It took him a little more than twenty minutes to get back to Singer's Salvage, and half an hour after the bond had closed, Dean finally parked the Impala in the middle of Bobby's driveway.
His insides felt hollow, wrung out and bleached of color, and the muscles in his back and shoulders were aching with a tension he knew wouldn't allow itself to be chased away with rest alone. He felt nauseous. Anger and hurt echoed through his entire body, and his brain was screaming with an anguish that pounded against the walls of his skull.
With a glower, he snatched the bag with Sammy's charger out of the passenger seat and got out of the car, reluctantly trudging his way back towards the house. He walked up the worn steps to the front porch with his eyes stubbornly glued to his boots, trying not to focus on the gaping empty space inside his head where there had once been only light.
He was actually doing a pretty good job at that when a movement in front of him caught his gaze. Looking up, shoulders squaring, he spotted Bobby sitting on a chair next to the front door, his arms patiently crossed over his chest as if he had been waiting for him this whole time. The slow, reprimanding shake of the hunter's head made Dean feel as if he had just been caught elbow deep in the world's most forbidden cookie jar.
"Dean..." the old man sighed, his voice both exasperated and pleading all at once. "What the hell have you done this time?"
Dean froze, a split second of hesitation between one step and the next, but then his face darkened and he started moving again.
"Stay out of this, Bobby," he growled darkly, but Bobby's scowl did not disappear.
"I had planned to," he huffed sarcastically, "but when your boyfriend decided to blow up my TV, I figured that some meddling might be justified."
Dean blinked, his hand freezing in midair on its way to the door.
"Yeah, you heard that right," Bobby grumbled, noticing his reaction as he straightened up in the rickety old chair he was sitting on. "Don't worry, I don't think it was intentional," he added, "but whatever you did must have made him pretty upset."
"I didn't do anything," Dean ground out sternly, and Bobby rolled his eyes.
"Of course you didn't," he said with a snort. "Now why don't you go ahead and tell me the one about Goldilocks, while you're at it?"
"Very funny," Dean growled.
"Yeah, absolutely hysterical," Bobby shot back, just as unamused. "I'm sure Cas would have laughed too if he hadn't been so busy taking out his hurt feelings on my furniture."
"Well, it was his own damn fault!" Dean snapped. "If he had just—!"
"Save it, boy," Bobby bit out, and Dean's mouth shut with an indignant snap. "It takes two to start a fight. Even though angel boy in there can be a proper ass, we both know you ain't exactly Gandhi's little poster-boy either."
Dean's jaw clenched, but Bobby looked like he couldn't have cared less about the young man's indignant glowering. Instead, he simply kept looking at the full-grown man in front of him like he was a disobedient twelve-year old.
"Now, I don't care how you do it," he declared firmly, "I don't care how long it takes , but you're gonna get a hold of yourself and sort this mess out before another angelic temper tantrum sends my house soaring into the sky in pieces."
"There's nothing to sort," Dean growled and Bobby's eyes narrowed threateningly.
"Don't you even try that with me," he warned. "Someone pissed your angel off and it sure as hell wasn't me or Sam."
"Doesn't make it my fault," Dean insisted stubbornly.
"But it makes it your problem ," Bobby retorted sharply. Dean glared at him, throat working furiously to come up with something to say to that, but without success. Instead, he turned away, sending his glare into the tree line surrounding the property. He looked as if he was trying to will the entire area into splinters.
Fix it , he thought sourly. Why the hell was he the one who had to fix anything? Didn't Cas owe him some sort of apology too? Sure, Dean had not handled the situation at the gas station as well as he probably could have, but for Cas to close the bond like that was just immature and childish! Dean would never have done such a thing! And how come Bobby fawned over Cas so much all of a sudden anyway? What the hell had Castiel told that old geezer while Dean was out? Was he trying to pin this on Dean? Turn Sam and Bobby against him in some sort of retaliation? What the hell?
He gritted his teeth, the anger inside him rising the more he thought about it. When his knuckles gave off an ominously loud crack as his hands balled into fists by his sides, Bobby sighed, the soft creak of his chair breaking the tense silence on the porch.
"You know..." the older man said slowly, "When Karen was alive – when she was still herself, I mean – we had a few fallouts of our own."
Dean didn't look up, even if he found his mind instantly snapping back into the present when he heard Bobby mention his late wife. He still kept his eyes intently fixed in the distance, still too pissed to even look in the direction of the actual house.
"I've always been a grouchy old bastard, I'm not ashamed to admit that," Bobby confessed, "but Karen... I swear; that woman could make a hellhound downright piss itself when she was angry."
Dean dared a quick glance at the old man at that, taken aback by the crude choice of words. Bobby leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees while looking at the floorboards in front of his feet, seemingly talking more to himself than to Dean.
"She never cursed when we fought," he mumbled. "Never used harsh language or raised her voice at me. It was the tone that hurt, you know... The way she could say the simplest thing and still make it feel like a slap to the face."
Something sharp panged inside Dean's chest; the memory of Castiel's chilly voice snarling at him still all too clear. His eyes darted back to the woods once more when Bobby carried on talking.
"Every word was like getting a bucket of cold water dumped over your head, and she had this thing she did with her shoulders that always made her look so cold and distant." Bobby shook his head and sighed again, a slow exhale of air that spoke of both loss and adoration beyond the use of words.
"Once, it lasted for over three days," he recalled. "I slept on the couch the entire time. Tried to make it seem as if it was my own idea, but we both knew it was because I was too darn scared to suggest anything else."
Dean listened with his lips pressed together into a thin line as he waited for the story to continue, but nothing came, and instead, the same loaded silence lowered itself over the porch once more. The seconds ticked by, and the amount of time passed had grown threateningly close to minutes when Dean finally decided to take the bait.
"So how did you fix it?" he murmured tightly. Bobby shrugged.
"Turned out once we started talking again, neither of us could remember what the fight had been about," he admitted. Dean's eyebrows shot up as he sent the old man a look over his shoulder.
"Really?" he asked.
"Really," Bobby nodded. "However, from that moment on, we agreed never to let an argument get that out of hand again. To never go to sleep angry, even if it meant not going to sleep at all." He glanced up, the sharp look in his eyes fixing Dean to the spot. "Do you understand what I'm telling you, boy?" he said sternly.
Dean bit down on the inside of his cheek, jaw working furiously for a moment before he eventually bowed his head, nodding silently in defeat.
He swallowed, listening to the wood of the chair creak when Bobby leaned back into his seat again. His shoulders slumped, the weight of them almost making it hard to breathe.
"Where is he?" he mumbled, and Bobby motioned with his head towards the door.
"Inside," he said. "Once he started cursing in Enochian, Sam shoved me out the door to wait for you while he tried to calm him down. Whatever the hell you told him, it hit the guy pretty hard," he added with a firm look. Dean ignored the sudden stab of guilt he felt at that, focusing his attention on the other part of the sentence instead.
"I didn't know there were any Enochian curses," he muttered and Bobby shrugged.
"I've never come across a language that didn't have any," he admitted. "Though, I guess they are a bit more refined than ours, being divine and all.... From what I could tell they all seemed to take a whole lot of time to pronounce."
"Did he say anything else?" Dean asked, the suspicion of Cas trying to sell him out resurfacing with renewed force, but disappeared just as quickly when Bobby simply shook his head, sighing.
"Nothing that made any sense. Last I heard he was rambling about leaving..."
Dean's heart froze, his stomach making a nauseated flip.
"...but it's been quiet in there for quite a while now." Bobby finished.
Dean's eyes automatically went to the kitchen windows, the white shutters there blocking his view. Again, his gut turned over on itself as the very thought of Castiel not being in there anymore made his knees go weak and shaky.
What if he had left? Was that what the closing of the bond had meant? That Cas was gone? No, if Cas had left, then Sam would not be in there still... Then again, if Cas had been upset enough to blow a hole in Bobby's TV, then what if he had accidentally—?
No, no, no, Cas wouldn't hurt Sam. That wasn't even a possibility. Cas was still there. He was in there, and he—
His thoughts dissolved into a jumble of possible scenarios, all of them originating from the sudden, horrible realization that Dean had absolutely no idea what to expect. If he went in there – which, let's face it, he would be forced to soon enough – how big was the possibility that he would find himself greeted by hard, blue eyes and an angel blade to his throat? Perhaps he should try to open the bond again, just to, like, get a heads up on the situation? Or perhaps he should—
"Don't just stand there, you big sissy. Get your ass in there," Bobby said gruffly, and Dean was ripped out of his brooding with a startled jump. He gave the old man a flicker of a glare before he reached for the door, and he swiftly pressed the handle down before the vicious tremor that rushed through his body had any time to make him re-think his decision.
The hallway inside the house was empty, and the air felt heavy and loaded as Dean closed the door behind him. There was a low murmur of voices coming from the kitchen, and Dean's pulse started racing when the familiar, although muffled, gravel of Castiel's voice reached his ears.
He could hear Sam's voice too, and the sound travelled through the air in an almost whisper. His brother's words were just as low as Castiel's had been, and it was obvious that the two were having a very serious conversation. Sam said something that Dean couldn't quite make out, but he recognized the tone. Honest, puppy-eyed concern, laced with just enough scolding objection not to make it sound insulting.
Dean scowled when Castiel answered, the apologetic murmur of the angel's voice completely contradicting the scenery Dean had expected to find. If he didn't know any better, he would've said that Sam was actually in the middle of giving Castiel the same talk Bobby had just provided for Dean mere moments ago. He slowed, placing Sam's new charger next to the staircase before making his way through the hall, the voices growing louder.
"Listen, Cas," he heard Sam say, "I know the two of you are having a fight, and I know it's tough and all, but there's really no need for you to do this."
"I have to," came Castiel's answer, stern and tight, and Dean's insides froze. Was he talking about leaving? Holy shit, was he leaving right now?
"Dean will come around, he always does," Sam pleaded. "I mean, don't you think you're overreacting just a bit here?"
"No."
Legs growing heavy, limbs struggling to move forward as if he was wading his way through syrup, Dean inched himself closer to the door. His entire being was screaming in reluctance to face whatever scenery awaited him in the other room, but he knew that lingering out here would only make it look as if he was eavesdropping. That would only serve to send him into another, also very unpleasant situation, and so, he forced his body to carry him the final two steps all the way up to the doorway leading into the kitchen – feeling like a mouse walking willingly straight into a trap.
Castiel was standing with his back towards him when Dean emerged in the door, the angel seemingly completely submerged in the task of fiddling with something in the sink. Sam was half leaning, half sitting on the edge of the kitchen table, his brow deeply furrowed while his hands fidgeted in his lap. His mouth was open, as if he had just been about to say something else, but when he spotted Dean, he closed it again.
His shoulders squared as he straightened up, and his eyes widened as his gaze flickered towards Cas. When Dean took the first step onto the old wooden floor of the kitchen, Castiel looked up and visibly stiffened, shoulders pulling up at the sight of Dean standing there before him. It was with a sharp pang of loss that Dean realized that he could actually visualize how the angel's wings would have drawn in tight around the other man's body in defence, had they still been there.
Bobby's words came drifting back to him, a memory less than a few minutes old, but with the equal force of a punch to the face.
...she had this thing she did with her shoulders...
He swallowed hard, and then he straightened up, bracing himself for whatever would happen next.
Sam didn't say anything. He just gave Castiel another quick glance from the corner of his eye and then leaned off the table and walked out.
As he passed, he sent Dean a look that clearly said 'Dean, you're my brother and I love you, but sometimes you are just such a fucking jerk.' Then he disappeared into the living room, and Dean felt the unsettling sensation of being thrown into the cage with a man-eating tiger when his brother proceeded to shut the double doors firmly behind him.
Dean swallowed again as he turned his eyes back to Castiel. The angel was still looking right at him, every muscle in his body tense and rigid. His jaw was tight, and his chest was rising and falling steadily, as if in defiance, yet somehow Dean could not shake the feeling that he was, in reality, staring down a deer that had just been caught in the headlights of a speeding truck.
Dean opened his mouth, grappling for something to say, when his gaze unintentionally landed on the counter next to Castiel's hands. He frowned as the flour-covered bench and the two large pie tins filled with dough sitting on top of it momentarily threw him off track. Then, the contents of the sink finally caught his eye; the heap of green apples gathered there seemingly glowering back at him.
"Are you making pie?" he asked in confusion, because really, this was so not the scenario he had expected to find. Castiel followed his gaze to glance at the fruit lying in the sink. Then he shrugged.
"I needed something to occupy my thoughts," he mumbled, and yeah, Dean had no idea how to answer that.
"Oh..." he mumbled sheepishly, slowly feeling more and more like a complete idiot the longer he stood there. Dammit, he had been sort of hoping that Castiel would be all angelic fury by now, and he had been preparing himself for a fight that would most likely end up with one or two fists to his face before it was over, but this... This was just... wrong .
Castiel was looking as if he had spent the hour Dean was gone fighting off every bad dream that had ever haunted mankind. The look in his eyes was so tired, so dull in the faint light that seeped in through the window shutters, and Dean didn't know what the hell to do. His entire body was coiled and tight, fight mode still on, but now there was no one here to fight, and it wasn't what he had imagined at all!
"Dean..."
The sound of Castiel's voice snapped him out of his momentary daze, and the look Castiel gave him when he turned back to him was pleading, riddled with confusion and worry. The sight of it made Dean's throat run dry. He hadn't seen that look since that day he woke up all Angel Tazed in Bobby's guestroom, and he found that he didn't like it one more bit now than he had back then.
"Are we... done?" Castiel said slowly, and it took Dean more than a few moments of complete horror to realize what he was being asked.
Done fighting, he forcefully told himself. He means are you done fighting.
"I don't know," he said quietly. "Are we?"
"I'm not sure..." Castiel breathed back, and then his brow furrowed, eyes darting down to glare at the floor. "We don't usually fight like this," he muttered, the tone of his voice sounding as if their situation was a pet that had suddenly decided to misbehave, but Dean knew what he meant. Their fights, when they weren't trying to avoid the fact that they were having them, usually involved a lot more fisting of fabric and crowding against walls, but this... This was different. This was more... painful.
"No, we don't..." he agreed softly. Castiel flickered a glance at him from underneath dark lashes before turning away, teeth pulling at his lower lip. Dean felt as if the air had been knocked right out of his lungs. How the hell had this happened? Everything had been fine this morning. When had things gone so wrong?
Castiel wasn't looking at him anymore, face still turned towards the floor. Dean shifted his weight from one foot to the other while the sound of their respective breathing echoed loud and rude in the sudden silence of the kitchen.
Dean didn't want to fight. He had never intended there to even be a fight. He just wanted things back to the way they had been before; when the gnawing on the inside of his chest wasn't trying to eat him alive, and Castiel would meet his gaze head on like usual. Now, Castiel was just avoiding him, as if he was afraid of whatever message Dean's eyes would tell him if he were to look.
Dean swallowed, throat bone dry, and this time it was Castiel who shifted on his feet, letting out a pained sigh before taking a deep breath, as if steeling himself.
"Dean," he blurted out. Hurried. Desperate. "I'm sorry, I never meant to—"
"No, no, Cas, that's—" Dean licked his lips, his voice low and throaty as he cut the other off. "I'm the one who should be apologizing. I behaved like a first class jackass back there, I— I shouldn't have snapped at you like that."
"And I should not have tried to force you into a conversation you did not want to have," Castiel confessed. "I pushed the matter too far, and I apologize."
"It wasn't as if we hadn't talked about it before..." Dean admitted, before adding, softer, "or like we won't have to talk about it again..."
Castiel flinched, and a wry grimace crept over his face.
"To be honest, I never want to do any of this again," he murmured.
"Yeah, me neither..." Dean sighed. "So..." he whispered, "are we... good then?"
"Are you still angry?" Castiel retorted immediately, and Dean's chest drew together tight, the weight from before returning with full force.
Was he angry? Not as much as he was hurting, that's for sure. Then again, if it meant that things would go back to normal, then he would happily say that it was all forgotten – over and done with – but at the same time, that wouldn't be fair. Because what Cas had done was not fair, just as his own reaction had not been fair, and Bobby was right; they needed to fix this. God knew things like this always managed to find a way to come back and bite them in the ass later if they didn't.
"I'm not angry," Dean sighed, "but I'm not happy either, I'm—" He threw his hands out to the sides, sighing again before slumping his shoulders and closing his eyes.
"We're going to have to talk about this, Cas," he murmured. "Things are just going to get worse if we don't, and like you said, I really, really don't want to do this again. Ever."
Castiel looked away and Dean gritted his teeth with frustration. Dammit, he just wanted it to be over! He wanted this stale, metallic taste in the back of his throat gone and the fist around his lungs to let go so that he could breathe again, but he knew that it wouldn't be that easy. Things were never easy, not for them, never. They had to do this, and they had to do this properly, or it would end up in a total disaster unlike anything they had been through yet. Dean had no interest of going there – didn't want to find out the many ways this could turn out wrong.
He turned his back towards the counter and slid down into a sitting position on the floor, leaning against the cupboard doors in silence. After a few moments of hesitation, Castiel did the same, joining him on the floor with his back propped up against the white, wooden interior. Dean pulled both his legs up to his chest, resting his lower arms on his knees and next to him, Castiel settled into something similar, with one of his legs stretched out straight in front of him.
Neither of them said a word. Dean was searching for the right thing to say and Castiel did not stress him, patiently waiting for him to start talking. Dean kept his eyes fixed on the floor in between his boots, tracing the intricate lines of the worn boards there as if the answer to his struggle could be read in the fibres of the hardwood floor if only he stared at it hard enough.
"It's not about the sex," he blurted out suddenly, figuring that getting to the point would probably be the least painful way to approach the subject. Like ripping off a bandaid.
Castiel didn't say anything, but Dean could feel the intensity of the gaze that was suddenly drilling into the side of his face. As much as Dean knew that Cas wasn't going to force him to speak, he wouldn't say that the look digging into him right now was doing wonders for his nerves.
"I mean... it's about the sex , but it's not about the sex... with you." He corrected himself, wincing inwardly at his own choice of words. Dammit, they did these things in the movies all the time; it shouldn't be this hard!
"It's just— You're the first guy I've— Actually, no, never mind, it's not about that either." He waved his hand dismissively, trying desperately to find the right words to describe the emotions currently wrestling around inside his chest. After a few seconds of awkwardly opening and closing his mouth, he eventually clasped his hands together, bracing himself for what he was about to say.
"Look. You want to shove your dick up my ass, I get that," he ground out, ignoring the embarrassed heat that was slowly crawling its way up his neck, towards his ears. "And yes, the thought scares the living hell out of me, because I—" He cut himself off, licking his lips. "I mean, God... the way you just let me do that to you. Fuck, you didn't even blink , you just rolled over and told me to stick it in there as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and I know that it's not fair, but I can't do that back, man, I can't. "
"Because it would make you feel like less of a man," Castiel murmured.
"No!" Dean whimpered, tipping his head back against the cupboard with a dull thunk. "I mean... yes, maybe, I— Listen, can we just forget about all those things I said before?"
"If you say so," Castiel agreed, but he didn't sound very hopeful, and Dean closed his eyes.
"Yes, I say so," he groaned. "Cas, I don't mind having sex with you. Hell, sex with you is awesome. It's great , really, but... to lie down and spread my legs like that it's— It's embarrassing ."
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Castiel turn his head and frown at him, but it wasn't an unhappy frown, or a frown that indicated that Dean had said something wrong. Instead, it looked like the kind of frown someone makes when they've just begun to see the first elusive glimpses of realization, and Dean took a deep breath, deciding to just go with it.
"I was raised to be a hunter," he said, desperately trying to get his point across. "And being a hunter means that you're brought up in a certain environment. It's all guns and knives and blood and death... Emotions don't belong, they have no place, you know? And this here, with you, I mean, just the fact that I feel the way I do goes against everything I've ever been told."
He leaned his head forward, resting it on top of his arms.
"I lose control when I'm with you," he whispered. "You make me feel things I've been taught not to feel. You make me admit things I've been told to keep hidden, to keep locked away, and I can't quit you . I need you and it's fucking terrifying ."
"Your lifestyle holds no place for attachments," Castiel concluded quietly. "That's what you've been raised to believe."
"Yeah," Dean agreed with a bitter laugh. "And it's not exactly the most ideal circuit to announce that you have a sexual relationship with a male angel either..."
"So you're ashamed of us?" Castiel asked, sounding more than just a little bit hurt, and Dean wished that he could say no, but again that would be too easy. Too simple .
"Not all people are as understanding about the whole guy-on-guy concept as you are, Cas," he explained slowly. "When a guy meets a girl, it's pretty obvious how things in the bedroom work. Which role gets assigned to who, but with two guys?" He sighed; a tired, broken sound, and damn, he wished that he could find a way to word this better.
"It's just that people talk ," he continued. "They make shit up, and the truth gets mixed with the lies, and before you know it things have gone from cute and domestic to full-on sex dungeon. I don't want people talking about us like that, Cas, I don't— I don't want them talking like that about you ."
He dared a glance to the side, but his eyes refused to travel any higher than the edge of Castiel's knee. The angel's posture revealed nothing of his reaction to Dean's words.
"I'm not ashamed of other hunters finding out about us," Dean continued quietly, "but fuck, these are people I know , Cas. People who knew my dad and who've seen me grow up, and to think about them talking about us as if we're some kind of interspecies sex show makes me feel so goddamn helpless . I mean, they will never look at me the same way again. They won't be able to even hear my name without thinking about the guy who willingly took it up the ass by some harp playing dude with wings."
"But you haven't let me—" Castiel started, and Dean snorted out a laugh, high-pitched and bordering on hysterical.
"Exactly," he agreed. "I haven't! And that's the thing, because even if they say all that stuff about me – even if they talk about how Dean Winchester eagerly drops down on all fours for his gay boyfriend it won't matter, because I haven't. Everything's fine as long as it's just people talking, but if I did it... If I let you do that to me, then suddenly, it won't be about simple words anymore. I mean, knowing that they're assuming is one thing, but to hear them talk while knowing that they're telling the truth is more than I think I can take!"
"Dean..."
"Two months ago I was straight, man," Dean continued with a low whimper. "I was looking at breasts in magazines, picking up girls in bars, and now I can't even remember why. And the worst part is that I'm not even properly gay. If I was then any guy should be able to make me feel like you do, but they don't! I don't even have a label , Cas; do you understand what I'm saying? How am I supposed to handle other people talking about me as if I'm a freak of nature when I don't even know what the hell I am anymore?"
He drew a shaky breath; a tremble of air that he had to force down his own throat while he waited, his vision blurry with tears he refused to admit were there. He swallowed, the lump in his throat itching and making it hard to breathe. Then Castiel suddenly shifted by his side, scooting closer, and Dean didn't dare look, or even move when the weight of the other's head settled against his shoulder, a few stray strands of dark hair tickling against his neck.
"You're mine..." Castiel mumbled. The words sounded more like a hesitant suggestion than a statement, almost shy, and Dean did not bite his lip at that, and the pathetic little sound he choked back was absolutely not a sob, god dammit! His body felt crushingly heavy and feathery light all at the same time as Castiel's words wound their way through his system like springtime melting through the cold, black ice of winter.
"You've always been mine... and I yours," Castiel murmured, and Dean could feel the heat of the other's breath go straight through the coarse material of his jacket, as were it made of mist. It made him shudder as Castiel's voice seemed to brush over every single atom of his existence.
"You speak of labels," the angel continued, just as soft, "but you were never meant for labels, Dean Winchester. Heaven and Hell alike tried to give you titles and names, confident in their assumption that you would do as you were told and live up to their expectations. They tried to break you, but neither succeeded. Are you going to let humans do what they could not? Is the thought of these people's opinions of you worth so much that you need to punish yourself like this?"
"Cas..." Dean whimpered, perhaps even begged – he couldn't say for sure anymore.
"You are mine ," Castiel repeated, firmer. "And you are strong, gentle, caring, stubborn, short tempered and more human than any other creature I have ever encountered. That's what I see, but the truth is that none of those things matter, because the only one who gets to decide who you are is you ."
Dean gritted his teeth and nodded, a barely-there movement of his head where it was still resting against his folded arms, showing that he understood and again, he felt the warm puff of breath as Castiel let out a sigh against his shoulder.
"Is there really a need to know anything else?" Castiel whispered, and Dean shook his head because no. No there wasn't. Not really.
"So if we were to... consummate in that way," the angel continued, being careful to choose his words correctly, "would it still matter what people thought? Would you still be ashamed, even if they were right in assuming what we had done?"
"I guess not..." Dean whispered back with a voice so hoarse he barely recognized it himself. Fuck it, he was not going to cry, this was ridiculous!
"So if it's not shame that's holding you back, then...?" Castiel asked, moving his head away to look at him while leaving the question unfinished, and Dean bit down on his lower lip, closing his eyes. God, he wished he had the bond up and running again. With the bond, he wouldn't have to explain the thoughts inside his head. Instead, he could simply have shown them, but that was a luxury he didn't have anymore, and the notion alone was burning a hole straight through the very core of his soul.
Words , he reminded himself forcefully, raking his mind for the vocabulary needed to convey what his mind could not.
"I'm no fucking good at this, Cas..." he whispered, aiming his confession towards the floor. "Me and Sam... we don't trust people. I mean, of course I trust you , but what you're asking me to do is... it's hard, you know?"
He noticed that his hands were shaking, and he dug his nails harshly into his palms to make it stop, reducing the vicious trembles into a shiver.
"You're telling me to throw myself off a goddamn cliff here, man," he grated. "To just, jump over the edge and wait for you to catch me before I hit the bottom. I want to think that you will, I do, but there's this voice in the back of my head screaming to me that you won't . I'm telling myself that it's all lies, but I can't shut it out. No matter what I do, I can't make it stop ."
He rubbed his forehead against the sleeve of his jacket, trying to will the headache he felt coming on down before it made him incapable of thinking straight.
"So I act like an idiot instead," he rasped. "I scream at you, and say all these nasty things because I'm a fucking coward, and it's easier to lash out and be a jerk than to admit that I'm scared."
He held his breath, heart hammering inside his chest as he waited for an answer, for Castiel to say something in return. Instead of words, he felt the warmth of a hand settle just below his right knee, and he released a gush of breath that left his lungs in a violent shudder, the firm grip of Castiel's hand tightening in reassurance.
"You humans..." the angel mumbled, as if intrigued. "Constantly saying one thing while meaning another. Not because you want to lie, but because you're afraid of being lied to. " He sighed, shaking his head. "It's very contradictive."
The thumb resting against Dean's thigh moved in a slow swipe back and forth over the fabric, a seemingly tiny gesture, but with a weight behind it that made Dean's heart clench.
"You know, I have fears too..." Castiel confessed. "There are so many things about this that are new to me... Not just the physical and emotional aspects, but the human parts as well. Interacting with your kind is so... complicated."
Dean nodded, because he knew, of course he knew. Castiel was an angel, a completely different species who had just recently begun to grasp the concept of plain old sarcasm. And here Dean was, assuming that said angel would understand the delicacy of how to respectfully discuss exiting the famous closet. He knew , but he had been too stupid to realize it when it actually mattered.
"In Heaven, I was a strategist," Castiel continued, seemingly going off on a completely different tangent. "I was known for my ability to recognize and plan different approaches of both offensive and defensive nature. Other captains would turn to me for advice, and I would give it without hesitation. There was no code I couldn't break, no riddle I couldn't solve and then..." He cut himself off, and Dean heard the soft thud when the angel's head tipped back and banged softly against the cupboard behind them.
"... then my garrison was assigned the mission to rescue the Righteous Man from the Pit," he said, sighing. "One of the most important tasks given to us in over two millennia. I think I knew it then, the instant I made the decision to sear part of my grace into your soul, that you would be my undoing."
"Cas," Dean whispered, feeling the guilt twist its way through his gut.
"We've been over this," Castiel interrupted before he could continue. "I gave that up for you a long time ago. Everything that I've known, everything I ever cared about; the things I thought mattered ... I did that for you. Not because I had to, or because you forced me. I did it because I wanted to. Because for me, it was right. "
The hand on Dean's thigh slid up, moving over the span of coarse fabric until the tip of a finger brushed against the skin of Dean's hand, ghosting gently over knuckles and down the back of Dean's palm in a caress that left fire in its wake.
"You are my everything," Castiel murmured, "and I will do anything that you ask of me. However, this cliff you speak of is not meant solely for you, but for us. I will gladly take that leap with you, should you ask me, but I need you to actually ask , Dean."
Dean nodded. He couldn't do anything else. He couldn't speak, could barely think, and Castiel's touch was like a blessing to his soul, making his insides ache to reach out and reciprocate the gesture. But he was frozen, his limbs locked up, and all he could was breathe while his body struggled to hold itself together, the slow slide of Castiel's thumb over his skin enough to make him feel as if he was about to explode.
"There is time, beloved," Castiel whispered soothingly, as if sensing his distress. "We have plenty of time."
Dean let out a final, strained whimper, and then he moved, letting his trembling mind slide over to caress the binding of the bond, asking permission. As he did, he heard Castiel sigh; a relieved sigh that shot an arrow of warmth straight through Dean's heart, and then the angel opened up his side of the link, and the liquid gold and silver of grace slotted up and pressed against Dean's soul so tight it seemed to swallow him up completely.
The relief that washed through the bond almost made Dean feel as if his chest had burst open, the cold and dark that had been residing in there being washed out by the light of Castiel's presence. He let out a somewhat shocked chuckle, tipping his head back with a thud when the grace proceeded to curl around his body like a giant snake of sunlight winding itself around his limbs.
Wow, aren't you a clingy one? he tried to tease, but the tone of his thoughts was drowned out by the pure joy he felt at having the angel close again. He smoothed his mind tenderly over the shimmering sensation inside his head, and Castiel ducked his head away, looking almost embarrassed.
Being without the bond for too long is very unpleasant , he confessed.
Well, you're the one who closed it to begin with, Dean pointed out, nestling into the grace like a kid with a blanket.
I know, Castiel sighed and Dean's brow furrowed, easing up on his possessive grip of the other's consciousness to refocus his thoughts.
Why did you do that, anyway? he asked softly, and again, Castiel sighed and closed his eyes.
You were so angry, he winced. Seeing your soul like that was painful, and I was afraid that— He cut himself off, but Dean had already caught a glimpse of the angel's thoughts. The flash of naked, printed, female shapes, and the sensation of being replaced and insufficient seeping through the angel's defences. Dean swallowed hard, feeling like even more of an ass than before.
You know it felt weird, right? he asked, offering the angel an apologetic caress through the bond. Looking at that thing?
How so? Castiel glanced at him from the corner of his eye, leaning into the phantom touch with his mind.
I don't know, Dean confessed. It just didn't feel right... Like something was missing.
Castiel scowled, as if he didn't understand, and Dean sighed, rolling his eyes.
It wasn't you , okay? he clarified, watching as Castiel's brows shot up in what could only be interpreted as surprise. Sure, the pictures were nice and all, but it just... It's not what I want anymore.
He expected another wave of relief to ripple through the bond at that, but instead he was met with a pulse of shame. He frowned.
"What?" he asked out loud and Castiel flinched, another abashed flash shooting through the link before he averted his eyes to the side. Next thing, Dean sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, his eyes widening when the kitchen faded into grey, the walls swaying as if submerged under water. Images began to flash before his eyes as the events of this morning began to play out in front of him all over again, only this time, he found himself standing on the outside, looking in on himself.
He saw the way he had not even looked up when Castiel came to sit down next to him during breakfast, how he had seemed reluctant and angry about showing any physical affection towards the angel in front of his family. Watched his own abrupt departure from the house, followed by the sudden, unannounced closing of the bond. He could feel Castiel's confusion and fear when he had caught Dean eyeing the skin mag, and how much it had hurt when Dean had insinuated that he didn't consider the two of them to be physically or mentally exclusive. How the topic of Dean's responses to Castiel's touches did nothing but anger him even more, as if Dean didn't want him anymore, and oh God, is this what it had all looked like?!
"Jesus..." Dean breathed, his voice cracking as the word left his mouth. Instantly, the world returned to normal, and the sudden explosion of colors in his surroundings nearly made him wince. Castiel was looking at him again, but this time Dean could barely will himself to face him, the shame sitting like a nauseating clump in the pit of his stomach.
"Cas," he croaked, "I'm sorry, I— Oh God, I'm such a fucking idiot...!"
His gaze fell on the partially peeled apple still resting in the angel's other hand, and he closed his eyes, taking a deep, painfully slow breath.
" Please tell me that's not the reason you're baking pies," he begged. Castiel's eyes followed Dean's to land on the apple, his grace flinching slightly as if he had just been caught doing something he wasn't allowed to.
"Partially," he admitted sheepishly, that adorable shade of pink welling through the bond once more. "Sam didn't think it would be necessary, but... I figured that if I had done something to anger you, then it was the least I could do."
Fuck, Dean didn't know whether he should laugh or cry, but the sound that slipped between his lips seemed to balance it out. It pushed its way out of his mouth in a mix between a chuckle and a sob, and he buried his face in his hands, steadying himself.
"Jesus," he whimpered once more, before he shifted his weight and unceremoniously crowded the angel against the kitchen counter, not giving Cas a chance to object before he smothered his mouth with a kiss that forced the angel to slip further down the surface of the cupboard door. Dean wrapped his arms around the other's waist and pressed in close to his body, just as the two of them toppled over to lie flat on the floor with Dean's right knee in between Castiel's thighs to support his own weight.
"Don't ever let me do something stupid like that again," Dean growled out against Castiel's mouth, barely leaving room for the angel's breathless 'okay' before he dove back in. Breathing through his nose, he fed every inch of regret and apology he could muster into the kiss, until he felt the last shreds of doubt that had been looming over Castiel's grace disintegrate beneath the touch of his lips. Not that he stopped after that, no. He kept going, licking into the angel's mouth for a good while longer, feeling the tension melt out of the other man's frame until Castiel was practically limp in his arms – the feeble grip around Dean's jacket and the lazy movement of their mouths being the only sign that the angel was still conscious. Then, as the first, breathless indication of a moan slowly made its way through the angel's mind, Dean pulled away, nipping lightly at Castiel's lower lip and relishing in the way the fingers clutching into his sleeves tightened, as if to keep him in place.
"There..." Dean whispered contently. " Now we're good."
Castiel huffed out a displeased sound that echoed through the bond, but Dean ignored him. Smiling, he reached to the side and picked up the apple that had escaped the grip of Castiel's fingers and ended up on the floor.
"Here." He offered it to the angel, suppressing a chuckle when Castiel simply frowned at it, his hair slightly rumpled and the collar of his shirt askew, as if he blamed the apple for the fact that Dean was no longer kissing him.
"Just wash it off, it'll be good as new," Dean promised as he gently pushed the apple against Castiel's chest. Cas took it, giving him a reprimanding snort and a twitch of lips in return as they both climbed to their feet.
"I guess this means that I'm still making pies then?" he asked with a single eyebrow raised, and Dean chuckled as he stepped forward to press a new, soft kiss to the stubble of Castiel's cheek.
"Oh, you're making pies alright," he assured him. "You try to escape and I'll light the exits up with holy fire until you're done."
"How very romantic of you," Castiel snorted, but the amused flicker of light inside Dean's head gave him away, and once again, there was a painful clench in Dean's chest when the phantom rustle of mirthful wings ghosted through his mind. Then suddenly, Castiel's grace shifted, a startled horror flashing through the bond, and the next thing Dean knew Castiel was brushing his fingers against the back of his hand, moving down to graze against the dried scabs of blood along the side of his palm.
"You're bleeding," Castiel said sharply and Dean pulled the hand back, shrugging awkwardly.
"Oh... Yeah, that, that's— Uh, I—"
Castiel's eyes widened and the bond instantly darkened with guilt, but Dean pushed it away.
"C'mon, Cas, it's not that bad," he promised.
"It is," Castiel objected firmly.
"I'm a grown ass man," Dean snorted, "I can take a bit of scraped skin."
"Well, I can't," Castiel declared, and then he resolutely grabbed hold of Dean's hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a tender kiss against the injured skin. Dean felt the familiar, icy shudder wash through his limbs when grace layered itself over the wound, healing it to leave his hand smooth and clean once more.
"You learn that move from one of your sappy sitcoms?" he asked when the angel pulled his lips away, though his attempt of sarcasm came out far too dazed to be taken even remotely seriously.
"Actually, I learned that from you," Castiel corrected. When Dean looked like a living question mark he added, " Dangerous Liaisons . You watched it when you were thirteen. Sam was asleep and you father was out. You were channel surfing, saw it and thought it was a nice gesture. Then the blonde girl took her shirt off and you got an erection and started—"
"Whoa!" Dean cut him off, clamping a firm hand over the angel's mouth while ignoring the twinkle of amused blue the action brought him in return. "Okay, so you got it from me, that's— Thank you, Cas, I get it."
Hot air puffed against his skin in a low chuckle, and then Dean pulled his hand off with a squeaky noise when Castiel's tongue darted out to lick a wet mess over the centre of his palm.
"Ew, man, that's so gross!"
He wiped his hand off on the back of his jeans, grimacing at the way Castiel was smirking at him.
"Yeah, laugh it up," he muttered. "You still have pies to make, and I expect them to be fucking Michelin standard."
"Aren't they always?" Castiel retorted confidently.
"Cute," Dean snorted, but then he leaned in and gave the angel a quick kiss on the cheek before turning around, heading for the door.
"Where are you going?" Castiel asked.
"I have some research to do."
"About what?" Castiel frowned.
"Jumping off cliffs," Dean answered cryptically. To make his point clearer, he then sent the angel the same suggestive image of himself sprawled out on Bobby's kitchen table that Castiel had shown him before, hoping that the other would take the hint. He almost broke into a grin when he felt the startled surprise and excitement the bond gave him in return. "Besides, I still have a war to win, remember?" he added with a sly wink, and Castiel snorted, rolling his eyes to the ceiling.
Good luck with that , he sent through the link. Dean's grin widened even further before he swallowed, lowering his voice when he remembered something.
"Yeah, uh, just one thing..." he asked. "You think you could, you know, tune out of my head again for a little while?" He gestured to his temple and Castiel tilted his head to the side in silent question. "It's nothing weird or anything," Dean promised. "It's just... I'd like to do this on my own, you know? If I'm going to panic then I'd rather have my head to myself while I do it."
The crease of worry that had been about to form on the angel's brow slowly lightened, and then Castiel smiled, just a barely-there twitch of his lips before he nodded.
"I understand," he said gently, and Dean gave another relieved smile.
"Thanks man. You know, why don't you, like, go un-smite Bobby's TV in the meantime while I...?" he motioned towards the guestroom with his thumb, but at the mention of Bobby's TV, the bond instantly washed over with remorse and abashment.
"I will make sure to get it done," Castiel promised solemnly as he immediately turned away from the sink to head towards the door leading into the living room, but Dean held up a warning finger, stopping him in his tracks.
"Uh-uh," he reprimanded. " After the pie."
Castiel sighed, rolling his eyes to the ceiling.
"After the pie," he repeated obediently. Dean fired off another grin and a quick kiss through the bond while backing out of the kitchen and into the hallway.
Don't peek! he ordered, turning the corner. He felt Castiel's grace give an affectionate pulse of amusement through the bond before the link went mute, the angel closing it in obligation to Dean's wishes, which to be honest was a relief beyond words. After the revelation of what Dean had considered to be playful teasing had actually turned out to be nothing but cruel emotional torture for the angel, Dean was utterly convinced that he would not have been capable of closing the bond by himself for at least a week.
Walking into the living room he spotted his brother sitting on the couch, submerged in the task of hooking his phone up to the new charger Dean had brought home. A pair of earplugs was firmly shoved in place inside his ears, attached to the apparatus in his giant hands, and he was seemingly oblivious to the fact that Dean had left the kitchen. Being the older brother that he was, Dean used the opening to walk straight up and snatch Sam's unmonitored laptop from coffee table.
"Hey!" Sam scrambled take it back, various chords and technical devices flying around his head as he launched himself forward, but Dean was already heading for the door with the laptop cradled tightly against his chest.
"Just a few minutes," he promised, "I won't be long, I swear. Thanks man!" Dean gave his sibling a little wave just as he disappeared around the corner, quickly continuing down the hall to the guestroom (which, to be honest, had more or less become his and Castiel's room by now). He shut the door tightly behind him the moment he got inside, and as he turned the key, he could hear the lock slide into place with a satisfying 'click'.
He was sure that Cas wouldn't come snooping, but he didn't have the same faith in his younger brother. Right now, he really didn't feel like joining Sam in another one of his caring-and-sharing-talks, because quite frankly, he had more important things to do...
He climbed onto the bed and sat himself down, cross-legged with the laptop in front of him, sparing himself only a moment of hesitation before he flipped it open. The drive booted up, going from standby mode to operative in just a few seconds, and once it was done loading, he opened up the web browser and headed straight for Google. He looked at the empty white space of the search field, sending one last look at the door and a guarded glance towards the silent bond inside his head before cracking his knuckles and drawing a mouthful of air into his lungs.
The deep breath before the dreaded plunge.
"Alright, let's do this..." he murmured. Quickly, before he had the chance to change his mind, he typed the words 'gay sex' into the search field and hit enter with a sharp tap of his index finger.
A vast list containing links with numerous variations of the two words immediately appeared across the page. Offerings of free videos, live sex chats, short-term relationship contacts and everything in between were all neatly stacked right before his fingertips, and so far it was all good... except for the fact that none of them were what he was currently looking for.
It was laughable really; the one time he actually wanted to do some proper research, and he ended up exclusively with porn. Awesome...
Not allowing himself to get put down by the obvious failure, he tried another combination of words, adding the word 'anal' at the front of the row in the search field before hitting 'search' again. This time, he got more luck.
The first link at the top of the list seemed to be an anal stimulation guide for girls, written by some chick named Alice. He skipped that one, seeing as despite its name, it still talked more about lady parts than anything else. The second link was a YouTube video which had him scrambling for the volume controls in frantic panic when a male voice unceremoniously and very loudly began explaining how to best prepare oneself for gay sex. It only took him a couple of seconds, however, to realize that it was a video aimed for the topping party of the couple. Although educational, it still didn't mention any of the things he was actually trying to find. Dammit, he couldn't be the first guy to ask this question, there had to be something...!
He returned to Google and scrolled down a few more links before stopping and scrolling back up, reading the headline that had caught his eye one more time.
'When You Do Gay Anal Sex At First Time How You Feel?'
Granted, it wasn't the most impressive grammatical composition, but it was the best he had come across so far. Hopeful, he clicked the link and yes, the question was honest enough, filed in the mature section of the forum. His hope was quickly replaced by disappointment when he began reading the answers, which all turned out to be very poorly written porn stories. Elaborate enough, sure, but still very, very poor, and obviously, painfully fake . Even Dean knew that a virgin guy couldn't possibly be that enthusiastic about getting a dick shoved through his backdoor without lube or prepping.
Returning to the search engine yet again, he didn't even bother with clicking through to the second page. Instead, he returned to the top, glaring at his search as if he could will the letters there to form the correct combination that would help him find the answer he was after.
"Okay, how about this one...?" he muttered, taking inspiration from the link he had just visited and typed in the words 'Anal orgasm feeling' into the search field.
Oh, perhaps he should have started with that one?
The first link directed him to Wikianswers where someone had asked the same question as before, only this time with correct English grammar. The person who answered seemed to really have put a lot of genuine effort into their response.
As he scanned through the text, he read the words 'pleasurable' and 'overwhelming', both making his stomach tighten with a feeling that he couldn't quite place. It was a sensation of doing something bad, something shameful and forbidden, but at the same time it was also strangely calming, this mature sort of serenity lowering itself over his mind as he continued to read the words before him.
Apparently, if one were to believe the confession of this anonymous person, an anal orgasm was something going way beyond the feeling of a normal shoot off, depending on how sensitive you were. Dean's mind immediately returned to the memory of Castiel's grace sliding up against him during breakfast, shoving him over the edge of orgasm so abruptly he had barely been able to understand what happened. Did the fact that he had come from just that touch on the outside of him mean that he was considered responsive? And if so, what would the real thing feel like, if Castiel was actually inside...?
The thought made his gut do that strange, uncanny thing again, only this time there was the unmistakable tingle of arousal tossed into the mix. Okay, so this might not be such a terrible idea after all... An orgasm that was more intense than a standard one could only be good, right?
He continued to read, and the guy on the Q&A site continued his answer by describing how after the orgasm, the prostate would often get even more sensitive than before. He mentioned the word 'tickling' a lot, and Dean wasn't sure if he thought that sounded exciting or completely horrifying.
He clicked back to the Google page and continued down while reading through the link descriptions, clicking around for a minute or two in search for another source to the newly found information he had just been given. The rest of the links turned out to be basically repetitions of the question he had already read. Most of the answers given here were just varying and unimaginative forms of "fuck you, faggot", courtesy of some aggressive gay-hating lurker, who apparently stalked the anal-threads of gay forums. Oh, the irony...
Then, of course, there was the new truckload of porn that inevitably caught up with the seriousness at the bottom of the page, and yeah, Dean might be curious, but he wasn't ready to go full on porn-surfing just yet.
Scrolling back to the top of the page, however, his eyes landed on the small selection of pictures related to his search that Google had been kind enough to provide him with, and he bit down on his lower lip, worrying the skin there with his teeth.
It wouldn't be porn-surfing. Not really. Google images weren't exactly shaming territory...
Tentatively, as if doing it slowly wouldn't make his intentions as obvious, he dragged the cursor to click on the image-section of the webpage instead. The disappointment that barged in and hit him across the back of the head when all he found were pictures of naked women and sex toys caught him more than just slightly off guard.
Alright then, back to "gay anal sex", and this time the screen filled up with pictures of dicks, asses and men. Grunting, sweating and (from the looks of it at least) screaming in pain an awful lot.
"Oh god..." Dean grimaced because really? Really ? That didn't fit at all with the description of blissful and overwhelming that he had just read. What the hell?
Slightly disgusted, he hovered over a few pictures – and, oh God, was that candlewax on that guy's balls?? – contemplating whether to click them up, but he quickly decided that no, no way in hell. He wasn't ready for this, it was too soon, too weird! He was just about to click the window down and forget he ever went there, when a picture at the bottom corner of the screen caught his attention.
It was picture of a guy, of course. The photo had been taken as if the camera was angled straight down from the ceiling, leaving the man visible only from the throat down. He was lying on a bed with both his legs hoisted up against his chest, with another man's cock buried deep inside him as he jerked off his own, rather impressive dick. His body was slender and muscular, and Dean noted that he looked almost a little bit like Cas. Perhaps a bit too wide over the chest, but still, very much alike.
He clicked the image up, not really thinking about what he was doing other than that he wanted to take a closer look, but before he could react or do anything else, the screen gave a quick blink and he found himself automatically transferred to the image's original website.
He braced himself, expecting an onslaught of more hairy, grunting, sweaty men along with an infinity of pop-up ads for penis enlargements. Instead, the screen instantly filled up with a subtle blue color, and even though that seemed a bit weird, it was, well, actually quite a relief. Blue was good, blue was... calming.
The blue was soon crowned with the website's title, and it was with a slight eye roll that Dean realized he had ended up on one of those websites that didn't even know how to spell words right. Sure, it was probably considered quirky and fun in certain circles, but he just found it to be stupid. What was so wrong about correct spelling anyway?
This particular site seemed to be a mix between several text forums, photo albums, and instant messaging conversations. The search field at the top right quietly informed him that he was at the moment viewing the results for the search 'gay porn', though when he asked himself later, he couldn't for the life of him understand what the hell close-ups of hands and pictures of food had to do with porn. He continued scrolling nonetheless, deciding that since he was already here, he could at least look for the picture that had led him there in the first place.
It didn't take long, however, before the thought of the image had been thoroughly pushed to the back of his mind as he skimmed through the content of the site. There were a few text posts with people bragging about what great sex they just had, while others seemed to be complaining about how they didn't get enough of the same thing. Others didn't even touch the subject of porn or sex with a six feet pole, so he had no idea what they were even doing there. It all gave him a slight immature vibe, as if he were looking at a collection of high school confessions, and he soon disregarded the writing altogether, focusing solely on the pictures and images he saw instead.
The mood regarding gay porn on the site seemed completely different from the one he had gotten off of Google. So far, he had not seen a single biker thug, or even gag-ball, and most of the people seemed to be rather young, spanning from his own age and down from the looks of it and – wait a minute, did that picture just move ?
Fascinated, he watched the gif images play out before his eyes as he continued further and further down the infinite length of the page. Even though he sometimes came across a few sets containing graphic close-ups that he honestly could have done without, he had to admit that most of them were actually not... that bad. Once you got over the fact that there was more than one dick involved, of course.
The content of the pictures actually spanned everything from gay couples kissing or making out while grinding against each other in their underwear to full-on hardcore fucking. Dean found himself pulled in by the images, brow furrowed and lips parted as he focused his attention on the facial expressions of the individuals before him. These fit more with the description of orgasmic high that he had been given earlier, and judging by the pace of their movements, it basically looked as if the men bottoming were climaxing with every single thrust from the guy pumping into them.
The memory of Cas emerged inside his head, sliding to the surface like a bubble rising through water. He remembered how the angel had reacted when Dean was inside him that time; how he had trembled, moaning and gasping for more, begging for Dean to move, and suddenly, it all made so much more sense.
Dean had known for a long time – it was practically common knowledge nowadays, after all – that a man's prostate was supposedly able to make you feel all kinds of good, if stimulated the right way, but he hadn't exactly thought about trying it out for himself. It did come with a certain sense of... hygiene, after all, but from the looks of it now, perhaps he should at least begin to entertain the possibility?
He looked at the moving picture in front of him, at the guy who was currently clutching the armrest of a couch with his jaw slack in a silent, yet seemingly euphoric moan while his partner thrust into him from behind. For a second, Dean imagined what it would feel like if that were him and Cas. If Dean was the one clutching around the leather of that couch with Castiel's hands on his hips, holding him up and fucking into him, slow and dirty just like that. The spark that thought set off in the centre of his gut was almost enough to make moan out loud.
He continued scrolling, sorting through the different posts, and there it was; the picture from before. Dean swallowed down a lump in his throat as his finger halted over the touchpad, because sweet mother of God, there was an entire set of them. And they were moving!
The Cas look-alike was breathing rapidly, chest rising and falling, abs clenching, his hand a blur as it moved over the thick erection on the screen. Dean was already in the middle of mentally reading the subtitles ' harder... please, harder! ' on the third picture, imagining what the words would sound like in Castiel's voice, when a close to pornographic sound reached his ears.
His hand was already shooting forth to turn off the computer's speakers when he halted himself, staring at the screen as the horrible realization pushed through his mind and notified him that the sound had come from him. His heart was suddenly pounding abnormally loud inside his ears, his blood rushing south, and fuck, he was hard for Christ's sake! Hard from watching gay porn with dudes fucking other dudes in the ass!
He quickly clicked the window down and shoved the laptop away, as if it might lash out and bite him if he kept it too close. He ordered himself take several deep, calming breaths to keep the panic from rising in his throat, while firmly informing his own brain that it was a little too late to have a massive gay-panic now, yes, far too late. He already fucked a guy. He was celestially married to a guy. Freaking out over a hard-on from watching two other guys fuck shouldn't be such a big deal, it really shouldn't!
It was sex. Sex was sex and sex was good , end of story. Sex with Cas, especially, was very, very good and that's what this was about; sex with Cas. Sex on top of him, or under him, inside him.
Resolutely, he picked the laptop back up and then proceeded to place it safely on the floor. Then he laid down on the bed, steadying his breathing while trying to force the thought of Castiel's naked body out of his mind, but without much success. The phantom voice of the angel had been put on a loop inside his head, the pleading ' faster, Dean, oh please ,' making it hard to breathe. He winced, feeling his erection doing the exact opposite of disappearing inside his boxers as it pushed against the fly of his jeans in a silent plea for attention.
Dammit, how was he supposed to win this war if he kept thinking of fucking his adversary into the nearest piece of solid furniture every other minute? Or the other way around, for that matter...? The thought of having Cas inside him, moving with him...
Another one of those strangled noises pushed past his lips, and suddenly his hands were tearing at the buttons of his jeans, pulling the fabric apart and down. Gripping around hot, rigid flesh, he pushed his head into the pillows by his side, muffling a desperate whimper.
Cas inside him... Would it be good? Would he like it? Would it be overwhelming just like the internet had said?
He gritted his teeth, and tightened his fingers around his dick, moving faster. The arousal was a burning fire inside his gut, having finally been granted recognition, and he reached down to cup the weight of his balls in the palm of his other hand.
Jesus, this was so fucked up, why was this even turning him on? He should be disgusted; the thought had brought ice to his chest mere hours ago, but he couldn't help it, dear God in Heaven, he couldn't help it!
Cas always made him lose control, this right here being perfect proof of just that, but at the same time, he felt as if he had never been this okay with losing something in his entire life. Cas was right about it all, of course; the outside world didn't matter, this was about him and Cas, him and his angel, yes, his angel ... Cas... His Cas...
Slowly, Dean moved the hand around his balls, inching it further down, and then the tip of his middle finger smoothed against the centre of his scrotum, catching on the furled skin around that part of him. The touch startled a hiss out of his lungs, the breath wrenching out of him in a violent shudder because it felt— Jesus, it felt amazing .
Kicking his jeans down to pool around his ankles, he spread his legs wider, giving him a better reach. His heart jolted when his finger returned to rub shallow circles around his entrance, slotting up against the very centre of him.
Cas had done this. With his grace, his mind... He had touched Dean right here, and yeah, he recognized it now, the tingle, the fire inside him roaring higher and searing the doubt right out of his head. And this was just outside... He was still outside, sweet mother of God, what would it feel like, the real thing...?
He increased the pressure of his finger, pushing in deeper, though still without really entering. He gasped as the movement sent a ripple of unfamiliar pleasure through his limbs, and then he winced, eyes screwing shut when he felt his dick tense inside the tight circle of his hand, because oh, just the thought of it. Cas inside him, Cas fucking into him, slow and dirty, just like the pictures... Fucking him just like in the pictures...
"Cas..." he breathed, not even a sound as much as a sharp exhale of air, "Cas...!"
He wanted to say 'harder', he wanted to say 'faster', but he couldn't. His breath locked up inside his chest, and he barely had the sense of awareness to pull his fingers away from his ass to fold them over the tip of his cock instead. His muscles tightened and his toes curled inside his boots as he shot into the palm of his hand, the white result of two days of sexual restraint dribbling down to land on the little stripe of exposed skin just below the edge of his shirt.
The thought of what he had done hit his mind like an eighteen-wheeler truck before he even had the chance to come down properly. The erratic pounding of his heartbeat pulsed through him, his entire body stuttering as the panic fluttered into his chest and made him gasp for breath. A rush of anxiety coursed through his veins, threatening to render him a gaping heap of shivering limbs on the bed. Then, just as fast, it faded. Once again, that serene calmness from his first time with Cas lowered itself over him like a blanket, suffocating the flames of panic licking into his skull. He exhaled, feeling as if he was breathing out a thousand years of tension into the air above his head.
Okay... So that had been... new, he concluded, almost detached from himself. New and strange... but not... bad.
In fact, to be honest... To be really, really honest, it had actually felt... pretty damn good.
He slumped back into the beddings to stare up at the ceiling with a bewildered look in his eyes as the silent confession took hold and rooted itself inside his brain. It made his body go limp and pliant amongst the sheets, shackles he had not even been aware of snapping open and making him feel lighter, almost weightless inside his own skin. Jesus, he still couldn't believe he had just done that to himself...!
"Son of a bitch..." he whispered. His voice bounced, hoarse and raw against the walls of the room, and then he let out a choked chuckle. It punched its way out of his chest and caused the corners of his mouth to twitch. His heart began to race, and he couldn't have cared less about the mess that trickled down the edge of his hip and down onto the mattress below when he rolled over to bury his head amongst the pillows, grinning like an complete idiot as peals of helpless laughter spilled over his lips.
Son of a bitch...!