Chapter Text
Castiel was pleased to find that he'd arrived early enough to get a seat fairly close to the stage. This was his third year coming to the Printer's Row Lit Fest in an official capacity, and he knew how crowded it could get. He'd be liveblogging this panel for his library's website, and he had definitely learned that sitting in the back is a problem if you want to be able to see all the panelists' facial expressions and gestures for a task like that.
As the teen librarian for the central branch of the Kansas City Public Library, this panel was one of the main events of the Festival for him: Young Adult science fiction authors, featuring a local author whose debut novel was making national waves. Most of the other panels he'd be attending, he'd just be writing up a summary for the website, but since Charlie Bradbury was from Lawrence her panel warranted special treatment. Well-deserved special treatment, he thought; he loved her book and had been recommending it to anyone he could, teen or adult.
He settled into his seat in the second row and pulled his laptop out. The panel wouldn't be starting for a good half an hour, so once he got his liveblogging software set up and tested, he opened up Twitter and spent ten minutes or so going through his feed. He retweeted a couple of things from YA authors, and sent his own tweet reminding followers about the liveblog. They had someone who handled most of the social media for the library system, but he'd decided a couple years ago that if he wanted to keep his programming relevant to teenagers, he needed to be involved in this side of things hands-on. So he'd taken over (or created) all of the teen-centric accounts: a blog on the library website, plus accounts on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, and, most recently, Tumblr.
Slightly bored, he pulled out his phone to take a few pictures of the gathering crowd. He posted one to Instagram, again with a reminder about the liveblog, and was about to take a couple more when he stopped dead. On the little screen of his telephone was an absolutely gorgeous man, sitting at the other end of the row behind him. All cheekbones and full lips and big round eyes, not to mention the very nice arms showing below the sleeves of his t-shirt. Speaking of which—he was a gorgeous man with good taste, judging from the Vonnegut shirt he was wearing.
Castiel took one more shot (telling himself that it wasn't creepy because it was just a crowd shot that this guy happened to be in, not a stalkery zoomed-in photo of him… not that that wasn't tempting) and then lowered the camera. The man was talking on his phone, and as Castiel watched he broke out in a smile that proved that apparently the most attractive man on earth (or at the very least the most attractive man in Chicago) could, in fact, look even better.
Castiel finally pulled his eyes away and back to his laptop, double-checking the liveblogging software and posting a "Welcome, we'll be starting in five minutes" message. He tried to keep busy checking the RSS feeds for various literary blogs, but just before the panelists were to take the stage he gave in to temptation and turned for one last look at Mr Gorgeous Vonnegut Fan.
And was startled to find the man looking right back at him. The man's eyes widened for just a second, startled to have been caught staring, but he didn't break eye contact. If they'd been sitting near each other, Castiel would have been too embarrassed at having been caught looking himself, but since the guy was on the other end of the room he let his eyes linger just a bit longer than absolutely necessary. Luckily, a woman came onstage to introduce the panelists just before the mutual staring could get awkward (or, well, any more awkward).
The panel was entertaining and informative, and Castiel hoped he'd managed to do it justice with his limited journalistic (and photographic) skills. Charlie Bradbury came across as intelligent, funny, and kind-hearted (her response to a little girl who asked the panelists for their advice on becoming a writer was simply heartwarming), and Castiel found himself looking forward to the signing she'd be doing at the library in a month even more than he already had been.
After he got his laptop put away, he looked back to where Vonnegut Fan had been sitting, and was disappointed that the man was nowhere to be seen. He found himself wondering if the guy would be at another YA panel (since he himself would be at all of them), but sighed and realized that it was more likely he was here because he was into sci-fi, not YA.
But as he turned to file out of his row of seats, Castiel glanced up to where the panelists were packing up and suddenly the mystery of why Vonnegut Fan was at a YA sci-fi panel was solved: There he was, hugging Charlie Bradbury hard enough to lift her off the floor. So. Gorgeous, Vonnegut fan, and friends with one of the most up-and-coming new YA authors of the moment. And if she was as great a person as she seemed to be during the panel, that probably said nothing but good things about his personality. This guy was gay librarian catnip.
And probably straight as an arrow, his mind unhelpfully added. He frowned and reminded his mind that the guy had been looking at him, too, and their staring match had definitely gone on long enough to qualify as Not Quite Hetero. But at the moment, Vonnegut Fan was in an animated conversation with Ms Bradbury, and hanging around to wait for him to finish definitely would tip things past the point of awkward, so Castiel slipped out of the room to return to the outdoor portion of the festival. It was only Saturday morning; assuming the guy wasn't only there for his friend's panel (and the t-shirt did suggest that he'd be interested in a book festival generally), Castiel had plenty of time to run into him again.
The rest of the day passed quickly. Printers Row had been Castiel's favorite book festival for a long time; he'd gotten his Master's degree in Chicago and first came as a student, with no official responsibilities to fit his schedule around. He was always glad now to have an excuse to come back to the Windy City. And while BookExpo was great, the outdoor vendors and stages gave this event a character you'd never find in a convention center. He had two more panels he'd agreed to cover for the library, but was able to spend most of the rest of the day digging through piles of books in the vendor tents and wandering over to Grant Park for lunch.
By the time the vendors were closing down at six, Castiel was disappointed not to have run into Vonnegut Fan again. But there was always Sunday.
He'd agreed to meet up with Hannah, the other librarian KCPL had sent to the event, for dinner. She, as it turned out, had never had Chicago-style pizza. Castiel spent ten minutes trying to explain the difference between Giordano's and Lou Malnati's before giving up and dragging her to the one he missed more at the moment (Malnati's).
Bless her heart, Hannah was just not the type to fall in love with a pizza. While Castiel was wearing a t-shirt and jeans, she was dressed primly in a navy skirt and blazer, which he couldn't imagine was comfortable in the June heat. On the plane into Chicago, she had fussed over their itineraries until Castiel had insisted that he was happy to just put the panels he was covering for work on his schedule and entertain himself the rest of the time. And when they'd gotten coffee that morning before the panels, Castiel had watched with amusement (and the barista with annoyance) as she counted out her exact change three times before handing it over.
On the whole, she reminded him a lot of himself—until about his junior year of college, when his friend Balthazar had finally convinced him that his world would not end if he occasionally got drunk on Friday night, or slept through an 8am class, or wore a shirt that didn't have buttons. He'd even managed to get Castiel laid once or twice (though when Balthazar himself volunteered to be the first, "just to break you in, Cassie," Castiel had closed his dorm room door in his friend's face).
Hannah did seem to enjoy the meal, at least. But when Castiel asked if she wanted to head to the after-hours events with him, she got a little concerned crease between her eyebrows and tutted about some work she needed to get done. So he let her head back to the hotel after extracting a promise that she would get a hot dog (a proper one) for lunch the next day if he didn't see her before then.
By nine, he'd watched a literary-themed improv show and half a poetry slam, then made his way to the bar. He settled in and ordered a whiskey, letting his eyes scan around one side of the room as he waited for it. He'd already brushed off come-ons from several women, but only one guy had approached him—and that guy took all of about two minutes of conversation to count himself out ("Yeah, I don't really read books. I just come to this because it's full of hot geeks like yourself"). And, of course, the one guy he was hoping to run into had not magically appeared. It's not like Castiel got laid at every book festival he went to, but they did tend to be good places to pick up someone who was cute, able to carry on a conversation about topics Castiel was interested in, and also out of town for the weekend. So he scanned the crowd, hopeful.
He was about halfway through his drink when he heard a rough voice beside him.
"I think I saw you at a panel earlier today."
Castiel looked up and—oh. God was real, and he loved Castiel Novak. The proof of that was wrapped up in a neat package before him—gorgeous (even moreso up close), good taste in books, good taste in friends, and a voice that, while not quite as low and gravelly as Castiel's own, was made of sex. Very rumbly sex.
"Yes, I think you did." As he replied, he gave Vonnegut Fan the kind of smile that would hopefully have him running for the hills if he was straight. No hills were run for. In fact, VF (first priority: name), after letting his eyes linger on Castiel's mouth, returned his own version of the smile.
"Dean," Dean offered, extending a hand.
"Castiel." And when he touched Dean's hand, the electricity that sparked the air between them startled him. He was not expecting this. Flirtation, yes. Sex, hopefully. But this? This kind of chemistry was a bonus.
"Sadly," Dean said after the handshake lingered a few seconds longer than necessary before breaking, "I think you and I must have different tastes, because I know for a fact you weren't at any of the other panels and stuff I went to today. I checked."
Castiel smiled down at his drink.
"As it happens, I'm here for work," he told Dean, looking back up into Jesus Christ intense up this close green eyes. "I'm a teen librarian, so I was covering all the Young Adult panels. You were definitely not at any of those. I checked."
Dean laughed. "No, I was not. I don't really read much of that." The bartender came over then, and Dean told her he'd have what Castiel was drinking.
"I had a feeling that would be the case," Castiel admitted. "I saw you hugging Charlie Bradbury after the panel. I'm assuming she was the only reason you were at that one. You're friends, I take it?"
Dean's face lit up. "Yeah, man, Charlie and me go way back. We've been buddies since high school. I hardly see her lately, with all her touring and speaking and signing and stuff for the book. That panel was the first time I've seen her in a month."
Castiel was about to say something inane like "That must have been nice" when he suddenly realized the significance of what Dean had just said.
"So you're from Lawrence?" His eyes snapped to Dean's, sharp and curious.
"Shit, man," Dean said, an easy smile on his face, "how big a fan are you, you even know where she's from? But yeah, I grew up in Lawrence."
"No, it's—" Cas chuckled a bit, realizing how he must sound. "Not that I'm not a fan, I do love her book. But I also run the teen section of the central branch of the Kansas City Public Library. So a local writer who's generating comparisons to Suzanne Collins or Veronica Roth? Kind of a big deal in my work life."
"You're shittin' me." Dean was blinking at him, something like surprise or confusion written across his face.
Castiel narrowed his eyes, considering this. "I assumed you knew that Ms Bradbury's book is gaining in popularity quickly. Some people think it might lead a new wave of space westerns to push out the post-apocalyptic scenarios that have been in fashion."
This drew a laugh out of Dean, whose face relaxed. "Not that, you big nerd. You seriously live in KC? I live in Lenexa."
It was Castiel's turn to look surprised. When Dean had said he "grew up in" Lawrence, for some reason Castiel had automatically assumed that he'd left the area since then. They looked at each other for a moment, and the energy between them changed. Sure, this could still be a one night stand, just like it could be if they'd met in a bar in Kansas City. But even introducing the possibility of anything beyond that, when they'd both come into this assuming there was none, caused things to shift subtly. Thankfully, Dean still seemed as interested as Castiel, so while the energy had changed, it was still as charged as ever.
"What are the odds?" he finally said, a small smile on his lips. "And I would be careful who you call a 'big nerd' when you're wearing a shirt bearing Kurt Vonnegut's signature."
Dean snorted, then leaned in conspiratorially. "I hate to break it to you, man, but, uh… your shirt says 'Property of Ravenclaw Quidditch Team' on it. I mean, wearing a Harry Potter shirt is one thing, but you're a freaking Ravenclaw? Come on."
Castiel looked down at his shirt, biting his lower lip. "I will concede that I may, in fact, be a big nerd. Possibly even a huge nerd. I hope you're not too disappointed." Dean did not look disappointed. "But back to the topic at hand, no, I was not shitting you. I live near Westport. Although I think I may be aging out of my neighborhood. One of my neighbors found out I'm over thirty and since then I've overheard them discussing which nursing home to send me to."
Dean nudged him with his elbow. "Gonna move out to the suburbs with the rest of us boring-ass adults?"
"Much as it pains me, I think I may be legally obligated to. So what do you do, Dean? And after all that, you'd better have a less nerdy answer than 'librarian.'" If Castiel had to guess, he'd say "model," but he supposed that was unlikely.
"Nah, not nerdy at all. I'm just a mechanic. Work in my uncle's shop back in Lawrence, actually, same place I've worked since I was a teenager. Mostly just general stuff, but we restore classic cars as sort of a sideline, that's pretty fun."
Castiel had to admit, the image of this man bent over a car, glistening with sweat and streaked with grease was not at all unappealing. He raised an eyebrow. "A job that requires spatial reasoning skills and a detailed understanding of complicated machinery? I'm sorry, Dean, but that's at least a little nerdy."
By this point, they were sitting close enough that their arms were brushing as they leaned on the bar, and couldn't stop grinning at each other. Whatever had started out charging the air between them had grown thick and intoxicating. Castiel had flirted his way into his share of strangers' beds. This… was not that. He wasn't sure what it was, but it wasn't that, because while he did sort of have to continually prevent himself from pushing Dean up against the bar and having his way with him, he also sort of wanted to spend the next several hours just talking to him.
"That's a dirty lie and you know it," Dean said, taking a drink of his whiskey. But then he leaned in, biting his lip, and lowered his voice. "Look, I'll admit it, okay? I am a little bit of a closet nerd. Not, like, Ravenclaw nerdy, because c'mon, buddy. But I did recently go back to school to get a bachelor's in creative writing. In fact, I keep telling Charlie I wanna be her when I grow up, which, trust me, is pretty much the nerdiest goal a person could have. That girl could give Bill Gates a run for his money in that department."
Castiel couldn't help gaping a little. "You're getting a what?"
"A bachelor's in creative writing?" Dean looked a little uncomfortable, like he thought maybe Castiel was going to think this was ridiculous for some reason.
"I'm sorry," Castiel finally said, shaking his head. "I'm just trying to figure out if you are a real person, or some kind of persona cleverly devised by a performing artist to be as attractive to me as humanly possible."
Dean smiled down into his drink and actually blushed a little and oh God. Castiel had to suppress yet another impulse to drag the man straight to his hotel room in favor of finding out more about him—because so far, every opportunity to find out more had worked out beautifully.
"So where are you going to school, UMKC?"
"Oh, uh, no, KU. So that's back in Lawrence, too."
Castiel tilted his head to one side, confused. "Why do you live in Lenexa if you work and go to school in Lawrence?"
As soon as he asked the question, he wished he hadn't, because Dean immediately froze, looking down at his glass. Castiel hadn't expected it to be such a loaded question, but Dean clearly didn't really want to answer.
"Well, uh," Dean fumbled, "it's only like a half hour commute, not a ton of traffic, so it's not that bad. I know people who have worse in-town." He stopped and licked his lips, then finally looked up at Castiel again, holding up a finger. "You know what? Hang on a second." He signaled to the bartender. "Could we get a couple more of these? Thanks."
Then he turned back to Castiel and appeared to steel himself. "Here's the thing. We are not nearly drunk enough to get to the sharing-depressing-personal-stories portion of the festivities. So I'll give you the condensed version for now. Long story short, I was married, my wife worked in Overland Park, so we bought a place in Lenexa. Then, uh. She died a couple years back. And I, uh. I just haven't gotten a new place yet. I hate moving all my shit, and it's not exactly a great market for selling, and, I dunno, probably a dozen other things."
By that point, their new drinks had arrived, and Dean finished off his first one in one swallow.
"I'm sorry," Castiel said quietly. "I really didn't mean to dredge up something like that."
Dean shrugged. "No way you coulda known. But like I said, not drunk enough to go into more detail, so let's talk about something else."
Which they did, for another hour and a half. They stuck to lighter topics, like their tastes in books and music and their favorite barbecue places back home, and the conversation flowed freely. Castiel learned that Dean was hoping to write horror, but also read a good bit of sci-fi and fantasy. He listened to classic rock almost exclusively, but eventually admitted to a slight thing for Taylor Swift. When Castiel asked if he was a Gates or Bryant man, he rolled his eyes and said that Zarda beat them both but he missed Quick's. They agreed that Oklahoma Joe's was good, but overrated and trendy.
Eventually there was a comfortable lull in the conversation. They'd finished their second drinks slowly, then when Castiel had switched to water Dean had, as well. So he felt lightly buzzed and relaxed, but nowhere near drunk. It was nice, but what was nicer was that their stools had migrated toward each other until they were nearly touching. Better still, they themselves were pressed together from shoulder to knee, their hands wandering freely to each other's knee, thigh, arm, back as they talked.
"So, I have an idea," Castiel said, bumping Dean's shoulder with his. Dean raised his eyebrows. "I would very much like to keep getting to know you, but this place is getting pretty crowded. There's a wine shop a couple of blocks away. I say, we head over there and get a bottle, take it back to my hotel room, and continue this conversation with a bit more privacy."
Dean smiled, looking very on board with this plan. "So what happens when the wine's gone?"
Castiel's hand was on Dean's thigh by this point, and he stroked his thumb slowly over the denim. "I guess we'll find out."
He saw Dean glance at his mouth, and he did the same, but neither of them leaned in. The tension was there, the certainty that they both wanted it, but at the same time… Castiel knew it was ridiculous, but he didn't want their first kiss to be at a bar. Which was truly, truly absurd, because who cares where your first kiss with a one night stand is? "First kiss" isn't even a concept that applies to a one night stand. But he was pretty sure that by this point, they were both kind of on board with the idea of this potentially not being one night, and by some mutual unspoken agreement managed to let the tension lie.
They settled their tab and headed out into the night. Almost as soon as they were outside, Dean's hand slipped into Castiel's easily, like they'd done it a hundred times before. They kept talking as Castiel led them to the shop, now shifting to talking about their jobs and Dean's studies. A bit later, Dean's arm slipped around his waist as they studied the wide selection on the shop's shelves. He glanced at Dean, and for a second that tension was back—their faces were inches apart, and they both wanted to close the gap. But they didn't.
As they exited the shop, hand in hand again and carrying a bottle of cabernet, Castiel had another idea. "So have you been to Chicago before?"
"Nope. I have no idea where we are, or how to get to the hotel." Dean grinned. "Hell, I probably couldn't get us back to the bar we just left."
"Did you get a chance to look around the neighborhood today, or did you stay at the Lit Fest the whole time?"
Dean shrugged. "Mostly stayed there. Charlie dragged me somewhere a few blocks away for dinner, but that's it."
"Well, we're only about three blocks from the Hilton. But do you mind going a little out of our way?"
Dean raised an eyebrow. "Sure. You're a native, I'll trust you."
"Two years here hardly makes me a native," Castiel laughed, "but I do know that this is a very nice area to walk around."
They continued their conversation while Castiel led them east, past the hotel, across the bridge, and toward the rose garden.
"Oh wow," Dean said as the buildings gave way to greenery. "How did I not know this was here?"
"Let me guess, you took the highway to get downtown instead of Lake Shore Drive. Rookie mistake." Castiel grinned and tugged on his hand. "Come on, the fountain is great at night."
A few minutes later they emerged from the tree-lined path and could see Buckingham Fountain in the plaza ahead of them, lit up in a crazy burst of color in the night.
"Dude, that's pretty nice." Dean picked up his pace a little, and Castiel was pleased that his idea was clearly appreciated.
"Holy crap," Dean said when they finally got near the fountain. "I know we got a lot of fountains in KC, but I don't know if we've got anything this massive."
"I don't believe so," Castiel said as he slipped his arm around Dean's waist. They strolled around the fountain for a bit, Dean commenting occasionally on the light show or the view of the city.
When they eventually stopped, Dean leaned in and nudged Castiel's temple with his nose. Castiel turned toward him, and their faces were inches apart.
"Thanks for dragging me over here, Cas," Dean murmured. "The view is gorgeous." He grinned and nodded to his right slightly. "Fountain's nice, too."
"My pleasure." Castiel smiled at both the cheesy compliment and the casual nickname. Dean certainly wasn't the first person to call him that, but the others were all people he'd known for months or years first. Not a couple of hours.
This time, they let the tension carry them toward each other. As they kissed, Castiel lifted the hand that wasn't around Dean's waist to slide up the back of his neck and into his hair. The kiss started out gently, but quickly became intense. Like everything else about us tonight, Castiel thought as Dean's arms pulled him in tighter. They stayed like that for long minutes, tasting and touching and holding each other, until Castiel suddenly realized that Dean still had the wine bottle in one hand, limiting his movement somewhat.
He pulled back, but the suggestive invitation to move this to his hotel room that he'd intended to give died on his lips as his eyes met Dean's. They stood there for another minute, pressed closely together, looking into each other's eyes as a silent understanding passed between them that this was not, in fact, a one night stand. This was a beginning.
They did eventually make it to the hotel, stopping repeatedly to kiss and/or grope each other. They laughed and talked the entire way, both a little giddy from the release of the tension that had been building all night.
When they got to his room, Castiel looked around and realized that the only thing he had to put the wine in was the hotel's water glasses. They shrugged and drank wine out of squat little water glasses as they curled into each other, sitting against the headboard of the bed.
By their second glass the conversation had, in fact, turned to more serious topics. They were surprised to discover that when it came to their upbringing, they had a lot in common. Both had lost their mother at a young age, just old enough to remember her. Both had a father who did not deal well with the loss, becoming distant and finding ways to stay away from their children—though while Castiel's father did this via his work, Dean's had hidden in a bottle. Castiel realized how lucky he was that at least his father's version hadn't required him to drop out of school at sixteen to support their family.
The results were startlingly similar, though: a childhood spent relying on family friends to act as parents, and as they got older, a need to care for their younger siblings. Dean had just one younger brother, unlike Castiel's large family. He had cared for both Anael and Puriel, twins three years his junior, with only a bit of help from his well-meaning but unfailingly irresponsible older brother Gabriel. Though, again, he never had to actually keep a roof over their heads.
It was nearly two a.m. when Castiel drained the last drops from his glass. Dean pulled it from his hand and set it over on the nightstand, next to his own empty glass.
"Looks like the wine is gone," Dean purred into Castiel's ear. "Now what?"
And then they were kissing again, but this wasn't the slow, romantic kiss by the fountain, nor the playful kisses that had gotten them back to the hotel. There was only one place a kiss like this led, and Castiel was more than happy to go along for the ride.
His legs were already tangled with Dean's, but now he slid one over so that he could straddle Dean fully, pressing him back into the headboard. Dean moaned and pulled at Castiel's shirt, and soon they were both naked from the waist up and writhing skin-against-skin. Castiel moved down to kiss and nip and suck Dean's neck and shoulders. Castiel was in decent shape from running, but Dean clearly did some kind of strength training to be as toned as he was. Just running his hands over Dean's biceps sent a shiver down Castiel's spine as he imagined what Dean could do to him with that all muscle.
"Fuck, Cas," Dean gasped, his head falling back and his hands gripping Castiel's ass. "God, I want you. Been thinking about this all day, all fucking day since I saw you in that room."
Castiel moaned and ground his crotch against Dean's, both of them hard in their jeans. The thick denim was clearly a problem.
"Mmmm, lay down." He tugged at Dean until they were finally horizontal. Well, until Dean was horizontal. Still straddling him, Castiel sat up and started to work on undoing Dean's pants. Dean's hands wandered over his chest and shoulders and abs while he did.
"You are easily the hottest thing I have seen in a very long time," Dean growled as Castiel pulled the zipper down. Castiel could feel himself blush, but was too busy to feel flustered by the compliment.
Castiel finally got Dean's jeans off of him, then removed his own. Dean's eyes were on him the whole time, and the scrutiny only turned him on more. He crawled back up Dean's body, lying flush against it so that their cocks were pressed against each other through their boxers, holding himself up on his elbows above Dean's face. He kissed Dean once, fast and dirty with lots of tongue, then bent down to the side of his head.
"You should really look in a mirror more often, then," he rumbled directly into Dean's ear, "because you may be the single most beautiful man I have ever seen."
Dean, who had been occupied sliding his hands into Castiel's boxers to get a better hold on his ass, made a choked whimpering sound. Suddenly one of Dean's hands was on Castiel's shoulder and he found himself being flipped onto his back.
As soon as Dean was on top of him they were kissing again. Dean's hands were tangled in Castiel's hair, Castiel's hands mapping out the muscles shifting across Dean's back, their legs slotted together just right so that they could move against each other. They stayed like that for several minutes, moaning and gasping into each other's mouths as their bodies slid together.
Suddenly, Dean pulled away. Castiel was momentarily disappointed at the loss of the toned, hard body against his, but when Dean started pulling his boxers off he forgot all disappointment. Once they were off, he bent his knees a bit so that Dean could kneel between them.
Before he could even wonder what exactly was about to happen, Dean's mouth was around him, sucking and licking and generally causing Castiel's eyes to roll back in his head.
A string of what was probably nonsense fell from Castiel's mouth as he rested a hand on Dean's head. He didn't push or pull, just ran his fingers through soft hair and savored the movement as Dean bobbed up and down on him. He felt a hand rubbing and squeezing his balls lightly, and his shoulders arched off the bed as he tried not to thrust into Dean's mouth. He let himself get lost in the hot, wet sensations, moaning Dean's name.
Soon Dean was pulling off, though he kept a hand working furiously over the spit-slicked cock. He moved down and sucked on Castiel's balls, licked all around them.
"God, you taste so fucking good," Dean moaned as he came back up to lick up the precome that was now dripping freely. "Don't even know the last time I wanted someone's dick inside me this badly."
Castiel let out a strangled noise at this suggestion. Every position he'd imagined fucking Dean in over the course of the evening (well, let's be honest, day) flashed through his mind. He quickly decided he wasn't picky, as long as his dick wound up inside Dean's ass as soon as possible.
He tugged Dean up to kiss him again. When he did, he realized that at some point Dean had divested himself of his boxers as well, and Castiel reached down to wrap a hand around his surprisingly thick cock. He was glad that Dean had immediately wanted to bottom, because it was going to take a lot of prep for him to get filled up with that, and he just did not have the patience right now. Maybe next time, he thought, because there was so going to be a next time.
"Shit, I, uh," Dean panted into Castiel's mouth, "I don't have anything."
"In my suitcase," Castiel muttered, and wiggled out from under Dean. He was breathing hard as he jerked his suitcase open on the chair a few feet away, hoping to god he hadn't hidden his condoms and lube too well.
Luckily, it only took him a moment to unearth them, and when he held them up Dean raised his eyebrows.
"Well aren't you prepared," Dean said with a smirk. "You a boy scout, or you just always find someone to bang at these things?" Dean's tone was casual, smirk firmly in place, but as Castiel approached the bed he could see something in Dean's eyes that told a slightly different story.
Castiel got back on the bed, straddling Dean again. He bent down to plant light kisses down the side of Dean's throat.
"This isn't the first time I've picked up someone in a bar while I'm out of town for work," he admitted between kisses. Then he moved up so he could look Dean in the eye, because this was important. "But this is the first time I've met you."
Dean wove a hand into his hair and pulled him down into a long, slow, searing kiss.
They started to move against each other again, but Dean soon grabbed Castiel's hips, stilling him, and pulled away from the kiss.
"Fuck me, Cas," he breathed, "Want you inside me so bad."
Castiel nodded, quite sure that if he tried to verbalize a reply it would not come out in actual words.
Then he sat up, kneeling between Dean's legs as Dean had done not very long ago. He pushed Dean's knees up for better access, then grabbed the lube and started to prep Dean, forcing himself to go slowly. Dean was clearly enjoying the process, starting to fuck himself on Castiel's fingers after the second one went in.
"Um—oh fuck yes, right there, fuck, nngh—but Cas—I should, um, I should probably tell you—"
Castiel didn't stop moving his hand entirely, but his movements became smaller and slower, steering clear of Dean's prostate.
"What should you tell me, Dean?"
Dean gasped, got his breath back, and tried again. "Not a big deal, I just—I haven't done this in a while. Like, years. So, uh. You might need to be a little extra careful down there."
He knew Dean wouldn't want to say it in so many words when they were in the middle of this, but Castiel could put two and two together to figure out that Dean hadn't had sex with a man—or, at least, hadn't bottomed—since before he got married. Given that he'd been married for nearly six years (one of the only other facts about it that he'd divulged that night), and who knew how long he and Lisa had dated before that… He might as well be a virgin, for as ready as his ass was for this.
"Don't worry, Dean," Castiel breathed, sliding his fingers further in, "I won't hurt you." As he pulled his fingers back out, he slid them across the sensitive spot and watched Dean buck and moan for him.
Castiel spent a few more minutes than he might usually on prep, making sure that Dean was slick and open and begging for it before he dared pull his fingers out. He slid the condom on, then added more lube to it to be on the safe side.
He braced himself over Dean with one hand by Dean's head, so that he could watch Dean's face as he slowly pushed in. He took his cues from that, pausing at any flinch. But mostly, he saw unbridled desire in Dean's eyes, aimed squarely at him, and it took his breath away.
"Shit," Dean breathed when he was fully inside, "That's so good. You feel so fucking good."
Castiel bent down to kiss and lick along Dean's jawline as he slowly started to move, and he felt Dean's legs tighten around his waist.
"I've been thinking about this all day, too," Castiel murmured into Dean's ear as he gradually thrust harder and faster. "How hot and tight you'd be for me. But fuck, you feel so much better than I could imagine, Dean. You look so much…" His voice trailed off into a moan for a few seconds. "So much hotter wrapped around me."
Castiel grabbed Dean's ass and adjusted the angle, experimenting until one thrust made Dean cry out and grab the sheets. Perfect.
Now that he'd found just the right spot, he started fucking Dean harder and faster. He felt a little bad for whoever was in the hotel room next to them, because Dean was starting to get loud—but not bad enough to stop, because those were possibly the hottest sounds he'd heard in his life.
"Gonna make me come, Cas," Dean moaned. His hands threaded through Castiel's hair and pulled him down so their noses were nearly touching. "God, I'm gonna come so hard."
Castiel groaned and struggled to keep his eyes open, not wanting to miss a second of Dean's face. "Yes, fuck, I want to see you come, Dean. I want to watch you, want to feel you around me when you come."
He'd barely gotten the words out before the hand in his hair tightened and Dean threw his head back, crying out. He could feel hot spurts hit his stomach, feel Dean clench around him as his movements became more erratic, and as he realized that Dean was coming without a hand on him, it tipped him over the edge, too.
He let out a long moan as the orgasm coursed through him, felt it being pulled out by Dean's tight ass around him. Then Dean lowered his head, and the eye contact as they both rode out their orgasms seemed to heighten everything. Whatever had been sparking the air between them all night flared bright, their foreheads pressing together as they clung to each other.
They kissed their way through the aftershocks and the gentle ride back down from their high. Once he came back to himself, Castiel couldn't help feeling a little shaken as he threw away the condom and got them cleaned up. He'd already known that he liked Dean, a lot. He'd known that he wanted to see Dean again. But even those simple facts hadn't prepared him for the connection he'd felt during sex. Now, he was startled by what he'd felt—but even more than that, scared that he'd been the only one to feel it.
He slipped back into the bed with Dean, who seemed to be taking a bit longer to get his head down from the clouds. But as soon as Castiel was lying down, Dean rolled toward him, pulling him close.
"God damn, Cas, that was…" Castiel kissed him before he could find adequate words.
"Yes, it was."
Dean gave him a lazy smile, running a hand through Castiel's hair like it was the most natural thing in the world. Then he leaned in, nosing and kissing at Castiel's throat.
"Castiel—" he began, but then froze. He pulled back and looked at Castiel, eyebrows furrowed. But before Castiel could ask him what was wrong, he burst out laughing and buried his head back into Castiel's neck.
"Um…" Castiel had absolutely no idea what was going on.
Dean pulled back just enough to look into Castiel's eyes, still grinning.
"I don't know your god damn last name!" He said it like it was the most absurd thing he'd ever heard, and Castiel giggled too, because it was. And the fact that it was, and that Dean thought it was, filled him with relief. He'd certainly slept with men whose last name he didn't know before (and probably a couple who gave him false first names). It hadn't been absurd then. Who needed a last name?
But he knew that Dean had a brother named Sam and drove a '67 Impala that he was a little too enamored with and worked in his Uncle Bobby's garage even though Bobby wasn't really his uncle but more like the father his father was too broken to be. He knew that Kurt Vonnegut was Dean's favorite author and he'd read every book and story ever written by Stephen King or Dean Koontz but also had a soft spot for gothic horror and had read Dracula a few too many times. He knew that when he looked into Dean's eyes while coming harder than he had in years it felt too big and too right and like something he thought maybe he could someday decide he never wanted to stop doing.
But Dean was right. Castiel didn't know his last name. And that was kind of hilarious.
Castiel struggled to put on a straight face, or at least not laugh for ten seconds, as he stuck out his hand awkwardly between them. "Castiel Novak."
Dean shook his hand, as well as he could while they were both lying down only a foot apart. "Dean Winchester. Pleasure to make your acquaintance."
"So what were you about to say, Mr. Winchester, before you realized this?"
Dean opened his mouth, then then squinted up at the ceiling as though it might have the answer written on it. "I don't even remember, something about how great the sex was," he said, shrugging, and dissolved into laughter again.
Castiel reached over to turn off the bedside lamp, then pulled Dean into another lazy kiss that finally calmed down the last of his giggles. Then he rolled over and pressed back against Dean, who wrapped himself around Castiel with no hesitation and pressed a few light kisses into the back of his neck.
"Good night, Castiel Novak," he said softly into Castiel's hair.
"Good night, Dean Winchester."