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Castiel and Dean sit across from each other on the black leather rolling stools tucked back in Dean's tattoo station, and stare at each other. Castiel's clear blue eyes are focused unblinkingly on Dean's mouth. Dean's bright green eyes have unerringly found the spot he loves on Castiel's neck, on the soft skin between his ear and shoulder. Right side. Always the right side. Fuck, but he'd marked that pristine spot up a thousand times when they were kids macking in the back of the Impala. Before they'd been brave enough to dye their hair. Before Dean had given Castiel his first tattoo during his apprenticeship and inadvertently spent three hours suffering the guy's broken moans and hard on that neither one of them had expected. Before Castiel had nearly fucked up Dean's first cartilage piercing when the brief shot of pain had launched Dean from the chair to the floor, dry humping Castiel until they'd both come in their jeans.
Dean grins. Ah, youth.
"Your smile is unnerving," Castiel frowns.
"Just remembering," Dean answers.
Unconsciously, Castiel rubs the back of his head against a long ago phantom pain. "You nearly busted my head open. This is a bad idea. Sam should do the ink."
"Not this time. Please, Cas."
In all honesty, Sam is a better tattoo artist than Dean. He's got a light touch, calming presence, and steadier hands than a surgeon. He's known for his exacting lines and especially blackwork. Dean, on the other hand, is better at free form and had had the good fortune to learn watercolor tattooing well enough that his appointments book out a year in advance. For his part, Castiel is superb with piercings of any and all kinds. He even designs his own jewelry; surgical quality and beautiful. Lately he's been designing what he calls "grace containers." Glowing stones set into medical grade titanium and they get snapped up almost faster than he can make them.
And with few exceptions, Castiel's tattoos have all been done by Sam. From the protection sigils on his hands to the blackwork down his neck and chest, Sam Winchester has most of the permanent marks on Castiel's body. Dean's cool with it, really since it's the same with him. They're sublime canvases for his little brother, their bodies full works of art now, but this time? It has to be Dean.
Castiel's eyes soften at Dean's plea. "You're right. It should be you. It's important. But I can't be held accountable for my actions during and after."
Dean barks a laugh. "I'm ready for that."
Squinting, Castiel says, "Sam will kill us if he catches us fucking in the studio. Again."
"He's at the convention. He'll never know."
Castiel scoots forward until they're nose to nose. "He always knows."
Dean kisses him hard and long. Then he pulls back, ruffling Castiel's carefully styled rainbow mohawk until it's nothing but stiff spikes across his forehead. "We're big boys, Cas. We've waited long enough."
"Twenty years exactly," Castiel murmurs. "It's time."
Dean leans back, bracing his palms on the stool between his spread legs looking a lot younger than thirty-five. Castiel draws away, collecting his piercing kit and scooting the rolling tray around to his side. He takes his time setting the clamp and the jewelry, making sure the piercing needle is completely sterilized. While he prepares he says conversationally, "I like the blue hair by the way. You should do that color more often."
Dean grins. "'Course you do. It matches your eyes." He winks and Castiel rolls his baby blues in response.
Then he turns to inspect the jewelry carefully. This one is the best he's made. It's simple, but means everything to him. Titanium with a glowing, smooth blue diamond in the center. He's been practicing for twenty years just to make this. "Ready?" He slips on latex gloves and holds up the alcohol wipes.
Dean sits up straight and still. "Yeah. Go for it."
Castiel pulls up close. "Dean Winchester," he says in his hypnotically soothing voice. He swaps below Dean's bottom lip with the alcohol and iodine. "You are the light of my life." He clamps the space and Dean's eyes slip shut. "I've loved you since the first time we met, and I'll love you for eternity." With a steady, even pressure, he pierces the skin with the needle. Dean's moan sticks in his throat as he struggles to stay perfectly still. "Would you do me the honor of marrying me?" He follows the needle through with the stud, clipping it in place and removing the clamp.
Dean's eyes open wide, finding his unerringly. "Yes," he says roughly.
Castiel douses the spot with disinfectant and smiles. "Kiss me gently or it'll hurt."
Dean leans forward, lips barely touching. They brush together until it tingles. Dean's fully hard when they pull apart and Castiel looks breathless. "My turn," Dean whispers.
The piercing tray gets shoved aside and Dean gestures for Castiel to sit up in the leather chair, letting him relax back at half an incline. Castiel strips off his shirt while Dean preps his table, already mostly set up in anticipation of this moment. He double checks everything, then puts his gloves on, shaving the fine hairs on Castiel's neck and swabbing the area clean. He doesn't have a stencil for the tattoo; doesn't need one. Castiel's request had been simple. He wanted Dean's initials where everyone could see them, exactly as he'd carved them with his pocket knife on the kitchen table in the bunker. It won't take long.
Dean picks up the ink and turns on the tattoo gun. The buzzing makes Castiel swallow hard and shut his eyes as Dean had before. Smiling, Dean makes sure everything's in order. "You ready?" he asks, only loud enough to be heard over the buzz.
"Do it," Castiel gasps, and then holds very still, white knuckling the arms on the chair.
Dean raises the tattoo gun and presses into the first line on his neck. "Castiel Novak," he begins, face close to the skin, forgetting about everything except for the work he's doing. "You're the best damn thing that's ever happened to me." He etches his initials into Castiel's neck with as gentle pressure as he can, sure straight lines, one after another. "The first time you touched me... kissed me. I knew I was a goner for life. It ain't a bad thing. Everything I got to give is yours." He's silent for the rest of his work, swiping away ink and a slight amount of blood as he goes. Another line. Another. On the last one of the "W," he says, "will you marry me and promise to stay with me forever?"
He finishes and shuts off the tattoo gun, carefully placing it back on the table. He cleans the spot thoroughly and tapes plastic wrap over it. He pulls off his gloves and comes back with a tissue, swiping at the tear tracks on Castiel's cheeks.
Castiel squirms at the tightness in his jeans and in his throat, and opens his eyes to find Dean leaning directly over him. The new tattoo throbs in time to his rapid heartbeat. "Yes," he says. "It would be an honor."
Dean swings himself up into the chair, straddling Castiel and kissing him as deeply as he can, rolling his hips against Castiel's hardness until his own dick rallies from where it had flagged in the last half hour. His chin burns like a bruise, but he can't stop kissing Castiel, exploring his mouth, lips light on the contact, but tongues firm. Castiel's fingers are in his hair, tugging at the light blue strands, holding him close. With his hands occupied, Dean picks up the slack to rip apart belt buckles and unbutton jeans. He's even got tissues at the ready so they don't make a mess that Sam will kill them for later.
He adjusts their cocks side by side, stroking them in time in his callused hands, pumping them fast, moving with Castiel as his hips buck, fucking into Dean's hand with abandon.
Breaking away from the kiss Castiel begins his beautiful litany of, "Dean, Dean, Dean, fuck don't stop. Keep going. Don't stop, don't stop, don'tstopDeandon'tstop!"
Dean strokes faster and faster. Castiel moans, back bowing, muscles clenching. Dean cups the tissues over the head of his dick just in time. Castiel's shudders and nonsensical praise bring him swiftly over the edge with a quiet curse. "Cas," he breathes. "Love you, fucking love you. Love you, love you."
They take their time coming down, though Dean wipes them off and tosses the tissues into the wastebasket.
Castiel kisses him once. Twice. He smiles slow, sated. "I love you."
Dean puts their foreheads together. "Love you, too. You wanna let Sam do the heat around my initials later, or you gonna risk it with me?"
Castiel chuckles and tucks himself back into his pants. "Sam can do the rest. The important part for you is done."
Dean lethargically gets out of the chair and stretches after fixing his jeans. "Maybe I should get your initials, too. It's more permanent."
Castiel reaches out and swats him on the ass. "Right there so only I can see it."
Laughing, Dean says, "Why not? It's one of the few spaces left."
Castiel groans as he hauls himself up to standing, too. He loops his arms around Dean's waist. "Let's go home, you damn punk."
Dean squeezes him into a tight hug. "Sure thing, ya damn punk."