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Castiel is well aware that, in the eyes of the general population, the benefits of being an angel far outweigh those of being human. That had clearly been going through Dean’s mind, at least, when Castiel had first announced his intentions of extracting his grace and discarding it for good.
Dean had no doubt been looking at the grand scheme of things, at the flashier attributes that once made Castiel fundamentally superior to a mere mortal: incredible physical strength, ability to travel in the blink of an eye, impossibly long lifespan. And being a soldier of heaven, in many ways, was undeniably meant to be about the ‘big picture,’ whether one liked it or not.
But it had been quite some time since Castiel had any concern for that sort of thing. Frankly, he preferred to think a little smaller.
Castiel knows that Dean’s no stranger to the simple joys in life – homemade pie, working on his car, fond embraces from loved ones – but it had been obvious that he’d assumed those sorts of things would be mere consolation prizes compared to all the ‘perks’ that went along with divine, cosmic power. He didn’t understand that they could be appealing, could be tempting, even to an angel – not every angel, perhaps, but certainly to one like Castiel.
Of course, before following through with the decision to cut ties with heaven and embrace a life of humanity, Castiel himself didn’t grasp the full scope of precisely what a mortal life on earth could offer. He only knew enough, dared to hope enough, to want to risk it.
It was a gamble that paid off more completely than he could ever have dreamed, allowed him to be with Dean, truly with him, and every day since has been worth the sacrifice, regardless of any initial difficulties. Castiel luxuriates in their time together, tries to savor each new delight, but he discovers so many more in such quick succession that he can scarcely keep up. He cherishes his favorite moments, revisits them – both in fantasy and reality – as often as he can, even as he readily anticipates the next experience.
Waking up next to Dean is a pleasure that Castiel can’t imagine ever tiring of. Dean is always so beautiful first thing in the morning, face relaxed, perfectly at peace. He isn’t entirely asleep right now, stirring into wakefulness right along with Castiel, echoing his bleary groan, loud in the still atmosphere of their hotel room. Hotel, not motel, a small but important difference that means a lobby and clean white sheets and more pillows than either of them had known what to do with. They were on their way home after a job and in need of an overnight stop when Castiel had casually suggested that they stay somewhere a bit nicer than the usual cheap, roadside inn. After a rough hunt and a long drive, Dean needed something a little kinder on his aching back than a thin, squeaky mattress on a busted box spring, even if he wouldn’t ask for it himself. However, he did seem to like the idea of a night away, just the two of them, in a more indulgent setting than they normally allowed themselves.
For a few minutes they just breathe together, deep and even, and Castiel is lulled by the steady rise and fall of Dean’s back against his chest. His arm is still tight across Dean’s enticingly soft middle, and he can’t help but press a kiss to the back of Dean’s neck – it turns into another, and another when Dean hums agreeably, much more alert now. Castiel wants to hear it again, to coax more of those intoxicating sounds out of him, and runs his palm along Dean’s stomach and chest with more intent, with purpose, brushing a nipple and rolling it between his fingers as Dean gasps and arches into it. It’s not long before Dean’s shifting his hips with urgency, whining his name, and Castiel can never resist him, especially when he’s desperate like this. Castiel slides his hand back down and shoves the bedding to their knees so he can curl his fingers around Dean’s leaking cock, hissing in sympathy as Dean moans and pushes his ass against him. Castiel had already been aching when he woke up, from sleep and Dean’s warm, bare body all along his front, and he’s terribly close now, driven nearer to the edge by Dean’s lovely noises of pleasure, his yielding flesh in tantalizing proximity, begging him to sink inside.
Castiel keeps his strokes steady, grip firm, and Dean comes with a gasp and a bitten off curse as his body goes taut, voice dropping into a long groan as he shakes, spilling hot over Castiel’s fingers. Suddenly Castiel is right there with him – Dean coming apart for him never fails to send his arousal into overdrive – and he’s growling against the nape of Dean’s neck, fingertips digging bruises into his hip, spurting helplessly all over Dean’s freckled skin.
Dean squirms. “You—” he begins to say, sounding vaguely scandalized and perhaps something else that Castiel can’t quite put his finger on, but he cuts himself off, as if thinking better of it, suddenly too embarrassed to voice whatever was running through his head. Dean has a tendency to do that. Castiel’s getting better at filling in the blanks, but there’s always more to learn.
“Sorry,” Castiel murmurs, not that he thinks he did anything wrong, necessarily, it’s just that he hadn’t meant to do it, to spend himself all over Dean’s backside, make an absolute mess of him.
“No, it’s—” Dean begins hastily and cuts himself off again, clearing his throat with sudden awkwardness. “Don’t— don’t worry about it,” he mumbles, a slight, inexplicable strain to his voice that Castiel immediately wants to unravel, to dissect. It’s not a lie, not exactly, it’s more as if Dean isn’t divulging the entire truth, as if he’s hiding some critical element, concealing it with intentional vagueness and deflection. He isn’t secretly upset or angry, at least – Castiel knows what that sounds like by now, would have no hope of navigating this relationship if he didn’t. If anything, Dean’s more flushed than he usually is after he’s come, body relaxed from orgasm and lingering sleep but still buzzing with a faint restlessness, with nerves that had him stumbling over his words, falling self-consciously silent.
Castiel pulls back and takes a long look at him, dirtied up and fidgeting under the scrutiny. He thinks he confirms a suspicion then, almost voices it aloud but, like Dean, thinks better of it for the moment. He files it away for later, so he can manipulate that little piece until he’s able to slot it into the puzzle with certainty, get that much closer to a complete picture of what makes Dean tick.
He kisses Dean’s shoulder instead, caresses his chest and lets the moment pass, gives Dean a chance to lower his guard. He waits until the silence is comfortable again before he breaks it. “Why don’t we shower and see how many free muffins we can take from the continental breakfast?”
Dean finally turns to look at him, appearing delighted at the prospect. Castiel feels his heart swell at the easy smile on Dean’s face, one he happily returns, kissing Dean’s cheek with a laugh.
* * *
It hasn’t escaped Castiel’s notice in these past few months that Dean seems… responsive to Castiel’s release all over him, streaking his skin, leaking out from inside.
It’s difficult to miss, especially for someone as relentlessly observant as Castiel, the way that Dean vibrates with barely tempered excitement – the way his eyes widen ever so slightly, how he bites back a weak moan even if he’s already been satisfied. Or the way he licks his lips compulsively, something he only does when he’s nervous or very much turned on. Not that those are mutually exclusive, in Castiel’s experiences with Dean, not remotely.
Dean’s normally on the orderly side when it comes to mess of any kind, but this appears to be an exception. Castiel’s piecing that picture together too, that sometimes people have different rules for what they find acceptable when it comes to carnal pleasure. That something being a bit dirty and wrong and self-indulgent is exactly what makes it so fun.
It doesn’t really work that way for Castiel. He doesn’t feel shame over the kind of things that the average human would – or just particular things for particular reasons – doesn’t experience any sense of wrongness, perversely thrilling or not, in any specific act.
That isn’t to say that some of the things he and Dean do together don’t affect him more than others, don’t inflame him further in a way he can’t satisfactorily comprehend, undoubtedly can’t begin to describe. It’s not to say he doesn’t have a special fondness for the softness of Dean’s mouth, for the way he looks and feels when Castiel is steadily thrusting into him, the way he whimpers when Castiel winds his fingers through his hair and tugs.
And that’s a part of these urges, Castiel is understanding. Sometimes certain actions, certain scenarios just resonate, just click. They get a person’s heart racing, breathing faster, excitement driven that much higher, with no real reason as to why, no true explanation for it or logical sense to it, and it’s at the discretion of the individual how to deal with it, whether to practice denial, push it to the side – or to accept it, embrace it.
Castiel just goes along with these things, dives in fearlessly, pushes further, explores. He doesn’t see any reason not to – and sees so many reasons why it’s enjoyable to pursue his whims without hesitation – as long as Dean doesn’t have any objections. Dean himself seems to hover somewhere between the two sides, wanting things too badly to truly ignore his more secret or unconventional preferences but terrified to face them, to reveal them out loud to anyone else, until he’s about to snap from being pulled between lust and anxiety.
Castiel coaxes those desires out of Dean as carefully as he can, whispers his devotion and offers his comforting embrace, his patience, his enthusiasm – that one is, at times, the most effective, just that reassurance that Castiel is in this with him, wants him, craves him so fiercely, will have him in any way Dean asks for or allows him.
He’s been compiling an ever-growing list of the things that Dean likes, and the things that he likes himself. It’s exciting how often they perfectly overlap – Dean pinned underneath him, Castiel’s mouth on the delicate skin of Dean’s throat and, more recently, Dean spread out and moaning, trembling as Castiel works him open with his tongue.
Castiel’s always eager to collect more experiences, to keep experimenting, get to the root of the hidden things that drive Dean wild. He needs more data to be absolutely sure on this one, that being marked up with Castiel’s come is one of those filthy-wrong things that Dean is reluctantly enthralled by, can’t get enough of but would never ask for. Castiel has absolutely no complaints about doing more research.
* * *
At this point, having a bedroom at the bunker for each of them is extraneous. It’s rare that they don’t spend the night together, even if there are times when they don’t do much aside from falling asleep listening to each other’s breathing. During those times Castiel still can’t stop himself from getting his mouth on Dean’s, delighting in the way Dean goes all soft and curls his fingers against Castiel’s jaw, opens up for him, teasingly meets Castiel’s tongue with his own.
Most of the time, it’s an unspoken toss-up whose room they’ll end up in, but Dean came to Castiel tonight, pleaded for him with every kiss and gentle sigh, flashing a brief, excited grin as Castiel matched his enthusiasm, shoving him face down into the pillows. He had stretched Dean open slowly until he begged, out loud this time, Please, fuck, c’mon when Castiel asked Do you want me to fuck you, Dean? Dean had moaned brokenly as Castiel lined himself up carefully and pushed inside.
It’s harder to look in Dean’s eyes this way, to kiss his sweet mouth, but Castiel loves how close they feel, lined up almost head to toe, his arms tight around Dean. Castiel’s practically holding him up at this point, is seated so deep, feeling Dean’s groans reverberate beneath his palm, pressing his mouth to his neck and murmuring adoration into his ear as he rocks steadily inside him.
Dean is so wonderfully hot and tight around him, gasping Castiel’s name and threading their fingers together on the bedspread. Castiel’s getting close now, lets his other hand wander down Dean’s stomach towards his erection, determined to make him come first, to push him over the edge before he concerns himself with chasing his own climax. His mind flashes ahead, to those moments afterward, when Dean’s sated and quivering, and Castiel is suddenly curious, an idea forming, hand slipping low on Dean’s belly but not moving any further. He has a hunch about something that… does it for Dean, and he wants to pursue it more thoroughly, wants to see how Dean will react to Castiel pumping him full while he’s still teetering on the brink of orgasm.
Castiel groans loudly at his peak, and Dean whispers Oh fuck, fuck, already sounding wrecked, hoarse with arousal as Castiel’s cock pulses and spills inside him. Dean sighs as he pulls out, and Castiel only detects the slightest note of disappointment. This may be a first for them but Dean knows by now that he won’t be left wanting. Castiel would never allow that – even if he’s already physically spent, he’s never truly satisfied until Dean is.
Dean’s murmuring Cas under his breath, probably not even aware he’s doing it, strung out and writhing when he’d normally be too exhausted to move, slumping onto his stomach and grinding against the mattress as Castiel’s come slowly leaks out. Castiel watches, captivated, lets it drip before reaching out and smearing it with his fingertips. Dean blushes deeper and mutters “Jesus, Cas,” even as he pushes back against Castiel’s exploratory touch, tries to get something inside of him again, burrows his pink face into the pillow.
Then Castiel is diving in with his mouth, where Dean’s hot and likely oversensitive, works at him until Dean dissolves into frantic whimpers, rutting shamelessly against the bed and coming with a shocked moan as Castiel’s tongue and fingers curl inside him.
Castiel rolls him over just to look at him, just to see what a filthy mess he is, fully appreciate the fact that he let Castiel put him in such a state, that he reveled in it. Castiel can’t believe that something so base, so vulgar, can make him feel so powerful.
He doesn’t know if Dean will welcome a kiss, considering what just transpired, understands that Dean is occasionally squeamish about some things. But when Dean locks eyes with him he hooks an arm around Castiel’s neck and reels him in, brings their mouths together forcefully, likely to cover up the way he’s still faintly trembling.
Eventually, Castiel cleans them up and holds Dean like he always does, runs his hands all over Dean’s soft, flushed skin, feeling the tension leave him by degrees, doesn’t stop kissing him until they fall asleep.
* * *
It’s not much later, maybe a couple of weeks, that Sam heads off on a visit to Sioux Falls. He’ll be gone for days but Dean barely waits until his car is out of sight before he pulls Castiel into his bedroom, gets him by the collar and hauls him in for a heated kiss. Castiel could get lost in this, feeling Dean’s mouth pliant beneath his own, pleased by the whine he elicits when he draws Dean’s lower lip between his teeth, hand sliding to Dean’s backside and squeezing.
Dean makes a satisfied noise in the back of his throat when Castiel cups his jaw and angles his face to his liking, takes control. Dean opens for him easily and lets their tongues slide together, presses himself closer as Castiel’s other hand wanders underneath his shirt. Dean’s skin is warm and supple beneath his fingertips as he traces the strong muscles of Dean’s back.
Dean’s hands are restless, are everywhere, finally settling on Castiel’s belt and hurriedly attempting to undo the buckle much sooner than Castiel had been expecting. He gently grips Dean’s hands with his own, and Dean immediately stops and looks at him.
Castiel is silent for a moment, searching Dean’s face. There’s something a little wild in his eyes, and Castiel’s not sure what it is yet. “We’ve got time,” he reminds Dean, reaching up to cup his cheek, kissing him gently. They’ve got days stretching out ahead of them. They haven’t even undressed or considered moving anywhere more comfortable.
“Yeah,” Dean says, sounding breathless already. “Okay.” He’s still fidgety, but is more relaxed as he lets Castiel slow the pace. He closes his eyes with a sigh, tilting his head back to expose his throat to Castiel’s ravenous mouth. Castiel only briefly pauses to get Dean’s shirt off, needing more of his flesh bare, accessible to Castiel’s ministrations. Dean gasps as Castiel sucks a mark over his fluttering pulse, urgently rolling his hips against Castiel’s. They both groan at the friction, growing harder by the second.
Dean plucks insistently at Castiel’s shirt until he removes it, and digs his fingers into Castiel’s shoulders as he pinches Dean’s nipple between his fingers, fits his palm against his erection. Dean hisses and swears, the sound stoking the fire in Castiel’s belly. He didn’t want to rush earlier but he’s impatient now too, lets Dean rut against his hand for only a moment before he’s working Dean’s pants open, shoving them and his underwear to his knees, supporting Dean as he steps out of his clothes.
He looks so good like this, bare and lovely, pink tinging his cheeks, eyes hooded with lust. Castiel doesn’t even get the chance to truly appreciate the sight before Dean brings their mouths together again and promptly reaches for his belt. This time, Castiel doesn’t stop him.
He can tell by Dean’s haste that he has something on his mind, something he’s been waiting to do. Even with their relationship out in the open, Castiel knows there are still things Dean... saves for the opportune moment, when they have uninterrupted time. The genuine solitude when he and Castiel are truly alone always seems to make Dean braver, more daring. The bedroom door is still open.
Dean doesn’t waste any time undoing the buckle, slipping his fingers underneath elastic and denim and exposing Castiel completely in one movement, dragging his clothing down and sinking along with it until he’s kneeling at Castiel’s feet.
Castiel scarcely gets the chance to kick his jeans out of the way before Dean’s wrapping his fingers around his cock, leaning in and lapping at the fluid seeping from the tip with unabashed enthusiasm. Castiel cradles his head, growls Dean’s name in approval as he takes Castiel into his mouth, closing his eyes and humming with satisfaction.
Dean’s hot and soft around him, lips slick and eager as he bobs his head, and it isn’t the first time that Castiel wonders if the sight of this is just as overwhelming as the sensation. Dean keeps up his rhythm until Castiel starts rolling his hips forward to meet him, uttering a litany of praise and profanity as he grasps Dean’s jaw, thumb tracing where Dean’s mouth is stretched around him.
Dean slows down, opens his eyes and looks up at Castiel expectantly. This isn’t new for them – Castiel knows exactly what he wants and is more than happy to give it to him, pushes forward while Dean goes lax, moaning his pleasure as Castiel’s cock slides along his tongue.
Dean likes it like this, on his knees, Castiel smoothly thrusting in and out of his mouth. Castiel most certainly likes it too, Dean hollowing his cheeks and tightening his lips, relaxed and giving himself over to Castiel.
Castiel’s nearing the edge when Dean pulls back and stares up at him again, strokes Castiel’s cock with his fingers. His gaze is unfocused with desire, and his tongue peeks out and grazes his lower lip, makes his glistening mouth even wetter.
Castiel recognizes that look, the exhilaration and shame in Dean’s eyes, the way they dart away but are drawn helplessly back again – he wants something so badly but can’t even begin to ask for it, is silently pleading for Castiel to understand, to figure it out and absolve him, give him what he needs.
Castiel regards Deans intently, takes in the way he keeps licking his lips, shuffling closer on his knees, eyes continually wandering to Castiel’s cock, red and dripping in his hand. Castiel knows enough about this sort of thing to have an idea and hazards a guess, tentatively brushing Dean’s fingers aside and replacing them with his own. He watches Dean closely to gauge his reaction as he picks up where Dean left off, movements hurried as he’s approaching climax.
Dean closes his eyes, lets out a sound of relief and excitement, clutches Castiel’s thigh, tips his head back. That only intensifies the heat in Castiel’s belly, and he’s fisting his cock with purpose, pulling Dean’s hair the way that never fails to draw a gasp from that sinful mouth.
“Dean,” Castiel says warningly when he’s on the precipice – he needs to be sure, in case he’s read this wrong, gives Dean a chance to back out. “I’m—”
Dean keeps his eyes closed, lets out a tiny, quavering moan in reply, posture tense, practically vibrating as he breathes yeah – hardly audible, perhaps never meant to be heard, but loaded with desire all the same.
Castiel is humbled at the trust Dean places in him, awed that this gorgeous creature wants Castiel to mark him up and make a mess of him, that he loves it. It’s a less profound surprise that Castiel might actually love it too.
Castiel growls deep in his chest as he stripes Dean’s face in endless, hard spurts, can barely concentrate on his own pleasure with the way Dean whines, hips rolling against nothing, cock leaking, fingertips digging into Castiel’s thigh and his own.
Dean’s tongue darts out, swipes at the fluid coating the corner of his mouth before his eyes snap open. A flush travels down his spattered neck as his gaze locks with Castiel’s, as if he hadn’t meant to do that, as if caught out. Castiel grips his jaw and drags his thumb through the stickiness on Dean’s cheek, pushes it between his lips – Dean sucks it in eagerly, eyes falling closed again.
Dean’s breathing is labored, one hand kneading the muscle of his thigh restlessly, twitching towards his neglected cock but not really making the move to give himself any relief. It’s as if he’s waiting for permission, so unseated by his own arousal that he needs Castiel to guide him.
He fists his hand in Dean’s hair again, to get his attention. Dean looks at him and he’s filthy, open-mouthed and glassy-eyed, silently begging for whatever Castiel will give him. Castiel would grant him anything.
“Touch yourself, Dean,” he says quietly, injecting authority into his tone. Dean seems to respond well to assertiveness, to orders – Castiel suspects that’s something they’ll be exploring further, and soon. “Show me.”
Dean readily obeys, grips himself with shaking fingers. It doesn’t take long, not with how worked up he his, thrusting wantonly into his own touch and coming with a frantic moan, a sob, all over his hand, his stomach, down his thighs and even up his chest. He’s so magnificent that Castiel forgets how to breathe, feels renewed stirrings of longing. He comprehends more languages than most people can fathom but he lacks the words for this, what the sight of Dean spent and smeared with come does to him.
Dean trembles as he winds back down, swaying and panting raggedly. Dean won’t look him in the eye but he leans into it when Castiel pets his hair, kneading the back of his neck, and rests his face against Castiel’s hip. Castiel murmurs soothing words, gives him a moment to settle before helping him stand, ushering him down the hall and into the shower.
Dean lets Castiel lather him up, massage his tense muscles, even work shampoo into his hair while he groans appreciatively with each pass of Castiel’s fingers. That’s a little bit new for them too, and a stark contrast to what they’ve just done. Castiel finds there’s enjoyment to be had in both – roughly dirtying Dean up and then tenderly getting him clean again.
Once they’re washed and dry Castiel gets them both into bed, nestled warmly in Dean’s blankets, and pulls Dean against him, kissing his temple. Dean sinks into his embrace without hesitating now, will initiate it instead of waiting for Castiel’s invitation because he knows it’s always implied, anytime he feels like accepting. This is one of Castiel’s favorite experiences in human life. He suspects it’s one of Dean’s too, and even if he doesn’t come out and say it, Castiel can feel it in the way he completely relaxes against him, arches into his touch and sighs contentedly.
Castiel knows that Dean isn’t one for talking much in these moments, but on occasion, Castiel can’t resist the urge to reflect on their time together, to clarify what was good for Dean so he can do it again and again, give Dean every kind of pleasure he could possibly hope for.
“Was that what you wanted?” Castiel asks, once Dean’s turned onto his side and Castiel has slotted in behind him. He’s pretty sure of the answer, but he wants to be absolutely certain, just for future reference, just so Dean can blush and grit out the confirmation that Castiel needs to hear, that lets him chip away at Dean’s defenses so it’s easier the next time – so he can do more, explore further, take Dean to higher planes of ecstasy and safety and acceptance.
“God,” Dean mutters, feigning exasperation but voice tinged with genuine embarrassment. “Do we have to talk about it?” he grumbles, pressing his face further into the pillow, no doubt in a vain attempt to hide the way it’s reddening.
“No, we don’t have to,” Castiel concedes with a faint smile, tightening his arm around Dean’s waist. “But I’ll be taking that response as a yes.”
Dean scoffs, and Castiel can’t quite see, but he’s certain that Dean is rolling his eyes. He turns to look at Castiel over his shoulder. “You’re a real smug son of a bitch, you know that?” Dean says, teasing but fond, a smirk threatening to appear on his face.
“I’m starting to suspect you like that too.”
Dean laughs in that brash, carefree way he does when Castiel surprises him, and Castiel’s heart flutters at the sound of it.
Dean doesn’t confirm or deny, but Castiel is past wondering why Dean can’t always ask for or talk about the things he wants. He knows it’s beyond his grasp, not having a full understanding of the kinds of shame and insecurity that usually plague humans, and Dean especially, when it comes to certain things. He’s more than all right with guessing, checking in, testing the waters and letting Dean’s pleasured gasps and satisfied sighs do the talking where Dean himself can’t.
Castiel kisses him until exhaustion wins out and they settle against the mattress. He holds Dean close, still wearing a smile that he knows will outlast his wakefulness. He’s already nodding off, gratified with the realization that a fortunate side effect of learning more about Dean is he learns a lot about himself in the process. Every cherished moment with Dean brings him closer to discovering the kind of person that he is, and the kind of human that he wants to be.