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Time passed differently in Heaven. Castiel explained it was different for everyone, it essentially followed whatever they wanted it to do. He recounted a particular favorite of his, the Tuesday afternoon of an autistic man that just repeated, the sun always shining, the sky always blue, the wind always at the perfect speed and direction for his kite. His idea of Heaven was reliving that one good day.
For Dean, time seemed to pass the same as it had on Earth. He enjoyed the normalcy of keeping his days and nights intact, that sense of warm familiarity never to be snatched from his hands again. His Heaven was essentially the same as his life on Earth, minus all the pain and strife.
His paradise was Cas, their home, a road to Bobby’s cabin, his family, and his Baby. He didn’t want anything he couldn’t get in life.
He only wanted to keep it, this time.
No monsters ripping the rug out from under him, dragging him to Hell, murdering his family. He’s whole. He’s finally at peace.
After that first long drive with Cas, belting their favorite songs, blissfully happy to the moment they stepped in the cabin door, Dean just had a feeling. Sam used to call it creepy, the way Dean just seemed to know when he was in danger, to be able to sense his presence no matter how far apart they were. He knew wouldn’t be waiting much longer.
Briefly, he thought about that awful night where he truly thought he lost Sam, leaving him with that damned couple who would’ve let him die. He truly felt it as he hunted down those pills to overdose, that unmistakable emptiness of no longer feeling his little brother’s presence on this earth.
Maybe that emptiness was always there, though, something more, tricking him.
Mercifully, in Heaven, he doesn’t dwell on what plagued him while he was on Earth as much. He wouldn’t be the same Dean if he was all happy-go-lucky and Paradise peppy, though. He and all the other old crones in his family, namely Bobby, were as surly as they were on Earth.
Now, though, Bobby’s griping is mostly related to recounting stories to Cas about times the boys made him want to pull what little hair he had left out. Ellen seemed keen on telling his most embarrassing tales, while Jo happily contributed.
She wasn’t kidding when she said Sam would be along soon. They stopped at the pier before they wanted to head home. Dean just knew he needed to be there.
Sure enough, while he and Cas sat with their legs dangling off the edge to look out at the clear blue waters, footsteps approached behind them. Dean knew those steps like the back of his hand. It’s hard to walk quietly when you’re a 6’4 moose of a guy. He doesn’t turn, just stands up, hands stuffed into his pockets as his eyes prickled.
“Heya, Sammy.”
He hadn’t realized you could cry in Heaven until he took Sam into his arms. A few tears of relief disappeared into the shoulder of his jacket, and Sam didn’t comment. He just let Dean hold on as long as he wanted, until he moved on to hug Cas. As nice as being with the rest of the family was, Dean couldn’t help but be grateful he didn’t have to wait long.
Distorted time was a nightmare in Hell. But here, it’s a gift. Sam got to live a beautiful life with his kiddo and Eileen, and even though he passed first, Dean only had to wait what felt like a few hours to get him back again.
Time didn’t matter. He couldn’t care less if those few hours for him were 10 minutes or 10 years on Earth. He had his family back. His Heaven was complete.
Eileen would come soon enough. Sam was eager, but patient, knowing that his Mini Dean needed just a bit more time with his passing mother that he wasn’t going to selfishly wish to take away. He’d have an eternity with his wife, and before long, their boy would join the family too.
While Cas and Dean never had kids of their own, Dean was more than happy with who he did have. Jack still needed guidance, filling a hole in Dean’s heart he didn’t ever acknowledge was there. With Dean Jr. in the mix, and Sam and Eileen taking plenty of date nights and vacations, he got the pleasure of watching his husband’s instincts alongside him.
Human or not, Cas took to fatherhood like a duck to water, even if he thought Highway to Hell was a normal lullaby. That was mostly Dean’s fault, after all.
“Gotta start ‘em young,” He’d said, grinning.
“If he spends much more time around us, the first words he says are going to be son of a bitch!” Cas chuckled.
While Dean was a proud uncle, nothing brought him more satisfaction than being a father.
And what a man, or God, their son was turning out to be. In control of the cosmos themselves, making sure each person and angel was truly at peace in his Heaven. No brainwashing, no soldiers forced into servitude. He wanted to create a true Paradise.
Only a few days in this new world, and Dean was beaming with pride at the son they’d brought up. He had so many questions for when he got a chance to visit. He’d be lying if he said the reformation of Heaven, Hell, The Empty, and Purgatory all happening at once wasn’t a fascinating project.
Mini Dean (apparently, he’d said Dean Jr. made him sound old), was in his 30’s now. Sam said he wanted to be just like his dad, and his uncle. The kid was going to law school with mechanic work as a side gig. Dean wondered if he just might take up spontaneous beekeeping as well.
He filled him in on the years Dean missed, not bothering to count them, only the memories therein. He talked about driving Baby again, about keeping every inch of Dean’s room untouched despite knowing they’d be together again. It was the full, happy life Dean always wanted for him, and the peaceful afterlife he deserved.
All in all, being a Winchester hadn’t turned out so bad for them.
Sam decided to go pay Bobby’s cabin a visit, have his own reunion with the family. Dean respected his space. He and John likely had a lot to say to each other. Dean couldn’t let him go without filling him in on his and Cas’s first interaction, though. While Cas’s face settled into a blatantly self-satisfied smirk, Sam doubled over laughing.
“Dude, you had the guts to do what I’ve thought about since I was like, 12,” he said, through his hysterical gasps. Dean grinned, nudging his husband’s ribs with his elbow.
“Then he was all, I would apologize, but I don’t like to lie. That was for Dean and Sam,” Dean paraphrased in his best gruff Cas impression. Sam slowly caught his breath, standing up straight to clap Cas on the shoulder proudly. “You’re awesome, man,” he said, getting a smile from Cas that was just as prideful. It suited him, Dean decided.
“I’ll be sure to rub it in his face,” Sam grinned deviously, throwing up his hand in a wave. “I’ll come swing by when Eileen gets here. Y’know, after a bit,” he said, going pink in the face at Dean’s lascivious smirk. “Mhm. Y’all take as much time as you need,” he said, turning to Cas and arching a suggestive brow. “We’re gonna need it.”
Sam mock-gagged, a genuine smile underneath it as he turned to step off the pier and head down the path to Bobby’s cabin. Dean gestured Cas along, back to Baby to head home. He was admittedly eager to see if their paradise cabin came with any supernatural upgrades. His Heaven would definitely come with a bigger TV and a jacuzzi.
Cas was obviously ecstatic at sharing Dean’s eternity, but as soon as they arrived in Heaven, Dean could see beneath his smile as quickly as ever. He still held that guilt, those haunting memories, seeing just how empty Heaven seemed since he’d last been there.
His time as a merciless God, the Fall. Just like Dean, he held the weight of the world on his shoulders. Heaven had been his home for eons, and he wreaked havoc upon it, against his own will.
Dean could understand the feeling, in a way. They’d both done regrettable things, unforgivable things, under the influence of one monster or another. The Leviathan, the Mark, the manipulation of one Scottish crossroads demon or an eternal force of nature with a crush on Dean.
Cas was ancient compared to him. Dean could only understand the consequences of his actions on a human level. It was easy to move past a few big mistakes on Earth in such a finite time, he couldn’t spend it mulling over them. But Cas quite literally had all of the time in the world, and his consequences were cosmic.
As Baby reached their cabin, driving herself more than Dean, the music faded off into the background, the rumble of the tires coming to a stop.
Cas looked out the window wistfully at the blooming, windswept field outside, at the lake they’d just come from, foggy in the distance. Cas didn’t seem to be thinking about the lake, though. His mind was somewhere far from Dean, in memories long before his time, and the worst ones after.
“Hey, you with me, sweetheart?” Dean said softly, cracking a playful smile as he tilted his head down to catch Cas’s gaze, giving his knee a rub. Cas blinked a few times, turning back from the window to him. “Yes, Hello Dean,” he smiled back sheepishly.
“Heya, Cas,” Dean chuckled, picking up his husband’s hand to kiss it. “How’s about we get inside?”
Dean could never understand. Not fully. But after 30 odd years of living alongside Cas as an average couple that was, for all intents and purposes, human, he knew one thing for certain. Cas was good. A good angel, a good husband, a good father, a good person. He’d done a lot of healing in Dean’s comparatively short lifetime, but if he had to spend eternity reassuring him of that, he’d be thrilled to do so.
Cas relaxed a bit, following Dean to get out of the car and take in the landscape around them. The outside of their home looked the same, the well-loved porch steps with engine oil boot marks Dean never bothered to get rid of, Cas’s little nesting loft lighting up the top windows just beneath the A-frame.
The campfire pit in front of the porch remained unlit, just waiting for nightfall to bring their family together. Just behind that, nestled against the lefthand wall of the cabin, was a covered jacuzzi that definitely hadn’t been a feature of their Earthly home. They’d make use of that later.
For now, though, he had a husband to take care of.
He opened the door for Cas out of habit, following him inside to be overrun with all the memories held within these walls. The kitchen and all those quiet mornings within, Cas sipping his coffee as he was immersed in the latest find from the library in town, while Dean busied himself with making breakfast. On the rare occasions they swapped, those mornings were chaotic, full of laughter and a few near calls to the fire department with Cas manning the stove.
Even rarer were the tense mornings, moody from lack of sleep, or waking up on the wrong side of the bed. Dean still looked upon those memories fondly. He couldn’t remember how that irritable crawling under his skin felt now, just Cas’s calloused fingertip twirling the ring around his finger, a silent comfort.
Without saying a word, his husband grounded him, pulling him back when the nightmares of Hell tried to drag him back down.
There was the living room, a cozy sofa they’d snuggle up on with Angie so Dean could get Cas properly cultured on the best movies. He’d be damned if his husband was going to go through life with Metatron’s taste in media.
He smiled to himself, a faint ache in his heart. When Angie passed at the ripe old age of 18, they’d grieved for over a year, though that ache never quite abated completely. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the many toys and feathers littered throughout the home, but he couldn’t bear to move them either.
That seemed to be the thing about Heaven, though. He had whatever his heart longed for.
Right on cue, like the elegant lady she always was, Dean heard the faint patter of paws down the wood floors as a little fluffy head poked out from the hallway.
He’s in his own world now, no expectations, no pressures to act any specific way. So, Dean lets himself cry for the second time that day, and clicks his tongue to call her over. Her abundance of fur bounced with each step, until she was leaping onto the couch and right back into Dean’s arms. Cas leaned into his shoulder to let her bonk his hand with a happy chirrup.
“I guess all cats do go to Heaven,” Dean quipped. If it worked for dogs, cats deserved a paradise of eternal treats, snuggles, and feather toys too. Cas chuckled fondly, watching Angie hop gracefully back to the couch once she’d had her fill of pets. Dean turned back to him, gesturing to the kitchen.
“Haven’t had our coffee yet,” he smiled brightly. Cas liked routines, Dean didn’t imagine that had changed. He wasn’t ready to give up their well-loved rituals just because he was technically dead, either. He could pick Cas’s brain about Heaven once they each had a mug in their hands.
Luckily, there was already a fresh pot brewed, their two favorite mugs sat side-by-side on the counter where they always had been. One with floating bees and honeycomb that Cas got at a beekeeper event, and the one he got Dean for their anniversary with an electric guitar for a handle. It wasn’t the most ergonomic thing, but Dean used it every day from then on, even as the paint chipped, and the white interior grew stained with his black coffee.
He poured them each a cup, knowing Cas’s favorite creamer would be waiting in the fridge because Dean wanted it to be. He knew the exact ratio he liked, getting it fixed up and finishing it off with a stir. He headed back over to the table, settling in next to Cas with a gentle smile.
“Alright, I’ve plied you with coffee, tell me what’s goin’ on in that pretty little head of yours,” he teased lightly, taking a sip of from his mug and noticing it tasted much better than he remembered. Cas sighed, eyes flickering up from his mug guiltily.
“Dean, to be frank, you have just died. You lived a long life, giving pieces of yourself and taking care of everyone around you. This is your paradise. You should be focusing on that,” he said, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
Dean huffed, rolling his eyes playfully. “Yeah, kinda got that part from the whole death slideshow with Tessa, Cas. This is my paradise. I got my family, our baby, my Baby. You said everyone’s experience of Heaven is tailored to them. If I wanted some sanitized, perfect incarnation of my husband, I woulda got that,” he said firmly, holding Cas’s gaze.
“Face it, we just ain’t ourselves without that baggage. It’s my Heaven, and I’m not giving you up now. Should’ve thought twice before you married a Winchester,” he said, more lightly. “Til’ death do we two part doesn’t work out so well.”
That got a smile out of Cas, relieving a bit of his worry. “Why do you think Rowena didn’t include it? She knows you too well,” he said, taking a sip of his steaming coffee with a thoughtful expression. Dean let him gather his thoughts. He could imagine what the majority of his pain stemmed from, but Cas needed a chance to put it into his own words.
“It’s just… Difficult, being back,” Cas said softly. “Of course, this particular area is unique. I have no such memories associated with our home, or Bobby’s cabin, or anything here.”
Dean knew exactly which memories he was referring to. Where exactly he’d smitten those angels, he couldn’t say, but he was grateful Cas wasn’t forced to associate it with their little slice of it.
“But our life together was just a blip up here. The scars I left have somewhat healed, but there are still much fewer angels left. They are repopulating, and with Jack in charge, Heaven will recover. I had a long time to forgive myself for the pain I caused. But…” He trailed off, looking into Dean’s eyes, imploring him to understand.
“But being here brought it up again,” Dean said, empathetic. Cas nodded.
Dean considered his next words carefully, wanting to find the right way to put it all together. He never had a way with them, not like his husband, but he’d always find a way to soothe him.
“I know, Cas. You caused a lot of hurt, but hell, so did I. And now look at you, your son is rebuilding the fucking universe. I helped a little bit, but those core years, making him who he is? That was all you, baby,” he said earnestly. “He’s not just rebuilding Heaven, he’s making things better in every single world he can reach. Because you made him like that. If not for you protecting him, none of this would have ever happened.”
He covered Cas’s hand with his own, giving it a squeeze. “Everything you did, you made up for just by being a father to him, you hear me? We get to make some new memories thanks to you.”
Cas shook his head slightly, the corners of his lips turning up from their pensive line to a smile Dean adored. “I would like that.”
Making new memories with Cas was a particular favorite of Dean’s.
It seemed like looking forty-one again wasn’t the only change dying and being sort of reborn brought. His memories from that age came to him more quickly, like he was back in that first year of their marriage again, instead of an old geezer with supernatural anti-aging.
Unbidden, and entirely inappropriate, that turn of phrase draws up one long untouched.
“It bein’ a holiday and everything, thought we could do something special. Make some new memories.”
Dean felt his face go red, starting with the tips of his ears. Cas knew all of his tells, but he’d said many times that he found that one most endearing. It didn’t hurt that it made Dean as see-through as spit-shined glass. They’d just gotten through several emotional reunions; Cas had just poured his heart out about how he was struggling with the location shift. Now was not the time for his traitorous mind to interrupt. He needed to be sage and comforting, not jump on Cas the second he got the opportunity.
Though, Cas had never minded in the past. Even as Dean got up there in age, Cas never stopped wanting him. He never stopped adoring his body just the same as he did when Dean was decades younger. Their sex life had never been anything short of active.
Still, Dean knew there was a time and a place. Right then wasn’t it.
His coffee hadn’t even gone cold yet. Maybe snapping back 30 years had that libido coming back to him all at once.
“Dean? Is something on your mind?” Cas asked, eyes going straight to the color on Dean’s cheeks.
Dean waved a hand dismissively, brushing it off with an attempt at a suave smile. “Don’t you worry about me, sweetheart. I’m fine, just…” he caught his lower lip between his teeth, looking down at his cup. “Just adjusting, y’know? Got lost in my head.”
Cas cocked an eyebrow in that way that made Dean’s knees go a bit weak. Time and place, Winchester.
The question goes unspoken, but it’s loud and clear.
Dean took a long sip of his coffee, blaming his heated cheeks on the warmth of it, though the cabin was a cool 68 degrees.
He’d always been fond of summer weather, but not the balmy, sweaty ones that made you feel like the air was clinging to your skin and exhausting your body with the weight. Summers like the July 4th he spent with Sammy. Just warm enough, a pleasant breeze, bright blue skies. So, his Heaven would have mild season cycles, but the summer could drag on as much as he pleased.
Which is why blaming it on the heat wouldn’t fool Cas for a second.
Maybe the evasiveness was part of the fun, before.
“Would you like to explain what’s going on in that pretty little head?” Cas quoted back at him.
Translation: Are you going to tell me, or do I need to push a bit harder?
Normally, Dean loved making him push. But for this, his reticence wasn’t him being coy. Cas would never do anything he didn’t want to, he would be honest and entirely non-judgmental. Still, Dean felt a twinge of shame in his stomach. He wasn’t a teenager; he didn’t need to satisfy every random urge that happened to pop up in his mind. He’d just finish his coffee, snuggle up on the couch with Angie and Cas, and give him the support he needed. Any time spent with Cas was a moment he wouldn’t squander.
“Dean,” Cas said slowly, coaxing. “If you are struggling with this change I’d like to help you. Anything you need.”
Dean waved him off with another smile he hoped didn’t look as flustered as he felt. Here he was getting his husband worried because he was horny, and embarrassed about it. As if Castiel hadn’t spent decades of their marriage proving he had absolutely no reason to be.
Unsurprisingly, Castiel just levels that face at him, and Dean knows he’s losing this interrogation one way or another.
“Just thinkin’ about a memory is all. I guess the new-old face came with ‘em,” he said, telling the truth. He was just omitting a more thorough explanation.
Cas just stares, unimpressed.
“Was about Halloween,” Dean mumbled in defeat.. “First one together. Y’know, making new memories,” he quoted himself.
Judging by the way Cas’s eyes darkened, he remembered that night in the same vivid detail. “I see,” he said, setting down his mug to focus on Dean in that way of his that made him instinctively sink back into his seat. “Anything in particular? It was a rather eventful night,” he said, his voice a notch lower than it had been before.
Dean could technically make it any time of day he pleased, but having this conversation so early in the morning made it feel all the more lurid. Dean loved that about his husband, though. He was entirely straightforward. He wouldn’t fake that intrigue written all over his face for Dean’s sake.
“All of it,” Dean admitted. He could dance around it all morning, but Cas would always get to the root of it eventually. He knew Dean’s mind better than anyone else he’d ever known. It helped that all he had to do was use that firm edge in his voice and Dean would fold like a lawn chair. Cas hummed thoughtfully.
“Every night I have spent with you has been wonderful, of course. But that is a particular favorite,” he said, lips quirking up deviously. Dean cocked his head, swallowing down the lump in his throat. Yep, the libido had to be hitting him like a freight train.
Cas never lost that ability to fluster him, to leave him speechless with a few suave words, but this was somewhat new. Not better, per se. No single year of their marriage could be compared against any other. It evolved throughout the years, taking a new, beautiful shape with each one.
But it isn’t new. This buzzing energy his body hadn’t physically been able to experience in years. A fiery, spry anticipation brimming just under the surface.
It’s thrilling.
He can’t wait to put his new (old?) joints to use.
“Yeah?” Dean asked coyly, grinning.
They fell into silence, just looking. Cas’s coffee was empty. Dean’s was nearly there. Cas’s eyes drifted to Dean’s fidgeting fingers, tracing along the edge of the guitar handle of his cup.
“Is there something you’d like to ask for, sweet boy?”
There it is.
It’s a good thing Dean’s sitting down, otherwise that tone Cas pulled would have him on his knees. His voice was naturally sexy, rough and commanding, but he had a different voice for this. Dean didn’t think anyone else would have noticed that subtle shift.
Hell, they hadn’t. On occasion, when they were younger, Cas would give him simple commands while they hung out with friends, completely innocuous tasks that just seemed like a spouse helping out his husband. To Dean, though, he wasn’t just being a good, helpful husband. He was being Castiel’s good boy. He’d always enjoyed acts of service; he was often more comfortable with actions than words. He always got doting rewards, a honey-sweet “thank you, Dean” or “you’re too good to me.”
Often, they drifted into the physical. Though Cas was naturally touchy, Dean knew the difference between a simple reach for affection and a reward. Cas knew all of his buttons. Massaging the base of his neck with his arm stretched over the couch, a firm hand on the small of his back, Cas’s whole hand fitting over his hipbone to give it a squeeze.
Now, though, he just reaches over and playfully squeezes his thigh. Dean took the invitation for what it was.
“Would you wanna… I mean, I know it’s our first day, and it’s rough on you being here again. We can just watch something, this place have Netflix 3.0 or something?” he asked, deflecting a bit with the joke as he was wont. There’s a brief flicker of anxiety, like Cas would ever deny something he wanted, like he would shame Dean in any way for doing exactly as he wanted. Cas wanted him to voice his desires.
It was good. Dean was good.
Cas hummed his approval, smiling gently. “Anything you ask for, Dean,” he reminded him fondly. Dean knew he just wanted the verbal confirmation, and hell if he wasn’t eager to give it.
“If you wanna, we could just.. How we used to, y’know, work up to it?”
Cas knew exactly what he was referring to. Those were special occasions, when Dean would be forthcoming about his desires. It was one thing to give up his power in the bedroom, but an entire day of letting go, letting himself be held in the palm of his husband’s hand was abundantly freeing. He didn’t have to think about anything else, just following orders.
This time, though, he chose them. He wasn’t commanded to hunt or kill or act tough by his father, he wasn’t forced to perform for Chuck’s sick games with their lives. Cas would never ask him to do something he didn’t want to, or couldn’t.
His commands weren’t meant to be taxing. They were a chance to escape. There was no finish line to reaching the sexual bit, just gentle praise and correction. Sometimes it was as simple as cooking something for each of them, or allowing himself some purely indulgent self-care tasks he wouldn’t normally allow himself, kneeling at Cas’s feet with the only task being accepting his praise without argument.
Castiel just looked on with a patient smile, though there was an amused glint in his eyes that told Dean he was relishing in his sheepishness.
“I would like that very much, Dean,” he chuckled fondly, stroking down his thigh, keeping his touch chaste while they polished off their coffee. That didn’t seem to matter to Dean’s nervous system. All it got was Cas’s hand is on my thigh, followed by a flurry of thoughts decidedly inappropriate for the dinner table.
“Is there anything in particular you had in mind?” Cas asked, sipping his coffee as Dean thought about it.
“I hadn’t really thought anything out,” Dean admitted, a grin creeping onto his face as he nudged his husband teasingly. “You’re creative,” he said, recalling the many instances some of Cas’s ingenuity came in hand(s)y.
Cas chuckled, an undertone of mischief to it that had Dean squirming with anticipation. He took a sip of his coffee, setting it back down with a soft clink to look back up at Dean. “Why don’t you finish up your coffee and get started on breakfast while we think it over?”
Dean felt himself drifting already. Cooking for Cas was soothing, whether that be the innate instinct from his childhood, preening over the praise it begot, or the sweet domesticity of sharing a meal as they’d done for decades.
In these cases, though, it’s all of the above, with a bonus. He was praised for being obedient, for pleasing Cas.
Dean nodded, not bothering to hide the eagerness in it. Cas hummed his approval, watching Dean down the rest of his coffee with one gulp with an amused tilt of his lips. “Thank you, Dean,” he said warmly, pressing a kiss to his forehead before he got up to head to the stove.
Naturally, the kitchen was fully stocked with everything he needed to make exactly what he had in mind. “How’s fried taters, bacon, and muffins sound?” he asked. Odd combination, but he could do whatever he wanted here. He didn’t imagine Heaven counted calories. It wasn’t like anyone was going to stop him.
Not to mention they were easy finger foods.
Cas understood that some desires were difficult to voice. He had gotten used to reading Dean, understanding that he would always struggle to put them to words, but that was not for lack of wanting. He knew to offer and wait for him, not ask. A small, but meaningful difference that took the pressure off of him.
Dean pays it no mind when Cas wanders off to the bedroom, his back turned to pour the packet of muffin mix. The crackle of the grease and oil in each pan filled up the serene quiet of the kitchen with a pleasant white noise, but he could still register the return of the footsteps as Cas returned to his seat.
“So, you glad to have me back as a stud?” Dean asked over the noise, keeping his eye on the pans to avoid them burning. Though, he had a feeling that no matter what, they’d cook just how he wanted them.
Dean could hear the eye roll without turning around. “Dean, I have told you many times, your age has nothing to do with my level of attraction to you. You have been beautiful to me since the day we met. I will love you in whatever form you may take.”
Dean nearly choked on the sincerity of it. Beyond just flustering him, Cas had a way with words that entranced him. The way he could wax poetic out of nowhere, make these grand, sweeping confessions like it wasn’t a random Tuesday afternoon.
It was far from it, though. Dean would give him that.
“Yeah, I’m sure you really miss when the only thing that wasn’t stiff was my dick,” he snorted. “Or the three-fourths of silver hair I had left. Maybe it was the wrinkles and sunspots that really got you going,” he said derisively. None of that ire was towards Cas, though. He had never made Dean feel anything less than beautiful in his eyes.
Beauty was in the eye of the beholder, and personally, Dean was glad he wouldn’t have to behold his sun-dried old face for eternity.
He turned off the stove out of habit as the potatoes and bacon were done enough to sit on the pan and cook through. The muffins only liked about five minutes.
Before Dean could turn back to the table, there were arms encircling his waist as Cas rested his chin on the crook of his shoulder, his warmth seeping through Dean’s back. “As I said, you are and always have been the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. Did I stop wanting to be intimate with you after you hit 50?”
Dean sensed that was not a rhetorical question. He shook his head.
“Did I give you reason to believe your skin’s natural aging was somehow off-putting to me? That your hair, or lack thereof, mattered more than admiring the beauty of your soul?”
Dean shook his head again, a twinge of guilt setting off an ache in his chest. Being sent back to when he was young and relatively secure was a jarring experience after so many years of insecurity. Cas had helped him settle into his skin, to learn to appreciate his body for carrying him through an incredibly difficult life, but he had his moments.
He hadn’t expected post-mortem to be one of them, was all.
“Words, please,” Cas ordered him, though his tone was low and gentle against the shell of Dean’s ear.
“No, Cas–tiel, ‘course you didn’t. None of my shit’s your fault, you know that,” he said softly. Those four extra letters were a communication in themselves, letting Castiel know what he wanted. That he needed out of his head. He needed to remind Cas, to remind himself, how good he could be.
He’d mentioned to his husband once that occasionally, submitting to him felt selfish. Putting all of his burdens on Cas for the day, forcing him to make all the decisions, while Dean got to float into a comforting headspace where he didn’t worry about anything.
“Dean,” he said firmly, capturing his chin between two fingers, holding his attention. “In no way is indulging yourself with this selfish. I could argue the same thing. I enjoy holding your mind entirely, I revel in the trust and absolutely devotion you show me. I am prideful of that, to have such a magnificent thing entirely under my control, looking up at me like I am an object of his worship,” he said, roughened and earnest.
“If I did not want to give you this, I would not. But I do. I cherish it. I cherish you. You are beautiful in your submission. Do not take that from me because of this unfounded truth you’ve convinced yourself of.”
His tone brooked no argument. All Dean could do was nod. He hadn’t stopped to think about it like that, what Cas might have been feeling during their scenes, beyond a general idea of it. He had no idea just how much he truly enjoyed it.
Maybe Cas needed that release right now, too. To be in control when he couldn’t control his own mind. “I do. It is not your own fault, either.” As if reading his mind, Cas knows just what to say. “I will never be angry with you for sharing your worries. I will not tolerate your self-deprecation, though,” he added firmly.
Cas pressed a gentle kiss to the side of Dean’s neck, sending a chill down his spine. He’d always been particularly sensitive there, where Cas loved to nip and kiss and mark.
“And Dean?”
“Hm?”
Cas kissed his way up his neck, finishing at the shell of his ear just before he spoke.
“Next time I want to express my admiration, do not talk back to me.”
Dean’s back straightened up, stiff, though he was putty in Cas’s hands. “‘M sorry, Castiel,” he apologized sheepishly. “Won’t happen again, promise.”
Cas hummed his approval, sneaking his hands down to Dean’s hips to slip under the hem of his shirt, drawing mindless shapes into his skin that may have been hearts. “I would like you to say it back to me so I’m certain you understand. You are beautiful,” he prompted, waiting expectantly.
The words escaped Dean’s mouth before he could catch them. “You are beautiful.” He knew he was being somewhat bratty, but Cas had a high tolerance for his pushback. If there was one thing he was certain of, Cas could handle it. Could handle him.
Cas’s right hand tightened on his hip ever so slightly, a warning. “Would you like to try that again?” There’s no frustration in his tone. There never was, with Dean. Just an air of complete control, a steady, firm hand that Dean needed desperately.
Dean hesitated slightly, debating. He could goad Cas into playing along, keep up his bratty front until Cas whipped it out of him.
“I’m beautiful,” he capitulated softly.
The hand on his hip squeezes more firmly for a moment, entirely affectionate, and settles back into a gentle curve of his fingers. “Indeed you are, sweet boy.”
The timer on the oven goes off with a long beep, the smell of fresh muffins filling the kitchen alongside the savory bacon and potatoes. Cas stepped back for Dean to open the door, opting to lean against the counter and watch rather than returning to his seat.
Dean waved him off towards the table with one hand, using his gloved opposite hand to set the muffin tray on the hot plate next to the stove. “Siddown, I’ll make you a plate,” he said, getting a silently arched eyebrow in return.
“Please?” he amended.
Cas’s lips turned up fondly. “Of course.” He did as he was asked, taking a seat back at the table while Dean piled up two plates evenly. He sat Cas’s down in front of him and went to put down his own, pausing just before he reached his seat.
Evidently, when Cas left the room, he’d gotten a familiar flat cushion from their bedroom, sat beside his chair at his feet.
Offering, not asking.
Dean scooted his plate closer to Cas, then carefully knelt down to the cushion. He relaxed into the position easily, sinking into his thighs and tilting his chin up to look at Cas, reverent.
“Very good, Dean,” Cas cooed lowly, reaching down to run his fingers through his spiky hair. Dean leaned into the touch happily, letting his eyes drift shut and allowing himself to fall under. Cas petted him for a few more seconds, parting with the backs of his fingers stroking along his stubbled jaw. Dean’s eyes remained half-lidded as he turned his gaze back onto him.
Cas reached for his first bite, pinching off a bit of a muffin to press to Dean’s lips. Dean accepted it gratefully, resisting the urge to take the fingers into his mouth, to suck the sugar off the tips. He could have his fill once his hunger abated. He had to earn it.
Not only did Dean love the intimacy of it, he enjoyed the repetition. It was easy to focus on nothing but his task with Cas steadily feeding him small bites at a time, softly clucking his tongue if his gaze wandered off. He would’ve never anticipated doing such a thing, let alone liking it. In theory, submitting in such a way was mortifying.
In practice, though, Dean found himself craving it.
It was hard to think about shame when Cas looked down at him like he was a priceless piece of art, gaze full of affection and latent arousal. His eyes often fell to Dean’s lips as he accepted the food, every so often letting the pad of his pointer catch the plush of them as he pulled away. Dean was too busy chewing to say much, beyond the occasional answer to Cas asking what bite he’d like next. Eventually, when he had his fill, Cas wiped off the crumbs from his hands and resumed his petting, with Dean feeling a bit like Angie as he nuzzled into it.
“Would you like to relax on the couch or the bedroom? Unless there is something in particular you’d like to do.” Cas’s voice isn’t suggestive or lewd, just that low, guiding tone that kept Dean under his hand. “Couch’s good,” Dean smiled up at him blearily.
Cas motioned for him to stand, and before Dean could protest, he was being swept into his arms, legs wrapped around his waist. He smiled brightly, nose wrinkling in that way that always made Dean’s heart flutter with warmth, and leaned in to press a playful kiss to the tip of his nose.
Dean could only laugh, rolling his eyes at the cheesiness of it. For as many cowboy and action movies Dean showed him, Cas always had an affinity for the classic rom-coms. He wasn’t going to complain about The Princess Bride, but he could’ve gone without watching Breakfast at Tiffany’s or Roxanne at least once a month.
He was too busy watching Cas anyway, his contented expression lit up by the TV screen while he fiddled mindlessly with Dean’s ring. Having the movie memorized had its benefits, though. Cas was much more amiable to ignoring it and chasing Dean’s lips instead, until they were panting and red-faced.
As for movies they’d never watched, it took a lot more goading to capture his attention, along with some displeased grumbling about missing important plot points, but they always ended up stifled under Dean’s lips. Cas kept strong hands gripped beneath his thighs, carrying him over to the couch and plopping down so Dean was still splayed in his lap, arms wrapped around his neck.
Dean grinned, bumping their noses together in a playful bunny kiss. “I wanna use that jacuzzi later y’know,” he said. “Rest of the day’s up to you. Aren’t I s’posed to be contemplating my life, reminiscing, going over all the things I didn’t get to do?” he said sarcastically.
Cas chuckled, running his hands up and down Dean’s sides mindlessly, just feeling the warmth of his skin beneath his shirt. “We are recreating a memory. I believe that counts as reminiscing,” he said.
Dean’s grin widened, lascivious. “Got any others you were hopin’ to cover? We got all the time in the world. Literally.”
Cas hummed thoughtfully, eyes focused intently on Dean’s face. “I suppose there’s a few I wouldn’t mind revisiting,” he said, that familiar amused lilt to his low voice.
“You remember our 20th, going to that church in Iceland? Hall-grim-ska-ja or whatever?”
Castiel chuckled fondly. “Hallgrímskirkja, yes. What about it?”
Dean took Cas’s tie between his fingers to pull the fabric in long strokes, fidgeting mindlessly as he was wont. “Just thinkin’ about that lady who saw us holding hands and flipped her shit. Thought she was gonna blow that vein in her forehead,” he laughed. He could still remember her tomato-red face and accusatory finger-jabbing as she scolded them, insisting they were desecrating holy ground with their sin.
A look of rage flickered across Cas’s face, that same righteous angelic wrath the woman had gotten a taste of. All it took was a little eye glow trick and a particularly threatening Bible verse recitation to have her cowering and scurrying off the moment she unfroze.
Cas had been extra affectionate after that, shamelessly flirting at every tourist spot they visited, his hands never parting from some part of Dean’s body.
That night at the hotel was long. Dean discovered a few new kinks that day he hadn’t expected Cas to be up for. Namely, blasphemy. His husband looked unfairly sexy in priest’s robes, and the luridness of corrupting an angel had Dean eager to fall to his knees in confession.
“Love when you get all biblical wrath on homophobes,” he said, grinning cheekily.
Cas chuckled, slipping warm hands beneath Dean’s shirt to run his fingers up and down his sides idly. “I believe you enjoy the biblical wrath in any context,” he said, arching a knowing brow. Dean couldn’t argue with that. She hadn’t been wrong about the desecration though. Cas was a bit of an exhibitionist, he’d came to find, even when they were on holy ground.
Speaking of.
“So… There’s no like, y’know, angel radio Big Brother here, right? We ain’t gonna get interrupted?”
Cas shook his head, giving his sides a reassuring squeeze, though it made Dean jump slightly with the ticklish sensation. “No, Dean. Your Heaven is entirely your own. If you want our house to be soundproofed for peace of mind, though, you need only wish it and it will be.”
Dean caught his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment. Just imagining all the ways they could put that to the test made him shift slightly in his lap, antsy. Cas smiled knowingly, giving his hips a squeeze to steady them.
“I know, pretty, I know. Be patient for me,” he cooed, pressing a gentle kiss to Dean’s lips. Dean nodded rapidly. As much as his dick disagreed, he would enjoy their day far too much to skip straight to the sex. He wanted to submit first, to earn it. He wanted to give Cas the control he needed. They were in Heaven, after all, they just had unique ways of releasing their burdens.
“Can I kiss you?” he asked softly. Waiting didn’t necessarily mean depriving himself of everything.
Cas eyed him carefully, a pleased smile on his lips. “Thank you for asking, sweet boy. You may,” he said. Dean wasted no time capturing his lips in a kiss, humming contentedly at the leisurely intimacy of it.
It’s soft and deep, stealing Dean’s breath the way his husband’s kisses always did, the taste of him and that same aftershave he always wore filling his senses. He can’t help but arch into those warm hands as they cup his sides, broad and splayed out to nearly envelop his waist. Cas’s hands were beautiful things, capable of praise and punishment, of gentleness and pain.
It was so easy to lose track of time like that, relishing in the softness of his lips. Dean let out a soft whine as he pulled away, parting with a gentle nip to his bottom lip. “Don’t get too worked up, pretty. I want to spend all day with you just like this,” Cas said lowly. Dean knew exactly what he meant. Cas liked him wanting, curious about what was to come.
“Does your Heaven include those panties we liked, Dean?” he asked, the we of that thinly veiled request sending chills down Dean’s spine. As if he wouldn’t include them in a place with free reign to indulge in whatever he could think up, literally.
“Which ones?”
Cas hummed thoughtfully. “Perhaps you could… Put on a show for me,” he said slowly, leaving the air open for any protest. Dean flushed, considering. Of the many times he’d dressed up for Cas, of all the costumes, panties, garter belts, and silk robes, he’d never done a damn fashion show. At least, not without the explicit goal being getting the panties off.
Cas never failed to make him feel pretty, though. He used to feel ashamed of the word, of the unmanly implications it may have had. Getting comfortable with the lingerie had taken some time, but once he saw the way Cas looked at him, any shame or doubt he had left went out the window. Nothing Cas said, no nickname, no compliment, could ever make him feel degraded.
The closest he would go, after a bit of communication, was calling Dean his pretty whore. The way his low, rough voice curled around it, eloquent and lewd like he was a Victorian mistress, not some two-bit slut, made it feel like praise. Plus, he was his. Not just anyone’s whore. No one else got to see him like that. Those moments, that vulnerability, belonged to Cas.
Exploring BDSM as a whole had been a learning curve for both of them, though, mostly on Dean’s end. While Cas had a bookworm’s knowledge about it, Dean only had a few pornos and one experience that dipped his toes in with Rhonda Hurley. They fell into their dynamic easily, with Dean realizing just how badly he’d wanted to hand over the reins for so long, and how desperately Cas wanted to feel a sense of control again. They each got exactly what they needed out of it.
As Dean feared, though, the biggest hurdle was himself.
He trusted Cas with everything in him. With his life, his safety, and his heart. Sometimes, his primal brain missed the memo. Some days, he couldn’t handle being restrained. On others, it was any kind of pain play. Over time, his memories of Hell faded into Cas’s gentle hands, his soothing voice, his infinite patience.
While Dean enjoyed the marks he left, loved the reminders written in bruises across his skin, Cas knew his limits. Even if Cas was fucking his face until he was dizzy with it, or pounding him into the mattress until he was in tears, Cas never pushed him too far.
Dean never had to safeword for anything beyond his hips getting too sore from an adventurous position, or ropes causing a bit too much friction on his skin to be comfortable. While Dean used to take issue with Cas crawling around inside his head, their strong psychic bond became a comfort, and immensely helpful. Cas didn’t have to guess at what Dean was feeling even if he was unable to speak, whether that be from a gag or his emotional constipation.
Dean nodded slowly, a smile creeping up his lips at Cas’s own pleased grin. He anticipated being picked up before it happened this time, tightening his hold around Cas’s neck despite knowing he would never allow gravity to get the upper hand. Dean, though he would never say so, loved being carried. He loved the feeling of weightlessness, of being swept up in his husband’s strong arms, just trusting whatever destination he intended for them was a good one.
This one was straight for the bedroom.
Dean couldn’t resist stealing a few kisses as Cas pushed his way through the door with his foot, hands grasped firmly around Dean’s thighs as he carefully sat him down on the bed.
“Can you control yourself for me, Dean? We have all day. As much as I would love to ravish you right this second, I want to take our time. I can get your cock ring if you need help,” he said, far too tender for the tantalizing words.
Dean’s eyes lit up, a fascinating idea sparking in his mind.
As much as he enjoyed submitting, like everything else about him, he swung both ways.
“Wait,” he said, pressing a hand to the center of Cas’s chest to stop him in his tracks. Eye contact never shifting, he slowly guided him back to the wall until he was flush with it, Dean’s slight height advantage much more noticeable at such a close distance. Dean leaned in close, pressing soft lips to the tender spot beneath his ear, giving the shell of it a gentle nip.
“Been too long since I got to see you in ‘em,” he purred, dropping his hands down to grab roughly at Cas’s narrow hips. In just a few words their dynamic had shifted, Cas’s head canting back to bare his throat, a silent plea.
While Dean loved being under Cas’s control, he was just as gorgeous beneath him. There was something so heady and thrilling about it, the way Cas would fall into him so easily, having his incredibly powerful husband helpless and writhing from a few tempting words, some well-placed hands and kisses.
And Dean knew he was good at the former.
“Mm, there you go, baby,” he cooed, canting his hips forward to grind into him. “Let me take care of you for a bit, hm?”
Cas nodded, leaning in for a ravenous kiss, only to meet Dean’s lifted finger pressed to his reddened lips.
“Ah,” Dean tutted, as if talking to a dog getting into something it wasn’t supposed to. “I asked nicely. Where are your manners?” he taunted playfully, shifting fingers to drag his thumb down Cas’s plush bottom lip. He huffed in protest, bitchy stare leveled at Dean. While Dean was generally a very compliant sub, eager to please, to be good, Cas was a bit of a bastard. A brat would be more apt.
It didn’t bother Dean, though. He liked putting him in his place.
“May I kiss you?” Cas said, an undertone of petulance to it that made it sound more like a demand. Dean clucked his tongue, shaking his head. “I think you can do better than that, Cas.” A devious grin crept up on his lips as he leaned in, brushing their noses together. “Would you like to try that again?”
“Please,” Cas said flatly.
Dean tucked in closer, just enough to brush their lips together, sharing breath. “All together now,” he drawled, bringing a hand up to hold Cas’s chin in place, just in case he got any ideas.
“Please let me kiss you,” Cas surrendered, that desperation Dean wanted to draw out to the surface peeking out. He finally obliged, holding him still as he took his mouth as he pleased, tasting, savoring. Cas groaned into it, hands grappling everywhere he could reach, hungry for more of Dean’s bare skin. He tugged impatiently at the hem of his shirt, only stopping when Dean’s hands flew down to catch his wrists mid-pull.
“Easy, baby,” he grinned, parting with a nip to the plump, reddened skin. “We’ve got all day. What’s your rush?”
Dean let his hands drag over Cas’s clothed skin slowly, fingertips catching just where he knew his nipples perked beneath the fabric, drawing a shiver from him until he reached his belt, tugging the tails out to slip underneath. He took his time, mapping out each firm muscle beneath his soft skin, cupping broad hands over his ribcage to let the pads of his thumbs brush where Cas wanted them.
“How long’s it been?” Dean whispered, voice low and honeyed in Cas’s ear as he gently pinched his hardened nipples just the way he liked. “I haven’t gotten to have you like this in years.”
Cas laughed to himself, the eye-roll audible in his tone without Dean needing to look back at him. “You have been on top many times in fairly recent memory, Dean.”
“Like I could forget,” Dean said, chuckling through his lurid grin. “But like this.” He pressed his thigh between Cas’s legs, hard cock trapped between it and the straining fabric of his dress pants. “All young and spry,” he grinned deviously.
“You said it yourself, it’s my Heaven. I decide what goes.” Cas gasped against his lips as he crowded inwards, forcing his thighs apart further, delicious friction.
“I could fuck you into the mattress for days, until you can’t remember what it’s like being empty.”
Cas whined, something high and mortifyingly desperate and it’s music to Dean’s ears. “I know, sweetheart, I know. I’ll take care of you. Always do, don’t I?”
Cas nodded, near-frantic. Dean chuckled fondly, leaning back to look into his eyes, take him in, all pink and pining and stunning. “Just gotta take it, okay? Take what I give you. I’ll be good to you, baby.” Cas goes easily as he’s swept into Dean’s arms, held up beneath strong thighs, instinctively wrapping them around his waist and draping his arms over Dean’s shoulder.
Dean didn’t have angelic strength the way Cas did. He may not be able to pin him to the wall and fuck the daylights out of him like he could, but he was strong enough to do a little manhandling of his own. The first time Cas let him take over, Dean was a gentle, attentive lover, conscious of every sound, every twitch, searching for signs of discomfort or doubt until Cas had to pull him out of his head.
Ancient cosmic being or not, Cas was still a virgin in that sense. Dean wanted to make his first experience just as breathtaking as Cas had made his. Cas undoubtedly would have enjoyed it either way, whether Dean treated him like a delicate flower or commemorated the night with blooming bruises.
So much of Dean’s life was about violence. About being a soldier of solid Teflon, a human sword, a blunt instrument meant only for destruction.
Cas understood. He knew what Dean needed. He allowed himself to be taken care of, to lie back and be worshipped by his hands, by his mouth, by his words. They’d both teared up that night, Dean still settled deep inside as he pulled Cas to his chest, unwilling to part from him even as he softened. Cas just hummed contentedly, guiding Dean’s free arm around his waist and hugging it to his chest as their breath synced, filling the silence, lulling them to sleep.
Dean loved being tender. He loved making love.
Cas made it clear, in no uncertain terms, he liked it both ways. Making love, and fucking.
Dean used to think the two were somewhat antonyms. Making love was emotional, romantic, rose petals on silk bedsheets with a few errant tears type deal. Fucking was quick and dirty, bruising, primal.
For being the almost-virgin of the two of them, Cas had a lot to teach him. Namely, how he could reduce Dean to a sobbing, begging mess melting into the sheets as he plead for mercy, all while reminding him that he is the most beloved, cherished human to ever live, and the most bright, wonderful thing to ever come into his husband’s life.
Dean knows Cas deliberately lays it on extra thick when he knows he’s rendered speechless, unable to argue with the praise he lavishes him in.
After a bit more assuring and gentle insistence (being a literal holy terror, back-talking and prodding incessantly at Dean’s willpower and patience), Dean gave him just what he wanted. While realistically he could never overpower Cas, the angel seemed more than happy to play at the idea.
Being given that power was its own thrill, but what Dean really loved was taking it. Cas could physically stop him at any time. Anything Dean did to him was because Cas allowed him to. But it was in those moments where Dean stole the words from his lips, the breath from his lungs, left him nothing but a writhing, begging puddle on the sheets, that he found the most pleasure.
Watching that stoic, dry demeanor melt away in pure bliss, any thoughts of playful protest and his bratty tongue going with it. Babbling in Enochian, eyes glowing blue as lightbulbs pop in a far room somewhere. Total surrender. Beautiful to behold.
As it turned out, Cas loved being roughed up just as much as Dean. He never healed himself of a single bruise, let the soreness linger. Dean was sure to give each one soft kisses on the mornings after, going over every bit of exposed skin on his neck as he poured their morning coffee.
He wanted to give Cas what he wanted. His marks, his bruises, Dean written all over his skin. He practically dropped Cas down onto the bed on his back, trapping him with his arms to steal his breath in a rough kiss. He knew how much his husband loved it. Hell, he could probably get himself worked up enough to come just from a make out session like a teenager. But Dean’s going to take his time.
“Just lay back, honey,” he cooed, nuzzling his nose into the crook of his neck, soothing each nip and bite with a kiss. Cas squirmed, chest heaving with shaky breaths. Dean loved how easy he was, how intensely he felt the lightest sensations. He was so responsive. Touch was well enough for him, but Dean knew what made him tick. What Cas really loved was words.
“Just like that, let me hear you baby,” he grinned deviously against Cas’s skin, lightly tugging his head back by his hair, forcing him to look up to the ceiling, entirely unable to muffle his sounds. Cas huffed impatiently, getting a playful pinch to his nipple in return.
“What did I say?” Dean scolded, low and teasing. “You gotta trust me, sweetheart. I’ll give you what you need.” Cas used pet names very sparingly, but for Dean’s midwestern drawl, they rolled off the tongue easily. He showered Cas with every single one he could think of until he found which ones fit, which ones to knock out.
Doll was reserved for politely thanking waitresses or cashiers in traditional southern fashion. Babe was rare, a bit too surfer dude for Dean. Baby took some getting used to, given the title already belonged to his most prized possession. Cas understood that Baby came before him, though. He graciously accepted the lowercase baby.
Sweetheart and honey were particular favorites. Angel was high on the list, though Cas still teased that he should call Dean human in return. Dear and dearest were left to Cas, sounding much more natural in his voice than Dean’s. Beloved had to be the one that made him the most weak, second only to pretty boy.
Where the hell Cas pulled that one from, Dean had no idea. But it never failed to make him melt in his angel’s arms. Dean loved the way Cas softened when he used them, submitting and trusting himself to Dean’s touch, hanging onto his every word. Cas nodded, conceding defeat, though his hips betrayed his want with every involuntary buck, chasing contact with Dean.
“How bout this,” Dean said lowly, cupping Cas’s hips in his palms and stroking his thumbs over the dips there. “You get dressed up and put on a nice show for me, then I’ll pull those pretty panties aside and you sit on my face until you make a mess of ‘em, hm?”
Cas nodded so fast Dean was shocked he didn’t bump into the headboard. He chuckled fondly, shifting down the bed to press a kiss to his belly button. “Alright, sweetheart. Let’s pick you out something to wear.” He gathered Cas into his arms, strong thighs returning around his waist and holding tight for him to stand, carrying him over to the closet and gently setting him down. He could walk, but where was the fun in that?
“I think we should put you in some stockings. Bet they’d look fucking amazing around your thighs,” Dean purred, giving the dip between his ass and thigh a thorough squeeze.
“Is that all?” Cas grinned, cheeky.
“Gotta have more to take off of you in a bit,” Dean said, turning to dig around in the closet. He could get used to this Heaven thing, having anything his horny little heart desired at his fingertips whenever he wished. He pulled out a pair of white stockings, long enough to come to mid-thigh on Cas, with delicate lace trim. Next was a pair of lacy blue panties, just enough coverage in the back to accentuate his ass, just enough lace in the front to be a tease, with white trim.
He belonged in something dainty and angelic. Dean hummed to himself, satisfied, and turned back to hand them to Cas. “I think you’ve got it from here,” he grinned, strolling back over to the bed to sit at the foot of it, waving his hand in a go on then motion. Cas snorted softly, rolling his eyes as he stepped up in front of him, just far enough to move freely.
He started with his top layers, taking his sweet time to remove his overcoat and blazer, folding them neatly to set over the chair by their desk. Dean couldn’t help but find even that sexy. His husband being his fastidious self, what could be better? Cas reached for the collar of his button-up, loosening his tie to slip it off from around his neck. Dean watched his Adam’s apple bob with the movement, transfixed.
Before Cas could get any further than the top three buttons, he clicked his tongue. “Leave the shirt. Just like that. Actually, one more button for me.” Cas did as he was bid, undoing a fourth button to expose the delicate lines of his collarbone, the dip between his pectorals. Cas’s body was always a marvel to look at, no matter how many times Dean saw it. Elegant and lithe, muscular and broad. He was everything all at once. Absolutely beautiful.
Dean nodded his approval, gesturing for him to continue. Cas took off his belt slowly, the clink of it setting off some sort of Pavlovian response in Dean, going straight to his cock, already straining against his jeans. He waited, though. He wanted to savor this, every bit of his attention fixed on his husband.
Cas, seemingly avoiding trying to make balancing on one foot look graceful, decided to plant his hand on Dean’s thigh for support to pull off his slacks, eyes never leaving his face. Dean resisted the urge to pounce on him right that second, watching as he stood back upright and folded them to go atop his jackets. Dean had to steady his breath as his boxers came down, cock popping free past his waistband and up against his flat belly, already leaking at the tip with anticipation.
“Gorgeous,” he said, almost under his breath, voice dripping with unconcealed lust. He would always be in awe of Cas, of the fact that he got to live his life with such a beautiful being wanting him. Cas was always shameless in the best way, entirely blunt and unabashed with his desires, but Dean loved the rare moments where those scruffy cheeks flushed with color at his praise. He knew the feeling well.
He watched Cas step into the panties, drawing them slowly up his strong legs, lace catching slightly on the stubble. Dean had to steady his breath. “Give us a twirl,” he grinned, spinning his finger in a circle. Cas obliged, turning for Dean to admire the way his ass filled them out. “Perfect. Knew you would be.” He didn’t miss the shiver that got from him.
“Come sit, I’ll help you with the stockings,” he said, patting the inside of his thighs with both hands, scooting back to make space between his legs. Cas walked as if he was gliding, smooth and graceful with the slight sway in his hips. He seemed to understand just what Dean wanted, putting his back to his chest and letting his thighs spread to brush the insides of his, handing over the stockings.
“Hand me a leg,” Dean chuckled warmly, Cas smiled, nose wrinkling between his eyebrows, and fuck Dean wanted him so badly it hurt, in his heart and between his legs. He got the first one started so Dean didn’t have to reach, sliding it up his leg enough for Dean to take hold of the hem, feeling the glide of the soft mesh against Cas’s muscular thigh until the first sock was on.
He repeated the process, taking care to brush the tops of his knuckles over his skin as he pulled. He was right, the white was stunning on Cas. Not that he expected any less. He couldn’t keep his hands off his skin even once the stockings were in place, roaming up and down his sides, down his thighs, squeezing and groping everywhere he could reach.
“So fucking sexy like this,” he murmured against Cas’s ear, pressing a soft kiss to his ear. “You’re perfect, baby.”
Cas panted audibly as he arched into Dean’s touch, head thrown back over his shoulder with his ass pressing against Dean’s clothed cock, drawing a groan from him. “Fuck,” he swore under his breath, sliding his hands up into Cas’s shirt to run his thumbs over his hardened nipples.
“Gonna make you feel good,” Dean cooed, giving his ear a little nip. He ran his palms down Cas’s sides, fingers splayed out to feel every inch he could on the way until he landed at his inner thighs, pushing outward to spread them. “Just need you to sit pretty for me, okay?” He took his time reaching where he knew Cas wanted his touch, cupping his hard cock through the silk panties with a light squeeze.
Cas arched into it just like he wanted, a beautiful, low groan drawn from his lips. Dean couldn’t help being impatient, not when his husband looked so good in his lap, all squirmy and steadily leaning into desperation. Dean always felt desperate for him, needy and longing for more, even though he gorged himself as it was. He was spoiled with Castiel’s love, it was only fair to return the favor.
He wasted no time slipping his hand beneath the panties, taking his cock in hand and giving it a gentle stroke. Cas seemed to understand his unspoken request, leaving Dean’s hand grace-slick and warm around him. Dean hummed appreciatively as his hand moved with more ease, the slick sound of skin-on-skin quiet under Cas’s soft outpouring of moans.
“So good,” Dean praised, using his free hand to stroke at Cas’s belly just because he could. Cas was less soft than him in that area, all sturdy and solid muscle with soft skin to pet. “Be loud for me, sweetheart. Fuckin’ love your voice,” he purred, lavishing his pretty neck in kisses. “Always have. Surprised I didn’t melt the moment you opened your mouth in that barn.”
He worked Cas’s straining cock between his fingers, just enough pressure to feel it, but not so much it would be over soon. One of the many wonderful things about having an angel husband was that he could control that for Dean, if he asked. He’d gripe and be a brat about it, but Dean always knew he loved pleasing him. Cas wanted to be good just as much as he did, wanted to be told he was in equal measure.
“Y’know, Tessa walked me through all of that. All of my memories with you. I never forgot, but seeing it all like that again… Reliving the first time I ever saw your face,” he murmured against his ear, relishing in Cas’s panting breath, the pattering of his heart under Dean’s outstretched thumb across his belly. “Always wanted you like this. Took me too damn long to say it, but I always knew.”
Rewatching all of those bygone memories, seeing himself from the outside, Dean cursed his younger self for so many missed opportunities. Even when Cas threatened to throw him back to Hell, current Dean responded to that low, intimidating growl in an entirely different way. Fear was the sane response at the time, but Cas made him feel anything but sane since he admitted what he felt to himself.
Cas made him crazy with want, doubting everything he ever thought about himself, about them,since the moment he called him a friend. Since their slow drift into something much greater.
“I know you thought I was sexy with the crepe skin and silver fox look, but you gotta admit,” he grinned mischievously, rolling his hips up against Cas’s pert ass. “You’ve missed this. Couldn’t keep up with you no matter how hard I tried,” he said, pointedly giving Cas’s cock a squeeze, earning a choked gasp. “But had a little less trouble like this. Didn’t hear you complaining.”
Cas huffed, pushing his hips down impatiently. “I never complained. Your performance in bed has never been anything less than exceptional, regardless of age.”
Dean chuckled, sucking marks into Cas’s neck and collarbone and working his hand until he was speechless again, reduced to soft pleas and groans and fruitless squirming, just where Dean wanted him. He did make a beautiful show, flushed all over, white button-up sliding down off his broad shoulder to expose his delicate collarbones, cock curved up towards his stomach and dampening the white fabric with pre come at every stroke of Dean’s hand.
“There you go, baby, that’s what I want,” he said, pressing a kiss to Cas’s ear just to watch him shiver. “You’re not going to come yet, though,” he reminded him gently, getting a frustrated whine in return.
“Careful,” he warned, knowing Cas could feel his playful grin against his cheek, rendering his threat moot. “Gotta be good if you want to come, baby.”
Dean had barely started and Cas already looked wrecked. He knew just how much everything he was doing affected him, Cas always was a man of words rather than action. Dean was the complete opposite, but he learned. He learned just which buttons to push, just what to say to get him begging and nearly riled up to tears with desperation. Besides, talking about feelings may have never come naturally, but this Dean could do.
Cas’s form of dirty talk was flowery; big, sweeping declarations woven into promises that would make a pornstar blush, endless far-reaching praise intertwined with language that was blasphemous on an angel of the lord’s lips. Dean especially loved when he spoke in Enochian. He didn’t need to understand for the foreign tongue to send chills down his spine coming from Cas’s purring rasp.
Dean, though, Dean’s mouth is purely filthy.
“Get up for me, on the bed. Gonna make you come on my tongue,” he began, running his unoccupied hand down Cas’s side to give the plush junction of his thigh and ass a squeeze. “Then sit this pretty ass on my cock and fill you up. You want that, Cas?” he asked, half playful taunt at Cas’s obvious desperation, half genuine question. He nodded eagerly, standing from Dean’s lap and pulling the panties down his thighs, looking up for confirmation. Dean gestured for them to come off.
As pretty as his husband looked, he didn’t want anything impeding him. The stockings stretched around his muscular thighs were more than enough to have Dean’s cock straining against his jeans.
Cas knew just where Dean wanted him, draping himself over the bed on his stomach, ass propped slightly in the air with his head resting on his arms. Dean chuckled fondly, getting to his knees behind him and bringing his hands up to stroke those thick thighs, squeezing and groping shamelessly, spreading his cheeks apart. Cas groaned into the bed, pushing his hips back with an impatient huff.
Dean was nothing if not merciful. He spared his husband the teasing, heading straight for his inner thighs to nip and kiss the delicate skin, making his way up to his ass to bite gently at the plump flesh. It was hard to resist that primal urge to mark, not to mention the chorus of moans it drew.
Cas’s surprised yelp as he laved his tongue over his hole had Dean grinning against his skin. Cas loved to give, was perfectly content to suck Dean off or eat him out until he came, wringing out as many orgasms as humanly possible until Dean was drained completely, but Dean’s oral fixation could beat his out any day.
For the first few months of their marriage, he practically couldn’t go a day with his mouth empty. Cockwarming became a particular favorite of his, just resting his head on the inside of Cas’s strong thigh, letting his soft cock settle onto his tongue, warm and heavy while Cas stroked his hair, usually settling in to read while Dean slipped into subspace. He’d be so relaxed, so content, he’d nearly fallen asleep a few times.
He loved getting his throat fucked in equal measure, but there was something different about those moments. No pressure for anything to escalate (not that pressure was an issue for them in the first place), just quiet intimacy, Cas’s soft voice praising him, sometimes reading aloud.
Dean would always be submissive at heart, but what he loved about giving most was Cas’s sounds.
“Fuck, Dean,” he groaned, low and desperate. Dean would never get used to him swearing, no matter how many times he heard it over their many years together. It got hotter every time, deep and gravelly and commanding even when he was the one spread beneath him.
Cas was quieter than Dean (a fact he’d had some insecurities about, until Cas strongly reiterated how much he loved how expressive he was), so Dean had to listen intently, focusing in on the hitches of his breath, the high whines into the pillow, the deep, guttural groans when Dean flicked his tongue just right inside him.
His hands are his biggest giveaway, flexing and squeezing around the sheets, clenching when Dean pushes his tongue deep, releasing when he backs off. Whether he realizes or not, he’s just as expressive in his own way, and Dean loves it just as much.
“Fuckin’ love doing this for you, baby,” he said, leaning back to take a breather, spreading his cheeks apart and squeezing just because he wanted to feel the plush flesh beneath his hands. “Sound so pretty. I love the way you say my name,” he said, leaning back in to emphasize his point with a long lick across his perineum, watching delighted as Cas squirmed.
Intent on delivering on his promise, he pressed his tongue inside his slick rim, curling just where he knew he wanted it, making Cas cry out beautifully. Dean brought his hand down on his ass with a sharp crack, just to hear that little pinched squeak from him. That, and Dean loved leaving his own handprint on Cas’s skin to stake his claim. It was only fair.
He could feel drool running down his chin, but he couldn’t be bothered to care. Not with his gorgeous husband writhing against his tongue, desperately trying to fuck back onto him and fight Dean’s tight hold on his hips out of reflex, chasing his tongue deeper. Dean kept one hand firmly gripping his hip to avoid getting a tooth chipped by his unruly bucking, using the other to run up his side and around his back to trace his spine lovingly, like he wasn’t taking him apart to near tears.
Cas’s soft pleas are muffled into the pillow, but Dean can make them out enough all the same. He pulled back just slightly, loathe to take his mouth off of him but he couldn’t resist the urge to goad him on. “I know baby, I know,” he soothed, pressing a kiss to his red cheek as he brought the tip of his finger to his slick hole, applying gentle pressure that made Cas’s hips arch back in anticipation.
“Please,” he begged, voice rough with overuse and wrought with desperation. Dean chuckled fondly, slowly easing his finger inside, humming pleased as Cas let out a long breath of relief. He knew his husband’s body just as well as Cas knew his own, so when his back bows and a lovely cry falls from his lips as Dean’s finger brushes that sweet spot, he expects it.
It doesn’t take long for him to loosen enough for Dean to ease a second finger inside, mercifully letting Cas push his hips back and greedily taking in the sight of him fucking himself on his fingers.
“Lie down on your stomach, sweetheart. Don’t grind against the bed,” he instructed, keeping his tone teasing. Cas had a knack for dominance, orders and commands fell from his tongue effortlessly, and Dean followed them just the same, but Dean had a lighter approach. He preferred some playful taunting here and there, talking all sweet to his husband while dangling an orgasm tantalizingly over his head and relishing in his pleading with a smile.
Cas grumbled his complaint, but Dean let it slide. He was too busy staring at his pinked up ass as he plopped down onto the bed, letting his thick thighs part slightly to allow Dean between them.
“I’m gonna fuck you on my fingers until you come for me, okay, honey? Then I’ll fuck you right,” he purred, leaning down to kiss the spot just under Cas’s neck and watch him tremble. He whimpered unhappily, wiggling his hips. “Or you could just fuck me,” he said, petulant and dry as ever.
Dean clucked his tongue, giving his ass another hefty smack. “What is it you say when I’m being brat?”
Cas hated when Dean quoted him back to himself. Dean grinned.
“Brats only get to come when I say so,” he echoed, pressing two fingers deep inside him without preamble. Cas seemed to forget any objection he had to the idea, pushing back into Dean’s touch until he pressed his hips to the bed with his free hand. “Take what I give, baby,” he reminded him gently, curling his fingers to stroke his prostate with consistent pressure, massaging as Cas wriggled and whined.
“You’re gonna come for me just like this, okay, sweetheart? You’re gonna come untouched, then I’ll fuck you.” Cas gave a long, drawn-out sound of protest, abruptly cut off by a choked gasp as Dean curled his fingers just so. “I’m not that mean,” he grinned, releasing Cas’s hip to run his hand appraisingly up and down the side of his thick thigh, pumping his fingers steadily inside.
“You can fuck yourself on my fingers, baby. Come just like that.”
Cas, not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, thrust his hips back in earnest, desperate bucks punctuated with stuttered breath. Dean just got to sit back and observe, a very willing dildo for his husband to take his pleasure on.
“Can’t,” he gasped out, reaching behind himself for Dean’s free hand. Dean took it, hushing him soothingly even as he began to work his fingers in tandem with his rhythm, twisting and gently working in a third while Cas grew more frantic. “Need you to touch me,” he begged.
Dean clucked his tongue softly, pressing a kiss to the small of his back and giving his hand a squeeze. “Just like this. You can do it, baby.” Cas whined, that choked familiar sound that told Dean he was getting close. “Good, doing so good for me. Come on,” he coaxed, his voice a low, placating coo. Cas’s hips shook, back arching beautifully as Dean knew he was right there.
“You can do it for me sweetheart, that’s it, go on, honey, make a mess for me,” then he’s curling his fingers fuck, right there, please– and Cas is going limp, shivers running over every pretty muscle beneath his skin, hole clenching around Dean’s fingers as he painted the mattress below with his come. Dean worked him through it, forcing his trembling hips still to get a few more deep, steady thrusts in, milking him dry.
“Theeere it is,” he purred, a pleased grin on his lips as Cas came down from the high, aftershocks sending goosebumps over his skin and shivers through his loose muscles. “That’s my angel.”
He pulled out with care to not hurt his used hole, kissing his ass cheek lovingly. “You did so good for me, Cas. Perfect. Get up here,” he ordered him gently, helping Cas turn onto his back on account of his limp, wrung-out muscles, guiding him to meet in the space between. He pressed a kiss to his cheek, pouring all his praise and adoration he could possibly fit into just one moment.
He pulled back softly, parting with a smile. “Still want me to fuck you?” Judging by the smite-y stare that got him, the answer was less of a yes and more of a you fucking better.
As much as their roles could flip, Dean was always eager to please his angel.
“Alright, alright, put the smiting glare away,” he chuckled fondly, getting up to roll off the bed. Cas huffed, sitting up to look at him in confusion. Dean pointed to his mouth. “Gotta brush teeth.”
“Dean. You are in Heaven.”
Dean did a little “hm,” shrugging. The whole wishing stuff into existence thing would take some getting used to. He wished his teeth clean, the familiar feeling of cool mint filling his mouth as if he’d just gargled some mouthwash. He was back on the bed in a heartbeat, grinning as he playfully nudged Cas’s nose against his own. “Better.”
He knew Cas, grumpy and horny as he was, couldn’t resist smiling back. He shifted up to kiss that little wrinkle in his nose he got when he grinned real big, pressing two more to both of the crows feet around his eyes before finally moving back to his lips. He never separated, even as he guided Cas down to the bed where he wanted him, just barely parting enough to get settled.
Dean laid back on the bed, hips canted slightly towards Cas as he spooned him, picking up one broad thigh and draping it over his hip to spread Cas open for him, their bodies lining to fit together perfectly. He can’t resist teasing just a bit, letting his grace-lubed cock catch on Cas’s stretched rim, drawing a desperate sound from the angel’s throat.
“If you don’t fuck me right now, I will climb out of this bed and do it myself and you will be in chastity for a we–” Dean cut him off with a slow roll of his hips, pressing inside until the head of his cock popped past that ring of muscle, replacing any coherent words from Cas’s mouth with a low, satisfied groan.
“Yeah, thought so,” Dean grinned, letting out a gasp of his own as he pushed in inch by inch, swearing under his breath as his hips finally met Cas’s pert ass, as deep inside him as he could be. The position was perfect for it, allowing Cas to easily turn his head and capture Dean’s lips in a kiss, entangling their arms as Dean held him tightly to his chest.
Dean kept his rhythm slow, pulling until only the tip was left inside him before pushing back in, making sure to get every inch to draw out more of those deep, feral moans. Cas was passionate regardless of if he was bottoming or topping, all low growls and filthily romantic words like Dean drew out something primal in him, that instinct to mate, to claim his human.
“Just like that, Dean,” he moaned lowly, pressing a kiss to the corner of Dean’s mouth before resting their foreheads together, just sharing the air they breathed as Dean fucked him slow and deep, clinging onto him like a lifeline. “My good boy, mm?” he coaxed, rolling his hips back into Dean’s thrusts. “Always feel so good. Fucking me on your pretty cock.”
Dean knew a challenge when he heard one.
“Yeah?” he cooed, hands sliding down to Cas’s hips to pin them in place, barely increasing his speed, but putting more force behind his thrusts, the wet slap of skin filling the room with every push forward. His lips turned up triumphantly at the gasp it drew from his husband, bright eyes rolling back as he hit just the right spot.
“Yes,” Cas breathed, reaching a hand behind him to hold the back of Dean’s head, tugging his hair slightly. “Mm… My pretty boy. It’s good, isn’t it? Tight and warm around you,” he clenched deliberately, drawing a surprised groan from Dean as he was momentarily held in place deep inside him, his husband’s attempt to squeeze an orgasm from him before he could get to him first.
That just wouldn’t do. Dean was nothing if not competitive.
“It is,” he said, voice like dripping honey as he whispered against the shell of Cas’s ear. “Filling you up. This is what you wanted from me, wasn’t it, baby?” As torturous as it was for himself, slowing down to a glacial, shallow pace was worth it for the dissatisfied grumble it got out of Cas. “Is it not enough?”
Cas bucked his hips against Dean, getting his cock halfway inside before Dean pushed him almost entirely off, leaving nothing but the tip buried inside. “That ain’t how this is gonna work, darlin’,” he tutted disapprovingly. “I could go all night if I wanted. I could stay right. Here.” He said, punctuating his words with a minute rock of his hips.
“I could sit you down on my cock and just let you lay there,” he said, pushing all the way inside as Cas gave another punched-out moan. “Would that be enough, sweetheart? Cuz I’m loving this.”
Cockwarming was something they’d done many times, after all. With a bit of grace it was no big thing, letting them stay connected after a long night of intense lovemaking, simply unwilling to part. But then, it had been a source of comfort. Right now, Dean knows it’s a special kind of torture.
“Dean,” Cas drew out his name in a plea, tugging him close by his hair. Dean refused to budge, capturing those pouting lips in a teasing kiss. “I know, baby. You were doing so good for me earlier, asking for it. Just one more time, honey. One more time and I’ll fuck you.”
“You’re an assbutt,” Cas huffed breathlessly, nipping his bottom lip. Dean laughed softly in the air between them, rolling his hips slowly. “You love me.”
Castiel sighed, all long-suffering and dramatic. “I do,” he said, like it was his cross to bear, like he hadn’t chosen to be by Dean’s side for all seventy years of his life because he adored the very ground he walked on, worshipped the light of his soul like an idol of his own making.
“Dean,” he murmured, voice already wrung-out though they’d barely gotten started. He wouldn’t be able to beg Dean by the time he was done with him. It was good for both of them Dean was so good at making him cave.
“Fuck me until I can’t remember what it’s like being empty. Take care of me. Let me take it. Please.”
Dean didn’t have to be told twice. Cas told him three times. He’d be merciless not to oblige.
He wastes no time getting into a rhythm to make them both gasp, sharing a deep exhale and stuttered breath as Dean fucked into him. Dean’s hands scrabbled along Cas’s chest as Cas tugged his forearm to him, holding on tight as his thigh gripped Dean’s hip just as hard, forcing him deeper each time Dean’s hips roughly slapped against his ass.
“Oh my god, baby, fuck,” Dean choked out, wrapping his arm over Cas’s chest to pull his hair back, tucking into his neck to suck and bite marks into his skin, feeling the vibrations of his pleasure-drunk sounds against his throat, rumbling through his broad chest.
Dean loved how much he’d filled out over the years, going from slim, lean muscle to broad, beefed up shoulders and a chest that nearly broke the buttons off every shirt he owned. His outer strength would never quite reflect his angelic power, but Dean was more than happy with the form he got to see, got to touch.
Castiel’s true form would be something, though. “One day,” he spoke up, pressing a kiss to Cas’s jawline before he could whisper against his ear. “One day, want you to fuck me as you. Real you. Wanna feel everything.” Castiel let out a higher-pitched keen as his cock nailed his prostate dead-on.
Dean knew exactly what he was doing, he knew every button on his husband’s body and just how to press them. He knew how to take care of him. But, until they were in Heaven, he never got to take care of him. The true Castiel, Angel of Thursday. Angel of Jack. “Would you do that for me, Castiel? Let me worship you?”
Cas’s lashes fluttered, eyes half-lidded and glassy in his ecstasy, but never leaving Dean’s. “Your wings are gorgeous. Bet the rest of you is fuckin’ incredible,” he murmured, lips close enough to brush Cas’s as he spoke. “What would it be like? If I wanted you to fuck me? How would you do it, Cas?” he asked, both sincerely wondering and wanting to hear Cas struggle to form coherent sentences with Dean fucking coherent thoughts out of his head.
“I have,” Cas grunted deeply as Dean pushed in hard, holding his hips in a bruising grip while he took him apart. “I have tentacles, so to speak,” he panted. Dean hummed, half-moan and half genuine intrigue. “You been going through my search history,” Dean teased, pausing while all the way inside to roll his hips before going back to his unforgiving rhythm.
“Would it feel good, Cas? For you? Filling me up with your grace? You could fill up my mouth and fuck me at the same time. Make room for you inside,” he gasped out, hips naturally increasing his pace as heat began to coil in his stomach at the very thought. Being full of Cas, end to end, overwhelmed by his grace. Making him, his true self, feel so good. The fact that Dean definitely had a bit of a size kink didn’t hurt.
“It would feel,” Cas paused to steady his breath, looking deep into Dean’s eyes as if examining his soul that very second. He very well might be, and the thought made Dean feel warm all over. “Exquisite.”
“I want it,” Dean said breathlessly, pounding into his husband with abandon, feeling the tell-tale clench of Cas’s thigh over his hip, the angel’s hips rocking furiously into Dean as he feverishly captured his lips in a kiss, muffling his sounds as he grew ever closer to the edge. Dean was relentless, hitting at what he knew from decades of experience was the perfect angle for Cas’s body, abusing just the right spot to have him squirming, back arched and entire body tight, ready to uncoil.
“You can come whenever you want, sweetheart. Don’t wait for me. I’ll fill you up. Wanna see you come for me,” he said, near begging for it himself. Fucking Cas was plenty to get him off as it was, but getting to watch Cas get off, getting to see his typically quiet, stoic husband cry out in ecstasy for him, that sweet little drawn-out whine he did when the aftershocks still shook through him, instinctively pushing his hips back to get Dean’s come inside him like he can’t help it.
He knows exactly what to expect, but every time he gets to witness it is a religious experience in itself. Cas comes in spurts across his stomach, shaking so hard with it Dean grapples him in close and hushes him tenderly, easing down to gentle circles with his hips as he rode it out.
“Good, good,” he cooed, peppering his cheek with kisses. “So good for me, Cas. So fuckin’ beautiful. So lucky to have you.” For all his swagger and that domineering confidence, Castiel always went soft in the aftermath, literally and figuratively. He needed praise, needed to be reminded of his worth, of the way he drove Dean out of his mind with adoration. Everything had changed since he died, yet, nothing at all. Dean liked it that way.
Cas whined softly, gently pushing back on Dean’s hip with his hand, overstimulated. Dean hummed apologetically, pulling his hips back to pull out. Cas grabbed his hand, pulling it back up to his chest, thus bringing Dean’s whole body close. “No,” he choked out, tired but sure. “Not yet.”
“Sure it’s not too much?” Dean asked, keeping still. Cas nodded. “I still want your come inside me.”
Dean wondered if a day would come that he’d stop being caught off guard by his husband’s filthy mouth, if he’d ever stop going red when he pulled that voice, all fucked-out and husky, asking instead of commanding. Handing over control because Dean earned that from such a powerful creature.
Dean nodded against his shoulder. “Okay, sweetheart.” He pressed a soft kiss to his firm shoulder, carefully rocking his hips to allow Cas’s overstimulated body to readjust to the feeling without it being too much. Once he stopped trembling, breath returning to deep, steady pattern, Dean began to move again.
He had already been riding the edge for several minutes, taking all of a few seconds before he was coming inside his gorgeous husband with a guttural groan. Cas rode it out with him, exhausted and thoroughly satisfied, until he went soft inside him, carefully parting from his body with a soft kiss to his shoulder.
“Can I mojo us clean up here?”
Cas chuckled fondly, rolling over to tuck his face against Dean’s chest, letting himself be bundled up in his arms and pulled in close. “Anything you wish, you can will it to be here.” Dean hummed, pressing his nose to the top of his head, taking in the raw scent of him from his sweaty head of hair.
It seemed many things stayed just the way Dean liked them. Cas didn’t need to wash his hair, he didn’t even need to sweat to regulate his body temperature like a human, but he did it because he knew it brought Dean comfort. He liked the routine of bringing home that overpriced honey-infused shampoo, smelling it wafting through the steam as he gently worked his fingers against his husband’s scalp. He liked smelling it on him just like this, mixed in with the heady scent of sex and him.
He blinked and it was done, cleaning the dreaded wet spot no one liked to sleep in and leaving what he knew Cas wanted to keep. He was possessive, in that way. Claiming and being claimed.
“I love you,” he murmured, a grin spreading across his face. He leaned back slightly, leaving just enough space for Cas to look up at him as he pressed the tip of his finger to the bottom of his chin, guiding to meet his eyes. “Hope you’re ready to spend eternity dealing with me.”
After decades of marriage, they learned how to communicate in their own way. Dean never stopped struggling to express what he needed to say. Humor was how he coped, how he got around talking about the hard things. Castiel was always good at putting together the pieces, forming the bigger picture Dean couldn’t see in the puzzle of his emotions.
“Dean,” he began, raising a hand to cup his cheek, stroking along the stubble with his thumb. “Do you remember when you were hurt by that siren, when you got that head injury? You were practically comatose. I… I couldn’t get through to you. I couldn’t hear your thoughts, I couldn’t feel the energy of your soul. Jack asked me…” Cas paused, staring into him as the memory replayed before his eyes.
“He asked me if you would be okay. What would happen if you died. I answered him the only way I knew how. I told him that humans, you and Sam, burn bright for a very short period of time compared to us. I told him we just had to cherish the time we got to spend with you, and be grateful we got to know you at all. I told him it would hurt, but that hurt would remind us of our love, and we would carry on.” Cas took a breath, eyes glistening in the faint glow of the night from the gauzy curtains.
“I lied, Dean. This…” It was Dean’s turn to tear up, for his angel to brush them all away as tenderly as ever. “This is all I have ever wanted since the day you called me your friend. Decades with you would have never been enough.” Dean felt his heart clench a bit at the look that flickered across his face, an uncomfortable sort of resignation.
“I understand humans have no concept of eternity given your short lifespans. I should tell you, this is your Heaven, and should you ever get… Restless–”
Dean shut him up right there, pressing his lips to his chastely before he pulled away slow. “Cas,” he said, moving back enough to look into his eyes, barely an inch between their faces. “Never bring that up again. I don’t share you, you ain’t sharin’ me.” He lightened up, giving him a sly grin.
“Sides, what’s biologically possible don’t apply up here. The options are literally limitless. I gotta start making a checklist.”
Cas laughed, that unsure expression fading into his nose-crinkled gummy grin Dean adored.
“I won’t ever get tired of you. Guarantee we’re gonna be exhausted every night, though. We got a lot to cover,” Dean said, pulling Cas back against his chest to draw patterns on his back with his fingertips. He hummed in agreement, shifting until he was wrapped around Dean like a koala to a tree, just the way he liked it.
“Get some sleep. You’re gonna need it,” Dean teased, tucking his chin against his soft head and letting his eyes drift shut. Cas snorted. “You’re going to need it, you mean.”
Dean rolled his eyes, their shared soft laughter filling the quiet room until a comfortable silence settled in.
“Goodnight, Dean. I love you.”
“I know, sweetheart. Goodnight.”