Title: Tastes Like Forgiveness – Chapter 8

Pairing: Dean/Castiel

Rating: NC-17

Summary: Season 7 AU. After releasing Leviathan, Castiel is pulled from the reservoir fully human. With only the men he betrayed to rely on, Castiel does anything he can to redeem himself, especially to Dean.

Spoilers: End of season 6, throughout season 7

Warnings: Spanking, CBT, humiliation, angst, everyone's mean to Cas, potential domestic abuse triggers

Things get surprisingly hectic when the world is in danger and the human race is, as usual, fairly oblivious to the numerous big bad things that were trying to kill and/or eat them. Sam and Dean usually find themselves just in the thick of it, being very fond of the earth, its people, and double bacon cheeseburgers.

Though Castiel had completely disappeared, the brothers had little time to look for him. They had other things to worry about, like Meg popping back into their lives and begging for an alliance to keep her safe from Crowley. Meeting up with elite hacker Charlie Bradbury and figuring out Dick's master plan to domesticate and slaughter the human race like cattle. The strange appearance of a young Vietnamese boy who could, sort of, read an ancient tablet they'd stolen from Dick Roman, and more dick angels that had to be convinced, somewhat violently by Meg, that they could take care of the new prophet themselves.

"So that's where we're at," Sam said to Bobby over the phone. "We're heading your way with Kevin so he can work on the translation in peace. We should be there some time tomorrow morning. Any news on your end?"

"Yeah, keep away from processed foods. Sucrocorp is getting into everything lately, and we don't need you two turning into cows."

"Great. Dean will love that," Sam said with a laugh. "Hey, no word from Cas?" Sam asked, his voice more serious.

"'Fraid not. Like I said. I'd call you as soon as I heard anything."

"I know. We're just worried," Sam said. He hung up and got Dean up to speed. His brother was not happy about the fresh food requirement.

"Bobby hasn't heard anything from Cas either," Sam said, letting those words hang there, hoping Dean would take the bait. He didn't.

"It's not your fault he ran off," Sam said, like he said many times a week, and Dean snorted derisively. "OK. It's totally your fault, but, you didn't know that would happen."

Dean's eyes darted to the rearview mirror, and saw that Kevin was fast asleep in the back seat, curled up on Sam's duffel bag, with the tablet snuggled up against his chest. Meg was gone too, who knew where. Likely double crossing them or something.

"He could be dead in a ditch somewhere," Dean murmured, his brow creased with worry.

"I thought Cas was the great white wizard hell bent on overtaking the world?" Sam teased.

"Shut up. I wish he's at least taken his phone with him. I could have left him a message," Dean said. His knuckles tightened around the steering wheel of the car as he replayed his last conversation with Castiel, and all the ways it could have ended differently. Right up to that moment when Castiel had paused at the door. Dean had noticed him pause. He could have said anything at that moment, and Castiel would probably be in the back seat with Kevin, his head bobbing against his chest in uneasy sleep.

"And just what sort of messages would you leave on his phone, Dean?" Sam quirked a brow at his brother, curious. Dean barely bothered with a glance and didn't reply. "He'll show up. I'm sure of it. There aren't too many places he could be."

"Sure. Leviathans could have eaten him. Angels could have dragged him back to heaven. Meg might be hiding him somewhere. Maybe Crowley killed him. Not too many places we have to worry about."

"We'd know if any of those things happened. Monsters like to brag," Sam said, trying to be reassuring in the face of Dean's worst scenarios. "Besides, Cas isn't that stupid. I know you think he is, but he knows how to stay hidden. He learned a lot from us in the last few months. More than you think. He'll probably come back with a sawed off shot gun and mountain man beard," Sam said, trying to get a laugh out of Dean. It didn't work.

"And what do I say to him when he shows up?"

"First, apologize for being a huge dick bag to him," Sam said, not even flinching when Dean punched him in the arm. "And then you forgive him. Completely. I don't even care if you're lying. You just forgive him, and convince him of it, and then put this whole stupid thing behind you. And no more punishment either. Try something normal and healthy for a change."

"And the Team Cas pep squad strikes again."

"Guy wrote a spell, just for me, to fix my brain. I haven't seen Satan in weeks, and my nightmares are gone. Go team Cas, rah rah rah," Sam said, the last part as dead pan as he could make it, but he was still serious. Castiel's plan had worked. Without Lucifer running amok in his brain, and with the meditation helping him center his emotions, Sam was more willing and open to forgiving Castiel. He was actually incredibly grateful and wished Castiel was around for a big hug and thank you.

The effects seemed to be contagious, too. Dean could see the result of Castiel's clandestine magical study, and had Sam as a constant verbal reminder. Barely a day went by without Sam saying, unsubtly, something about how great he felt after using Castiel's spell. Given enough time, it could even wear down a stubborn man like Dean.

"If he's not dead," Dean murmured, and let the words hang there, unable to finish the sentence. They drove through the night, hoping to get to Bobby's as soon as possible.

Castiel chose to leave the Winchesters' side after Dean told him to leave. He was quite certain he'd have been allowed to stay, sleeping in Sam's room. But the thought of being near Dean, ignored, unforgiven, and untouched, was what really made Castiel run away. And he realized, with shame, that it was running away. He didn't have the strength to stand on his own while Dean was so angry with him. He couldn't stand for things to be the way they had been before, and so he ran, unwilling to face the fall out of his fight with Dean.

The very first day was probably the worst. He left the motel on foot and walked down town. After he accomplished that, he had no idea what to do. He knew he needed to get out of the town, or else Dean and Sam would easily find him. But, he was too afraid to hitchhike, and wasn't sure if he should spend his money on a bus ticket, when he didn't know how long his funds would last. So he walked straight out of town, and down the highway. He walked for several hours, resting when his feet ached, and his shoulders grew sore from his bag. As the sun was setting, exhaustion took him over, and when he saw a motel, he got a room, collapsed into the bed, and fell asleep for 12 hours.

When he woke up the next morning, he didn't get out of bed. Instead he lay there, determined not to move until he had some sort of plan. He remained in bed for two more hours until he finally had some idea of what he could do. Or really, the only thing he could do.

When Castiel had showed up at Rufus' old cabin in the woods, Bobby had not been surprised to see him. Naturally, Sam or Dean had called, looking for Castiel, because where else would he go? Knowing that this would be the first place they looked, Castiel went anyway, because they were right. He had nowhere else to go. But more to the point, he had nowhere else he wanted to go. His core still pulsed with the need to help. To clean up the mess. And if he could not do that next to Dean and Sam, he would do it around the corner from them, with Bobby.

"Can I stay?" had been Castiel's first words to Bobby, quickly followed by; "Don't tell them I'm here." And Bobby had consented, saying he had 'a soft spot for wounded animals.' Castiel suspected he'd been filled in on some of the details about what had happened, but the man gratefully never asked any questions, and never prodded for information.

The first few days were shaky and awkward as the two men danced around each other, uncomfortable in each other's space. Castiel listened with his heart in his throat each time Bobby answered the phone and told the boys that he still hadn't heard anything from or about Castiel, good or bad.

But after a few days of that, Bobby would suddenly say gruffly, "C'mere," and beckon Castiel over to show him how to do something. Sometimes it was something mundane, like how to run a trace on the computer, and he showed him where Dean and Sam where by the GPS in their phones. Sometimes it was something fun, like how to make cornbread, Bobby's only specialty. And after a week, it was something exceptionally useful, how to shoot. Dean had grown quickly frustrated with Castiel's ineptitude with guns, and given up after only a few attempts. Bobby was a much more patient teacher. After two weeks, Castiel knew his way around a shotgun and handgun, though he still needed a great deal of practice on his aim. But he was no longer quite so nervous with the dangerous weapon that felt so foreign in his hands.

Though there was research to do, Leviathans and Dick Roman to track, information to find, and wards needed to keep them safe, Castiel felt at peace in the small cabin with Bobby. His mind still raced, troubled with thoughts he couldn't quite chase away, but he was left alone in his head, and left to work out his own problems without the Winchesters being a constant reminder of his guilt.

"That was Sam and Dean on the phone," Bobby said, hanging up the phone after talking to Sam. "They'll be here tomorrow morning with some prophet."

"That would explain those thunder storms we tracked a few nights ago. The Word of God must have been unearthed," Castiel said. He'd just finished making dinner, a task he found he enjoyed almost as much as Bobby loathed. The man had shown him a few basics around the kitchen, and intrigued by the act of creation, Castiel had quickly surpassed Bobby's culinary skill. He found it to be similar to the study of magic, which involved the combination of the right ingredients and ideas to make the magic work. With cooking, it just required food.

"What're you gonna do when Dean gets here?" Bobby asked, and Castiel found that the most invasive question Bobby had ever asked him in the month they'd been together. He was seeing where Dean had learned some of his emotional habits.

Now Castiel had a choice. He could run away again, check into a motel in town until Sam and Dean left, or, he could face the brothers again and deal with whatever came as a result of that. Sam was always the one who called Bobby and asked about Castiel, but Bobby insisted that was just Dean being a 'stubborn idjit.' Bobby swore up and down that both brothers were worried about Castiel's whereabouts and safety. But that wasn't really what Castiel was worried about. He never thought Dean wouldn't care he was gone. He had expected the man to be worried, and deep down, felt some satisfaction about that.

"I think I will go into town tonight. Get a motel room," Castiel finally said, lowering his eyes so he wouldn't have to meet Bobby's disapproving glare. He could still feel it burning against him though.

"And I guess I ain't supposed to tell the boys where you're at?" Bobby asked.

"I would appreciate that," Castiel said.

"You gotta face them at some point," Bobby said gruffly. Again, it was an unusual amount of advice from a man that usually left well enough alone. "Or one of them at least," he added, and Castiel could feel a faint blush on his cheeks.

"I know. But I'm not ready yet," Castiel said, and he got up to clear his plate. He hadn't finished eating, but had lost his appetite and became fidgety. He started to clean up and put away the leftovers.

"You're an idjit, you know that?" Bobby said, his voice more annoyed than usual.

Castiel turned and looked at Bobby, surprised when that specific insult, and endearment, was directed at him. Bobby hadn't ever called him that before, and as far as he knew, only ever used that word to describe Sam and Dean. "I'm not an idiot," was all Castiel could think to say, denying it because it was still an insult, no matter how affectionately Bobby said it.

"I know an idjit when I see one. I've had two boys to look after most of my life, and now I've got a third."

"I'm older than the dirt that makes up this planet," Castiel said pointedly. "I'm hardly what you would consider a 'boy.'"

"You been human barely a year, so you count as a boy in my book. And you know what boys do? They run away from their problems. But there ain't much time left. The world's in trouble again, and we got a tradition. You get your shit sorted out before the end of the world just in case we screw it up this time."

"I'm sorted," Castiel said, intently looking at the dishes he was washing, not at Bobby. He could feel the man glaring at his back, sighing with disapproval. The man muttered 'idjit' one last time and walked out of the room, leaving Castiel to wash up.

Castiel packed his duffel carefully, checking over the house again and again to make sure he hadn't left anything of himself behind for the brothers to find. No clothes, none of his magic books, not the second toothbrush in the bathroom. With a final, withering look from Bobby, he left the cabin and walked back into town, since Bobby stubbornly refused to give him a lift. He checked into a motel, and had himself a fitful sleep, plagued with odd and confusing dreams about Dean, and anger, and sex.

Sam, Dean, and Kevin arrived at the cabin early in the morning. Kevin, still looking like he was in shock and clearly frightened, was led down to the basement with Sam where he could work on translating the tablet. Dean headed to the kitchen for something to drink. As usual, there were cold beers waiting for him, and he didn't waste any time tipping one back.

"You know, I wish you'd picked up some of my better habits," Bobby said as he came into the kitchen.

"I didn't know you had any," Dean said with a smirk.

"How you boys doing?"

"Fine. You know, as much as you can be when the world is ending. Again," Dean poked his head in the fridge once more and pulled out a plastic container. He tore it open and found some roasted chicken. Pleased, he started nibbling on it. "Nice of you to have some real food on hand for once."

"I do what I can," Bobby said, shifting on his feet. "Feel bad for that boy Kevin. He's too young to be in a mess like this."

"What's old enough to be in a mess like this?"

"Good point," Bobby said with a sigh. He grabbed a beer too, sliding aside more containers of food in the fridge.

"Man, I have never seen you with so much food even in your own house. Where did this come from?" Dean asked, licking his fingers as he tossed a cleaned chicken bone into the trash and quickly started working on a drumstick.

"Restaurant in town. Figured I'd stock up with you boys coming in."

"I thought all the restaurants around here had Sucrocorp crap in them?" Dean asked, warily eying the chicken in his hand.

"Right," Bobby hedged. "Well, I checked, just to make sure. It's all clean. No cow inducing drugs in that food."

Dean looked at Bobby suspiciously, and then examined the chicken in front of him. "This don't look like restaurant food."

"Course it is. You think I could make something like that?"

"No," Dean said, distracted. He was looking around the kitchen, suspicion sharpening his senses. Nothing was out of place, nothing unordinary. Just one thing. Or two really. Two plates on the drying rack, two sets of silverware, two cups. "Who else is here?" Dean asked, whirling back to Bobby.

"No one, you idjit. You think I could hide someone in this little cabin?"

"Then who made the food? Who was eating with you last night? Why are you being so secretive-" Suddenly, Dean froze, and he looked down at the chicken, and the neatly stacked and washed plates. "Cas is here," he murmured, and then he looked up, his brows furrowed in anger. "He's been here the whole time, hasn't he? Why didn't you tell us?"

"You know damn well why," Bobby snapped back. "That boy's scared and hurtin' 'cause of you. I'm not going to tell the person who caused that where he is until he says it's OK."

"I just want to tell him I'm sorry."

"That's it? Just you're sorry? You're gonna have to do better than that. I'm not going to pass judgment on your choices," Bobby said, stressing the last word meaningfully. "But once you make that choice with another person, I am going to take issue with how you treat them, and yelling at them right after they save your brother's life? Isn't the way you show your gratitude."

"You want me to beg and grovel for his forgiveness? Fine."

"That's a good start. What else you got?"

"What else? I don't know. Bring him back on the road with us. Teach him to hunt. To shoot… What? What else is there?" Dean asked, as Bobby looked at him expectantly.

"Isn't there something you want to tell him? Something important?"

Dean stared at Bobby, complete incomprehension on his face for several moments, until it hit him, and then his face tightened up into an unreadable mask.

"All right. Enough girl talk. Are you going to tell me where he is, or not?"

"Against my better judgment, yes. But one last warning. I've got three boys now, and I'm not playing favorites, unless one of them proves himself to be the biggest idjit of the lot, and then he's gonna wish his daddy was still here to take my place for the ass kickin' he's gonna get."

Castiel was sitting quietly on his bed in the motel, studying his spells. Though Bobby had made no complaint about his forays into Wicca, the cabin was small enough that the man moving around and fiddling was often too distracting for Castiel to concentrate. This was the first opportunity he'd had in several days for a little peace and quiet.

So when there was a loud knock on the door, which clearly had the 'do not disturb' sign posted outside, Castiel was annoyed, but determined to ignore it. However, the knock came again, louder, and more insistent, and then followed by a voice.

"Cas! Open up. We need to talk," Dean yelled through the door.

Castiel's heart jumped up into his throat, pounding hard in his ears as shock and panic overwhelmed him, as well as a sudden combination of annoyance and fury at Bobby for telling Dean where he was.

"I will wait out here all day until you answer this door," Dean said, knocking some more, and adding a kick for good measure. "Cas!"

Dean sounded desperate and anxious, and Castiel was starting to feel the same way, mostly because stupid motels never had a second door, just the window at the front, right next to where Dean was standing. A quick look in the bathroom showed that even the window there was too small for him to crawl through. Castiel stood in the middle of the room, unsure what to do while Dean continued knocking. After a few minutes, the man stopped, and Castiel let out a sigh of relief. That is until he heard a quiet clicking sound, and saw the door knob working slowly back and forth as Dean picked the lock.

Motel locks were easy, and Dean had the door open in under a minute. He pushed it open slowly, glad that there wasn't a chain on the door, and poked his head inside. Castiel was nowhere to be seen.

Dean poked around the room. He saw Castiel's notebooks on the bed. He glanced through them, shaking his head at the terminology of Wicca. Definitely too touchy feely to do any kind of damage. He mentally kicked himself again for getting so angry about it.

Dean glanced around the room some more, and wondered where Castiel went, and when he would be back. He closed the door to the room, and pulled out a chair to sit. If Castiel wasn't there, then he'd wait for him. All his stuff was in the room, so he was certain to return at some point, and get quite the surprise when he found Dean there.

Dean sat for about fifteen minutes, fiddling with his phone, and occasionally glancing out the motel window, when he suddenly heard a tiny creak. His head popped up and he scanned the room, looking for the source. His eyes narrowed, he stood up, stormed over to the closet, and jerked the door open. There, curled up on the floor, was Castiel.

"Seriously dude? You're hiding in a closet?"

"Shut up. Go away," Castiel murmured into his knees, because he was much too embarrassed to lift his head.

"Will you just come out of there? I'm not talking to you while you're in a closet," Dean said, and stepped back so Castiel could unfold himself and stumble out of the cramped space. Dean was courteous enough to glance away until Castiel was on his feet again.

"I've been worried about you," Dean said.

"I know," Castiel said, as coldly as he could.

"You could have at least told us you were safe. I thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere."

"Well, I'm not. I'm fine," Castiel said, his voice still cold, and he refused to say anything else, even when Dean frowned at him.

"I'm sorry I told you to leave," Dean said after a sigh, to give himself strength. "I didn't mean that. I just got so mad, I couldn't think straight, and it was the first thing I said. I always say stupid shit when I'm mad."

"I always knew you would be angry when you found out. So, it's OK," Castiel said, his voice not quite so cold, softening as he heard Dean's apology, which he knew did not come easily for him.

Dean looked up and smiled a little as Castiel accepted his apology easily enough.

"Good," Dean said with an awkward shuffle of his feet, surprised that it was so easy. "Why don't we head back to the cabin then?"

"No," Castiel said, taking a step back. "I think I'll stay here until you and Sam are on the road again."

"Don't you want to come with us?" Dean asked, the easy smile from before falling from his lips, a little confusion marring his features.

"Perhaps it is better if I stay and help Bobby."

"Stay…? Cas, I want you with us. With me. I didn't mean it when I told you to get out."

"No. You did. At that moment, you meant it. But that's not why I'm staying. I don't think I could bear being with you anymore if you haven't forgiven me. It takes time. I understand that now. So, I'll just wait here until you've forgiven me."

"Bobby was right, you have turned into an idjit," Dean said with a small laugh. Castiel was about to protest this persistent insult, but Dean cut him off. "Why do you think I came out here? Why do you think I was so worried about you this whole time? You think I'd feel that way if I hadn't forgiven you?"

Castiel kept his head turned away, and his eyes turned down. He didn't want to see those lies in Dean's eyes again.

"C'mon, Cas. Look at me. I forgive you. Come back with us," Dean said, stepping closer to Castiel, getting into his personal space.

"No," Castiel said stubbornly, still not looking at Dean.

"No? Cas. C'mon. I want you with me," Dean said, and reached forward to lift Castiel's chin, but the former angel was stubborn and shut his eyes, shaking his head in denial.

"Won't you just-" Dean started, and then he stopped himself, let out a sigh of frustration, and then leaned in to kiss Castiel on the mouth.

Castiel's eyes flew open at the surprise contact, and let out a gasp. Opening his mouth for that sharp intake allowed Dean in, and his tongue slid between Castiel's lips, hot and seeking. Castiel's gasp turned into a quiet moan, and his eyes slid shut again as his whole body trembled. He moved his tongue against Dean's, also seeking, and tasting, and filling up with pleasure on the flavor of Dean in his mouth.

The kiss went on for several minutes, until both men were breathless and needed to part. Castiel hadn't noticed, but Dean had tugged him close, wrapped him in his arms, holding him tight so he couldn't escape. He felt no desire to do so.

"There, you see?" Dean said, his lips brushing against Castiel's as he spoke. "I forgive you."

Castiel could feel his whole body vibrating with happiness as those long desired words were whispered against his lips. He longed to follow Dean out of the motel and sit beside him in the car again, and follow him, just follow him everywhere. But some small part inside him, a part that still had a little sense, resisted, and nagged him, prodded him with doubt, and made him pull back, just a little, so he could look Dean in the eye, and make sure.

"I'm not sleeping on the floor anymore," Castiel said, with more confidence than he felt.

"You're not," Dean said in quick agreement. "You're sleeping in my bed."

Castiel thrilled at that, but tamped it down. There was more. "I will kiss you when I like."

"Yes," Dean said, emphasizing his agreement with a quick peck to Castiel's lips. "But not in front of Bobby. He'll bitch and moan."

"And… I want to make love with you," Castiel said, his confidence waning as he asked for more.

"I was just about to demand that myself," Dean said, his voice going just a little lower, and Castiel could feel it like heat in his groin. But he focused himself again. He had one more question, one last thing to demand, and he wasn't sure it would be all right. He couldn't quite believe it would be.

"Don't whip me anymore," he said, in a low whisper.

"I think you've been punished enough," Dean said, tightening his grip on Castiel, tugging him closer so he could lean in against his ear, and say in a husky whisper; "But I think I will still spank your ass cherry red sometimes, because I know you liked that."

Castiel let out an uncontrollable moan, and his knees went weak, forcing him to lean heavily against Dean's strength, while he tilted his head up, seeking another kiss, wanting to taste that forgiveness in Dean's mouth again. He wanted to taste it over and over again, until he was drunk on the flavor.

Dean obliged, and kissed him back, hot and heady, and moved him, slowly, step by step, until they were lying down on the bed, kissing and touching and exploring like they never had before, despite the intimacies they'd already acted on.

Clothes were peeled away slowly, Dean kissing exposed skin, and Castiel following, savoring the taste of Dean, and the freedom to touch him and caress him how he liked, without fear of reprimand or recrimination. And the sensation of Dean touching him and exploring him, without the usual urgency and callousness.

"I'm sorry," Dean murmured into Castiel's skin, every light touch a further apology for all the harder touches from before. Castiel claimed Dean's mouth to swallow his apologies and take them into himself.

Heat swelled in Castiel's body. Every touch and caress was a burn against his skin, a fire where he and Dean were pressed together. For ages, he had wanted, and now he had it, but all he wanted was more of what Dean freely offered.

Castiel pulled away from a heated kiss, making Dean murmur with disappointment, and untangled their limbs, so he could get free, turn over, and stretch out on his stomach. He looked over his shoulder at Dean, at the man watching him, his eyes dazed with lust.

"Not like that," Dean said after clearing his throat. He tugged on Castiel's arm and urged him to roll over, onto his back again, so that Dean could slide between his thighs.

"I want to make love," Castiel said bluntly, confused when Dean denied him, worry seeping into his eyes.

"I know," Dean said, his teasing smirk on his lips. The one that made Castiel's heart ache. "But you have to do that face-to-face."

"Oh!" Castiel said, the sound not so much one of surprise, since he knew that the position was possible. It was a sound of delight that he could look at Dean while they made love, yet another thing they had never done before. Being on his hands and knees or his stomach so often, he'd never even thought Dean would want it any other way.

Dean went back to kissing Castiel, rubbing their bodies together, and Castiel groaned hotly as their cocks were pressed together, tight and hot against each other, and mixing up their pre-come, until they were both a sticky mess.

Above him, Dean groaned with desire, his body trembling with want, and he murmured against Castiel's lips; "Do you have anything?"

Castiel didn't understand the question at first, but it became clear when Dean's dry fingers pried between his cheeks and teased at the tight muscles around his hole.

"I have some," Castiel said breathlessly. It was painful to part from Dean, to pull away from him so that he could reach into his duffel bag, rummage around, and then return with a half empty bottle of lubricant.

"This seems well used," Dean said, unable to hold back his smirk.

"I… I missed you," Castiel murmured, blushing at what that implied.

"Did you?" Dean asked, talking easily as he poured lube on his fingers, waited for it to warm up, and then slid his hand down between Castiel's legs. "What did you do when you missed me?"

Castiel shivered as Dean's finger teased at his hole, and slowly slid inside. "Like this," Castiel stuttered, squeezing around Dean's fingers. "I used my fingers inside and thought of you."

"What did you think about?"

"Your cock… or your mouth on me. Sometimes… sometimes your hand…" Castiel said, trembling at the memory, unable to continue because he was too embarrassed. Dean paused, his finger deep inside.

"My hand doing what?"

"Spanking me," Castiel said, closing his eyes. Dean chuckled above him, and he felt the man's lips over his eyes, kissing him gently. His finger crooked, and Castiel shuddered as his prostate was stroked. A second finger slid in beside the first, spreading him wider.

"I can't believe you'd think of that, after everything I did to you," Dean said, more apologetic kisses against Castiel's eyelids and cheeks.

"Did you think of me?" Castiel asked, keeping his eyes closed, savoring every kiss.

"Oh God yes," Dean said with a deep groan. "Every night."

"What were you thinking about?"

"This," Dean said, emphasizing it with a press of his fingers, making Castiel shudder again. He pushed another finger in, making Castiel groan, and he pressed his lips to his mouth, to swallow up those noises, groaning himself at the promise of Castiel's tight heat wrapped around him.

"I'm ready," Castiel said in a breathy gasp when he broke from Dean's kiss.

Dean nodded, more than ready himself. He moved his hands to Castiel's hips, and moved closer to him, spreading his legs wider, pushing his knees up to get the right angle before Dean pressed between Castiel's cheeks, and slid into him.

Castiel sought for purchase as Dean filled him up, and his arms went to the man's neck, wrapped around it, and pulled him close, down on top of him, so their whole bodies were connected. Dean's lips followed, and they kissed as Dean's hips rocked back and forth slowly, stirring them both up into heated, desperate noises.

Dean's thrusts were short and deep, so that the head of his cock pressed insistently against Castiel's prostate, rubbing it constantly, forcing Castiel's cock to drool pre-come all over his belly, slick and hot as it was rubbed from above by Dean's body.

Rubbed raw, filled up, drunk on kisses, Castiel was a puddle of pleasure, clinging to Dean as an anchor, even as the man overwhelmed him with even more. Dean was drowning him in it, until he could barely breathe, letting out tiny mewls and gasps into Dean's mouth as he sought air.

Still, orgasm came as a surprise, like the feeling itself was hidden under everything else, and it came suddenly upon Castiel, almost blinding him. He clenched his eyes shut as he came. Dean broke their kiss to look at Castiel, watch him come undone, let his cries fall unhindered from his lips. His hips continued to move, thrusting into Castiel, milking out every cry and spasm of pleasure, until he too hit his peak, earning another soft cry from Castiel as he was filled up.

A few more hot, sweaty, breathless kisses were exchanged as the two men shuddered through the end of their orgasms, their bodies twitching, still sliding against each other to ride out the last shocks of pleasure, to settle down, heavy and lazy, with no desire to move. Even when Dean tried to slide off to the side, detach their sticky bodies, Castiel clung to him, wouldn't let him move. Dean chuckled, and settled.

"We have to get up and shower at some point," Dean murmured. "And go back to Bobby's."

"Mmmhmm," Castiel said, a noise made to a child voicing a silly request that would never be met, but still made to appease its wants.

"You are coming back to the cabin with me, right?"

"Yeah," Castiel said lazily, barely opening his eyes to look at Dean reassuringly.

"And you'll come hunting with me and Sam?"

"If you want me to," Castiel said, a little demurely. "Bobby taught me how to shoot. I can use a shotgun and a handgun now."

"Bobby always was a good teacher," Dean said, remembering his own frustration in trying to teach Castiel how to handle guns. "But I thought you were going to be our magic man? Throw off demons with your mind. Heal our broken bones."

"I wouldn't expect quite that much from me, yet. I'm still a novice."

"You healed Sam."

"Sam did most of the work himself. I merely showed him how to do it."

Dean smiled at Castiel's modesty, and leaned down to kiss him again, a thank you this time. Just a quick press of lips. He ran his hands through Castiel's hair, stuck up at all angles from their tumble on the bed.

"Don't run off again, OK?" Dean said suddenly, his hands tightening, just a little in Castiel's hair, and giving it a tug. "Even if I tell you to, don't listen to me. I'm stupid and I don't know what I'm talking about."

"I won't," Castiel said, amused by Dean's command, but certain he would do his very best to follow it.

"Now, come on. We need to shower and go back to the cabin before Sam or Bobby come looking for us. We've got leviathans to kill, and I have a feeling, we're going to need your help with that."

Castiel nodded his agreement. He was loath to leave the bed with Dean, a warm nest of comfort he'd just found. But there was work to do, a mess he had to finish cleaning, a world that had to be saved. He got his shit sorted, as Bobby had commanded, and Dean had forgiven him, accepted him again, as he was. He could feel it too, that Dean would need him for this fight. So, wherever Dean went, no matter where he ended up, Castiel was sure to follow him.