Somehow this ended up a lot more angsty than planned. Plots do run away from me.
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"I shouldn't be here."
"I heard you the first eight billion times Dean."
"Well, I shouldn't be." Dean growls from his position several yards up the trail from Sam. He's already sweating and they have another two miles to go.
One of them is going to die.
Dean's money is on Sam, who at fourteen is still as pudgy as he was at twelve. Not that he's going to crack a joke about it, Sammy's sensitive about still being short and soft and Dean's a good enough brother not to mention it.
It doesn't mean he's going to take this whole 'fat camp' thing without complaint.
Dean wasn't a typical fat camper in his view. For one he wasn't horrendously overweight, maybe about five pounds...ten at most. The other thing was that he wasn't a nerd or a mouth breathing social reject who ate their feelings, he'd been a freaking quarterback for fucks sake. It wasn't his fault that the linebacker for the opposing team at the previous year's championship game had tackled him and screwed his leg up.
It had taken three surgeries and then rehabilitation to get the knee anywhere near normal, and though he could now run on it ok, he could kiss goodbye to playing football again. It was too risky. So between the rehab and the resultant depression, Dean was carrying a little 'some jerk ruined my life' weight.
"Step it up Sam!" he calls behind him.
"Just...go on without me..." Sam pants. "Asshole." He adds as Dean jogs off along the trail.
Dean runs through the dick-load of trees that separate him from the camp itself, trying not to focus on how much harder keeping his pace and breathing even is than he remembers it being. Kind of like how he ignores the snugness of his clothes and the extra effort it takes him to haul himself out of bed in the mornings. That's the brilliant thing about denial; it's all in the mind.
He's scuffling down another slight slope of wood chipped path when he hears it, groaning internally.
"Cas, hi!" Sam chirps, some way back down the track.
"Is your brother with you?"
"He, uh...ran off, I was slowing him down."
Figures it would now be his fault.
Then he hears the tell tale swoosh of running shoes moving quickly, enviably delicate on the trail. Castiel is one of the councillors, and he's kind of taken to checking up on Dean at least once a day. Ostensibly because of all the other campers, Dean is the only 'non-voluntary' case, and should be given more encouragement.
Dean would be even more uncomfortable with that, but...well, Castiel is hot.
Not like Jeremy from the team back home was hot (the asshole had broken up their 'arrangement' just after Dean's knee got busted) but hot in a kind of adult way. Which is unsurprising, because Castiel is at least thirty.
"Dean." Castiel comes up beside him and matches his pace. "How are you today."
"Same as yesterday, same as the day before Cas." Dean sighs. Sam's bright eyed and bushy tailed thing isn't really him.
"You're doing well on this exercise." Castiel tells him, and Dean tries not to look at him in his white shirt and little black shorts – because really? This run is hard enough, even with the right amount of blood in his legs.
"Are you adjusting to Camp Victory?"
"Like a fish to ethanol." Dean grunts, feeling the sharp pain of a stitch in his side.
The touch of warm finger on his side, slowing him to a stop, is so surprising that Dean's thrown for a second, scuffing to a stop.
"You looked like you were getting..."Castiel's fingers still as Dean stiffens awkwardly. "Sorry." He withdraws them.
"S'ok." Dean takes a deep breath to chase away the pain in his side.
"No, its..." Castiel looks down the trail, anxiously trying to spot Sam. "Dean, do you not...like me?"
Dean looks up at him, because really, it's so freaking high school, and Castiel looks like such a straight-up-grown-up.
"Course I do." Dean says roughly.
"I just, got the impression that you, perhaps...found me...less than pleasant company." Castiel's actually looking at his shoes, all that gorgeous blue-black hair falling into his sharp eyes.
"No, you're great." Dean has a hand on his stitch and another on his hip. "You're...I mean, out of Alistair, Bobby and you...clear winner." He waves at Castiel expressively.
"Still you...I don't know, you seem uneasy, with me." Castiel explains softly.
"Jesus." Dean can't believe this is happening, but Castiel's hangdog expression is literally ruining his self preservation instincts. He touches Castiel's arm, pushing him off of the path and into the trees. Castiel goes willingly enough and soon they're a good way in, the trail invisible through the green curtain.
"Ok, I'm...you're great, and really good at your job...and I...really don't want to be here. But that isn't about you, or, it is, but..." Dean mentally shakes himself. "I think you're...you're hot, ok? Literally, too hot for me to stop looking at you."
Castiel's eyes widen, like no one has ever told him he's hot before, which frankly Dean finds hard to believe.
"And you, talking to me, being near me? Is making this very, very..." He flushes, hard to get redder, even more flustered after the run. But he manages. "I don't wanna say 'hard' but...yeah – incredibly hard."
Castiel instantly looks at the ground, the tree to their left, anywhere but Dean's face, his own pale skin glowing red with embarrassment.
"So, it's not you." Dean finishes lamely. "I'm just..." He chances a look at the stunned councillor. "And you'd think this would be the most embarrassing thing but...screw it..." Dean closes the gap between them, later he can blame the heat, a fat blockage in his common sense gland, whatever. It's already mortifying, how much worse can it get?
Well, a lot, apparently.
Castiel's mouth is frozen under his, body entirely stiff and resisting, and Dean's thinking this is pretty much the worst idea ever when two things happen all at once.
The first is that he can hear Sam jog past on the trail, singing a little tuneless song about pancakes that must be from an infomercial or something.
The second is that Castiel...wakes up.
A hand knots itself in Dean's hair, pulling him in, and Castiel's hungry mouth fits against his perfectly, a demanding moan rumbling through him. There's a hand on his ass and one stroking over his chest and Dean feels hot all over, under his skin, before suddenly Castiel is pulling back, mouth red and eyes wide.
"Sorry." He licks his lips, backs away from Dean. "Jesus...sorry." He pants distractedly.
"No that's..." Dean's a little stunned, but that doesn't stop him from crossing the gap between them and kissing Castiel again.
This time there's no hesitation, Castiel gives to his mouth, hand cupping the back of Dean's neck, the other finding its former position on Dean's ass, squeezing. Dean runs one hand over Castiel's chest, feeling the litheness there, toned and strong. He hadn't realised how much he wanted this, how much he'd been reigning himself in. Dean hadn't been with anyone since before the accident, and this, this was...a far cry from a fumble with a fellow jock. Castiel clearly knows his way around.
Somehow Dean finds himself pressed against a tree, gentle fingers against his face, a firm hand tracing the curve and dip of his ass. It's only when Castiel presses against him that Dean feels a pang of embarrassment, flinching away. Castiel recovers himself, and to Dean's disappointment, the older man backs away.
"Hey..." Dean leans against the tree, air rushing into his lungs as his body is starved of contact. He's hard in his jogging pants, obvious in the loose, light material. He can't bring himself to care. "You didn't have to stop."
"I should." Castiel looks doubtful even as he says it.
"No, just...leave the stomach alone, ok?" Dean asks awkwardly. "Kind of a sore point."
"You're far from ugly." Castiel tells him, he looks at him, blatant want in his eyes. Dean would have to be blind to miss the serious stand that Castiel's sporting. Still...he's taken a knock, not only to his knee, but his ego too.
"Yeah I'm a catch." Dean rolls his eyes. "Crippled, jailbait, ex-jock with a freaking...weight problem." He spits the words out in self disgust, finally admitting it out loud.
"And in high school I had greasy hair, acne and an overbite." Castiel points out, "Things change Dean, they get better."
"They definitely change, a year ago I was...on fire – now even if I get out of this ten pounds lighter my knee's still going to look like it was mangled by a freaking dog..."
Castiel cuts him off with a kiss, hands caressing Dean's waist and hips, sliding to meet the swell of his ass, the weight of his thighs, and Dean's breath catches, intimacy outweighing sex even as Castiel's body presses close, solid press of his hip against Dean's erection. It feels like too much, but Dean still somehow wants more, more sensation, and he barely flinches when Castiel's hands push under his shirt and trace the smooth flesh there, the fine hairs on Dean's skin prickling against his fingers.
Their kiss breaks and Castiel's mouth is against Dean's ear, breathing and swollen.
Their bodies align with fierce necessity, and Dean can feel the stiff, resilient shape of Cas's erection against his own.
"Tell me to stop."
Dean rolls his hips, one hand palming Castiel's ass, forcing him to stay close, to the feel the returning shape of his own hardness. Makes a short, desperate sound, then his hand pushes past the waist of Dean's pants, laying the hot weight of his palm fully against Dean's skin.
It's hard to tell whether they're kissing or fighting over air, their bodies rubbing fiercely together until Dean takes a snatch of initiative, pushing first his own pants down, then pulling Castiel's shorts to uncover first the blades of his hips, then the damp patch on his underwear. Castiel groans when Dean palms him through the moistened cotton, Dean likes the feel of him in his palm, the thickness, enviable length.
Then the underwear comes down, Castiel's hips thrust forwards almost of their own accord, the touch of skin on skin knocks the breath from them both, rutting and seizing at each other, Castiel's hips moving powerfully, Dean resting his back against the tree – breathless.
Castiel's orgasm is slow to build, excruciating in its execution, an all consuming throb of pleasure, at first it seems unable to reach a peak, frustration mingling with ecstasy, casting up its fluid slowly, contractions and spasms that leave him breathless, clinging to Dean and the rough bark of the tree, still coming, as if rendered in slow motion, when Dean seizes up and spurts. The teen's orgasm is like a firework, brief, dazzling and quickly over.
Castiel sags against Dean, who wraps an arm around him, leaning into the tree as he struggles to get his breath back. Dean's hand drops, exhausted, landing finally on Cas's hip, making him frown at the strange texture under his hand. He glances down and Castiel mutters dryly, "Beautiful isn't it?"
His hip is twisted, or rather, the skin appears to have been folded, jerked and twisted awfully.
"Hip, left thigh, part of my back too." Castiel backs up and pulls his clothing back up. "Camping accident, tent caught fire."
Dean stops Castiel's awkward hands, sliding his own fingers under Castiel's shirt and tracing the scarred peaks and troughs of skin.
"Least it doesn't slow you down."
"There's that." Castiel still doesn't quite meet his eye.
"You're still hot Cas." Dean moves closer, fingers spreading on Castiel's lower back, his other hand stroking his chest, feeling the single point of his nipple press up against his touch. "Swear I'd spend the next...however long I had, thinking of new things to do with you."
"I'm sure that would be a great comfort in prison." Castiel says quietly. "I shouldn't have done this."
"It was awesome." Dean can't seem to stop touching him. "The best thing I've ever..." he rests closer, nuzzles against the soft, dark hair by Castiel's ear. "I'm seventeen...if you can wait. I'd like to do this again, more than this." Castiel shivers under his touch. "When was the last time?"
"A while." Castiel murmurs, vaguely. "The scars...it's not something anyone wants to see, even from behind they look..."
"First day here I thought, you moved beautifully, and your eyes..."Dean kisses him. "Face to face, all the way." Their next kiss flares with heat. "I'd wait, to have my first be you."
"You're saying you'd want this?"
"I'm saying that I want you." Dean can't believe he's saying it, but he feels it now, right down to his bones. More than lust – fraternity, affection.
"I shouldn't even be here." He says, showing that clearly this is something Dean's going to have to fight against, Castiel's own doubt.
"That's what I keep saying." Dean shrugs. "Where's the fun in being where you should be?"