Work Text:
I really want you to fuck me.
That’s all it says. There’s plenty of room for more words on the slip of paper, but it’s completely blank other than that single short sentence written at the top of it. But it says plenty.
However, Castiel has no idea what to make of it.
He stares at it, brows furrowed, the paper pinched between his forefinger and thumb. It was sitting there on his desk when he got in his office this morning, resting plainly in the center of it, words facing where Castiel could read it from his chair. Of course, he saw it well before he sat down, and has been staring at it for a good minute now, if not longer.
Unfortunately, prolonged staring at the words on the note doesn’t make anything about its presence any clearer.
It’s nice stationary. Plain white, with a pale yellow border. The handwriting on it is also fairly nice. It’s not in swooping cursive or bold calligraphy or anything, but the message is written legibly. The blocky-ness of the letters leaves Castiel to reason it was written by a man.
Not that it matters. Castiel has no idea what to do with this information.
He keeps the letter all the same.
*
The first thing Castiel’s eyes focus on the next morning is the new letter resting atop his desk. It’s in the exact same spot as the previous one. Somehow, it’s the brightest spot in his office.
After closing his office door, he pauses in front of it for a moment before striding over to his desk and straight to the letter. Before he even gets to it, he can tell there’s more written on it this time.
I think about you fucking me a lot. Sometimes I think about you fucking me while I’m bent over your desk, your hand pressing my head down onto it, your tie binding my wrists behind my back. You don’t kiss me until after.
Castiel reads the note several times over, even though he can’t envision who he would be with, since the letter is anonymous. He’s positive it’s a man, though he’s not sure why. The penmanship isn’t much to go on, really. It’s more of a gut feeling.
He keeps the letter out next to his keyboard as he gets to work, looking at it occasionally as if somehow more words will appear upon it. Really, he just wants to continue thinking about it all day.
Not that he needs the letter to be out to do that.
*
Castiel doesn’t have sex. He doesn’t date. He doesn’t really care to. He goes to work, he runs, he reads. That’s it, and he’s always been satisfied with that.
These letters are sort of intruding on that.
They have Castiel so very curious and so utterly intrigued that he can’t help the physical feelings of desire that pulse through him when he sees another letter on his desk.
I want you to eat me out. I want that tongue deep in me. Your fingers too. You got great hands, Cas.
Castiel’s breath catches. This mystery writer has used his name. Or, a shortened version of it rather, but still. That is enough to make up for this note being shorter than the last.
After reading through the note a few times, all the while imagining what it portrays, he scans his brain for memories of anyone here at the office calling him ‘Cas’. He can’t recall a single person doing so. When anyone speaks to him, it’s either ‘Mr. Novak’ if they’re in a position beneath his, or simply ‘Novak’ if they’re above him or in the same tier. No one calls him ‘Cas’.
Castiel doesn’t mind at all that his writer is the only one to call him that. In fact, he might even quite like that idea, except that it doesn’t help to narrow down who it could be.
He doesn’t talk to many people at work. People talk at him more than anything. He certainly doesn’t have any personal conversations with anyone. It will be very difficult indeed to figure out who this person is.
He views his itinerary for the day and sees that he has a meeting at 1. There’s a tremor of excitement at the prospect of being in a room with several of his coworkers at once, giving Castiel a chance to maybe, just maybe figure out who has been writing him these letters.
When he gets to the conference room, he sits at his usual spot. He’s about 15 minutes early (5 minutes earlier that he would normally be) so he can, as inconspicuously as possible, watch as each person comes in so he can catalog them as possible suspects.
Zachariah Adler enters first. He’s Castiel’s boss, so he sits at the head of the table. Castiel has to strain to keep from shuddering at the possibility of Adler being the writer. He’s a repulsive man. Smarmy, weasely.
Adler speaks to Castiel like a child a lot of the time. Or a peasant. Certainly never leaves any indication of sexual attraction. Castiel is mostly aloof to that sort of thing, but it is nonetheless perfectly clear that Adler thinks of Castiel as nothing more than an employee.
Castiel gleefully rules him out as a suspect.
Fergus Crowley enters next, shaking Adler’s hand and joking about something or another. If Adler is smarmy, Crowley would be the inventor of Smarm. He’s British, with a biting wit to show for it. He has a trophy wife (a new one every year), but he does flirt with Castiel. Though, he flirts with everyone openly. Almost everything the man says is a sexual innuendo.
Castiel reasons that if Crowley wanted to proposition him, he would do it in person. He swallows a bit of bile at the thought.
Marv Metatron, the head of IT, comes in next. He loathes Castiel, for reasons unknown to him. Castiel doesn’t care, really. He rarely deals with him. It wouldn’t be him. Though, Castiel has heard that Marv is a failed writer.
Castiel thinks a failed writer would try much harder to impress someone with love letters. His mystery writer is very straight-forward. Which, Castiel thinks, is much sexier.
He squirms a bit in his seat. Castiel can’t recall the last time he found something ‘sexy’.
Ms. Naomi walks in next. She’s far too angry and busy to be the one. Besides, Castiel has seen her handwriting. Swooping cursive.
A few more walk in together after her, and Castiel writes each of them off for various reasons.
The last one to enter just in time is the head of marketing, Dean Smith.
He sits in the chair across from Castiel, as he always does, and gives Adler a nod. Adler definitely likes Dean more than he likes Castiel. Everyone seems to like Dean.
He’s very handsome. Pretty, even. Always well put together. Combed hair, polished, fine suit. Though he fits a few stereotypes, Castiel doesn’t think Dean could be anything but straight. Castiel can only ever recall him flirting with female coworkers.
A flush heats up Castiel’s face the instant he realizes he’s actually noticed who Dean flirts with. He also notices that he’s been thinking of Dean as ‘Dean’ and not ‘Smith’. A voice in his head tells him to admit that he wants the writer to be Dean, but he won’t listen to such nonsense. There’s no chance. Dean has never given Castiel the time of day.
“Alright, Novak, you’re up.” Adler says once he’s through with his introduction to the meeting. “Try not to bore us too much.”
Castiel’s the head of accounting, so really, there’s little else he can do but bore them. Still, he says his piece, sliding in a dry remark or two that most everyone misses. He does earn a few chuckles, and once he finishes, Castiel realizes those chuckles came from Dean.
When he sits back down, Dean is looking his way and biting his lip. His eyes meet Castiel’s for a split second before his attention is elsewhere.
Castiel doesn’t absorb a single bit of information during the rest of the meeting. Even when Dean speaks he can’t focus on it.
For the rest of the day, Castiel is so preoccupied with the disturbing notion that he might have a crush on Dean Smith that he actually forgets about the mystery letters.
*
He remembers them as soon as he wakes up the next day.
Once he closes the door to his office, he practically jogs to his desk to grab the note waiting for him.
I want to eat you out too, you know. You got a great ass. Hell, I bet your whole body is gorgeous. I’d kiss and lick you everywhere. I’d suck you, swallow your come. I bet you have a big, beautiful cock.
Castiel feels said cock twitch in his pants. He grunts, jerking with surprise in his seat. These letters have a voice in his head now. It’s Dean’s.
What a nightmare.
*
As arousing as they are, Castiel doesn’t actually jerk off to the letters until the next one.
Damn, I’ve been thinking about fucking you too. It’s hard to tell whether you’d be into that or not. Or into any of this really, but I’ve always been really bad at being able to tell who likes to bottom and who doesn’t. Not that it matters.
Castiel pauses reading to wonder why exactly that doesn’t matter. Is it because Dean enjoys bottoming so much that he doesn’t mind always doing so? Or is it that he hasn’t had sex with a man so it doesn’t matter what the men he lusts after prefer? Or that he doesn’t know whether or not Castiel wants him at all, so what would his preference matter?
He groans once he realizes what he’s doing. He must stop thinking these letters are from Dean. They could be from anyone. Except for Dean.
The point is: I want to fuck you. God, I’d fuck you. Probably would do it slow, spread your legs real wide. I’d definitely want you on your back. I want to fuck you in my bed.
He has his cock out before he can even get through the letter a second time. He pulls on it quickly, harshly, ignoring the slight pain because it feels too good. He grunts, coming into his palm, thoughts of Dean coming inside of him making him moan even after he’s done.
*
On Monday, Castiel is pleased to find out that he might have another full week of letters to look forward to. Or dread, depending on how he looks at it.
I realized I’ve been talking mostly about your body in these letters, but I like other stuff about you too, you know. You’re funny and sweet. You’re smart; you use big words, which is hot. When Adler gives you shit you ignore it, which is awesome. He hates it.
But anyway, you should fuck me.
Castiel bites his lip and chuckles at this one, shaking his head.
As he sits down at his desk, he’s still smiling to himself when he realizes that Dean is the only one to ever laugh at his jokes during meetings.
*
The next morning, there is someone in his office before him.
“Oh, hey Mr. Novak.” Castiel recognizes the young man as he rises from being bent forward over his desk. He’s from the IT department. “Just updating some software for you. Should be done in a minute.”
“Oh, alright. Thank you.”
“Yeah, no problem.”
Castiel looks to the young man’s name tag reading S. Wesson. He ponders for a moment the possibility of the writer being him, but it doesn’t seem likely. He doesn’t seem at all nervous or startled by Castiel’s presence, and he is clearly working on the computer.
However, Castiel definitely blushes when he sees a letter waiting for him on the desk.
After a minute or two, Wesson eyes the computer screen and nods when he’s satisfied. He walks by Castiel, solidifying his innocence of the letter writing by making a sarcastic show of motioning towards the desk, knowing there’s something waiting for him on it, and that it’s not the updated software.
Castiel’s blush darkens as he strides towards the desk, eyes straight forward.
I really like your voice too. It’s so deep and raspy. I’d love to hear you talk, just to me, only to me. I want that voice, your words, all to myself. I want to hear you say my name. What would you say to me, if we were alone?
Out of all the letters, this one is infinitely the most intimate. Castiel sucks in a deep breath after reading it, clutching the note with both hands, hunched over his desk as he stares at it.
The last time he can remember speaking around Dean was during that meeting, when Dean laughed at his jokes, and eyed him when he sat back down. Castiel’s skin tingles as he wonders what could have been going on in Dean’s head then.
That is, if these letters are truly written by him.
His mind goes back to Wesson’s presence in his office this morning. He can’t truly rule him out as a possibility; the IT department members do have keys to everyone’s offices, but Castiel really doesn’t think the person who’s been writing these notes would have the attitude Wesson did about this one on his desk.
This one is much more romantic than sexual. In fact, the one previous was quite sweet as well.
He gathers the rest of the letters, which he’s been keeping in the bottom folder of his desk’s middle drawer, and reads through them chronologically.
They start out more blunt and sexual, but evolve into something deeper. Warmth constricts around Castiel’s heart as he reads them, all of them, in no other voice but Dean’s.
It’s definitely too late to say Castiel would be happy with these letters being from anyone else.
Which is why his heart leaps into his throat when he sees Dean alone in the elevator he enters at the end of the day.
Dean’s eyes flick up at him and he scoots to one side to give him room, focus immediately returning to the phone in his hands. Castiel looks at him out of the corner of his eye, his mind immediately going back to the latest letter.
What would you say to me, if we were alone?
Dean, if it is actually Dean who wrote that, wants Castiel to speak to him. He wants them to speak alone, and here’s the perfect chance, but what on Earth is Castiel supposed to say?
“Y-you-er-ahh,” Castiel croaks, wanting to die. He’s already fucking this up. Dean just gushed to him about his voice and has spoken highly of his vocabulary and he here he can’t even manage to say a complete word properly.
Dean acknowledges him with a quirked eyebrow first, then slowly lets his eyes leave his phone to look at him. His eyes are very green.
Castiel’s gaze lowers, embarrassed, until he catches something red marring Dean’s finger. “You’ve hurt yourself.”
“Oh,” Dean flips his hand over to look at the marked finger, “Yeah. I goofed cooking last night and I burnt it on the stove.”
Castiel makes a breathy, worried sound as he takes a step closer to Dean to eye the wound. He doesn’t stop to think before taking Dean’s wrist and bringing his hand up to examine it. It’s a beautiful hand, freckled, like Dean’s face. He only realizes the devastated expression he must be wearing when he hears Dean chuckle.
“I know it looks nasty, but it’s not that bad.”
“It doesn’t look nasty,” Castiel protests right away, meeting Dean’s eyes. A red mark doesn’t take away from Dean’s beauty. “I’m just sorry you got hurt.”
Dean blinks at him, a sort of stunned look on his face. Castiel thinks he might even be blushing. Castiel is, for sure.
Naturally, that’s when the elevator dings and the doors slide open, Dean and Castiel immediately separating.
“Hey, man,” Wesson steps in, giving Dean a friendly handshake.
Dean greets him back, his whole face lighting up with a big grin. “Hey, Sam. How’s it goin’, man?”
Castiel feels a dark pinch of jealousy at the sight of Dean being so pleased to see Sam. Hearing them speak with such familiarity makes his heart sink. He wants Dean to greet him so jovially. He wants Dean to call him ‘Cas’.
It’s petty, but Castiel isolates himself to the far opposite corner of the elevator to stew in silence. He’s the first to leave the elevator when it reaches the bottom floor.
The whole way home, he starts to doubt the identity of his writer. He’s not sure he even wants to know who it is anymore.
*
He almost wants to rip the next letter up before he even reads it, but his eyes are quicker than his hands.
I really want to kiss you. You have great lips. I want to feel them all over me.
And god damn your voice. And your hands.
Also, you’re really cute when you blush.
Castiel goes weak at the knees, sitting heavily into his chair, eyes fixed on the letter.
It has to be Dean, doesn’t it? He mentioned Castiel’s voice again, and his hands. They just spoke alone for the first time yesterday, and Castiel, though he may have not have been thinking when he did it, took hold of Dean’s wrist, giving them both a good look at their hands. Castiel feels dizzy at the thought of having touched Dean, but not really appreciating it at the time.
Tracing the yellow border of the paper with his thumb, he rereads the last sentence. The last person to see him blush was most definitely Dean.
At this point, Castiel is so positive that it has been Dean this whole time, that the only thing holding him back is the absurd notion that Dean would be too shy to approach him in person. Dean has never seemed timid; he’s so well liked because he is one of the most personable people in the company. Castiel has seen Dean flirt, and joke, and the way he spoke to Wesson showed no sign of social awkwardness.
Castiel, being pretty admittedly socially inept himself, would know that when he saw it.
Doubt starts to darken Castiel’s mood all over again.
His thoughts are interrupted by Crowley, who barges into his office. “Morning, dear. Do me a favor?”
“What is it, Crowley?”
“Drop these off at Naomi’s desk?” He plops an overstuffed file on Castiel’s desk, and another on top of it. “And these at Smith’s? I’ve got to run to a consultation so I don’t have time to do it myself.”
Castiel glares, “How is that my problem?”
“It’s not, and I’ll make it up to you. Flowers, muffins, strippers, whatever you want, just take them please. My secretary’s out and I’m running late and your office is on the way to the elevator and their offices are all the way over there and-“
“Alright, I’ll do it. Just please stop talking and go away.”
“Right. Good man.” Crowley knocks on Castiel’s desk before nodding and taking his leave.
Castiel rolls his eyes and sighs, taking a moment to scowl until he realizes what he’s just been tasked to do. He has to go to Dean’s office.
Of course, he goes to Ms. Naomi’s first. He knocks lightly, seeing her through her office windows talking away on the phone and pacing. She signals him inside, and he ducks in, quietly setting the file on the desk and leaving.
Dean’s office is only a few paces down. The door is already open, and from this angle, Castiel can see the silver plate reading D. Smith on it. He takes a deep breath, but doesn’t take a moment longer before he strides right in, feigning utter confidence.
“Hello, Dean.”
Dean does a double take, bringing home the realization that Castiel just called him by his first name. However, Dean doesn’t seem bothered; actually, the expression he’s wearing is something Castiel’s never seen before. It’s somewhat like that stunned look he was wearing on the elevator, but Dean blinks that away, replacing it with a warm, genuine smile.
“Hey,” He says softly, and that’s when Castiel feels himself smiling back.
He approaches Dean’s desk, trying to walk casually instead of skipping merrily, then gently sets the file down on the desk.
“Oh, these from Crowley? He had you bring these? What an ass.”
Castiel doesn’t respond. He’s frozen in place, his eyes having immediately zeroed in on something very important on Dean’s desk.
There’s a very familiar pad of nice, white stationary with a pale yellow border.
Slowly, Castiel stands up straight, eyes still on the pad of paper. “Is that your stationary?”
“Uh,” Dean looks to it as well, shifting in his seat. “Yeah.”
“Does anyone else use this?”
“Use this paper? Not that I know of, no.”
“Have you ever – would you – lend any out?”
“Uh,” Dean says, then clears his throat, his voice sounding a little dry. “I haven’t, but I guess I would if someone wanted to use it.”
Castiel heart is thudding in his ears at this point, his blood is hot and spinning, making him dizzy, but he still manages to ask, “May I have a sheet?”
“Sure,” Dean tears a sheet off the pad with practiced ease, handing it to Castiel. “Here you go.”
“Thank you,” Castiel breathes, meeting Dean’s eyes.
Dean nods, licking his lips as his eyes dart down to Castiel’s. Castiel traces the slow movement of Dean’s tongue, then takes a moment to get a look of what he can of Dean’s body before he makes his exit.
*
“Excuse me. It’s Sam, isn’t it?”
Sam Wesson from IT looks up from his cubicle at Castiel, his eyebrows scrunching up his forehead in confusion. “Uh, yeah. What’s up, Mr. Novak?”
“I could use your help, if you have a moment.” Castiel shifts on his feet awkwardly, “I tried to ask Metatron, but he threatened to hurl his coffee at me.”
Sam huffs with an understanding expression, “Sure. What do you need?”
“I – uh – can you get me into Dean Smith’s office, please?”
Nodding, Sam purses his lips, clearly trying to stifle a grin. And possibly a laugh. “You bet.”
When Sam opens Dean’s door, he gestures for Castiel to go in ahead of him. He still has a bit of a goofy look on his face.
“What?” Castiel asks as he walks past him, knowing full well the answer.
“I should’ve known right away this is why you’re here so early this morning. I don’t get why you two won’t just talk in person.”
“Because, there’s – we – wait,” Castiel stops in his tracks and turns around, “You’ve been helping Dean leave those letters in my office this whole time, haven’t you?”
“Yeah, dude. He even made me read a couple of ‘em.”
Castiel ducks his head and smiles, returning to the task at hand. Dean and Sam must be quite close for Dean to trust him like that. Fortunately, Castiel no longer feels that terrible jealousy anymore.
Without further delay, he sets his letter down, right where Dean would set one on Castiel’s desk. Sam’s still holding the door open for him when he turns to leave.
“Thank you, Sam.”
“No problem, Cas. Uh, I mean-”
“You can call me Cas.” Castiel smiles, happy to have made a friend. A nervous chill vibrates through him at the prospect of having that and more with Dean, if his letter works like he hopes.
Dean,
You are kind, charming, funny, and beautiful.
I’d like to talk with you, kiss you, and make love to you in any way you want to.
If you wish to do the same, I’ve left my number for you to call.
-Castiel
*
The letter doesn’t work exactly as Castiel planned for it to.
Dean doesn’t call.
However, Castiel doesn’t even get the chance to be disappointed by this.
At the end of the day, there’s a knock at his office door.
“Yes?”
Dean Smith walks through, gingerly shutting the door behind him. There’s a white sheet of paper in his hand.
“You wrote this?”
Castiel finds himself immediately getting up from his desk. “Yes.”
“So, you know that I, uh,”
“Wrote the letters? Yes.”
Dean bites his lips, ducking his head. He takes a couple cautious steps forward, still bashfully looking to the ground. Castiel stands at the front of his desk, waiting for Dean to come to him.
“I’m sorry I didn’t just come up and talk to you, but I,” Dean shrugs, “I’ve sorta never been with a guy before, so, I guess I was nervous. I didn’t think my creepy letters would work anyway. Figured I had a better chance getting fired because of them.”
When Dean is close enough, Castiel reaches out for his wrist to pull him in closer. He takes Dean’s hand, pleased to feel Dean return the grip.
“I’ve never been with anyone.” Castiel admits, “And I found your letters very flattering.”
“Yeah?” Dean finally meets Castiel’s eyes, a tentative smile on his lips. “Sam said they were too forward.”
“I like forward.”
Dean takes Castiel’s other hand, and they gather in close, bodies lined up together. Castiel feels hot and hazy already, having beautiful, sweet Dean looking into his eyes. Their noses bump, and Castiel shivers, eyes fluttering closed when he feels Dean finally, finally kiss him.
They both take deep breaths, savoring that first press before moving into it, making it deeper. Castiel opens for Dean’s tongue instantly, meeting it with his own. They release each other’s hands to hold each other; Castiel’s dragging up Dean’s arms before wrapping around his shoulders. Dean wraps his arms around Castiel’s waist, and he feels fingers curl into his suit jacket at the center of his back. Castiel shivers again at the desperate feel of Dean’s grip, and at the equal amount of desperation in his kiss.
Castiel feels damn desperate too, whimpering and getting a moan from Dean in response. They press together, hips lining up and sliding just right to send a bolt of pleasure tingling through Castiel’s body. He moves them around, pressing Dean up against the desk and moving to slide his jacket off.
“Cas,” Dean says, finally using his name, “I want you to fuck me.”
A groan falls out of Castiel’s mouth, and he kisses Dean once more to keep from dying. He takes his own jacket off in the process, tossing it to the ground and hearing Dean do the same. They remove each other’s ties, lips still touching but not quite kissing. Dean lowers his suspenders and they both untuck their shirts.
Dean kicks off his shoes and begins to work on his pants. Castiel gets lost watching him until he realizes something of import.
“Dean. Do you have lube on you?”
“Huh? Oh, well, no, but it’s okay,”
Castiel shakes his head in exasperation. They definitely need lubricant for their first time. It takes a minute or two of awkward hesitation, but Castiel eventually remembers having a small bottle of hand lotion in his desk.
“For a little you-time in the office, Cas?”
Castiel bristles, as if he would possibly do such a thing. “No! I got it in a gift basket or something.”
“Mhm,” Dean winks, and Castiel doesn’t smile at that at all.
Once he’s back in Dean’s arms, they kiss more, slowly undressing. It’s more than thrilling to feel Dean’s skin on his, warm and smooth. He could most certainly get lost in holding and kissing him, but Dean is very insistent on taking things further.
Dean hands Castiel the momentarily forgotten lotion bottle, and Castiel squeezes a generous amount onto his fingers. Dean kisses Castiel once more before turning around, presenting the beautiful expanse of his toned back. He grips the edge of the desk, sticking his ass out a bit, his cheeks grazing Castiel’s erection.
“Oh, Dean,” Castiel nearly falls forward, grabbing onto Dean’s hip. He presses up against Dean’s back, murmuring onto his skin as he gently fingers his hole, coaxing it open and slicking it up. Dean whimpers and whines, shivering when Castiel speaks lowly between kisses on his neck and shoulder.
“Cas, please, please, now,”
“Yes, Dean,” Castiel wraps an arm around Dean’s chest, Dean’s hand coming to grab hold of it. He coats his cock with lotion, then begins to press in slowly.
They both moan as they connect, Castiel feeling like he might black out when he’s fully inside. He takes a moment to steady himself before he moves in and out, trying not to lose his mind before he can pick up a steady rhythm.
After a bit, Dean boldly begins to meet him thrust for thrust, moaning and sighing as he backs into Castiel’s cock. It feels insane, it’s so good Castiel can’t believe he lived a moment of his life without this, without Dean, that when he chokes out Dean’s name it’s through a desperate sob. Dean reacts to it instantly, turning his head as much as he can to kiss any remorse away.
Finally, Castiel has the wherewithal to take Dean’s cock in his hand and jack him. His hand’s still wet enough with lotion for it to not be too rough, and the appreciative groan he gets from Dean lets him know he made a good call.
It’s not long after that that their movements become erratic and their words turn to breaking gasps. All it takes is Dean managing to say “Cas,” a few shivery times for Castiel’s hips to stutter and he’s gone, spilling into Dean with one final deep thrust in. He feels Dean clench around him, then hears a choked off groan before Dean wraps his hand around Castiel’s and he comes, neither stopping until they’re both emptied.
Once Castiel pulls out, Dean immediately turns to wrap his arms around his shoulders and kiss him deeply. Castiel smiles into the kiss, holding Dean tight as they’re both slightly shaky.
They laugh and kiss until they fully realize they’re still in Castiel’s office and should probably clean up and get out.
Since Castiel takes the train to work, Dean insists on driving him home. Castiel insists on rephrasing, asking Dean to “Take me home,” and fortunately, Castiel isn’t too socially out-of-touch to not get his meaning across.
Dean takes Castiel to his apartment, and he fucks Castiel slowly on his bed.
*
The next morning, Castiel is dressed to the nines in one of Dean’s suits.
He walks Dean to his office, kissing him before he heads to his own. When he arrives, he sees a letter on his desk that could have only been placed there while Castiel was distracted last night.
It’s a short message scribbled on the back of Castiel’s letter, but the handwriting is unmistakable, and though short, it says plenty.
I really want you to fuck me. Again. Tonight.