Work Text:
Dean is standing at the counter in the kitchen with a half-empty package of ham and the last two slices of bread laid out in front of him. He’s not exactly hungry, but the ache in his stomach lets him know he needs sustenance. Eating a plain ham sandwich with the heels of the loaf sounds about right for the life of Dean Winchester.
The sandwich is halfway to his mouth when a vice-like grip clamps around his mind, the pain sudden and sharp. The food slips from his hand making a muted splat sound when the lunch meat hits the tile. Dean’s vision goes blurry, and he collapses to his knees, clutching at the side of his head.
“Deeeeean. Oh, Dean,” his own voice echoes through his brain.
The hunter had spent hours earlier in the night mentally building higher, stronger, thicker walls around the door that held Michael. He foolishly thought that it had worked.
The initial shock of Michael’s voice returning subsides and Dean breathes a deep sigh of relief. He’s heard the phrase brain cramp before, but this felt like a charlie horse right in his amygdala. It takes a moment for his vision to clear but soon enough Dean’s able to pull himself up, using the counter to keep his balanced.
“I know you can hear me. I’ve kept your body in top shape and I know those perfect ear canals are working. There’s no sense in fighting me, Dean. I will get out of here, and longer it takes, the more time I will spend torturing your family. Little, Sammy? Oh, where should I start? His toes maybe? Send his little piggies to the market?”
“Shut up, you stupid son of a bitch. I’ve got you.” Dean grits through his teeth. His lips tremble and his hands shake with the effort it takes to silence Michael. He can‘t see the archangel. Having hidden the door behind a big black wall, he can still picture the cooler of the bar being ransacked from Michael’s tantrum.
“You adorable little ingrate, you have no control over me. I may be locked in here, but I’m still in your mind, Dean, and I can manipulate you,” Michael says, almost sweetly, like he’s trying to woo Dean into letting him out.
“Fuck you,” Dean shouts. He grips the side of the island for support with such strength, his knuckles turn white. He’s struggling to catch his breath as sweat breaks out across his forehead.
“What did I do?”
Dean hears the comforting, familiar voice of his best friend. He’s unable to turn and address Cas—can’t tell him he’s talking to Michael and not him. It’s taking all his mental energy to cover Michael’s mouth with a strip of metal like he’d once seen in Beetlejuice . He imagines screws being drilled into Michael’s cheeks, holding the guard in place. He can feel his body trembling and his hand digs into the metal of the kitchen island with so much pressure he’s afraid it’ll break the skin.
“Dean?” Cas rushes over and places his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “What’s happening?”
He can’t respond, shaking his head back and forth. With a blink, the walls are no longer there. The hours of time Dean spent laying in his room building new barriers between himself and the archangel locked inside his mind are gone in less than one second. There’s no symbolic crashing or tumbling to the ground. They just disappear.
Michael has somehow pulled him inside the cooler. The hairs on his arm stand up, and he feels a chill run up his spine. The room is as he expected, broken beer bottles litter the floor, turned over kegs, trampled boxes. And in the room’s middle stands Michael, not a wrinkle in his suit. He manifests a shiny red Phillips head screwdriver and starts slowly working the screws loose. There’s a wrinkle at the corner of his eyes and Dean knows that look. It the same one he has on the rare occasion he glimpses himself smiling.
“Dean, look at me,” Castiel cries, pulling at Dean’s shoulder, trying to get him to let go of the counter. The voice sounds close...too close to be Cas talking to him in the kitchen, while he’s trapped in here with Michael. His head jerks to the side just in time to see Cas looking around the room.
“Dean, is this—”
“Castiel, what are you doing here?” Michael asks, his tone dripping with annoyance. At his feet are the screwdriver and the metal plate. The screws are still in his cheeks, the skin pulled taut against the rivets. It’s gruesome, and Dean imagines he’s doing it for effect.
Castiel is at Dean’s side with two quick strides. With a palpable urgency, Cas grabs Dean’s face and holds it between two warm hands, roughly pulling his gaze away from Michael. “Get us out of here. Your mind, your rules remember? Give me my wings back.”
Dean’s eyes dart back and forth, taking in what Cas said. His mind, his rules. He leans into Cas, resting his forehead on the angel’s chest, drawing strength from his friend.
“Interesting,” Michael coos. He runs his index finger and thumb over his chin and up to his pursed lips. His first finger tap, tap, taps.
“Ignore him, Dean. You can do this. I know you can. Save me.” Cas wraps both arms around Dean and pulls him close to his body, smashing his nose into Castiel’s collar bone.
***
Dean bolts upright in his bed, gasping for air. His eyes bounce around the room, trying to place where he is. He sees a sink with a dingy mirror hanging above it, feels the soft, dense foam underneath him. Bedroom —he’s in his own bedroom. Not in the cooler with Michael or in the kitchen with Cas. His heart is hammering in his chest and his nails dig into his palms.
“So this is what you dream about?” Michael asks from the recess of his mind.
The booming voice startles him further awake and his stomach clinches in fear. Okay, so it was just a dream, Dean thinks, but Michael is still there and still able to communicate with him. But Dean’s still in control. Michael can’t pull him back in. My mind, my rules, he reminds himself.
“Oh, you sweet little thing. Keep telling yourself that. It’s just a matter of time until I’m out of here. And now I know your little secret about the angel...well, it won’t be long until I’m out.” Michael smiles a sickeningly sweet grin. He doesn’t use Dean’s mannerisms. It almost feels like he gets off on making Dean squirm at his face and his body acting so different.
“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Dean mumbles, as he throws the covers back and climbs out of bed, pacing the length of his room.
He’s trying to resist giving Michael what he wants. The more he loses control, the weaker his hold on the door becomes. He has to stay focused and not let the dick with wings inside him get him riled up.
“Oh, you would like that, wouldn’t you? A dick with wings inside you?”
“What did you say?” Dean whips around, looking at the closed bedroom door as if Michael were standing behind him, instead of being locked inside his own mind.
“I’m sorry, did you not think I could hear your thoughts? I’m in your mind, Dean. Nothing is a secret.”
“Son of a biiiitch,” Dean screams. His eyes gloss over and he feels nothing but rage building inside him. His arms ache to throw punches, his index finger tingles with the need to pull the trigger of his gun until he’s emptied the clip. Instead of sweeping everything off his desk onto the floor like he wants, he uses the rage to build the black wall of his dreams.
“That won’t stop me. I’ve seen it all. I know what you want—what you think you can’t have. It’s not a pretty waitress with long flowing curls. No, you want the angel who’s been by your side from the moment he resurrected you.”
Dean shakes his head, hoping to disorient Michael. He doesn’t have to listen to him. Maybe the metal plate from the dream would work. It probably wouldn’t last long, but it would give him a moment to himself to come up with a more permanent solution.
He closes his eyes and pulls in a deep breath through his nose, focusing just on Michael’s mouth. The wicked smile from earlier plastered across his face as Dean concentrates on covering the mouth. There is a pounding behind his eyes, and he can feel the muscles in his neck straining, but he pushes through. Michel is still talking but now sounds like he’s underwater.
“Come on,” Dean spits. The archangel is almost quiet as Dean feels a slow trickle escape from his nose. The metal plate appears over Michael’s mouth and all he has to do is just screw it shut. Just a few twists and he will have a moment alone to figure out how to block his prisoner from the rest of his thoughts.
“Dean?” Cas calls out from the hallway. Breaking Dean’s concentration, just enough that the metal plate drops to the floor.
“How sweet, lover boy is worried about you. You should let him in, invite him to the party, just like in your dream. You can nuzzle us against his chest and breathe in that earthy smell you love so much.” Michael tips his head back and laughs. His eyes are wild and he looks almost...scared.
“Shut. Up,” Dean grits. His eyes clench shut and he can hear Cas knocking on the bedroom door, but Michael is worried, and that means Dean’s got him. The device will work to silence him, he knows it will. My mind, my rules. It’s his new mantra, and he feels stronger every time he says it.
The silver plate rises much easier now and Dean’s got it flush against the archangel’s lips when he hears the crunching of wood and feels splinters pelt his body. The invasion startles him, and he looks up to see Cas standing in his doorway holding out a glowing hand. Cas’ forehead scrunches up and his eyes are tight as he charges forward and grabs Dean by both shoulders.
“Fuck,” Dean yells and pushes Cas back. “Fucking...shit. Goddamnit, Cas. I had him. I fucking had him and you—” Dean’s body goes limp and he slumps down into his desk chair. He’s suddenly exhausted with a splitting headache.
“Dean, you were screaming. Why are you bleeding?” Cas drops to a crouch in front of his friend, reaching out to lift Dean’s chin from where it was resting on his chest. Dean looks at the angel with watery eyes. He’s not sure when the tears formed, but he’s too tired to fight them back.
“That’s it. Let it out. Castiel will make it all better. He wants you too, you know. I can see it in his grace. The desire he has for you. And why wouldn’t he? You’re a gorgeous specimen.”
Dean closes his eyes and feels a single tear run down his cheek, and he swipes at his nose, his hand coming away bloody. It feels like a spring has coiled in his stomach when he remembers that Sam’s nose used to bleed when he would exorcize demons. Who would have thought those would be the simpler times?
“Dean, what happened?” Cas asks again, still holding Dean’s chin, and he doesn’t have the strength to pull away, even though he knows Michael will use this against him.
“Nothing, man. It’s nothing,” Dean says, feeling defeated.
“Ah, yes, the lying, how original. Just tell him the truth, Dean. Tell him you want to climb in bed with him and have him hold us until you cry yourself to sleep.” Michael has found a sturdy box to sit on, and he’s lounging casually with his legs crossed as if he were waiting for a drink from the bar on the other side of the door.
“Shut up. Just shut up,” Dean whispers. He wants to lean into Cas. Wants to tell him everything Michael has done in the last ten minutes, but he can’t. It’s not Cas’ burden to bear. He has to do this alone—he’s the one responsible for the whole mess.
“It’s Michael isn’t it?” Cas finally lets go of Dean’s face and stands in front of the hunter.
“Perfect opportunity, Dean. All you have to do is reach out and touch. Take what’s yours,” Michael purrs. While Dean’s focus was back on Cas, Michael slipped out of his coat and tossed it aside with his hat. His vest is unbuttoned and lays loosely to the side, exposing the long column of Dean’s own throat.
“ He thinks about you. Wonders what you would feel like pressed up against him. On nights when he’s really lonely he pretends it’s your hand stroking his cock as he pleasures himself,” Michael says and he slides out of his vest.
“You’re lying,” Dean murmurs. He was so focused on Michael and what he said, he didn’t notice Cas maneuvering him over to his bed. His nose isn’t bleeding anymore, and it dawns on him that his head stops aching. He keeps losing track of time and the whole thing is disconcerting.
“Don’t listen to him, Dean. He’s trying to distract you so he can escape.” Cas sits on the bed next to him, so close their thighs press together. If ever there was a time Dean needed personal space it’s now, while Michael tries out a new form of torture. He draws his legs up and scoots back so he can lie on his side, curled in on himself. At least with his back to the angel, Dean can hide what Michael’s words are doing to him.
“You’ve figured me out. Drowning you didn’t work, contentment didn’t work, but I’ve figured it out. You’ve shown me your weakness. Honestly, I’m a little disappointed at how easy this is. Though, I can’t deny I’m pleased with this new path we’ve taken. I like this body. It’s strong and gives me limitless power. But it’s more than that, Dean. It’s a beautiful body. When I look down at your bowlegs and slim muscular thighs, it makes me feel the same things Castiel does when he looks at you.”
Dean’s breath is ragged, and he wonders if Michael has more control than he initially thought. There was no way he was turned on by his-voice-but-not-really-his-voice telling him Cas wanted him, not now, not after he almost had the archangel silenced. He should feel anger and frustration that Cas is the reason Michael can still speak, but he doesn’t care. He’s growing more tired by the second and all he wants to do is sleep. Maybe Cas will stay and watch over him? He’s done it before, even though Dean has told him not to, he’s felt Cas watch him plenty of times as he’s drifted off. All he has to do is ask.
“You don’t have to ask. He can feel your longing. He can also sense your arousal, but he’s pretending it’s something else. Blaming it on a dream. You two are perfect for each other, a pile of self-loathing and doubt. Castiel wasn’t always like that, you know. You made him the insecure little mouse he is.” Michael is reclining back against a stack of boxes, and he’s wearing nothing but a pair of tight black boxer briefs showing the outline of the semi laying against his thigh.
“What turns you on more, Dean? Me touching your body, or knowing what I’m doing with Castiel sitting right there?” Michael runs his hand over his broad chest. The same chest Dean looks down at every day in one fashion or another. While he’s in the shower, when he’s getting dressed, hell, even what he applies deodorant he’s looking down at himself. He knows he has a body worth appreciating. There was a time, pre-Mark of Cain when he let himself get a little softer around the middle, but since then he can‘t deny that he feels better adding a few extra veggies to his burgers now and then. But Michael’s wrong, seeing him laid out and running his hands all over his body wasn’t turning him on. He wasn’t interested, just confused.
“Dean, talk to me. What’s he saying?” Cas asks, shifting on the bed to face Dean. His knee bumps up against the back of Dean’s thigh, and a jolt of electricity shoots through his body.
“I felt that. One small touch and your dick begins to swell like a teenager. How often do you think about him when you do this, Dean?” Michael’s fingers danced down his torso, almost playfully, before he drops his hand and grips the bulge in his briefs hard.
Dean almost expected to feel it, and his hips gave a tiny jerk back in reflex, pushing his thigh closer to Cas’. He wants to get up and run away, hide from what’s going on, but his legs feel like thousand-pound weights.
“I’m not keeping you here. You want this. Maybe I can help you along,” Michael says as he shimmies the boxer briefs down his legs. Dean sees his own cock clear as day jutting out proudly. He stands in the middle of the cooler, and he’s got to be holding Dean captive because he can’t turn away. He hears Cas talking to him and feels the ever-present hand on his shoulder, Castiel’s patented comfort move.
“What would it be like if he just reached around and down? You’re already halfway hard, one touch from your angel might just send you over the edge. Is this what you want him to do, Dean?” Michel wraps his fingers around his cock and gives a languid stroke. There’s nothing fancy about his technique, just a simple rub, and tug.
“Your hand feels so good wrapped around me, Dean. These calluses feel rough against this velvety smooth cock of yours. Why are you fighting me? I can feel how much you want it. I thought we already established I’m privy to your other thoughts.”
Cas is leaning over him, shaking his shoulders, trying to get Dean to respond. For a moment his eyes clear, and he looks up at his best friend seeing the worry in his eyes. It startles him back to full consciousness. He feels himself slowly receding from the room Michael is still in, shuffling his balls while his wrist jerks up and down. The flushed red tip of his cock disappearing with each upstroke.
“Cas?” Dean asks, not realizing how close he’d been lingering to Michael and the locked door.
“Dean,” Cas huffs, relief surrounding the word.
“Ah, ah, ah, puppet. Where do you think you’re going?” Michael growls. His hands are on either side of his cock, fingers still tickling his sack. “The fun is just getting started, but I see I have to tempt you with the rebel angel. I’m not above using him if it means I get to feel you come. Show me, Dean, what is it you want Cas to do to us?”
The phrase grates Dean’s nerves. Michael is not him, and he will only be a part of Dean until they find a way to get rid of him permanently––and they will. The anger from earlier rises inside him, burning through his veins.
“Oh sweetheart, that’s not anger you’re feeling. That’s lust. Maybe I’m not the angel you want, but as long as I keep Castiel at the forefront of your mind, you’ll stay here with me. Now, show me what you want!” Michael’s voice has a grit to it that sounds like he’s speaking through a synthesizer. It reminds him of his own screams when he was a demon and Sam was purifying him.
He has no control over his response, and the image of Dean’s knees spread over Cas’ hips pushing into the mattress as he grinds down on Cas’ cock flashes behind his eyes for a scant two seconds. He quickly pushed the image away, but it was enough to give Michael a clear view of what he wanted.
“Oh, aren’t you a naughty boy? I knew we would be the ones fucking the angel, but I thought you would be the pitcher. But you want someone to take care of you, don’t you Dean? You want to give yourself over to Castiel, no, Cas, you want Cas to take from you without hesitation. All you have to do is offer yourself over, he’s right there.”
The fleeting moment of clarity is gone, and Dean’s mind is back in the room with Michael. The Archangel’s hips are rocking and he’s fucking into one hand while the other is scratching at the juncture between his groin and thigh. He can feel the sensation in his mind but doesn’t feel the touch on his body, and it’s leaving him confused. Maybe Michael is right? Maybe he could just ask Cas to take care of him. He could write it off, blame it on the archangel. He could know what it’s like to be with Cas and not have the complication that comes with it after.
“Yes, Dean. That’s it. Ask the angel to fuck you,” Michael says. For the brief moment Dean’s mind was elsewhere Michael switched positions. He laid his coat out on the ground of the cooler, using it as a blanket, and is now on his knees. His face pressed into the ground, and his left hand is reaching back circling his hole. The other hand is squeezing his cock, moving back and forth at a speed that no human man could maintain.
Dean’s having a hard time bouncing back and forth between his mind and what’s really in front of him, getting lost in each moment and not being able to keep up with the other. Cas has pushed up behind him and is stroking his hair, the subtle coolness of grace flowing through his body.
“Come on Dean, come back. Stay with me. I know that bar was tempting. You had the pretty girl, you retired. You can have that here Dean. I’ll make sure you get that if you just come back to me,” Cas pleads. He sounds desperate in a way Dean’s never heard, and they’ve been in a lot of desperate situations.
Though he can’t feel Michael’s hands on his body, he talked enough about Cas to have him hard and aching and he wonders what would happen if Cas said yes. Would they regret it? What would it be like the next time he lost Cas after knowing what it was like to make love to him?
“What you want to do with the angel isn’t making love, Dean. It’s unholy what you dream about. I’ve seen how you want him to lean over and take you in his mouth while Sam is asleep in the back. I like the exhibitionist in you, it’s kinky.”
Dean throws his head back, remembering the time he had this dream. Sam had been asleep in the back for hours, and Cas had popped in back when he had wings. He had no new information on the case they were working and told Dean he just wanted to check in and say hello. Dean had told him that’s what cell phones are for, but did a horrible job of hiding his relief to no longer be alone with his thoughts. They spent two hundred miles talking about classic rock, and Dean’s favorite westerns. It was the most normal he’d felt in a long time. It wasn’t his fault he went to sleep that night and dreamed about his cock brushing up against the back of Cas’ throat.
“Hey, there you are. Look at me, Dean. You’re with me. Stay right here,” Cas begs. “Come on Dean, say something.”
“Can’t. He’s got me,” Dean finally admits defeat. He can’t ask Cas to do what he’s thinking, and if he does, Michael will just use his distraction to break down the door.
“No, he doesn’t. I’m right here, I’ve got you. You feel that?” Cas’ hands are warm against his cheek and he leans into the touch. Cas stops trying to push his grace through though Dean and shifts them around until he’s gathered Dean up in his arms. “Focus, Dean.”
“Yeah Dean, focus. Can’t you feel your hole aching for him?” Two of Michael’s finger dip inside himself and twist, working around in circles.
“Cas, distract me.” It’s not enough, it doesn’t tell Cas what he needs, but it’s all he can spit out.
“Wouldn’t it feel so good to have Cas inside you, Dean? His fingers circling around your prostate? Just tell him, he’ll say yes.”
“Distract you how?” Cas asks, pulling away so his eyes can search Dean’s face.
“Come on, you can do it. He wants you to. I can see it all over his marred grace. He wants to lick you open until you’re shaking and begging him to stick his cock in you.”
Dean’s hips buck involuntarily, rubbing up against Cas’ thigh. The accidental friction makes his stomach flip and sweat break out on his forehead as he gasps. Dean wants to do it again. Wants to grind up into Cas without having to tell him what he wants.
“Cas, please.” Please know what I want , Dean thinks. Give me what I need . He can’t say it, doesn’t have it in him to explain why, but later––after Michael is sated and quiet––he will tell Cas why Dean needed to get fucked so badly.
“Please what? Tell me what to do,” Cas demands.
“Tell him.”
Dean looks up at Cas trying one last time, eyes pleading for his help. “Just..” Dean’s panting and struggling to get out what he’s trying to say.
“Cas, oh Cas. Fuck me,” Michael chimes in.
“Pr-promise you’ll forgive me,” Dean sputters and looks down, unable to meet Cas’ gaze.
“Forgive you for what?” Cas watches him expectantly and continues to look until Dean screws his eyes shut, huffing out a breath through his nose.
“I’ll forgive you. No matter what it is, Dean, I’ll forgive you,” Cas says.
Michael is suspiciously quiet, giving Dean a moment to decide if he will go through with it. He surges up and presses his lips against Castiel’s, knocking their teeth together. He’s pressing his mouth against Cas’ too hard but he can’t let up. He’s afraid if he pulls back, even slightly, he’ll back out completely.
Cas sits still long enough it makes Dean feel like even this won’t help him understand, and just as he’s decided the plan failed, Cas catches on and moves his mouth. Slowly at first, but soon he becomes demanding, sliding his tongue along Dean’s bottom lip, seeking entry. Dean parts his lips and licks into the angel’s mouth, tongues dancing together in a wet slide.
Dean doesn’t have time for Cas to catch up. He’s hard and throbbing and needs to feel Cas against him.
“Ask him to mojo your clothes off,” Michael interrupts.
Dean pulls back, almost forgetting that Michael is along for the ride. “Fuck.”
Cas moves in to chase his mouth and Dean has to move out of the way. Using Cas’ grace is a good idea, and Dean’s desperate enough not to care he was using the archangel’s suggestion on how to have sex with his best friend.
Cas whines at Dean’s rebuke and looks at him with wide eyes.
“Cas, mojo our clothes away. Now.”
Dean’s shocked by how quickly Cas gets them naked. His mind is clearly functioning at a higher level.
“That’s it, open us up for him.”
Dean rolls to his back and spreads his legs, inviting Cas between his thighs. He watches as Cas crawls up the bed and settles with his hands on Dean’s thighs. Cas stares down at him, and Dean feels a tingle run up his spine. Having those blue eyes trained on him is more alluring than he imagined. They lock him in place, keeping him from squirming. He‘s the poor bastard that turned to stone after looking at Medusa.
Cas runs his hand from Dean’s knee down to his calf where he gently grabs his ankle and brings it to his mouth. Cas presses his plush lips against the thin skin around the bone and slowly kisses his way up Dean’s leg. He stops occasionally to lick or suck a certain spot and it drives Dean wild.
“Tell him to go faster, Dean. We need him. Don’t you want his––” the metal plate slams against Michael’s mouth. He tries to speak, but it only comes out in garbled hums.
The archangel distracted Dean long enough for Cas to have made his way up Dean’s body, kissing up his chest. Warm breath ghosts over his nipple, making Dean moan deep in his throat. The sound inspires Cas to latch down on his dusky nipple and suck. Dean gasps as teeth scrape over the sensitive bud. Want and need flow through him like a river of lava, burning everything in its wake. Cas has settled between Dean’s thighs, and with one thrust he’s brought their cocks together, catching in a rough slide.
The angel pulls off Dean’s nipple and lets out a deep growl. Dean runs his fingers through Cas’ thick hair and grips the soft locks, guiding Cas’ mouth back to his. Their tongues tangle as their hips grind into each other. Dean’s so lost in the moment he doesn’t notice the clattering of metal falling to the floor, exposing Michael’s ravenous smirk. Instead, he forcefully sucks Cas’ bottom lip into his mouth and bites down possessively.
“That’s it, Dean. Show the angel he belongs to us.”
Dean feels a rumble in the back of his throat as Cas continues to assault his mouth.
“There is no us ,” Dean says through clenched teeth.
A dark metal door slams down in front of the cooler, muffling Michael’s words. He knows the archangel is still talking, but he can’t quite make out what he‘s saying. For good measure, a set of heavy wooden doors lock in front of the other two.
The corners of Dean’s mouth turn up, satisfied to have finally silenced Michael. My mind, my rules. Now he can give Cas his full attention, only Cas has pulled away, and is watching him with a horrified expression. He thinks back over what would have Cas so shocked when he realizes what he’s said out loud.
“Oh, fuck Cas. No,” he reaches up and pulls the angel down to his chest. “I was talking to Michael, Cas. I wasn’t saying that to you.” Dean kisses the dark tufts of hair tickling his nose. “He’s gone now.”
Cas leans his head back to look at Dean questioningly. “Gone?”
“Locked away or whatever. At least for now. We can finish this without him.” Dean feels like he just woke from a twelve-hour sleep, clear-headed for the first time in what feels like hours.
“You want to finish?” Cas asks, settling himself on one elbow.
“Fuck yeah, I want to finish.” For emphasis, Dean pushes his erection against Cas’ stomach. This part will be hard to explain away. Cas has helped him get rid of Michael, and really they could stop and his friend will have done his part. But Dean doesn’t want to stop and hardly cares about why or what will happen if they keep going.
Cas shimmies up and aligns their cocks again, rocking into Dean. He’s imagined doing this with Cas a multitude of ways, and most of them involved penetration. But Dean’s so far gone, feeling Cas twitch against his most sensitive area, that he considers just riding it out and coming with their dicks smashed together. But this might be the only time Dean can have this, and he will not waste his one opportunity. He was impatient with the undressing, and though it would be easier and faster to have Cas mojo him open, Dean wants to feel his long slender fingers deep inside of him.
“Cas, fuck me,” Dean whispers against the angel’s lips.
Cas nods but doesn’t let go of Dean’s mouth. The hand that was gripping Dean’s side slides down and grabs his hip, holding him still while Cas gives a hard thrust. Dean moans at the sudden roughness and loves how it feels. Cas’ palm moves down Dean’s hip, around his ass where he digs into the meaty flesh for leverage, rubbing them together harder and faster.
“Please, Cas,” Dean begs. He lifts his leg, giving Cas better access to his hole. “I need you.”
Cas grunts as his fingers skirt over Dean’s skin before dropping to the tight ring of muscle, rubbing slow and soft figure eights around his rim. Dean is seconds away from reaching out to the nightstand, hoping he can reach the lube when a wet finger presses against him. Cas would not use his grace to prep Dean’s ass, but using his mojo for lube made Dean want to cry out in celebration.
“Yes,” he moans into Cas’ mouth. He wants his release, to feel the rush of pleasure wash over him and leave him in a state of euphoria, while also wanting Cas to fuck him for hours, tantric sex style.
Dean lets himself relax into Cas’ ministrations, and before he knows it, Cas pushes one finger in to the first knuckle and wiggles it back and forth. The thrumming of his heartbeat in his ears makes their ragged breath sound muffled. Cas is huffing and gasping like he’s the one being pried open.
Cas suddenly withdraws his hand, pulling himself up from his elbow to hover over Dean, and for a moment they stare at each other. Dean’s disbelief that this is finally happening is reflected at him through an artic blue gaze––hunger and need mixed in.
At some point, probably while focusing on Michael, Cas must have fixed the bedroom door. Relief floods through Dean when his eyes flick to the door frame and sees they are securely locked inside. Cas is still staring at him, and Dean is feeling slightly uncomfortable under his unwavering attention, feeling overexposed with his leg still in the air. He drops it back down to the mattress.
“Don’t do that,” Cas says, grabbing both of Dean’s knees and pushing his legs open wider.
“Do what?”
“Hide from me.”
The angel moves his hands to the back of Dean’s thighs and pushes his legs up and as wide as they will go. “I’ve wanted to see you like this for so long, Dean. Please, don’t hide from me.”
Dean’s mind short circuits, wondering if Michael was right about Cas thinking about him while he pleasures himself. He never expected Cas to be so sure or confident in the bedroom, and in every fantasy Dean’s ever had, Cas was flushed and fumbling. This Cas seems calm and more collected than even Dean, with all his experience. Panic builds in his chest as he wonders if he never woke up from the dream, and Michael has trapped him in his room with Cas while he’s out there destroying the world. It would be his most effective method.
“Is this real?” Dean asks, the pink on his cheek not only from arousal.
“I was thinking the same thing,” Cas chuckles. “Right now, as long as I get to have you, I don’t care if it’s real or not.”
“Yeah, me too,” is all Dean’s able to say.
Cas is looking down at Dean’s entrance, gripping his cock as he lines them up. Dean wants to see, wants to watch Cas disappear inside him for the first time. He has to contort his body in a weird angle, but he has a perfect view up on one elbow as he watches Cas push into him, slow and easy.
He’s been with guys before, knows what it feels like when the tip of his cock pops past the rim, but he never imagined it could feel so amazing on this end. He feels the same popping feeling as the widest part of Cas’ cock slides into him, and he can’t hold himself up, the pleasure making him feel weak and boneless. He drops back down to the mattress and takes a few cleansing breaths as Cas inches forward. He feels two strong fingers push into the side of his ass, and almost giggles when the burn and slightly uncomfortable stretch eases. Cas did his forehead boop to Dean’s ass cheek.
Cas drops down chest to chest with Dean, holding himself up with his forearms. They give themselves a moment to fully take each other in before it becomes too much for Dean, and he bucks his hips up. The moment feels charged, too big to handle, and Dean’s sure he’s not going out of this without things changing for them. He hoped he would, he wanted to be able to brush this off as a one-time thing, but there is no way he can live knowing this what it’s like to be with Cas…and never have it again.
He wonders if Cas feels the same because for just a moment, a fleeting second, Dean sees a somber expression pass over his best friend’s face. He doesn’t have time to analyze it before it’s gone, and Cas is dropping his forehead to Dean’s shoulder then he carefully rolls his hips.
Cas peppers his collar bone with kisses as he gradually pulls out and pushes back in, each time coming out a little further until he’s catching the ridge of his cock on Dean’s rim. He’s expecting the pace to pick up, for Cas to fuck into him as hard as he was grinding their cocks together, but Cas keeps his movements slow and steady. Given how close Dean is to coming, he’s thankful for Cas’ easy-as-you-please pace.
Dean turns his face and captures Cas’ lips from where the angel worked his way up Dean’s throat. Their mouths align perfectly, and Dean lets out a quiet whimper as he digs his nails into Castiel’s shoulders.
Cas shifts as he pushes in and Dean comes alive with pleasure. Everything he felt until then was exceptional, but having Cas brush against his prostate is beyond his comprehension. He trembles with each pass over the sensitive bundle of nerves, and he knows he will not last.
“Cas, please don’t stop. I’m––” He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before Cas’ mouth is back on his. His hips going from long sluggish rolls to more pointed thrusts, hitting Dean’s prostate each time.
Dean’s cock is trapped between their stomachs and the friction is just enough to keep him going, but when he comes, it will be because Cas has found his pleasure center with exact precision.
Cas picks up the pace and rocks his hips back and forth, thrusting in and out of Dean. His arms are shaking and Dean hopes it’s a sign he’s getting close because Dean doesn’t have much time left in him.
Staring is a normal part of their friendship. At first it was a weird thing that Cas did, but eventually, it became a thing they did…but there is nothing friendly about the way Castiel is looking down at Dean. It’s dark and possessive and really hot.
“... gonna come, Cas. Yes.”
Dean feels the fire burning in his belly begin to spread through him, a tingle running through his shoulders like he’s being shocked with a 9-volt battery. He takes one last gasping breath before he gives in and lets himself go. His muscles tense and electricity rolls through him in waves as the first ropes of cloudy white come paint his chest.
“Cas. Cas. Cas, ” Dean chants over and over again, unable to say or do anything else. He feels like his orgasm lasts minutes and by the time he’s done, he falls against the mattress nothing more than a puddle of jello.
He does his best to hold his weak legs open for Cas as the angel drops his head back down to Dean’s chest. It seems to be a position Cas likes, and it warms Dean to think he already has a favorite spot. There is no way they aren’t doing this again, Cas said he’d been wanting to have Dean like this for a while now, and there’s no reason to hold back now that they’ve started. It complicates things, makes an already messy life that much more, but it feels like home, like safety and happiness. It’s a feeling Dean hasn’t known since he was four years old, and the world will burn before Dean gives this up. He almost feels bad for the son of a bitch that tries to take Cas from him now.
“Dean, oh fuck, Dean,” Cas cries and in Dean’s euphoric state he can’t help the ear to ear grin that Cas cussing gives him. His sweet rebel angel has never used such profanity, and it’s weirdly erotic.
Cas’ hips begin to falter and his thrusts are erratic, chasing down his release. With one final jerk, Cas is pushing into Dean so hard he slides up the bed and knocks into the headboard, and that’s ten times sexier than the swear words.
Dean feels the air whoosh out of him when Cas collapses down on him, puffs of air curling around his nipple from where Cas’ lays on the side of his face.
He’s not sure how long they lay there in silence, but his breathing is back to normal and the sweat and come have started to cool on his chest. It would be gross if it wasn’t a reminder of what he and Cas have just done.
Cas must sense his trepidation, ‘cause all too soon he’s extracting himself from Dean. The feeling of come leaking out of his hole makes him cringe. He’s heard some like the feeling, saying it makes them feel claimed in the most erotic way. But the body is hard-wired to worry if anything leaves that area without his explicit consent, and since this is Dean’s first time being fucked, it’s not unreasonable to see why it makes him a little uncomfortable.
“Heya, Cas? Can I get a cleanup?” Dean asks, trying to hide the burning in his cheeks.
Cas nods and places his lips to the spot on Dean’s chest that he has claimed as his own. The cool rush of grace cleans him up and he feels like he just stepped out of the shower.
Somewhere between Dean’s nightmare and their tryst, the blankets were shoved to the end of the bed where they lay in a careless heap. Dean eyes them longingly, wishing he could pull Cas down next to him and wrap them up. He almost has enough energy to sit up and get them, but not quite enough to make his body move. His laziness pushes him to a new level of comfort where he’s actually going to ask Cas for what he wants.
He turns his head to look at the angel lying next to him. His eyes are closed and Dean’s almost convinced he’s dozing. Until Cas peeks one eye open and mumbles, “You’re staring.”
“Takes one to know one.” Dean wants to facepalm himself and vows to work in his comebacks...tomorrow.
“Can you mojo the blanket up here?” Cas opens both eyes and gives him a death glare. He looks like he’s about to lecture Dean, but decides it’s not worth the effort. Soon enough, though, he’s wrapped in the warmth of his comforter and Cas’ skin. Like a kitten, Cas nudges at Dean’s arm until he lifts it, giving the angel the access he needs to lay his head down on Dean’s chest.
“We’re talking about this tomorrow, but for now, get some sleep,” Cas says, throwing his leg around the other man.
Dean wraps his arms around Cas’ shoulders with the promise that he will explain everything in the morning.