A/N: Fair warning peeps, this chapter gets a little filthy. In the beginning, I'm sure some of ya'll noticed, that I was hesitant to use certain words/sentences because I really didn't want to piss off the censors. But trying to keep things pg13-ish was slowly driving me mad. So I said, "Screw it" and wrote what I really wanted to write.
Brief nudity, dirty talk and slang up ahead.
It was getting worse.
Cas kept his promise and only touched Dean if he had to. He only took what he needed and did not push the issue unless it was necessary. Hell, even Dean was getting desensitized to it all. He was finding himself forgoing the pillow at times because Cas had the decency to look away. He sometimes even offered his own arm to the angel if he looked a bit tired or drained.
Except now Dean's traitorous body developed a few bad habits.
It started out small: even before Cas' hand made contact, Dean got an erection. It should've been expected, really, especially the way Dean kept denying himself release. Of course his body would anticipate Cas' hand since it was the only pleasure Dean's had for a while now. Then it slowly got worse.
Soon, all it needed was Cas to stand close to him.
Then all it needed was Cas to be in the same room.
Then all it needed was a glance at something that appeared to be a tan trench coat, which made for a really awkward moment when Dean was trying to shop for new shirts at Walmart.
Dean didn't tell Sam any of this because he's given his little brother enough reasons to make bad sex jokes. Sometimes Sam would just glance down at his shoulder and start giggling like a little girl, the bitch.
But he wasn't going to think about any of that, not tonight. He'd made Sam swear, under the threat of having urine mixed into his toothpaste, to not disturb him for any reason. Tonight was his night.
Emily was dark skinned, toned, and smelled so fuckin' good Dean could literally spend hours just sniffing her. Her tongue was so deliciously sweet that it was torture for him to pull away so he could nip at her rib cage and lick at her nipples.
She was just as enthusiastic as he. Her hands were expertly messaging his back and she found that special spot underneath Dean's ear, turning into putty with a few broad strokes of her tongue. Everything was perfect… except…
Emily's hand trailed down and dug into his boxers. She pulled away from kissing Dean's neck with a confused glance. "Um," she started. "Are you okay?"
No, he wasn't okay. Here Dean was, on his back with this gorgeous girl on top of him and he was limp as a wet noodle. "I'm fine," he said with a grin. He tried to hide the growing panic. He reached up to kiss her and she let him. "C'mon, let's keep going. Don't worry, I always rise to the occasion."
It was a cheap joke, but it made Emily smile nonetheless. She lowered herself between his legs, determined to help.
Needless to say, Dean failed to rise to the occasion.
Dean made up some bull about being too tired or too drunk. Emily sympathetically nodded as she scribbled down her number for him, telling him they could go out for lunch later, maybe.
Maybe not. As soon as she left, Dean threw her number into the trash and spent the rest of the night wishing he could kill something.
"Cas is ruining my sex life."
Dean had deliberately waited till Sam took a long swing of coffee before dropping that. As embarrassing as it was to admit that, it was equally satisfying to watch Sam choke and sputter. Bitch deserved it.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Sam gasped, shaking his head at him. "I didn't need to know that."
"Yeah, well, something needs to be done or else I'm going to suffer from blue balls for the rest of my life."
Sam clapped his hands over his ears. "Oh, GOD! Stop talking. I don't want to hear this!"
Dean leaned over and used his spoon to roughly rap it across Sam's knuckle. "I'm not joking, Sam," he said as Sam flinched and pulled his hand away from his ear. "Cas is… somehow confusing the neurons in my brain to react differently."
"That doesn't make any sense," Sam said sourly. "What do you want me to do? Why don't you talk to Cas about it?"
"That's the problem!" Dean nearly slammed his fist down upon the table. He caught himself, sobered and said in a much calmer tone. "I can't talk to Cas, otherwise… his presence does things that I can't-"
"Dean, are you saying Cas turns you on?" Sam snickered, clearly meant it as a joke. But when Dean's cheeks pinked, Sam's laughter immediately died. "What? Are you serious?"
"It's not… It's not really Cas!" Dean explained quickly to Sam's facial expression. "It's association. You know, how a certain smell can trigger a memory response?"
"So what you're saying is, by looking at Cas, it triggers a… happy response?"
Sam is too damn smart for his own good. "Yeah."
Sam laughed. Hard and loud and obnoxiously. During this jolly time, Dean got up and took a beer out of their mini-fridge and emptied half of it in one swing. It was only ten in the morning, but he needed a drink. When Sam kept chuckling, Dean muttered, "I hope you pull something."
"Okay. Okay… okay," Sam choked as he tried to control himself. "Dean, look, you knew from the start how this was going to go. You should've known better."
"So what, you're saying this is my fault?"
"What I'm saying is that you should probably find ways to keep your mind occupied while Cas re-juices. Meditate, put your hand in a giant bowl of ice… heck, squeeze one out before Cas touches you."
Dean narrowed his eyes at him. "You sound like you know something about this."
"Jess wouldn't let me touch her until five months after we started dating."
Dean never really thought about directing his thoughts to something else. He was mostly a 'I'll endure until it's over' kind of guy.
So first thing first: the ice bowl. It was the easiest and most effective weapon to use, other than a cold shower. So the moment Castiel showed up, Dean immediately went to the kitchen to get himself a bowl of ice water.
When Dean woke up a few minutes later, he found Castiel gone, the front of his pants wet, and his hand numb. It took nearly a half hour to get feeling back.
Second choice: Meditation. Dean knew nothing about meditation beyond what he's seen in various kung-fu movies. Dean wasn't a hundred year old Chinese martial arts master who could break walls with his pinky. He even went on youtube, watched a few videos dedicated to meditation and found every one pointless. He couldn't achieve peace through breathing exercises. Dean was a guy who found his peace through music and a good beer.
So that's what he did. He forwent the beer, because drinking before hand-porn (As Sam dubbed it) was not a good idea. Dean instead snatched Sam's ipod, found a song of the Eagles and blasted it while Castiel touched him.
Now Dean has to turn the radio every time an Eagle song came on.
With those two suggestions shot down, Dean was left with only one more option.
When Dean was a teenager, this was always an option. It made him calmer before hunts, after hunts, and during times when certain conservative towns either refused him or didn't carry condoms in their shops.
Things were a little different now. A few months ago, Dean wouldn't have minded taking a few extra long minutes in the bathroom. But that was when he could easily be turned on by the sight of a woman. Not… Cas.
And he was not about to jack off to the thoughts of Castiel, angel of the Lord. Dean was pretty sure there was a special hell for people like that.
Unfortunately, his body had other plans.