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After he fell, Cas liked to drive. He told Dean it was about the speed, the freedom, the closest to flying he could get.
Which was the truth, but not entirely.
A couple weeks after he fell permanently, and once the initial shock of said fall had worn off, Dean suggested they go for a drive.
“C’mon,” he had cajoled, waggling his eyebrows, “Fresh air, road beneath our feet, good tunes. Exactly what you need to clear your head.”
“You make me sound like a dog, Dean,” Cas had said in return. Then, “Are you trying to lure me to the veterinarian’s office for my shots?”
Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m trying to lure you into having some fun, Fido.” He jingled his keys, patting his knees expectantly. “Now c’mon, boy! Who wants a bone? Whowantsabone?!” At Cas’ unimpressed expression, he added, “Good dog, now get in the car.”
It had seemed like any other car ride at the time, but on reflection, there were a number of variables that all had to come together exactly right for the sequence of events that took place long after the first ride.
First, Cas was human. Or, fallen from grace. Either way, he was now subject to the same desires, foibles, and bodily functions as humans (not that he already wasn’t in possession of two of those three characteristics as an angel).
Second, this wasn’t Cas’ first time in the Impala as a human, but it was his first time in the Impala as a human who wasn’t in a considerable amount of distress. There had been the apocalypse when he had been on his way to falling, and then his time as a human after Metatron had stolen his grace, both of which were stressful, waylaying situations. He’s spent time in the Impala since his fall, but none of it particularly enjoyable, mostly since he was too busy processing his own, permanent graceless state. This ride was the first time he wasn’t actively distressed in one way or another, unless his constant, lowkey annoyance with the world in general was to be counted.
Third, Dean was in a good mood. A proper, whistle-along-with-the-music good mood. It’s not as if Cas cares any less for Dean when he’s more sombre, but seeing him this buoyant was still a strange, enlightening thing for him. The careless way with which Dean’s fingers drummed on the steering wheel, the brightness of his eyes, the horrifically dramatic lip synching; it was all a very exotic cocktail that Cas was more than willing to drink.
Fourth, and perhaps most important, Cas’ (charitably described) very keen interest in Dean was finally catching up with him. It had started to catch him at increasingly more inopportune moments, from unplanned meetings outside the shower room in the bunker (Dean’s skin had still been pink and glistening from the hot water) all the way to getting so distracted by the sliver of Dean’s (pale, freckled, broad) lower back revealed during a particularly nasty fight against a ferocious banshee that she managed to get the drop on him and knock him out cold for a solid six hours.
Having divided attentions as an angel versus a human are very different things, however. As an angel, Cas could focus on multitudes. He could see that (pale, freckled, broad) expanse of Dean’s lower back, but also be calculating the estimated mass of the universe at the same time to temper any distracting thoughts that might arise. When he was an angel, Dean was a very large component of his universe of multitudes.
Now that he was a human, though, Dean was so overwhelming he may as well be a multitude all his own, a glorious, sun drenched creature who exudes the kind of magnetism Cas has only ever before witnessed at an atomic bonding level. Cas was completely captured by him, his gait, his lips, his arms. A mere smile from him, a quick, innocuous flash of white teeth, and Cas was long gone, gone further than he ever flew as an angel, more miles than the Winchesters have driven in their entire lives.
The heat of Dean was intoxicating, his heady presence beyond the effects of any alcohol Cas had ever consumed. He’d always try to pretend it was Dean’s heat wrapped around his dick as he jerked himself off at night, chest heaving and eyelashes fluttering, and his best orgasms were the ones accompanied by the memory of Dean’s voice, of Dean’s touch.
All of these things came together in that drive, plus one final, external factor: The true instigator of the situation, a bumpy, gravel road somewhere in the back country of Lebanon that Dean swore was some kind of short cut.
Dean was singing along (terribly) to a song Cas only knew because Dean insisted on playing it almost every time they were in the Impala. His voice shook along with the car, and every couple seconds he glanced over at Cas, having dubbed himself the fun police, grinning brightly. He reached over to forcibly sway Cas to the music, his palm warm and firm against Cas’ side. Coupled with the vibrations from the road, and Dean being simultaneously so achingly beautiful and so desperately, incorrigibly attractive, Cas felt the familiar tingle of arousal stir in his abdomen, quickly flowing to lands south. Dean continued to sing, and the car continued to roll and bump across the road, and Cas’ asshole repeatedly and blissfully was slammed against the seat with every jump and jerk over the gravel.
He tried to swallow around the urgent, desperate noises that soon seemed determined to escape him, but one particularly intense jump that sent absolute waves of arousal crashing through him was enough to dislodge a low, guttural groan from him, shaken loose like a runaway marble. He tried not to writhe in the seat, tried to ignore how desperate he was from both ends, caught between wanting to drag his rim across these leather seats with Dean watching him, and thrusting up against the rising pressure in his jeans, his cock eagerly flushing in his pants.
Dean turned the music down and turned to look at Cas, swallowing heavily.
“You, uh… you okay over there, buddy?” he asked, his eyes dark and trained on Cas, voice just a little shaky.
“I’m fine,” Cas tried to grunt out, “Just…” they hit another bump and Cas’ breath hitched. “Bumpy.”
Dean cleared his throat loudly, said, “we’re almost back to the highway,” gaze then trained fully on the windshield. His knuckles were white on the wheel.
Cas didn’t want it to end. The rumble of the engine as it ticked away under his skin, Dean’s gaze alone that felt like an aphrodisiac, that egged Cas on, that had one hand absently, urgently rubbing his upper thigh as his other clutched at the seat for some kind of purchase.
“Could we, um, stop somewhere with a bathroom?” Cas managed to ask, feeling pre-come start to leak out the head of his cock. “Please.”
Dean cleared his throat again.
“Sure,” he said, eyes still determinedly fixed on the road in front of them.
The arousal flowed through Cas, thick and hot, all the way to the gas station. Even after returning to the main, much smoother road, he was too far gone, too close to the edge to be able to pull himself back. Every move got him harder, every turn had him stretching himself a new way, a new kind of delicious shock. And of course, even though the bumps of the road were gone, Dean still remained, plump lips pursed and wet from repeated licking.
As soon as they got to the gas station, Cas locked himself in the bathroom and leaned against the door, pulling himself out right away and biting down ferociously hard on his bottom lip to stifle the moan he knew Dean would be able to hear, all the way in the Impala. Orgasming in a dirty gas station bathroom after getting hard thanks to a couple bumps in the road isn’t the most dignified human behavior, Cas knew. But he also knew he didn’t care, because when he came, white spurting up his torso and leaking down his shaft, he remembered the way Dean had looked in the car, the color of his eyes and the curve of his jaw, coupled with the roar of the engine beneath him, in him.
He cleaned himself up as best he could, holding his stained t-shirt over the sink and working the hand soap into all the wet spots. He stood under the hand dryer until he was at least semi presentable, and splashed some cold water on his face before exiting the bathroom.
When he got back to the Impala, Dean almost jumped out of his skin as Cas slid into the passenger seat, cheeks flushed and eyes wild.
“Give a guy a little warning!” he snapped, pulling agitatedly at the hem of his coat. “Fuck.”
His agitation with Cas obviously wasn’t transferrable, though, because after that, Dean invited Cas on more drives. Somehow, they always found themselves back on that bumpy road, exchanging bumpier conversation. Dean, his gaze always subject to wander while behind the wheel, grew suddenly very stringent about car safety, eyes always front, mouth apparently always dry since he was constantly wetting his lips, while Cas did his best not to let on just how much he was enjoying himself. His ass loved it.
He tried different positions. He started sitting with his legs further and further apart, hoping to really be able to rock himself subtly back into the seat and onto his hole in time with the rocks of the Impala. He went commando a couple times, both loving and regretting the feel of rough denim against his rim. Sometimes, he would keep his legs tight together, thrusting forward with the Impala as she hit another bump, dragging the tip of his cock against the crotch of his trousers, his ass against the smooth leather.
Dean would sometimes go slow on the road, sometimes fast, and even though he was always watching the road, he was also always watching Cas. Multiple blink-and-you’ll-miss-it glances, his pupils dilated and face flushed, mouth fallen slightly agape and throat working. Not that either of them ever said anything about it, but Cas definitely milked the situation a bit, drawing out his groans and making sure to wear tight t-shirts and loose fitting jeans on all of his and Dean’s drives. More than once, he’s noticed Dean staring at his hips, his lap. He’s felt Dean’s gaze drop to his cock with as much subtlety as a lead balloon, and the weight upon him is delightful, invigorating. He liked to switch up positions, sometimes wide legged, sometimes thighs pressed close together, once with one knee bent and foot up on the seat, the other on the floor (any other time, he knows Dean would have told him to get his feet off the seat, but as it was, Dean’s eyes had only widened, his tongue darting out seemingly of its own volition to wet his lips). That gave his ass a nice stretch, and he carded his hips side to side a bit, under the guise of shifting his weight, though Dean’s laser focus on his kneecap told him he wasn’t quite buying it.
And today, Dean asks Cas to go for another ride, and the “yes” falls from Cas’ lips before he can even process the question. He changes into a white t-shirt and makes sure to take off his briefs before slipping back into his jeans, already feeling the heat in his stomach as his bare cock drags lightly on the denim.
They climb into the Impala, and Cas wriggles his ass to get situated, already feeling the anticipation of the bumpy road tickle along under his skin. He can literally hear Dean swallow beside him, and the slight wavering in his voice when he asks, “Ready to ride?”
“Yes, Dean,” Cas says, making direct eye contact with him. Dean’s eyes are wide and cautious and excited as he nods, hand slipping slightly on the key as he goes to start the car. The shudder and growl with which the Impala starts goes right to Cas’ dick, and he lets out an involuntary breath as they head down the sideroad the bunker is situated on. Dean is flexing his fingers on the steering wheel, and Cas’ hole clenches around nothing along to their rhythm, desperate for any kind of intrusion.
In fact, despite his expectation that he would become desensitized to the sensation of Dean and the car and the road over time, he’s found that the longer this goes on, the more eager he becomes. The anticipation does so much of the heavy lifting when it comes to a routine like this, so much so that Cas is sometimes able to get himself off just with a hand and the thought of driving towards the road. Of course in these thoughts, Dean is always there. Sometimes watching, sometimes participating.
His need is so great today that Cas subtly slips a hand into his pocket, running the tips of his fingers up and down his shaft through the thin fabric lining. It makes his heart and breath stutter, and Cas can feel Dean’s eyes on him, can practically smell it.
“Dean,” he grounds out, and he doesn’t mean it to come out as breathy as it does.
The car swerves momentarily, Cas’ side dropping onto the gravel shoulder of the road, and it only ratchets up his arousal as he feels the metal tremble beneath him.
“Fuck, Cas, fuck,” Dean says as he pulls the car back onto the road. He’s back to a death grip on the steering wheel, dragging one tight hand through his hair.
Cas would stop stroking himself, but it feels so good he’s not sure if he can. The feather light touches on his cock are making his breaths come short and fast, and he grips his thigh with his free hand, digging his fingers into the meat of it. A choked off moan is pulled from him when he stretches his index finger to the very tip of his cock and can feel the first spot of moisture through the fabric there.
“Dean,” he says desperately, moving his hips forward. Inside his pants, the denim scratches against his ass, the metal divots pressing into his glutes.
“Cas,” Dean almost-whines, shifting in his seat.
Cas reaches as far as the inner lining of his pocket will allow, just barely touching the underside of his cock, towards the base, and sighs out in pleasure as he stokes there, tipping his head back, the line of his throat taught as he swallows.
Then, a hand is scrabbling at his side, finding purchase on his sleeve and clinging there hard. Dean’s hand is desperate, jumping out of his own skin as he slams on the accelerator for the last few minutes before the road, pulling on Cas’ shirt the entire time, practically begging.
They come to a stop right before the road starts, Dean’s foot on the brake, and his hand slowly loosens its death grip on Cas’ sleeve. For a moment they both sit there, breathing hard, staring out the windshield. Cas can feel his own erection tenting his jeans, and a quick glance left shows him Dean isn’t too far behind, despite not touching himself once the whole drive here. That thought alone has Cas perking up even more, another thrill shooting through him.
He’s just about to say something when Dean smashes on the accelerator for a total of five seconds, thrusting them forward over the first patch of lumps and bumps in the road, then brakes just as he grabs Cas by the shirt and literally drags him across the seat, crashing their mouths together and making a sound like he’s been dying for this for years. Cas barely has a chance to register the vibrations from the car that are still rocking through him as he dives into Dean headfirst, teeth clashing, the two of them voraciously claiming each other. One of Cas’ hands falls to Dean’s inner thigh while the other tangles in Dean’s hair, pulling tightly. Dean groans loudly into his mouth, and Cas greedily swallows the sound, letting it vibrate from the inside out, such an incredibly different sensation than the Impala’s vibrations that go from the outside in. Cas wants more of it, wants more of that feeling inside him. As he sucks fervently on Dean’s lower lip, his hands drop to his own pants as he flicks open the button on his jeans and undoes his fly, hissing as the cold metal teeth of the zipper make contact with his cock. When Dean glances down and sees Cas’ dick spring out, flushed and hard already, he moans again, this time into the juncture between Cas’ shoulder and neck.
“Fuck, are you trying to kill me?” he asks breathlessly, as Cas, impatient as always, leans forward to undo Dean’s pants as well.
“I know the driver’s seat wasn’t made for two,” Cas pants as he works Dean’s zipper down, slapping him on the ass to get him to lift his hips as Cas drags them down to mid-thigh. “But who are we if not a pair of rule-breakers.” He wraps his hand around Dean’s shaft, pulling it out through the slit in his boxers and Dean bites down on the skin of Cas’ neck, muffling his groan there. Cas shudders at the wetness of Dean’s tongue laving over the bite, struck by how pretty Dean’s dick is, blushing just for him. The spattering of freckles across the shaft stand out, and Cas gives it a pull just to see how it feels in his palm. (The answer? Incredibly smooth. And the image of the head of Dean’s dick disappearing and reappearing through his palm as he pre-emptively jacks him is something Cas isn’t going to forget for a long time.)
“Lube,” Dean manages to groan out, “Fuck me, I don’t know if I have any lube on me.”
“You’ve been driving me down this road for how long with an ulterior motive and didn’t think to bring along any sex aids?” Cas murmurs as he runs a hand beneath Dean’s shirt, rolling first one nipple and then the other between his fingers. Dean arches into it, breath all ghosting out of him in one big gust.
“Honestly,” Dean gasps out as Cas sucks at a sensitive part of his neck, “At this point I’ll dip my dick in the gas tank I don’t give a fuck.”
“We are not using gasoline as lubricant, Dean,” Cas chastises him, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his own small bottle of lube. He drops it into Dean’s lap. “Slick yourself up.”
Dean lets out a quiet moan as he drizzles lube into his palms, briefly rubbing them together to warm them up before wrapping a fist around himself. When he starts to fuck into his own fist, Cas presses a hand to his abdomen, trying to calm his own surging arousal at the sight.
“That’s my job,” he reminds Dean as he takes some lube for himself, getting three fingers slick and ready. He unties his shoes one-handed, kicking them off into the passenger side footrest and getting on his knees on the seat, reaching a hand behind himself as he carefully inserts one finger, easing himself back onto it as Dean watches, heavy lidded.
“Holy shit,” he says, hand still on his dick but not moving, as if he’d forgotten it was there as soon as Cas started prepping himself.
“I’ve been doing this every night for the past couple, ah, weeks,” Cas pants, crooking his finger just the way he likes. “It made these car rides…” he breathes out. “Even more enjoyable.” His eyes flick up to Dean’s, “It’s amazing how versatile an asshole is if you’re willing to put in the time and effort.”
Dean lets out what can only be described as a cry as he launches forward, pressing his mouth, hot and insistent, to every bare patch of Cas’ skin he can reach.
“You in your room, on your bed, stretching yourself out,” he gasps between kisses, “in a million different ways, while I walk by your door… completely unaware,” he bends, running his tongue the full length of Cas’ cock. “You fucking sneak. You- you-”
“Asshole?” Cas supplies, sliding his second and then his third finger into himself. He’s been prepping for this for so long, and he’s ready, he’s been ready and empty for what feels like forever.
“Fuck you,” Dean grounds out, and then, “Taking too long, Cas, fuck, please-” and then he lets out a startled groan when Cas takes his fingers out of himself, pushing Dean back against the driver’s side door.
“Apologies, Dean,” Cas says as he carefully lines himself up over Dean’s lap, his back to Dean’s chest, “I don’t have a self-lubricating anus.”
“Oh my god are you trying to, ah—ah, fuck--” he gasps out as his dick catches the edge of Cas’ rim. Cas’ neck is at an awkward angle to the roof, and he has to hold onto the steering wheel for balance with one hand while he guides Dean’s dick into his ass with the other, but the sensation is so overwhelming that he doesn’t even notice the awkward position, only the feeling of Dean finally being inside him. His dick lies against the steering wheel, smeared with streaks of pre-come as Cas’ dick slides all over it as he attempts to seat himself fully. “Ruin the moment?” Dean finally finishes, “Or is that something that just comes- fuck- naturally?” Both of his hands are under Cas’ shirt, securely wrapped around his hips as his fingers press to the smooth jut of skin just below Cas’ hipbones. One hand loosens its grip to rub the length of Cas’ thigh encouragingly, and Dean groans into Cas’ back as he grips the underside of Cas’ quad. “You’re so thick,” he groans, “God, fuck, I never even realized-” He cuts himself off as Cas sinks down another inch or so, both of them stopping to catch their breath.
“Thank you,” Cas says wryly. Then, “We’re trying to have sex in a space that’s too small for men of our stature. You would think the mood was ruined long before I got to it, but strangely enough I’d still like to sit on your cock, as the current evidence would suggest.”
“‘Strangely enough’”? Dean says. He bites the back of Cas’ t-shirt. “What, my dick ain’t pretty enough for your asshole?”
Cas wriggles said ass around just enough that Dean’s dick doesn’t slip out, to punctuate a point he doesn’t have to make.
“Dean, if the opportunity presented itself- which it clearly has- I’d sit on you like a chair. Every one of these car rides, it’s you I’ve imagined beneath me. You, filling me up.”
Dean chokes out strangled, awed laughter.
“Well, fuck, get to sitting then,” he rasps, and promptly yells out as Cas slides all the way down, taking Dean all the way in. He gives a few experimental cants of his hips, and with the way Dean is clinging to his waist with one hand and has the other wrapped around his stomach, clinging for dear life, he’s positive Dean is enjoying this just as much as he is.
He leans back on an angle so his head is against the window, pulling Dean forward in the opposite direction so they can cut the distance and Cas can seal his mouth over Dean’s, thrusting his tongue inside and running his tongue along the roof of Dean’s mouth, against the sensitive palate that lies there. When they break apart, Cas takes a moment to take in Dean’s heaving chest, his bright eyes, his dishevelled hair. Then he turns forward again, flattening both palms to the roof as he pushes back onto Dean’s dick, his eyes practically rolling back in his head at the flood of pleasure. The move obviously catches Dean off guard, because his foot slips off the break and the car jolts forward, hitting a particularly large bump that aids Cas in slamming back down onto Dean.
Dean cries out, his palms slipping where they’re clinging onto Cas. “Fuck,” he keens, over and over, “fuckfuckfuckfuck.”
Cas squares himself on Dean’s cock so that he’s facing directly out the windshield.
“Drive the car, Dean,” he says.
A beat, where Dean’s brain probably has to catch on, and then, “What? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“No.”
“Cas-”
Cas grabs Dean’s right hand, pulling it forward until he grips the wheel, “I’ll tell you which way to go, Dean.”
“Oh, fuck me,” Dean says, and Cas bounces on him slightly as if to punctuate the point, clenching his ass around Dean’s dick. This is the kind of stretch he was seeking while on this road, and he figures it’s only fair he share his success with the bumpy short cut that started it all.
Dean’s foot nudges around Cas’ shin as he slowly presses on the accelerator, and the car rumbles forward, the familiar bumps thrusting Dean’s hips in slightly different directions every time. Cas moves both with and against the momentum, loving the irregularity, the staccato beat of it all. The movement shudders through him as he gasps “gentle right,” at a turn, and closes his eyes briefly as he leans left while the rest of the car leans right. Dean groans loud and long enough that it reverberates all the way inside Cas, and Cas’ body hums with it. The groan of the car itself works its way through Dean, and up and into Cas, and Cas circles his hips, feeling Dean against him at every angle as the car straightens out again. Dean’s fingers tighten on Cas’ hip, inching towards his dick where it’s pressed between his belly and the steering wheel, leaking profusely on both.
The car judders on, vibrating beneath them as Cas starts to lift himself off Dean, then thrusts back down, loving the drag of his balls, the weight of them as they sway into Dean’s own on every downswing.
“Left,” Cas informs him as he lifts himself far enough off Dean that the tip is barely dragging against his rim anymore. Then, in one sinuous motion, he envelopes Dean again, and Dean groans gutturally against his back. Cas can feel damp spots all over the back of his t-shirt, loving how sloppily Dean’s been pressing kisses there, mouth too slack to even purse his lips properly.
Cas reaches down under Dean’s underwear to grab the side of Dean’s ass for purchase as they make a left, and Cas lies forward, draping himself over the damp steering wheel, leaving all the movement to his hips as he clenches, riding Dean hard. Dean lets out a stream of curses, and for a brief moment, lets go of the steering wheel to grapple in desperation at Cas’ torso, hand resting over his fluttering heart where he clutches at his t-shirt.
“Wheel,” Cas reminds him, and Dean reluctantly returns to it. When they hit another pothole, the angle is just so that Dean’s cock directly finds Cas’ prostate, and Cas lets out a completely involuntary gasp, breathing hard and swallowing heavy, sweaty forehead pressed to the steering wheel.
“Fuck,” dribbles out the corner of his mouth as Dean’s hand trails lightly across the muscles of his stomach, over his nipples, then back down to tracing the outline of his dick. He’s close, he can feel it. His balls are drawing up and his ass is clenching harder and more desperately with each thrust. With the sounds Dean is making, he can only guess that Dean is close as well.
He doesn’t want to be staring at shitty, bumpy road when he comes.
“Dean, stop,” he orders, and Dean’s hips immediately still.
“What’s wrong?” he asks right away, genuine concern lacing his voice.
“Fuck, Dean, the car,” Cas snaps, “Stop the car.”
One second of stillness, and then, “Oh, right,” and the car bumps to a fairly rocky stop as Dean hits the brake too hard, shoving the both of them forwards, and Dean somehow, impossibly, deeper into Cas. Cas grunts at the feeling, biting his bottom lip as hard as possible to keep from coming just yet. The steering wheel and his own cock are a complete mess, covered in lube and come, and his hands are shiny with them. He hears the telltale groan of gears as Dean puts the car in park.
“Why are we stopping the car?” Dean asks, fisting a hand around Cas’ dick and stroking a few times.
Cas bends his right knee, then uses his left foot on the driver’s side door to push off as he completely corkscrews, right there on Dean’s wet cock, spinning until he finds himself face to face with Dean, cock still seated deeply in his ass.
“Holy shi-”
“Because I only need you to finish,” Cas murmurs as he kisses Dean, pushing him back into the seat and fucking himself onto him, knees now firmly planted on the leather on either side of Dean’s thighs. Dean’s hands automatically go to Cas’ ass, squeezing and parting his cheeks slightly as Dean inserts a finger there, almost ticklish.
“You have a sweaty butt, Cas,” Dean informs him between gasping for breath.
“Thank you,” Cas manages, Dean not the only breathless one, “You have a sweaty car.”
Dean looks around at that, and laughs when he sees that every window, including the windshield has fogged up by now.
“Like closing the curtains,” he says on a shaky exhale, “But sexier.” He reaches a hand between them, taking Cas’ cock in hand.
“I’m ready to come now, Dean,” Cas decides, if the clench in his gut is anything to go by, “But I would really like it if you would come in me first.”
Dean makes a very pained sound, clutching Cas tighter as he slides his hands up to the warm skin of Cas’ hips, his t-shirt rucked up to his stomach. “All you have to do is ask, Cas.”
Cas kisses him hard. “Please come in me, Dean.”
Dean climaxes with a shout, and Cas feels it from the inside out. Dean’s thighs quiver beneath him, and the feeling of Dean coating him is enough to push Cas over the edge as well, and he comes hard enough that a spurt of white catches Dean on his cheek, the rest of it covering both their shirts and Dean’s hand. The orgasm rips through him, and it’s like his entire body is being unzipped at once. He shudders with the force of it, instinct driving him forward, searching for the heat of Dean’s mouth as they kiss through the high, sloppy and wet and desperate.
Eventually, Cas leans his forehead against Dean’s to give them both a moment’s respite to breathe, and his hands finds themselves carding through Dean’s hair gently, Dean keening happily into it.
“Thank you for inviting me on these drives, Dean,” Cas says.
“Always happy to take you for a ride,” Dean chuckles lazily, eyes barely cracked open as he plucks at Cas’ t-shirt. “Or I guess, always happy to be taken for a ride by you.”
Cas smirks, knowing he should dismount soon, but unwilling to do so just yet.
“Think you could drive back to the bunker like this?” he asks wryly, moving just enough on Dean’s oversensitized cock that Dean hisses lightly through his teeth.
“I don’t think I could drive to the next turn in the road,” he answers honestly.
“Well then I guess we’ll just have to stay here,” Cas says practically. “On a deserted road with fogged up windows where no one can see what we’re up to.”
Dean’s smile grows wider.
“Guess we’ll just… stay here, then,” he says wryly, and kisses Cas again.