#flameon

Cas opened the motel room door and walked in, grinning and laughing. Setting down the white grocery bag Missi Missouri had sent them away with—cheap Tupperware filled with meals enough to last another day—on the table in front of the window, he shed his coat. Dean came in a few steps behind him, dancing through the door, fresh from Broadway, his voice playing around with the final bars of a song that hadn’t finished before the radio in the car went dead with the killing of the engine.

“...I would walk five hundred miles, an’ I would walk five hundred more, just to be the man who walked a thousand miles to fall down at yooour doooor...” The accent was awful, the pitch slightly off, but the feeling and meaning every word was all there. Dean had quickly figured out that Castiel couldn’t keep a straight face being on the receiving end of him at his most impishly charming; being serenaded was doing the trick friggin’ beautifully. Cas stood there, back toward him, one hand on his hip, shaking his head and trying to restrain his laughter as he cradled his face in hand. Dean dropped his arms to his sides, letting them swing, grinning and laughing at his own foolery as much as Castiel’s reaction. He closed and locked the door behind him.

Less than a step inside the room, Cas turned on his heel and closed on him, looking ready to swallow him whole. It occurred to Dean he’d probably looked at a few apple pies almost the same way. He tossed the keys at the two-seater tabletop—and missed. Probably had something to do with the fact that Cas had already captured his lips, and he’d closed his eyes just as the keychain took flight. His backside hit the wall first, hard enough to bounce his hips forward, making it immediately obvious there was something hot and hard waiting for him under the angel’s clothing. If he was reading this right, Cas seemed determined to have him—all of him—again today. His body—his cock, specifically—was sayin’, ‘fuckin’ Hell yeah’, his good sense on the other hand...

“Cas—” Shut down by a kiss. “Cas—” he breathed into the angel’s lips.

“Yes?” the seraph asked, lacking the breath to say it with any kind of force. Dean hesitated, so he kissed the man again, breathing him in at the same time; the smell of a backyard fire’s smoke, barbecue fried burgers, bread, butter and cornmeal, onion, cheese, condiments, jerk chicken, maple ice cream, good beer, orange zest, and whiskey. All this and every little thing that went into them colored the already delicious taste and scent of the eager human being in his grasp.

“Cas.” Dean opened his eyes, kissing the angel back when kissed, though not with the same heated intensity.

Castiel laid a kiss on him that was nothing if not an apology. “You’re unwilling?”

Dean looked down on him with disbelief. The friggin’ vocabulary on this guy... “Unwilling...? Heh. No. Haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

“I know. Your thoughts are very...” Cas cocked his head to one side while he paused, considering his word choice. “loud.” Dean’s lilting, darkly mischievous laughter sent a shiver down Castiel’s back, over his arse, and down his leg.

Despite the lack of space between them, Castiel’s hand slipped down there—calmly pulling belt tongues free of buckles, prongs out of their holes—his gaze wandering from looking Dean in the eye to lingering on his lips. Dean’s breath left him for half a minute; approximately the amount of time it took Cas to have their belts and waist buttons undone, zippers down, and a couple of his shirt buttons undone from the bottom up. Some adjusting and their penises stood comfortably underneath their underwear, side-by-side between them.

Dean snapped his eyes open, surprised he was unaware he’d closed them, simply enjoying the feeling of being undressed, taking in breath softly and unsteadily. That Cas had watched and delighted in every minute expression that showed momentarily on his face didn’t faze him in the slightest.

He shook his head and marginally looked away from Castiel. His expression turned troubled. “Do you have any pain, ’round back?”

The fingers of Cas’ busy hand walked around his waist, staying still behind him on his loin for a few seconds. Then the angel flattened his hand onto his skin and held him close with a grasp that allowed for no space between their pelvises as he rhythmically whet their cocks, grinding himself into Dean. “Mild,” the seraph replied as evenly as he could with how ragged his breathing already was.

Dean scoffed. Relative to what? Thousands of years in the Empty, and Dean had the distinct impression Castiel wasn’t the screaming sort. He looked Cas in the eyes again. “I’m not goin’ there again for a few days,” he said, pressing his tongue into the sharp tip of one of his top teeth as Cas ground their hips together hard. Refraining was going to be as hard as going without. “You need to recover. No pain.”

Cas’ nod was minute but genuinely accepting. He kissed Dean’s open lips. Dean needed no prompting to drop his jaw and let the angel’s tongue past his teeth, letting himself be kissed deeply. Worrying about threading his arms underneath Cas’ clothing, Dean held the angel tight against him, the skin at their groins superheating with no space between their bodies. Shifting how he stood was enough movement to light him up, setting his own enthusiasm loose. He was smiling, chuckling, and kissing Cas at the same time. Dizzy... feeling a liiittle dizzy. Dean took the breath he was shy on. If it hadn’t been a foregone conclusion before, it was now; he needed to paint the angel’s stomach white before settling down to sleep.

The seraph started to outright Cheshire grin the moment the thought crossed his mind.

Dean started snickering. “Hey now, sinning’s my department, angel.”

“Tonight, the ‘helping hand’ is mine,” Castiel asserted, his tone as dark as it was smooth. He quickly shed his jacket and shirt, bared chest butting up against Dean’s, as he insisted, “You’re overdressed, and so am I.”