Dean is not an idle man.
It's impossible for him to sit still for long periods of time without lapsing into an irritated, fidgeting mess. He likes to think that this is because he is a hunter, and because he is a hunter, that any time spent doing nothing is just an open invitation to being attacked by one of the many things that go bump in the night. The perfect person to attest to this inability to just be still would be none other than Sam. After all, whenever Sam drove, Dean did nothing but sleep, change the music, drive him nuts, or play with any object he could reach within the confines of the Impala while in the passenger seat.
Regardless of the reasons why he did it, all Dean knew was that sitting still brought on uncomfortable thoughts that should never, ever be thought of. Ever.
In fact, these unthinkable (should be) thoughts were why Dean was currently sitting at the bar with his mouth nursing a bottle of beer and his right foot tapping the ground in sync with the rhythm of the music, trying very hard to not think about a certain angel who had plagued his thoughts since earlier that day.
It had all started innocently enough. He wasn't even remotely close to thinking about anything weird or out of the ordinary. Dean had been sprawled against the Impala, bored, and waiting for Sam to pick up the leads on the research. And then, the eldest Winchester brother's gaze just-so-happened to slide a bit to the left and land on perhaps the happiest elderly couple he had ever seen. They were shuffling down the street, laughing and smiling, and looking way too joyful for somebody that was that old.
The sight caused Dean to quirk up the edge of his lips into a tiny half-smile and made his thoughts drift off to what he would be like at that age, what Sam would be like at that age. And, oddly enough, what Castiel would be like.
If he was even with them, anymore.
The angel definitely had other things to do, other priorities and other people to follow- and even if he remained on earth, there would be no guarantee that he would stick with Dean and Sam. And- even if he did stay around, it's not like he was going to be there forever. Castiel would outlive them both.
Dean had not expected the sudden rush of despair that came with the thought.
The despair seemed to stick, too, no matter what Dean did. He eventually moped around enough that an obviously irritated Sam ordered him to go take a break, since restlessly playing around with the papers they were supposed to be looking over wasn't going to help with the research in the slightest.
So now, here he was, trying to drown out the stupid, girly-ass depression with alcohol, wishing he had never fucking seen that stupid pair of old farts.
The alcohol had worked for awhile. Dean had drank himself into a pretty nice stupor. He even managed to lose himself in the idea of entertaining the busty ginger that had been shooting glances his way ever since he walked into the bar.
And then his buzz decided to up and abandon him, leaving Dean to think even stupider thoughts about Castiel.
Like how he'd be pretty bummed if Cas decided to leave, one day.
Like how he wanted Cas to be by his side until the end.
The latter nearly caused Dean to spit out the beer that he had just taken a deep swig of.
God damn it all.
Dean wiped at the beer that managed to dribble out from between his closed lips, inwardly cursing old people and alcohol and Castiel and sleazy bars and just about everything else his inebriated mind could think of at the moment. After he cleaned himself up, he raised his hand and flashed the barkeep a grin, calling for yet another round. At the moment, he'd trade his seemingly infinite thoughts of Cas for a nasty hangover in the morning.
By the time Dean sways into the motel room, Sam is already up and pouring over his laptop- research for the spirit sonnuva bitch that they were supposed to be hunting. He grits his teeth and screws up his face in anticipation for the question that he just knew was coming.
"Woah, Dean. Getting shitfaced was not what I had in mind when I said "take a break." Are you-"
Dean steadies himself against the wall and raises a hand, as if that would stop the words from coming out of Sam's mouth.
"Don't even start. I look like crap, I feel like crap, but I'm fine. Now get yr'ass back to the g'damn research before I shoot you."
Sam just rolls his eyes and goes back to his work- after all, he knows better than anyone not to argue with a drunk Dean. And, satisfied, Dean stumbles the rest of the way to the bathroom so he could wash away the smell and grime of booze and bar from his face. He wasn't even going to attempt a shower. Knowing his luck, he'd probably end up drowning in the spray or some fucked up shit like that.
When Dean finally emerges from the bathroom, his drunk-off-its-ass mind takes a lot longer than it should to process that Sam was, indeed, missing from the room, and in his place was a hastily scribbled note that lay innocently upon the closed laptop.
Apparently, his brother was out for food.
Dean would have thrown a fit if he could muster any strength that wasn't used for standing upright at the moment. As soon as he turned away from the laptop, he felt his skin prickle as his body picked up the tell-tale shift in atmospheric pressure that came whenever Castiel popped into the room. Dean braced himself, eyes shut tight, and when he opened them there stood the cause of every single one of his current problems.
Just fucking great.
"Cas. Whaddya want?" He's surprised he managed to keep most of the slur out of his voice, and most definitely not surprised that he's having trouble remembering how to stand without swaying side to side. And Cas, Cas is staring at him with a bemused expression- the kind he got whenever Dean did something very human and perplexing (to him, at least).
What the hell?
".. did Sam fuckin' call you, that bitch." It's the only explanation he can think of right now, but even he knows that Cas wasn't here because of that. He's right, just like he knew he would be, because Cas' face twists into an even more confused expression before he goes on to speak.
"Why would he do that? Is there a reason he should have called me?"
Dean must be hella drunk because it's taking more than a few minutes to process what Castiel is saying- all his mind really cares about are those piercing blue eyes and how they're looking at him and fuck fuck fuck this was not going to be good.
"No. Nevermind, Cas. Why are you," Dean takes a breath, trying as hard as he could to speak clearly and remain standing up, and resists the urge to fall into one of those uncomfortable ass queen beds and go to sleep. "Here. Why're you here?" Castiel is still staring at him, his lips moving to form his replies and why the fucking hell is he caring more about his lips than what he was actually saying.
"I was jus-" Castiel starts around the same time Dean decides that he didn't care why he was here. If he had to watch that delicious- wait, what the fuck- mouth form words again he was going to be stuck in an even more mortifying and awkward predicament than he already was.
"Okay, I don't care why you're here. Let me just.. sit. Yeah. Sit." And sit Dean did. He perched himself delicately on the edge of the queen and clumsily started to kick off his boots. "And don't you go anywhere either. You sit your ass right there and don't leave me."
He realizes what he said a second too late, and in a flustered hurry he mumbles various explanations of why he said what he did underneath his breath, hoping with all his being that Cas would just pick one and stick with it. But no, he just had to listen to Dean and walk over and sit down beside him and look at him with a confused, puppy dog expression that melts into something like concern once he sees just how unsteady Dean was.
"Are you feeling alright, Dean?"
It should not feel this good to hear his name roll off the angel's tongue in that deep, rough voice. Fuck his voice. Fuck him and his concern and his warmth that was slowly being transferred to Dean via the lack of distance between them.
"M'fine, Cas. I just drank a little more than I was planning. And it's all your damn fault."
There it goes. The start to the wide list of embarrassing things that Dean knew he was going to say while drunk. He just hoped that he would fall asleep before things got too bad.
"I don't understand, Dean. How is it my fault?" There is genuine confusion in Castiel's words, and without thinking- he's apparently not doing this thinking thing too often, thanks to the alcohol - Dean's spilling his heart out to the angel.
"It's your damn faul- well it's less you, and more so this old-ass couple that got me thinking - but that doesn't matter. The point is, it's your fault for making me think about what would happen when I got older, and how you wouldn't be here, and how I never want you to leave. And.. most importantly, how you're going to still be here when I'm dead and gone." Dean took a shaky breath after that, pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. "And it hurt, Cas. It hurt so bad. So I drank. A lot. And here I am. And here you are. And you being here is so not helping."
There's a light of understanding in Castiel's eyes that Dean notices whenever he meets them with his own after his tense moment of silence. Dean isn't too sure what it means, and suddenly he really doesn't care because Castiel moved closer and pressed his forehead against Dean's.
Dean wonders whether or not Cas picked this up from somewhere or if he's honestly compelled to do it all by himself.
Castiel is looking into his eyes, earnest and comforting, compassion practically radiating from his tone and his expression and his body and Dean has to take a breath and revel in it until Cas speaks again.
"I will never leave you, Dean."
Dean doesn't even question why Cas would never leave him- the simple utterance of those five words was enough to push him closer, until his mouth closed on the angel's, sealing them in a sloppy kiss that Dean was sure tasted like the beer he had been drinking earlier.
Cas didn't respond, at first, and Dean has enough sense to feel a tendril of dread shoot through him.
Was this was some huge misunderstanding that his alcohol-induced mind thought of?
But then Castiel's lips parted and he was kissing him back, and ooh, shit.
Dean thinks this is what heaven tastes like.
The next thing Dean knew was that he was being pressed into the bed with Castiel's warm body above him, mouth still locked in a kiss that was quickly stealing the air from his lungs in such a way that he was finding it hard to care. He rocks his hips against Cas', feeling Cas practically seize up with the wave of unfamiliar pleasure that was sure to be shooting through him, each of their hands tugging and slipping under clothing, lips forming sweet nothings into the air and then-
Dean fell asleep.
When Dean next opens his eyes, the first thing he sees is just a blur of white, tan, and blue color. It takes him an agonizing minute to think through his headache and realize what it was, and when he finally does, he jolts upright and nearly falls out of the bed.
Because Castiel was laying there.
And apparently, they had been wrapped up tight in each others arms.
There's a sudden burst of pain in his head and last night comes flooding back in a rush of beer bottles, feelings, thoughts, and Castiel and his lips and his hands and woah. They almost fucked.
He almost fucked an angel.
The thought doesn't bug him as much as it should have. To be honest, he loved it.
They hadn't been asleep for very long- a couple hours at the most. From the sunlight that Dean was able to see, he'd place the time at around noon.
A sudden shift in the bed, coupled with the rustling of clothing, led Dean's gaze back to the angel. Castiel was awake now, his body moving so he could easily look into Dean's eyes.
He then mutters something completely unexpected that under any other circumstance, Dean would have found hilarious.
"I believe you "cock-blocked" me, last night. If that is the correct usage of the term." Cas is saying this with as serious of an expression that he can possibly make, and Dean is struck dumb for a second before he bursts into laughter.
Okay, scratch that, it was still funny as fuck, no matter what the circumstance was.
"What? Did I not use it right?"
And Cas looks so confused and irritated and just- fuck everything, Dean really wanted to kiss him again.
So he does. And this time, he makes sure that it's one of the best kisses the angel will ever get (one of the best, because they were going to have the rest of their time together to improve).
Once again, Castiel returns the kiss, and the passion from last night returns so fast that Dean climbs on top of Cas without hesitation and rocks his hips forward in just the right way in order to earn himself a husky groan that went straight to his dick. Cas, unsure of what to do, grips Dean's hips in such a way that his fingers were more than likely going to leave bruises. Dean continues the motion while kissing the angel to the best of his ability, occasional sounds rumbling in the back of his throat until Dean pulls away and gasps and moans along with Cas, and now that he's actually looking at the angel, Dean notices an expression so new to Dean that he has to stop and stare. Cas returns his gaze, a hand raising to trail fingers down Dean's cheek, and just that simple action stops Dean's heart for the fraction of a second and then he's mumbling "I love you" over and over again. Castiel returns every one with an "I love you too" and just from his tone of voice Dean knows that he really, honest to god, desperately means it.
Foreplay be damned. They could experiment some other time. Dean wanted Cas right now.
He situates himself between Cas' legs and tugs down his slacks and boxers. Castiel wants to help to, and he reaches for the button and fly of Dean's jeans and tries to take them off too and they just end up falling over each other in a heated mess.
It'd almost be cute if Dean wasn't so goddamn horny.
Finally, Dean manages to get them both out of their clothing and himself back into Castiel's lap, where he can't resist rolling his hips forward one more time, just to test the friction and it's so good that both of them are shivering and moaning and Dean really, really wants to hurry it up now. But just as he's about to move, Castiel holds him there, concern drawing his brows together as he searches for Dean's gaze.
"Won't it hurt?"
It's a simple question that Dean knows the answer to. He knows it's going to hurt like a bitch without lube and preparation, but he wants this so goddamn bad that it's worth it. So he leans down and presses his lips anywhere they can reach on Castiel's face, ending with a kiss to his lips, and tells him just that.
"Cas, I don't care."
And then he grabs Castiel's dick, positions it right where it needs to go, and slides his way down.
It hurts just as bad as he thought it was going to, but that doesn't keep him from stopping until Cas is all the way inside him and holy jesus, the look on Cas' face is worth every bit of pain he was experiencing at the moment. Dean trails hands down Castiel's still-clothed chest, relishing in the strained, pleasured whimpers that the angel was reduced to making. Dean kisses him again, sucks one of those noises into his mouth and relishes it before moving his hands to cover Castiel's and guide them forward until they settle onto Dean's cock where they pump it once, twice, and oohhh yes.
That hit certainly hit the spot.
Dean's muscles flex and strain in just the right way as he lifts his body up and down, enjoying the way Castiel reflexively arches up into him. Electric shocks course up and down his spine every time he makes it all the way back down, and when there's a sudden burst of pleasure that has him trembling and panting he realizes that Castiel is a very, very fast learner. Castiel's gorgeous blue eyes are still open and watching Dean's every move, one of his hands remaining on Dean's cock and the other moving back to its former place on Dean's hip where it presses finger-shaped bruises into the tan skin.
A few thrusts later, it's apparent that neither of them are going to make it for much longer, and when Dean finally shudders and tenses and nearly screams Castiel's name as he cums, Castiel right there with him, hips stuttering upward in a rough, sloppy motion until at last he spills himself inside of Dean and sags back into the bed, a spent Dean sprawling across his chest.
They lay like that for awhile as both of them catch their breath, reveling in the afterglow and each other's presence. Dean was about to part his lips and suggest that they should go get cleaned up, when Sam barges in the motel room, only to stop dead in his tracks with a sudden outburst of "oh my GOD."
And then he was gone- right back out of the motel room.
"Should we go after him?" Castiel sounds just a bit worried, but Dean knew better than that. Sam could take care of himself. He was smart enough not to go very far, and Dean knew that they wouldn't take very long to get cleaned up.
"Nah," came Dean's reply a moment later, his mind wrapped up with not-so-bad thoughts of Castiel.
Mostly involving water and soap.
Dean always liked the idea of shower sex.