Life Skills - ilovehowyouletmefall - Supernatural [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

Chapter Text

Cas took the wheel for the last leg of the drive back to the bunker. He popped Born to Run into the tape deck and whistled along with the saxophone solos. Dean watched him handle the wheel confidently.

Little Cas, all grown up .

Strangely, the thought made Dean’s stomach churn. Like seeing Pinocchio turn into a real boy, but it's just human skin pulled over a wooden frame.

He thought about So you guys are a package deal? And the way Cas had answered, Yes.

Somewhere along the line, there had been a miscommunication. Cas had learned a lot over the past months, but he hadn’t learned everything Dean was trying to teach him. Dean had taught Cas how to shoot guns, and shoot pool, and shoot whiskey. Cas could quote Clint Eastwood back at Dean whenever Dean referenced one of his movies, and had his own opinions on the top three Led Zeppelin guitar solos. Cas had a list of phone numbers that women had entered into his contact list after he had shown them a good time. He could drive Baby well enough that Dean didn’t think twice about passing him the keys. But something was still missing. A way of acting, of being. A way of understanding that all of those things were supposed to signify something beyond the mere act of shooting or listening to music or f*cking.

Dean realized that he had been a bad teacher.

Dean’s failures aside, there was still a list of movies that he had promised Cas they’d get through. And hell, he could still kick back and relax with the guy, right?

As Cas settled on the bed next to him, Dean shifted awkwardly. Had they always sat so close together? They must have. Whenever Dean tried to leave a breath of space between their thighs, the laptop shifted awkwardly.

Cas pressed closer to Dean, so they were touching hip-to-knee, and re-balanced the laptop. Dean clenched his jaw and didn’t move.

He’d had the idea that he could segue from comedies back to Westerns with Blazing Saddles . It didn’t go according to plan.

“Why did everyone pull their guns on the new sheriff?” Cas asked with a puzzled frown.

For the first time in months, Dean felt a twinge of frustration at Cas’ cluelessness, instead of his normal amusem*nt. He did his best to repress the feeling, and said, “Because he’s black.”

Cas turned to him, scandalized. “That’s racist!”

“Yeah, that’s the joke.”

“Racism isn’t a joke, Dean,” Cas said, deadly serious.

“No, it’s making fun of racist people,” Dean explained. “It’s satire.”

Cas pursed his lips, unconvinced. But he turned back to the screen with a skeptical, “Okay…”

A few seconds later he asked, “Why’s the sheriff acting like that?”

“It’s a stereotype about black people.”

Cas looked at Dean squint-eyed.

Dean sighed heavily. “You know what? Forget it. This isn’t gonna work.” He snapped the laptop shut.

Cas was caught off-guard by Dean’s sudden impatience, and blinked in confusion. “I’m sorry,” he said sincerely.

“No, don’t apologize. It’s good.” Dean said, with an edge to his voice. “It’s great that you don’t understand racist bullsh*t. It’s great that you don’t have all the bullsh*t floating around in your head that normal humans do. It’s great that you don’t understand all the bullsh*t rules people live by. It’s fantastic.”

“But you’re angry.”

Dean looked at Cas. His eyes were wide, his brow furrowed, his mouth downturned. He looked so sad, but so open, wanting to understand. It’s not his fault. Dean felt like he had just kicked a puppy.

“I’m not angry, Cas. I think I’m just tired,” he said gently, tossing his laptop aside.

“We could watch something else,” Cas suggested hopefully. “Kevin has been suggesting that we all watch Star Wars together.”

“You guys can do that. I think I’m gonna take a nap.”

Dean slid down the bed and closed his eyes. Even though he couldn’t see his face, he could almost hear Cas’ face fall in the silence that followed.

“Oh. Alright.”

Dean felt the bed shift as Cas got up, heard his footsteps as he walked towards the door.

“Cas?”

“Yeah?”

Dean hesitated before opening his eyes, and turning towards Cas with an apologetic look.

“Don’t watch Star Wars without me.”

Cas nodded with a faint smile. “I won’t.”

Dean smiled weakly back, but it didn’t fix the fact that something was broken between the two of them. It was like the clock had struck midnight, and whatever spell that had been cast when Cas came to live in the bunker was shattered. Dean knew that he’d screwed up with Cas, but it was something more than that too. Somewhere between teaching Cas to drive and watching him f*ck the brains out of a pink-haired chick, something had changed; unintentionally, and without his permission. That old easiness between them was gone. Dean hated it.

It was like an alarm bell going off in Dean’s head every time Cas touched him. Like someone yelling at him every time Cas got too close. But Cas was only doing what Dean had taught him, was only acting in ways that Dean had encouraged. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t know where the lines were; it wasn’t his fault that he didn’t know when to stop. So that made this change, whatever it was and however it happened, Dean’s fault.

There was a witch in Atlanta, because of course there was. Just when Dean was feeling sh*tty, the universe went and threw witches in the mix. He made the drive with Metallica blaring the whole way, the dark, growling sound matching his mood. As much as he tried not to check Cas’ reactions in the rear-view, he couldn’t help notice the way Cas stared vacantly out the window, a frown twisting his lips, tension in his shoulders. Not a Metallica fan, then. Dean forced himself not to care.

When they rolled into town, Dean got one room for Sam, and one room for him and Cas to share. Back when he’d started with the separate rooms, he’d said that they all needed the space, and that was still true. It would be weird to change up the pattern now.

“There’s two beds,” Cas remarked as he and Dean entered their room.

Dean made for the far bed, scowling the sagging mattress and the smell of sweat and disinfectant assaulting his nostrils.

“Yeah, I haven’t been sleeping so great,” Dean explained, unzipping his duffle and rooting around for something to sleep in.

“You’re not sick, are you?” Cas asked, and there was such genuine concern in his voice that it made Dean pause, shoulders slumped.

“Don’t worry about me, Cas,” he said, not turning, not wanting to see his friend’s face. “I’m fine.”

The witch case was disgusting. Sam, Dean and Cas got into her house by visiting when her husband (who was apparently not bewitched, just the dumbest man alive) was home alone, and posing as environmental inspectors looking into a gas leak. For once Cas’ encyclopedic knowledge of geological processes came in handy for bullsh*tting, and Dean couldn’t help feeling a spark of pride. But then Sam found the bones and jarred fluids of missing people going back decades in the basem*nt, and the witch came home early, and all bets were off.

By the end, Dean was covered in 20 year-old lymph, Cas was gasping on the floor where he had collapsed after the witch had tried to choke him, and Sam was holding her decapitated head by the hair.

Sam dropped the head and strode over to Cas, offering a hand to help him up. “You okay?” he asked, with a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

Cas nodded.

Dean looked at his own hands. They were filthy, covered in smelly goo.

“Can you guys deal with this?” he asked Sam and Cas. He gestured to the husband, who stood frozen, staring bug-eyed at the scene around him. “I need to go find a hose.”

After a very, very long shower, Dean was getting dressed for a night out. He pulled his jeans and shirt on in short, jerky movements, laced with frustration, thinking about how many shots he’d have to do before he’d be able to put the day’s hunt behind him.

He turned to ask Cas if he was ready to go, and saw his friend still doing his hair in the bathroom mirror, getting it just the right level of messy. He was wearing the navy blue t-shirt.

Dean felt his heart sink.

He shifted on his feet, and said casually, “Cas, I noticed, you never try to pick up girls when we’re out.”

“Why would I? You always meet someone.” Cas turned his head in the mirror, inspecting his work. He nodded, satisfied.

“Well, maybe it’s time for you to try on your own.”

Cas joined Dean in the main room, grabbing his jacket from the back of a chair and shrugging it on. “Try to proposition a woman to have sex with us?”

Dean took a breath, and said carefully, “No, not us. Just you.”

“Oh.” Cas turned to Dean, his blue eyes sharp and evaluating. His brow furrowed as he studied Dean’s face. “You think this is something I should do.”

“Yeah,” Dean shrugged, trying to bring an easy tone back into the conversation. “I mean, training wheels have gotta come off some time.”

The frown slipped off of Cas’ face, and for a long moment his expression was blank and unreadable. Then he blinked rapidly, nodded, and turned towards the door. “Right. Okay, then.”

Dean was in a hurry to get a drink, so Sam, Dean and Cas stopped at the first bar they came across. It was surprisingly upscale, with textured wallpaper and custom light fixtures, serving men in ties putting off when they’d have to go home after work, and women sipping drinks out of martini glasses. But, the bar had cold beer on tap, and pool tables in the back, so Dean settled in for the night. It wasn’t long before he challenged Cas to a game of pool. Just like he normally would.

“Eight ball, side pocket,” Cas announced, and sank the shot with practiced ease.

Dean let out a low whistle. “Damn, Cas, it’s no fun if it’s not even a competition.”

“My apologies,” Cas said, looking genuinely abashed.

Dean was immediately sorry he’d said anything at all. “No, don’t… it was a joke,” he said weakly, and wondered why spending time with Cas was suddenly so hard.

“Well, that means Dean’s buying the next round,” Sam cut in cheerfully, slapping Dean on the back.

“It’s alright, I’ll get it,” Cas said, giving Dean an inscrutable look, and heading towards the bar.

“Thanks, buddy,” Dean called after him.

He crouched down to feed quarters into the table. Sam leaned against the pool table next to him.

“Hey, is everything okay with Cas?” he asked

“Yeah, why wouldn't it be?” Dean answered nonchalantly, pulling the balls out the gutter and rolling them across the table.

Sam shrugged. “I dunno, he just seems kinda… off.”

“‘Off’ how?”

“Like, kinda sad.”

Dean threw Sam a concerned look before he knew what he was doing. He caught himself, and tried to settle his expression into something more casual. “What’s he got to be sad about?”

“I thought maybe you’d know.”

“Well, I don’t,” Dean said, unable to keep a hint of annoyance out of his voice. Why’d Sam have to assume that he was the expert on all things Cas?

“Okay,” Sam sighed, and racked up the game.

Dean was chalking his cue with an undue amount of focus when Sam nudged him in the side.

“Hey, Dean, don’t look now, but you might have to buy the next round after all.”

Sam nodded towards the bar, and Dean followed his gaze. Cas was in deep conversation with a woman. She was a bit older, and very attractive in a tight dress, hair done up like a pin-up model, and bright red lipstick.

Good for him, Dean thought, his jaw tightening. This is good, this is what I wanted.

Dean hailed a waitress to order a pitcher of beer, rather than going to the bar and running the risk of interrupting Cas.

During his game with Sam, Dean very studiously did not look towards the bar once. He was walking around the table, assessing his next shot, when a familiar tune came over the bar’s speakers.

There ain’t no reason you and me should be alone, tonight yeah baby, tonight yeah baby.

“Dean?” Sam looked at him askance. “Are you... singing along to Lady Gaga?”

“What?” Dean turned to Sam sharply. “No I'm not. Shut up.”

Sam quirked an eyebrow at him.

Dean took a breath and tried to muster as much dignity as possible. “Look, if it’s good enough for Clarence Clemons, it's good enough for me.”

Sam snorted.

“Dean?” Cas said from over Dean’s shoulder.

Dean startled, and turned around with a muttered curse. Sam snickered.

“Sorry,” Cas said.

“No worries,” Dean said, caught between the generalized frustration he was feeling that night, and regret at making Cas feel bad, again. “What’s up?”

Cas shifted on his feet, and scratched the back of his neck. “Well, I, uh, I wasn’t the one who suggested it. But Maureen saw us together, and was wondering, um…”

Dean knew that he ought to say no. Training wheels were off and all. But he hadn’t felt that swell of excitement at sharing something -- anything -- new with Cas since Nevada, and it was bubbling in his chest now, and he missed it. He’d almost been afraid he would never feel it again. And he knew, he knew , Cas missed it too.

Dean glanced over Cas’ shoulder, seeing Maureen leaning against the bar. She raised a manicured hand and waved at him.

“Damn,” he said, as if he hadn’t noticed who Cas had been talking to before that moment. He nodded back at Maureen, with his lopsided smile and a wink, and turned back to Cas. “Well, one more time can’t hurt. You good to take care of Baby, Sam?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure. Go, do your... whatever.”

Maureen hailed a taxi to take them to her apartment downtown. Dean introduced himself to her during the drive. He gave her a vague backstory, while she undressed him with her eyes. After feeling so unsteady with Cas, the way she looked at Dean put him back on solid ground, back in familiar territory.

Dean was a little more unsettled when they reached her building. He tried not to gawk at his surroundings. Maureen’s high heels echoed off the marble floor, and she nodded hello to the uniformed man behind the desk in the lobby. The elevator was wide and polished, and took them all the way to the top floor. When Maureen let them into her apartment, he let himself go a little bit, allowing his jaw to drop open. Dean hadn’t known it was possible for apartments to be so big.

She led Dean and Cas to her bedroom. The walls were a deep, velvety red, except for the one across from the entrance, which was entirely mirrored, reflecting the warm dim light that came from wall fixtures. The bed was decked in black silk sheets, with large airfoil-shaped pillows. Between the bed and the mirrored wall there was a leather-upholstered chaise lounge, shaped in a swooping s-curve: high in the back, dipping in the middle, and rising again in the front. Dean glanced up -- the ceiling was mirrored too.

Maureen swept across the room to a wooden cabinet. Dean couldn’t see everything that was inside, but he could see what she pulled out of it: an elegantly shaped vibrator, a feather, nipple clips, and a wide, pink silicone cone that Dean could only assume was also supposed to vibrate. She set them on a nightstand next to the chaise.

“Babe, I don’t think you’re gonna need all of those with us here,” Dean said with a co*cky smirk.

“Oh, I do,” Maureen said, her voice as silky as the bedsheets. “See, I’m going to use them on myself, while I watch the two of you together.”

The power went out. Not literally. Just in Dean’s brain.

“Excuse me?” he sputtered.

“I like to watch.”

“Oh, uh…”

“And if you’re okay with it, I’d like to tell you what to do.”

And then a light came on, an easy relief he felt at being told what to do. It made Dean smile without thinking. He heard the words spilling out of his mouth before even registering them in his brain. “Anything to make a lady happy. Right Cas?”

Cas’ brow was furrowed and his head was co*cked as he glanced between Dean and Maureen. As confused as he looked, he still answered, “Yes…”

“Wonderful.” She glided back to Dean and Cas, and kissed them both softly in turn. “I’m going to change. Don’t do anything until I get back.”

Maureen had told them not to do anything, so Dean just bounced on the balls of his feet as he waited for her to return. Of course he was excited, he always liked it when a woman knew what she wanted and took charge. It wasn’t that what was about to happen was so different from what he and Cas were used to doing together. They’d still be showing a lady a good time, just the way they’d be going about it would be a little different.

Cas was looking around the room with narrowed eyes, head still co*cked. “Just to be absolutely clear on what’s happening here…”

“She’s gonna get herself off while watching us… y’know.” Dean gestured towards the bed.

“Y’know…?”

“f*ck.”

With a sharp intake of breath, Cas’ eyes widened, and he looked away from Dean. “Oh.”

Dean’s anticipation was suddenly cut through with concern for Cas. Dean might see it as just another way to please a lady, but that didn’t mean that Cas did. As much as Dean and Cas had been getting naked together recently, he had to admit that this was a whole new level.

Cas stared at the bed. He licked his lips, swallowed, and exhaled.

Dean watched him cautiously. “You okay with this, Cas?”

“Yes,” Cas answered, his voice light and cracking.

“You sure? It’s okay to say no. If you’re not comfortable, you can leave right now. I’ll explain to Maureen, and we’ll go back to the hotel together.”

Cas turned to Dean, his gaze steady. “I’m sure.”

The way he looked at Dean in that moment, warm and calm and confident, made Dean feel sure as well. The way Cas looked at him made Dean feel like he could fall into his eyes.

Maureen drifted out of her dressing room, wrapped in a red silk robe, her hair spilling over her shoulders.

“Have you been good while I was away?”

“Yes ma’am,” Dean answered easily, with a proud smile.

“Good.” Maureen arranged herself on the chaise, teasing open her robe to reveal a bare breast. “You boys can kiss now.”

Cas stayed rooted to the spot as Dean went to him. With one hand on his jaw, Dean tilted Cas’ head back, and dipped to press their lips together. Cas sighed into Dean’s mouth, a deep, heavy sound, and his stubble was rough under Dean’s palm. It was different from kissing a girl, but it was surprisingly easy. And yeah, Dean liked it.

It wasn’t clear that Cas liked it though. Dean could feel the tension in his jaw and neck, and he barely kissed back. He was just experiencing it passively, just letting Dean kiss him. Dean wasn’t happy to settle for that, and he was pretty sure Maureen wanted something a bit more interesting too.

Dean trailed his lips across Cas’ cheek until they brushed his ear.

“Cas, you sure you're okay with this?” he whispered.

“Yes,” Cas breathed.

“Then you better start kissing me like you mean it.” Dean nipped at Cas’ earlobe.

Cas pulled back. Before Dean could duck in to kiss him, Cas rested his palm against Dean’s cheek. He slid his hand up Dean’s face, and into his hair, combing through the short strands. His eyes danced over Dean’s face, holding his gaze for a moment before drifting down to his lips. Cas licked his own lips, and leaned in, brushing them gently against Dean’s.

His kisses were soft, short, teasing. They stoked the fire that Dean felt building in his chest.

Cas pulled back just enough to look Dean in the eye again, and Dean wondered if Cas could tell how much he wanted this. And then Cas surged forward, pulling Dean into a crushing kiss, one arm around his back, the other hand curled in his hair, tilting his head for a better angle.

That kiss was everything Dean had imagined it should be. If he had ever imagined what it would be like to kiss Cas. Which he hadn’t.

Every now and then Maureen would pipe in with instructions. To take their jackets off. For Cas to take off Dean’s shirt. For Cas to undo Dean’s belt and push off his jeans. For them to get on the bed. Dean enjoyed the sound of her approval after every step, but he was starting to get annoyed at being nearly naked, while Cas was still entirely clothed. The whole point of the navy t-shirt was so that ladies could tell that Cas was cut, and yet, here they were -- Cas’ hands sliding up Dean’s bare chest, pressing hot against the skin of his back, ghosting across his thighs; while Dean still had to put up with denim and cotton.

“Dean, please take off Cas’ shirt,” Maureen asked, breathy as she teased her nipples.

“f*ckin’ finally,” Dean muttered.

Kneeling next to where Cas sat on the bed, Dean peeled off Cas’ shirt. He forgot to breathe for a second as he ran his palms up Cas’ pecs, across his shoulders, and then back down to his flat stomach. How’d they manage to be naked together so many times and never touch before? Dean licked his lips.

Cas leaned in to kiss him, but before he could, Dean ducked his head to plant his lips on Cas’ neck, to bite at his shoulders, to suck marks into his chest, drawing gasps and sighs out of Cas’ mouth. He hummed against Cas’ skin, tilting his head in an exaggerated fashion, putting on a show for Maureen. Showing her how Cas ought to be appreciated.

“Dean, please stop,” Maureen said.

Dean whined in frustration, but complied.

“Cas, how do you feel about sucking Dean’s co*ck?” she asked, the question hitting Dean like a punch to the gut.

“I’d like that,” Cas answered simply, readily.

f*ck. Dean closed his eyes and shuddered.

“Dean, how does that sound to you?”

Dean kept his eyes closed as he choked out, “Good. Sounds good.”

“Cas, go ahead. And take your time.”

Cas might’ve been a rebel, but he did a good job following Maureen’s instructions. He took one of the pillows, put it under Dean’s hips, and pulled off Dean’s boxer briefs. He worked his way slowly down Dean’s torso, driving him crazy, spending time on his shoulders, his nipples, the soft patch under his belly button. His breath ghosted across Dean’s co*ck, and then he felt his mouth on his inner thigh, trailing down to his knee. Dean whimpered.

“Dean, you can ask for what you want.”

For a brief moment, Dean thought that he couldn’t want Cas’ mouth on his co*ck, not really, not like that. But Maureen was giving him permission, so he shoved the thought aside, and gasped, “Cas, please.”

Cas took him in hand, and licked experimentally up the length of his shaft. Dean shivered. His tongue circled the head, pressing against the slit. Then he closed his lips around the tip, and sank down a fraction, before pulling back up, then taking Dean further in his mouth, back and forth, testing his own limits. It was torturously slow, until Dean felt his co*ck bump up against the back of Cas’ throat, felt Cas’ muscles spasm. Dean groaned, but Cas pulled off quickly, taking a deep breath. Then he was on Dean again, taking him in as much as he could, cheeks hollowed out and sucking.

Cas was inexperienced, but damn if enthusiasm didn’t go a long way. Dean threw his head back with a moan, and his eyes fluttered open. He saw himself reflected in the ceiling. Sprawled on the bed, hips in the air, Cas bent over him and bobbing his head. Next to the bed, Maureen’s robe was thrown open, her hands teasing her own body. Dean saw her too, laid out on the chaise, almost mirroring Dean.

Something about that made Dean shut his eyes. He tried to imagine that her moans were not coming from her position next to him, but from between his legs. After all, that was what this was about. It wasn’t about him and Cas, it was about her. So he pictured her lips around his co*ck instead of Cas’, her hair spilling over his hips. It was a nice image, but not as satisfying as Dean thought it would be.

“How does it feel, Dean?” she asked, her purring voice cutting through his fantasy.

“Feels good,” Dean answered, because he knew that’s what she’d want to hear. And because it was true.

“Tell Cas how he’s doing.”

“You’re doing amazing, pal,” Dean said, remembering that this encounter might not be about him-and-Cas, but it was still his job to make sure Cas had a good time too. “When you do the tongue thing…” Dean choked on his words and groaned as Cas did the tongue thing. “Oh, yeah, that.”

“Tell me how he looks.”

Dean lifted his head and looked at Cas. Cas met his eyes, bright and intently focused on Dean. His lips were all pink and spit-slick. He was a sight, and any thoughts that Dean had about not wanting exactly this flew from his mind.

“He looks goddamn pretty,” was all Dean could think to say. Cas hummed against his co*ck, sending vibrations up his spine.

Dean choked out a gasp and arched his back.

“Are you close?” Maureen asked, her voice rising with pleasure.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Cas, god, you’re so good, I’m so close.”

Maureen took a breath, and said with deliberate calm, “Cas, please stop. Move away from Dean.”

Cas did what he was told, and Dean grunted in frustration.

Dean was soon placated by Maureen coming to sit next to him. She took him in her arms, and kissed him, easy and soothing. Touching her, soft and curvy, was like coming back to home turf. She whispered to him, “You’re doing so well, Dean. You look amazing, and watching you makes me feel so good.”

Dean glowed at the praise.

She shifted so that Dean was sitting up and she was behind him, her arms around his waist, her breasts pressed against his back. Her lips brushed his ear. “And your friend Cas. Doesn’t he look amazing too?”

Her fingers pushed gently against Dean’s jaw to direct his gaze.

Cas was sitting back on his heels, his face flushed, hair tousled, lips swollen pink and hanging open. His body was toned and lean, posture military straight even now, and his dick hard and at attention. His eyes followed Maureen’s hands as they caressed Dean’s torso, sliding between his legs.

“Yeah,” Dean croaked.

Maureen grazed the shell of Dean’s ear with her teeth as her voice dipped lower. “Have you ever seen a more delicious co*ck in your life? And those hands, so wide and strong.”

Dean looked at Cas’ co*ck, at his hands. He gulped.

“You know what I’d like to see, Dean? I’d like to see Cas hold you down with those hands and f*ck you with that co*ck. What do you think of that?”

“I, uh… yeah,” Dean said, coughing out the words as he imagined what Maureen had in mind. He could see why she would think that would be hot. Objectively speaking. And, well, anything to make a lady happy.

“Do you want that, Dean?” she whispered. It was either her breath on Dean’s ear, or the question itself, that sent a shiver down his spine.

Dean couldn’t think about what he wanted. The things he wanted were too big, too abstract, too unattainable. So tonight, he’d settle for pleasing his best friend, and this woman they met at a bar. For tonight, he wanted what she wanted.

“Yes,” he said confidently. He said, knowing that one of the things that she wanted was for him to be honest.

Maureen eased away from him, and moved over to Cas. Dean watched her, touching him, praising him. He watched her fingers trail across his jaw, watched the way Cas’ eyelashes cast shadows over his cheeks when he dipped his head to kiss her. Dean watched her whisper in his ear, and Cas’ eyes grow wide, saw him nod minutely. Dean swallowed.

Maureen rose off the bed. She went to the night stand, pulled out a bottle of lube out of the drawer, and set it on top. Then she arranged herself on her chaise again.

“Tell him what you want, Dean.”

Dean felt his mouth dry up. This had been easier when Maureen was the one doing the talking, when the wants were coming out of her mouth. He looked Cas in the eye, those intently focused eyes, staring right through him, and tried saying, “I want…”

The thought of saying I want you to f*ck me brought him up short, and the words stuck in his throat. Dean Winchester, begging for co*ck from his best friend. He felt vulnerable, weak. More than that, he felt exposed .

“You can’t have it if you can’t say it, Dean,” Maureen encouraged gently.

“I want you, Cas,” Dean grit out. “Want you in me."

Cas surged over Dean, kissing him hungrily, like he’d been in the desert for forty days and Dean was a cold beer and a cheeseburger. His tongue down Dean’s throat, his fingers in Dean’s hair, grazing down his ribs, his co*ck hard against Dean’s stomach. His kiss was overwhelming, and it maybe didn’t make things easy for Dean, but it made them easier.

Cas broke the kiss and reached blindly for the bottle on the nightstand, not taking his eyes off of Dean for a second. He hung over Dean, watching his face, sharing his breath, as he squeezed lube over his fingers, then as his first finger slid between Dean’s cheeks, and circled the ring of muscle there.

Dean shuddered. It felt like an invasion. It felt good . His gaze slid past Cas’ face, unable to look him in the eye, unwilling to see how Cas looked at him when he was like this, vulnerable, letting himself be opened up. He saw himself in the mirrored ceiling: laid out on his back, under another man.

There was a low buzzing, and Dean heard Maureen moan.

He turned to look at her. She was sprawled out across the chaise, her legs hanging over the end, hips angled high. He could see the vibrator pressing against her cl*t, sliding between the lips of her puss*, and then dipping in. He stared, mesmerized, as she stroked once, twice, and then pulled out to tease her cl*t again.

Dean felt Cas’ finger press inside him. He choked back a groan at the sensation, the stretch, the pressure. He couldn’t believe that noise had come from him, from Cas getting inside him. He felt a dark swirl of shame in the pit of his stomach.

But Maureen sighed happily and started to f*ck herself properly, her eyes fixed on Dean. Watching her, Dean moaned again. A smile spread across Maureen’s face, and she canted her hips to meet the thrusts of her own hand. He watched her react to his reactions, and gradually gave himself over to the sensation of being filled, letting himself feel the pleasure, not holding back. Cas added a second finger, and then a third, pressing against Dean’s prostate now and then, dotting kisses over Dean’s skin. Dean reveled in the attention. When he enjoyed it, she enjoyed it, and that made it okay.

“Do you feel good, Dean?” Maureen asked breathlessly

“Yeah,” he said. He was too overwhelmed to even think about saying anything else.

“Are you ready?”

“Yeah. Ready as I’ll ever be,” he said easily, not giving himself a chance to think about what he was ready for.

“Cas, are you ready?”

Cas withdrew his fingers, and Dean whimpered at the loss. His eyes were closed, but he could feel Cas’ gaze on him.

“Yes,” Cas said.

“Good.” Maureen positioned the pink cone under her ass, and pressed a button on its side. It did, in fact, vibrate. She settled on top of it with a sigh.

“Dean, can you get on your hands and knees, facing me? You can use the pillow.”

Dean followed her instructions, bending over the pillow, heart hammering in his chest. He felt the bed dip behind him as Cas rolled on a condom and positioned himself.

Maureen turned on the vibrator in her hand, and nestled it against her c*nt. She said, “Cas, start slow, please.”

Dean felt one of Cas’ hands grip his hip, the other span between his shoulder blades. He bit his lip as he felt the head of Cas’ co*ck press against him, and then into him.

Dean let out a low moan that harmonized with Cas’ blissful sigh. The sensation of Cas inside him was so much more than what Dean had been prepared for. All that existed was the feeling of being filled, filled beyond what he was capable of, and then beyond that. A fever flooded his body, sweat prickling as it beaded on his skin. He felt like he was dying. He felt impossible.

Distantly, he heard Maureen’s voice. “Tell me how it feels, Cas.”

Dean felt the sweet relief of Cas drawing out of him, and then the heady pressure of him pushing back in, slowly.

“Feels... so much…” Cas choked out incoherently. “So good. Dean, you’re so… it feels… Dean, you feel perfect.”

Dean whimpered at the praise.

Maureen asked, “Dean, how do you feel?”

“I can’t… I can’t take it,” Dean gasped.

Cas froze.

“Do you want to stop?” Maureen asked, her voice suddenly calm and passionless.

“No.” Dean said, clutching at the silk sheets under his hands. “Please don’t stop, please, please don’t stop. It’s too much, I’m gonna fall apart. I need it. I want... Cas… ”

Maureen moaned in delight. “You heard him, Cas.”

Cas thrust into Dean, punching the air from his lungs, and set a steady pace.

Dean groaned and buried his face in his arms. He felt Cas’ hand, gliding gently up his back to caress his hair.

“Dean?” Cas’ voice cracked on the syllable.

“I want you I want you I want you…” Dean mumbled deliriously, quaking with overstimulation. His co*ck was achingly hard; he ground against the pillow, trying to get some friction, shoving back against Cas in the process. Cas moaned, doubled over Dean’s back, and picked up his pace. WIth every thrust, Dean heard a small, high-pitched noise; he realized that the noise was coming from his own mouth, and bit his tongue.

“Dean, look at me,” he heard Maureen say as if from a great distance. He raised his head. Maureen was splayed out, displaying herself for him, skin flushed and glistening, muscles quaking with pleasure. She watched him with bright, wide eyes. “You’re doing amazing, sweetheart,” she hummed.

Dean felt a warmth building inside of him at her approval. He stopped biting his tongue, and groaned loudly at Cas’ next thrust.

“You’re so good,” she continued. “Look at yourself.”

Dean turned his gaze to the mirrored wall. He saw his own eyes, glassy and heavy-lidded, his lips pink and hanging open wantonly, his face flushed, sweat trickling down from his hairline. His hair was spiked from sweat and Cas’ fingers running through it. His shoulders jerked forward with every thrust Cas made. Dean looked blissful, he looked f*cked out, he looked…

A dark thought rose in Dean’s head, cutting through the pleasure, describing exactly what Dean looked like.

“You look gorgeous, Dean,” Maureen said, and Dean let her voice wash over him, drowning out everything else. She sounded warm and velvety, her tone rising with a note of urgency as she approached climax. “You look so good. I’m so close, so close, just watching you.”

Dean groaned at her words, basking in them.

“Tell him how he looks, Cas,” she said

“Dean, you’re beautiful,” Cas said, voice breaking from deep gravel to a breathy whisper. Dean shuddered at how wrecked he sounded. “You’re perfect. You’re everything, everything, I…” Cas cut himself off with a whimper.

Maureen arched her back and cried out, high and loud and long.

The next moment, Cas wrapped an arm around Dean’s waist and Dean felt himself being hauled up, so his back was flush with Cas’ chest. Cas finally took Dean’s co*ck in hand and started jacking him off. Dean jerked into his grip, f*cking himself on Cas’ co*ck still inside him.

From his new position, Dean couldn’t help but look in the mirror, at the picture he and Cas made: Dean open and vulnerable, Cas encircled around him. Then Cas thrust into him, hitting his prostate, and Dean broke his own gaze, tossing his head back with a moan. Cas captured his lips in a heated kiss. The only thing Dean was looking at when he came was Cas’ eyes.

Then Cas was coming too, f*cking Dean through it, arms tight around him, moaning against his neck.

Then it was over. The room was filled with the sound of heavy breathing from three sets of lungs. Cas slipped away from Dean, and Dean felt empty, and suddenly cold. His muscles felt like jelly, so he lay on the bed to catch his breath.

He looked at the ceiling, and saw himself. That’s what a man who’s just been f*cked by his best friend looks like. He saw Cas lying near him, just out of reach. Something dark began to buzz in his head, something that sounded like wrong, and bad; quiet, but getting louder.

Dean’s view was blocked by Maureen, back in her red silk robe, leaning over him; his thoughts were silenced by her kiss.

“You were amazing, Dean,” she purred against his lips. “Do you feel amazing?”

Dean thought about how he felt. His limbs were weak, and he tingled from his lips to his toes. It was a good feeling. “Yeah. Yeah I do.”

Maureen shifted off the bed, and knelt next to where Cas was lying on his back, his head hanging off the edge of the mattress. Dean watched as she kissed him deeply.

“Cas, you were wonderful,” she hummed, trailing her fingers across his hairline. “How do you feel?”

Cas smiled. “I feel good.”

Maureen nodded in approval and rose to her feet. “Follow me, boys.”

Dean staggered to his feet, and followed Maureen into her bathroom. It was just as impressive as the rest of her apartment: expansive, tiled in warm ochre and terra cotta ceramics, gleaming with brassy fixtures. One end of the room was closed off by glass, and Dean realized it was a massive shower stall.

Maureen turned on a tap outside the stall, and columns of shower heads that lined the walls burst with water. Dean glanced towards Cas, reflexively, to catch his reaction, to see if he was just as impressed and delighted as Dean was. Cas met his gaze, and smiled. It felt easy for Dean to smile back.

Maureen watched a thermostat next to the tap for a moment or two before opening the shower door, and beckoning Dean and Cas inside.

Dean felt like he could melt into the tiles, as he was engulfed in steam and heat and water. He felt slick skin sliding his own, and Maureen’s kiss.

“Cas,” she said, “help me wash Dean.”

Dean didn’t even think to protest. Cocooned in the steam, with the soothing hum of Maureen’s voice, he felt safe. He felt her narrow, soft hands glide across his stomach and down his thighs. He felt Cas’ hands, broad and steady, moving in circles up his back, and scrubbing into his hair. Bit by bit, Dean felt muscles that he hadn’t even known were taut start to relax.

When it was Cas’ turn, Dean was happy to return the favour. He watched Cas’ shoulders sag, his head loll to the side, heard his sigh amid the pounding water. Dean realized how much he had missed seeing Cas enjoy himself.

Maureen turned a different tap, and the sprays around the walls of the shower stopped. Instead, water fell from a panel in the ceiling, in large warm drops like summer rain. Dean turned his face up and grinned at the feeling.

“Cas, Dean,” Maureen said, “when you leave here tonight, I want to know that you’ll have good memories.”

Dean would have responded with a smirk and a quip, but Maureen wasn’t that kind of dame. He could tell that she had something else in mind.

“Please face each other,” she instructed, and Dean and Cas did.

Dean could have laughed at the look on Cas’ face: dazed and goofy, eyes bright, lips gently curving upwards, hair plastered to his head. But Dean figured he probably looked the same.

“I want you to look into each others’ eyes as I count down from ten,” she said, and Dean nearly laughed again. He and Cas had staring matches longer than that all the time.

But as Dean looked into Cas’ eyes, something was different. It was as if the source of the serene comfort that Dean was feeling in that moment wasn’t to be found in the shower, or in Maureen, but in the deep blue of Castiel’s gaze; as if he could keep the feeling with him so long as he had Cas by his side.

The ten seconds lasted longer than Dean had thought. But they did end. And Maureen asked, “Cas, can you tell Dean something good about tonight?”

“I’m glad tonight happened,” he said. He hesitated for a breath, and smiled shyly. But his eyes were gleaming and direct when he said, “It was an honour to bring you pleasure.”

Dean felt his stomach flip over, and grinned back at him. “You sure did, buddy. Blew my goddamn mind.”

Cas stood up a little straighter, a proud tilt to his chin.

“Dean, your turn,” Maureen said.

“I’m glad this happened,” Dean echoed, as he searched for the words to say what he felt. “I’m glad we shared this. You’re my best friend, and I…”

I wanna share everything with you.

Instead of saying anything, Dean leaned in, and kissed Cas, softly, one more time.

Though he didn’t hear her say it, he was sure that Maureen had told him to.

When Maureen got the call that the taxi she’d ordered for them had arrived, she walked Dean and Cas to her door. She told them each “Good night, thank you,” and gave them both a goodbye kiss.

Dean met Cas’ eyes on the elevator ride down, and he couldn’t help the goofy grin that spread across his face. Cas smiled back so wide his nose crinkled. It was good to see that smile.

The air was cold as they left Maureen’s building. It was like stepping out of a dream, back into the waking world.

Dean and Cas slid into the back seat of the waiting cab, and Dean gave the driver the address of their hotel.

As the taxi pulled into the road, Dean’s eyes fell on Cas again. Cas was looking at him with all the warmth of a really good dream, as if he had never woken up.

Dean gave him his tried-and-true lopsided smile, and heaved out a heavy sigh. “Wow. Some night, huh?” Dean shook his head and whistled low. “That’s one for the history books, huh, buddy?” He reached across the seat to punch Cas in the shoulder.

Cas’ smile froze in place. “Yeah.”

Dean was humming to himself as he strode into the hotel room. He was still relaxed, still feeling good, still not thinking terribly hard about anything. He didn’t bother flipping the light switch, just tossed his jacket on a nearby chair and headed towards his bed.

“Dean, I’m in love with you.”

Dean froze.

Cas’ voice was rough and flat when he said it, so serious that it couldn’t be mistaken for anything but the truth.

Dean felt like ice water had just been poured over his head, waking up something dark and sick that lived there. He plastered a reassuring smile on his face before he turned around.

Cas stood in the middle of the floor, in the dark, back straight, expression grim, eyes downcast. The glow of red and blue neon filtered through the widow, picking up the edges of his silhouette, the angles of his face.

“No, you’re not,” Dean said, in what he hoped was a kind tone.

Cas lifted his gaze to stare at Dean with a furrowed brow.

“Look, Cas, dude,” Dean stepped closer, reaching towards Cas like towards a wounded animal. He wanted to let Cas know that everything would be fine, it was just a mistake. After all, if anyone was to blame for this, it was Dean. “We just had really good sex. Your brain is still swimming in the happy juice. But I promise, give it a few hours, and--”

“No, Dean!” Cas interrupted, half-way between incredulous and angry.

Dean stopped short.

“I’ve been in love with you since… since I don’t know how long.”

Dean felt the bottom drop out of his stomach as the last bit of hope he had that he and Cas could breeze past this collapsed.

Cas’ fists were balled at his sides as he continued, “And I don’t want this with anyone else. As educational as the past months have been, I’m not interested in having sex with random women I meet in bars. Or random men, for that matter. Nor am I interested in properly dating any of them, or forming a long-term relationship with anyone else. All I want is you.”

Cas took a steadying breath, and calmed himself; as Dean felt his heart thunder in his chest and blood pound in his skull.

Softly, Cas said, “I've been happier with you than I think I ever have been, and I don't want that to stop. But I understand if you don’t feel the same way.” His eyes dropped to the floor again, and he shrugged. “I just thought you should know.”

Dean stared at Cas, wide eyed. He felt his lower lip quiver, and he thought about what he ought to do. He ought to let him down softly. Accept the blame for doing this to Cas, somehow; for screwing the guy up bad enough that he wanted Dean, and wanted Dean like that.

That was what Dean knew he ought to do. But he froze when he tried to get the words out. Instead, all he could do was ask in a broken voice, “Say that again?”

Cas squinted at Dean. “... I just thought you should know?”

Dean huffed an uneasy laugh. “No, before that.”

“Oh.” Cas fixed Dean with a steady gaze, and said without hesitation, “All I want is you.”

Dean shut his eyes, and let the words hit him. Like the answer to a question he hadn’t known he’d been asking. He swallowed and took a shaky breath. “And before that?”

“I love you.”

Dean bit his lip to keep himself from doing or saying anything. To keep from acting on the voice that sounded like John, screaming, That’s not who you are, Dean. This needs to end. Telling him that “I love you” from Cas was an insult. A threat.

And part of him felt like it was. But there was another part of him that heard “I love you” and it felt like a lyric from his favourite song. The part of him that had beamed at Cas, riding shotgun in Baby, as they sailed down a Nebraska highway, belting out, “Tramps like us, baby we were born to run.” That part of him wanted to sing I love you back.

Dean’s right hand curled into a fist, and he brought it up to his mouth, pressed it to his lips. He’d promised to teach Cas how to be human. He knew that if he was a good teacher, he’d shut Cas down, he’d punch him in the face if he had to. He had to show him how to get by in the world, how to meet expectations, and what happens when you fail. Like Dean had been taught, by classmates, by hunters, by his dad. The world would hurt Cas, like it had hurt Dean, so it was better that he learned now.

He opened his eyes. Cas was standing tall in the neon light, a streak of blue running across his jaw, red framing his shoulders, open and unashamed.

And Dean couldn’t do it. He never wanted to hurt Cas at all. He wanted to indulge Cas, in this, and in everything else, for the rest of their lives. Maybe the world would be cruel to him -- hell, it already had been -- but selfishly, Dean didn’t want to add to that cruelty.

Dean moved closer to Cas, until he was just within arms’ reach. “One more time?”

“I love you, Dean,” Cas said, soft and sincere.

Past the buzzing in his head, past the winding anxiety in his chest, Dean felt a warmth pool at his core, spreading out and flooding everything else. He felt like maybe all his sharp edges didn’t exist to cause pain, maybe they just needed the right place to fit, and he had just found it.

He brought his hands up to Cas’ face, curled his fingers in the hair behind his ears, and rested their foreheads together. He felt Cas relax into his touch, could almost hear his smile through his sigh. Dean took a breath, and made a choice. He thought that maybe his choice made him weak, made him less than the man John Winchester had raised. And Dean couldn’t say that he didn’t care, he did care, it killed him a little. But he cared about Cas more.

Cas slid his hands up Dean’s chest, until they caressed his neck and shoulders. Dean sighed at the feeling. He leaned in, bringing his lips close to Cas’ mouth, nearly close enough to kiss. But he couldn’t close the distance. A strangled whine escaped his throat.

“Dean, are you okay?” Cas asked, voice tight with concern.

“Nah.” Dean laughed nervously. “I’m, uh, I’m having a bit of a crisis here.”

Cas began to draw back, but Dean curled his fingers tighter in his hair.

“No. Stay, please? I…”

He opened his eyes and let his gaze move across Cas’ face. Cas, clueless and stubborn and loyal and good, who could be terrifying, who could be blunt and abrupt, but who in that moment, when Dean needed him to be soft, was looking at Dean with so much care and so little judgement.

“You’re my best friend, Cas,” Dean said in a broken whisper. “I wanna share everything with you. Everything,” Dean repeated as he drew his thumb down Cas’ jaw and across his lips. “That’s love, right?”

Maybe it was the glow of neon, or maybe Cas still had some of that old angelic light left in him, but his eyes gleamed with something when he answered, “In my limited experience as a human… yes, I think so.”

Dean nodded. He and Cas were in love. Good. He’d make it good. And f*ck anyone who got in their way.

Dean kissed Castiel for the first time that wasn’t a performance for someone else. Pulled him close and wrapped his arms around him tight, crushed their lips together bruisingly hard, drank him in. It was a kiss that couldn’t be walked back or brushed aside, a kiss that made its intentions clear. And Cas opened to it, clinging to Dean just as tightly, giving as good as he got, eager and shameless. It was everything that Dean had been aching for without even realizing it.

Cas seemed perfectly happy to just be kissing, and Dean felt the weight of exhaustion behind his eyes. But Dean had also just proven to himself how weak he really was; and he was afraid that he’d wake up in the morning, call Cas “buddy” and continue on like tonight had never happened. He was more afraid that the dark, ugly buzzing at the back of his head would never shut up unless he did something drastic, unless he drowned it out with something louder.

Cas swayed as Dean stepped away from him, chasing his lips.

Dean already had condoms in his wallet, so he just dug a bottle of lube out of his duffle bag, and stuck it in his pocket. He grabbed his jacket, and turned to Cas, who was standing in the same spot with a puzzled look on his face.

“Come on,” Dean said, ticking his head at the door.

Cas frowned in confusion. “But we just got back.”

Dean smirked. “I got a new life skill to teach you.”

Dean drove them to a spot by the river, where the glow of the city was behind them, and all they could see out the windshield were trees and water and the moon hanging heavy in the sky.

Dean put the car in park, but left the keys in the ignition. He popped a cassette in the tape deck, grinning as the steady thrum of electric guitar sounded from the speakers, and “Whole Lotta Love” began to play.

“Back seat,” he told Cas with a nod and a wink.

“Dean, I’ve been in the back seat of your car before,” Cas said with a touch of smugness, even as he followed Dean to slide into the bench seat.

And yeah, Dean had been there, with that chick in Austin, when Dean could barely keep his eyes on the road long enough to get them back to the motel in time.

Dean’s stomach flipped at the memory. He grabbed the front of Cas’ shirt, and kissed him hard as Robert Plant sang, I’m gonna send you back to schooling . When he came up for air, Cas didn’t look so smug anymore.

The drums kicked in, and Dean gave Cas a look that made his breath hitch.

“Not like this, you haven’t.”

Something about being in the backseat of Baby, with Zeppelin on the stereo, gave Dean a second wind. He and Cas fumbled to get their clothes off in the cramped space, but by the time the slow groove of “What Is and What Should Never Be” started, they were both naked, Cas laid out on his back across the seat, Dean kneeling over him.

Dean stared at Cas as if seeing him for the first time. In a way, he was -- for the first time, Cas was laid bare for Dean’s eyes only. Slowly, Dean slid his hands up Cas’ toned thighs, his flat stomach, his heaving chest. He leaned over him to cup his face and kiss him firmly. Cas arched his body into Dean’s eagerly, bit hungrily at his lips. But with one hand pressing on Cas’ shoulder, and the other cradling his jaw, Dean slowed their pace, until they were gasping and pressing in time to the song.

"Castiel," Dean whispered, searching Cas' gaze, "let me take care of you."

Cas sighed breathlessly, and nodded.

For the first time with Cas, Dean wasn’t thinking about what looked good, or how to put on a good show. He was just thinking about Cas, and how he wanted him, how he wanted to take his time. He wanted to spend time on the spot where Cas’ neck curved towards his shoulder blade, curling over him to get the right angle. He wanted to spend time on the crease of Cas’ hips, walking his lips up his side along to the rambling guitar riff of “Lemon Song”. He wanted to kiss the spot under Cas’ ribs where it would tickle if Dean wanted to break the mood, but with his tongue and hot breath, Dean made Cas twitch and shiver instead. He wanted to trail his lips down the inside of Cas’ forearm, mouth at his wrist, kiss his palm, take his fingers in his mouth and suck on them, making Cas’ hips cant up and his dick twitch in anticipation. So those were the things that he did.

Dean had heard Cas moan in pleasure before, heard his breathy gasps. There were previous times when he had seen his head tip back, his eyes go wide and then flutter shut, seen him squirm and shudder under the hands and lips of another. But this was different. There was something about knowing that he was the one drawing those reactions out of Cas that sent a jolt of pleasure to the base of Dean’s spine. Then there was also the fact that Dean didn’t think he’d ever seen Cas so downright giddy with sensation. Nor had he ever heard “I love you”s spilling out of Cas’ lips: low and gravelly and thick with meaning, breathy and quick and nonsensical in their repetition, sincere and happy.

Dean wanted to respond to every one, but instead he felt the words catching in his throat, building in his chest, until all he could do was take Cas’ mouth in a fierce kiss, and whisper them, broken and only once, against Cas’ lips.

He felt Cas’ body tremble beneath him, and it was a moment before Dean realized it was with laughter.

Offended, Dean reared back. “What the hell’s so funny?

Cas looked at him wide-eyed, and reached out to caress his face. Dean was confused, but he allowed the touch.

Cas was still beaming when he answered, “Oh Dean… ever since I knew that I loved you, I’d hoped… but I didn’t really think…”

Dean softened under Cas’ wondering gaze. He shrugged. “Well, I can be a little slow on the uptake sometimes.”

“That’s true,” Cas said, but with so much fondness that all Dean could do was laugh.

“Shut up,” Dean muttered.

Cas propped himself up on his elbows, eyes fixed on Dean’s lips. “Make me,” he said.

So Dean did.

Under the weight of Dean’s kiss, Cas fell back against the seat, and Dean went with him. Their limbs tangled together, their co*cks slid against each other, and Dean groaned into Cas’ mouth.

He ground against Cas, but the friction wasn’t nearly enough. He lowered his lips to Cas’ ear, and said roughly, “Wanna f*ck you, Cas.” He felt Cas gasp and shiver underneath him. “Wanna make you feel as good as you made me.”

“You always make me feel good, Dean.”

Dean’s first impulse was to say that he knew that wasn’t true, that he’d made Cas feel like sh*t plenty of times. But as he raised his head to look at Cas, the expression on Cas’ face was so warm and sincere that Dean couldn’t say anything at all. He could only stare, and feel his heart break a little.

“But yes, I want that too,” Cas said.

They kissed and lazily slid against each other as Dean opened Cas up. He had to remind himself to be patient as Cas’ breaths got heavier, and his face flushed, and his eyes turned glassy and wide. Cas clutched at Dean’s back, whined in his ear, bucked his hips up to meet the thrust of Dean’s fingers.

“Please Dean , just f*ck me already, I want you, just give it to me,” Cas moaned. Dean was floored by how shamelessly Cas begged for him, even as he writhed under Dean’s fingers. It was the hottest thing Dean had ever seen.

The tape had stopped a while ago. Dean leaned over the front seat, awkwardly, but he managed to flip it over and get the music going again. The opening riff to “Heartbreaker” filled the car, steadily rising notes that fell hurriedly back down, setting a rocking kind of rhythm. Dean rolled on a condom, slicked himself up. He looked at Cas, laid out on the back seat, flushed and panting and needy. He knew he wanted to see his face, to watch him react every step of the way, from the first press in, to the climax. Dean positioned himself between his legs, licking his lips in anticipation. Cas eagerly wrapped his calves around Dean’s hips, pulling him close.

Hey fellas, have you heard the news? You know that Annie's back in town, Plant sang, with that hint of a wail that he always had on the high notes, voice stretching over the bluesy melody.

Dean pushed in slowly, gasping at the feel of Cas hot and tight around him. Watching Cas’ face felt just as good. A blush rose from his chest, up his neck, to his cheeks; his lips dropped open in a silent moan; his neck arched back, and his hands curled against the leather upholstery. His eyes squeezed shut, until Dean was fully in, and then they opened, blinking and glistening. He looked beautiful.

Dean built his pace gradually, drinking in every one of Cas’ gasps and moans, every shudder and twitch, savouring the feel of him. The “I love you”s started spilling from Cas’ lips again, flooding Dean, filling him up. He thought he’d never get enough of the sound. He found he was breathless when he tried to say it back, so he told Cas with his body instead. He thought Cas would understand.

“Ramble On” was ending, flowing improvisations fading into silence, giving way to the 12-bar blues of “Moby Dick” -- simple, steady, but building in embellishments with each repetition, jarring the easy rhythm.

Cas’ legs were wrapped firmly around Dean’s hips, heels digging into his thighs. He pushed himself off the seat to meet Dean’s thrusts, encouraging Dean to go harder. Dean wasn’t able to deny him any longer, didn’t think he’d be able to deny Cas anything ever again. He picked up his pace, drawing a low groan out of Cas, contrasting with the wailing guitar. He watched Cas’ eyes squeeze shut, his jaw tighten, and knew he was getting close.

The guitar and bass dropped away, leaving only the faint patter of John Bonham’s drums, and the percussion of Dean and Cas’ bodies. Skin against skin, rhythmic gasps and moans sounding with every thrust. The drums built in volume and speed, turning frantic, relentless. Cas sighed out Dean’s name in one long syllable, lifting his hips, urging him deeper. The openness with which he wanted Dean, his shamelessness, was stunning, and it lit a fire in Dean’s core. He braced himself against the roof of the car, and gave Cas what he wanted, pounding into him. Cas’ deep moans turned into cries, and the frenzied beat of the drums turned steady, rocking. Dean could feel tension building at the base of his spine, and bit his lip, hard enough to taste blood. He wrapped a hand around Cas’ co*ck, gave him a few good strokes, as the drums rolled, building to the climax of the song. Cas jerked erratically in Dean’s fist, arched his back, and came with a shout, spilling over his chest, as the sound of guitar burst back over the speakers. A few more sharp thrusts, and Dean was coming too, f*cking Cas through his org*sm, stopping only when his vision turned gray at the edges.

Sweat stung Dean’s eyes, mixing with tears. He whimpered when he slipped out of Cas, oversensitive, and Cas whined at the loss. Dean pulled off his condom, tossed it carelessly out the car door. With the door shut again, and the windows fogged, it was as if nothing existed outside the frame of the Impala, and there was no one to see them. Dean turned to Cas, lying boneless and exhausted across the seat, and wiped the come off his chest with his boxers. As the mournful harmonica of “Bring It on Home” played over a swaying bass line, Dean gathered Cas close, and held him.

There was no turning back from this. Now that Dean had Cas, really had him, he knew he’d never want to let him go.

A bright guitar riff interrupted the harmonica, and Cas hummed against Dean’s neck.

“Oh, I like this part,” he whispered, going soft on his raw voice.

“Yeah,” Dean said, squeezing Cas closer. “Me too.”

After the song ended, Dean and Cas got dressed, and Dean was relieved at how easy the silence between them was.

They slid back into the front seat. Before shifting into drive, Dean turned to Cas.

“So, on a scale of--”

“Better. Best.”

There was a dopey look on Cas’ face that Dean was sure must have been mirrored on his own. He grinned, and kept smiling as he pulled out of the park and onto the road.

“Dean?” Cas asked after a couple of minutes. There was a note of caution in his voice that unsettled Dean. “When we get back to the hotel… we’re sleeping in the same bed, right?”

Dean relaxed. “Yeah. We can do that.” He threw a smirk at Cas. “Hope you like being little spoon.”

Cas settled against the car door, watching Dean as he drove. “I don’t care. As long as I’m close to you.”

Dean was woken up the next morning by the sound of relentless knocking. He pressed his forehead to the back of Cas’ shoulder and groaned, and heard Cas grumble too.

“Come on, guys! Check out’s soon!” Sam called from the other side of the hotel room door.

Dean lifted his head, and shouted back, “Yeah, yeah, just give us a minute!” He then collapsed back on the pillow.

“f*ck,” Dean muttered into Cas’ hair.

“That sounds like a much better idea than getting out of bed,” Cas mumbled sleepily. He pulled Dean’s arm more tightly across his chest, and snuggled back against Dean, pressing his ass against Dean’s morning wood.

And well, Dean couldn’t help but agree with that. He ground up against Cas a few times, relaxing into the feeling. His hand dropped down Cas’ chest to find his co*ck just as hard and ready, and wrapped around it, giving it a firm tug.

Cas moaned loudly, and Dean quickly brought the hand that was extended under Cas’ neck up to cover his mouth, while making shushing noises in his ear. If Sam heard Cas’ sex moans, Dean would never hear the end of it. The next thing Dean knew, Cas had gotten two of Dean’s fingers in his mouth, and was sucking on them.

Dean gasped and jerked his hips.

“Guys! Just five more minutes!” Sam pounded on the door again.

Dean wrenched himself away from Cas, who let out a petulant whine.

“Fine! Just a sec!” Dean called back.

He scrubbed a hand down his face, took a deep breath, and got out of bed.

They got dressed quickly, and tossed their things haphazardly into their duffels. Dean couldn’t help but smile at the disaster that was Cas’ hair, or chuckle at the way Cas grumbled darkly about “the worst morning ever” and made vague plans to drop Sam off at an orphanage or animal shelter.

Before they stepped out the door, Dean tugged on Cas’ sleeve and pulled him close. He pecked him on the lips, and Cas’ frown faded somewhat.

“Hey, would you cheer up if we watched a movie when we got home?” Dean asked.

“Maybe,” Cas allowed. “What’s next on the curriculum?”

Dean hesitated, then tamped down his nerves as he said, “How ‘bout you pick?”

Cas smiled. “Yeah, that might cheer me up.”

They found Sam leaning against the Impala, arms crossed, tapping his foot impatiently.

As Cas got into the back seat, Dean tossed Sam his keys. Sam caught them and looked at him questioningly.

“You mind driving today?” Dean asked casually. “Me and Cas really tired ourselves out last night. If you know what I mean,” he added with a wink.

“Gross,” Sam scoffed. “But no, I don’t mind.”

“Great.”

Dean’s stomach was in knots as he passed by the passenger side door, to get into the back seat with Cas. As nonchalantly as possible, he toed off his shoes, and lay across the seat with his head in Cas’ lap.

If Sam reacted, Dean didn’t see it, his eyes already closed.

“Wake me when we stop for food,” Dean said.

“You got it,” Sam said from the front seat, as if the request was being made under perfectly normal circ*mstances.

Dean relaxed, and enjoyed the feeling of Cas combing his fingers through his hair.

Dean heard the clatter of Sam sifting through cassette tapes, and then asking, “Hey, how did Born This Way end up in the car?”

“Oh, that’s mine,” Cas said.

“Not a word, Sam,” Dean chimed in, not moving from his spot on Cas’ lap.

He could practically hear Sam shrug. “I was just gonna say Gaga’s a great singer. And, well, driver picks the music…” he teased, in a tone that clearly said he was expecting Dean to object.

Instead, Dean just answered smoothly, “That he does.”

The sound of electric organ floated from the speakers as they pulled out of the parking lot.

A moment later, Cas said, “Dean, we should listen to this the next time we make love in the car.”

“Oh my god ,” Sam exclaimed, barely managing to keep the car straight.

“What’s wrong?” Cas asked in confusion.

Dean laughed. It occurred to him that he could teach Cas to be more subtle. But then he wouldn't be Cas anymore, and Dean loved him the way that he was.