A/N: So, this is the sequel to my previous fic, "Damn Straight," set about three weeks after its end. Reading that one first helps, but it's not really necessary. All you need to know is that Cas is human, Cas and Dean are together, neither has said the L word (but c'mon, they are soooo smitten), and Sam was very nearly witness to their first drunken hookup (but then Cas puked and killed the mood, so. That didn't work out). It's slightly AU, basically the canon world if, after all the stuff with the horsemen went down, it had taken Team Free Will weeks to months to find the devil instead of a couple days. The apocalypse is still in motion but they're basically stuck doing nothing until Lucifer is located.
Also, since I didn't want my universe to be Downer City, Sam hasn't come up with his plan yet. The threat of death hovers over the whole gang, but it's the general oppressive doom that the Winchesters are accustomed to.
Finally, everyone who reviews gets their very own Castiel™ for the limited time offer of absolutely free! If you review now, we'll throw in this set of steak knives and the Future Fun Times Castiel™ as seen in "The End", totally free!*
*Psychotropic drugs not included. Warning: Future Fun Times Castiel™ is extremely sarcastic. Use with caution.
And now, on with the show.
The night was cold and dark, the pitch blackness of the alleyway uninterrupted by streetlamps. Only the Winchesters would be stuck on stakeout during a city-wide power outage, Dean reflected bitterly. Luckily, the chances that they would encounter anything tonight were slim; they'd killed the weird soul-sucker thing that had been stalking the lady, and now they were just spending the night behind her apartment building for safety's sake. Just to make sure. Dean had insisted on it.
Sam wiggled around in the backseat, trying to get comfortable. It was his turn to sleep, but he was having a hard time of it. "The seat is too short to really stretch out," he complained. "I might as well just sit up front."
Dean sipped his coffee. "You're right. It was kinda cramped yesterday when Cas and I were doin' it back there."
A beat of silence filled the car as his words sunk in.
Sam was flailing and scrabbling to climb over the seat in an instant, crying "Augh, Son of a bitch you sick bastards I sleep back here that is just sick!"
Dean laughed heartily and then took pity on him, mostly because one of Sam's huge panicking limbs was going to whack him in the head. "I'm just kidding, Sammy." Which was true – he and Cas hadn't done it in the Impala. Of course, that didn't mean the back seat was exactly… virginal. But Sammy didn't need to worry his pretty little head about that.
Sam had already maneuvered into the passenger seat, and he glowered. "Not funny, Dean."
"Very funny," Dean corrected, smirking. "You're such a friggin' baby. We sleep in cockroach-infested dive motels and you're worried about a little angel sweat."
"It's not sweat I'm worried about," Sam muttered darkly. He huffed and zipped up his jacket, wrapping his arms around himself for warmth. "Just do me a favor, alright, and keep the bedroom antics to the motel. I get that you guys are like rabbits, but have a little human decency."
Dean just drank his coffee and ignored him. He wasn't making any promises. As soon as he and Cas started having sex, they were gonna do it everywhere.
Sam, however, read something into his silence. He stared at Dean, suspicion growing on his face. "You've got to be kidding me."
Dean glanced askance at him. Sometimes his brother made absolutely no sense. "What?"
"You guys haven't had sex?" he asked, incredulous.
Dean could feel his entire face flush. Damn his traitorous capillaries. "'Course we have! Besides, it's none of your goddamn business!" he barked hotly. "Get your own love life, asshole!"
"Oh my god, it's true," Sam crowed. "Holy crap, Dean, how is this possible?"
"Shut up," he snarled.
"No, seriously, how is this possible?" Sam persisted. "That first night, dude, you guys were about to – do the deed right in front of me. And you've been getting your own room ever since. It's been what, three weeks. So what's the, uh, hold up?"
Dean thrust his trademark "hang on a goddamn minute" pointer finger at Sam. "First of all, we were plastered," he ranted. "Things are a little different in the light of freakin' day, alright? And second of all, you know Cas is new to this. So excuuuuse me for taking things a little freakin' slow."
That shut Sam up. Ever since Cas had turned human, Sam had become a big ol' softy where the former angel was concerned. The dude was the king of empathy, and Cas had perfected the big-blue-puppydog-eyes look, so when Dean said Cas wasn't ready he knew Sam would buy it hook, line and sinker.
And it was true, mostly. It had started out very true. The first few times he and Cas had gotten hot and heavy, he'd seen this ridiculously terrified look on Cas's face, like he was standing in front of a firing squad. Dean had seen the same look the one time he took him to a brothel. It was Cas in the face of the one thing in the known universe that made him sweat bullets: sex. So Dean would murmur some calming, encouraging words and back off a little. He wasn't going to press the issue because hell, Dean was nothing if not a considerate lover. And if he remembered how eager the dude had been while intoxicated and had briefly considered taking advantage of that fact, at least he hadn't gone through with it. Again, Dean was considerate, and liquoring him up to bang him seemed… mildly unconscionable. This was Cas, not some tramp in a backwoods bar, and the rules were different now.
But lately, Cas had been less and less nervous. In fact, lately he'd been all over Dean every spare minute they got alone. He knew Cas was trying to give him the green light to take things a little farther, but something kept holding Dean back. He'd eventually decided he would let Cas make that move, if he really wanted it. He wanted it to be Cas's choice, not just Cas letting him do what he wanted.
It was times like these that Dean sort of wished Cas was a girl, because with girls Dean knew exactly what to do. There were a finite series of steps one took to get in bed with a woman, and once you were there, your job was fairly straightforward. Dean had a formidable amount of experience with chicks and it was all going to be wasted on Cas because Cas was man and it was a whole new ballgame, buddy, getting off another man. The only guideline Dean had was what he liked, and he hoped fervently that his tastes were somewhat similar to Cas's, or else they were going to be up shit creek without a paddle.
But nobody was perfect the first time, right? And Cas didn't have experience with anybody, period, so they'd fumble through it together. And if it was even half as awesome as the incredible make-out sessions they'd had, it would be worth all the awkwardness and embarrassment. Hopefully.
It had better, Dean thought, biting back a smirk. I like Cas, but I really don't want to be celibate for the rest of my life.
That thought shook him out of his reverie. Rest of my life? What the hell is that supposed to mean? Christ, Dean, get ahold of yourself. Besides, the rest of your life might only be a few weeks.
He concentrated on staring into the black night beyond the windshield, telling himself that his mental choice of words meant nothing.
The stakeout turned out to be fruitless, which was a good thing, and the brothers celebrated by sleeping away the entire next afternoon; with this soul sucker operating at night, neither of them had slept more than three hours at a time the whole week. Before the stakeout they had sent Cas to dig up some new leads on the devil, and he was out when they returned. Dean stumbled into the room he shared with Cas and fell into bed, only bothering to kick off his shoes before pulling the covers over himself and falling dead to the world.
When he woke up, a warm arm was draped around his midsection and he could feel Cas's breath on the back of his neck. He smiled. It reminded him of the first time he'd woken up next to Cas.
Well, "next to" was a relative term. Dean had woken up to find his limbs twined tightly around the former angel like the dude was his favorite teddy bear. In that first groggy, hungover split second he didn't remember how he got there, and his entire body had tensed up, a panicky mantra running through his head: Shit I got drunk and I fucked Cas and now I've fucked things up with Cas forever shit shit shit. And then he'd blinked, remembered, and relaxed, enjoying the moment.
And he did enjoy it. Now, Dean and Cas weren't the PDA type. If you saw them on the street, you wouldn't know they were anything more than good friends. They didn't get touchy-feely in public for a multitude of reasons: A) That shit was private. B) They had a job to do, and the job came first. C) A lot of their jobs were in rural areas, where folks were less… open minded. D) It bothered Sam. To which Dean would have just told Sam to grow a pair and deal, but Cas was uncomfortable with the idea of making Sam uncomfortable, so Dean dealt instead.
So when they were out and about, Dean and Cas didn't so much as hold hands. But when they got alone… they were big-time touchers. Just about any bodily contact would do, really. An arm around the shoulder while watching TV, playing footsie while cleaning guns, curling together on the bed and falling asleep. Sam would have been shocked if he knew just how much Dean enjoyed cuddling Cas, mostly because Dean rarely even hugged anybody else.
To which Dean would reply, "Cas isn't anybody else."
And now, he woke up with Cas in his bed and it warmed his heart. For the moment, life was sweet and pure and good. He placed his hand over Cas's and wove their fingers together, not caring how cheesy and girly it looked because Cas didn't know it looked cheesy and girly. That was the great thing about Cas; whatever quirky things Dean did, Cas accepted, because he didn't have a point of reference for what normal was. To him, it was perfectly normal to sing to your car when you washed it (Dean said he was just singing to occupy himself, but secretly he really was crooning to his baby) or wash down your pancakes with Jack Daniels. Normal was Dean.
Cas stretched and nuzzled his face into Dean's neck. "You slept a long time," he mumbled, his lips brushing against Dean's skin. Dean loved the way his voice sounded when he woke up, all gravelly and hoarse.
"Yeah, well, I'm awake now." Dean rolled over and grinned at the sight. Cas's black hair was all mussed up, sticking every which way, his eyes squinty and his cheek pink where he had been sleeping on it. It was freaking cute. "I see you climbed right in with me. Ya miss me or something?"
"No," Cas answered honestly. "It was only one night, Dean."
"I'm just teasing," Dean replied, chuckling. Leave it to Cas to be painfully obtuse.
"I got into bed because I was tired," Cas explained.
"Mmhmm," Dean agreed readily.
Cas frowned a little, obviously picking up on Dean's facetious tone. "And you were warm," he continued.
Cas cocked his head, looking puzzled. "And… I like sleeping next to you?" he asked hesistantly.
"Aaaaand there it is," Dean announced, ruffling Cas's head in a way that was sure to annoy him. "Was that so hard?"
Cas glared and pushed his hair back. It only made things worse.
Dean laughed and kissed his forehead. "Oh, relax."
Cas gave him a reproachful look. "You can't get away with things just by kissing me."
Dean's smile grew, and he felt positively wicked. "Wanna bet?"
Fifteen minutes later, things were getting hot and heavy. Dean ground his hips against Cas's and nipped along the underside of his jaw, his blood boiling in his veins and his heart going way too fast. As in, abnormally fast. Almost painfully fast.
"Deaaan," Cas moaned, and that almost finished him right there. "Dean." And Dean knew what he was asking, knew what he was pleading for but he wasn't going to – he couldn't, it had to be Cas, Cas had to make the move, it had to be him –
And then he felt Cas's hand drag down his bare chest and slide into his jeans, and it was happening. Cas was making his move. Cas kissed his way down Dean's body, lowering himself to the level of Dean's waist, and he fumbled at the button, tugging at the zipper. Holy shit, Dean thought, something hot and tightly wound uncoiling in his belly. His throat tightened and his heart was racing and it was getting hard to breathe. This is happening. This is happening.
And all of the sudden Dean was grabbing Cas's wrist, gasping "Waitwaitwaitwaitwait."
He'd been lying to himself. It wasn't Cas who wasn't ready.
Cas gazed at him, wide-eyed and concerned, still trying to catch his breath. "Dean…? I thought you… Is something wrong?"
Dean could hear the unasked question. Did I do something wrong? "Not your fault," Dean panted, squeezing his eyes shut, wishing he could be anyone but his pansy-ass self. Cas didn't deserve this. "I want this, Cas, I want you." He did. He wanted Cas so bad he could cry with frustration right now. "But I've never, I've never been with a man before and I – I don't think I can do it."
Cas simply gazed at him and asked the obvious. "Why not?"
He should have said everything right then. He should have let all that he was feeling spill out of him like a torrential flood. I can't because I've spent my whole life thinking I was straight, and straight guys don't touch other guys' junk, and now you've come along and even though I'm totally into you I still feel like the same guy, the straight guy, and straight guys don't do that, and if I do that then it means I'm not straight, once and for all, end of story, and that's a problem for me. For so long my sexuality has been part of my identity and if I'm not Dean Winchester the ladies' man then I don't know who I am and all the sudden I find myself defining myself through you, the way I feel about you, just the way my appetite for women used to define me, making you a part of what makes me me and I can't do that, Cas, I cannot do that because someday you're going to leave me just like everybody else I've ever loved and then I'll be nobody, I'll have nothing, not even myself anymore, and that's why I can't do this: because the one thing in this nightmarish, apocalyptic world that truly scares me is the idea of losing myself in you.
And planes. Planes still scare the shit out of me.
But all of that was tumbling around inside Dean's head, wordless and formless and difficult for him to explain, horribly revealing and weak and personal, and so instead, he just answered lamely, "Because… I can't."
Cas's face was a statue carved from stone, a blank slate. But his eyes – goddamn, his eyes. They were hurt, and confused, and begging Dean for something, anything.
Dean pulled Cas up and wrapped his arms around him, squeezing him tight and wishing he could be the man Cas deserved. "I'm sorry," he whispered hoarsely. "Don't look like that. I'm sorry."
"It's alright, Dean." The warmth and understanding in Cas's voice nearly killed him. Then he heard Cas clear his throat, a sure sign that he was about to make a joke. "It's not the end of the world."
That made Dean laugh, if a little bitterly, and pulled back to look at Cas's face. "You're getting quite a sense of humor."
Cas smiled one of his quiet, reserved smiles, and kissed him.
Dean kissed him back, and decided then and there that he was going to get over this – mental block, whatever it was, and give Cas the orgasm of his life and then do it over and over again until Cas lost all ability to function. Because damn it, Cas was clearly a freaking saint and if he wasn't getting his reward in heaven then Dean had to make sure he got his reward here on earth, no matter what it took, no matter how tough or difficult it might be for Dean.
He was gonna fuck Cas if killed him.