Watchman Alternate

A fruitless sweep later, and Dean sat in one of those booths, watching the dancers strut onto stage, do their routines, and go to the tables and booths or the back bar to mingle. More than one had been handed embarrassingly large stacks of cash for...full-service work. Dean looked around one more time, hoping to identify the needle in a stack of needles. Just to the right of stage, the dancer who’d just gotten off was crouched on the arms of the chair she’d made her to, her high-rolling customer burying his face between her legs. She rode him as he quickly jerked himself to completion. The guy hurried off afterward, grimacing and refusing to meet anyone's eye as he scuttled away. Dean felt a little sick at the sight. He was by no means a prude, having visited a few clubs not too different from this one a couple times in youth when he was away from his father for a while and had some rare cash to burn. But he’d been young and stupid - and in the trade himself from time to time. He wasn’t proud of it, but he had been the one to give Sammy almost a thousand dollars to set himself up in California when he left for Stanford. He was proud of that.

But now, older and wiser, and more worried about his baby brother than ever, he couldn’t help but worry about what Sam might have to do to get by when he was gone. Only a few months were left on his deal, and he knew that Sam wasn’t just going to stop hunting when he took the fall. He’d said he would, said that if he couldn’t find a way to free his brother, he’d find a way out of the life, go into hiding. They both knew he was lying. No, Sammy was going to hunt Lilith to the ends of the Earth and the depths of Hell and back and they both knew it.

The DJ/Emcee announced another dancer: Zorro, the Fox. Dean glanced up to see if it was Sammy and nearly burst out laughing when he saw that it was. The absolute sleazes had put his poor brother in a stupid Sexy Zorro costume complete with hat, mask, and cape. Sam walked awkwardly up the catwalk to the pole. He didn’t try any proper pole dancing, not that that surprised Dean – his brother was a talented athlete, a sexy dancer he was not, but he moved well enough in time with the music, losing the hat quickly as he gyrated and shook his hips, seemingly getting into the music. Dean saw the flush of embarrassment—or maybe arousal—spread across his oiled chest.

He shifted in his seat. On the stage, Sam was still rolling his body in time with the music. Dean wanted so badly to laugh at his brother’s poorly-concealed discomfort – maybe take a few pictures on his phone to taunt him with later – but his hands wouldn’t cooperate.

Sam had lost the ridiculous cape and was running his broad hands up and down his body, his right hand making its way to his chest, pinching a nipple before it slid up to his throat. Dean’s breathing turned ragged as Sam gave that long column a tight stroke, up and down, while his left hand mimicked the motion further south.

Fuck, Sammy was getting hard. He hadn’t been at the start of the dance. The attention had to be doing something for him. But now one hand was buried in his hair. He must’ve ditched the hat while Dean’s eyes darted between his hard pecks and hardening cock. Sam kept dancing, twirling around the pole. Any discerning strip-club enthusiast could tell he wasn’t a professional, but given the crowd and setting, Dean supposed it didn’t matter. No need for great technique when the point was to advertise the goods. Sam’s eyes were hooded, lips parted. The bass beat pumped through Dean’s chest while his heartbeat throbbed between his legs.

His eyes squeezed shut as he tried desperately to get his breathing under control.

WRONG! WRONG! WRONG! This was Sammy. His little brother, Sammy. The kid he kept fed and clothed and schooled. But there he was on stage, ass swaying for all to gawk at. It was Sammy who, at fourteen, asked, frustrated and discouraged if there was something wrong with the way he kissed. Laura-May from third period had told him she didn’t like how he did it. Dean had teased him for hours until Sammy snapped that he should just show him how to do it right, if he was such an expert. And Dean had. He always helped Sammy. If he needed to know something, Dean would learn it and teach it to him. Besides, it would’ve reflected badly on Dean if he’d let the kid out into the world not knowing his way around. Sam’s tongue had tasted like root beer when his body spasmed in Dean’s lap, leaving an impressive stain forming on the front of his jeans. He’d been so embarrassed that he’d run into the bathroom and stayed there for almost an hour after he’d washed his pants in the sink. When Dean finally coaxed him out, he’d given him the ‘Hey, it’s okay; it happens to everybody sometimes, and it isn’t you fault’ talk.

Sam, on stage, was climbing down from the stage and into the lap of some balding accountant type, who’d stuck a handful of bills into his Speed-o. Where had the pants gone? The motherfucker said something into Sam’s ear. Sam glanced in Dean’s direction and Dean was grateful for the little barrier between his booth and the stage. Even so, Sam’s eyes dropped to where Dean’s hand was pressing painfully into his erection as he tried to get himself to calm down a little. Shit! He had to have seen the movement, or something in Dean’s face. Sam’s focus shifted back to the loser under him as he nodded and smiled, said something back. Ass-face grinned and started pawing at Sam’s muscular chest and back. Dean could see the fine smattering of chest hair that Sam usually shaved, and his hands itched with the need to know exactly what that short stubble felt like on his palms, his face, his lips. His pulse was ringing in his ears as he watched Sam grind his ass into the guy’s pathetic little pencil-dick. He couldn’t see him properly from that angle, but he’d bet the night’s motel room money the bastard wasn’t packing anything worth talking about. Dean himself may not have been freakishly huge, but he was proportional and well-shaped and knew what to do with it. He could do the job a damn sight better than this bitch. Said bitch flashed Sam a thick money clip.

Fuck! ABORT! Sam and Dean had agreed to strict boundaries while Sammy was up there. Not all of the dancers at this shindig were prostitutes, and not all were there for freebies, so it wouldn’t raise too many alarms if Sam said no touching, or to keep things above the waist. That was not lap-dance money being waved under his baby brother’s nose. That was full-service money. Right there. In front of everyone.

SHIT!

Dean adjusted himself as he got up to pull Sam out as soon as he got the signal. Instead, Sam looked right at him, and there was no way he missed Dean’s hard-on this time. Not when his gaze flicked down, and Dean could read his lips all the way across the room: “Oh fuck yes…”

The piece of shit with the money must’ve thought it was directed to him, because he immediately dropped his face down, pushing Sammy to lean backwards as he licked a stripe from the waistband of his Speed-o all the way up to the hollow of his throat, stopping only to nip and suck on his nipples.

Dean was going to feed him his fucking entrails.

His only comfort – if the lightning strike to his brain could be called comfort – was that Sam was staring right at him, pressing the losers face into his tits as he circled his hips a few times. Dean’s future murder victim thrust up, sharp and a fast, a few times, head thrown back as he creamed his pants, looking like he was having a religious experience. It was completely ignored by the Adonis above him. Good. He rubbed his money-clip on Sam’s cock, and the waistband of the Speed-o slipped down a little and Dean could’ve sworn he caught a peek of the swollen head. Sam smiled down at the poor bastard and took his money.

Dean rubbed his hands over his face.

Holy shit.

He wrapped his hands around his glass, grateful for whatever genius decided to keep them frosted. The cold felt incredible on his palms, then on his face and neck as he carefully pressed the freezing glass to his overheated skin. Finally, he sat a little straighter and put it between his legs, squeezing his thighs and groaning at the sharp pain as the chill set in through his jeans. He turned his head, remembering that he was there on a job, not to enjoy the view. To his right, cute blonde was on her knees in front of a tall woman with long brown hair and dark eyes. The blonde was blindfolded and leashed as she ate out the brunette with enthusiasm. To his left, the dancer from earlier was getting pounded by a thickly-muscled man covered in leather straps. Shit. There was no way he was getting through this in one piece if he was this distracted. Where the fuck was Sam? He had all but vanished after his set.

He scanned the crowd again, deciding to just get up and walk the club, hopefully looking like he was simply enjoying watching, when he caught sight of Sam on his twelve o’clock. He was bent over a table while a shorter, stockier man with long hair licked and fingered him from behind. Again, Sam was looking at his older brother. Sam reached down, grabbing his own dick. He’d gotten softer in the past few minutes, but catching Dean’s eye seemed to have put the devil back in him.

They had to find the witch.

Dean knew that.

The job came first.

There was no way Sam would be okay with any of this once they were out from under her influence.

They had to be under her influence.

He meant to go to Sam, to push the guy away and save his little brother, get the job done, play the hero so they could forget any of this ever happened. Instead he was pinned down by the sight in front of him. He was helpless as he watched Sam get fingered loose and wet while the guy behind him jerked off into a tissue. Dean couldn’t take his hand away from his own erection, even though it had flagged a bit in his worry.

God, when was the last time he came in his pants? A few years, at least. He’d gotten a sick taste for it with Lee. He’d told Dean that it wasn’t really gay, it was just guys helping each other out, and it was fine so long as no one touched each other’s dicks. That’d been bullshit. Dean’s father had made damn sure he knew it when he came home early from a hunt to find Dean and Lee both joking around as they wiped their pants off at the sink. John must’ve seen the soft look on Dean’s face, hidden too slowly, and too fond to just be foxhole buddies working off some steam. Ten years and a million miles away, he found himself here, rubbing one out in front of a room full of strangers while he watches Sammy get opened up for him.

And it was for him.

There was absolutely no way he was gonna let anyone else inside his brother. If he wasn’t already going to hell, he would be now. His whole abdomen had started to ache with the need to cum. He took his hand off himself, gestured to Sam, whose gaze hadn’t wavered. Come here, Sammy. It’s my turn now.

Sam obeyed without question for once. He marched straight to Dean, long legs eating away the distance–and Dean’s hope of heaven–in graceful strides. He was fully nude now, and moved in a way Dean had only seen on a hunt. This time Dean was the prey, and he could not wait to be devoured – so long as he got to repay the favor.

“I knew it.” Sam hissed into Dean’s ear. His voice vibrated through Dean’s body in a way he felt in his bones all the way down to hell.

“Sammy, I-”

“You remember the other day, when you woke both of us up moaning and cumming all over your pillow?” Dean did. That morning, he’d practically shouted into his pillow as he squirted a mess onto the one he kept between his bowed knees, his dick poking out of the flap in his boxers. It wasn’t common for him, but it was the kind of thing you got used to and learn to politely ignore when you live in close quarters with another dude for twenty-five years. “You know what I did when you went to clean up? I took the pillow off your bed.”

Sam pressed a gentle kiss and a less gentle nip into the soft skin of his jaw. He took Dean’s hand in his own and gave it a surprisingly delicate squeeze before snaking it down onto his dick. Dean groaned and dropped his head onto his brother’s shoulder. The flesh in his hand was hard and hot and perfect. “I rolled it up and fucked into it just like this.” He started thrusting into Dean’s hand with long, slow strokes.

Dean had to look away. He couldn’t keep Sam’s body in his line of sight and keep even the pretense of sanity. Another ‘dancer’ was bent over the barrier of the booth next to his, her dripping cunt being pounded by some businessman-type in an overpriced suite while an absolutely stunning woman with incredible tits fucked her hard cock into her mouth. Shit, there was just nowhere for Dean to look.

“You know, you came so much, it smeared all over my dick. Wet like a girl. You always cum so much I don’t know how the fuck you haven’t knocked anyone up.” Sam huffed a laugh. He backed away just enough to get Dean’s shirt off and unbutton his jeans. He shoved them hard and fast down his legs to his knees. “And here we are.” Sam kissed him, more a quick suck on his lower lip. “I’m gonna fuck you just like I did your pillow. Jizzed all over it, mixed our cum together on the pillowcase. Smeared it onto my cock until I couldn’t take it anymore.” Sam knelt down as he pushed Dean back into his chair and knelt between his legs.

Dean’s Sammy, kneeling pretty, broad shoulders glowing in the dim lights of the club, muscled chest dusted with surprisingly soft hair, cock standing proud and hot, slick with precum.

Dean looked down to his own, and had to bury a swell of embarrassment. Sam hadn’t been wrong: when Dean was turned on – really turned on – he’d make so much pre that he’d gotten comments on it. And he did cum a lot, enough that he was an avid proponent of condoms, sometimes even wearing one when he jerked off because it was easier to clean up that way.

“You know what I did next? While you were in the shower, not fifteen feet away from me? I did this.” Sam sucked Dean’s dick into his mouth as far as he could, and Dean saw God. No old man with a white beard and a robe. No, God was his baby brother, beautiful and strong, with his gorgeous lips wrapped around Dean’s cock. God had hazel eyes and long lashes that fluttered as he moaned around Dean like it was the best thing he had felt or tasted in his whole life. Dean couldn’t last. He ran his hands through Sam’s soft locks.

“Sammy… baby boy, you’ve gotta stop. I’m gonna-” Sam pulled away, wrapping his forefinger and thumb tightly around Dean, who nearly screamed at the sensation. He felt like he’d been hit in the stomach as Sam reached over, cooled his hand on the chilled mug on the table, and wrapped it around Dean’s balls. Dean moaned, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the pain or the pleasure of it.

“Breathe for me, Dean. You can do it. You can be strong for me. Just breathe. I’ve got you.” He leaned down and kissed him deeply, fucking his tongue into Dean’s mouth in time with the bass that rattled their bones. Dean couldn’t help but suck on it, the slick wet slide making him wish he was further south on this beautiful body. “That’s it, Dean. Don’t cum yet, not yet. I want you inside me when you cum. I want to feel all that wet dripping down my legs when I fuck you. God, you’re gonna feel so good. I’m gonna use your own spend to get you wet. Come on, Dean. Fuck me.”

Dean couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think straight or see straight. Some part of him knew they were in trouble, that they were hexed, but he could—not—care. He did as he was told, Sammy kneeling on the chair, ass out for Dean, still wet and slick for him.

“Just do it, Dean. I’m ready.”

Dean bent down and kissed Sam’s tailbone before straightening back up and lining his cock up to Sam’s hole, sliding in sure and fast.

It felt like he’d been shot and healed and lit on fire and dropped in ice water all at once. Fuck, but Sammy was perfect. Hot and tight, and wet and perfect under Dean’s hands and around his dick.

“Sam! FUCK!”

He thrust in and out of Sam’s body, trying to keep a steady pace to last as long as he could. He rolled his hips, and angled himself down on the in stroke just so. Sam shouted a wordless syllable, arching his back to keep the angle as he thrust back into Dean’s hips, meeting each push with a loud wet slap.

“Sammy, you feel so fucking good. I can’t stop this time, Sam. Fuck, Sammy. Please, I need to cum. Let me fill you up, Sammy. Let me-fuck, so good, so perfect. I knew you’d be so good, Sam. Fuck, I’ve wanted this since you made me kiss you. Do you remember that, Sammy? You were just a kid and I showed you and you creamed your pants against me. I wanted to eat you out and lick you up, but I couldn’t – AH – I couldn’t hurt you. Not my Sam. Fuck, I love you!”

     The following few weeks were…well, Dean’s dad would call it “Situation Normal: All Fucked Up.”  The usual end of the world bullshit, one apocalypse after another, deaths and demon tablets, and angel tablets, and all the many joys of being a Winchester just…raining down upon them.  But now, instead of just Dean and Sam, they had Kevin in the bunker full-time - even managing to get him outside occasionally and get a vegetable in him - and Dean was handling the Ezekiel situation, and they had Cas.

     Cas…Castiel…Cas- Tee- Ell…

     “Dean?”

     “What?! - Uh, sorry, Cas, what’s up?”  

     He tried to look normal?...and failed miserably.  He could only hope that she was too busy or too unaware to notice what a weirdo the past couple of months (years) [decades] had turned him into.  At this point, the only uncomplicated, unfucked thing in his life was Cas.     “You were saying my name in varying speeds and abbreviations.”  

     She was sitting next to him on his bed, resting against the headboard, her shoulders gently bumping against his.  Dean really wished he’d sprung for a bigger bed.  ‘Idiot, you knew, you fucking knew that if she was ever-’

     “Uhhh, yeah, sorry about that, Cas. I was just thinking about how strange it all must be, being human.  And you had such a rough go of it at the start.  I suppose sleeping rough in abandoned buses probably isn’t what you imagined life as an Earthling would be like…ya know?”  

     The flush of shame nearly choked him, and he briefly wondered if maybe it was the better alternative to whatever weird little crush he’d been harboring.  

     He should’ve found her faster, made her the priority.  She’d been murdered right in front of him because he hadn’t found her fast enough.  But here she was, eyes ahead and far away as she turned her thoughts around in that way of hers; letting them roll gently in all directions before speaking.

     “I suppose not.  But I’ve seen worse human suffering than homelessness.  I count myself lucky.  I saw human systems at their worst, of course, but I also got to see people at their best.  Plenty of people helped me along the way.  And-” she patted his knee in a slightly exaggerated gesture that Dean couldn’t help but smile at “A pair of humans did come to my rescue and save my life when I was at my most vulnerable.  I suppose I can understand Sam’s…unwise decisions where women are concerned…a little better.”

     “Yeah, fair enough”  

     Dean could grant her that, although, in Cas’s defense, she didn’t drink demon blood because of April.  She just…fuck, she died because of April. 

     ‘STOP it’

     “April was hot.” he blurted out lamely.  She was hot, to be fair.

     “So hot” Cas emphasized, “And nice…until the torture and the murder…”     “Yeah, well, no hookup is perfect.”

     “No, I suppose not.  I just-” 

     She looked over and to her right, a habit she’d picked up when she struggled to articulate something.

     “-I wish there wasn’t the-the wrongness of it.  The sex itself was fine, she had a beautiful body and seemed to know what to do with it in a way I don’t really.  But at the moment, I was so focused on ‘completing the interaction correctly’ that I think I betrayed myself a little bit.”  

     Castiel pursed her lips in concentration, and Dean turned to more fully face her.  

     “I desired her once she started touching me, I did, but...I just wanted her to let me stay. I wanted to be useful. She gave me food and shelter, she tended to my wounds, she held me.  I didn't know that humans needed to be held that way. I didn't want her to stop, and I didn't want her to think I was ungrateful.  If I'm honest, I didn't want her to kick me back out into the rain if I didn't have sex with her." 

     Cas had developed little fidgets by that point, and she toyed with the hem of Dean's flannel. It half-reminded Dean of Sam doing the same thing when they were kids, and it hurt to see it again.

     "I..." 

     Dean took a deep breath to steady himself.  

     "I know what it feels like, thinking you don't really have a choice. That at least you're not being forced, no one’s got a gun to your head, or anything, and at least you won't owe them anything." 

     Now it was Dean's turn to fidget. 

     "I uh...I was the one that paid the bills most of the time growing up, you know? Dad never left us with much and rarely left us with enough. I got really good at seeing my body as a…I don’t know, a thing.  A tool to be used.  I can fight with it, I can protect Sam with it…I can make someone feel good enough to pay me for it. Hell, it wasn't until we met Charlie and she gave us our hacked credit cards that I was able to stop...paying the bills...completely."

     Dean shifted, carefully putting his arm around Cas, holding her while also trying to give her space. 

     Of fucking course he’d find a way to make it about himself when she’s hurting.  She needs a friend, and he’s just dumped his little man purse all over her doorstep. Can he have one normal interaction with this woman without it getting like this? Of course not, It's what he fucking does–

     "Stop it."

     What?

     "What?"

     "I might not be able to read your mind anymore, Dean, but I can still read your face, your body. I don't ALWAYS know what things mean, but I know your self-hatred as well as I know my own.  So just stop.  None of what happened was your fault, Dean.  Not to me, and not to you."

     Dean didn't even know what to say to that. He tried his best to take the grace he's being given in the spirit in which it was offered.

     Cas scooted closer, burrowed into his side a bit, took his hand. She examined the lines and curves and bones and the meat of his palm. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, resting his head on hers and watching her fingers trace over his.  

     "I don't want to make you uncomfortable...but...I wish it'd been you. Even if it was to 'show me the ropes' as you'd say. To educate me in that part of humanity. It would've been kinder. I would've liked learning from you.”

     “I can...I had Jamie's memories. I know the act of sex and what she felt when she had it. But I can't feel it. I can only barely see those memories, and when I do it's...well..it's like they're someone else's." 

     Dean's heart rate had been clipping along already, but now it was pounding in his ears. 

     Fuck. 

     She wanted him. 

     At least she trusted him to take care of her. 

     He could do that. 

     That's what he was for. 

     Take care of…sam, dad, a vamp nest…  

     Take care of… lee, lisa, a werewolf… 

     Take care of… truckers, bikers, demons and demons and demons and…   

     He could teach her, if that was what she wanted. He knew he was good at it, that he could show her all the ways her body could give and receive pleasure. 

     "I still could..." 

     Cas turned her head, looking at him with the curious squint that Dean had grown fond of despite himself. 

     "I could teach you, if you wanted. You still haven't been with a man, right?" 

     He chuckled nervously, and Castiel smiled softly at him, shaking her head.

     "No. Not yet."

     Dean swallowed dryly, throat clicking uncomfortably. 

     "If you want... I could show you. It wouldn't - you don't owe me anything, it-it wouldn't have to BE anything, I-I"

     “Of course it would be.” 

     She was so earnest Dean wanted to run.

     "What do you mean?" 

     Dean watched take a short sharp breath, another one.

     “Dean…even if it was only as my friend sharing something special with me.  You’re still my friend and that would make it special.  And I uh -” 

     Her throat clicked audibly as she tried to swallow down whatever was rising up inside her.  

     “I don’t think I could…do that with you, and have it not matter.  Not anymore…not for a long time.  I’m sorry if that makes things uncomfortable for you.”

     Dean could practically feel the guilt coming off her. Like she was ashamed at leading him on, and ashamed that she wanted more. 

     Holy shit, she wanted more. 

     Dean knew he could give her his body easily enough. He'd been giving that to nearly anyone who wanted it since he was 16. It'd been the only thing he HAD to give most of the time.  If he gave Cas what she wanted - and Christ, he wanted to, wanted to give her anything and everything of his and of Him that she wanted - she'd see him for what he was: a killer, a thief, a liar, and a whore. 

     She'd see HIM.

     He ran his hand through her hair gently petting the back of her head, and pressed a kiss to her crown. 

     She shook, now so fragile, for all her strength, and so in need of something - someone. 

     Dean's arms wrapped around her almost of their own accord, and he pulled her close, letting her bury her face in his chest. 

     Fuck, but she fit so perfectly in his arms. 

     Other women sat fine there, tucked into his neck. A few men had managed it. 

     But Cas? 

     This was right. 

     Fuuuck, he was fucked. 

     He knew what he was going to do, and he knew he'd probably regret it later, and he knew it would bring the whole deck of cards that was his life down, because shit like this, the Good Shit, never happened to him without literal hell to pay. 

     But he was going to do it anyway.

     Bobby had told him once that being brave wasn't about not being scared, that it was about doing the scary thing no matter how frightened you were. 

     He'd lived by that creed. Gotten Sammy back from the dead by that creed, faced damnation, faced the apocalypse, faced Purgatory, all by that creed. 

     'Please, you sonovabitch, let me be brave one more time. I promise I won't ask for anything else.' He prayed, knowing that no one was listening, but needing it all the same.

     "You’re right." He murmured into Cas's hair. He felt her shift and leaned back enough to catch her eyes. 

     "There's no way it could not mean something." He held her face in his hands thumbing at the stray tear making its way down her cheek. 

     Even her face fit his hands perfectly. Maybe it was his hands fitting her perfectly. He was younger than her vessel by a few years, younger than Cas herself by eons.  Maybe it was fate, and maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.      "It—it's everything, Cas. I—"     He stopped trying to explain and kissed her softly.        She gasped, small and quick, but he felt it, and he opened his mouth, kissing more fully. 

     He pulled away - her eyes were so blue, had they always been that blue when she was an angel?  - and she leaned up and kissed him, deep and a little messy. 

     They stayed like that for a while, trading kisses, Dean holding her lightly and showing her how to gently lick into his mouth, how it felt when he sucked her tongue, and slid his own inside her mouth.  

     Cas moaned softly into a particularly deep thrust of his tongue and her hands found their way to Dean's chest. Not pushing away, on the contrary, she ran her hands across his broad chest and shoulders, up and back down the column of his neck and down his abs. 

     Dean felt his body respond eagerly to the attention, losing any of the previous nervousness, and he pulled her more fully into his lap, letting her knees bracket his hips.

     “Ah! Dean - "      She interrupted herself kissing him again.       "Can I?" She asked, gesturing with her chin down at the bottom of Dean's henley. 

     He nodded, reaching down to help her pull it off him. 

     She reached around herself and pulled off her own top and Dean was suddenly so grateful that she'd taken to wearing his and Sam's old t-shirts around the bunker and rarely much else.  She had come into Dean's room wearing Sam's shirt and Dean's boxers. Now she was sat in *his* underwear, bare-breasted and glowing, even under the poor light of his old reading lamp.

     He had seen her body before, had to his currently-diminishing shame, gotten off to the memory of her naked on the hood of his car, unbothered by the view she'd given him as she spread out. (Even covered in bees, she'd looked like one of his teenaged wet dreams) But this was so different. 

     Now, he held her modest breasts in his hands, and got to watch her head fall back as she moaned at the feeling of him squeezing them gently. Now he got to taste the skin of her throat as he kitten-licked from mouth to chin, to jaw, to collar bone, to latch onto a hard nipple while he gently toyed with the other. He nipped and kissed his way across her shoulders, hands gently pressing her narrow waist, thumbs rubbing gently.

     She moaned again as she started rocking into him where he needed her the most, pulling a matching groan from Dean.

     "Dean! Please, I need -" 

     Dean nodded, shifting her off of him to pull off his sweatpants. 

     She pulled his boxers down her hips and Dean thought he might swallow his tongue at the sight of her, wet and naked before him. 

     He could see the wet curls between her legs and some animal part of him woke up, pulling her to him and ducking down to kiss her there. 

     Her hand gripped his hair as he pushed his tongue into her folds, and lapped up the taste of her. 

     He pulled away, and looked up at her. 

     She was a little shocked, a little dazed, and a deep growl climbed its way up his throat at the naked want in her eyes. 

     She nodded to him, smiled, climbed onto the bed, and let Dean flip her onto her back.

     "Wait, Dean I-I want to see you...lay back for me." 

     A ‘half-virgin’ she may be, but Castiel was eons old and had never bothered to learn Western Puritanism.

     Dean did as he was told, leaning back against the headboard and opening his legs for the woman above him. 

     Her eyes and hands caressed him from shoulders and pecs, down his abs and  squeezed his hips gently, thumbs dipping into the valley between his pelvis and the dark thatch of hair his hard-on was jutting out from.  

     Cas slid down his body and grabbed his ankles, pushing them up closer to his ass, and ran her nails up and down his thighs.

     "Fuck, that's good, Cas."

     "When I use my nails?" 

     Dean nodded, encouragingly.

     "Yeah, just like that. Can I?" He gestured generally to his torso and cock.  

     Cas swallowed and nodded in response, eyes eagerly darted between his face and his body.  

     Dean ran his own hands and nails across his body like Cas had, paying special attention to his nipples, then gently tickling at his ribs, making his cock twitch slightly. "See that? I'm kinda sensitive there. I like a little tickle and just a little pain. Only a little. I'm not a masochist or anything - not anymore." He traced his fingertips down his thighs, getting closer to his jutting erection, but not touching it directly.

     "I like little kisses, little bites, all across here. I'll show you how good it feels." 

     Dean had never talked this much during sex, but he was going to make it perfect for Cas. He needed her to see that he wanted this. 

     "Can I show you?" 

     "Show me how you touch yourself first." 

     She was so sure, so serious about this new experience. 

     Part of Dean wanted to laugh and her furrowed brow, but the better part of him was thrilled to see her so unafraid, so honestly...caring about him. When was the last time anyone had actually meant it when they asked him what he liked? Maybe Lisa? Hell even then, it felt more about her pride in being good in bed than it was just him having a good time, for all that he'd loved her.  

     He reached down and teased himself with his fingertips, bringing them up his shaft, and just barely brushing the head. 

     "Hell, we need umm..." 

     He waved at his nightstand and she leaned over and rummaged through the drawer briefly, retrieving the bottle of lube she found.  

     She squeezed out a dollop into her palm, warming it carefully and Dean grinned at the implied invitation. 

     "Like this." He took her hand and, keeping eye contact, wrapped it around himself. His eyes drifted shut, mouth opening in a groan. "That feels so good, Cas. That's perfect."  He guided her hand up and down the length of him, showing her how to twist her wrist slightly, squeezing him just so.  

     He opened his eyes, and she was staring right at him, her own eyes wide and lips parted. Her pupils were blown, her cheeks flushed. 

     Dean could not for the life of him understand how April could betray this woman. Even as an enemy, he'd walk through Hell and Heaven and Purgatory, and the ends of the Earth to keep her looking at him like that. 

     He brought her thumb over the little slit and his hips snapped forward of their accord.     "We've gotta stop or I'm not gonna make it, Sweetheart. Let me touch you...lay back for me."

     It was Cas's turn to do as she was told. She rolled to the side, and lay down next to Dean. She watched keenly as he took the position she'd been in. 

     He leaned in and kissed her, deep and fast, before making his way down her body, kissing and nipping at her breasts, and nuzzling the valley between them, lavishing her with long licks as he continued southward to the dark curls between her legs.  He slipped his thumbs between her folds, and delicately opened them. 

     She was soaked and scorching when he pressed his tongue inside her. The scent and taste of her, coupled with the slick silk around his tongue drove him wild. 

     He reached out, circling her clit with the pointed tip of his tongue before latching on and suckling at it. 

      Cas spasmed beneath him, crying out and digging her nails into his scalp sending a delicious pain-pleasure straight through to his cock. 

     He continued his assault, bringing a finger to join in, pressing carefully inside her. 

     "Dean - ah! Please... More. Ahh" 

     Dean pressed another finger inside, twisting his wrist and curling his fingers in a 'come hither' gesture. 

     Cas's knees snapped further apart and her hips started rolling under Dean's mouth.      He pinned her down with one hand while the other added another finger, scissoring them open, adding a maddening stretch to his licking and sucking of her folds and clit.     Her little twitches were getting more and more urgent.     Fuck.     This is what Dean was made for. Not the hunting, or the killing or protecting. He was made to make Castiel writhe and cry out under him. 

     He looked up her body as he flicked. Once again, she was trying desperately to hold eye contact. 

     "Dean...so good. I'm -" her breath came in quick little gasps and her head fell back to the pillows, her back arching. "DEAN!" She cried out, warm slick making its way into Dean's eager mouth, her walls clenching and spasming around his fingers.

     She was barely coming down from her high when she started grabbing at him, pulling up impatiently. He fucked his tongue into her mouth and they both moaned as they shared her taste.

     Dean pulled Cas's legs up around his waist. He watched her face as he lined up, brushing his tip from her clit to her opening, and pushed inside, slowly but firmly pressing until he was buried to hilt.

     "God, Cas, you feel so good. So wet for me." He started pulling back carefully, almost all the way out. 

     Cas dug her nails into his shoulders, the sharp little points creating a gorgeous contrast to the wet heat of her cunt. Her heels dug into the meat of Dean's ass. He didn't need to be told twice.

     Dean pushed up onto his hands, and bent his knees, parting them so he could thrust harder and faster into the body beneath him. Their moans mixed as the fluid rolling of his hips worked a rhythm within her. 

     Dean watched, rapt, as her breasts swayed up and down with the movement of her body. His gaze travelled down to where they were joined. He had to grit his teeth to hold himself back at the sight of his cock thrusting in and out over and over, speeding up and slamming home with sharp wet slaps.

     "So good, Cas. Fuck, you're perfect for me." He dropped onto his elbows and buried his face in her neck as he continued his holy work. "I want to show you everything. I'll make it so good for you, Cas, I promise. I'm gonna make you cum in ways you didn't even know about." 

     She had to know, he needed her to know he–

     "Everything - haaah - I want it, Dean. I want everything with you."     Cas wrapped her around him, her hand pressed into his hair, and her other around his shoulders, palm pressed between his shoulder blades. "Everything." Her hands gripped him tight.     "Don't make me leave. Please, don't make me go."

     Dean snapped away, looking into Cas's eyes, shocked. His hips slowed their onslaught.     He’d kill April all over again for hurting her, he’d kill Ezekiel for even suggesting she leave, hell, he’d kill himself for every time he’d turned her away or left her alone

     "I-I wouldn't. Cas, I Wouldn't. Not ever. Not in Purgatory and sure as hell not NOW."     He was so hurt but he couldn't hold that pain once her face crumbled and she cried openly under him.

     "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Dean, I didn't mean to ruin it." Dean all but stopped moving within her.

     "Oh, baby girl..."     He stilled, rolling them both to their sides, still nestled inside her. He pulled her close and kissed her deeply.     "You didn't ruin anything."     He kissed her again. His hips rolled, slow and softly.     "You didn't ruin anything. Do you want to stop? We don't have to keep going."     Cas shook her head and ducked into his neck, hiding her face. 

     "Please don't stop, please don't stop. I was so close.  I need you close.  Please, don't stop."

     Dean moved more forcefully and deeply by increments once he rolled them back over so Cas was again pressed down under him.    

     "I'm never gonna send you away, Cas" he gritted out between thrusts. "I've got you. I'm here, baby girl. You're so good to me. You've always been better than I deserved."     He didn't even mean to catch her eye as he spoke.     "I love you, Cas."     Now it was his turn to tear up, it seemed.     "I love you. I think I've always loved you."     Cas's walls slammed around him, sending his orgasm crashing through his body. He pressed as deep into her as he could get as he pulled her legs higher and wider apart, spilling inside her as he cried out her name.

     Dean had never been a clingy lay, but in that moment he Could Not let Cas go. They held each other as they shook and panted. Cas kissed him over and over, her eyes wide and earnest, even as she grinned up at him.  Dean held her tightly to his chest.

     "You okay there, Cas? Not bad for your first time with a man?"

     "Better than okay. I just hope Sam had his headphones in." 

     "Meh, fuck him."

     "No thank you...I still have things to learn from you before I take another lover."

     "Hey!"  Dean gently smacked her on the shoulder with the back of his hand.  Hers reached up, found the exact spot on his shoulder where his scar had been.

     "I love you.”