Chapter Text
“Your shirt is untucked, duckling,” Dean’s mother laughed quietly, reaching towards her son to retuck the tail of his shirt back into his waistband.
“Mom!” Dean complained in a low voice. He didn’t dare try to stop his mother though, even playfully, knowing his father was watching them carefully.
Mary laughed again, then wrapped her arms around Dean’s shoulders as she stood at his side, resting her chin on his shoulder. “I can’t believe you’re leaving me. You promise you’ll call, and text, and—what’s it called? PhoneTime?”
“FaceTime,” Dean corrected, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips.
“Right! Promise you’ll FaceTime me, too. I’m gonna miss your sweet face,” she sighed, squishing his cheeks adoringly.
He did shake her off then, but still with a smile. Besides, his father wasn’t in his field of vision, so he was safe to—
“Dean! Stop letting your mother baby you. You’re a grown man,” his father, suddenly at his side, snapped.
Dean hid his flinch, the positivity leaking out of him as he turned stiff in his mother’s arms. “Yes, sir.”
A sturdy, but brief, squeeze was administered to his shoulder before his mother dutifully pulled away, leaving him cold and alone. The former excitement he’d had for moving into his dorm threatened to slip out of his fingers, but he clenched his willpower around the retreating threads of emotion. He wouldn’t let his father ruin this. He couldn’t.
Not when he was finally about to receive the most freedom he’d ever possessed in his life.
“Come on, son. I fit everything into the one cart, so we’ll only need to take one trip up to your room.”
Dean nodded obediently, taking hold of the full laundry cart and helping his dad wheel it towards the elevator. Sadly, his mother kept her distance from her son the whole trip up to the third floor.
Just a few more hours, Dean soothed himself. Just a few more hours and his father, thank the mighty Lord, would be a phone call away and no closer than that.
Almost immediately, Dean felt guilt consume him. God and his father preached about the importance of valuing and honoring one’s parents. Dean was a sinful son for wanting to get away from them, even if it was only for two years before he had to go crawling back with his tail between his legs.
The creaky elevator dinged once they reached his floor, and Dean was happy to find the floor was mostly deserted. It was only move-in day for freshmen and first year transfers, but since Dean was one of the transfers, he was in an upperclassmen building. It was mostly empty, and he’d only seen two other transfers and a handful of freshmen trickling into the upperclassmen buildings because the freshmen buildings were overflowing.
“Oh, it’s this one!” Mary exclaimed excitedly, beaming over at her husband and son.
Dean pulled the key he’d just received out of his pant’s pocket and shuffled in front of the door. He unlocked it for his parents, holding himself back from taking in the room eagerly so that his father wouldn’t catch onto any nefarious things he was feeling.
For the next half hour, Dean’s parents helped him take the boxes from the cart and move it onto his preferred side of the room, ignoring the second set of furniture for his roommate to claim whenever he moved in.
“Have you spoken to your roommate yet?” his father asked once they returned the cart and traveled back over to where his parents had parked.
“No, it’s changed around a bunch, so I never knew who it really was. They’ll probably be another upperclassman, so they won’t move in until later,” Dean told him.
His mother huffed, glancing back at his building forlornly. “Well, I hope he’s a gentleman.”
“Why? It’s not like a man’s politeness should mean anything to Dean,” John responded quickly, his lip curling in displeasure.
Dean’s stomach swooped fearfully, but he hid it with a smile and a hug given to his mother.
Without question, Mary reciprocated the hug and held Dean tight enough to hinder his breathing. She sniffled into his shoulder, a sound that his father seemingly, thankfully, didn’t hear, and rubbed her hands flat across his back.
“You’re gonna do so amazing here,” she whispered to him privately. “I’m so proud of you and everything you’ll do.”
Dean held her tighter, screwing his eyes shut to fight back so many different emotions warring to surface.
“Alright, Mary. You’re gonna turn him into a daughter,” John joked tightly, obviously meaning what he said.
Mary pulled away from him with a sad smile, returning to John’s side after one more longing glance over Dean. Contrast to his mom’s goodbye, John simply clapped his hand on Dean’s shoulder and gave him a stiff smile.
“Behave yourself,” he advised.
Warned. Threatened, his mind corrected traitorously.
“Yes, sir,” Dean replied, just as stiff as his father.
“John,” his mother cooed suddenly. John looked down at his wife with apprehension, but she smiled and nodded her head towards Dean.
Sighing, his father reached into his own pocket and pulled out his car keys, then extended his hand towards Dean. Dean could only stare down at the keys in confusion, wondering if this was one of John Winchester’s famous morality tests.
“You’ve proven your dedication over the last two years, so… You can take the Impala.” John’s fist clenched suddenly, shielding the keys from him. “Only until you graduate, and if your grades slip, I’m taking it back.”
Dean wished he could jump up and down with excitement, but if he did that, his dad might call him a slur and shove him to the ground before driving the Impala away. He settled for wide eyes and a fervent nod.
“I’ll do good! I promise, I’ll be good,” Dean promised, as if being good for his father wasn’t all he ever wanted.
He would graduate with the highest possible GPA if it meant his father would utter his pride for Dean.
Anything for his approval.
John sighed, clenched the keys again, but ultimately dropped them into Dean’s open, awaiting palm. That was the only goodbye Dean got from his father that day.
Later, when his side of the room was unpacked and his parents were on the road back home, Dean prayed for almost an hour. He begged God to let him do well, to make his parents proud, and to rid him of his urge to find an out.
On Sunday, Dean drove to a local church bright and early in the morning for their sermon. He wasn’t really the shy type, but nerves had his hands shaking the entire time. The sermon itself felt calming, although the unfamiliarity of hearing someone other than his father preach to him felt a little odd. Once it was over, though, Dean didn’t stick around to introduce himself or mingle.
He didn’t go straight back to campus either, wanting to give his roommate ample time to move in without bothering him. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t kind of scared to meet the guy, but he had high hopes that they’d get along. Both of their names were on their shared front door, and his roommate’s name was biblical.
Oddly biblical, if he was being honest. Far more than Dean had really seen, which was saying something seeing as he was raised in a southern church. He’d seen plenty of Michaels, Gabriels, Pauls, Benjamins, and more, but Castiel?
Yeah, he hadn’t ever heard that one on a living, breathing person. At least it was somewhat relieving, knowing God had his hand in making his randomly assigned roommate someone of a similar background.
He’d tried reaching out to the guy on Saturday, but he never got a response to his email which meant he really had no clue when he would be showing up to move in. If he’d be showing up to move in.
So, Dean waited until around four o’clock before driving Baby back to his designated lot beside his building. The lot was much busier than it had been for the past couple days, and he could see many clusters of families, friends, and students still meandering back and forth from their car to their buildings.
For a moment, an unholy amount of excitement surged through Dean’s body at the feel of a real, live college campus. He’d felt shameful eagerness over his desire to be away from his parents, his father, for years, and finally being there… it made all those nights he’d stayed awake begging God to just give him a taste of freedom worth it.
He was there. Maybe it would only be for two years before he had to go back for the rest of his life, but still. He could—would—make those two years worth it.
Dean slipped through the small crowds of people on the first floor of his building, making his way towards the elevators. He was alone initially, but then a frantic sounding woman yelled for him to hold the doors, and he did so without question. He kept his arm extended over the doors to keep them ajar until the woman had made it in safely, lugging a laundry cart filled to the brim with belongings behind her.
“Need any help with that, ma’am?” he asked worriedly when she got off on the floor below his own.
With a grateful smile, the woman waved him off. “No, thanks. My husband’s waiting at the wing doors for me. You’re a sweetheart, though,” she complimented with a smile before rolling the cart out of sight and disappearing with it.
He stepped off the elevator once it had risen one floor up, spinning his keys around his index finger as he walked towards his room. His heart began racing as he neared his door, forgotten anxiety slithering back in as he turned his key in the lock.
The other side of the room was empty when he left that morning, but it was very clearly occupied now. Glancing around the room, there seemed to be no sign of anyone in the room at that moment, but he’d probably be coming back—
Dean nearly leapt out of his own skin when, almost directly beside him, the bathroom door swung open. Steam and a deep, fragrantly musky scent smacked him in the face.
“Fuck,” his roommate snapped, more in shock than anything else.
Oh. Dean wasn’t expecting swearing. Nor was he expecting…
If he thought his heart was racing before, it was gunning towards heart attack worthy speeds now. Heat bloomed under his skin in his stomach and chest, first belonging to arousal, then to shame.
“Um, I—I’m… sorry,” Dean stuttered, dragging his gaze away from his roommate’s bare chest with great difficulty.
Black ink covered a decent portion of the other man’s chest and arms, though Dean didn’t look long enough to make out all of the designs. He saw flashes of words and art alike, most of which were scattered around his ribs and stomach, but a few were over his pectorals as well. As for his arms, it looked like his left arm was covered in artwork from shoulder to wrist—and Dean swore he saw some lines dancing across his fingers on both hands as well. His right arm only bore tattoos on his forearm, looking much more linework based than the work on his other arm.
Miles of tanned skin covered in water droplets, muscles thicker than someone his age should have, and an ungodly deep voice…
Whoever decided to give the man in front of him the name of an angel was surely going to Hell for some form of blasphemy.
“No, it’s alright. I didn’t hear you come in is all,” his roommate uttered, stepping past him towards his side of the room.
Dean closed his eyes when he caught a glimpse of Castiel’s back. More tattoos, but he squeezed his eyes shut before he could get a good look at any of them. He began reciting prayers and Bible verses in his head desperately.
“I’m…” God help him, did his voice sound breathy? Or was that just his sickened imagination? His eyes fluttered back open as he steadied his voice, and he tried to tell himself that he was only staring at the naked small of Castiel’s back to keep himself from ogling the tattoos. “I’m Dean, but you, uh… knew that already. Probably.”
A small huff that might have been laughter came from Castiel, followed by what looked like a hint of a smile tossed over his shoulder. Dean’s stomach swooped like the way it does when you finally descend over a death-like drop on a rollercoaster. No matter how much self-hatred threatened to overtake him, the burning warmth of arousal never left him.
“Castiel,” his roommate returned easily as he rummaged through his dresser for clothes. “I’m sorry I didn’t respond to your email yesterday. Honestly, I thought you had the wrong person because I was supposed to be in a single room, but wouldn’t you fucking know it, housing messed up my assignment,” he finished, voice lowered like he was mostly just addressing himself.
Dean flinched only a bit at the swearing again, but more so because of the reaction his body had to it.
“Oh,” Dean said lamely.
Castiel snorted. “Yeah, I know. Housing’s always been a shitshow, but they’re apparently going for a fucking record this year.”
He closed his drawer, dropping two items on his bed and keeping another in his hand. Dean watched almost painfully as Castiel slid a distressed t-shirt over his head, covering the majority of his tattoos. Dean missed them already.
“Don’t worry about it, though. Not your fault, and I’m sure they fucked up who you were supposed to room with, too,” Castiel said, finally turning over to raise an expectant eyebrow at Dean
Oh. He still needed to finish getting dressed.
With a wince, Dean ducked his head and turned to his own dresser, his back facing Castiel as the sound of rustling clothing sounded once more. Dean’s legs threatened to give out when he realized it was the sound of Castiel ridding himself of his towel, which meant—
“Actually,” Dean started, his voice now sounding unnaturally high pitched, “I just transferred in, so I didn’t choose a roommate or anything.”
“Yeah? Where from?”
Based on his looks, Dean hadn’t exactly expected him to be so… conversational and polite, and the question took him off guard. It took a second for him to regain his train of thought. “Um, Johnson County Community College. I’m close with my family, so I wanted to stay home while I could.”
“I get that. It’s cool that you wanted to stay close to your family.” The rustling stopped, then the creaking of bed springs came. “I’m good, by the way.”
Dean turned back around slowly, his mouth drying up at the sight of Castiel lounging on his bed with one arm behind his head and the other holding a book open, both the book and the hand holding it being propped up by one of his bare knees.
Of course. Of course he had to be wearing shorts that fell a couple inches above his knees.
“Do you, uh, mind if I shower?” Dean asked, looking away from Castiel quickly.
“It’s all yours,” Castiel replied.
Hurriedly, Dean grabbed a clean outfit from his drawers because he could not change in front of Castiel. He thanked Castiel meekly before ducking into the bathroom, closing the door softly behind him.
In the safety of a locked room with no eyes on him, Dean sank against the door as tears gathered in his eyes. His father’s voice, both in private and during sermons, rang loudly in his mind, spitting venomously on the mere idea of homosexuality. So many years of repressing the worst parts of himself bubbled up, on the verge of drowning him.
Not only was he indulging himself in his immoral thoughts, but involving another man—an innocent man—in them as well? A man named after an angel, at that. It was downright sacrilegious.
It’s not like he’s innocent either, a voice that sounded like his mom or maybe even Sammy chided. Tattoos, swearing, and there’s probably more. There’s nothing wrong with you, and there’s nothing wrong with him either.
That voice was wrong. Of course there was something wrong with him, his father had raised him his whole life making sure he knew there was something wrong with being… With wanting…
Sniffling as quietly as he could, Dean wiped at the tears flowing freely onto his cheeks. He yanked his clothes off with more vigor than necessary and turned the water up hot enough to scald his skin.
And despite the warring voices echoing in his head, he was too weak to resist the urge to take himself in his hand and finish himself to the thought of tasting those tattoos.
Two months into the semester, Dean felt like he’d grown to know Cas pretty well. He wasn’t at all what Dean had assumed he’d be like, but honestly, it just made them better friends.
For one, he wasn’t really sure when Castiel became Cas, or when they became friends. They just kinda clicked despite how different they were.
Cas was staunchly atheist, and his double major in Religious Studies alongside Sociology were chosen because his religious upbringing had turned him against the whole idea of organized religion. Still, he never judged Dean for his own faith, and Dean never even considered pushing it on Cas.
While Dean still had a good relationship with his family, Cas was estranged from most of his. From what Dean had gathered so far, his dad was kind of an extreme evangelical nutcase, which was putting it mildly. Dean assumed his relationship with his mom had been better from the way he talked about her, but she’d passed when Cas was in high school. She apparently knew her husband well, which was why she left each of her children an inheritance and a college fund.
He wasn’t really sure what either of his parents did, but they were seemingly loaded. Dean didn’t mind though, because it meant Cas offered to cover his portion of food whenever they wandered off campus for something to eat.
Cas, he learned, wanted to teach. Whereas Dean was studying religion to go back home and take over his father’s congregation whenever he decided it was time, which would probably be when he was buried six feet under. If he didn’t just come back to keep Dean out. On the other hand, Cas wanted to use his experience and education to teach others how to practice religion ethically.
Some nights, when they were both up late doing homework and talking out loud to keep themselves awake, Cas would ramble about how he wanted to teach. Some nights, Dean stopped typing and just watched Cas as he spoke, feeling his heart slow peacefully as a cloudy, unnamed emotion drifted into his mind.
Dean was a junior and Cas was a senior, something that made him wildly sad until he found out that Cas wanted to go straight into their university’s graduate program when he graduated in the coming spring. In other words, Dean would still get to keep him during his own senior year.
Cas was kind, understanding, both quiet and talkative depending on the situation, he smelled like something intoxicating that Dean could only put a name to when he snuck a glance at the other man’s cologne and hygiene products. He helped Dean in classes that he’d already taken, and he made sure Dean always felt included. He never said it, but somehow he’d figured out that Dean felt a bit out of place at the very beginning. Within the first week, he was inviting Dean with him whenever he went out, and Dean had slowly formed bonds with some of Cas’s friend group. It had given him the confidence to branch out on his own to find his own friends.
Dean didn’t want to read into things, but he could’ve sworn he saw something like pride glimmering in Cas’s eyes when he’d found out that Dean was making friends on his own.
The only issue he had with Cas was his unmistakable attractiveness. Everything Cas did was, for lack of a less offensive word, hot. He didn’t stop sauntering out of their shared bathroom with nothing but a towel slung low on his waist. His typical outfit consisted of dark colored shorts that came right above his knees or fitted joggers paired with some type of well-loved shirt or hoodie. Dean definitely, never, ever dreamed of what it would feel like to steal Cas’s clothes for himself.
There wasn’t much of a height difference between them, Dean was only a hair taller than Cas, but Cas was bigger. Dean had also learned that, all through middle school and high school, Cas had played competitive hockey. He still played, but only for fun. Where Dean was lean and more subtly defined, Cas’s muscles were clearly demarcated and outlined even through those loose fitting shirts that he always wore. He was thicker where Dean was trimmer, and Dean hadn’t realized he had a type until he met Cas.
Or, alternatively, Dean just didn’t have a type until he met Cas.
He tried his best not to look at Cas more than a friend would, but it was so hard. Everything about Cas was magnetic, and Dean was helpless against being drawn in.
Over time, he learned what a lot of Cas’s tattoos meant. He hadn’t even planned on asking, but Cas had caught him staring at the wings on his shoulder blades with feathers that looked more sharp than soft.
His smile was gentle and understanding, no judgment or disgust present. “My mom chose my name, and even though I’m not religious, I still wanted something to honor the name she gave me.”
“How did you choose the design?” Dean had then asked.
“I just liked it,” Cas said with a shrug.
Most of them didn’t have meanings, especially the artwork ones. Just things and designs that Cas liked or wanted to remember. The text ones were lines from his favorite books, poems, or sociologists.
Dean found that endearing. And also hot.
Every single time Dean caved to his worldly desires, he thought of Cas. His thoughts were so corrupted, and when he touched himself they only got worse. He’d imagined things that God never intended for men to imagine. He wondered how Cas kissed, what his skin felt like, what it would feel like to be held by him. Worse, he imagined… what Cas’s fingers would feel like inside of him, what other parts of Cas would feel like inside of him, what Cas would sound like when being pleasured, if his voice would get deeper.
It was sickening. He was sickening. But he still couldn’t stop.
He promised himself that he would make his freedom count, and if that meant succumbing to his urges so that he could satisfy himself and never yield to said urges again? So be it. He’d been a righteous man so far in his life—a good son, a good brother, and a good man. God could forgive his college-aged sins. He had to.
Besides, he’d rationalized long ago that he wasn’t hurting Cas by wanting him. He’d never let Cas know how he felt, and he’d surely never act on his feelings, so what was the harm? And Cas… Cas would understand if he knew. He understood Dean so well, all of which couldn’t be attested only to his similar upbringing. He’d understand why Dean never let himself feel what he so desperately wanted to, and that he would never get another chance in his life to feel it.
As much as he knew Cas, Cas sometimes seemed to know him better. He knew that Dean had a sensitive nose and never brought back fish to their dorm. He knew that Dean needed some type of noise to study and do homework, and he knew the difference between Dean talking to focus versus Dean starting to ramble and get sidetracked.
Cas hated sweets, but knew that Dean had a sweet tooth. Whenever he got takeout from the dining hall, he’d always bring Dean something back. He was respectful of their dorm being Dean’s space as much as it was his, and he was a fantastic communicator. Better than anyone else Dean had ever met.
The more Dean learned, the more he saw that Cas had learned about him, it just went further downhill. He couldn’t stop thinking about Cas, every waking thought was muddled with some relation to Cas. Even with the friends he’d made, he found that his favorite place to be was their room, with Cas. Or anywhere with Cas, really.
All he wanted was Cas, and it was starting to drive him crazy.
But it would be fine. He just had to get through two and a half more months of lusting with no satisfaction, and, hey, he’d spent twenty years in the closet. He could handle a couple more months of it. Returning home for winter break would surely break his Cas-induced spell.
Right?
October brought on breezy sixty degree weather and multi-colored leaves. It also, unfortunately for Dean, brought on Halloween.
The thing was, it didn’t make Dean uncomfortable like it had when he was a kid, but nowadays it just made him feel… awkward. Out of place, or like he didn’t belong. He still didn’t celebrate it, and even with his newfound freedom, he still didn’t plan on celebrating.
Cas was, though. And the thought made Dean kind of sick. He wasn’t stupid, and even though he’d never gone to a college party, plenty of his friends, including Cas, had. He’d heard stories, and he got the gist of what went on at those parties.
The thought of Cas surrounded by drunk girls in skimpy outfits, both parties being somewhat tipsy or full-on drunk? Yeah, it didn’t sit too well with Dean. He could barely stand it when Cas went out to regular parties, but there hadn’t been a single time when Cas hadn’t returned to their dorm at the end of the night.
For some reason, he just felt like Cas wouldn’t be coming back to Dean at the end of every night during Halloween weekend.
He busied himself with the tail-end of midterm work that week, locking himself away in their room as much as he could. The night of Halloween, a Thursday, he decided to spend most of the day in the library so he wouldn’t have to witness Cas dressing up in some costume that he was sure would probably make his mouth water.
The sun had set when he walked back to his building, dread settled heavy in his stomach. He expected to be met with an empty, quiet room when he eased their door open, but he was stopped in his tracks when he saw Cas, as breathtaking as ever, sprawled out on his bed.
Cas turned away from his book to smile warmly at Dean. “I was beginning to think you were out partying,” he joked.
“Who says I wasn’t?” Dean retorted, dropping his bag next to his bed and tumbling into his mattress. Cas was looking as casual as ever, which gave Dean pause. “Aren’t you going to go out partying? I thought Benny said you guys were going to one of the frat parties tonight,” he questioned, confused.
His roommate was back to reading his book, which Dean recognized as his favorite, but he froze. Cas never froze, and the strange lack of movement freaked Dean out.
Then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone. Cas’s shoulders relaxed and he went back to scanning over the printed lines in front of him.
“Nah, not feeling it this year.” He looked over at Dean, blue eyes filled with… something. “The experience doesn’t interest you?” he asked curiously.
Dean made a face and shook his head. “Partying or partying on Halloween?”
Smiling affectionately, Cas said, “Either. Or both.”
“No, that’s really not something I feel like testing my limits of freedom with,” Dean answered honestly.
Cas cocked an eyebrow. “Are there other things you feel like testing your limits of freedom with?”
Still curious, still kind, still undemanding.
Dean averted his gaze, finding Cas’s to be too intense to maintain.
You, Dean wanted to say. I want to test other things with you.
“I don’t know,” Dean muttered instead. “I have to go back to my family after I graduate, and someday I’ll take over for my dad, so… I’ll only even get one chance to have some freedom, and this is it,” he confessed.
“What do you want to do with that freedom?” Cas ventured inquisitively.
You. I want you.
“I don’t know,” Dean repeated.
Silence fell between them for a few moments, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Dean shuffled onto his side, trying and failing not to get too comfortable because he was still wearing his jeans and socks which were undeniably the worst things to be falling asleep in.
“I understand what you mean,” Cas huffed, voice teeming with bemusement and maybe some resentment. “It was almost overwhelming for me during my freshman year. I overindulged a bit, but I learned from it at least. I’m glad you know yourself well enough to know what you don’t feel comfortable doing. The rest you’ll figure out eventually,” Cas said encouragingly.
Dean melted, eyelids fluttering shut as Cas’s voice washed over him. “You sound way older than twenty-one, dude,” he laughed.
“You sound like you’re falling asleep. Get up and change,” Cas told him, the smile clear in his voice even though Dean wasn’t looking.
Grumbling, Dean dragged himself out of bed and grabbed the first pair of shorts he could find in his drawer. Without thinking, he undid his jeans and kicked them down his legs, throwing them onto his half-full hamper. He slid his shorts on, then toed out of his socks as he ambled back to his bed.
“Night, Cas,” Dean mumbled once he was snug under his comforter.
Cas was eerily quiet for a few seconds, then Dean heard him clear his throat and shift in bed. “Goodnight, Dean.”
It was only when he was finally dozing off when Dean’s heart tripped over itself, the feeling of it making his chest tighten uncomfortably. He hadn’t gone to the bathroom to change, and he’d basically bent himself over in front of Cas while taking his jeans off. He’d never changed outside of the bathroom while Cas was in the room with him, but he just hadn’t thought about it in his exhausted state.
In the pit of Dean’s stomach, he could tell that something had just shifted between them. He just wasn’t sure exactly what it was yet.
Thanksgiving came and went, time dragging on more than Dean had ever remembered. To no one’s surprise, Dean missed Cas like crazy over Thanksgiving break. Luckily for him, Cas seemed just as enthusiastic to text Dean daily over the one week break.
The two of them chatted for hours every day, the conversation flowing as easily as it did when they were together in person. Dean found himself glued to his phone the entire time, eagerly awaiting a new text from Cas. It was noticeable enough for Dean’s father to snap at him more than once to stay off of his phone.
His mother seemed more curious than anything.
“Who are you texting so much, duckling?” she asked him one afternoon, bumping her hip against his as they made lunch together.
Dean smiled at her, but his anxiety swirled in his stomach angrily. He wasn’t sure how to answer her, worried that no matter what he said his mom would be onto him.
“Just my friends from school,” he deflected.
Mary sighed, rubbing her hand up and down Dean’s back. “I’m so happy you’ve made friends there. You know, I met your dad when I was in college. Maybe you’ll meet someone there too.”
She pressed a gentle kiss to his temple, but when the sound of their front door opening echoed throughout their house, all forms of physical contact left him. His mother stood with a foot’s distance between them as his father wandered into the kitchen.
John gave him an odd, sharp look. “What are you doing in here?”
He said it like it should be a crime for him to be in the kitchen, helping his mother and having a hand in making food that he was going to eat.
“Helping Mom out,” Dean told him, anger unfurling dangerously under his skin.
Don’t snap at him. Don’t snap. Don’t snap.
“Men don’t need to be helping out in the kitchen, Dean,” his father laughed, and Dean knew he’d have to pray for forgiveness that night for wanting to hit his own father.
“Cut him some slack, John. We haven’t seen him in months, I’m sure he just misses us, right, Dean?” his mom implored his father sweetly, albeit warily.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Dean slid her a grateful smile. Both of them sighed in relief when John sighed heavily, but walked back out of the kitchen without another argument. His anger didn’t leave him though, and the more he thought about it, the more it boiled.
Later, when he was settled in bed and he knew both of his parents were well past their bedtime, he retold the encounter to Cas.
“He’s just so… I don’t even know what to call it, Cas. There aren’t a lot of kind words I can think of to describe him right now, and it makes me so angry.”
“Want me to do it for you?” he heard Cas joke mildly.
“Do what?”
“Call him an asshole, since I know you won’t do it.”
Dean laughed unexpectedly, louder than he should have at such a late hour. He smacked his hand over his mouth to muffle the noise, but he couldn’t stop himself from continuing to laugh. A familiar but muffled sound came from the other end of the line, and Cas’s laughter only made Dean feel giddier.
When they’d both settled into softer bursts of laughter, Dean shook his head and stared at his phone affectionately like it was a replacement for Cas.
“You’re such an idiot,” Dean breathed, no heat to his words.
“Oh, so you can call me an idiot, but you can’t call your dad an asshole?” Cas asked in mock offense.
“Yeah, man. You’re not my dad, I don’t have to be nice to you,” he joked easily.
Their familiar banter relaxed Dean, mixing with the consolation that venting his frustrations to someone he trusted gave him as well. He melted into his bed, snuggling further into his blanket with the sound of Cas’s voice soothing him.
“Right, because you, Dean Winchester, are notoriously mean to me,” Cas snorted.
“Shut up,” Dean shot back, rolling his eyes under closed eyelids.
Cas chuckled again, his voice sounding deeper and grainier over the phone.
After a few moments of quiet, Dean sighed and blinked his eyes back open, staring blankly at his bland walls. He hadn’t realized how little his room at home felt like his until he came back from his dorm. Everything was perfectly neat and tidy, nothing decorated his walls or shelves, and there was no sign of Cas. In their dorm, Dean let himself be a little less perfect. He didn’t throw his dirty clothes in the hamper as soon as he took them off, he had numerous books belonging to himself and Cas littering his desk, dresser, and nightside table. He even had some posters hung up from his new favorite show that Charlie and Garth had introduced him to.
At the beginning of the semester, he and Cas had stuck to their own halves of the room, but over time, that line blurred. Sometimes they tossed a shirt or two in the other’s hamper when their own was full, and neither of them minded. They borrowed each other’s things (though Dean staunchly refused to borrow any clothing from Cas), and something about it felt more homey than Dean’s actual home.
He missed falling asleep with his body facing Cas’s bed, watching the other man read or sleep or, when Cas was out late, ghosting his eyes over the posters and decorations on Cas’s wall. Being able to hear Cas’s voice over the phone, lighting up his dull bedroom, made him feel so much better.
“I just can’t wait to come back on Saturday. I love my family, and I really miss my mom and Sammy when I’m at school, but…”
“But you miss your freedom,” Cas finished for him.
Something in his chest ached for Cas in that moment. No one had ever known Dean so well, and he doubted anyone ever will. He and Cas were just two sides to the same coin, and no one could compare to that.
Shaking off his melancholy, Dean teased Cas without thinking. “Among other things,” he said lightly.
More silence, and then a hesitant, “You miss me?”
“Um,” Dean stuttered automatically, heat blooming in his cheeks. “I—yes. Yeah, I do.”
He could feel the smile in Cas’s voice when he returned Dean’s sentiment with, “I miss you too, Dean.”
Yeah, Dean was counting down the seconds until he got to be back with Cas.
An impending holiday such as Christmas should make Dean ecstatic. Usually he loved the aura of Christmas, he loved how excited and warm their church got, he loved seeing Sammy turn back into the little kid he remembered him as when the day got close. Even their father seemed in higher spirits most of the time. Mary loved Christmas, always decorating their home in a way that rivaled Hallmark movies. Dean swore she never baked as many sweets as she did in December, and he loved every bit of it.
That year, Dean dreaded it. Christmas meant going home, leaving Cas behind. For an entire month, at that. He barely survived a single week without Cas over Thanksgiving break, how in the world was he supposed to find the strength to be without him for a whole month?
Thankfully, Cas spent most of the final two weeks of the semester in their dorm, as did Dean. It was mostly spent studying and working on final papers, but they did it together.
Part of Dean found it to be… domestic. The nights where he and Cas sat in one bed instead of their own respective beds to study together, he thought about how easy it would be to scoot over a couple inches and plaster himself to Cas’s side lovingly—
No. No, not lovingly. Because he didn’t love Cas. Well—okay, he did love Cas, but that didn’t mean he was in love with Cas. Because he wasn’t. It was just pent up lust that Dean hadn’t let himself acknowledge until he’d met Cas.
And how could he not be attracted to Cas? He was simultaneously passionate and caring as well as assertive and confident. Objectively, he was just hot, too. Tattoos everywhere, a deep, gravely voice, observant blue eyes, dark hair that seemed to always be in a state of disarray. He was intelligent and self-aware, confident in what he knew and learned, but always expectant of learning new information that could change or add to his existing viewpoints.
He had the cutest mannerisms once you got to know him better. He had a habit of tilting his head to the side when he was confused or curious, he whined about having to be up earlier than ten in the morning, and he couldn’t cook to save his life. He adored reading, and it was hard to catch him without his nose buried in a book. Even though they’d only known each other for a few months, Dean had already lost count of the number of times he saw Cas rereading his favorite book.
Cas loved deep and hard, but he wasn’t one to befriend everyone he spoke to. He was definitely an ambivert, and he was plenty friendly to everyone when feeling extroverted, but Cas liked to keep a smaller, tight-knit circle of friends close to him. Dean, somehow, was one of those friends, and being on the receiving end of Cas’s friendship was the equivalent of being wrapped in a warm, fuzzy blanket while being spoon fed your favorite food.
Everything about him was irresistible, how was Dean supposed to do the impossible by resisting?
Still, it was only lust. Nothing more than that.
He wallowed in his displeasure of his soon to be separation from Cas, having very little desire to socialize with anyone. He was worried that if he spent any time with his friends, he’d say something he shouldn’t.
“So, Meg is having a little Christmas party with our friends tomorrow,” Cas told him only a day before said party was said to be taking place.
Fighting back the instinct to give Cas a look that would compare to a kicked puppy, Dean continued to pack some of his clothes into a suitcase. “That’s cool. Are you gonna go?”
“I’m not sure,” Cas sighed. Dean heard him drop down onto his bed behind him, and a traitorous image of how Cas’s thighs thicken up when he’s sitting down flashed in Dean’s mind. They would probably feel comfortable and sturdy to sit on while he—
“I wanted to ask if you wanted to go. If you do, I’d go too,” Cas hedged.
Oh. Okay. He wasn’t expecting that.
Neither of them had talked about their mutual admissions of missing each other over Thanksgiving, nor did they talk about how Dean had practically leapt into Cas’s arms when they saw each other for the first time after the one week break. Or how Cas had wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist of all places, pulling Dean’s body flush against his own, certainly leaving no space for Jesus in between them
Cas’s invite felt different somehow. A little more intimate or private, maybe. Cas had practically said that he would only go if Dean went with him, and the notion of that made something flutter in his stomach.
Turning away from his suitcase, Dean eyed Cas speculatively. He very deliberately kept his gaze on Cas’s face and not his spread out thighs.
“Are you sure they’d be okay with me coming along?” he asked.
Cas tilted his head with an amused smile. “Why wouldn’t they? They like you. Plus, I’m pretty sure Charlie and Garth will be there too,” he tempted Dean.
Flattening his lips with a dull stare, Dean turned back to his suitcase. “Okay, okay. You don’t need to convince me, I’ll go with you,” he huffed, feigning exasperation.
Cas shifted on his bed, and then Dean felt footsteps nearing him. Suddenly, Cas’s hand tousled his hair playfully for just a moment, but the touch burned Dean’s scalp and sparked electricity through his body.
“Good,” was all Cas said.
Dean swatted at his hands harmlessly, drawing a small laugh from his roommate. “Jerk,” Dean muttered.
“You love me,” Cas teased as he walked back to his bed.
An ungodly reaction overtook Dean’s body at the words, his hands fumbling with the jeans he had just been refolding to put in his suitcase. He took a deep, quiet breath, then stood and hurried to the bathroom with his head down.
“Whatever,” Dean diverted. “‘M gonna shower.”
And it was between himself and God if he did or didn’t pleasure himself to a looped daydream of Cas perched on his bed with his legs spread, cradling Dean’s head as he took him in his mouth while Cas murmured, “You love me, don’t you?”
(He did. He definitely, really, for sure did.)
Charlie was halfway to blackout drunk when Dean and Cas got to Meg’s apartment, and she immediately wrapped herself around Dean like an octopus.
“Dean!” she squealed excitedly. Her drink sloshed when she hugged him, but thankfully Cas snagged the cup and kept it from spilling on Dean. He shot his roommate a grateful smile before focusing on holding Charlie upright.
“I’m so glad I met you this year! I love you so much!” Charlie slurred, squeezing Dean tightly.
“I’m glad we met too, kid,” Dean responded, patting her bright red hair comfortingly.
“Oh!” Charlie shot back, losing her balance and only staying on her two feet because Dean was there to steady her. “There’s someone I want you to meet! Come on, come on,” Charlie urged, grabbing Dean’s wrist and dragging him through Meg’s apartment.
Only about fifteen people filled the place up, and Dean was glad that Cas was telling the truth about the party only being for close friends. Charlie led him to the kitchen, dropping his wrist when she spotted a blonde girl that Dean recognized as another one of Cas’s friends, Jo.
“Babe,” Charlie called out, to which Jo turned around with a wide, less than sober smile.
“Hey, you,” Jo said lowly. The tone wasn’t something Dean was used to, but he understood it as seductive when Charlie grabbed Jo’s hips and laid an excited kiss on her mouth.
Dean’s eyes widened at the open display of affection. A wolf whistle from someone behind them made him flinch, but he tried to hide it. Discomfort settled in Dean’s bones, quickly followed by mortification when he realized that he felt ashamed over his friends.
Feeling it for himself was one thing, and he could handle that, but feeling ashamed of his friend looking happier than ever and in love made him feel like he was going to be sick.
It wasn’t like it was a surprise. He’d been in Charlie’s dorm before, he’d seen the sunset colored pride flag hanging proudly beside her bed. At the time, he hadn’t known exactly what the flag represented, but it only took a quick Google search to find out.
Even though he’d known she was a lesbian, it was still a shock to his system to see her and another woman. The discomfort wasn’t even what it would have been years ago. He loved Charlie, he was happy for her.
He wished he could be as brave as both of them. He hated that he wasn’t, that he would probably never be.
“You remember Jo, right? Well,” Charlie sang happily, oblivious to Dean’s inner turmoil, “turns out she’s into redheads.”
“You’re drunk,” Jo laughed, swaying as she supported Charlie’s lack of balance. “And the story goes a little more like I had a crush on her, she had a crush on me, and we accidentally made out a few weeks ago.”
Despite himself, Dean’s lips twitched at her word choice. “You made out on accident?”
Jo shot him a dazzling smile, her eyes crinkling with something soft that made Dean’s chest hurt.
“Maybe a little on purpose,” she amended, giggling when Charlie drunkenly attacked her neck. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go sober her up a little bit.”
Enthusiastically, Charlie waved goodbye at Dean, then not-so-subtly grabbed her girlfriend’s ass as they departed the kitchen together. Dean’s smile slipped once he was left alone. He swiveled around and dropped his head onto the counters right next to the sink, letting the cold of the stone seep into his skin and ground him.
Why did he have to have so many issues? Why did his father have to instill all of this in him? Why wasn’t it easier to unlearn his body’s instinctual reactions, even when he wanted them to be different?
“Does it make you uncomfortable?”
Dean shot upright and spun around with his hand splayed across his chest.
“Cas, you nearly gave me a heart attack,” Dean gasped. “We need to put a bell on you or something.”
Cas didn’t laugh at Dean’s joke, only kept on staring. “Answer my question.”
“Um, what did you ask again?” Dean asked, a nervous laugh bubbling up. Cas didn’t exactly look mad, but he looked less expressive than he usually did around Dean.
“Charlie and Jo. Does their relationship make you uncomfortable?”
“What? Why are you asking me that?” Dean spluttered.
Cas frowned, walking further into the kitchen until he stood a little more than a foot between them. Dean backed up against the counter, clutching the stone there so that he wouldn’t unconsciously lean forward into Cas’s space.
“Because you looked like you would rather being anywhere else besides two women showing affection to one another,” Cas stated in a sharp tone.
Cas was accusing Dean, he realized. Accusing him of being, well, kind of exactly like what he was being. Maybe he was assuming Dean was blatantly hateful rather than fighting to overcome prejudice and self-hatred that had been ingrained in him since birth.
“I understand you can’t help your upbringing, but I thought you were better than that,” Cas eventually sighed when Dean didn’t respond, shoulders dropping in disappointment.
He moved away from Dean, angling away and stepping in the direction of the entryway back into the living room, but Dean reached out to grab a fistful of Cas’s shirt to keep him from leaving.
“No! No, I’m not—It wasn’t like you think it was,” Dean denied.
Cas narrowed his eyes in disbelief. “Really? Then what was it like?”
What was he supposed to say to that? What could he say to that? He couldn’t tell Cas the truth because he couldn’t tell anyone the truth. But… then again, if Dean were to tell any one person in his life, couldn’t he trust Cas with his secret?
Dean opened his mouth, but no words came out. Cas glanced down, and when Dean followed his gaze, he found that he’d loosened his hand in Cas’s shirt in favor of flattening his palm on his roommate’s stomach. Even through the thin material of his shirt, Dean could feel the outlines of Cas’s abs.
As if acting on sheer impulse and the delight of finally, for the first time, being able to touch Cas instead of just looking, Dean skated his hand towards the middle of Cas’s stomach and upwards until he felt the dip of Cas’s sternum.
Cas made a sound that sounded like sin itself, and it felt like Dean was being drenched in cold water. He ripped his hand away from Cas, jerking backwards into the counter and bumping the back of his head off of a cabinet.
Dean hissed in pain, but he was quickly quieted by warm, soft lips pressing against his own. The scent of Cas overwhelmed him suddenly, and he could do nothing but let his eyes fall shut as Cas worked his mouth open. Cas’s hands came around his waist, pulling their hips flush against one another similar to how he had when they greeted each other after Thanksgiving break.
Instinct overtook Dean’s body. He was wrapping his own arms around Cas’s neck and mirroring Cas’s head tilt to make the kissing easier. A small, contented sound escaped Dean, which Cas met with a lower, growly sound of his own.
Fingers tunneling into Cas’s dark hair, Dean used his new grip to hold Cas close just in case someone tried to steal him away when he’d only just finally gotten him. Dean’s heart raced when Cas’s tongue brushed lazily against his bottom lip, his breath leaving his lungs instantaneously. When he did it again, Dean opened his mouth wider to accept his tongue with his own.
He’d imagined what Cas’s tongue would feel like exploring his mouth plenty of times, but the real thing felt so much better than he’d ever imagined. He couldn’t help but moan, eagerly meeting Cas’s tongue and arching his hips into Cas’s.
Abruptly, Cas pulled away from his mouth, but still stayed as close as before. If he thought Cas looked gorgeous on a regular day, he must have looked ethereal in that moment. His pupils were blown wide, more black than blue in his eyes. His cheeks were reddened and his mouth was parted as he panted for air.
“We shouldn’t do this here,” Cas breathed with a jerky shake of his head.
Now that the dam was broken, Dean felt ravenous.
Dipping his head down, he excitedly kissed along Cas’s jawline and made a small, desperate sound at the feeling of his friend’s stubble scratching his smooth cheek.
“Can you take me home then?” he asked, tugging on Cas’s shirt impatiently.
Cas groaned, sounding tortured, then pulled Dean’s head back by his hair and kissed him breathless once more. Just when Dean was going to lick his way back into Cas’s mouth, Cas pulled away with a darkly promising smile.
“We’re going. Now,” Cas clarified, dragging Dean back out of the kitchen and out of Meg’s apartment without so much as a goodbye to anyone.
Dean was tugging Cas towards his bed before their door was even shut. He clung to Cas as they stumbled into their room, hands and lips roaming each other’s bodies. When the backs of knees hit the bed, Cas shoved him down in an uncaring way that made his hips twitch with need.
“Have you ever done this with anyone before?” Cas asked, sounding even hotter when breathless.
“No,” Dean accentuated with a vehement head shake. “That was my first kiss.”
Above him, Cas stilled. Dean stared up at him and wondered if he should pinch his arm to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. He spread his legs further apart to make more room for Cas, silently begging him to come closer.
Cas pounced in an instant, kissing Dean with more fervor than before. His hands worked to undo Dean’s belt, and when he yanked them down Dean’s waist, he lifted his hips to make it easier.
They separated so Cas could pull Dean’s shirt over his head and toss it on the floor, leaving him only in his briefs.
“Stay here,” Cas ordered, stepping over to his side of the room with long strides and snagging something out of his nightstand before returning to Dean. He placed a bottle of something atop Dean’s nightstand and took a moment to greedily drink up Dean’s figure.
“You look so fucking good like this, Dean.”
Unconsciously, Dean whined at the praise and could only squirm on the bed as Cas reached down to palm himself over his joggers. A heady smirk pulled at Cas’s mouth. He came closer to the bed, pressing one knee to the bed while his other leg stayed steady on the floor.
“Tell me you want me,” Cas demanded.
Without hesitation, Dean complied. “I want you, Cas.”
He was rewarded with Cas thumbing at the waistband of his briefs, drawing a whine out of Dean. He canted his hips upward, which Cas took as a green light to use both hands to pull Dean’s final garment down his legs.
“You gonna be good for me, Dean? Let me do what I want with you?” Cas ventured, his voice dripping with liquid sex. Dean nodded furiously, shamelessly widening his legs and shooting a glance over at the clear liquid Cas had retrieved from his belongings. He didn’t know that much about how this worked, but he at least knew certain things needed lubricant.
“Fuck,” Cas bit out, snatching the bottle and popping the cap open. He poured a decent amount on his fingers before tossing the bottle on the bed. “Have you ever fucked yourself?”
The vulgarity of his words had Dean’s face beet red, but he shook his head side to side despite his burning embarrassment. Could embarrassment be arousing? Because Dean was pretty sure the coiling heat in his gut was made up of more arousal than humiliation.
Dean saw a white flash of Cas’s teeth in the dim light of their room. He gave a full body shudder when slick, warm fingers pressed against his rim and circled there. A sound Dean had never heard himself make was torn out of his throat, his arms and legs trembling violently with anticipation.
“You want me to fuck you? You want me to spread you open with my fingers, my cock?”
Dean whimpered, tears building in his eyes, and nodded frantically. He wiggled his hips, trying to urge Cas inside of him to no avail.
“Say it,” Cas directed with no room for argument.
“I-I want your fingers,” Dean hedged unfamiliarly.
“No, say you want me to fuck you with my fingers,” Cas corrected him, his smile turning smug and hungry.
Swallowing, Dean glanced down, his mind nearly shattering into pieces at the sight of Cas’s fully inked arm leading down to the hand disappearing between his legs. God, he would say anything to get Cas inside of him.
“I want you to f-fuck me with your fingers,” Dean fumbled over the words.
Cas growled happily, applying more pressure to Dean’s virgin rim promisingly.
“Wait!” Cas froze at the word, locking eyes with Dean worriedly. “Just—Want this off,” Dean pleaded, reaching up with a shaky hand to weakly tug at Cas’s shirt. He’d waited too long to not have the best view of Cas’s tattoos.
With a proud smile, Cas leaned back momentarily to reach for the back of his shirt, pulling the thing off with one smooth motion. “Better?” he taunted knowingly.
Dean nodded, happily running his hands flat over Cas’s bare chest and stomach. He throbbed at the feeling of his warm skin under his touch, wiggling his hips again imploringly.
“Sorry, pretty boy,” Cas apologized, amused.
A single, thick finger came back to Dean’s hole, skipping over the teasing and going straight for breaching his ring of muscle. Dean keened, eyes sliding shut in bliss as Cas slid his middle finger knuckle deep into Dean’s body.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Cas praised.
He’d barely touched Dean yet, but Dean could already feel an intense tightening in his stomach and tingling at the base of his spine. Sure, he’d masturbated before, but he wasn’t lying when he told Cas he’d never been touched like that before. He was turned on by the thought of Cas being inside of him, and being the first person to do so, as much as the actual feeling of Cas’s finger deep inside of him.
Cas lifted one of Dean’s legs and pushed it back until his thigh brushed against his torso. Looking up, Dean found himself whining at the way Cas’s eyes were locked on the sight of his finger twisting in and out of Dean’s body. The sound drew Cas’s gaze up to Dean’s face in an instant, smiling heatedly down at his friend.
Cas’s fingers crooked inside of him unexpectedly, and a jolt goes through Dean as his fingertips nudge against something sensitive inside of him. “There it is,” Cas triumphed.
“There what is?” Dean breathed, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
With a devious looking smile, Cas only leaned down to catch Dean’s mouth in a heated kiss as he repeated the same motion with his finger over and over again. Every time he hit that spot, Dean swore he saw the heavens opening up for him. White dots danced across his vision, and if he thought he was unable to control his mouth before, boy was he wrong.
A blasphemous stream of noises of pleasure poured out of Dean’s mouth while Cas worked him open. He was pretty sure the tears in his eyes had begun to leak over, but he couldn’t be worried about it with how good he was feeling.
“You’re so responsive,” Cas told him as he teased a second finger around Dean’s sensitive rim. His mouth was littering Dean’s jaw and neck with kisses and harmless bites, all of which went straight to the already fervent heat burning in Dean’s gut.
“Please. More,” Dean begged tearfully, wrapping his leg around Cas’s waist to urge him closer.
Approvingly, Cas hummed and allowed Dean to grind his ass against Cas’s still-clothed erection.
“I’m not gonna fuck you tonight, Dean,” Cas said absently.
Dean’s eyes shot open, startled by Cas’s words. He dragged his blunt nails over Cas’s shoulders and chest, almost embarrassingly feeling like he was going to start crying.
“Why not?” Dean hadn’t meant to sound petulant, but he did.
With a self-absorbed look that made Dean subconsciously squeeze around Cas’s finger, his roommate finally eased a second finger alongside his first. “You want my cock that badly?”
Dean nodded enthusiastically, but Cas scolded him with a harsher bite right below his collarbone and a not-so-gentle thrust back inside of Dean. He yelped, then moaned when Cas soothed his bite with his tongue.
“No, I want you to say it, Dean. Say you want my cock,” Cas grunted. Dean noticed the way that his friend rutted against him and groaned at the contact. Cas was still clothed from his hips down, but Dean could feel him. He felt bigger than Dean, and that thought made his mouth water.
In all ways, Cas was bigger than Dean, this was just one of many. It made Dean want to shove him down to the floor and sink down on him just because he wanted Cas to prove how much bigger he was.
“I… I want your cock.”
Again, Dean tripped over the foreign word, but it was mostly because it made him feel like he was being set on fire for so many reasons—none of them were good. Cas was the only reason he was feeling or speaking like that, and the feeling of being corrupted (despite how much Dean craved it) made him feel flustered. He’d never sworn or spoken so graphically in his life, unlike Cas, and it just made sense that Cas was the one to toss him over that edge.
Cas pulled away, which Dean mourned, to stare down at his roommate. Cas looked debauched, like he was placed on Earth to tempt Dean into the darkest pits of Hell. He was flushed, though Dean was pretty sure it wouldn’t compare to how red he assumed he himself was, with a starved look in his eyes that Dean had never seen.
The severity of his gaze made Dean’s nerves tighten dangerously, warningly, so he averted his gaze downwards.
Ungodly was the only word to describe the dreamy image of Cas’s tan and black arm flexing under his own movements. The veins in his forearm strained underneath his skin, more prominent than Dean had ever seen them. Dean could see his muscles undulating as he moved his fingers in and out of Dean expertly. Even the ink on his skin seemed to ebb and flow with each slight movement.
Heat pulled tighter, clenching in Dean’s stomach.
“Oh, God,” Dean whimpered, a weak sob tearing through him.
“God’s not here. Just me,” Cas taunted.
“Cas,” Dean gasped. “Cas, ‘m gonna—I can’t,” he babbled mindlessly.
A strong hand gripped his jaw and, sadly, forced his gaze away from his view of Cas fingering him. The annoyance dissipated when he met Cas’s eyes, desperation quickly rearing its head.
Dean scrambled to anchor one hand into Cas’s hair and the other on his shoulder blade.
“How long?” Cas asked, sounding close to anguished. “How long have you wanted me?”
There was no fight left in Dean. Nothing to fight off his sexuality or Cas anymore. He couldn’t do it anymore.
“Since I met you,” Dean admitted through tears. A weight lifted off of him at the honesty, some final wall caving in favor of giving himself not just to what he’d suspected for years, but specifically to Cas.
“Dean,” Cas groaned, dipping down to kiss Dean briefly. “Let me see you come. I want to be the first person to watch you fall apart.”
Even in his state of ruin, Dean could tell that Cas wasn’t asking. He was begging. Begging for Dean.
On command, the tightness snapped. Dean tightened his hand in Cas’s hair, his eyes sliding shut involuntarily as a shout worked its way out of his throat.
Dean sobbed as he came, the most significant form of pleasure clawing through every inch of his body. He held on tight to Cas, surely babbling thoughtlessly even though Dean found himself unable to hear what he was saying. His ears buzzed as his body trembled in like.
He could feel Cas bend down again to murmur in his ears, but he couldn’t make out any of the words he used.
Cas eased him down from his all-consuming orgasm, pulling his fingers out of Dean so that he could use both of his hands to rub Dean’s sides affectionately.
“—good. You’re so good, Dean. You were so good for me,” came his deep voice. Dean came back to Earth, guided by Cas’s voice, refusing to remove his hands from Cas’s body.
“Can—” Dean broke off to clear his throat after his voice cracked on his first attempt. “Can you, um, mark me?”
Cas hummed against his throat, seemingly distracted by his current journey of exploring Dean’s skin. “Mark you how?” he asked, and Dean was starting to realize Cas had a thing for watching Dean step out of his comfort zone when Cas told him to.
Whispering, Dean nuzzled into Cas’s neck for comfort, “I-I want you to come on me.”
“Oh, fuck,” Cas sighed. He didn’t waste a second before rushing to pull himself out of his pants so he could jerk himself off.
Wanting to live up to Cas’s praises of calling him good, Dean let his words flow without thinking. “I thought about this so much, Cas. I touched myself to the thought of you so much,” he disclosed quietly. “I want you to take everything from me.”
Cas bit down on his shoulder, harder than any of the other playful bites, and moaned loudly as ropes of cum not belonging to himself hit Dean’s chest. Dean moved his fingers across Cas’s body where they touched down, coaxing the aftershocks of Cas’s orgasm out of him.
He sagged against Dean once he was spent, which should have been uncomfortable, but it wasn’t. The feeling of Cas’s chest heaving against his own, his warmth seeping into Dean’s and mixing to form something that only belonged to the two of them. It just felt right. Hopefully, he could keep Cas like this forever.
When Cas lifted himself off of Dean with his hands on either side of his friend’s head, his face was filled with apprehension.
“Did you want this to be a one-time thing?” Cas asked bluntly.
Dean rolled his eyes. “I just told you that I wanted you to take everything from me, didn’t I?”
Cas’s smile was blinding, relieved, and happy.
“Thank fuck,” Cas huffed, taking Dean’s mouth into another kiss that made him forget his own name.