Dean doesn't know where it came from, but it has to stop. He loves Cas, to the end of the earth and further, but no man can be expected to endure this. There are so many ways to say it: fucking, creaming, ramming, banging, fooling around, hiding the sausage - he'd even take making love at this point. All of them would be better alternatives than what Cas has landed on for initiating sex:
"Dean," he always says, with complete, hungery sincerity, often holding his hand or murmuring directly into his ear, "I must have you."
He must have him. Like some 18th century romantic lead. Like he wants all of Dean, and couldn't live without his touch for a moment longer. He must have him.
Obviously, this is deeply embarrassing every time, even when they're in private. It always leads to Dean covering his eyes and cringing, feeling the radiating pink blush spread out all over him. It does also always lead to mind blowing sex, because, come on, he must have him.
He's protested on it before, but he finally puts his foot down during a particularly lengthy afterglow.
"Just say literally anything else. Or, you don't even say anything. I'm pretty good on reading signals."
"Says the man who didn't know I was in love with him until my second confession," Cas grumbles, his arms folded. Dean knows he doesn't like this conversation, but unfortunately for Cas, he's cute when he's grumpy.
"Oh, yeah, 'I love all of you' is real specific. I suppose you must have my mom too," Dean holds up a hand when Cas opens his mouth to comment, "Don't answer that, I do not want to know."
Guaranteed, Cas was about to say something along the lines of 'Mary is a charming woman' or some creepy noncommital bs like that, and then Dean would be stuck with the mental images forever.
"Look, we're getting off topic. You're not going to say it again, right?" Dean forces eye contact, until Castiel sighs and unfolds his arms.
"Fine. I will find another way to express my desire for a physical expression of my eternal devotion to you."
"Great," Dean says, kissing his cheek and turning his light off, "that's all I was asking for.
Dean should never ask for anything. He's realised that now. Everything comes with a monkey's-paw price, and this is straw that finslly breaks that monkey's knuckle. Cas has been true to his word, the phrase "I must have you" banished from his vocabulary, but the replacement is much, much worse than Dean could have ever considered.
Take last night, for example. Dean was just sat on his recliner drinking a beer, as normal, wrapping his lips around the rim, and as soon as he'd finished licking the final drops away, the dark figure of Castiel loomed between him and the tv. Before Dean could even put his bottle down, Cas had crawled on top of him, knees framing Deans, hands propped up next to Dean's shoulders. And then he looked at him.
Dean was no stranger to lingering looks between him and Cas, but this was something else. It was like Cas had found a way to distil absolute longing into his gaze, desire, heat, passion and pleading all in one killer expression. The flush it sent through Dean must have had him practically glowing, and he was ready to go in an instant. So of course, they banged, and if there were some tears involved from how intensely vulnerable and loved Dean felt in that bonesesh, that's his business.
In any case, Dean has to do something about this. It is too powerful a weapon for Castiel to keep in his arsenal, Dean must disarm him at his next opportunity. Or, perhaps the opportunity after that. Or maybe he can just write it off as a weird Cas-ism. That way, he'll get to see Cas looking at him like that again.
When Dean gets his revenge, it is genuinely not on purpose. He's just in the kitchen, tuned out of Sam and Jack's conversation, watching Castiel's muscles flex as he scrubs a stubborn pan at the sink. Cas has his sleeves rolled up, the dark hair on his arms occasionally catching suds and holding them until they burst. Dean wants to tug that hair between his teeth. He wants those strong arms to carry him to bed. He wants a thousand more nights of this warm domesticity and he wants Castiel to fuck him like an animal.
Cas, Dean thinks in prayer, channeling his desire into it as Castiel had shown him he could. Cas stiffens, but only in a way that noticeable to Dean, watching him so closely.
Cas, Dean prays, Castiel.
Cas's breathing starts to get heavier, and his hand squeezes tighter on the sponge, a stream of suds pouring out over his thick fingers. Dean wants to be squeezed like that. Dean wants him so badly he aches.
Cas. You must have me.
There's a loud crash from the sink that startles everyone but Cas and Dean, as Cas drops his pan onto a pile of dishes and stalks over to Dean. He gives him an intense, desirous, stare, and then grabs his arm with his soapy hand and vanishes them both to their room.
Later, Dean is going to have to buy a new set of dishes, and come up with some explanation to Sam and Jack for what just went down, but for now, Castiel is grinding against him insensibly and can't stop whispering, "I must have you," in a wrecked, pleading voice, and Dean has to acknowledge that any mortification those words have caused him in the past were worth it for this.
