They were in a field, and he was kneeling on a blanket–the thick yellow-brown plaid one that lived in the back of the Impala for naps on the side of two-lane highways. Cas' trench coat and suit jacket were tangled together, pushed down to around his wrists, and Dean was sucking forcefully on the side of his neck. Try explaining that one to the garrison, he thought, glancing up to meet Castiel's eyes, and had his eyelashes always been that long? Dean bit Cas' earlobe, and he gave a moan that could've come straight out of amateur porn.
He pulled back for a moment to survey the flushed, kind of unfocused look on Castiel's face, and to undo the buttons of his shirt (which only made Cas flush brighter pink, which was amazing), and Dean reached for the back collar of his own t-shirt only to realize that he was already naked.
"Well that simplifies things," he said, and moved to suck at one dark nipple as he undid Castiel's pants and slowly reached inside.
"Please, Dean," Castiel said, voice catching a little. "I need you."
"Glad to see you're finally taking this whole fall from grace thing seriously," Dean thought, though a thrill had shot through him at those words.
"Please," Castiel said again, as Dean pulled the angel's pants down to his ankles, stopping to pull off his shoes and socks. This balance of nudity was a little screwed up, Dean thought, but who was he to argue?
One he had Castiel down to his whitey-tighties, he crawled back up to kiss him for a long moment. Somewhere between realizing that Castiel's mouth was even softer than it looked, and that he was unexpectedly (and inexplicably) really good at kissing, Dean noticed that Going to California was playing from somewhere, a little tiniliy but perfect nonetheless. "Thanks, baby," he thought in the Impala's general direction, and smiled against Castiel's lips.
"Dean," he said again, insistently, when they'd pulled apart.
"On it," Dean said. He kissed him once more, then began to drop light kisses down his stomach, hooking his fingers in the waistband of Cas' underwear and looking up for permission before pulling them down and tossing them off to the side.
"Well," Dean said, raising his eyebrows. Then he leaned forward and ran his tongue up the underside of Castiel's erection.
"Oh god," Castiel said.
"Call me Dean," Dean actively repressed the urge to say. An angel probably wouldn't find that one as hilarious as he did. Then again, that was kind of a funny thing for an angel to say during sex anyway, all that renaissance pornography of 'divine ecstasy' notwithstanding...
Dean shrugged, and took Castiel's cock into his mouth, feeling him tremble.
"Dean." He glanced up and saw Castiel looking at him, flushed and overwhelmed. It was a good look for him. Dean took a moment to enjoy it before beginning to suck him off in earnest.
"Oh my," Castiel said, and "Dean!" and "Yes, please." And then, as they were beginning to settle into a comfortable rhythm, with Castiel thrusting a little into his mouth, "Oh yes! Take it, you dirty boy."
Dean tried to snort around a mouthful of cock, and ended up choking violently.
"Cas, who taught you to work pay-per-view?" he asked, wiping away a few tears. Castiel stared at him impassively. "Nevermind. I can send them some jams and tiny cheeses later."
"Dean?" Castiel said, without moving his mouth.
"...yes?" Dean replied. He hadn't realized throwing your voice was an angel superpower, but he was prepared to roll with it.
"Here," he said. Dean blinked at the angel underneath him for a minute, then slowly turned to look over his shoulder–at a fully dressed Castiel holding out a folded piece of paper and regarding him with something between confusion and disapproval.
Dean was halfway to saying something about this suddenly becoming twice as good a night when the gears clicked into place.
"...I'm dreaming, and you're the real Castiel," Dean said slowly.
Real Castiel stared at him.
"...awkward," he concluded. He glanced back to sexy Castiel and found he'd vanished, the lucky bastard. "I can explain?"
"That's not necessary," Castiel said. And then, as Dean blinked, he vanished with the sound of wings. The piece of paper he'd been holding fluttered to Dean's lap. It was an address in east Texas, a nice seven hour drive away.
"What?" Dean mumbled, blinking in the faint light making its way through the pea-colored motel blinds. He could just make out Sam in the other bed, making the bitchface at him without even opening his eyes.
"Dude," he said. "At least go in the bathroom and turn the fan on. Christ."
Dean took a quick inventory of himself. "...Right."
But first he groped on the nightstand for a pen and piece of paper, and scribbled down the address for what would doubtlessly be the most awkward angelic rendez-vous since Gabriel had done that whole Maury Povich number on the virgin Mary.