Dean thinks he'll never get tired of this; flying down unmarked country roads at 85 miles an hour, his left hand white-knuckled on the steering wheel while the right clutches at dark, unruly hair in his lap. He flicks the cruise control on and takes his foot off the accelerator in favor of simply sitting back and enjoying. Sam is folded up across the back seat, snoring like he hasn't slept in weeks, and Cas…

Castiel's lips are stretched around Dean's dick like they were made for this, pink and puffy and wet from saliva and precome. His fingers tighten in Cas' hair as the angel's tongue probes gently at the slit, and Cas fucking moans like he's enjoying this as much as Dean is. The vibration from Cas' throat makes Dean's balls tingle, and he chokes on an "Oh, God" ashis hips roll unintentionally to shove himself deeper into Cas' mouth. And – Cas, God – the angel goes willingly, swallowing Dean's cock all the way down to the root. Dean can feel his breathing stutter, and suddenly he's taking in more oxygen than he needs, his chest heaving and his head swimming.

It's sloppy and wet, the front Dean's boxers soaked with saliva that Castiel hadn't bothered to swallow or wipe away, but Dean doesn't much care. He's never been much of a fan of blowjobs, but with Cas he can let loose – thrust up into that tight throat without fear of choking him or hurting him – and Dean finds he almost enjoys as much as he does pumping into Cas' body from behind, smacking his asscheek with an open palm, listening to the angel yelp in surprise.

"I'm gonna fuck you so hard later, angel," Dean grunts quietly, careful not to wake his brother and avoid a mood-killing (not mention painfully awkward) temper tantrum.

Cas just moans, louder than he should, really, and the vibrations pull a small groan from Dean. He rolls his hips again, harder this time, and Cas' fingernails dig into Dean's hips as he sucks and swallows in unison around the dick in his throat. Dean glances over at Castiel's body, twisted in the passenger seat, and can't help but notice the large bulge in the front of the angel's pants. He wishes he could reach it, pull Cas' cock out and jack him off while he gives Dean the best head he's ever had, but the positioning isn't right and Dean's arms aren't that long and – fuck – he probably doesn't have enough brain cells left right now to successfully get Cas off.

"Pull your dick out, Cas," he commands, barely above a whisper. Castiel whimpers. "Jack yourself off. Wanna see you come on that trenchcoat."

Cas shifts, his right hand moving to his pants to get them undone. He pushes them and his briefs down just enough to free his cock, angry and red and desperate to be touched, and wraps his hand in a loose fist around the base.

"Start slow," Dean breathes. His eyes dart from the road, to Cas, then back to the road again, and trying to concentrate on all three things at once could get them killed, but the adrenaline rush makes Dean feel alive for the first time in ages, and Cas is fucking fucking his own hand right now and still taking everything Dean gives him and giving so fucking much in return, and Dean thinks his head is going to explode from the sheer deargodyes of it all. He can't stop thrusting into Cas' throat, or guiding the angel's head just so; and he can't stop his eyes from going back and forth from Cas' hand on his dick and the straight shot of black pavement ahead of them; and he's so fucking close now, can feel the orgasm building low in his gut; and he has to warn Cas, chokes out, "Cas, fuck, I'm gonna…"

And the angel pulls off of him, wraps his hand around Dean's dick, and tugs – once, twice – and Dean is coming, thrusting into Cas' hand as the coil in his belly snaps, white-hot pleasure overtaking him and spurting in thick ropes over Castiel's lips, cheeks, chin. Cas is coming, too, and Dean can't take his eyes off him – come-streaked face twisted in a mixture of agony and ecstasy while his dick is shooting string after string of release onto his coat and tie.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ, Cas," Dean pants once it's over, lightheaded and blessed-out and so, so ready to pull over in some field somewhere and just go to sleep.

Cas sits up, swipes his thumb through one of the wet streaks on his cheek, and sucks the thumb into his mouth. And if Dean were eighteen again, his cock would be taking interest in the angel licking come off his fingers.

"I assume that was satisfactory, Dean?" Cas asks after he's cleaned himself up and tucked them both away.

"More than satisfactory, angel," Dean sighs, still riding the high of the adrenaline-fueled orgasm and petting Castiel's hair.

"Can we just get to a motel so I can scrub my brain, please?" Sam says quietly – traumatized – from the back seat.

And Dean just smiles, pleased with the knowledge that he's still getting more action than his little brother.


Not real sure how this happened. I was in the mood for road head, apparently. /shrug.