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“Damn it Cas, give me that, ” Dean said as he wrenched the red popsicle out of Castiel’s grip and tried to hide the protuberance in his pants. The angel looked like he was trying to deep-throat the damn thing. If Dean's response to this...obscenity...was imagining Cas’ lips wrapped around his cock, then that was a totally normal reaction. Dean guessed that this was Cas’ first time eating a popsicle if the way he was practically fellating the food-item was any indication. Castiel's inability to eat a popsicle properly was making Dean regret his decision of coercing the angel into getting the frozen snack in the first place. Because of the popsicle, Castiel’s mouth and Dean’s fingers were covered in artificial red color, and once again Cas looked confused.
***
The Winchesters didn’t make it to the beach very often. Surprisingly enough, most monsters decide that loud, large and ugly cities or small hic towns were better places to harass people than beach side condos or ski resorts. But after a particularly grizzly vampire hunt - Sam and Dean rarely escaping death, both slightly anemic afterwards since the vampires had used them as a two course meal - the Winchesters decided to take the weekend off. They headed to a place that neither one of them had been for a while, just to relax for a bit, since the world could be off of suicide watch for a couple of days. They would be back on the job, back to the family business, bright and early Tuesday morning. However, for a long weekend, they were renting a room at a motel not too far from the beach in a medium sized town in North Carolina. They had even called Cas, who was able to join them because of what seemed to be his hiatus from angelic duties after returning from Purgatory.
So, here they were, the two brothers that had literally been to Hell and back (and other god-forsaken places, mind you) and their resident, bona-fide angel by their side. Sam was a little ways away, clad in a pair of blue trunks adorned with multi-colored starfish. Even thought he was hiding in the shade under a huge beach umbrella, his eyes were covered with sunglasses and he was covering every exposed piece of skin with sunscreen SPF 55 (Sam had wanted to buy the SPF 70+ but Dean had argued against it because the SPF 55 one was like two bucks cheaper). He looked almost miserable or lost in thought (it was hard to differentiate between those two expressions these days), but then again it could be because he was having a flashback to his year off from the job; Dean had noticed recently that it had been happening quite often. Dean on the other hand was thoroughly enjoying himself; he loved the beach and he felt it was a shame that he didn’t get to go more often. What with all the attractive women in skimpy bathing suits and the great weather, Dean was having a great time. He had taken a long stroll around the beach, and he was able to walk around shirtless, wearing only a pair of dark green swim trunks and sandals. He stopped to admire several hot women jumping around playing beach volley ball, and had already gotten a few numbers from girls he might visit later. From the minute they had set foot on the beach, Sam had started nagging Dean because he had refused to wear long sleeves and a hat to decrease exposure to the sun. When he’d returned, Sam had continued his bitching about how “UV rays will give us cancer if we don’t take the right precautions, Dean!” to which Dean had replied that Cas would find any malignant cells and eradicate them before it killed either of them. Sam had rolled his eyes at that, then began to slather sunscreen on his arms, then had tried to make Dean do the same.
At that point, Dean had left with the intent of getting Cas to stop his lengthy conversation with a bird. The angel appeared to be attempting to explain to the seagull the dangers of human garbage in bodies of water, and warned the gull to avoid any such trash at all costs. Dean had looked around furtively, worried that people would notice. It was as if Cas didn't realize he could get strange looks because he was wearing a trench-coat in eighty-degree weather. But most people were too busy sucking face to notice the 'unique' angel. After intervening in what he thought of as "the seagull incident", Dean then had to answer Castiel's questions about to making ‘friendship’ bracelets out of seaweed, something that that he had seen when watching TV in the Winchester’s motel room several weeks back. “But Dean, the television said that all close friends have nearly identical bands of some sort around their wrists to signify the import of their relationship.” This lead to a small disagreement, wherein Dean argued that friendship bracelets were a chick thing, then Cas replied that he was neither a man nor a woman, as he was "a multi-dimensional wavelength of celestial intent that cannot be forced to conform to such an arbitrary social construct as the gender binary." Dean argued that since he was a guy and Cas was occupying a guy, it would look weird if they wore matching bracelets made of seaweed.
“And isn’t that badass handprint I used to have and our, uh, ‘more profound bond,’ or whatever, evidence enough of our friendship?” Dean asked almost desperately. He didn’t want Cas to get pissed and then teleport away, because that would be (at the very least) difficult to explain to the civilians that were out and about enjoying the nice weather.
“I suppose,” Cas replied, but he Dean could tell that he was still pouting. Cas wasn’t visibly expressing displeasure, but Dean could almost feel the hurt radiating off of the angel, which made Dean feel like he’d kicked a freaking puppy.
Dean sighed and tried a different tactic. “Hey, you know we’re friends, right, Cas? I mean besides Sam, you’re the closest thing I have to family. And Sam and I don’t have matching so-called ‘friendship’ bracelets, FYI.”
Dean thought he’d heard Cas mumble something about Dean and Sam’s matching anti-possession tattoos. Then Dean decided that he must have imagined it, because angels don’t get jealous, do they? Still, Cas had looked dejected, so Dean decided that Cas should try a typical warm-weather food: a popsicle. It had taken a lot of convincing. “I’m an angel, Dean. I do not require sustenance in order to survive,” Castiel had protested more than once.
“I know Cas, but you’ll like this, I promise. Besides, this wouldn't be an authentic beach outing without one,” Dean had replied. This was mostly in an attempt to persuade the angel to agree to eat the damn thing before it melted all over his hand. Cas had finally acquiesced, which had led to Dean’s current predicament: one wherein he was attempting to obscure an awkward erection from Castiel’s line of sight. It was Cas’ fault, really. It’s not weird that I’ve got a boner, I mean Cas was practically giving the damn thing a blowjob. It’s just that you’ve been too busy to get laid these past couple of weeks. It’s totally normal to get aroused if you haven’t done it in a while and something makes you think of it, even if it is a gender non-binary angel that looks like a dude. Right? Dean shook his head to clear those thoughts, but it didn’t really help. He knew that it was a hot day, so of course the popsicle would be melting, but did Cas really have to keep sticking his tongue out and licking at the bottom of the ice pop? It was even worse when he realized that he couldn’t get the image of Cas sucking on the popsicle out of his head, and if he were being honest, he didn’t really want to.
Dean was forcefully pulled from his thoughts when he heard Cas saying his name. “Dean, are you alright?” Cas asked with a worried look on his face. “You seem distracted and your heart rate is elevated, as is your reparatory rate. Also, your face looks a bit flushed, and you have begun to perspire even more so than before. Are you ill?” Dean widened his eyes; crap, he’d been caught fantasizing about one of his best friends. At least Cas wasn’t reading his mind, so he didn’t know exactly what was wrong.
Dean tried to play it off casually, saying, “Nah, Cas, I’m fine, stop worrying, or you’re going to get gray hairs.”
Castiel cocked his head to the side, and squinted. “My vessel does not age while I occupy it, Dean.”
“Yeah, I know, it’s just a figure of speech. You know what? Never mind. Look, you don’t try to shove a popsicle down your throat,” God damn that makes for a pretty picture, “you just lick the sides so it doesn’t melt and get all over.” Dean paused for a second. “And don’t make eye contact with anyone, or else they’ll think you’re trying to come on to them.”
“But Dean, placing the end of it at the back of my throat and applying suction is the most efficient way to consume frozen foods with this shape. Given that the low temperature of the ‘Rocket Pop’ does not bother me, and the fact that I do not have a gag-reflex, there’s no reason not to position it in the back of my throat and suck.” Cas says, looking at him innocently. “And why would anyone take it as a flirtation if I made eye contact with them while eating this?” He added, seemingly as an afterthought.
God damn that sent a shiver of arousal through Dean. Keep it in your freaking pants, Winchester, he thought to himself, as he tried to pull himself together. “ No reason, forget it Cas.” He responded. “And come on, we have to get you something that we can use to clean up your face, man, because it looks like someone tried to put red lipstick on you while blindfolded.” And damn if the image of Castiel in red lipstick and feminine garments didn’t give him another inconvenient boner. God, what was wrong with him today? His body was acting like he was fifteen again when he was around Cas; the urge to stick his dick in someone was stronger than ever. And that someone may have been the blue-eyed angel giving Dean his squinty, confused face as Dean tugged him along to the nearest bathroom. Dean really needed to get laid.
Cas complained that he could have just cleaned himself up using him (what Dean referred to as) “mojo”, but Dean argued that he would just draw attention to himself if he snapped his fingers and was clean all of a sudden. And so what if Dean took over wiping off Cas’ face after Castiel himself tried to do so ineffectually for a minute or two? Dean was being a good friend, that was all.
That evening, Dean left the beach with a girl who had walked up to him and given her number (along with a flirtatious touch of his arm, smile and wink), intent on getting laid. Sam would be pissed at him for skipping out on their impromptu ‘vacation’ for a night, since he headed over to her house. But hey, Dean deserved a good time after dealing with all the tablet crap. The girl was cute, and it wasn’t like her short, tousled dark brown hair, blue eyes and slender but wiry build resembled anyone he knew and secretly lusted after, right? And even if an image of a certain dark haired, blue-eyed angel flashed in front his eyes right before his climax as he pounded into the girl whose name he couldn’t remember, it meant nothing and no one except him had to know.