fic with bottom!dean where cas is really dominating and rough but in a passionate tender kind of way??? like cas gets super turned on by seeing dean so submissive and just proper goes for it and takes what he wants but deans loving every second of it pleasepleaseplease ily <3
/all i can say is that maybe putting off writing for a few days did me some good because this is fresh and i kinda like it and i dont know if that’s only because its 2:30 in the morning or because its actually good but have fun, enjoy it/
The first thing Cas notices when he becomes permanently human is his hunger for touch. It’s a rough itch just beneath his skin, one that he can scratch, one that he scratches far too often, to the point where he just can’t stop. Too touch as a human is different, he finds, without the barrier of his grace it is much like touching lightning.
He first learns this when he touches Dean. How very fitting, he thinks, that the man he traded Heaven for is the man to bless him with this realization. He’s gripping Dean’s shoulder in a friendly gesture, but the joints of his fingers lock in place, dig his digits into the flesh.
Since that instance, Cas is casual with his touches, like an addict shooting up again and again. He flits his fingers against Dean’s when he passes him the coffee in the morning, grips his forearm to pull him from the line of fire when he’s careless on a hunt, stitches Dean up with star sparks and thick, black thread when the gash on his side is vivid compared to the neutral beige of the couch he’s lying on. Deliberate, he presses his fingers into Dean’s skin, shameless.
It feels no less intoxicating, breathless, when he digs his nails into the thick flesh of Dean’s thighs a week later, sitting between the hunter’s spread thighs, watching his back muscles jerk in anticipation.
“Dean,” he growls low in his throat, proud feeling in his chest when he sees Dean’s fingers twitch in the sheets. Cas rubs roughly up his thighs, then steadies himself with a hand on the bed, the other one splayed on Dean’s back, moving up to squeeze sharply at his neck. The hunter has his face buried in the crook of his arm.
“Dean,” Cas murmurs again, curling his finger in between Dean and forcing his arm away from his face. Cas knows Dean won’t move if he doesn’t want to, Cas also know that Dean will move for him.
The hunter’s arm draws away from his face slowly and Cas presses a kiss to Dean’s neck as a reward. He slips a hand back down along Dean’s side, finding the slope of his ass, scratching his nails against the skin there just to hear Dean gasp.
Withdrawing completely, he peels himself from the expanse of Dean’s body, skin away from skin despite his craving. He finds a small bottle of lube in Dean’s drawn in just a few seconds and then he’s back, mouthing at the skin beneath Dean’s shoulder blades, rubbing the flesh on his sides and hips, scratching at the back of his thighs until Dean is desperate, propping up on his elbows with his head dipping to his chest and his mouth hanging open in little gasps of breath.
“Cas, Cas please,” he says and Cas’ cock twitches. He pushes it against Dean’s thigh, makes sure he can feel it. His head swims with the aftermath of Dean’s plea, so helpless it drives him insane, sends adrenaline pumping through his unaccustomed system. His wet fingers are at Dean’s hole in moments, spreading him apart as the hunter presses his head against the palm of his right hand and groans. Cas isn’t sure whether he breathes out another plea or Cas’ name, but they both sound the same to him.
When Dean’s breathing evens out, Cas adds another finger and Dean’s arching his back again. In a rush, Cas’ hand finds purchase on Dean’s neck and pushes him down again.
“Lie still,” he whispers hotly. “That’s it,” he praises Dean over the hunter’s feverish breathing, soothing his hand over the muscles of his back, over the curve of his raised shoulders. “Dean,” Cas stretches the “e” and cuts off the end with a wisp of breath, saying Dean’s name with something bordering on wonder.
Dean chokes on a moan when Cas adds another finger, rocking into the mattress with increasing desperation. He’s close to begging, just doesn’t have enough breath left in his lungs to do so. Then he waits too long and Cas is pulling his fingers out.
Everything stops for a couple seconds leaving Dean dizzy and panting. Cas runs a hand down his side, shivers crawling down Dean’s skin in the wake of his fingertips. Rolling his hips into the bed, Dean comes up panting.
“Cas, Cas, please,” he gasps out. “Please, I need…please, fuck,” his breathing is heavy and his eyes are shut tight, fingers gripping the sheets, pleading with everything he’s got. Cas’ mouth is dry and his head is spinning. His fingers tighten on Dean’s hips.
“Tell me what you need, I want to hear it from you,” Cas dips closer and mutters the words into Dean’s ear, pressing him tighter to the sheets until Dean’s writhing.
“Need you, want you to fuck me,” Dean gasps incoherently, pushing back into Cas’ hand where it lies on the back of his thigh. “Please,” he begs. “I need you, I need you so bad.” His arms trembling from holding him upright. In a moment, they finally give out and he collapses onto his left arm, his other forearm curling in to cover his face again.
Cas sits in between his thighs again and Dean spreads them slightly for him, letting him slip between them as though it’s natural for them, as though it’s not their first time doing this.
The next time Cas speaks, he’s bottomed out, draped across Dean’s back.
“Mine,” he says, and Dean sighs, throat blocking up on something: a moan, or a gasp, maybe an affirmative. Cas fucks him slow and deep, single thrusts, one at a time. It’s less of him pulling out and digging back in and more of him pressing closer and closer to Dean, long grinds of his hips that only bring him deeper into the hunter.
Dean coughs out his name and Cas takes his hands, curling his own around them protectively as his hipbones dig into the flesh of Dean’s ass. “Fuck,” Dean chokes out and turns his head to the side, letting Cas bury his nose against the angle of his jaw, his breath hot on Dean’s neck and his body pressed tight to Dean’s own leaving no inch of skin bare. “Fucking…fucking thick, Cas. Please.”
Cas lets out a noise like a wounded animal and snaps his hips once, twice, before groaning and digging his teeth into Dean’s shoulder like he’s trying to mark.
“Mine,” he says again, voice a growl and grip that of a drowning man.
They’re on the edge in minutes, overheated and desperate, yet Cas has the sense to pull back. He falls back to sit on his heels and Dean cries out at the sudden emptiness, not a single sense left in him that isn’t primal.
“Turn around,” Cas answers, nails digging into his own thighs to keep himself thinking straight. “Turn onto your back,” his voice is breathless.
Dean flips over quickly, eye lashes fluttering. The first thing he notices is Cas’ unruly hair, then his swollen lips, heavy lids covering his star dust eyes.
“Cas,” he says again, one hand reaching to wrap around his leaking cock, the other reaching up to cup Cas’ face. The former angel has him falling back to the sheets, mouths pressed together in unquiet desperation.
Dean’s breathing hitches in between their lips as Cas slides back into him where he’s loose and wet with lubricant. He groans deep in his throat and Cas pulls away, locking their eyes.
“Made for me,” he gasps out, rocking into Dean with a different pace, different motion. “Made for this. Mine,” he rambles, mouth shaping words deliberately, lips loose. He sets them on Dean’s throat, insane urge to mark him up.
“Yours,” is just about the only thing Dean can say to him. There’s a slight twinge to where Cas’ lips are at his throat, and then the man’s breath is ghosting over the claim he’s made. His lips are back on Dean’s, opening up the hunter’s mouth to his own, licking into it like it’s his to explore.
His hands lock around Dean’s wrists, fingers making white imprints in the tan skin while he holds them down just an inch above his head. Dean’s so pliant to him, he doesn’t have to try hard to keep him there.
Their lips find each other again and the clench in Cas’ gut is unexpected. He’s coming before he realizes what’s happening; he rides out his orgasm while his tongue flicks flames across the spread of Dean’s lower lip. As though his vocal cords are broken, he barely makes a sound.
Somewhere between the push of Cas coming inside him and the pull of Cas’ mouth on his own, Dean spills his release between their stomach, sobbing in relief. When Cas lets his wrists go, he lunges up to cup Cas’ face as they kiss weakly with their draining strength.
With no rush to break apart, they take their time with the wet slide of their mouths and the comfortable dimness of the room, silent and clean around their bodies that still lurch like a calming storm.
