Remember The 5th Of November 2020

They’d been kissing, not so much making out given Cas’s substantially larger mouth, just lips on faces, tongues tracing jawlines, flat-edged teeth sucking hickeys into each other’s necks and shoulders. And Dean kept begging Cas to fuck him.

No matter how many times Cas tried to explain that it wasn’t possible in this form, that they’d just have to wait until he was back to normal, Dean couldn’t seem to shut up about it. Cas was in the middle of sucking a huge bruise into Dean’s collarbone when he asked again –

“Cas, please,” he’d gasped. “Wanna feel you, please.”

And this time, Cas had said, “Fine.” Growled it, really.

He sat back, Dean whimpering at the loss of contact, only for Cas to lift him, as though he weighed no more than a kitten, and draped him over his shoulder, head dangling beside Castiel’s waist.

“Cas?” Dean asked, blood rushing to his face, part blush, part inversion.

In lieu of verbal response, Cas barred his forearm over the exposed backs of Dean’s thighs, stood up from Dean’s bed and walked to the center of the room. There was nothing in arm’s reach besides Cas’s body, nothing to cling to but Castiel.

He felt Cas slide his boxers down over his ass, the cold air of the room prickling his skin, making him shiver. He wriggled in Cas’s iron grip, succeeding in nothing besides stimulating his cock, grinding it against the curve of Cas’s shoulder.

“Be still,” Cas instructed, and Dean went totally limp, heavy and unresistant. He was so eager for whatever’s coming next that he was almost nauseous with it, though that could just be the fact of hanging upside down.

There was a wet sound, a sucking sound, and then a sticky fingertip prodding at his hole. A thrill ran through him, knowing Cas was only using spit as lube. His breaths came faster, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

Cas had fingered him open plenty of times before, stretching him for his sizeable cock. This was nothing like that, the slow sweet pull against his rim, the tender attentive prep for something more. This was the something more, Cas’s finger now easily as big as his cock, and infinitely more dexterous.

When Cas breached him, Dean cried out, even as his dick throbbed in its fabric prison, spurted wet where it was trapped against Cas’s body. Castiel took it as encouragement, slid his barely lubricated finger in to the second knuckle, so pronounced in this form that it acted almost as a knob, rounded like an anal bead.

He gasped, the extra stretch almost too much. Cas must have liked that sound, wanted to hear it again, because he slid his finger out a little, let his knuckle slide out, felt Dean’s hole flutter around him before punching it back in. Dean gasped again, and Cas repeated the motion, again and again, in and out, in and out, until Dean was hazy eyed and drooling, leaking pre-come onto Cas’s shirt.

Having had his fun with that particular phase of penetration, Cas got down to business, pushed his index finger in to the base. It was like being fucked by a cock, in that Cas’s finger filled him up just as well, but the way he could hone in on Dean’s prostate, could stroke his inner walls mercilessly, was utterly foreign.

“Cas,” Dean groaned, voice high and unsteady. Cas turned and kissed his ass cheek, dragged his teeth over it as he fucked his finger in and out of Dean’s hole.

He pulled his finger out all the way, and Dean couldn’t help the whimper that escaped him when he clenched around nothing. Except – there was that wet sound again, Cas sucking his own massive fingers. The plural being entirely appropriate, because when the pressure returned to his swollen hole, it was double.

A wave of lucid fear crashed over him, but there was nowhere to go, no escape in this position. He could tell Cas to stop, but he doesn’t really want to, likes feeling like a toy, like something open for Cas to fill. It burned, when Cas pressed two fingers in, index and middle, slick but not nearly slick enough. He panted, trying to catch his breath. There was no meandering entrance this time, no slow build. Cas shoved both fingers in and fucked him hard with them, alternating which was thrusting in and which was thrusting out, so he was always caught in both cycles, always being pulled in both directions.

Dean was aware that he was making noise, open-mouthed whines and vowels framed by a soft hissing ‘h’, but he didn’t know how to stop. Cas was grunting in approving encouragement, occasionally muttering praise, ‘so good for me’, ‘so tight’, and once, ‘so pretty’, which had resulted in a mortifying keen slipping past Dean’s lips.

+++

He’s delirious when he comes, all the blood having rushed to his face, besides that dedicated to keeping him hard. Cas doesn’t stop fucking him as he shakes and spasms and sobs, just slows his pace until he’s tapered down to an almost gentle rhythm, both fingers moving as one, like a single massive cock.

“Cas,” Dean sputters, once he’s verbal again. “Cas, I’m – I came.”

Cas is still fucking him lazily when he answers.