Author's Note: This a brief, beautiful one-shot, filled with cliches, tropes, and a prompt that has been done to DEATH (Season five. Episode three. "Free to Be You and Me." Brothel. Bert and Ernie. You get where I'm goin' with this, right?). All I had to do was write what ooooobviously happened after Cas and Dean left the brothel.

And pardon my saying so, but despite the extraordinary amount of time between when I wrote this (six months ago, immediately after watching the episode for the first time) and when the episode aired, no one's really gotten it right.

But fuck all that, because I had fun writing it, and I just want someone to have a little fun reading it. It's hot, it's short, it's raunchy, it's gay, and it's got more angsty silences than that last episode of Vampire Diaries you just finished watching. You glorious loser, you. PM me and we'll discuss what a delicious slut Damon is and how no one cares about Stefan.

Plus, there's sex. The sexy kind of sex.

With Cas.

And Dean.

If cars could have sex, this would definitely be a threeway and the Impala would be demanding high-fives from every car Dean gunned it past on the freeway.

Anyway, I own the show, my name is Eric Kripke, I created all the characters and everything, and I left the show because I got tired of asking Misha and Jensen to stop making out on set. It was super awkward.

This story is dedicated to the most beautiful and talented authoress in the world, and also to the funniest fag a hag could ever ask for.

Dean purses his lips tightly as he starts the Impala, suppressing the urge to call Sam and tell him what has just happened. He doesn't want to think about missing his little brother, because the smell of sex and money is still in his hair, but it doesn't change the fact that he fucking misses Sammy. The relief of laughing as he and Cas had exited the brothel is already fading.

For a moment, Dean's throat closes, and he buckles his seatbelt before he looks over at Cas. The angel is sitting tensely in the passenger seat next to him, back stiff and shoulders just shy of hunching.

What Dean can't suppress is the chuckle that bubbles up when he sees Cas's placid face, messy hair and skewed shirt. There is still lipstick smeared across one of his cheeks.

"Jesus, Cas, man," he says. "At least you LOOK like someone busted your cherry."

Castiel looks down at himself and lifts his soiled tie, limp and impotent. The almost disapproving way he looks at the tie and flops it gently makes Dean begin laughing giddily again.

"Fuck," he says, shaking his head. He repeats it, grinning madly as he drives them away from the brothel.

Now Cas looks bewildered, but pleased. He drops his tie and begins to button up his shirt. It is a small amount of relief to Dean that he can give the angel some kind of satisfaction.

Casting a glance out the corner of one eye, Dean feels the tug of guilt in his gut over the angel's failure. Almost like he swallowed a rock. He'd felt, for a moment, like this was the only chance he'd ever have to be John. It had all been there, everything he'd dreamed about the son he suspected he'd never have: the terror and hesitation he'd eased, the sage advice he'd dispensed ("Don't order off the menu." Goddamn, he was so fucking hilarious), the social lubrication he'd provided for that sweet, tight piece of ass, the wad of bills he'd shoved into Cas's hands…

"Does this mean you're not upset you couldn't get me 'laid?'" Castiel interrupts Dean's thoughts. Dean can almost hear the quotes around "laid," like Castiel can't bring himself to use the word seriously.

"What?" Dean wryly twists his mouth and gives a short dry laugh. "Maybe it was a bad idea, anyway. Just because you're taking one for the team doesn't mean you're ready to lose it to a hooker."

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Castiel jut his chin into the air. It was probably as close as he could get to bristling with offense. "Who said I wasn't ready?" His tone is clipped, but still painfully polite.

"Chastity might be willing to testify," Dean points out.

"She… didn't feel right," Cas says with a firm frown, looking out his window.

"Chas and Cas," Dean chants under his breath, rolling it over his tongue a few more times. ChasandCas CasandChasandCasandChasand CasChasCasChas. "Why'd you bring up her dad anyway, man? It's shitty pillow talk, even for you."

Castiel is silent for so long that Dean begins to wonder if the angel has finally fucked off to Fluttertown, USA (because everywhere that matters is in America, he's come to find) without the usual blustery rustling of wings and wind. He shifts his hands on the wheel and looks at the street.

Dean isn't sure where he's taking them, but the stone in his belly weighs heavy and then painful as he realizes there isn't enough time or opportunity to get Castiel between anyone's legs. It's three a.m., the bars have closed, and tomorrow will be too late. He has a case of Rolling Rock under a blanket in the backseat of the Impala though, and can remember a ridge outside of town they can go to sit and stare up at the night sky.

Maybe the last time Cas will get to see it. Better than nothing.

He steers them toward the freeway out of town as Castiel shifts in his seat and speaks.

"I thought it would help – me, I mean, not her – if we knew each other better."

It confuses Dean for a moment before he can recall what he had asked Castiel nearly five minutes ago. He turns to the angel for a brief moment, long enough so that Cas can read the incredulity on his face.

"First of all, pros don't do 'meaningful' with Johns. Like, ever. Not even if Richard Gere pulls up in a goddamn limo." He ignores Castiel's puzzled 'Who?' and continues, "And secondly, you're not planning on surviving to dinnertime. You really wanna try and start a relationship?"

"No, that's not what I mean," Castiel says, beginning to straighten his tie carefully. "I didn't feel anything beyond the ordinary for her. We touched, and I experienced no physiological responses that indicated I was attracted to her."

Dean is dumbfounded for a moment. For half a second, he sorta kinda maybe wants to ask what "physiological" means. If it was Sammy, he'd just snort, and his brother would know to rephrase.

Instead he guesses, and says with a false bravado and disbelief, "You didn't get a hard on?"

Castiel sounds tired as he says, "There is so much more to human sexual attraction than an erection." He says the word emphatically, like Dean is too dumb to know the proper term for when his fucking dick gets hard.

It annoys Dean, just a little, and he mutters, "Boner," so quietly that he's sure Cas can't hear him. He can feel a smug smile on his lips and quickly wipes it off his face.

"I thought perhaps if I had an emotional bond with Chastity, she might become more appealing to me."

"And did she?"

"Well she started screaming, so I'll never know." Castiel crosses his arms.

"But you think it would have," Dean finishes for him, and spots the ridge. He pulls off the freeway and begins peering around the dark roads.

"I don't know," Castiel answers, sounding even wearier than before. "Is human sexual interaction usually so confusing?"

"Not for me," Dean replies and steers up a dark road that winds along an orchard.

There is a moment of silence as Castiel ponders this, and then Dean hears, "I imagine it might be more simple for heteronormative individuals."

"Hetero-whatables?" Dean turns to Cas with an incredulous look.

Castiel frowns and hesitates before explaining. "Heteronormative individuals. People who adhere to society's heterosexual expectations of their sexual activities and partners."

"Like gay?" Dean grins. "Are you queer, Cas?" He spots a clearing at the edge of a cliff… not the one he'd seen from the freeway, but with a better view of the farms outside town. The moon is full and once the headlights are off, it will light the valley up with the echoes of sunlight and warmth.

"Are you insulting me?" Castiel asks sharply. "Language politics confuse me. Is that still a negative term?" Dean wants to tell him that it's all about context: who, how, why… But he doesn't want to answer the questions that answer will inevitably evoke about why he used it.

Suddenly Dean thinks of Rich, and of being pressed up against the bricks of a Missouri high school gym, lips slick and so chapped from kissing that they're burning, warm fingers playing with him through the hole in his front pocket. Rich had grinned and Dean had been unable to do anything but shiver and clench his fingers tightly into Rich's sweater. Toldyouit'smorefunbein' queer hot in his ear, wriggling tongue thick in his mouth, sly thin lips on his throat.

Dean shakes off the memory, ignores Cas's question, and says, "And that's why you blew it with Inflatable Barbie." He shakes his head. "Why didn't you say so?"

The irritation on Castiel's face is fleeting, but Dean still has to smother a small smile. "I didn't realize. I think. It wasn't an issue until now. Also, I didn't want you to be disappointed. Your first and last gift to me was well-intended but ultimately useless. I appreciated the sentiment."

Dean is sobered into silence by the reminder that there may never be another gift-giving moment for Castiel. He parks the Impala and kills the engine, taking a moment to think about it. Wonders if anyone has ever given the angel a gift. If it even matters to him. If it makes Dean's gift more special, if not still useless.

It is getting harder to think about letting him go through with the whole Raphael suicide mission.

He has to literally jump his shoulders up and down to shake off the wave of sorrow that passes through him. Reaching behind him, he pulls two warm beers from the backseat and pops the tops off with his keyring. As he hands one to Cas, he twists in the seat so that he can face the angel.

"So if I'd gotten you a guy you'da been just peachy?" Dean asks, sipping his beer.

"This appears to not be upsetting you," Cas notes and raises the bottle to his lips, draining half of it in under thirty seconds. He also turns on the bench seat, facing Dean. "I'm glad. I've noticed the human reaction to heteronormative aberrations is not always –"

"Can you not call it that?" Dean interrupts, and there is more venom in his tone than he intended. The words Castiel uses are irritatingly complex, like he's talking to a classroom of jerkoffs instead of a fucking friend. The angel stops abruptly and stares at Dean. "An aberration. It's not abnormal to not be a hedorabobble or whatever. Gay. It's not abnormal to be gay. It's just…" He fumbles for a word for a moment until the Cas speaks.

"Dean. I do not think homosexuality is abnormal." Castiel studies Dean intently for a few seconds. He looks like he wants to continue, but does not. Instead, he drains his bottle and places it on the floor of the car.

Regret courses through Dean and he swallows. "I know. Maybe you should use some goddamn smaller words so I can understand what the hell you're saying." They sit quietly for a few minutes as Dean continues to nurse his beer. He isn't entirely sure how to recover from his little hissy fit.

"I appreciate what you're doing," he says finally.

Looking at his bottle of beer, he comes to a decision. He'd made some serious declarations earlier that day, swearing fealty to Castiel's pre-death deflowering (and the truth behind Muppet roommates), and he'd meant it. Swiftly he takes a last swig of the alcohol and opens his car door, placing the bottle on the ground, and shutting the door again. Leaning against the seat and tilting his head, he lowers his eyelids minutely and looks at Cas.


"All of it. I'm serious," he says, and quirks one corner of his mouth. He knows what it does to women. And occasionally, when he gets the urge, he knows what it does to men. He sees Castiel's eyes dart down to his lips and then back up to meet his gaze. "You're kinda like a hero."

"I am only doing what must be done," Castiel says simply. "Given my own desire to find God, it could even be considered entirely selfish."

"Quit the act Cas, we both know that of the two of us, I'm way humbler than thou." He flashes a grin (his personal favorite, "Number 29: The Blue Steel Panty Dropper") at Castiel, who blinks.

"Is that… a joke?" he asks, and then a tiny smile appears on his face.

"Aw c'mon, Cas, I pitched that one low enough so you'd laugh," Dean tells him, and moves closer. "All I get is a smirk?"

"I'm afraid I haven't quite figured out laughter yet," Castiel confesses, his stoic expression back in place.

Dean lays one arm over the top of the seat and leans forward to pick up Castiel's empty bottle, using the excuse to shift over until he is on the passenger side of the Impala. He tosses the bottle onto the floor of the backseat casually, pretending he's not worried about beer dripping on his upholstery.

"Not really something you can figure out," Dean responds with a slight shrug and smile ("Number 13: Le Tigra Tempter"). "Just something you… do."

Castiel watches him thoughtfully and then says, "Tell me something funny."

Dean thinks for a moment and then says, "A naked blond walks into a bar with a poodle under one arm and a two-foot salami under the other. She lays the poodle on the table. Bartender says, 'I suppose you won't be needing a drink.' The naked lady…" He stops abruptly and stares at Castiel's studious expression. He begins to chuckle. "Dude, you are taking this way too seriously."

"What?" Castiel looks surprised that Dean has stopped, disturbing his concentration. "I… I'm simply trying to remember the details, apply societal conventions, and draw conclusions. Is the blonde supposed to be perceived as stupid? Is there a reason she's naked or is it meant to distract from the poodle? Is the salami a phallic symbol? Does the poodle talk? Is it pink? Is it a reference to her own genitalia? Will a rabbi and an individual with high levels of melatonin in their skin, and a priest walk in? Please don't stop telling the joke."

Dean only laughs harder, bringing one hand up to his face to rub at his hair. "Cas," he snickers, "Y-you…" But he can't finish because he is laughing so hard that he is gasping for air.

He looks up at Cas through tears, and sees Cas with that same confused and pleased smile on his face.

"Dean, your eyes are watering." There is a tremor of a chuckle in Castiel's voice. Then a genuine laugh, and Cas says, "Your face is an awful red color."

Dean sits up and wipes his cheek with the heel of one palm. "Ah, God. Jesus, Cas." He chuckles weakly. "You're fuckin' awesome."

"Thank you." The smile is still on Castiel's face, but it's broad. He laughs again, softer. "And thank you for making me laugh."

"My pleasure." Dean reaches forward and tugs Castiel's tie looser. "Shouldn't have done that back up. Smile's too wide to look like you're selling insurance."

He can feel Castiel's eyes on him as he pops the first button on the angel's dress shirt open. It is just enough to show the length of his Adam's apple, and he lets a finger brush against it as he undoes another button.

"Dean?" Castiel's voice is soft and when Dean looks up at him, the smile is gone, replaced with something warm and confused. His eyebrows are knit together, eyes wide and huge like at the brothel and Dean undoes another button and leans closer, touching the skin of his chest.

"Wanna play Bert and Ernie?" Dean asks in his low, smutty, husky, hungry voice (not his favorite, it strains his voice too much, but definitely a fan favorite: "Bedroom Blooz"). There is a knot of fear in the back of his neck, and it tightens when Castiel exhales sharply.

"I… don't understand the reference," Cas whispers.

"One of two things I know for sure," Dean reminds him in a murmur. "I told you this afternoon."

His fingers catch at the next button and he presses his fingertips to Castiel's chest, combs through the dark chest hair, and then lets his hand run down the cloth of Cas's shirt to his belt.

"You're not obligated to do this," Castiel says, his breath hitching when Dean leans forward and presses his lips against the bobbing Adam's apple. "I… I mean…" Dean bends further down and kisses the skin along his sternum. He flicks his tongue out and Cas jumps slightly.

Dean says nothing, but shifts his hips back and lowers his face until he can rest it in Castiel's lap. He is lying across the front seat now, his legs twisted uncomfortably into the driver's side leg space, a seatbelt digging into his waist. None of those things matter right now.

"Dean, I… what are you – there's a…" The angel's voice is panicky and terrified, but Dean shifts his face over the front of Castiel's pants until he feels Cas's cock come to life beneath him.

He is thumbing open the fly on Cas's pants when the angel begins trembling and puts a hand on Dean's shoulder. Dean stops and is worried for a moment that the hand is going to throw him across the car and all he can think is nottheImpaladon'tbreakthefuckingwindowspleaseGod.

But the fingers slide up his shoulder to his neck and into his hair. Exhaling warmly against Castiel, Dean noses the angel's erection through the fabric again and grips his thigh tightly.

This time he does not wait to toy with Castiel's pants, just pops the top button and jerks the zipper down. The hand in his hair is shaking and part of him wants to reach up and twine their fingers together. Just lie there and fucking hold Cas's hand. The thought frightens him a little and he feels his chest constrict and his stomach churns briefly.

"It's just me, Cas," Dean murmurs before tonguing inside Castiel's fly. "Ain't gonna hurt you."

Castiel exhales sharply at the flicks of Dean's tongue, sometimes hitting the fabric of his boxers, sometimes the flesh of his prick. Dean is half tempted to use this opportunity, as Cas's swollen member twitches anxiously, to point out why personal space is something he's only willing to violate for special occasions.

Instead, so softly Castiel can't hear, Dean whispers, "Boner." Then smirks to himself.

He puts a hand on Castiel's thigh and massages it gently, crawling slowly up toward his crotch until he is running his palm over the crease of the angel's hip and into the crotch of the pants. Castiel's breathing is heavy and even.

Dean stops rubbing his hand over Cas to reach into his pants.

The warmth that spreads through him when Castiel's penis in his mouth (heavy on his tongue like a stone, loose between his lips, hot in his palm, soft and shifting foreskin against the roof of his mouth) is almost indescribable.

Dean does not have "bad" sex. He never half-asses it. Part of the thrill of the whole thing is making someone else feel as though it is the most important moment in their life. Because if they believe it, then he can believe it. And if he believes it, then for an hour or two, his life is worth something again. More than Sammy can make it worth something, more than some chick and her awesome kid can, more than being an angel condom (God of all the phrases to think of when there's a fucking angel cock in him), and more than saving ungrateful people who don't understand or care what you've done for them.

Castiel muttergasps something under his breath and then whispers, "Do it again."

Dean sucks sharply and enjoys the shudder that razors through Castiel's body. He moves his fist slowly and steadily on the base of Cas's cock, eyes flicking up to the angel's face.

One of the angel's hands is braced on the dashboard, as though he expects a fender bender to knock him into it, and his eyes are screwed tightly shut.

Like the last few times Dean has given head (six times, ever), he wishes he could let up on the suction and talk dirty to his lucky recipient. Get them all riled up. But right now, he just wants to tell Cas to look at him. To tell him what he wants. How it feels. Faster, slower, anything.

Cas's breath is becoming stuttered, and Dean is surprised for a moment that it has only taken two minutes to get him this close.

The angel's lips part and close over and over, his shallow breathing punctuated with small almost silent gasps. He knits his eyebrows together, then raises them in surprise, and then scrunches his face up tight, lips sliding back over his teeth in a grimace. His fingers tighten in Dean's hair, until he can barely bob his head up and down.

"Th- s-" Castiel is trying to speak, trying to concentrate, trying to cum, and Dean wants to laugh with delight. "I… zthis it?" His Adam apple bobs and Dean cringes when he hears fingernails scrape against the dashboard.

Dean hums affirmatively in response and sucks hard and fast. Castiel growls, low and fierce above him as there are three throbbing pulses in his palm, and his hair is nearly yanked out. Dean can't help the soft moan that he makes as cum spends over his raw tongue and Castiel's hips thrust upward, deeper until the moan is cut short.

Slowly, Dean pulls off of Castiel's softening dick, sucking the cum and extra spit into his mouth. He swallows reflexively before he can stop himself, and stretches his aching jaw as he looks at Cas's face. The angel's lips are parted, his expression so lax and loose that Dean wonders if angels store their brains in their dicks.

To be fair, it's where Dean willingly keeps his own brain.

"Can I be the first to say congratulations?" Dean asks him with a small smile.

The hand in his hair loosens and strokes the top of his head shakily.

"I want to touch," Cas whispers hoarsely.

"Okay," Dean says. The angel shifts his palm down to Dean's cheekbone, his fingers petting the short dark gold hair there. His other hand lifts to Dean's throat, running up to his chin, smoothing over his jaw, chin, around his mouth, up the groove of his upper lip, over the bridge of his nose, across his brow.

The vague desire inside of Dean has suddenly flamed hot and high, and it is difficult to think about anything other than Cas's hands on him, the way his fingertips have melted through Dean's skin, into the bone and muscle. They have melted into his blood, the same arteries that pump to his heart, brain, and cock.

Abruptly both of Castiel's hands fist into Dean's shirt and pull him closer, until they are chest to chest, Dean stretched out between the angel's legs. Settling an arm against the door behind them, Dean leans forward and surprises himself by kissing Castiel gently.

Cas's lips are limp and moist, slipping between Dean's like tiny silver fish darting through nets. Dean stops for a moment, and looks at Castiel. They stare at each other for a long moment and then Dean kisses him again, harder this time.

The lips under his move tentatively, parting enough for Dean to swipe his tongue between them.

He pulls back and Castiel gasps slightly.

"You are aroused," Cas whispers. He glances down to where Dean's dick is pressed between their hips.

"Fuck yeah I am," Dean breathes.

"Should I…" Cas trails off uncertainly.

"Anything you want," Dean says, too fast, too eager. "Only if you want. I mean."

"I want to watch you orgasm," the angel tells him bluntly.

Dean is a little embarrassed by this confession, but excited too, and clumsily presses their mouths together again. This time Castiel is ready and moves his lips in response, uncertain and awkward.

"Sam doesn't know, Cas," Dean whispers, sitting back and tugging the angel toward him. "This stays between you and me."

Castiel does not respond, following Dean to the other side of the car, where he sits back against the driver's side door and waits for the angel to make his move. Dean wants to be worried that Castiel has not agreed to keep this a secret, whatever it is (Cherry popping? Mutual tension release? Acting out a fantasy Dean had kept a secret from even himself because he'd figured would never happen? Killing time?). But it doesn't even come close to outweighing the fact that he wants Castiel to touch him again.

Which is lucky, because Castiel is already touching him.

Hands slide to the fly on his jeans, clumsily fumbling over the crotch of his boxers. Fingers worming into fabric so slowly and jerkily that Dean wishes he was naked, a warm mouth on his, a kiss too sloppy and tentative to be divine, but too sweet and eager to be human.

"Dean?" Castiel asks in a low voice, moving closer. His fingers have found Dean's erection, exploring the length of his cock with curious fingers, probing the shaft, tugging at foreskin, gently shifting his testicles inside their sac.

Dean's eyes are closed, he doesn't remember closing them, he can barely remember to breathe, but he opens them and manages to say, "Yeah?"

"Like this?" Castiel's voice is so fucking gruff and low like it always is, Dean wonders if he even HAS a bedroom voice, or if this is it, and then he stops because the hand is gripping his erection firmly. Cas rubs his palm roughly over the sensitive skin, and it takes everything Dean has to not cringe.

He wraps his hand around Castiel's, and mumbles his assent when they stroke him slowly together. His hand falls away and he exhales slowly, lips parting as he watches Castiel concentrate over his lap. One pump, two pumps, three pumps.

Dean's hips are trembling, he can't stop them, not without stopping the rushing heat inside of him, and he bites his lips, trying not to start moaning. He remembers that Castiel wants to watch him, remembers that means he should put on a show. That is obviously the reason a whimper escapes his lips, not because he can't control it.

The whimpering moan comes again when Cas touches his belly with his other hand, touches the head of his prick, and leans in close to breathe hot air into his ear.

"Dean?" Cas's voice is faint now.

"Yeah?" Dean gasps, trying not to sound like he is using every ounce of his strength to not jizz all over Cas's fucking hands like he's a fucking fifteen year old in someone's basement. It's an uphill battle to play a man who can take care of business, get things done, and stay hard until his lucky partner is fucked out and blissing on Cloud 9 and ¾ inches, but goddammit, Dean Winchester is that man. And he will show Cas how to be that man.

"Brace yourself."

All of a sudden the skin under Cas's palm is tingling and hot, and Dean's vision starts flickering in and out, and he's not fighting anything anymore, he's so fucking happy, every cell of his body feels lit up like a goddamned Christmas tree, even his frigging toenails are orgasming, he's never felt so good, so relaxed and alert and inside and outside of himself all at once, and he's watching Castiel watch him, can hear himself making those ridiculous whimpering noises over and over, sees Castiel lift one hand to his neckline and slide it inside his shirt to his shoulder, feels it slip over the handprint there






It is silent. And white. It is so good. The whiteness is all that exists; all that has ever existed. Nothing before, nothing after, the end and the beginning all at once. Completion, fulfillment, finality without end. And Cas is there, bewildered and pleased. Inside of him. Or maybe around him. Or maybe they're just in the same exact place at the exact same time. Dean does not want to leave.

But he does, because suddenly he is in the car with Cas again. His whole body is weak and trembling, and his face is wet. He is gasping and it sounds throaty and hoarse. Everything aches, and there is a gaping sorrow in him, and none of that shit matters because he misses Cas. Like MISSES him. As if he weren't sitting less than a foot away, his hand still holding Dean's limp prick, dripping with semen, and staring into his eyes.

The gasps are soft sobs now.

Shaking hands reach up to grab Castiel's lapels and fist into the fabric tightly. Cas releases Dean's penis; his hands are clean by the time they reach up to wipe gently over Dean's cheeks.

"Why are you crying?" Castiel asks, concern obscuring his features for a brief moment.

"Oh fuck, Cas," Dean manages to whisper. "Oh fuck."

"Was it too much?" Cas looks almost afraid for a moment. His voice is gentle, almost like Jimmy Novak's was, but sweeter, softer, and Dean realizes this is his bedroom voice. It sounds so good. "Did I hurt you? Are you in pain?"

Dean cannot speak for a moment, still shaking with the effort to hold on to the angel's shirt. He wants to hear Cas speak again, hear that low tone again, know that he's the only one who's ever heard it. His head whips back and forth quickly. He tries to pull Cas closer, and cannot.

"Fuck," he whispers again, and hiccups. "Come here."

Cas shifts closer, and Dean buries his face against Cas's neck. He can feel arms move around his shoulders, folding around him until he relaxes entirely into the embrace. Part of him wants to tell Cas that it isn't close enough. Tell him that he wants to go back to that place where they were one, where they bled together at the edges until their colors swirled into a muddy, warm, happy mess.

The other part of him can't even remember his own last name.

He's not sure how long they sit there, curled against each other, but by the time he's calmed down, his legs and back are stiff. For a moment he wonders if he will be able to drive them back to the motel.

"You don't know how to drive by some chance, do ya?" Dean mumbles weakly.

"No," Cas says somberly and sits back enough to meet Dean's eyes.

Dean brings his hands to his face and rubs it once. "Alright," he gruffs and fumbles in his pockets for the keys. He feels Cas's fingers brush his forehead.

He is lying on a bed. Abruptly he jolts up into a sitting position and looks around himself wildly. It's the motel room, and through the window he can see the Impala, parked neatly outside. Castiel is sitting next to him on the bed, watching him closely.

"Damn," Dean mumbles, then slumps back on the mattress. "Another poopless week."

"I could not let you drive home, Dean," Cas says simply, not moving. "Not after what I did to you."

Dean reaches one hand out and grips Castiel's wrist, pulling him down to the bed, until he is lying down alongside Dean's body. They stare at each other quietly for a few moments before Castiel slowly leans forward and presses their lips together.

He still kinda sucks at kissing.

But he tastes like that warm white happy bliss place, the one Dean is already craving, and it makes the kiss so, so fucking good.

Although it could probably be a little better.

"Cas, cool it with the saliva," Dean whispers against the angel's lips. "Like this." He gently takes Castiel's lower lip between his and sucks. As soon as he lets go, Castiel mimics it on Dean.

"Like that?" Cas asks, and Dean slips a hand under his enormous trench coat and strokes his waist in response. Cas tries it on his upper lip, and then Dean interrupts him with his tongue. Cas sucks on it sharply, and Dean can't hold back the sharp inhalation of excitement.

"Jus' like," Dean mumbles.

"I would like to engage in another sexual activity with you. If that's alright." When there is only a stunned silence in response, Cas adds, "Please."

Dean is already nodding and trying to even his breathing back out and remember how this is supposed to play out. He hadn't gotten past sucking off Castiel in the original plan and now they are so far off course, and it's already so much better than he could've hoped for that he's actually nervous he'll screw it all up.

"Yeah, yeah, okay, I'm good with that."

He forgets what comes next as they stare at each other. The desperation to touch him is so great that it possesses him for a moment, and all he can do is think about how much he wants the angel. After a long pause, Cas gives him a confused look.

"I…" Dean starts, then flushes. "Okay, yeah." He slides forward and presses the length of their bodies together as he kisses the angel. He pulls back a few inches and says, "Take your shirt off."

Cas pauses as Dean sits up and grabs the edge of his own shirt and begins to pull it up his chest. As he looks at Cas, the angel's shirt and trench coat suddenly vanish from his body, and Dean has to stare for a moment before he can yank his own shirt off and straddle Cas's body.

He puts his hands on Cas's chest and strokes the skin there. Cas's eyes are focused on him as he grabs one of the angel's hands and places it on his own waist.

"You touch me too, don't just lie there," Dean tells him and feels Castiel's fingers slide up to his ribs.

Castiel's hands on his body are warm, but send goosebumps over his body in every direction, rippling outwards like waves. He wants more than anything for Cas to slip his hand back over the scar, but he's too afraid to ask, too afraid to know what it was that Cas did the first time.

Dipping his head forward, he presses their mouths together, and this time it is Castiel who takes control of the kiss, until Dean has forgotten to keep touching Cas, all he can do is perch atop the angel and let his mouth get fucked by Cas's.

"Is something wrong?" Castiel asks breathlessly, breaking the kiss. "You seem to be having difficulty focusing."

"I… I'm focused." Dean fumbles for words and rubs his thumb gently over Cas's nipple. The angel lifts his chin slightly, and Dean interprets it as pleasure, rubbing the nipple again. "I'm here."

"You are not obligated to do this either," Cas reminds him in that stupid gravelly voice. It annoys Dean that the bedroom voice is gone.

"I want to be here, Cas," Dean growls and moves back in to kiss Cas's chest. He flattens his tongue roughly against one nipple, and feels the way Cas's hips twist and rise slightly below him.

"Can we have intercourse?" Cas gasps, his hands back in Dean's hair.

"We are," Dean mumbles around the nipple that he sucks up roughly between his lips.

"Perhaps I'm uncertain of the correct wording. I would like to put my penis inside of you." Dean stops, sitting up.

He's never had anything but a few fingers inside of his ass. But, God, when Cas says it like that, he can feel the white blissful place where they were the same person, he was in Cas, and Cas was in him, and it felt so good, and he can feel his dick getting harder at the thought of it.

"Okay," he says swiftly, and then reaches down to start unbuttoning his pants. "Yeah. Yes. We can do that." He stops before he's fully unzipped them to stroke Castiel's groin through his pants, but then they're gone, and so are his own, and he regrets ever having had sex with anyone other than a fucking angel, because Cas makes things so easy.

"I think your penis is more attractive than Jimmy Novak's," Cas muses as Dean leans to the bedside table to find something, anything, to make this happen. "I am uncertain if this is because it belongs to you, and I am sexually attracted to you, or because you are simply more well-endowed."

"Shut up, Cas," Dean breathes and his hand closes on a bottle of lotion. He doesn't want to think about Jimmy, with his wife and his kid and… fuck. He shakes the thoughts from his head as Castiel's hand runs over his stomach to his erection, strokes it once, then cups his balls, then smoothes up his crack, fingers only centimeters from his anus.

"You are very beautiful," Castiel whispers.

"I know," Dean murmurs as he squeezes lotion onto his hand and reaches through his own legs to finger at himself. "I'm here, you don't have to keep up the lines."

"It was not a line," Castiel says. He does not wait permission to take the lotion bottle, put some on his fingers and reach behind Dean to move their fingers against Dean's puckered opening together. "It was an observation."

Dean can't help the excited noise that he makes, and presses his forehead to Castiel's chest as their fingers begin to prod him open gently.

"Your body is beautiful," Castiel admits, his fingers twining between Dean's as they inch slowly inside of him. Dean is trying to concentrate, trying to stretch himself so that he will not be afraid to put Castiel's cock into his ass, but it's nearly impossible with Cas mumbling to him. "But it's more, it's the way you bare yourself to me. I face death in a matter of hours, but I can still feel your heart opening to-"

Dean whimpers. He wants Cas to shut up, but their fingers are so far inside him it's all he can do to not tremble. Talking is not something Dean does during sex. It just isn't. Weakly, he lifts his free hand and sloppily covers Castiel's mouth.

"No," he gasps. "That's… not true." He pulls their fingers out and positions himself over Castiel, pressing the blunt tip of the angel's cock to his anus and leans back slightly.

Cas suddenly looks afraid. "I won't fit," he says.

"It'll be fine, shut up," Dean says through grit teeth, and feels his body slowly give way to the erection.

"I'm hurting you," Cas gasps, sitting up abruptly. The movement nearly jars Dean off Cas's lap, and he grabs him around the shoulders.

"Just… hold on," Dean orders roughly, trying not to cringe.

"It's tight, it's too tight," Cas groans, and Dean presses down until he feels Cas's belly against his balls.

"Shit, Cas, it's my ass, you don't get to do all the complainin'," Dean hisses, but puts his hands on Cas's head and strokes his hair just the same. "Just wait a minute."

They sit quietly together, Cas's arms around Dean's middle, the hunter resting his arms on the angel's shoulders as he kneels over his lap. The hard cock in his ass is not flagging, despite Cas's cries of panic.

"Always starts out feelin' like the goddamn apocalypse," Dean murmurs, and Cas presses his nose into Dean's armpit. He lets Dean pet him gently, his own fingers tracing Dean's spine.

When Dean shifts upwards, sliding Cas's cock halfway out, Castiel's shoulders swell upwards too, curling in, and when Dean slides back down, Cas lifts his face and begins presses his slack mouth to Dean's throat, exhaling heavily.

"Not so bad now?' Dean asks, his breath catching in his throat. The urge to grab Cas's hand and force him to touch the scar is nearly overwhelming.

Cas makes a sweet, crushed noise in the back of his throat, and Dean lifts his hips again, closing his eyes as Cas's head rubs across his insides.

"It's good," Cas moans into Dean's skin. "Very good."

"Only good?" Dean asks, clenching his muscles and feeling the way Cas trembles as he does it.

"It's…" Cas loses his train of thought, his ability to speak coherently, moaning again instead, and Dean grins to himself.

Cas twists his hips up toward Dean, quickening the pace, and the shift of flesh inside of him makes Dean bite down on his tongue. But it's not enough, not what he wants, and he rocks faster on the angel's member.

"Like that," Dean gasps and closes his eyes for a moment before opening them again and looking at Cas through his eyelashes. "Just don't stop, Cas."

"I'm going to… to…" Cas tries to speak, and his hands smooth up Dean's broad chest. Dean smashes their mouths together, feeling Cas's loose lips try to move against his own.

"Not yet," Dean whispers against his mouth.

"I…" Cas whimpers in frustration. "Can't… can'tstopcan'tstop, ah, I can't sto–"

Beneath him, Dean can feel Castiel's cock throb in his ass as he cums. He grabs Castiel's hand and presses it to the scar on his arm swiftly, before Castiel can even finish thrusting into the narrow channel of Dean's ass.

The blinding whiteness is on him faster this time, so hard and brilliant that it hurts. Castiel is around him, in him, over him, seeking out the places in him that are pocked and hollowed out and filling them completely.

Dean is guileless, allows Castiel to see the painful, broken parts of himself, allows him to reach his hands inside the wounds and examine them for himself. He reaches so deeply into Dean that the hunter shudders and writhes and reaches out, into Castiel, seeking out the darkest recesses, until they are trembling against each other.

There aren't words for how this feels, but Dean wants them so badly, wants to tell Cas how good this is. He panics and feels the comforting reach of Castiel's presence twist into him, wracking him with ecstasy.

"Dean," a soft voice says.

Dean burrows deeper into Castiel and tries to escape the pull. He pushes his own joy into Castiel, and the voice saying his name moans softly.

"Dean, wake up." Cas sounds wrecked, Dean thinks dimly.

There are soft touches, caresses that tug him gently apart from Cas, until he can feel the soft touches on his face. He has a face, he realizes. He hadn't had one in the whiteness. All he'd had was his name and raw strings of emotion.

And Cas.

He'd had Cas too.

"Open your eyes," Castiel commands.

Dean obeys, and looks groggily around him. They are still in the motel. The angel is naked and perched next to him on the bed, hovering over his face.

"Hey angelcakes," he grunts.

Cas's face wrinkles in confusion at this, but he only says, "How do you feel?"

Honesty, Dean has found over the years, is something best reserved for combat and hunting. Children, women, and emotions don't necessarily warrant outright lies… but Dean is aware of the value of withholding truth.

"Alone," he mumbles.

That was definitely more honest than he'd intended.

Castiel lies down next to Dean and pulls their bodies against each other. He strokes his fingers over the handprint, and warmth washes over Dean's body. He lets his eyes sink shut and curls into Castiel's body.

"What was that?" Dean can barely whisper. "What did you do to me?"

In his arms, Cas's body tenses. "I… am not entirely sure. I believe I drew you into myself. Through our physical bond, I believe our emotional bond was amplified in some way. What do you remember?"

There is a long pause, as Dean tries to translate everything into words. "I was so happy," he whispers. "Everything was… it was like… like Hell never happened." His eyes begin to prickle, and he swallows abruptly. "I forgot Sammy. I forgot him." He can't control the way his eye are going glassy and heavy. "I never… not even in Hell. Not once."

"Do you think…" Castiel sounds hesitant, and he stops talking until Dean lifts his face to look him in the eyes. "Do you think that was love? The light and the joy?"

Embarrassed, Dean puts his head back down on Castiel's shoulder. A tear slips out of his eye and slides down his cheek. He ignores it. "I don't know," he mutters. He suspects Cas might be right. But he just… Man, he can't deal with all this bullshit right now. His brains are still all melty from getting fucked by an angel of the Lord. "It was God for all I know."

He feels Castiel shift beneath him. "I hope it was not my Father," Cas says uncomfortably.

Dean pauses for a moment and considers the implication of that statement. A small smile cracks onto his face and he laughs softly.

"Yeah, that'd be all kinds of awkward."

They are silent for awhile, as Dean closes his eyes and Castiel draws the blankets up and around them.

"Boner," Cas whispers, and Dean suddenly sputters a short laugh, opening his eyes to glance up where he can feel the angel smiling.

"You goddamn dick," Dean mutters, lips fighting against his own smile. Cas laughs beneath him, low and gravelly. Fuck that's an awesome sound.

"I am an angel of the Lord," Cas admonishes him softly, and Dean sighs and shakes his head slightly.

"Like I'd forget," he replies, closing his eyes again.

"Thank you, Dean," Castiel whispers, brushing his nose over Dean's cheek.

"Don't tell Sam," Dean breathes.

"I won't."

"And… don't… die tomorrow. Or whatever."

Dean wishes for a brief moment that Cas could fall asleep, tangled up with him. Fingers card through Dean's messy and stiff hair. Tomorrow will come, whether Castiel rushes toward it with sleep, or stares at the ceiling until the dawn breaks.

"Goodnight, Dean," Cas says softly.