A/N: Last chapter. Hope you like it!
9 – Profound Bond
Sam's been giving Dean these cautious glances over the past week, like he's waiting for him to suddenly start talking about twirling his own eyelashes or whatever it was that gay people did. Dean tries his best to act like he hasn't realised, but he finally decides to call Sam out on it when they stop for lunch in a busy city diner.
They're busy arguing, Castiel watching them with exasperation, when Dean feels something tug at his right wrist. Cas seems to have felt something too, because he looks down between the two of them. Sam only notices something's up when Dean stops mid-sentence to look at the diner seat.
"What?" Sam asks. Dean's teeth are grinding against each other, because Gabriel did not go there.
Instead of replying, he hauls his wrist up onto the table, dragging Castiel's with it. Handcuffs.
"Handcuffs," Dean smiles humourlessly, attempting to calm the hot anger that's searing through his head. He wasn't going to react; he didn't want to give Gabriel the satisfaction.
"Handcuffs, isn't that a little…" Sam trails off, snorting softly, "He really can't come up with anything better than that?"
Dean glares at him.
"He'll take that as a challenge. Don't."
Dean wasn't going to lie – handcuffs were an inconvenience. But what difference did they make, really? Castiel was always plastered to his side, it just so happened that now he had a reason to be. So they eat the rest of their meal calmly.
When they get up to leave, it's then it becomes apparent just how short the distance is between the cuffs. The skin on the back of Dean's hand constantly brushes against Castiel's, and that's when he's straining his wrist to keep his hand as far away as possible. With a roll of his eyes, he relaxes it and just wraps it around Cas's.
"Don't," he says both to Cas and Sam, who stare at him in bemusement. They get a few glances from the burly men who are hunched over the bar drinking manly drinks of manliness, but Dean doesn't give a crap. The feeling of Castiel's warm palm against his own seems to soothe the negative feelings he would have felt and for once, he's grateful.
Perhaps Dean wouldn't have been so lax with the idea of the cuffs if he had known where it would lead them.
Later that evening, Sam, Dean and Castiel are running down an alleyway as fast as they can, werewolf hot on their trails. Their guns, loaded with silver bullets, had been crunched to dust beneath the woman's foot, so they'd had no choice but to run.
"We'll split up." Sam huffs, before launching himself down a different alleyway. Tightening his hold on Castiel's hand, Dean keeps running, his lungs screaming for some rest, but his feet refusing to comply. The barely-human snarling behind them clearly meant that the woman still held a grudge against Dean for trying to shoot her earlier. At least Sam's safe.
He pulls Cas down another alleyway and something catches his eye. It's a door, and it's materialising. Dean knows who's responsible for this magical door, but in that moment, he'd have taken any way out, just as long as he could stop and breathe for a few seconds. He throws himself and Castiel towards it, pulls open the door and god damn it, there's barely enough room for one person, let alone two.
"Just go in," Dean interrupts, heaving in a large helping of oxygen before following Castiel through. He shuts it just in time, and the woman runs into it on the other side.
It's quiet, and the woman's snarling and scratching the wood on the flip side of the door. Dean's back is pressed firmly to the wall behind him, but his front still manages to press against Castiel's. They're both trying to catch their breath, but the lack of space means they can only inhale sharply and in turn, or their chests constrict against each other. Dean closes his eyes, because there's sweat trickling down his brow and the tiny space is completely satiated in the smell of Castiel. Their noses are almost touching, breath blowing over each other's lips, and it's weirdly erotic, just listening to Castiel breathing heavily without having caused it.
Classic hide-in-a-closet cliché again? Sam pushed his buttons, stupid son of a bitch.
"Dean," Castiel's voice is quiet and husky, and Dean wants to look him in the eyes, but he's subconsciously leant forwards so his nose is pressing against the side of Castiel's. He panics and tries to move away, but he can't; he's feeling this pull, this tug, this fucking unwanted desire to close the space. The air is humid and Castiel is hot too, the sweat near his upper lip making the breath Dean's trying to inhale have a salty tang.
"Cas," Dean whispers, top lip touching Castiel's just a little. His thumb is twirling around the back of Castiel's hand and Castiel is breathing in shakily.
The woman is still snarling on the other side of the door, but the noise is cancelled out. Castiel has started to move his nose against Dean's, mouth open, dancing over Dean's teasingly. They're breathing into each other, tasting each other without even needing contact.
Dean's hot, God, he's pulsing with this need he can't decipher, that he doesn't want to decipher. Because he's straight, damn it, he's straight. Oh, but he's curious too. He wants to know – what would Castiel taste like, tongue on tongue? What would he feel like? Would it be different? Would it be good different?
When Castiel wraps a hand around Dean's left wrist, completing the circuit, Dean has to hold himself back, because he wants, fuck, he wants to stop this teasing, to stop tasting through air and start tasting through tongues. He wants teeth, and Castiel against the wall, and that smoky groan that he'd heard in that motel room, and those soft lips he'd felt at the bar, and all out dirtiness.
"Damn it," Dean says, low and deep.
"Dean, I don't…" Castiel trails off, mouth – come on, a little more, please – almost touching Dean's, so close. So, so, so close—
Dean suddenly feels like the bottom of his stomach has dropped out, and then he and Castiel are back in their motel room, handcuffs off. They barely have time to regain their bearings before Sam's burst through the door, new gun in hand. He looks between the two in confusion.
"Gabriel," Dean says as his reason, and if he's disappointed that Gabe hadn't given them just a little longer, he doesn't show it.
10 – Lemon or Grape?
It's not just Dean who's staring.
Sam's next to him, mouth open, eyes transfixed. Castiel's leaning backwards against the kitchen counter at Bobby's, lips encircling a crudely-shaped popsicle. They sink up and down the iced treat in a movement Dean can only describe as porn-worthy, and damn if it isn't making him get warm in places he'd rather not think about.
"Cas," Sam clears his throat when his voice comes out hoarsely. He's not aroused by Castiel's movements, more... shocked. Because Castiel has no idea what's he's doing to Dean and Dean is completely speechless, steely gaze pinned to the angel. Sam had only been messing with his brother when he'd teased him about Castiel – he'd known from the start that Dean was as straight as they come. But what was happening now was forcing him to rethink everything. "Cas, since when did you start..."
"I developed a craving last night," Castiel peels his mouth free and wipes the back of his hand along his lips. Dean watches the movement with an unwavering obedience, eyes darkening when Castiel's lips wrap themselves around the popsicle once again.
Sam turns sideways in his chair to watch as Bobby pads through from the living room and freezes in the doorway, examining the scene in front of him.
"Anyone on board in that noggin' of his?" Bobby says in a low voice, nodding at Dean. Sam lets out a breathless huff of laughter.
"I dunno. If I didn't know better, I'd say he's pretty whipped."
"Well, isn't that a surprise," Bobby says quietly, though the sarcasm is laced with genuine surprise. Dean audibly swallows as Castiel pushes the popsicle further into his throat, unaware of the conversation going on next to him.
"You think Gabe put a spell on him or something?" Sam asks, a little concerned about the perplexed mesmerisation on his brother's face. The last time he'd seen him look like that, they'd been shooting fireworks into the sky.
"I dunno. Looks like one hundred percent Dean to me," Bobby replies gruffly. He smacks Sam's bicep with the back of his hand. "Come on, idgit, we'll leave 'em to it."
Sam sneaks out of the kitchen alongside Bobby, looking once more at the expression on his brothers face. Sure, it was a little flushed and his pupils were blown wide – which he tried not to think about – but there was something else there. Not just heartless lust, like he'd seen before Dean got off with a woman. Something deeper.
Sam sent Dean a gentle smile before leaving through the front door with Bobby. He never thought he'd actually think it, but he hoped that when they got back, Dean and Castiel would be... satisfied.
Dean can't deny it now. He could argue with himself, of course, with reasons like 'blue-balls' or 'horny', but when he tries to picture similar lips on a female body wrapped around his cock, it just doesn't give him that… kick. Dean's a curious person at heart; as a hunter, curiosity is something you need to overpower your fear.
And damn it, he just can't stop imagining. He's never been jealous of a popsicle, but he is, oh he is.
Castiel's tongue flattens out along the edge of it, capturing a yellow-tinged trickle of juice. Lemon? Grape? Dean tries to dampen his throat for what could be the hundredth time and shuffles in his seat, shameful erection digging into his zipper. Does Cas even know? He's just licking, eyes closed, enjoying it innocently. Dean's hooked and can't escape, ugh, he wants. He wants.
He's on his feet and in front of Castiel before he even registers moving, and Castiel opens his eyes in confusion. A dribble of juice drips down his hand so he raises it to his mouth and sucks on the back of it, keeping Dean's gaze locked on his.
"Cas," Dean doesn't bother to hide the huskiness, "Do you have any idea what you're doing?"
Castiel stretches his tongue out and licks from the base to the tip of the popsicle, and it takes everything in Dean's power not to smack the sticky treat out of the way and just take.
"It seems Gabriel has something to do with it. Though what this craving has to do with his game is…" Castiel trails off when Dean picks up a popsicle from the counter behind him, leaning closer than necessary. He continues to watch with a puzzled expression as Dean takes off the wrapper and covers the ice with his lips.
Dean closes his eyes when the cold lolly's flavour bursts across his tongue and sets about repeating the movements Castiel had taken – with Cas, it was better to show than to explain. When he opens his eyes again, Castiel is watching, mesmerised, at the popsicle being sucked through Dean's lips.
"Oh," he says simply, placing his half-eaten popsicle on the counter behind him. Dean leans forwards, placing his beside it, bending deliciously close to Castiel in the process. He can feel the angel's hot breath on his cheek and he turns his head just a little, capturing Castiel's lowered gaze with his own.
"Where's this going, Cas?" He asks almost nervously. Because he's thrumming with this unkempt desire to close the distance and kiss Castiel senseless. It's scaring the shit out of him. He's never been with a guy, and these hazardous feelings that are setting alight to his chest makes him want to lock himself in a closet and just figure it all out.
Was Gabriel playing the right game with them? Was this how he'd expected it to end? Was Dean just thinking of these things, because Gabriel had put the idea there?
"Wherever you want it to go, Dean," Castiel replies distantly, eyes scouring every inch of Dean's face, like he was counting the freckles.
Oh, fuck it.
Dean swoops forwards, hands flying up to cup Castiel's face, and then he presses their lips together. It's not gentle, it's rough and needy, Dean plunging his tongue into Cas's mouth and just tasting.
Castiel lets out what can only be described as a mewl and flattens his hands along the planes of Dean's back, pulling him closer and tilting his head to the side, opening his mouth to give Dean more space.
Dean doesn't know how long they stand there, making out like a couple of horny teenagers. His hands find the back of Castiel's head and he twirls his fingers through the short hair, lips sliding over the stubble on Castiel's jawline. It's different, kissing a dude, but it's good different.
A groan slips out through his mouth when Castiel finds use of his tongue, stroking it against Dean's in an almost sensual movement. It's too much for Dean and he pulls away slowly, leaving Castiel leaning forwards, eyes still closed and mouth plump and parted.
"Well that was—" Before he can finish his sentence, he's swung around and trapped against the kitchen counter by two arms either side of him. When he opens his mouth to ask what the hell, Castiel leans forwards and swallows the words. They're kissing again and fuck, Cas is going completely to town on him. It's a little shoddy and inexperienced, but Dean's too busy trying to keep up. His hands find Castiel's hair again, and he digs his fingertips into the scalp. When Castiel moans into his mouth, Dean smirks into the kiss and, just to test, jerks his hips into Castiel's.
He's rewarded with a choked-off, surprised cry and Castiel breaks away, staring at Dean with wide, crazy eyes.
"Awesome," Dean finishes, subconsciously leaning forwards to try and capture Castiel's lips back with his own. But Cas is tilts backwards and Dean's hands fall back to his side. Gentle amusement twitches at the corner of Cas's mouth. The son of a bitch was teasing him. Dean just wanted to get lost in a mess of sweaty limbs and pleasure, so his mind would stop over-analysing the fact that yeah, he had just made out with a guy willingly and enjoyed it, did that make him into strictly dick now?
"This is what lust does to humans," Castiel observes, capturing Dean's head in his hands in one quick movement. Dean tenses, waiting for the contact of lips-on-lips. But Castiel is still teasing, mimicking their previous interaction in the closet, open mouth hovering over open mouth, eyes looking down at them. "You lose control," his lips brush ever-so-lightly against Dean's, "I've never known why men fall prey to desire so easily."
"Cas," Dean whispers urgently, because he feels like he's about to just combust, erection rock hard in his jeans and endless need suffocating his rational thought, "Please."
Castiel's gaze darts upwards and he sees something in Dean's eyes – want, love, lust – that makes him dip forwards, pressing a feather-light kiss to his mouth.
"I understand now," Castiel says hoarsely, inquisitive pupils turning dark, filling with heat, "I want you, Dean."
Dean swallows, brow furrowed and breath catching in his throat.
"I want you too, Cas," he can't stretch forward and close the distance – Castiel's hands are still pressed into his cheeks, freezing his movements. "Fuck, Cas I want you." He does the only thing he can do. He rolls his hips forward, getting a full-frontal view of Castiel's contorted expression.
It breaks the angel, and then they're kissing again, all rough edges and sharp spikes. Castiel's hands fall away from Dean's face and Dean pushes forwards. They both start moving, lips never leaving each other, feet tangling up in each other.
Castiel's head collides with the ridge of the doorframe, but instead of groaning with pain, he digs his fingertips underneath Dean's t-shirt. They brush against the muscled abs and Dean has to break their kiss to let out a breathless gasp against Castiel's bruised lips. His hands have found their way to the back of Castiel's neck, holding his head in place.
"Clothes," Dean pants, pressing his forehead to Cas's, "Do your mojo."
And then they're gone, just like that, and Dean could sigh with relief at the cold air that wraps around his cock. His forehead rolls off of Cas's and onto his now-bare shoulder. Fuck. He's looking at their cocks, not sure whether the sight is disconcerting or arousing. He rolls his hips lightly, their erections brush and god damn it, that is good.
What makes it more perfect is the 'oh' that escapes from Castiel's throat. His hips subconsciously stretch out for more contact, but Dean's hands have moved and are holding him still.
"Dean," Castiel sounds agitated and Dean looks up through his eyelashes, a strong smirk on his face.
"Not so good when you're the one being teased, is it, Cas?"
Castiel clearly isn't happy with Dean's smartass-ery, because he starts pushing them with that angelic strength of his – which Dean refuses to admit turns him on just a little – and then Dean's falling backwards onto Bobby's armchair. Castiel climbs on top of him slowly, thigh's brushing thighs, shins brushing shins, and Dean lets out a strangled cry when Castiel pushes their hips together.
"Cas." He runs his hands up the strong thighs that are bounded on either side of his own and throws his head back again when Castiel grinds their cocks together, releasing a guttural cry of his own.
This is Castiel's game now; he's taken control and it's making Dean… buzz.
Oh man, I'm totally the sub.
Castel leans forwards, gripping the back of the armchair so tightly his knuckles turn white. Dean's looking up at him, blinking dazedly through the haze of pleasure that tears through his spine. Castiel is hovering over him, their mouths brushing together and when he swivels his hips agonisingly slow against Dean's, Dean's breath catches in his throat.
"Keep moving," he orders tightly, pressing his fingertips into Castiel's thighs in encouragement. Castiel's eyes have screwed shut and he pushes their cocks together again, gasping.
"It's overwhelming," he mutters gruffly into Dean's ear, arms still caging in Dean's head. Dean lets out a breathless huff that turns into a moan.
"It gets better," he said hurriedly and stiffly, because fuck it's so good, but he wants more. Lots more.
He moves his hand to their cocks, wraps his fingers around the both of them and Jesus, Castiel's teeth dig into his shoulder, muffling a cry.
"Feel good?" Dean says in amusement, though amusement quickly transforms into desperation. He starts pumping them and then Castiel's hips aren't moving in a smooth rhythm anymore – they're jerky and demanding. Castiel's arm muscles are tense as his grip on the back of the armchair tightens and he's expelling these needy, lost little mewls into Dean's ear that are just too fucking hot.
"Cas," Dean says for no particular reason. He just likes knowing that he can say it, that this deadly – so close now – pleasure is coming from his angel.
"Dean, it's…" Castiel cuts himself off with a choke and manages to lift his head from Dean's shoulders. Their gazes meet.
"Go on, Cas. Let go," Dean says tenderly. Castiel barrels over the edge and he comes with a shout. Dean watches the wrinkles on his brow deepen, his mouth open and his body tense up gorgeously .
The constant winding of string within Dean finally unravels and he's following Castiel over the edge with a moan, back arching off the chair. The rest of his moan is swallowed, mid-orgasm, by Castiel's mouth.
When Dean finally comes back down, Castiel is playing with his bottom lip between his teeth, kissing him with a softness that almost hurts. They break apart, sweaty and panting, and just look at each other blankly for what seems like forever.
"Well," Dean clears his throat and looks down at the sticky mess between them, "That was fun."
"I didn't expect this outcome at all," Castiel says, smile twitching around bruised lips. Dean smiles gently back, eyes bright and wide with awe at just how fucking beautiful Castiel was. Sure, he was a guy. Sure, he was an angel. But Dean knew beauty when he saw it. And it was sitting in his lap.
There's a flutter of wings that almost makes Dean send Castiel off of his lap immediately. Gabriel's standing in the centre of the room, hand covering his eyes.
"How you doin'?" He does a two-fingered salute, seemingly not bothered by the fact that Dean and Castiel are naked and on top of each other.
"Damnit, douchebag, get the hell out!" Dean exclaims, attempting to cover himself with his hands. Castiel seems unbothered by his nakedness and stays as still as he can in Dean's lap, looking over his shoulder to his brother.
"Hey, I just wanted to tell you it's 'Game Over'. Not sure who the winner is. I mean, I set this up, but you're the one who gets to spend the rest of his life boning an angel. Guess we're both winners in the end," Gabriel sighs, hand still covering his eyes, "You little soldiers were fun. It's gonna be hard trying to find someone as entertaining as you two knuckleheads. I'll see you around." With another two-fingered salute, Gabriel is gone.
Castiel looks back at Dean, whose flushed red from both embarrassment and anger.
"Dean, I think it'd be wise to get dressed before Bobby and Sam get back."
A shot of panic spreads through Dean at the idea of Bobby and Sam walking in on the two of them, but it soon drifts away when he's hit with the thought that wow, he and Cas were actually a thing now.
He's picturing himself being able to get up the next morning and kiss Cas; he's picturing himself being able to spend the rest of his life mapping out Cas's body and finding out what he likes; he's picturing himself frickin' holding hands with Cas when they walk into a bar. He's picturing a happy ending – something he's never, ever had the luxury to even think about.
He doesn't realise he's been staring at Castiel with eyes that reveal his every thought and he looks away.
"Right. Right, yeah, good idea."
11 – And CUT!
The first time Dean kisses Castiel in front of Sam, Sam ends up snorting a generous helping of Pepsi up his nose. It's a week after the 'popsicle incident' and Sam and Bobby are still totally unaware of the 'armchair incident'. Of course, they may have had suspicions, what with Dean and Cas suddenly going back to their usual banter, sexual tension relieved.
They're eating in a diner, Castiel sitting next to Sam, opposite Dean. Dean's eating pancakes with strawberry sauce, listening to Sam blather on about how the shapeshifter they were hunting only takes the form of women. Dean's not listening. He's too busy trying to not notice the hard, unrelenting gaze Castiel has on him, which is both arousing and disconcerting.
When he does eventually look up, Castiel is taking a sip of his frothy coffee – one of his favourite 'beverages'. He places the cup back on the table and Dean smiles. There's a milky moustache along the top of Castiel's lip.
"You're got…" Dean trails off and lets out a breathless laugh at the confusion on the angels face. He glances at Sam, who's taking a deep glug of Pepsi. Well, now is as good a time as any.
Instead of giving Cas a napkin or stretching across to wipe his thumb along the froth, Dean stands up, leans over the table, captures Castiel's chin in his hand and then surges forward to kiss him.
It's brief, but he still manages to taste the bitterness of coffee and the creaminess of the milk.
When he pulls away, Castiel has his eyes closed like some dazzled princess and Dean smirks into his face.
Dean blatantly ignores the ugly snort from beside him and waits for Castiel to open his eyes and look at him. He does, and they're sparkling.
Dean draws away and sits back in seat, eating his pancakes like nothing had happened and blatantly ignoring his choking brother opposite him.
Dean hides his smile and looks up at Sam questionably.
Sam blinks and an unsure smile flickers about his lips.
"Did you… Um, did you just kiss Cas?"
Dean spares Castiel an amused glance.
Sam stares at him for a long minute and then nods.
And that's all he says.
The first time he and Cas show their affection for each other in front of Bobby, Dean doesn't even realise.
Bobby walks into what has now become 'Dean's bedroom' and stops short.
Dean and Castiel are under the covers of the single bed, Dean's arms thrown over Castiel's waist and feet poking out of the other end of the blanket. Castiel doesn't notice Bobby's presence and if he does, he doesn't acknowledge it. He's too busy mapping out Dean's face with his index finger.
Bobby withdraws from the room as quietly as he can and closes the door with a soft click. Once he's on the other side, he smirks and shakes his head.
"Took their time, idgits."
Gabriel's sitting up on the cliffs of Dover in deep meditation, thinking.
He's bored. Again.
Playing with his little brother had been fun, but the victory had worn off substantially quickly. He'd given his brother and the dumbass Winchester a happy ending, which was all well and good, but now there was no one to irritate—
How had he been so stupid? Gabriel breaks out of his meditation and smirks out into the open sea. He's disappointed in how long it took, really, to come up with a new game to play.
There was more than one Winchester.
With a mischievous grin, he unfurls his wings and then heads off to his new target.
A/N: Thank you everyone who read this! As I went through it, I realised how bad it actually is, but if you enjoyed it, that's all that matters. I'm terrible at endings, so I hope it wasn't too abrupt. And I'm yet to write full-out smut... I can't quite bring myself to do it yet. Anyway, yeah, I hope you liked it!