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Who made these roads? These rocks, these stones, these glittering waterfalls. My love, Dean thinks, my love’s love for me made them.
He’s lived here before, before his death. After Cas died. Each time after Cas died, this is where half his heart lived, in this place, some ephemeral existence where Cas and he were together. And to know it now, with Cas, still feels incomprehensible.
Heaven is a perfect environment for healing. This place doesn’t spackle over your cracks, but it lets the light reflect between them, the flowering weeds grow through until you feel different and more whole and more wholly yourself. There’s no absence of time to let yourself grow into who you are.
In Heaven, you’d think things would be simpler, less loud, less painfully quiet, less of everything all at once, less overwhelming and underwhelming, but it’s not. It’s all of that sometimes, it’s just not so much a continuous push forward anymore, there’s a stillness in everything moving, a continuousness of everything, renewal and stasis in one.
Cas explains it all better.
But, that’s to say that despite the fact that Dean can conjure anything and everything at a whim, that he can change his body however he wants and go wherever he wants and do almost anything he wants, he knows this, this feeling of existence as himself in his body, whatever it looks like, he knows it well. There’s something deep in him that pulsates whenever Cas is close, when he can touch him, when he does and when he doesn’t. When Cas reaches out, it grabs at his insides, tells him, “now, now, he’s here, take him, don’t let him leave,” and he wants to hold on for dear life. He often doesn’t. Just sits at the table or stands at the stove, and lets Cas touch, brush a hand at his back or on his shoulder. But that drive is always there, and he wonders if he ever won’t feel that, that same feeling he always felt on Earth, when he still wouldn't let himself have him.
He always feels so needy, so ripped open with it, and questions why can’t everyone see it, his insides spilled out all over the floor, or if they do, if that’s why sometimes people give him a wide berth, or if it’s that he just doesn’t look loveable enough, still too grumpy, told worn, too used up, even here.
And then Cas will touch his hand or kiss him right between his eyebrows, and his furrow unfurrows a bit, and he can breathe because Cas loves him.
There isn’t any imposed peace clouding his mind, making him foggy brained about it, it just happens to be sheer coincidence that he lucked into getting Cas, here, in this realm of existence and nowhere else.
Cas’s lips, Cas’s back, strong and solid, Cas’s arms to hold him, however many he happens to have at the time. Usually just two, because that’s what he’s used to, and he likes his routine.
But sometimes Cas exists outside of the imposed concept of space in their home, and Dean can feel him everywhere, touching him everywhere and anywhere he goes and inside of him. And he’ll call out Cas’s name, and say “Please Cas, god.” And he’s just an animal of a man fisting his cock in the middle of their home, slumped in a chair or over the table bracing himself, and saying “I just wanna hold you, want you to fuck me.” But Cas is already around him and inside him, tickling in his mind and saying he’s beautiful like this, so warm in the center of him. And he can feel himself thrumming with him, beyond this time and into never, when they met and forever, and this is what they always are, and how they thrum when they intertwine.
And Dean comes, and Cas comes back to the body Dean knows well and kisses him.
Cas’s Earth body is a beautiful thing. It’s Dean’s favorite, if he’s honest with himself. It’s the one he always wanted so much, felt so much pain in wanting and loving, and he’s attached, sue him. It’s not like Cas’s true form is particularly easy to perceive, even here. You can be overwhelmed in Heaven. By both corporeal bodies and angelic true forms.
And when there’s one and two and three of him, six strong arms to carry him into the grass, under the cloudless sky, it’s with his perfectly imperfect human body. Three is a good number, he’s found. That’s still overwhelming, to get taken apart like that, by Cas, surrounding him and inside him, and coming all over his chest, sweaty and human and gasping and humming from the breath he always let himself breathe and sigh and hold for Dean, dirt and grass itchy under Dean while he gets pounded into, and Cas’s second body kisses him, his mouth, his cheeks, over his eyelids. He doesn’t know what to do with it all, this love he feels. Dean holds him then, he holds on and is held.
**
There are the more pedestrian fantasies. He’s in a hospital, one shiny with glass and chrome pretty enough for tv, squeaky floors and snapping clipboards, and a chart on the wall that tells his current dosage, and the pain in his leg feels real, because it is, and whatever drugs they've given him feel real, because they are, and everyone else in the hospital seems real enough to his human perception, but Cas is his attending doctor, and he’s more focused on that.
“Do you need anything else?”
Fuzzy and high and giddy and in love, he tells the doctor he’s worried he might not be able to get hard anymore. And it’s cheesy, and Dean can’t help but grin and bite his lip, despite himself. But Dr. Castiel is of course very concerned. “I’ll have to stimulate you with my hand, Dean, is that okay?”
Dean has dreamed this. Woken up sweaty and flushed, painfully hard in motel beds, jerked off quickly under lukewarm showers to this. Cas knows, he's told him.
Cas knows, and something about that still simmers under his skin, being so seen by Cas, even with Cas's hand on his cock, stroking him, cold at first in a nitrile gloved hand, then warmer. "Is that pleasurable?" all deep, aroused growl. Then probing inside to work him open, press against his prostate.
Cas gets hard too, while he works Dean over, palms at himself, and just the sight of it makes Dean arch against the bed, sparks lighting up his spine. “Don’t strain yourself, Dean, you’re still in recovery.” And then when Dean asks nicely, he’ll fuck Dean’s mouth, rend muffled, cock-filled moans from him, straddling his head on a hospital bed.
**
This body of Cas’s can do beautiful things to Dean, things Dean's always wanted, things he's dreamed of, things he's never imagined.
Dean is stripped and spilled over a big desk in a library, and Cas’s hands spank him and finger him while spectators point and record them on their phones and jerk off while they watch.
“You gonna fuck me?”
“Do you deserve to be fucked? You’re still being very loud. This is a library.”
Dean’s hand grapples at a heavy hardback near his head, and the plastic is smooth and crinkles under his fingers. “I’ll be quiet, I promise,” he grins.
Cas has big square-framed glasses on, and leans down to lick over the shell of Dean’s ear. “I don’t believe you will have that capability by the time I’m done.”
A television screen flickers into existence on the other side of the room. "Cas," Dean gasps at him.
Dean's face is flushed and panting on the screen, all of five seconds behind, an echo, the sensation of Cas bottoming out inside him, his dress pants pressed against his ass, seeing himself bite his lip, push his own shirt up to play with his nipples, the curve of his own back almost graceful where he watches himself on screen, and his ass, perfectly taking Cas's cock at a punishing pace, over and over and over. God, he looks like such a slut. Cas's broad hands are on him holding tight, his hair and dress shirt disheveled, his glasses slipping on his pink face. Dean thinks next time, there will be two Cas's so that he can watch Cas kiss himself, fuck his tongue into his own mouth while he fucks Dean.
Wet sounds and groans quietly fill the space as people get off on watching them together.
Dean wishes he had a cock stretching in his mouth open right now. Maybe one of the guys across the room will come fuck his face. He doesn't know yet, Cas is in control right now, and he's just along for the ride. Cas pounds relentlessly at his prostate, and Dean cries out.
Sometimes Dean thinks he's spoiled rotten, that he can have too much, surely, and that this can't be healthy having anything available to you at a whim. He gets scared sometimes that he'll get used to things and gradually need more and more extreme scenarios to get off.
But then Cas will give him a handjob in their bed, warm sunlight streaming in against his face. And Cas will kiss his throat while he does it. And Dean, shivering and shaking through it, flushed and lit up, will cry out and come into Cas's hand, and Cas will work Dean's spend up and down his flagging cock, suck it off, kiss up to Dean's mouth, and ask him if he enjoyed that, and Dean always enjoys Cas. Always. Every single time. Whichever way he has him.
Cas had explained that addictive behaviors don't work the same way in this place, even with bodies that feel and exist in much the same way a body on Earth would. Something about the singularity of time and space. Dean's not really sure, his attention span is still shit anyway, guess the singularity of time and space or whatever can't fix that.
But he trusts Cas. And Cas says it's okay to want certain things, that he's happy to do whatever Dean wishes, that he shouldn't be ashamed of desire, that he’s always enamored of Dean’s creativity. And Dean will scoff that Cas can have such soft words for the filthy things Dean comes up with. Dean still can't help but still feel shame for it sometimes, but often that makes it hotter anyway.
Much of their time is spent on the lake. "Their” lake, as they fondly call it. Much of their world changes around them daily, but this, and their home, stay a constant, for the most part. The sun warms their skin, and they'll lie in their little rowboat, rocked by soft waves, soft pillows under them. The most impractical of things, soft velvet throws and silky cushions.
It’s not all perfect or predictable or sterile. Even for Cas who helped construct it all, he still gets surprised by the inherent randomness built into the construct. The animals, the weather, these are things that he doesn’t like to control. But the mosquitos here don’t bite, and Dean thinks that’s just wonderful. And even as much as he’s seen here, he’ll still talk Cas up about it. “Y’know why the mosquitos don’t bite here? Cas did that.”
Dean has this idea, a glittering respite under their lake, water suspended above them on nothing, the waves’ temperament as their ceiling, a large, comfortable bed, hundreds of books, a kitchen, a hot spring with a waterfall, glowing geodes and biolumenescent algae lighting up their walls of rock and water. He works for weeks on it, writing out his ideas and plans, down to the intricacies of the wood grain in the floor, and Jack helps him create it. He could theoretically do it himself, but he wants to make everything exactly as it should be, and it’s an enjoyable project to work on with his kid.
When he finally surprises Cas with it and sees the look on his face and feels Cas’s hand squeezing his, he feels so proud that he can make Cas so happy and feel so loved.
Maybe it doesn’t say anything positive about him, but Dean enjoys bickering with Cas. You would think that they would live without conflict here in Heaven. But free will being what it is, and Dean and Cas being who they are, they’re not without their disagreements, often insubstantial things, just for want of something to argue over, Dean eating the same thing every night, Cas leaving half-sipped cups of tea around the house. And “Why do we have to drive everywhere? This is Heaven.” “Yeah, exactly.”
But sometimes their frictions are more significant. There’s something in Dean that still stings over the fact that Cas spent his last two years on Earth hiding his deal from him. And that even before that, he knew about Dean’s feelings for him, how much Dean’s longing tortured and pained him, and he never told Dean about his own. And Cas will say “I thought it only ever brought you pain to love me,” and Dean will ask “Did it only ever bring you pain?”
It’s not fucking easy, being this fucking in love with someone, with an angel who still doesn’t always get your needy human insecurities. He still misses him desperately when he has to go attend to the other angels or the machine of Heaven. But so does Cas, and he knows that. They’re terribly intertwined with each other at this point. Dean has Sam and Miracle and many friends, old and new, and he has no problem enjoying Heaven while Cas is away. But he always wants him. And the time away makes their time together all the sweeter.
And whenever Cas returns, Dean kisses him as if it's the first time again, his mouth merely a vessel for all the love he has to give to him.
He enjoys being used as a vessel, as Cas’s vessel, he likes it, to be entirely filled to the brim with Cas, Castiel inside him, his grace singing in his head and his heart and the tips of his fingers, this man he loves so much.
Dean likes to sleep like that sometimes, especially after Cas has been away, likes to hold him inside and rest together in one body, Cas curled around him inside, where he can feel his presence and his affection as Cas feels it, Cas physically relaxing his entire body for him. There’s nothing else like that, giving his body over and letting Cas do with it as he pleases.
And oftentimes he’ll wake in the morning, or after dozing together, and Cas’s hands, his own hands, will touch himself, suck his own fingers into his mouth over his tongue, pinch at his nipples, finger himself open, stroke his cock, and Dean thrills at that, at Cas being so aroused and feeling their arousal together, at Cas getting them both off with shared hands. He likes to just watch and feel and let Cas do with him as he pleases.
He likes Cas physically inside him too, when they’re two bodies again and Cas has his own, his chest, his hands, his thighs, the hair there that Dean can feel against his cheek when he kisses up to Cas’s cock. Feeling the flesh of him, the hot heat of him, being able to touch him and hold him inside, feeling held open and welcoming him in, Dean loves everything about it.
"You want my cock in your throat?"
Dean makes a low sound. "Want you to fuck my throat. Makes me so fucking hard. Can come just from the way you fuck my throat."
Dean wonders if it would be anything like this on Earth. Not that it matters, but whenever he'd sucked dick on Earth, it hadn't felt like this. He'd enjoyed it, he can openly admit that now, but he’d never come just from having a cock fuck his throat. Now it's almost difficult not to, to hold off for Cas like he sometimes makes him.
Sometimes Cas will just finger his mouth open, stroke in and out, and just him pressing down on his tongue in rhythm, making him gag and spit and drool and tears run down his cheeks can make him writhe as if his riding a cock, get his nipples hard and wanting and make him come all over himself, open, wet noises drawn from the back of his throat.
“Good, Dean, that’s good.” The praise gets him every time. Cas knows his buttons almost too well. Makes him feel like a cat turned to the sun, soaking in the affection and kind words.
“You’re so good for me.”
Dean gets Cas’s cock in his mouth as often as he likes. He feels like he could get his face fucked every day until the end of time, and it would never be enough. Holding that inside him, in his mouth, being able to make whatever noises he wishes and having his cries reverberate against Cas’s cock on his tongue, pressed against the back of his throat. Feeling so full of him, here.
Dean’s on his knees in front of their bed, head between Cas’s thighs like he likes. He takes all of him, and it’s so fucking good. Dean's throat makes wet, open noises, sucking Cas's cock back inside, clutching at him with the smooth muscles of the inside of him, wanting him all the way back and down, as far as he'll go, as far as he can get him inside, wants Cas to fuck into his lungs, asphyxiate him on his cock, choke him and drown him in his come until it's stinging his sinuses and dripping out of his nose. They could do that, he thinks. They could do that.
Spit and slick and drool running down Cas's cock and between his legs. Dean's eyes are glassy when he looks up at Cas, high on this, the rhythmic motion of fucking his own mouth onto Cas's cock. So fucking high on it.
When Dean has a pussy, he likes when Cas eats him out upside down, kneeling beside him and leaning over to get between Dean's thighs. There's just something about the way Cas's tongue feels from that angle, flat against his clit, Cas's mouth open and wet and mouthing his labia, it feels so much like being consumed, so warm and wet. In this place, Cas can draw his grace into his mouth, warm and electric, and holding on his tongue and into Dean's clit to vibrate in a way that shakes Dean apart. He can come like that over and over and fucking over. It always leaves him aching and wanting for Cas inside him. That want can be overwhelming, makes him beg for it, to get Cas's cock in him. When they fuck like this, Cas is so fucking big, and the space inside Dean feels like it rearranges just to accommodate him. His hips flex and bend to work his knees up to his chest, the back of his thighs under Cas’s hands. His pussy feeling stretched and split open on Cas’s cock, always so fucking wet for him to fuck inside him. And Cas just fucks into him, and it’s like his entire body is an erogenous zone, the slide of him a friction against his entire body, his clit and the inside of his cunt feeling directly connected to his fingertips and his toes and his scalp and the slide of Cas’s lips over his. Dean gets so overwhelmed when Cas fucks him like that.
Sometimes they'll take his ass and his pussy at the same time, and he can feel how they stroke against each other inside. And sometimes two at once will take his pussy, and he just feels like fleshlight to be used, and he wonders how he got so fucking lucky that this is his life now.
But one of his favorites, an idea he’s always been very partial to since he was on Earth, is having some freak ass monster or two take him. And maybe, given his job on Earth and how he was raised, that says something about him psychologically, that he just wants to give in to a monster and get fucked, but mostly he just likes how big they can be. How big Cas can be, hot breath from a huge mouth against his face. He likes it when Cas has hands as big as his head and claws that could rip him to pieces. Dean likes it when Cas just digs his claws in, his body so small in Cas’s grip, his head to Cas’s chest, and Cas’s uses him like that, fucks him on his cock like a toy.
When there are two, one Cas can hold him up to fuck him, humping into his ass like as animal, while Dean, suspended by arms as big as his waist, can get his face fucked by the other Cas, just split between them and used. He loves Cas just using him to get off, it’s one of his favorite things. He loves making him come, loves just how much Cas can come here, how he can just come and come and come, and Dean can just be filled with it, swallowing him down and taking it. He loves Cas fucking him with it again and again, it leaking out of his ass, Cas fucking into his mouth and Dean working it back over his cock, drooling it out all over him, slick and hard, strands of come and saliva connecting cockhead to lips when they part, Dean gasping and sweaty and used and content.
Some days he'll get so covered in come, when Cas is especially generous with him, and he'll just keep it warm, will it to be so warm like when it first hit his skin, and he'll just happily doze like that for hours, as if basking in the warmth of the sun, the incredible feeling singing on his skin as he rubs it into himself, over his nipples, strokes at his cock and pushes come inside himself with his fingers. Sometimes Cas helps, sometimes he watches.
To be covered in Cas, surrounded by him, Cas’s being intertwined with his, that’s where he’s most content. Cas’s body and grace and soul melding with Deans, their limbs one over the other, Cas’s grace and his being soaking into Dean’s flesh to warm him from the inside. It feels like being healed and being kissed, a warm bath of nothing but affection and tenderness and the creation of love. Clinging to Cas and holding him and being with him and feeling him, knowing he’s understood and seen and loved, that’s what Heaven is.
Dean can imagine so many things, he can realise whatever fantasy he wants, but ultimately he really just wants Cas. He wants to hold him, be held by him, hear him, smell him, feel him, know him. He wants to talk to him and laugh with him. He wants to just sit beside him and read with him. He wants to kiss him in front of his dad and feel okay because it’s Cas, and Cas makes him feel safe. He wants to swim with him to the bottom of the ocean and learn new things with him and make new friends with him. He wants to see different planets with him and eat new foods with him and eat the same things every day in their house with him. He wants to sweep the floors of their house while their turntable spins and pull Cas into his arms to dance with him. He wants Cas to suck the blood from his throat and his thighs and his wrists. He wants him to come inside him and lick it out. He wants to make him a ring. He wants to kiss Cas in the bunker. He wants to relive all their greatest hits and finally tell him how he feels in all the moments he never did before. He wants Cas to burn a handprint into his shoulder again and again and again. He wants to fuck Cas in the backseat of the Impala. He wants to go fishing together. He wants to go to the beach with their kid and eat ice cream. He wants to hold Cas’s hand. So he does.
Dean is made of want, and so he wants, and he lets himself want, and somehow, in this place, he gets it.