Dean is pulling in deep breaths, but doesn't feel like they're reaching his lungs. His chest aches under Cas's patient, gentle kisses. He knows his hand is too tight around Cas's shoulder, but Cas hasn't said anything about it, and the feeling of Cas's skin fighting back against his fingers grounds him.
He shudders when Cas flicks his tongue over the crest of his rib bone, the line between his chest and his stomach. Cas chases it with a kiss and soothes his free hand over Deans hip.
At least he finally stopped asking if Dean was okay.
Dean wriggles his shoulders down against the pillows again, twisting his body just enough that it changes the angle of the two fingers Cas has buried inside him to the knuckle. He groans through his teeth. Cas's slowly pumping fingers still, the kissing at his ribs stops.
"Felt good, Cas," Dean says through clenched teeth. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."
It takes a moment before the deliberate slide of fingers and peppering kisses returns. Dean lets his head drop back onto the pillows, trying to relax. He can't get the tension to loosen out of his neck and shoulders. That's probably why Cas is going so fucking slow.
One of the reasons.
Dean wants this. They don't have anal sex often. Once, maybe twice a year, when the mood strikes. It's not their go-to activity and Dean knows that Cas could give a damn about topping, but that isn't what it's about anymore.
At this point it's about Dean failing to bottom too many times.
It's about being hot and needy under the familiar feeling of Cas's firm muscle and coarse chest hair, with the arms he slips out of most mornings wrapped around him, kissing someone he loves and trusts and wants, and feeling that cold spike of fear through him when it shouldn't be there.
When they're together like this, naked, sweating, kissing, grinding, maybe even fingering, Dean should be able to do it. When he wants it and Cas wants it, he should be able to do it.
And he can't.
Dean arranges himself on the couch, leaning back, legs spread, cock presented between them.
He feels stupid and awkward about this, but he is not above using cheap ploys to get Cas upstairs.
The last two weeks have been bad. Cas has been apologetic for everything, all of the time. Dean's been jumpy and having a hard time concentrating at work. They haven't had sex since Dean freaked out in bed and Cas has been skittish about even touching him in the ways that they always touched each other. Kissing at the door. Piling over each other on the couch. Sleeping in each other's arms.
Dean's angry. A decade old memory of a dead monster shouldn't be able to affect his life. His bedroom. His relationship. Nothing haunts Dean Winchester.
He tries laying back against the couch, supine and seductive… and looking sort of like he got naked and decided to take a nap. He grabs at the little bit of a pooch under his belly button. He's got to start jogging or something. He tries sitting up again, wondering if Cas would notice if he angled the couch a little more toward the door.
Two weeks ago, for no special reason, things had gotten more heated than usual. They'd gone upstairs, made out, undressed. Cas had gotten just a little bit rough with Dean in a way that he enjoyed. Pinning his hands at his sides, making him follow Cas upward to kiss him until Cas was just out of reach.
Then Cas's hands had slipped from his cock down to his perineum. Down to his hole. Teasing.
They didn't do that often, because Cas didn't like needing to wash up before he fell asleep. But once in a while Cas would tease Dean's hole while he sucked him. Dean might push a couple fingers inside of Cas while he sucked him.
And for some reason, Cas had asked to push inward instead of just tease. Dean agreed. Gasped. Encouraged. One finger became two, and because it had felt good, two turned into three, with Cas kissing his thighs and working his hand in and out and while Dean bit his lip and quaked and moaned. Cas panted out a request and Dean's assent had been instant.
Cas grabbed the lube and a condom (he hated it when Dean came inside of him, they had a three pack of year old condoms in the nightstand just to make everything cleaner). Dean had told him not to bother with the condom. Cas carefully pushed Dean's knees back toward the mattress, lined himself up, and pushed inward.
He'd barely gotten inside before Dean had frozen up. With the just the head of his horny lover's cock inside of him, after he had been aching for it for the last twenty minutes, he had suddenly… not been there anymore.
He'd freaked out. Dug his heels into the mattress. Pushed himself away so hard he'd cracked his skull on the headboard. Thrown Cas off of him. Rolled off to the other side of the bed, holding one arm out to keep Cas away.
And then he'd seen the expression on Cas's face go from bewildered to sad, and realized that Cas had understood why, this was the closest they had come to sex this way in years, and why Dean couldn't do it.
And then Dean had realized why he couldn't do it.
Thirty years on the rack had been more than flaying and carving.
Poking and prodding.
Fuzzy and confused, he lurched off to the bathroom, and turned on the shower. He hadn't locked the door, hadn't even shut it all the way, but Cas had stood outside the bathroom asking Dean if he could come in until his voice had gotten so panicked that Dean had said yes on the condition that Cas didn't try to talk about what had just happened between them.
Cas had stepped into the shower with him, after asking, way too many times, if it was alright, and they had tried and totally failed to jerk each other off just to take the edge off of what had just happened. They'd fallen asleep on opposite sides of the bed, and hadn't spoken about it since.
Dean had been going over it again and again for the last two weeks. For the whole time they've been dating, Dean has suggested that he bottom once, and Cas had asked twice. The first time Dean had suggested it had been born out of obligation rather than desire and his hip had acted up like he was ninety goddamn years old before anything had happened, then he and Cas had gotten into a fight about something else.
The first time Cas had asked they hadn't gotten undressed. Libby and Sven had been in town and brought some, apparently primo, weed with them. Somehow, Libby, Sven, Cas and Dean had all wound up very stoned in the hotel, like teenagers with the house to themselves.
Dean and Cas, unable to drive home, had bummed their way into a very cozy room, and Dean had had a very baked Cas pawing at him, muttering, "I want to feel…It must be so nice inside you. Dean… Dean… you're so… Dean it must be so nice inside of you. I want to feel it. Dean… I… you feel so good inside of me… I want…" on a loop.
Dean, who had not been in an altered state of mind since he'd quit drinking, had been too upset by the idea of Cas fucking him when they weren't both in charge of their faculties, and, mostly dressed, they had reassured each other that they were safe and in love for about an hour before spending almost twenty dollars in the vending machine, and falling asleep in each other's arms, surrounded by tiny bags of Famous Amos and Cheez-its.
Then the disaster two weeks ago.
Dean considers laying on his stomach, ass up, to make it completely clear what he wants tonight, but decides against it. His shoulders are already too tight, and he's not sure exactly how long it's going to take Cas to get home. Besides, he spent forty five minutes in the bedroom already with his legs up, fingering himself open and psyching himself to do this, so he's sitting on a towel to keep the couch clean. He is now the sort of person who puts a towel down.
What is actually scaring Dean most is not that he had managed to block out … an experience like that. Living like a normal person these days is letting him paper over a lot of the trauma from his hunting years and his trip to Hell. Maybe that's not healthy, but he doesn't care. Sam had talked to that psychiatrist, and that had helped, but not as much as the magic tea had, and Sam couldn't remember Hell. He certainly hadn't been building up a wall between himself and forty years of blood and screaming and torture and death and… other things like Dean has.
Some things you don't get over by talking to a professional and Dean doesn't want to burden anyone who hasn't seen Hell with his experience of it.
But Cas has seen Hell.
Cas understands this so that Dean won't have to say the words. And what is scaring Dean more than anything, is that Cas isn't the one pushing to help him get through this block. Cas was the one who had asked him to stop drinking. Cas was the one who literally hand his hand through the rough beginning of the only real, serious, romantic relationship of his entire life.
And Cas has gone completely hands off in the last two weeks.
The door creaks open. Dean, in the middle of picking a position, is forced to drop back against the couch as though he had planned the position he wound up in, which is a passable male-modeling-son-of-a-bitch type thing in the corner of the couch.
"Cas?" Dean calls.
"Yeah, what's up?"
"Come in here."
In his mind, that call was supposed to be a come on. This was supposed to be sexy. An invitation Cas couldn't resist. Dean hadn't been above using any ploy it took to get Cas upstairs and inside of him to prove that he could.
But his voice shook.
Cas ducks his head in. He's holding a bag of groceries. He sees Dean naked on the couch. His eyes move over Dean's body. He doesn't look turned on. He doesn't look surprised. He doesn't look interested.
His arms tighten around the groceries. He takes a tiny step back and bites his lip.
"Why don't you leave those in the kitchen and come upstairs with me?" Dean asks. Again, his attempt at playful lasciviousness fails. He sounds a little desperate in his own ears.
Cas looks down at his groceries, then back at Dean.
"Alright… I… I'll just stick this in the fridge. Wait for me."
He passes Dean by, sticks the entire bag in the fridge, fiddles with making it fit for too long and then closes the fridge behind him. He peels off his coat and hangs it carefully over one of the dining room chairs. He comes back into the living room, staying a couple body lengths distant before Dean holds out his hand. Cas takes it, Dean twines their fingers, and he pulls Cas upstairs.
He definitely feels desperate now. The sheen of lube on his ass cheeks, visible as Cas walks behind him on the stairs doesn't seem sexy. Being naked when Cas isn't doesn't feel good. Demanding sex in the middle of the day seems ridiculous and pushy.
Dean moves those thoughts away. That's exactly why he wants this. The incident last week is ruining everything. Sex with Cas hasn't been this complicated since those intimidating first couple of times. Dean shouldn't feel like this right now.
He pulls Cas into the bedroom. He left the lube on top of the nightstand, which had felt like a good direct indicator when he'd done it, but feels tawdry now.
"Dean," Cas finally says. "I… I don't…"
"You don't want to?" Dean demands.
Cas shakes his head, but starts unbuttoning his shirt. "I don't need you to prove anything to me. "
Dean drops onto the bed. After a moment of thought he reaches out for Cas's hand, pulls him closer and starts undoing his fly.
"That's not what this is about."
"I need you to tell me what this is about," Cas says.
Dean drops his forehead into Cas's stomach. Cas pets the back of his neck. He's surprised at how much better it makes him feel. A simple touch when he's felt so neglected.
"I need to be with you," Dean says honestly. "Two weeks is too long."
Cas cards his fingers through Dean's hair. "What else?"
Dean finishes with Cas's fly, tugs his pants down off his hips. "You know what else."
"Dean, I don't care if we ever… I don't need to top you. It's not important for me. And…" he grabs Dean's wrists before Dean can pull his pants down any further. "Look…what happened between us… that happened to me too. I don't like…" Cas's hand tightened around his. "I didn't like hurting you. Scaring you. Making you… remember things like that."
"You didn't hurt me," Dean answers. He pulls one hand free and goes back to tugging Cas's pants off. "I'm not afraid and I… Cas… If we never do it like this again, I don't care either, but I need to be able to do this at least once, okay?"
Cas hand pets slowly over the back of Dean's head. "Okay. Fine. But we are going to go really really slowly."
Dean leans forward so that his mouth is level with Cas's groin and speaks slowly, so the hot air from his lungs will roll through the cotton of Cas's briefs. "Take your clothes off first."
Cas presses his palm to the top of Dean's head gently, just enough to encourage him to lean back. "Lay back on the bed."
Dean nods, kisses his stomach quickly over his shirt and scoots backward toward the pillows. Cas undresses efficiently, leaving his clothes in a heap on the floor at the foot of the bed. He climbs up next to Dean. Dean pulls him into a languorous kiss.
It still doesn't feel quite right. The little creaks that the house just makes sometimes seem louder. The slippery, open feeling of his ass is unfamiliar. He feels a little bit too warm under Cas's kisses, despite how chilly the day had been.
Cas pulls away, and sets his forehead against Dean's. "Why was it different?"
"What?" Dean asks.
"I've… I already had my hand inside you. What changed?" Cas asks.
"Come on, Cas," Dean sighs, he tries to push forward into the kiss, but Cas turns his head to stop him.
"No. If we're doing this then we're doing it right," Cas almost snapped back. "Why is my penis different from my fingers?"
Dean almost wants to turn that into a joke, something about how if Cas doesn't know that then maybe they shouldn't be doing this anyway.
"Dean," Cas starts, after Dean hasn't replied for a few moments.
"Shh… I'm thinking." Dean replies. He breathes deeply and nudges his body a little closer to Cas's. He just wants to get this over with. He wants to take Cas to prove that he can, that he's getting over Hell and it can't fuck up his life anymore, he doesn't want to talk about it.
But if he uses the phrase 'get it over with' then Cas is going to be done, and he can't do another two weeks like this. He wonders if Cas realizes that he's asking Dean to mine the experience for details.
"I… don't want to talk about this that way," Dean finally answers. "I can't uh… can't give you a play by play. But it was… a very different feeling than just your fingers. Thicker. More… solid, all at once."
"Alright," Cas answers. He kisses Dean, cupping his hands around Dean's face. "That's not going to be different this time. This is how I'm shaped."
Dean leans into the kiss. Their hands rove over each other. Cas's broad strokes over his body are comforting. Grounding.
"And you were… far away. You weren't actually touching me anywhere else."
"Alright," Cas sighs. "It's a start." He leans into the kiss again, slowly rolling Dean over onto his back.
It is slow, but they've got nothing but time today and Dean's missed the feeling of Cas. It's a little chilly out. As the sun starts to set they slip under the covers together. Rolling back and forth, taking turns being on top. Nuzzling and nipping each other's necks. Rubbing together until they're both finally hard.
Dean's whole body still feels tense as he and Cas move together. No matter how sweet it is, or how good it is, it's still a lead up to what he couldn't get through last week. He could still, so easily, feel Cas push inside him and lose it again. Cas can obviously tell. He keeps asking Dean if he's alright, stroking his body comfortingly instead of groping him, or playing with him, or even holding him down the way he does sometimes. There's something almost geriatric about the way they're making out that Dean doesn't like.
But he's turned on. He has his arms looped around Cas's neck and they're panting against each other's mouths, as hot and normal as any other night.
"Are you ready?" Cas asks.
"What if I freak out again?" Dean asks before he can stop himself.
For a split second, Cas purses his lips. It's a clear cut 'that's what I've been saying' sort of expression, but he softens instantly. "We'll deal with it. And if you need to, we can start over. Or try another time."
"Don't pull away from me this time," Dean says. "I've missed you."
Cas reaches for the lube and kisses him. "I won't." He plants another kiss at Dean's forehead. "I'm sorry."
Dean closes his eyes. Listens for the click of the bottle and goes rigid when he hears it. He's not even remembering Hell, just the cold wash of horror he'd felt when Cas moved inside him last time.
"I'm going to finger you first," Cas whispers. His lips brush against Dean's cheek as he speaks, the stubble on his chin tickling against Dean's jaw. His hips snap up against Cas's body involuntarily.
"I did that already," Dean replies. "I got myself ready before you got home."
"I like it though," Cas says. "And I want to show you how good it feels. How good it feels when you do it to me."
Cas kisses his way down Dean's chest and over his hipbone before he works one wet finger into Dean, thrusting carefully back and forth despite how obvious it is that Dean doesn't need it. His body's absorbed a little bit of the lube, but all he needs is to be slicked up quick and he'd be ready to go.
Cas is careful though. Deliberate. Dean decides that he needs to just accept it. Because Cas had a point. What happened a couple weeks ago happened to Cas too. And one of the reasons that Cas has been so weird lately is because he's also been upset. Dean doesn't want to make Cas hurt him either.
He drops his head back against the pillow and lets Cas touch him. One finger moving back and forth in his ass, a bare tickle of a sensation, almost an irritation, though much less irritation than it had been when he'd been doing it to himself earlier. It feels fine, but the lack of Cas's body touching him reminds Dean why they barely ever do this.
Cas comes up to kiss him, and announces, "I'm going to use two now." Dean digs his fingers into Cas's hair and keeps hold of him for a little bit, missing the contact. Cas waits until Dean lets him go, then takes a nipple in his mouth, and, after a couple of failed attempts, works in a second finger without looking.
Dean breathes. He knows he can do this. He knows he can enjoy it. Cas is sucking at his chest, sending shivers of pleasure through him. His fingers are scissoring wider and wider inside Dean, twisting in a very deliberate way that skims across his prostate. It makes Dean gasp and twist and moan. He spreads his legs out further to give Cas room. Cas moves down, sloppily kissing his thighs with a husky announcement of "Another finger."
The heat is curling in Dean's stomach. He can feel the sweat beading on his chest and forehead. The tension in his back is still bad, but it's getting better. Cas pulls his hand out, grabs the lube from where he dropped it on the bedspread. Dean pushes his legs out again, curling his spine up a little, giving Cas better access.
He wishes he could take this the way Cas does. Totally relaxed, trusting, with his head lolled back, his eyes shut and his cheeks flushed. Dean wonders how blasphemous it is to think that's when Cas looks most angelic these days.
Cas moves slower than ever as he pushes three fingers into him. Dean gulps at the way he's finally starting to feel it. The way his body can't open up as easily around all three fingers. And Cas is thick.
"Tell me how you feel, Dean," Cas mutters against his thigh. His voice -grittier and deeper than ever- causes a wave of pure lust to rip through Dean, which shocks him and obliterates his vocabulary.
"Good," he manages.
Cas chuckles. "Good how?"
"Stretched," Dean replies. "Warm… good. Feels good, Cas."
Cas kisses his thighs again, then his mouth closes around the head of Dean's cock. The sudden warmth and pressure makes Dean cry out.
"Yes," Dean replies, just as instantly as last time, and surprised that he means it just as much.
Cas sits up, and Dean watches as he dabs more lube into his palm and slicks his turgid cock, harder than Dean's is, but not by much. He grabs a towel that Dean realizes is the same one he'd been using to cover the couch (great, they're both those people now) wipes his hands quickly, and tucks his hands under Dean's knees. He lifts them up a little, gently moving them out and up.
A little bit of the cold feeling from before creeps into the warm swirl in Dean's torso. It's just nerves. He tries to ignore it. Cas, kneeling, scoots closer. Dean watches him reach between his legs, grab his own cock and lean forward.
"I'm just going to touch you," he says.
Dean wants to roll his eyes, but the narration is helping him stay calm. Cas tips his hips forward, and just sets the tip of his cock to Dean's threshold. At first it feels weirdly like the sensation of wet dog nose pressing against the back of his knees, something that he still hasn't grown used to despite how insistent Dodger is about getting his bowl filled as soon as he sees Dean in the kitchen in the morning.
Then the tip slips a fraction of an inch into his well-prepped body and things get strange.
He feels a shudder rock through Cas, and realizes that it's Cas's first time too. And while that does help a little, the cold spot in his gut is widening. He knows it won't erupt the way it did last time, but he still can't stop it.
"Okay?" Cas groans.
Dean can't answer yes. It's okay enough, but he's teetering on the edge of 'not okay', and he can't let Cas push him over, it's not going to help anything. He swallows the lump in his throat. He hates this. This shouldn't be a big deal.
"I don't," he starts and growls in frustration. "I don't know why…"
Something about this just feels wrong, and he doesn't know why and he can't lie here with Cas shaking as he fights to hold himself back and calmly discuss what about this is too much like being ra- tortured in Hell.
"Just do it," he insists.
"No." Cas's voice is shuddering, but firm.
"Cas!" Dean argues.
"A little," Cas says through gritted teeth. "I'm going to move in a little."
Dean knows he shouldn't hold his breath, but he does. He knows he needs to relax, but he can't. Cas's miniscule movement doesn't hurt. Dean's muscles are too well worked open for it to hurt, but it feels like an invasion in a way that Cas's fingers didn't and not being able to figure out why is awful.
"More," Dean demands.
Cas's hips follow the direction before he can stop himself, but he catches himself before he can move in much further. He's maybe an inch in, and it's not good anymore. The cold is sitting in Dean's stomach like a lead weight. It's not as bad as last time. He knows he's with Cas. He knows Cas isn't going to move without express permission, and probably a little bit of goading.
"Dean, I'm stopping," he gasps. Dean reaches out to grab him as Cas moves his hips away, pulling out completely.
When his arms lift he feels it, the phantom sensation of straps around his wrists. His chest. His waist. The metal of the rack digging into his spine. He grabs Cas's forearm. Cas's free hand soothes over his knee. The warmth of Cas's hand is shocking against how cold his legs feel. They kicked the covers off a long time ago. The slide of Cas's ring, still a new addition, is oddly soothing. Dean thumbs over his own.
"Dean, we don't have to do this now." Dean's not sure how Cas is managing to be reasonable right now. He's got one hand ringed around the base of his cock his cheeks are bright red. He hasn't been touched in two weeks either and he looks like he'll come if Dean breathes on him too hard. "We can try… try again, or we can just work our way up to it."
"I think…" Dean pants, reaches between his own legs and strokes himself, he's flagging and that's not going to help him convince Cas of anything. "I think I just…" He sucks in air like he's coming up to the surface. "I think being on my back is the problem. I don't think I can do this on my back."
Cas does not look convinced, but also looks like his ability to say 'no' is eroding fast. Dean is overcome with pity and gratitude. He sits up, loops his hands under Cas's armpits and pulls himself up into a kiss.
"You look like you need the edge taken off first."
"I really do," Cas breathes.
Dean kisses him again, grabs the pillow behind him and throws it down onto the ground. Cas groans as Dean slips down off the bed, kneeling on the pillow. His knees can't take the floor anymore and he feels less old when he admits it instead of trying anyway.
"I've got to clean up first," Cas protests weakly.
"I'm clean," Dean replies. That had all been part of his afternoon of preparation. He leans forward to grab Cas's legs and turn him around so he can reach. Cas stops him with a hand on his cheek.
"I'm not going to kiss you unless I clean up first."
Dean sighs and hauls himself back up to standing. "I'll get you a washcloth."
"Cool water on the washcloth," Cas sighs, shifting position on the bed, so that his legs hang over the side framing Dean's pillow.
"Love you," Dean says as he kisses Cas's temple. Cas manages a grunt in response.
Dean hurries with the washcloth. The sound of relief that Cas makes as Dean wipes the terrycloth over him makes him salivate. The desperate red flush of Cas's cock has calmed by the time Cas declares himself thoroughly cleansed, and Dean tosses the washcloth up onto the nightstand, figuring it'll still come in handy later.
Cas rubs his hands over Dean's shoulders as Dean takes him into his mouth and everything feels jarringly normal all of a sudden. Dean's done this a thousand times. This is something that used to scare him too. Something that used to be threatening and emasculating. And now it's part of being close to Cas. And he loves it. He likes the weight on his tongue. The feeling of the smooth skin sliding through his lips. The concentrated scent of Cas in his nose while he gets him off. Cas's hands against his neck and shoulders and his hair are all a regular part of this.
He likes it when Cas tugs at his hair, but he's not expecting it right now. This whole bottoming misadventure is going to result in him being treated a little bit like he's fragile for a few more days, but he knows how to get around that.
He can hear Cas huffing and moaning above him. He's rock hard in Dean's mouth, as hard as he gets right before he spurts, and he has been for a while. Dean's giving him some of his best stuff, and he can't believe that Cas hasn't come yet. He takes it as a challenge. He takes Cas as deep as he can and starts sucking gently, increasing the intensity as he pulls up. Cas's thighs start to shake under his hand. Dean's expecting the gentle knuckle to the cheek warning when he makes it up to the head and Cas lets out a sound Dean's never heard before when Dean pushes his hand back down and just keeps licking at the ridge under Cas's cock. Dean can't keep himself from chuckling when Cas still doesn't come, and the vibration of the laugh forces a sound sort of like a 'chirp" out of Cas, which just gives him an idea. He picks a low, random note, and hums loudly as he sinks his mouth down again.
Cas comes so hard Dean pulls off choking, which never happens anymore. Cas apologetically pets his hair and shoulders while Dean coughs. Dean lets Cas help him back up onto their be once he catches his breath, and as soon as he stops coughing, Cas is already on his knees, lips around him.
Dean doesn't last as long as he'd like. Cas blowing him is normal and comforting and uncomplicatedly hot, and two weeks with even less physical contact than they'd had back in the days when Cas was a dickwad Angel who dropped in just often enough to make Dean hate him had obliterated his stamina.
They climb back under the covers together, feeling heavy and warm and sated. Dean is surprised when he opens his eyes and the sun is still up.
Cas lifts his chest up like he does when the alarm goes off in the morning, then sighs and tucks himself more firmly against Dean's chest. "It's only six thirty," he laughs.
Dean kisses the only spot on Cas's head that he can reach, the very top. "Good. I'm not done yet."
Cas makes a sound like he's going to say something, but stops. Dean runs his hands over Cas's scalp, watching the sun sink lower in the sky.
"I have an idea," Cas says, just as Dean was starting to think that he was asleep. "For you not being on your back."
"On my stomach?" Dean asks.
"No, I don't think that's a good idea," Cas replies.
Cas is quiet for much too long again. "Because I think I remember Hell better than you do."
Dean decides not to ask him to elaborate. He does not need to know. Tonight is hard enough, he doesn't need any big revelations about his psyche, he's still trying to deal with this one.
"I saw a video," Cas goes on. "Of two men making love on their sides. It seemed very intimate."
"A video?" Dean asks.
"Yes," Cas replies.
His tone is just defensive enough, and Dean's relieved when he can tease him with, "Was this a pornographic video?"
Cas huffs. "I like pornographic videos on occasion," he replies, poking Dean in the ribs to drive his point home. "And it's been two weeks." Poke. "And you're one to talk. 'Busty Asian Beauties' autofills on your computer." Poke-poke.
Dean feels just caught out enough that he sounds much more defensive than Cas when he replies. "Yeah… well… that's nostalgic." Cas snorts at him and Dean rolls onto his side, grabbing Cas's arm and pulling him along. "Show me."
Cas groans, in a decided unsexy way. "I need more time. And something to eat. And a glass of water, ideally."
"Yeah… okay," Dean replies. He tries to sit up, has every intention of doing so, but Cas's arms are heavy around him, and for the first time in two weeks this bizarre, awful tension isn't hanging over everything like a guillotine.
It's dark when Dean wakes up to Cas's stomach growling in his sleep. He shakes him awake gently and they pull on their bathrobes. Dodger is lying on the floor in front of their door, and Dean feels so bad about ignoring him that when Cas sets a salad, in front of him, Dean feeds Dodger a little piece of chicken from it, even though he never feeds Dodger from the table and scolds Cas about doing it all the time.
Salad is followed by the pumpkin pie that Cas had brought home, and then returning the two missed calls from Sam in a panic, worried that Chelsea's about to have the twins and they've been sleeping through it.
It turns out it was just Sam asking if they wanted to go out for dinner. Dean snaps at him to text next time, and he and Cas go back to eating pie in their bathrobes.
The tension from the day is still there as they eat, but it's better. Their feet are tucked together under the table. The conversation is easy. They're laughing and Dean feels better than he has since before this whole incident happened.
And they're still going to have sex. The light meal and the way that Cas is slowly drinking his water are proof of that. Dean wonders if it might be fun some time to watch porn with Cas and figure out once and for all where he finds this weird, fuzzy romantic porn that gives him these ideas that Dean always enjoys.
And then, as though the clock had struck and they both knew it was time, they're heading back up to the bedroom. And Dean can already tell that it's going to be okay this time.
He asks to leave the light on. Cas pulls the shades. They both drop their robes on the floor. Dean drops onto the bed while Cas fiddles with his i-pod speakers.
"What are you doing?"
"Sometimes, in nice pornographic videos, they have pleasant music," Cas replies. "I think it would be a helpful addition."
Dean can't think of a reply to or argument against that and so just patiently waits. When Cas finally picks a song its one of his mellow, guitar and voice albums, which Dean thinks sound soft and blank, but since that's perfect for what they're using it for, he doesn't argue.
"Let's get under the covers," Dean suggests. "It's cold."
The foreplay is much shorter this time. Dean is tired, not sleepy after an hour long nap in the early evening, but no matter how well Cas's plan goes, there is not going to be a round three. They lay on their sides, legs twined, kissing and rubbing together, hands running over each other's bodies, through each other's hair, down between each other's legs. Dean palms Cas until he's hard and short of breath, and after pulling him in for one more deep, languid kiss, rolls over.
Cas kisses the back of his neck, and slides his hand down Dean's spine, through his cheeks, and presses gently between them, testing. Dean's still open, but his skin pulls against Cas's fingers just enough that Dean grabs the lube back off the nightstand and hands it to Cas, who slides a perfunctory finger into him before clicking the bottle shut and dropping it in front of Dean.
Cas does exactly what he did before, without the narration this time, touching the tip against Dean's opening, then pressing in just a little bit, then a little bit more. Dean gulps and forces himself to keep breathing. It's alien, but not unpleasant. Cas' hand on his hip is good, the awkward pause while they figure out what to do with the tangle of their legs makes it all feel more real than the last couple tries have felt.
Cas moves in slow. The stretch of muscles not used to stretching like that is a lot to take in and Dean's not sure what he thinks about the burn that goes along with it, but he doesn't hate it.
But doing it like this means that every inch Cas moves further inside him brings him closer, and when Cas bottoms out, he's pressed to Dean's back, arms around him, lips at his neck.
Dean lets out the breath he's been holding for two weeks.
"You alright?" Cas pants.
"Yeah. I really am," Dean sighed. "Come on, I want to feel you."
Cas starts to move. Slow, careful. From that way that his arms tighten around Dean's stomach, he thinks it's more about the difficulty of moving faster in the position than about Cas being worried about Dean's reaction anymore, which makes it easier for Dean to enjoy it.
It feels good. The movement inside him is like the way that Cas moved his fingers inside him. The slow rocking motion is exactly how he needs this to happen, it's not calling up any images he has to force down, it's not hurting him or making him feel rushed to do anything more. The feeling of fullness is… neutral, but a lot. Not necessarily good or bad just… a lot.
He's not going to be able to come from this. It's too slow, it's too different, and he's still just not okay enough with being penetrated to move from "able to enjoy" to "getting off on". But he's warm and happy and Cas is panting against his neck, landing sloppy kisses at his nape and the crook of his shoulder. He can feel the sweat on Cas's chest sliding against his back and the way his body is jolting now and then. Cas is going to burst as hard as he did earlier, and Dean likes that too.
Cas's hand circles around Dean's only half-hard cock and Dean laughs when Cas whines. "Not good for you?" Cas manages.
Dean cranes his head back, he can almost kiss Cas from this angle. They'll have to practice that. "It's good, Cas, that's not what this is about."
Cas starts jerking him off, and Dean experiments with moving between Cas's hand and his cock as Cas starts snapping into him. He can feel the wetness starting at the corner of his eyes, and he tries to blink it away. It's getting to be too much. Cas is everywhere, inside him, wrapped around his body, hand around his cock. He can feel the empty place inside him where the cold fear had been starting to fill in with this moment, a moment of moving on where he hadn't expected it to be and it's all just too much to process. He grabs the wrist of the hand that Cas has wrapped around his stomach. Cas slots his fingers between Dean's and Dean grips them tight. With a little effort, he lets his body relax and his mind let go. The placid strumming of Cas's music washes over him. The slow glide and pull of Cas's cock is moving faster inside of him, barely pulling out, just a continuous inward thrusting. Cas is close and Dean can tell when he's fighting off the orgasm for Dean's sake.
"Come on, Cas," Dean whispers.
"Yeah, come for me," Dean says.
Cas fights it for a little while longer, but comes hard, shuddering into Dean's body and holding their bodies tightly together as he keeps thrusting a little bit further inside. Dean's shocked at just how much he can feel the liquid sensation of Cas spurting inside his body. Cas keeps jerking Dean off as he comes down, and when he finally pulls away to finish Dean in his mouth, Dean probably doesn't make it for ten whole pumps up into Cas's mouth before he comes again and pulls Cas up to kiss him because he needs them to be touching everywhere again.
Cas thumbs wetness from the corner of Dean's eye. "Was that what you wanted?"
"Yeah," Dean replied. "That was exactly it."
Cas gives him a soft smile, kisses him again and grabs the washcloth off the nightstand. They wipe up quickly, flick of the light and Dean falls into a dreamless with Cas's arms around him.