Their campsite for the night lay a handful of miles beyond the midway point of their journey to the secret lakeside plateau. Dean had been here before and constructed a makeshift hitching post. A small shelter stood nearby that was open, but housed a rack designed to hold and dry their tack, offering their beast of burden respite from his cargo for the night. A hitching post and a spot to hang feed for the animal were there as well. Perhaps the most important part of his preparation: a squat but raised and flat wooden plank dais for the tent.

Dean nudged Cas’ chin, hooked over his shoulder, where the angel had spent the last mile obediently blindfolded by eyelids alone. Any other sense he might’ve used to see? Well, Dean would just have to trust he’d closed those “eyes” as well. “Open your eyes.” He felt the moment it happened. Cas’ arms, clasped around his midsection, tightened, bringing their bodies even closer together.

“You built this?” Cas asked, astonished.

Nodding, Dean replied, “Sure did.”

Letting his hand fall to hold Cas’ thigh close, Dean directed their travelling companion to the water’s edge. Castiel took in the lay of the land, amazed. The campsite was fifty yards back, above all but the highest of the flood lines marked into the earth on the banks of the creek. Perhaps three old growth pine trees had been felled to open up an alcove for the tent. Dean had built it all with wood from those giants. He’d cemented together a stone pit with a short wood bench on either side. Castiel’s gaze fell on patch of moss and grass that thinned out into pebbled dirt in the lee of a glacial boulder, ‘bout seven feet back from the pit, deposited there millennia ago, and worn into a kind of bowl shape. The far side of it sat much higher than the other.

Zeus stood comfortably, dipping his nose into the water and taking a long, leisurely drink. Dean took his feet out of the stirrups and encouraged Cas do the same with a gentle nudge of the hand. The

two let their legs hang loose off the horse’s sides, flexing their feet in preparation to stand on solid ground again. They stayed mounted until Zeus no longer seemed interested in having his nose in the water.

Dean walked them back around toward the campsite, to ground even enough for a dismount. “After you.” Dean hooked up the assist strap and offered Cas his forearm as support while he climbed down. Keeping an eye on how well Cas found his feet, Dean smiled when he seemed to be faring well enough. “Feeling steady?”

Cas nodded in response. He backed away, a little uneasy on his feet, but standing and moving well enough for a first-time rider. Dean let himself down with ease. Having long ago shed his jacket, Cas wandered back toward the creek bank, rolling up the sleeves of shirt, unbuttoning his waistcoat, loosening his tie and the top few buttons of his shirt. Kneeling on a dry, flat, wide stone in the shallows he brought a handful of clear, fresh water up to his face, rubbing the residual cool moisture in hand on the back of his neck. It felt good in the wake of the heat of the day and unending physical proximity.

Two hands went into the water this time and pulled a splash of water up to his face and neck. He closed his eyes, letting his head fall back. His elbows rested on his knees, hands dangling. Enjoying and soaking in the light and warmth of the waning sun for no reason more complicated than sheer joy tickling his heart, he let out a subdued bout of relieved laughter. Hoof falls drawing closer brought Cas’ attention back to here and now.

“Do away with all the bells and whistles, Cas. We’re done for the day. Get comfy,” Dean said, standing there with Zeus’ reins in hand, already changed into nothing but work boots and faded, ripped jeans. The stallion stood freed from carrying everything except his saddle blanket. “I gotta mess with rinsing the salt and sweat off of this one,” he said, giving the animal firm, loving pats on the side of the neck.

Walking over to stand with Dean, Cas rested a hand on the bridge of the stallion’s nose as he spoke. “Thank you, Zeus. It’s been a wonderful ride,” Cas said, turning his gaze to Dean who stood

placidly, watching the two of them interact. Cas took the time to say the same to the man he loved with a kiss and a hand around his naked lower back that brought him in close. When Cas finally pulled away, Dean gave his head a shake and, blinking, caught up on his breathing. There was a definite smirk on Cas’ lips.

Dean heaved in a wake-me-up breath. Bigoted interloper excepted, he hadn’t slept this well... since he was a child. Even then... he’d been sleeping with a gun under his pillow and one eye half open since he was eight years old. His fogged gaze cleared as he blinked against the uncomfortably glaring sunlight shining down through Baby’s rear window. Hand serving as a visor, he looked Cas over, eyes wandering through chaotic wisps of hair, down the plains of his chest and stomach, over the foothills of his forearms, down to the solitary leather peak rising majestically above his hips. Hot-fuckin’-damn...!  Explained why he was no longer touching the cockhead he’d gone to sleep with his fingers on.

He wanted nearly nothing more than to make good use of Cas’ arousal, but needed water and fuel more than sex; an agonizing reality. Find breakfast, coffee, a drugstore, a grocery store, then the remotest motel in the county...

If they didn’t see sunlight except through shuttered blinds again for days, he was exceptionally okay with that. He recognized in himself a marrow-deep exhaustion he realized he’d carried nearly all his life long, and for the sake of others, kept soldiering on through.

The thought intruded and slipped out of his mouth: “They’re gonna remember that...”

            Castiel yawned, replying, “I hope so. He showed us unwarranted aggression. One man sleeping with another isn’t illegal, I presume.”

            Dean felt himself wilt, remembering the golden Catholic cross pin on the officer’s lapel. “Not according to laws of nature or Heaven, but... I don’t think the Roman Catholic Church sees it the same way anymore, and, well, let’s say... where we are, church may be the state if that’s how the chips fell since God’s second Coming.” Dean winced at the aching longing in his heart. He held Cas, dear and close, in his arms.

Cas relaxed into it, letting his seething anger at the transgression they’d suffered ebb. Dean was safe and nothing else mattered.

Jack... thanks, kiddo. Dean smiled into Cas’ hair, pressing his lips to the angel’s head. Thank you...! Tears welled in Dean’s eyes.

            Straining slightly deeper into Dean’s embrace and touch, Cas went pliant as he recalled. “Mmh. Yes. The pin on his lapel... even the deposed God wasn’t so narrow-minded as to forbid one person genuinely loving another. It’s adultery—unfaithfulness—he took issue with, for reasons I should think are obvious. The rest—fair game.”

            Dean sighed, quietly speaking into Castiel’s ear, kissing behind it midway through his answer. “They don’t see it that way... all they know is the Bible says—”

            Cas scoffed, the sound rife with acute derision. “The Bible—a gratingly fragmented, incoherent, often bordering on nonsensical, overall bad work of fiction written by hermits sequestered from society; men stripped and chaste of sexuality. Ones with the hubris to presume they were at all capable of grasping the total nature of Creation and universal morality. What could possibly go wrong, basing the laws and social norms of society on such writing?”

            “Evolved thinking isn’t exactly my strong suit,” Dean teased, lacking any other retort, though fully appreciating the logic Castiel presented. It was far too early, and Dean was much too comfortable to carry on this kind of high-minded conversation. Anything more would have to wait until after he’d had food and his first dose of caffeine for the day. Cas began to move, to turn himself around, looking for a kiss, or so Dean rightly guessed.

            “Your thought processes have evolved considerably since then.”

Dean’s breath caught in his throat. Jesus-fucking-Christ! The carnal look in the seraph’s brilliant blue eyes, corked his breath in, skewering him in place. It occurred to him, though he’d known his fair share of sexual... success, his whole life, he had no idea what being on the receiving end of lust and love that potent felt like. Until now.

The angel’s eyelids drooped, heavy with lust, gaze fixed on the lips he craved. “It should go without saying: I’m decidedly fond of yours.” The look in the seraph’s eyes had one meaning, and one only. Dean’s hands seized either side of Cas’ chest, holding him away. He retreated deeper into the blanket and sleeping roll under his head and shoulders.

            “Uhh, thanks.” He smiled nervously.

            “You’re welcome.” Cas leaned in closer, undeterred.

            Dean chuckled uneasily. “There’s this... thing called ‘morning breath’... not exactly sexy, and I’m pretty sure we’ve got it.” In no way did this topic warrant the kind of rapt interest Castiel watched him with. Cas dropped his lips onto Dean’s neck, forcefully nudging his face to one side with his forehead, settling into putting his mouth to work on sensitive skin below his ear and under his chin. Dizzy with want, Dean slipped down under it, and Cas lay on top of him with his full weight bearing down. The sensation lit a whole-body fizzle of arousal in his nerves, sparking off kernels of emotion in the centre of his chest. They burst and happily ricocheted around in his chest like popcorn.

He clamped his arms around and his legs over the angel. For a split second, the powerful want for something he’d dreamt of and cum for in his sleep for months, rocked his soul.

The embrace stoked Cas’ loving.

            Somehow, he managed to spark a salient arc of logic between the only brain cells he could find. “The sooner we find a motel, the sooner we can have what we want.” He breathed out nearly every word. As quickly as pining for Cas inside him flared up, it quieted back down. He wanted it as badly as he was afraid of it; the tug-of-war was excruciating. Castiel pressed his open mouth to his throat and pressed their bodies closer together one last time. Punctuating his intentions there, he prowled backward, appreciative of the sight of Dean laid out underneath him, his plaid shirt wide open, bowed legs splayed. His engorged cock, standing tall, loaded balls weighed low with semen again, weeping a fine precum thread. Dean’s arms and head lay limp, eyes deliriously glazed over with pleasure.

The last thing he saw before marshalling restraint and turning to get out of the car was Dean’s full-body shudder at the loss of his body heat, gooseflesh rising on his skin.

            He opened the passenger side door and had scarcely more than one foot out of the car when Dean’s embrace captured him, sliding their sitting bodies together on the seat one last time. Castiel sighed, wrapping his hands and arms over Dean’s. He knew why. The nerves in his back, chest, and throughout his groin felt the same way. Being apart was intrinsically wrong and unwanted, but as inevitable as it was necessary. Dean kissed his spine at the base of his neck, bowing his head to rest his mouth on the slope of Cas’ shoulder.

            Dean’s hand settled into place, holding his hard-on and sack as though resting his hand elsewhere was unthinkable. “Want a hand?” Before he could respond, Dean’s palm and fingers started to move.

            Smirking, his cheeks, chest, and ears flushing bright red, Cas held his lover still on his penis, mid-stroke. Looking backward in his peripheral vision, Cas shook his head. Dean loosened his grip, shocked but nodding. “Okay.”

“Motel,” Cas countered. Still, he was in no great hurry. He would stay this way until Dean let him go. It took Dean considerably less time than he thought it would. Cas looked back over his shoulder, smiling. Dean smiled back mischievously and winked, kissing the crook of his neck.

            The longer they stayed like this, the longer it would be until they finally had what they irresistibly wanted, and the sooner, the better...

Keep reading on AO3: bit.ly/SexWarPeace

Dean collapsed on top of Castiel, breathing hard, sweat dripping off of him, so tapped out he could hardly move.

Dazed and in awe of the loving feeling permeating him, Cas wrapped himself around Dean in every way he could, holding on to him like... well, like there had never existed and never would exist a soul he loved more thoroughly and wholly. Dean took in a sudden, sharp breath and made a noise that sounded distinctly painful. His hand, hanging off the seat's edge, lifelessly limp, came back from the dead, taking hold of the muscle on the inside of his leg.

"Dean...? What's wrong?"

His breathing now pained, quick, and shallow, Dean, unable to help laughing, responded, "My penis thinks I'm twenty-five again. The rest of me thinks I'm an idiot." One bitch of a charley horse was trying to take over his leg. Cas couldn't help chuckling along with him. Castiel reached a hand down to work a little angelic magic on the cramping muscle.

Dean pushed it away, pinning it down on Baby's back seat. "Forget it, Cas. You couldn't heal the cuts and bruises you showed up with. No way am I letting you spend your energy on a few tweaking muscles."

"What can I do—?"

Dean smiled. Persistent son of a bitch. "Holy water in the trunk. Grab it. All of it." Without another word, Cas began picking up pieces of clothing, looking for his boxers. The fact that they were dark didn't help with locating them in the slightest. Dean dug into the pile of clothing under their heads for his jacket, then the keys in the pocket.

Keys in hand and barefoot, Cas exited the car door and made his way, limping quickly, over the irregular gravel to the trunk. Ignoring the cold air and the way rivulets of fluid running down his skin everywhere made it feel that much chillier, Cas rifled through the trunk's contents and quickly found a couple flasks of water and a small hand-held jug besides that.

He returned to the Impala's warm, humid interior, closing the door behind him after brushing a few stuck pebbles off the soles of his feet. Tossing one of the flasks onto the upholstered shelf behind the seats, Cas unscrewed the cap on the other, handing it to Dean. Draining a whole flask was barely enough to wet Dean's throat and take the edge off the gravel in his voice. Cas swallowed a mouthful from the jug himself, intent on leaving the contents of the flasks for Dean.

Having left himself uncovered, a beckoning wave of Dean's hand invited Cas back into bed. Dean cleared his throat, his voice returning to normal after a few words. "Whether it's a good idea or not, please take those off," he asked, referring to Cas' underwear. He wanted nothing between them. Seconds later, with a quiet laugh and nothin' on but an amused smirk, Castiel crawled back onto the seat, fitting himself in front of Dean. Contact with Dean's cramping leg made the man wince, and Cas reached down for the leg again. Dean seized his hand without saying anything.

"I don't want this to be unpleasant for you."

Oddly, it was a nod and a smile that prefaced Dean's reply. His breathing was deep and controlled, belying that he was putting his considerable focus and force of will to the task of releasing the taut muscles. "I'll recover the good ol' fashioned way.” He paused, considering how to explain himself. “You know how something salty and sweet tastes better than something that's one or the other?" Dean asked as he visibly relaxed, having managed to extricate himself from the worst of the spasm.

"Yes." Nodding, Cas made the last adjustments to his body that brought them as close together as he could manage.

"Same deal," Dean replied, pulling Cas' coat and his jacket over them, glad to be keeping the heat in again.

"It tastes as good as it does because of the contrast. Not despite it."

"Bingo." Smiling and laughing, Dean relaxed and let the second flask fall to the floor, empty. He'd managed to stave off the cramp entirely and loosen his leg up again.

A momentary frown showed on Cas' face. "I understand." Slapping someone you love—inflicting pain—during sex made considerably more sense now. Dean wrapped an arm over his chest. Castiel interwove his fingers between Dean's, his thumb unconsciously taking to stroking along bone and tendon. They lay together in silence, letting each other know they were there with them in whatever minuscule way they felt the urge to. A brush of the nose to the back of the neck. The movement of fingers over the skin leaving a tingling sensation wherever they went. Rubbing the top of a foot behind the other's calf, toes curled up. Butterfly kisses to whatever skin was handy.

Soon, Dean couldn't fight back the drowsing taking him over anymore. "I'd stay awake with you, Cas, but I'm fading fast."