A/N: My readers. My readers. I love you so very much. Your reviews have been so fabulous and so awesome and I know I keep saying it all the time but I just have to reiterate it - I LOVE YOU. Because I love you so much, I wrote you this extra smutty epilogue. I hope you like it because it is for you and also there is boysexing.

This is the final chapter of this particular saga, and it was all made possible by you readers, so thanks. I know we'll meet again soon, but when, I don't know. I'd like to wait and see what happens with Cas's war in heaven in the canon before writing a new one, but we'll see.

All in all, it's been a lovely ride. Enjoy!

"Oh, fuck," Dean groaned, his fingertips digging into the grout of the shower wall.

"Is that a curse or a request?" Cas panted, his breath heavy on the back of Dean's neck.

"Both," he grunted, rocking backwards insistently. "Christ, Cas, if you don't start going a little faster I'm gonna die." He was so frustratingly close, and goddamn it was good but he needed more, so much fucking more…

An infuriatingly steely hand on his hip kept things at Cas's pace, however. "Be careful what you wish for, Dean," he growled.

Dean grinned and braced himself. "Try me."

He could practically hear Cas's engine revving.

Suddenly Cas was thrusting fast and hard and mind-blowing and Dean opened his mouth to speak but all that would come out were some broken-sounding moans and an embarrassing stream of needy expletives. "Shit Cas oh fucking GODDAMN ahnngh Cas fuck UNGHN CHRIST!"

"Fast - enough?" Cas inquired breathlessly.

"Hell no!" he gasped, the previous concern that he was going to die of frustration having been replaced by the absolute certainty that he was going to die of massive heart failure. "So much better – SHIT CAS ahnnnngh – so much better than in my head…"

"Your head?" Cas grunted.

"I've played this – OH FFFFFUCK, YEAH, unghnff oh goddamn goddamn Cas – played this in my mind a dozen – SHIT, a HUNDRED FUCKING TIMES HOLY FUCK YES!"

And suddenly Cas was coming, followed a few short hard thrusts later by Dean, who came so hard that he had tunnel vision and thought maybe he was, in fact, dying by orgasm. Best death ever. He rested his forehead against the cool tile. "Cas?" he wheezed. "You're awesome."

Cas's arms slid around his midsection, and he rested his head on Dean's shoulder. The shower fell silent except for the hiss of spraying water and their ragged breathing slowing down.

Then, in the quiet, Dean heard him.

"I love you."

A lump rose in his throat.

He slid his hand over Cas's. "Right back atcha."


Sam had texted earlier that morning about a possible job, but Dean just texted back Busy. See you this afternoon. Therefore it came as no surprise that he came knocking around one o'clock bearing food.

"Everybody decent?" he quipped when Dean opened the door.

Dean ignored him and snatched the paper bag from his hand. "You brought grub? I have trained you well, young grasshopper." He dug out a burger and tossed the rest on the table. "Cas zapped back to the office, and I'm already bored brainless, so… what's this about a job?"

"Well, I saw something in the local paper about a murder-suicide by chainsaw," Sam explained. "I thought it might be worth looking into." He smiled smugly. "Unless, of course, you lovebirds are too busy…"

"Sam, please." Dean glared indignantly. "I find the term 'lovebirds' to be offensive. We prefer to be called 'sex-falcons'."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Right." Then he seemed to register what Dean was saying. "Wait, so you guys are– having –"

"Like rabbits," Dean confirmed proudly, unable to restrain a lascivious smirk. "Horny rabbits."

Sam grimaced and protested, "I get the picture, Dean! No need to illustrate any further!"

He chuckled and took a large bite of his burger.

"But… does this mean you guys are official?" he asked cautiously.

"Whaffyou meangh?" Dean inquired through a half-chewed mouthful.

Sam's face was all screwed up, like it was taking an effort to out-and-out say it. "Like… are you guys… boyfriends? Or…"

Dean choked.

Sam's eyes went wide. "Dude, you okay?"

Dean waved him off, pounded his chest, gulped in some air. "Went down the wrong pipe," he croaked. "M'fine."

Sam watched him dubiously. "Well, you know, you did die that one time."

"Trickster!" he protested. "Anyways, as for your question… Look, I don't know. We don't sit around discussing how we're gonna label ourselves on this year's Christmas card, alright? But we're – together, and exclusive, and – long term. However you wanna slice it and dice it, that's what it comes down to."

Sam nodded. "Good."

"Good?" Dean arched an eyebrow. "Like you have any say in it?"

"Oh, trust me," Sam retorted, "I have a say in it. I'm the one that has to live with you twenty-four seven, remember?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean demanded.

"That means that everyone you get serious about automatically becomes a part of my life," Sam elaborated. "Lucky for you, I like Cas."

"Lucky for – lucky for –" Dean sputtered. "You're the lucky one that I don't kick your ass!"

Sam smiled condescendingly. "That's adorable."

Dean clenched his fists.


"Owwww," Sam groaned.

"Shut your cakehole, baby," Dean groaned in return. He'd forgotten how freakin' huge Sammy was.

"Truce?" he suggested.

"Yeah," Dean sighed. "Truce."

Sammy dragged himself up onto the table and to his laptop. "I think you bruised my lungs."

"You bit me!" Dean accused.

Sam touched his face tenderly and winced. "Only a little." And then his eyes slid to Dean and he said, "Seriously, though. I'm happy for you."

Dean nodded, and that stupid lump was back in this throat – or maybe it was just swelling from Sammy's chokehold. "Thanks."

He opened up his laptop. "Now back to the job…"

And Dean realized that he was wrong before – this was about as good as gets. Not just for a Winchester, for anybody. Life was really fucking good.


The End.