that came from giving his back to the other man.
With anyone else, Dean would have been more reserved. Then again, with anyone else, it wouldn’t have gotten to that point, not with the way he insisted on keeping control – but he trusted Cas, and with that trust came the ability to let go. To a point, at least. Dean was utterly shameless in the way he stretched back, his legs spreading a little wider to give Cas unfettered access. His hips rolled at the first press of Cas’ fingers, eagerly fucking down onto them, and he didn’t bother trying to stop the quiet moan that bubbled up.
Cas’ assumption that it wouldn’t take much to get him ready was right: within minutes, the fingers weren’t enough to satisfy, and the sounds he made turned a little desperate, wanting. Skin flushed with desire, his head thrown back, it was all he could do not to beg for more. But that was part of their game, too.
The pillow under Dean's hips indicated a face-to-face position that honestly surprised Cas. It wasn't at all what he was expecting but he was more than eager to comply with that and the sensual, intimate vibe he was picking up from Dean. He wasn't sure if Dean really knew how stunning he was stretched out and splayed as he was, it was a side of Dean that he sometimes wished that he was the only one to ever see but he also knew that capturing something that beautiful and keeping it all to yourself was not only impossible but selfish as well.
His tongue was between his teeth in almost deep concentration, fingers now scissoring in and out of Dean, reaching every now and again to brush over the small prostate gland inside of him, knowing he was ready but still eager to get just a little teasing in there. Truthfully, as he took himself in hand, he was just as needy and wanting as Dean sounded. He hadn't touched himself before now but he knew he was more than ready to go.
He slipped his fingers out of Dean, dropping his head to give him a few last kisses over his legs as he put on a condom and straightened Dean on the pillow to better reach him. A few strokes later and his head was teasing at Dean's entrance, slipping in him just a fragment but Cas was dying to go further. Instead, he leaned forward and took Dean's mouth again, a sharp contrast to the unhurried pace he took as he slid himself to the hilt.
Every movement of Cas’ fingers drew another small, needy sound from Dean until he was left panting, aching from the tease. He wouldn’t beg – he refused to beg, but finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he gasped out a quiet, “If you don’t fuck me soon, I’m going to shoot you.”
Dean probably wasn’t serious about the shooting. Probably.
The punishing pace from less than a day before meant that the stretch of Cas finally, finally filling him was a little on the wrong side of comfortable, but it was a discomfort he knew from experience would pass quickly. His arms slid around Cas’ neck, fingers tangling into the hair at the nape of his neck and holding the other man into the kiss as his hips rocked down, taking him that tiny bit further and meant to encourage him to move.
Dean could probably feel Cas' grin as he kissed along his throat, half wanting not to move to see if Dean would follow through on his threat. It wouldn't be the first time he was shot before.
At first his thrusts were deep, so deep that at time he almost left Dean on the pullback, but he was working himself into a steady rhythm, going a little easier than he normally would so as not to really hurt Dean. It wasn't long before he forgot himself though, lost in the kiss, the fingers in his hair and the heady, heady fuck, and his thrusting became steadier, his kisses deeper, the sounds of his moans soft and full of pleasure lost against Dean's skin.
It only took a couple thrusts before Cas hit exactly the right spot, tearing a none-too-quiet moan from Dean and washing away the previous discomfort. His fingers tightened in the former angel’s hair as they kissed, his teeth briefly catching on Cas’ lower lip before he broke it in favor of throwing his head back as he rode through the sensation, another moan bubbling up from his throat.
The angle was just about perfect; with every roll of Dean’s hips, he was treated to the heady combination of Cas filling him to the brim and the blessed friction of his cock pressed between them; Dean was shameless in the way he moved against the other man, wanting more. “Fuck, you feel amazing,” he gasped, one hand slipping from behind Cas’ neck to roam down the plains of his chest. “I’m not going to break. Harder,” he encouraged, following it with another sound of pleasure.
The second Dean threw his head back, Cas attached his lips to his neck, kissing and sucking, careful not to leave a mark where it would be visible... maybe a small one. Nobody had to know who it came from, right? Cas felt Dean's fingers leave his neck and he broke to look down at his face. The look he wore, almost fucked out and half-lidded eyes, skin pinker, lips parted. Dean was easily the most stunning thing that Cas had ever seen and that's saying a lot coming from someone who has almost literally seen everything.
Dean felt so good, hot and clenching and velvety smooth inside and Cas was on a high he never wanted to come down from. Every push brought him deeper and deeper into a bliss-like state that no drugs or alcohol he could ingest ever made him feel the way he did when he was with Dean.
"So needy," he teased, breathlessly, and getting up to his knees, he pulled Dean's bent leg just a little higher and he felt himself bottom out inside of the hunter. Cas didn't pick up speed, he started to pound harder with each thrust and aiming for the spot in Dean that would make him moan. The new thumping sounds of the headboard and the sounds of flesh on flesh filled the air around them.
There were very few people who got to see that side of Dean -- the blissed out, out-of-control, fucked-into-oblivion side that Cas was currently getting. His need to control things was so complete that Dean could count on one hand the number of people he’d let get him into that position and come up with fingers to spare. For a brief moment, he bit his lower lip, but Cas bottoming out broke that, earning a low sound of pleasure.
“You don’t hate it,” he gasped out, his fingers tightening in Cas’ hair as his head tipped back further to give him access to his neck, encouraging another bite. The marks didn’t bother him; on the contrary, they were marks he was happy to wear. Every thrust tore another low sound from him, needy moans that he didn’t bother trying to hide. Why would he, when Cas felt amazing, filling him out the way he was?
But it wasn’t enough, and eventually he tipped his head again to catch Cas’ mouth in a bruising kiss.
"Not especially," Cas breathed, his words a bit clipped and muffled as he was busy doing other things that weren't talking, and his mouth was buried against Dean's exposed throat, nipping and running his tongue over the marks he made. His eyes nearly crossed several times at how good Dean felt and amidst his breathy sounds he was giving out deep moans of pleasure. "...feel so good. So good."
As Dean threw him into another whirlwind of his kisses, Cas managed to snake a hand between them and wrap his fingers around Dean's dick. Damn, he was so hot. At first the way he stroked Dean was a little erratic, spaced out, slow and soft, but after a few seconds they were in sync with the hard and slow of Cas' thrusts.
The feel of Cas’ hand around him, stroking him, had Dean bucking his hips up off the mattress in search of more of that blessed friction, and the soft sounds of pleasure he made increased as he rode through the warring sensations of Cas filling him, and the this-side-of-too-tight grip on his own cock. It was difficult to focus on anything but that – and the former angel on top of him.
Every stroke, every bottomed-out thrust, just seemed to stoke that fire a little brighter until Dean was left panting ragged breaths. He broke the kiss again, his mouth finding its way to Cas’ neck for a none-too-gentle bite; unlike Cas, Dean had no qualms about leaving marks on his lovers. “Getting close,” he mumbled between pants, the words muffled against Cas’ skin. Really, considering he’d been locked and loaded from jump, it was probably a miracle he’d held out as long as he had.
Cas gave a loud moan of surprise at the shock of the pleasure/pain feel of Dean's teeth on his neck and how amazing it felt. He wanted more, to wear the marks proudly whether they could be seen or not, and he tossed his head back a little to offer more smooth, unblemished skin.
At Dean's words he could feel the pulsing ache that had started in his core start to fan out all over his body, the excitement for the pleasure of the other and how tremendous that would feel to both of them. The seconds before orgasm were his favorite part of the entire act, especially if it was with someone you knew, someone you could see and feel let loose, lose their inhibitions just for a minute, completely. His intensity wasn't lost, his thrusts and movements of his hand kept pace. He would never be happier to be so well coordinated.
"Come for me, Dean." While it wasn't a command or an instruction, he thought that Dean might enjoy that, though he would never say he did. "So amazing. Feel so good, so good for me."
Dean sunk his teeth into Cas’ throat, very nearly but not quite to the point of drawing blood; he sucked his skin into his mouth, determined to leave a bruise once he was done. Dean was here.
The combination of sensations was somehow too much and not enough all at once, leaving Dean to buck into Cas’ fingers, down onto his cock in a frantic motion, his orgasm tantalizingly out of reach for the moment. But he was almost there -- almost -- and it hit him without warning, tearing a moan from his throat as he spilled his release across the other man’s hand. Determined to ride it out for as long as possible, his hips rolled, continuing to rock down to meet Cas thrust for thrust, his muscles clenching and shuddering through the orgasm.
“Keep going,” he urged around another moan; really, a single orgasm wasn’t enough to stop him from continuing to chase that lightning rod of pleasure, and as long as Cas was capable of going, Dean was happy to let him, enjoying the aftershocks of every brush against his prostate.
Dean's orgasm was always something special to witness, and an even better when you were the one to make it happen. Yes, because he was Dean and Cas couldn't help but be in love with everything about him, but also... the complete release of everything stressful and painful, at least he thought, was there on his face. Relaxation. For just a split second he looked happy, and that was something Cas loved giving to him.
Cas fucked him through it, his hips not stuttering or slowing in their movements as he watched, and then felt, Dean come. It was almost enough to send him over that edge but he stayed himself, just teetering there, holding back, holding on and reveling in the fingers of heat that were unfurling in the pit of his stomach and lower. "Soon," he murmured, unsure of how much longer he was going to be able to last. It felt so good, so good - and then, he let go. The heat got hotter as he came and from a distance he thought he heard himself give a high moan, and his movements slowed a bit, and a bit more and then he stopped moving to lean heavily towards Dean while he caught his breath.
There were always a few precious moments after -- when the world was hazy and soft, the hard edges blunted to his senses -- that Dean felt like himself, like the guy he’d been before the world had ended. His body felt alight with the pleasant aftershocks and he didn’t curb the impulse to nuzzle his nose into Cas’ neck as he let out a deep breath.
But the moment passed all too soon and he groaned softly, unfurling his legs from where they’d wrapped around Cas’ hips. “Come on, let me up. I want to grab a shower.” A pause. “You can join me if you like.” A shower to relax, then maybe crashing for a few hours -- that sounded like a good plan as far as Dean was concerned.
Cas smiled for a second when Dean burrowed his nose against him, and he knew that was as close to cuddling or an afterglow pause as he was going to get, so as soon as Dean's legs unwound from his waist he moved away and rolled off the condom so he could tie it off and toss it.
"Yeah, okay, you go ahead, I need to catch my breath," he flounced back on the bed and wiped his sticky hand across his chest - he'd clean up in a minute. Sleep would probably be a good thing. Some whiskey would even be better. Some food would be the best but somehow he doubted that their kitchen had anything beyond beer in it but it wouldn't hurt to check it out.
“That’s because you’re going soft on me. Remind me to start making you workout,” Dean said, somehow managing to keep a straight face despite the tease. He sat up with a low groan (okay, maybe three rounds in one day was overdoing it a little, especially when one of them had been as rough as it had been), then gingerly pushed himself to his feet.
“Are you gonna be here when I come back?” It wasn’t entirely unheard of to crash out together; uncommon, sure, but all things considered, if any day warranted it, that one did.
"Uh, I do yoga, have acrobatic sex on occasion, and fight monsters, that's all the workout I need." He was probably going to have to start running or something. This place didn't seem like it was as flush with bad guy monsters like home had been, so probably less to keep all the fast-food around him from going straight to his ass.
Cas' brow furrowed over his closed eyes. Usually about now Dean would be heading back to his own cabin or Cas to his, he'd never actually had Dean ask him to stay, and he wasn't sure he was asking him to now either. "I can be, if that's what you want, sure."
“What monsters are you planning on fighting here? Everyone’s on Team Supernatural,” Dean replied with a roll of his eyes. Just watch -- a demon would show up, and everyone would be clamoring to play nice with them, just like they were with Satan himself.
With a pat of Cas’ thigh as he passed, Dean could only shrug. “Order me food, you can stay. Menu’s in the kitchen.” Which was as close as he would get to asking the former angel to stay, but truth be told, as much of a face as he put on, he wanted the connection. The fight the night before (and near-fight that morning) had Dean not completely sure which way was up. Right then, fucked out and exhausted, he wanted to crash somewhere he felt safe.
And, ultimately, safety had always been with Cas. Not that he would admit that out loud.
"I'm not fighting anything here, all these people are superheroes or whatever with powers, they can take care of threats without me hindering them." People seemed to be too accepting of the bad guys here, and with what he knew from home he wasn't going to mess with any of that in case he got it wrong. Running was the better option.
Cas quietly watched Dean go and lay where he was for a minute. He was almost sure Dean regarded him as disposable, well - he knew that was what Dean thought of him at the end of the day, and he knew eventually, when he was ready to, he would dispose of Cas here too. Maybe not send him to his death, but - something. And still, Cas stayed. He knew and he wanted to stay. Their friendship was so toxic and depressing it was a surprise that neither of them had warning labels.
After he cleaned up and redressed, he put in an order for some pizza. Over the sound of the shower, he yelled to Dean about the pizza coming as he looked around for something to drink - meaning alcohol - while he waited.