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“Come on Sammy,” Dean whines.
Sam lets out an exasperated sigh. “Dean, I already told you, since we haven’t had a case for a bit, I’m taking Eileen out to enjoy a nice, normal night for once.”
“We haven’t had a case for weeks, Sammy. Weeks,” Dean complains. “I’m bored man, come on. Just a quick match.”
“No,” Sam says, unrelenting. “I have to leave right away. Find someone else to spar with.”
As if on cue, Cas walks into the library.
“Why don’t you spar with Cas?” Sam smirks. “Maybe you two could work out your shit,” he adds under his breath.
“What?” Dean asks. Luckily for Sam, Dean doesn’t wait for an answer before continuing. “I’m not gonna spar with an angel. How unfair is that?”
“I would never hurt you, Dean,” Cas supplements, a serious expression on his face and his eyes glued to Dean’s.
“There you go, he won’t use his angelic powers,” Sam says and quickly vacates the library—the entire bunker, actually—to avoid… whatever is about to happen between his brother and the angel. (By his educated guess it would be an unhealthy amount of eye-fucking, followed by an exorbitant amount of sexual tension, followed by—hopefully—some actual fucking; though he’d really rather not think about that, like, at all. At least then he wouldn’t have to put up with their longing glances, endless stares, and rather pitiful pining any longer.)
Dean glares at the retreating back of his younger moose-of-a-brother, idly hoping he’ll be able to remember a simple, mostly non-harmful curse spell. To his dismay—and Sammy’s sheer luck—he doesn’t.
And so with nothing else left to do, he turns his gaze back to Cas where the angel is still standing expectantly, bright blue picture perfect puppy-dog eyes freezing him in place.
“So, would you still like someone to spar with?” the angel asks.
Of course he ends up saying yes. It’s Cas, after all. And maybe it shouldn’t make a difference, but it does. It makes all the difference, for reasons Dean really doesn’t want to examine right now—or ever, for that matter.
“Perhaps not in here,” Cas suggests, gesturing to the innumerable number of irreplaceable books surrounding them.
“No. Good idea,” Dean agrees gruffly, having suddenly lost a substantial amount of his voice for no reason readily explicable to him.
A moment of silence passes between them before Dean belatedly realizes that Cas is looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to suggest some place less breakable to spar.
“Oh. Uhh. How ‘bout the Dean cave?” Dean suggests, shrugging his shoulders slightly.
Cas nods thoughtfully. “Perhaps it would be beneficial if we watched a film first. Learned some new techniques.”
“We fight monsters on the daily ‘round here, Cas, don’t think we need any help.”
“I didn’t say we needed help, just new techniques–” Cas squints at Dean before adding, “Aren’t you the one who always says watching and then doing is the best way to learn?”
Dean looks aghast, his face suddenly alarmingly white. “I say that about porn man. Not fighting skills. I mean, come on, it’s not like we’re going to–” He waves a hand vaguely in-between the two of them.
Cas raises an eyebrow and Dean chuckles nervously, turning a rather vibrant shade of pink as he seems to realize what he’s just insinuated.
“C’mon Cas,” Dean mumbles, keeping his head low and avoiding the angel’s inquisitive gaze as he leads him down to the Dean cave. He swallows, his throat suddenly dry. Maybe, he realizes with no small amount of alarm, he wishes that weren’t the case.
******
“So,” Cas starts, standing awkwardly across from Dean after they’d moved most of the imposing furniture to the sides of the room. “How did you want to do this? Would you like my angel blade?”
Dean’s eyes widen at the suggestion. “No,” he says quickly. “I’m not actually trying to hurt you, man.”
“Ah,” is all Cas says.
“You– you have done this before, haven’t you?” Dean asks.
Cas stares at his feet for a long while before he opens his mouth to speak.
“Well, I suppose it’s a bit different with angels,” he tells the floor.
“Oh. Oh. You mean– you actually use angel blades? For practice?”
Cas nods slowly, keeping his eyes glued to his sensible shoes. “Angels heal quickly,” he says as an explanation, followed with a small shrug.
“And you think– No. No, Cas I would never want– I would never hurt you,” Dean says, wanting nothing more than to wipe the look of utter hurt from the angel’s face. In a moment of utter stupidity, the hunter babbles on, “I– uh– I like you too much to hurt you, buddy.” Dean cringes inwardly at his own words, a prime example of a ‘chick flick’ moment that he’s normally so adverse to.
And Cas.
Well, Cas is looking at him as though he’d just professed his undying love to the angel. Shit. Perhaps in Cas’ mind he had. Shit shit shit.
Dean clears his throat before he allows himself to speak once again. “Well,” he announces embarrassingly loudly, shattering the silence that had fallen over the two men. “No more chick flick moments. Are we gonna do this or not? Without angel blades,” he adds for good measure, hoping to get his point across. “In fact, no weapons.”
“No weapons,” Cas repeats dumbly.
“Yeah man, we’ll do it the old fashioned way,” he explains, throwing Cas a wink as the words leave his mouth.
Cas cocks his head slightly to the side and furrows his brow as he studies Dean intently.
“But I–” Cas starts before Dean can manage to cut him off.
“You said you wouldn’t use your badass angel powers, right?” Dean asks, not bothering to wait for a response. “So then we’ll be evenly matched. No angelic super-strength.”
“Dean, I don’t think–”
“C’mon man, you don’t have to worry about hurting me, I’m more than capable of taking care of m–”
There’s a flurry of trench coat and limbs and a slight but rather insistent shooting pain throughout his entire back before Dean belatedly realizes he’s staring up at Cas, because Dean himself is currently in a pile of his own tangled limbs on the floor.
Cas blinks down at him petulantly, a single eyebrow raised as if to say ‘I told you so.’
“What the hell, man.” Dean rubs at the back of his head as he takes Cas’ outstretched hand and allows the angel to help him to his feet.
Cas gives him a small shrug. “I was trying to tell you that I have picked up all sorts of hand to hand combat training both from my time spent in Heaven and on Earth.”
Dean rolls his eyes, wincing subtly as he does so. Or maybe not so subtly, given the way Cas’ face has softened into a rather regretful expression.
“My apologies, Dean. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I suppose I simply don’t know my own strength anymore.”
“Yeah, yeah Superman,” Dean grouses. “Gotta give a guy some warning.”
Cas’ nose crinkles in a totally not adorable way as he furrows his brow and cocks his head to the side.
“Do monsters often warn you before they attack?” he asks, completely serious.
“Well, no, but–”
“I thought the point of this was to practice in preparation for the ‘real thing’” Cas says, adding a classic set of air quotes to his last two words.
“Yeah man, it is, but– Well it’s– It’s just different, alright?”
Cas stares at Dean for what feels like an eternity, Dean fully expecting him to argue back, before he finally responds with a simple, “if you say so, Dean.”
“Yeah, I do. Now do you wanna get started for real this time?” Dean asks, dropping into a classic fighting stance.
“Of course, Dean,” Cas says, mirroring Dean’s stance, albeit rather awkwardly at best.
Dean pauses, raising an eyebrow at the angel.
“What?” Cas inquires.
Dean scoffs. “What, you gonna fight with that coat on?”
Cas glances down at his trench coat before meeting Dean’s eyes.
“If you insist.” The angel has no more than slid the garment from his very broad and very distracting shoulders before Dean immediately begins to regret his decision to even so much as mention the damned coat in the first place. And to top it all off, Cas hasn’t broken his heated gaze from Dean’s—probably merely meant to intimidate the hunter, but instead, Cas’ intense blue eyes locked onto his are doing all sorts of things to Dean. Things that are going to become quite apparent to Cas very soon if he doesn’t get his traitorous body in check quickly.
Dean clears his throat, all but tearing his eyes from Cas’ piercing gaze, shifting uncomfortably where he stands. He’s suddenly all too aware that Cas has somehow gotten quite close to him in the span of the last few minutes.
And then, just when Dean thought this less than ideal (or perhaps too close to ideal) situation couldn’t get any worse—leave it to Cas to go and prove him wrong—Dean watches, his mouth falling open in complete and utter shock, as Cas elects to remove his suit jacket as well, letting it crumple to the ground in a heap on top of the trench coat. And then, to surpass it all, the angel rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt as well, revealing planes of skin Dean had never thought he would actually be lucky enough to see.
Cas holds his arms out to the side in a rather distracting display of his current state of undress. “Is this more to your satisfaction?”
Dean’s brain takes an embarrassingly long moment to begin its normal functioning once more and he snaps his jaw shut with a click before giving the angel a half-nod and a tremendously nervous smile that he knows probably won’t escape Cas’ notice. Luckily, Cas either simply doesn’t notice it or he doesn’t mention it (the latter of the two being far more likely.)
“Your turn,” the angel states.
“My what now?”
“Your turn.”
“My turn,” Dean repeats dumbly.
Cas gestures to the blue and red flannel Dean is currently wearing. “Can’t fight in flannel.”
“Can’t fight in— I wear this on hunts all the time!” Dean argues.
“Well yes, but this is different, isn’t it Dean,” Cas says, stating Dean’s exact own words from earlier. The angel even has the nerve to smirk at Dean as he states his request.
At that, Dean decides right then and there that he’s going to give Cas exactly what he wants. And then some. The smug bastard.
“Fine. Fair enough,” Dean acquiesces, shucking off his flannel and tossing it on top of Cas’ previously discarded outer layers.
Dean doesn’t miss the way his friend’s eyes trace along the hem of his black t-shirt when the flannel catches on it as he pulls it off, causing it to ride up slightly along his belly for a brief moment.
“What?” Dean asks innocently, and then—because two can play at this game—adds, “should I take my shirt off too?”
While it looks much like Cas is having an internal debate with himself on how to respond to such a question—much to Dean’s triumph (mission accomplished)—Dean makes a few fell swoops and then Cas is pinned to the floor between Dean’s thighs, staring rather dazedly up at the hunter. In fact, it takes the angel so long to move again, Dean worries he might’ve hurt him.
But then the angel blinks once. Twice. His face reddens as he squirms under Dean, wiggling his arms—as much as he’s able to with Dean pinning them at the wrists, one on each side of Cas’ prone body.
“Gotcha.” Dean’s voice comes out far breathier than expected, his smirk vanishing in an instant as Dean realizes just exactly what position they’re in.
The air becomes charged with electricity and the distinct sense of promise. And then they’re close close close. Too close and yet not close enough. Suddenly Dean finds himself thinking all the things he’s spent years not allowing himself to think about Cas. And then the sheer want, the longing, it all becomes too much. Too overwhelming.
For fear of what he might do if they stay there any longer, Dean clears his throat loudly and awkwardly stumbles off the angel, muttering some poorly conceived joke that seems to get lodged in his throat partway out and causes him to nearly choke on his words.
Dean offers a consolatory hand to Cas, who ignores it in favour of frowning up at Dean.
“Sorry,” Dean blurts.
Cas grumbles something that Dean’s pretty sure isn’t English as he rises to his feet and fixes Dean with a glare that could probably smite demons all on its own.
“You distracted me. On purpose,” Cas accuses.
“Hey man.” Dean rubs at the back of his neck as he gives the angel a small shrug. “Sometimes you gotta bend the rules a little bit.”
“Bend the rules,” Cas repeats.
Dean nods, suddenly extremely inexplicably nervous.
“I wasn’t aware there were ‘rules,’” Cas says, stepping closer, and damn him for being so adorable with those completely unnecessary air quotes.
“Uh-huh.” The hunter licks his lips. “Rules,” he mumbles, and he’s totally most definitely not looking at his friend’s lips as the angel steps even closer into Dean’s space; he was never one to respect any rules regarding personal space, especially when it came to Dean’s.
“Cas,” Dean asks dazedly. “What are you–”
A slight jolt of pain ripples throughout the entirety of his body (save for his head, which surprisingly feels more like it’s just hit a feather-filled pillow than a concrete wall) as Cas shoves him roughly backwards against the wall of the bunker, effectively pinning his body there. And well, if he thought Cas had been close before, he was somehow even closer now, with one leg shoved in between Dean’s, and each of the angel’s hands holding his arms to the wall on either side of him.
The hunter suddenly feels quite lightheaded—whether it’s from his body being thrown against things multiple times today (he’s just not quite as young as he used to be,) from the close proximity of his best friend, nearly touching Dean at every point of their bodies, or from the fact that he is not currently breathing (when did his lungs go and decide to stop that?) he’s not sure. On top of that, he’s not sure that he wants to know which one is the correct answer.
Cas leans infinitesimally closer still, until Dean is able to feel the angel’s soft breaths against his skin. Cas tilts his head, studying the hunter. He shifts the leg that’s somehow found its way slotted in between Dean’s own legs, sending a shiver through Dean’s entire body. Cas shifts again, adjusting his grip on the hunter’s arms, pitching forward further, eyes only breaking their stare with Dean’s to briefly glance down at his lips before snapping back to focus on his eyes again, green against blue.
Because Dean is just a little more than overwhelmed, he simply does what he always does: reverts back to sheer humor to alleviate the weight of the situation.
“What, you gonna kiss me?”
The humor of it is lost instantly and he regrets the question as soon as it leaves his traitorous lips.
Cas’ eyes darken to a deep blue and for a brief moment of relief, Dean thinks the angel might not have heard him after all. But then Cas is pitching forward until his lips brush against Dean’s with a soft, yet insistent pressure.
Dean can’t help the small gasp that escapes his lips, only to be lost in the glorious heat of Cas’ mouth. His fingers twitch, itching to reach out and touch, but Cas’ own fingers tighten around Dean’s arms, holding fast and offering no hope of escape for the hunter.
All too soon for Dean’s liking, Cas is pulling back and Dean is helpless to do anything but chase the angel’s retreating lips. Then, before he has so much as a chance to react, Dean’s world spins rather violently as his legs are kicked out from beneath him. His back has a rather unpleasant meeting with the harsh bunker floor while his front has a decidedly more enjoyable meeting with an angel straddling him and holding him down against the ground. Once again though, his head is confusingly spared from meeting the wrath of the unforgiving floor, instead being met once again with a feather-soft, pillowy sensation.
Dean opens his mouth to speak, but in place of words, a garbled “mnph,” comes out instead.
Cas squints his eyes and tilts his head as he regards Dean from above him.
“It does work,” he murmurs and Dean is so dazed he nearly misses his friend’s words entirely.
“Hmmm?” Dean hums, because apparently that’s all he’s capable of doing while his best friend is straddling him.
The corners of Cas’ lips quirk briefly upwards. “It worked for the Boulder, so I thought it might work on you too.”
Dean gapes perplexedly up at the angel.
“What?”
“The Boulder.”
“What boulder? Cas, what are you talking about, man?”
“In that movie. About retrieving the intelligence. You made me watch it.”
“Huh?”
Cas tilts his head, brows furrowing. “You don’t remember,” he asks, and if Dean didn’t know better, he’d think the angel was hurt by the thought that Dean has no recollection of said movie night.
“What the hell are you talking about? What movie is that?” Dean asks, trying to wiggle his way out from under Cas’ iron-like grip.
“It had the man from Dunder Muffin too,” Cas says sadly, refusing to meet the hunter’s eye.
Dean stares at Cas blankly for a moment before it all clicks into place, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place in his minds eye. He bursts out into a fit of uncontrollable laughter, nearly toppling Cas over in the process.
“Why are you laughing Dean? It’s not funny,” the angel insists, squinting at the hunter which only serves to cause Dean to break out into a brand new fit of giggles (good thing Sammy isn’t here to witness any of this—the teasing would surely have no end in sight.)
“Dunder Mifflin,” Dean corrects with a chuckle. “The movie was Get Smart. And it’s the Rock, not the Boulder.” Dean can barely manage to finish his explanation before he’s dissolved into another fit of giggles.
“So you do remember?” the angel asks, as though that was the only important thing.
“Yeah, ‘course I do, Cas,” Dean says softly, sobering only slightly from his hysterical bouts of laughter.
“Whatever.” Cas rolls his eyes. “It seemed to work for him as a distraction in the movie. It’s really not that funny, Dean, you’re going to injure yourself.”
“It really is that funny.”
Cas frowns at Dean.
In response, the hunter lets out a rather undignified snort and the giggles resume.
“Dean. Dean please, it’s really not that amusing. Dean. Dean. Dean.”
The hunter sobers immediately when his arms are shoved against the floor above his head, Cas’ upper body nearly pressed chest to chest with his own and the angel’s piercing blue gaze trained on Dean’s own eyes.
“Just a distraction, huh?” the hunter chuckles nervously.
Suddenly, Dean can’t seem to remember what he thought was so funny in the first place. He swallows, unable to stop his eyes from flitting briefly down to the angel’s lips, just a few mere, simply intolerable inches away from his own. So close, in fact, that Dean can feel Cas’ slightly unsteady breaths as they ghost across his face in a longing whisper of a kiss.
Cas presses infinitesimally closer and Dean has to suppress a groan at the feeling of their bodies slotting together in all the right places. Suddenly feeling more than just a bit overwhelmed, the hunter closes his eyes, takes a deep, shaky breath and presses backwards into the floor and– There it is again: that same pillowy sensation beneath his head. It feels soft and comforting and so– soft. So much so, in fact, that Dean concludes it can only possibly be one thing: angel magic.
“Cas, what are you doing to my head?” he blurts, and well doesn’t that just ruin the moment.
Cas pales as he sits up, releasing Dean’s arms as he goes. “What?”
“My head,” Dean squints. “I thought we agreed, no angel crap.”
“I didn’t– Not for the fighting,” Cas amends.
“Well, what the hell for then?” Dean askes, brow furrowed as he studies the angel above him.
Cas blushes and looks away.
“Cas?”
“It’s nothing Dean, I’ll stop.”
“No,” Dean says a little too quickly for his liking. “What is it?”
Cas lets out a long sigh, looking more than a little uncomfortable.
“Cas. Look at me.”
He does, but only briefly before choosing a spot on the floor near Dean’s head to stare at.
“My wings,” Cas says softly.
Dean blinks.
“I wasn’t using them to best you, I promise. I just– didn’t want to you to hit your head. It may be a fake fight,” Cas rambles on. “But you’ve been in enough real ones that you really can’t afford any extraneous injuries. And I just–”
Dean’s really not too sure why he does it, but suddenly he’s surging forwards, hands clutching at the front of the angel’s shirt and tugging Cas towards him until their lips meet with a frantically urgent force. Their teeth knock together from their shared desperation but Dean ignores it in favour of threading the fingers of his right hand into Cas’ hair, causing the angel to let out a soft sigh into Dean’s mouth.
After a while—but not nearly long enough as far as Dean is concerned—he pulls back, gasping for air.
“Wings,” the hunter blurts dumbly.
Cas narrows his eyes at Dean for a moment before slowly answering. “Yes, my wings. I can stop,” he adds quickly, glancing down as his face flushes a deep shade of crimson. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Dean.”
“No– I mean you don’t– I don’t–” Dean closes his eyes and lets out a sigh. “I don’t mind, Cas,” he admits softly.
“Oh.”
Cas blinks.
“So– You like it?” the angel asks timidly.
“Uh– Yeah, I mean–” Dean mumbles. “It’s soft. Comfy.” The hunter blushes.
“Ah. I see.”
A small smile pulls at the corners of the angel’s lips.
“Shut up,” Dean grumbles.
Cas’ grin widens substantially.
“Stoppp,” Dean whines, dragging out the syllables and bringing his hands up to cover his increasingly reddening face.
Cas gently pries the hunter’s fingers from his face, interlacing their hands palm to palm and slowly pressing their joined hands to the ground, one on either side of Dean’s head. Dean licks his suddenly very dry lips and Cas tilts his head, eyes hungrily tracking the movement.
“I suppose I won this round?” Cas asks, gesturing to where he’s still pinning Dean to the floor and isn’t that just all kinds of hot.
Dean swallows.
“Uh– Yeah,” he manages to say, and then because his stupidly traitorous brain can’t seem to function properly while Cas is straddling him, he adds a less than confident, “maybe you should claim your prize.”
And holy fuck, Cas does.
He swoops down and captures Dean’s mouth with his, plunging his tongue into Dean’s mouth without hesitation when the hunter parts his lips and lets out a soft moan. And then Cas, the bastard, rolls his hips against Dean’s and the hunter is pretty sure he briefly loses consciousness at the sensation.
Dean is only starting to get a little worried a few moments later when it seems that Cas has no intention of stopping for air (because angel—he doesn’t need to breathe, damn him) and the hunter has long since decided ‘angel make out sesh’ is a pretty decent way to go anyways. So when Cas finally does pull away, Dean finds himself letting out a rather embarrassing whimper. He doesn’t have much time to morn the loss of the angel’s lips against his, because Cas has wasted absolutely no time in moving on to work at Dean’s neck, pressing unabashed, needy kisses to it in-between taking the time to suck purpled bruises into the sensitive skin there.
Dean wiggles under Cas’ steady weight, and well, that may have been the best mistake he’s ever made considering how absolutely completely fantastic that feels and– Yes, Dean’s entire brain seems to have absolutely forgotten how to function. Letting instinct take over, (well that along with particular– other parts of his body) Dean presses against Cas’ hands. Without missing a beat in his ministrations, Cas complies, obliging the silent request and releasing the hunter’s hands.
Dean reaches up and cups the back of the angel’s neck, pulling him impossibly closer while his other hand finds its way into the angel’s messy hair. The hunter throws his own head back in pure, unadulterated pleasure, pressing into the feathery pillow of the angel’s wings. As Dean tugs at his newly acquired handful of hair, Cas lets out a positively obscene moan into the skin of Dean’s neck that immediately sends all the blood left in the hunter’s body rushing southwards.
Dean groans and rolls his hips up to meet Cas,’ his own equally piqued interest evident pressing against the front of Dean’s jeans. The angel actually growls into Dean’s neck before recapturing the hunter’s mouth with his own in a searing kiss. This kiss is needy and desperate and all manner of hot, if the ever-growing tightness in Dean’s pants is any indication.
Cas slips his hands under the hunter’s shirt, sliding upwards across the skin of Dean‘s chest, his shirt riding up with the motion and his breath hitching from the electricity of the touch. The angel’s wings wrap around Dean’s back, warm and strong and soft and then he’s being lifted just so, allowing Cas to tug the hunter’s shirt off over his head.
Dean’s breath stutters as Cas takes a moment to lean back and openly admire the newly exposed skin of the hunter’s body, his eyes roving hungrily across the contoured planes of Dean’s chest. Soon, the angel’s hands begin to follow his gaze, starting their path at Dean’s broad shoulders before making their way across his chest, fingernails lightly scraping as they go, raising goosebumps across Dean’s body and sending a tremor of anticipation running down his spine.
“Off,” Dean manages to mumble, tugging halfheartedly at the hem of Cas’ shirt. The angel complies, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside before his hands continue on their heated path, down across the hunter’s abs before sliding ever so slowly around to his sides and making their way back upwards.
Dean shudders at the touch and he can’t help the soft sigh of pleasure that escapes from his lips. Cas leans forward and captures the hunter’s already kiss swollen lips with his own, nipping gently at Dean’s full bottom lip before moving down and kissing along the same path his hands had just roamed, greedily biting and sucking purpled marks into the hunter’s flushed skin. Marking Dean. Claiming him. And, well, who is Dean to complain?
Cas slowly works his way down to the hunter’s belly, gently dragging his teeth across the soft skin there and causing Dean’s breath to catch as the angel works his way down further still. Cas pauses his teasingly slow descent to dip his tongue into the hunter’s navel, eliciting a gasp from Dean as he fists his desperate hands into Cas’ hair. Cas fixes Dean with a needy, heated stare before slipping his fingers into the waistband of Dean’s denim jeans.
“May I?” Cas asks, his voice deep and gravely—even more so than usual.
Dean wastes no time in giving the angel a rather embarrassingly enthusiastic nod, although really, Dean can’t be expected to be at all capable of speech at this point.
Cas licks his lips—an unintentionally lustful gesture that makes Dean’s mouth go dry—and the hunter watches, anticipation curling in his belly as Cas unbuckles his belt. As the angel slides the belt free from the loops of Dean’s jeans the metal of the buckle clinks, each hollow, metallic sound sending a jolt of arousal coursing throughout the hunter’s body.
“Not here,” Cas says suddenly.
Dean blinks as a brief discombobulating sensation washes over him and then he’s staring bemusedly at the roof of his bedroom. He shifts under Cas, more than a little pleased to find that the angel’s wings, soft and plush, are still wrapped around him despite the newly acquired presence of his decadent memory foam mattress.
Any and all thoughts not directly related to Cas and those positively sinful hands of his are instantly whisked away as the angel deftly works at Dean’s jeans, his hands making surprisingly quick work of opening the button and zip. Dean eagerly lifts his hips for Cas to help him shimmy out of his jeans and boxers, the cool air hitting his heated skin and making him shiver. After tossing the hunter’s discarded clothing to the floor, Cas settles himself between Dean’s legs, hands running reverently down his thighs.
“Cas,” Dean murmurs, his voice breathy and broken.
The angel glances up through his eyelashes before ducking his head and softly pressing a kiss to the junction of Dean’s hip and thigh. The hunter lets out a soft sigh and Cas shuffles down, sucking a mark into the inside of his thigh, dragging the tips of his fingers across Dean’s opposite leg. A shiver runs through the hunter’s body as Cas drags his teeth back up his leg until he reaches his hip once again. The angel pauses there, mouthing hungrily at the jut of Dean’s hip.
“Cas,” Dean moans, his hands tugging at the angel’s impressively messy, omnipresent sex-hair in an attempt to guide his mouth right to where the hunter wants it.
And for all his teasing earlier, Cas wastes no time here and Dean lets out a breathy moan as the angel’s mouth closes around him, hot and wet and oh so perfect. Dean fists his fingers in the angel’s hair as though that alone is the only thing keeping him tethered to reality while Cas grabs at his hips to steady him.
Dean’s sure he’s going to have some pretty impressive bruises on his hips later from Cas’ grip, but the thought only serves to increase the ever-building heat coiling deep in his gut as the angel’s mouth slides up and down around him in an endless assault of pleasure. The hunter further entwines his fingers into Cas’ hair and tugs, hard, eliciting a heady moan from the angel that vibrates around Dean. He throws his head back, pressing into the angel’s wings, his mouth falling open in a silent ‘o’ of intoxicating pleasure.
Dean’s embarrassingly close within moments and he knows it. So close, in fact, that when Cas slows to briefly glance up at Dean, his eyes darkened with sheer lust as they meet the hunter’s, Dean nearly comes undone right then and there.
“Cas. Come here.”
Dean clutches at the angel’s shoulders until he finally reluctantly relents, pulling back with an obscene popping sound. The hunter only has a moment to feel bereft from the loss before Cas has crawled back up his body and sealed his lips over Dean’s once again, unrelentingly plunging his tongue into the hunter’s mouth. Dean allows his legs to fall open and Cas slots his body easily in-between them, the electric sensation sending sparks traveling throughout the hunter’s entire body. He shudders under the angel’s touch, aching with an all-consuming want.
Dean’s fingers fumble at the fastenings of Cas’ trousers and he’s only vaguely aware that he’s mumbling nonsensical musings against the angel’s soft lips. With a small sigh, Cas eventually swats at his hands before hurriedly removing his own trousers and boxers. Dean is rather embarrassed to admit that when Cas slots their bodies together, he nearly blacks out at the overwhelming sensation that’s too much and yet not at all enough. And Dean wants. He wants with a surprising clarity, hungry with pure need.
“Cas,” he gasps against the angel’s lips. “Cas, I want–”
Cas nips at the hunter’s lip as he runs his thumb across his cheek, humming inquisitively.
“Want you. Please.”
Against all possibilities, Cas’ eyes manage to grow somehow even darker as he pulls back to gaze at Dean.
“You’re sure?” he asks, voice deep and wanting.
“Yeah,” Dean breathes. “Please.”
He knows he’s begging, but he really can’t be bothered at this point; the sheer need he feels to be closer than close—as close as humanly possible and then some—to Cas is entirely overwhelming.
Before he knows what’s happening, Cas is maneuvering Dean on the bed and then two of his fingers—already slickened with some help from angel mojo, no doubt—are pressing into him and the hunter lets out a low moan, desire coiling hot and tight in his belly. Cas kisses him tenderly then, as his fingers work him open—such a stark contrast to their earlier heated kisses that Dean nearly comes just from the thought of it.
Soon, Cas adds a third finger causing Dean to let out a low moan, squeezing his eyes shut as Cas strokes at his hair with his free hand, the angel’s mouth moving to kiss and nip at the hunter’s collarbone. Dean clutches impatiently at Cas’ hips, attempting to pull him flush against his own skin.
“Shh,” Cas chides gently, nipping at the shell of Dean’s ear. “Soon,” he promises.
Dean rolls his hips in protest, but the movement only serves to bring an intense wave of pleasure washing over him from the friction of skin-on-skin contact. The hunter thinks he might just die from the all-consuming want rushing throughout his entire body. He opens his mouth to plead with Cas again—at this point, he’s well beyond the point of giving a damn if he begs or not—but the angel captures his mouth in a soft kiss. The kiss is distraction enough that it takes Dean completely by surprise when Cas crooks his fingers just so inside of him. The hunter keens, throwing his head back in unadulterated pleasure. He belatedly feels Cas’ wings shift against him, pressing in closer against Dean’s bared skin.
The angel licks into Dean’s mouth, his tongue pushing past the seam of his lips as he allows his fingers to slide out, leaving Dean feeling oddly bereft at the loss. The soft touch of Cas’ hands makes up for it, his fingers sliding teasingly slowly up the soft skin of the hunter’s thighs. Dean sighs and allows his legs to fall open further, unashamedly baring himself for Cas. The angel leans forward and presses a series of wet kisses to his belly. Dean grunts in impatience, thrusting his hips upwards.
“Stop teasing,” he complains, voice coming out broken and breathy.
Cas kisses him once, soundly, before lining himself up. Dean lets out a sharp gasp as Cas pushes inside in one smooth, wonderfully torturous movement, sliding forwards until his hips are pressed flush against Dean’s. The hunter clutches at Cas, his fingernails digging greedily into the angel’s back as he relishes in the sweet burn of pleasure.
“Cas,” he breathes, unable to stop the exultation from tumbling from his lips.
Cas leans forward until their foreheads are pressed together, his hips setting an excruciatingly deliberate pace as he thrusts slowly into Dean. The hunter grasps at the back of Cas’ neck, pulling him in for a heated kiss—a promise of much more to come—as he rocks his own hips eagerly upwards to meet Cas’. The angel lets out a low moan into Dean’s mouth, one that he happily swallows before nipping at Cas’ kiss-swollen lower lip, eager to change the pace of things.
Catching the angel off guard, Dean flips the both of them. Cas lets out a grunt as his back hits the mattress and Dean’s weight settles on top of him, his thighs pressing in against the angel’s sides. The hunter rolls his hips once and Cas’ eyelashes flutter against his cheeks, his teeth biting at his lower lip. Inexplicably envious of the gesture, Dean leans down to take Cas’ lower lip between his own teeth before licking teasingly at the seam of the angel’s lips. He presses his hands against Cas’, interlacing their fingers as he brings them down to rest against the sheets, one on either side of the angel’s body. Using their joined hands as leverage, Dean rises up slightly before allowing himself to fall back down.
“Dean,” Cas murmurs, a quiet adoration.
Dean slowly picks up his pace as he leans down to kiss Cas, cupping his cheek as his thumb runs across the corner of his eye. Cas’ hands fall to his hips in silent encouragement and a heated warmth falls across Dean’s back, draping an ethereal feathery softness around him.
Dean can’t help the low moan that escapes from his lips as his hips roll back down towards Cas, relishing in the warmth of the angel’s wings wrapped securely around his otherwise nude body. The hunter tips forward again to press his lips against Cas’, the change in angle sending sparks of intoxicating pleasure coursing throughout his body. Cas’ fingers dig into his hips, encouraging him to pick up his pace, and Dean is sure he’s going to leave some pretty impressive bruises. The thought only serves to spur Dean onwards.
The angel’s hips snap upwards, lifting off the mattress to meet his own and Dean gasps as desire coils deep and hot in his belly. Cas’ wings tighten possessively around the hunter and a low growl rips deep from his throat as he seamlessly flips them back over. With a sharp gasp of surprise, Dean finds himself staring up into Cas’ eyes, his lust-blown pupils darkened to a deep shade of cobalt.
The angel rolls his hips once and Dean needs no more encouragement than that to hook his ankles around Cas’ waist, breath hitching at the change in angle as Cas snaps his hips forwards, sending sparks of exquisite, blissful euphoria racing throughout his entire body. The angel falls forward, capturing Dean’s lips in a searing kiss (which—sooner than either man would like to admit—turns into them simply just panting into each others mouths, breathing in the air in the paltry space between them.)
Dean feels indescribably full. Full of Cas. Full of hope. Full of love. And for the first time, Dean’s very own heart feels full. He yearns to be closer than close to Cas, wants their essence, their very souls to be tangled together, mixed and woven until it can’t be seen where one ends and the other begins. He digs his heels into the broad expanse of the angel’s back, his hips meeting each one of Cas’ thrusts until they’re moving together, a single harmonious being, both beginning and ending with one another.
Hot pleasure coils in the hunter’s stomach, simmering just beneath the surface and he knows he’s close now. He fists his hands into the sheets, Cas’ name leaving his lips in a constant, reverent chant, almost like the words are a devout prayer.
Cas reaches up and tenderly brushes his fingers through Dean’s hair as though he adores him—perhaps he really does. The angel presses his lips to Dean’s in a sweet, soft ghost of a kiss and the hunter comes undone. His heart swells and nearly bursts in his chest, the simple, intimate act proving to be too much and yet just enough to tip him over the edge.
Pleasure burns through his entire body, bright and brilliant and he lets out an exultant shout, words falling from his lips as Cas kisses him through his release, hands stroking across his trembling thighs, his face, his arms, and his chest in soft reassurance. He’s not sure what he says—it could be sheer nonsense or simple repetitions of Cas Cas Cas or perhaps it’s declarations of love, of happiness, of devotion, of forever.
Dean feels drunken with pleasure, his mouth still babbling nonsensical musings of its own accord as Cas presses his lips against the hunter’s temple. He presses his forehead against Dean’s, reveling in the shared soft, quietly intimate moment. They stay like that for a while, the only sound in the room a soft panting as Dean slowly catches his breath, clinging to the angel as though his very life depends upon it.
Dean sighs as Cas eventually shifts above him, using his fingers and his heels to bring the angel closer and encourage him into moving again to chase his own pleasure now that Dean lies satisfied and sated. Cas moans, long and low and deep—a purely filthy noise that seems to echo throughout the entirety of Dean’s small bedroom. Quickly, the angel’s hips gain momentum, picking up speed as he settles into a punishing rhythm as he chases his release.
Without thinking, Dean reaches over and brushes the tips of his fingers through the soft feathers of Cas’ wings, just above his shoulder blades. The angel clutches at the sheets on either side of Dean’s chest, his body going rigid above Dean, mouth slack in an ‘o’ of pleasure. Cas lets out a shout that is decidedly not in English—it sounds suspiciously like the ethereal syllables of Enochican—before going limp and slumping across Dean’s chest.
Cas finally breaks the silence when he says, “well, I fail to see who won that round.”
“Hmm?” Dean hums, eyebrows knitting together.
“The sparring,” Cas reminds him.
Dean raises an eyebrow—he’d nearly completely forgotten about the sparring that had started this all.
“You know what I think?” Dean asks.
Cas hums.
“I think we both did, you dork,” Dean answers with nothing but fondness—and perhaps a hint of something else; something stronger.
Cas chuckles into Dean’s skin, sending warmth throughout the hunter’s entire body.
And they lie there, clutching at each other for some time, thumbs and fingers pressing at lips and cheeks, running along the corners of eyes and tangling into hair. Cas presses a kiss to the hunter’s forehead, then another to his nose, slowly working his way down to his chest. Dean realizes with a start that Cas is mapping out his body with his lips, memorizing the shape and location of every delightfully ashen freckle. The thought alone makes Dean’s skin flush an embarrassing shade of pink, though that doesn’t seem to deter the angel from peppering kisses to the remainder of his freckled skin.
Dean catches Cas’ eye and the angel holds his soft gaze as though it’s the most precious thing in the world, perhaps even the universe. Dean gives him a small, shy smile and the angel returns it. There’s a twist deep inside Dean’s chest, in the deepest part of his heart—the part he tries so hard to keep locked away from the world—and for the first time since he can remember, he allows himself to embrace the feeling wholly, for all it’s worth.
And he may not be able to say it now, but he feels it. He’s sure of it like he’s sure the sky is blue and the grass is green. Dean is in love with Cas and likewise, Cas is in love with Dean. They’ve never been much for words anyways, so they lie there contentedly, basking in each other’s presence, staring into each other’s eyes.
Blue against green and green against blue.
And they know.
******
The bunker door creaks as it swings open, Sam and Eileen’s laughter filtering through and spilling throughout the bunker. The arm that Sam’s slung casually across Eileen’s shoulders tightens protectively as he takes in the eerie silence of the bunker.
“Thought you said Dean and Cas were in tonight?” Eileen asks, craning her head to glance up at Sam’s worried expression.
“Yeah,” Sam hums. “They were.”
“Maybe they went out?”
Sam slowly shakes his head. “Dean was in one of his moods. No way he would’ve gone out.”
Eileen quirks a brow at Sam.
“No,” he says immediately. “I don’t even want to think about that.”
Sam swipes at his eyes with his giant moose paws, trying and failing to erase the positively horrific images that flood unbidden through his mind. Eileen slips out from under Sam’s arm, chuckling and wanders further into the bunker in search of the two men, Sam close on her heels.
After searching through the kitchen, library, and even the dungeons and coming up empty, they wander into the Dean cave. Sam desperately wishes he could unsee what’s there.
There are two distinct sets of clothing on the floor, one of which consists of plenty of flannel, the other plenty of trench coat. Eileen elbows Sam, breaking out into a giant grin. Sam nearly throws up.
“I knew it!” Eileen exclaims, flitting around the room like an overexcited hummingbird. “I guess they finally got their shit together.”
Sam wants to sink into the floorboards and die.
“What do– How should– Do we leave?”
“Leave?” Eileen tilts her head, a sultry, mischievous glint in her eyes. “And let them have all the fun?”
Sam’s brow furrows and he tilts his head in an unspoken question.
Eileen grins, linking her fingers with Sam’s and gives a tug, gesturing towards the direction of Sam’s bedroom down one of the bunkers many hallways.
“Oh. Oh,” Sam says as he allows himself to be dragged through the bunker, Eileen giggling softly the whole way.
They simultaneously pause as they pass by the door to Dean’s bedroom. The very shut door to Dean’s bedroom. Sam is more than relieved to discover all appears to be quite quiet in the room behind the door; none of the filthy, mind scarring sounds he feared that he’d hear.
Eileen waggles her eyebrows suggestively as she pulls him past the door and further down the hallway, a gummy grin plastered brightly across her face.
When they reach Sam’s room, she pauses long enough to pull his button-down from his shoulders, slinging it carelessly to hang on the door knob of the bedroom before playfully shoving Sam inside and shutting the door behind them.
And in contrast to the silence coming from down the hall, they are not quite so quiet.