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The bus is packed. There's nowhere to sit and bodies are packed tightly in the aisles, overcoats and briefcases and backpacks taking up what little space there might have been. He's almost given up, relinquishing his fate to standing like a sardine by the doors, until he locks eyes with stark blue eyes. A man in a trench coat in a single occupancy seat.
Dean sits on his lap.
And shivers, because despite the body heat no doubt filling up the bus, the autumn chill has settled into Dean's bones. A plaid short skirt and bare legs and a thin bomber jacket didn't prepare him for the cold snap that settled in as school let out.
"Are you cold?"
The man's voice in Dean's ear, low and concerned, raspy like he hasn't used it in a while, sends a warmer shiver down Dean's spine. He nods.
"Lift up for a moment."
Confused, Dean stands from the man's lap. The man fiddles with something for a moment and then his hands are on Dean's hips - big hands - guiding Dean back down, slowly, and then all at once—
Dean doesn't know quite what he's feeling; something nudging his panties aside, and then a hot, blunt pressure breaching him, silken steel penetrating him in one long, smooth motion until he's seated in the man's lap more securely than before, impaled by a hot, thick cock.
Dean's breath hitches, his thighs squeezing together. The immediate penetration has already gotten his juices flowing, like his damn pussy expects more friction right the fuck now. Dean swallows, shifts a little in the man's lap, feels that thick cock twitch and harden inside him.
"Are you feeling warmer?" Castiel asks, voice low.
Dean gulps and manages to eek out: "Um, y-yeah," and murmur a quiet, "Thanks."
"What's your name?" the man asks over his shoulder.
"Uh, Dean."
"It's very nice to meet you, Dean." Dean's name sounds like heaven on this guy's tongue. "My name is Castiel."
Castiel. With a voice like gargled whiskey and a pack a day. He doesn't smell like cigarettes, though.
"Yeah, um, likewise. Castiel." Dean feels around the edges of the name, foreign but familiar in a way something new can feel like home.
As the bus travels along their route, Dean feels every imperfection in the road with heightened senses: the way every crack and bump makes him jostle in Castiel's lap. Castiel's length hardens further inside him, taking up more space inside Dean without so much as thrusting into him.
He's read about this on the internet: cock-warming. He didn't imagine it could feel this good. His large hands simply anchor on Dean's hips, holding him in place. He's not trying to get off, just wants to help warm Dean up. Is content enough warming his cock in Dean's tight heat.
Dean's belly is warm with arousal. His pussy is wet-hot, stretched well from a surprisingly comfortable cock, heated from the inside out. Castiel's breath fans hotly over his neck, too, warming him further. His chest is warm with gratitude.
But his damn hands are cold.
He fiddles for one of Castiel's hands where it grips the side of his skirt, tugs it around to his lap and threads their fingers together. Castiel lets him, with a huff on amusement against Dean's neck. Dean's cheeks heat. Castiel's fingers are elegant and strong, his hand bigger than Dean's by half. The thought of tugging that hand up until he can get Castiel's well-manicured fingers in his mouth makes his insides squirm pleasantly.
But he settles for just holding Castiel's hand in his lap with both of his own, covering the front flap of his skirt beneath which Dean shifts again, settling his weight against Castiel's broad chest and turning to look out the window at the rainy city landscape: ink blots of night cut through with watery streetlamps and neon signs and passing headlights.
They hit a particularly rough patch of asphalt and the vibrations and bus jolting gives Dean the friction he didn't know he needed so bad. Castiel's length rubs against the enlarged nub of his clit over, and over. Dean's eyes screw shut, he digs his teeth into his bottom lip and clenches tight around Castiel as a bolt of pleasure shoots through him and overhwelms him, whiting out his vision for a few seconds.
Castiel's remaining hand tightens on Dean's hip and his breath comes warm and concerned in Dean's ear. "Are you alright?"
The bus finds smooth road again and Dean relaxes, slumps back against Castiel. He nods lazily as he catches his breath, squeezing Castiel's hand in his lap over where their bodies are still joined.
Dean doesn't know if he came. He doesn't always come - sometimes it's a dry orgasm. He knows he's wet. Very wet. Has been wet since Castiel first penetrated him and every shift between the bus and their bodies has moved Castiel inside him, grazed deliciously against his inner walls. He'd wanted to move, to start shifting deliberately in Castiel's lap, grind down on that cock like he had an itch to scratch and wouldn't let up until he was satiated.
But he didn't.
Because Castiel didn't say he could.
When Dean's stop is next in line, he tells Castiel who braces his hips to help Dean steady himself as he lifts off Castiel's cock and stands on shaky legs. It's an odd sensation: a slick cock slipping free of him with some difficulty, since it's still hard.
"You didn't.." Dean looks over his shoulder down at Castiel's lap where he promptly tucks himself away.
"No."
Something in Dean shrivels up and dies. "Oh." His voice is small and he's pretty sure his face is on fire as he leans against the seatback. He feels hollow in more ways than one now.
A reassuring hand settles on the small of his back. "Did you want me to?" Castiel asks, voice pitched low just for them.
Dean swallows.
Did he..?
The thought of Castiel's load of hot silky come bursting forth inside of him, flooding him once the levees couldn't hold back his arousal any longer.
Yeah. Dean wanted that. Wanted to know he was capable of eliciting that kind of reaction in someone.
Apparently not.
He nods.
Castiel reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out his phone. He unlocks it and turns it towards Dean, a new contact window open.
He wants Dean's number. He wants to see Dean again. From context, he wants to have sex again and this time finish.
Finish inside Dean.
With sweaty, nervously excited hands, Dean takes the phone and enters his details: his first name, and a little bus emoji for his profile picture.
Castiel smiles fondly down at his screen and it makes Dean's heart swell. He types something and then Dean's phone buzzes in his pocket.
Hello Dean. This is Castiel
From the bus.
Dean grins shyly, saving Castiel's number with a little trenchcoat emoji.
"Can I text you?" Dean asks, searching Castiel's face hopefully.
Castiel regards him curiously for a moment, then gives a slow, sure nod.
"'Kay."
The bus slows as they approach Dean's stop and it's now or never, maybe.
He presses into Castiel's space before he can second-guess himself, pressing a soft, close-lipped kiss to Castiel's plush chapped lips. "Thanks," Dean whispers, again.
As he pulls back to step away he notices a look of awe on Castiel's face that makes him smile brightly as he raises his hand in a little wave, mouths bye, and heads for the bus' exit.