Work Text:
The first time it happens, it's because of boredom. Or, at least that's what Dean tells himself to justify it. Boredom and Dean Winchester are a dangerous combination, especially when you factor in beer, a raging libido, and laziness.
He's lounging in his tiny apartment with his best friend, Cas, watching the Royals get the shit beat out of them by the Red Sox. It's a rainy Sunday afternoon, one in which they both decided to forego studying for their impending finals, and instead drink a few beers, watch a game, and spend some time relaxing. It being their junior year of college, they'd not had much time to shoot the shit with each other, especially given that, unlike their first two years of college, they weren't sharing a dorm room or apartment. That was how they'd first met and became friends – they were assigned to share a dorm with each other.
Those first couple months of freshman year had not been fun for Dean, and had been a lesson in patience and retaining one's sanity, according to Cas. Dean was feeling the first flailings of freedom, having finally gotten away from the strict upbringing of his dad, so yeah, he probably was a bit wilder than someone as uptight as Cas was used to. But once they got past their first fight, which started out about Dean leaving his sweaty socks all over Cas's bed and ended up with them screaming at the top of their lungs about the existence or nonexistence of God, they became fast friends.
Soon, they were pretty much inseparable, except for when Dean scampered off to hook up with the latest girl of the week or when Cas told him to fuck off so he could study like a normal college student should be doing. They would have shared an apartment off-campus in their junior year if it hadn't been for Cas's cousin Michael transferring to their school and insisting on sharing an apartment with Cas instead. Dean drew the line at cohabiting with that dick, and chose to find his own cramped little apartment off-campus instead.
Today, Dean wakes up late to a loud banging on his door. He rubs the sleep out of his eyes as he swings it open to find Cas standing there, drenched, hair plastered to his face and sneakers squelching as he shifts in place.
"Dude, why the fuck did you walk here?" Dean turns his back on the pitiful sight, shuffling into his bathroom to get a towel.
"Michael took my car again without asking. I was tired of studying, figured I'd see if you wanted to hang out for a while." Cas reaches for the towel that Dean silently offers to him, and toes his sneakers off, leaving them on the few inches of linoleum that serve as a foyer for the apartment.
Dean snorts, and makes his way into the kitchen. "Coffee?" he asks, reaching into a cabinet to pull out two mugs.
"Is it too early for beer?" Cas sighs, as he towels himself off.
Chuckling, Dean sets the mugs back on the shelf and turns to open the fridge. "It's never too early for beer in the Winchester house."
He hears Cas scoff in exasperation from the den, and looks up to see him standing by the couch, looking like a drowned rat. "I don't want to get your sofa wet by sitting down."
Dean pops the caps off a couple of Buds before heading into the den and setting them down on the coffee table. "Lemme get you a t-shirt and some sweats, Aquaman."
He shuffles into his bedroom and pulls some clothes out of his hamper, sniffing them to make sure he's not giving Cas anything too stinky to wear. As he walks back into the den he throws the clothes at Cas, and drops down onto his end of the couch. Once Cas goes into the bathroom to change, Dean picks up the phone to order a pizza and more beer, not even bothering to ask Cas what kind he wants because they've done this so many times he knows his friend's tastes as well as his own.
Three hours later, they're both curled up on opposite ends of the couch, stuffed and drowsy, and bored from watching the ass-kicking the Royals are getting and from listening to the incessant downpour of rain, which hasn't stopped since before Cas's arrival. It's dark in the den, other than the brightness from the TV and a yellow light reaching them from the bathroom down the hall. Dean's mind is drifting, thinking about a paper that's due in a couple weeks, wondering if he might scrape enough cash together to afford new rims for the Impala if he works a few more hours a week at the garage, trying to remember when he last got laid, speculating on what Cas is thinking about...
He spares a glance at Cas from the corner of his eye, sees his friend staring off into space, eyes half-closed, chewing on his lip. Dean watches as a sliver of pink peeks out from Cas's mouth, tongue slowly wetting his lower lip before he resumes to chewing it again. Dean shifts in his seat, feeling the beginnings of a tightness in his sweatpants.
If he was more awake, less relaxed and warm and drowsy, he might be alarmed by this feeling, given he's never really had any desire to get with a dude. Especially not with his best friend, minus a wet dream here and there that he always mentally denies ever happened as soon as he's wadded up all evidence of it on his sticky boxers and thrown them in the hamper.
But he's not more awake. He's in that exact sleepy state of mind where his defenses are down, his repressions are weak, and his subconscious desires are ready to come out and play.
"Wanna make out?" A part of Dean isn't even aware that he's the one who said it. It sounds like a disembodied voice behind him or next to him or inside of him, but not him. Maybe he didn't even say it, maybe he just thought it really loud.
He turns his head to look at Cas, whose eyes are as wide as saucers as he stares back. Shit-shit-shit.
"What did you just say?" Cas blurts out, his voice hoarser than usual, probably from disuse for the past couple of hours and from being out in the rainy chill.
"Uhhhh... I think I asked, um, if you wanted to, like, make out...?" Dean can feel his face and neck blushing about a million shades of red, and it's hard for him to even make eye contact, especially while Cas has his laser eyes on him, boring in even deeper than usual.
"Why would you ask that? Last I checked, I don't have tits or a vagina..." Cas is still watching him, his eyebrows knotted together. His face looks pale, like all the blood has drained from it, maybe going somewhere southward no Dean, whatthefuck, why are you thinking of points south on a dude?
Dean lets loose an exasperated sigh and scrubs a palm over his face. "Man, I don't know why the fuck I said it. I'm bored and horny but too lazy to call up a chick, and you're here, and the Royals are getting pounded..." pounded? "...and I figured what the hell, maybe it'd be a fun way to pass the afternoon, right?"
He allows himself a peek at his friend, who is now staring at the wall in front of him, body tense and still, his jaw practically taking up residence on the floor. Dean reaches for the TV remote to change the channel from this suckass game, as well as to attempt to change the topic to anything but this. Cas jumps at the movement, making Dean jump in reaction. "Fuck, dude, just forget I ever said anything," he blusters. "I don't even know what I was thinking, I don't want things to get weird, and—"
"Yes."
Dean's jaw clicks shut and the bottom drops out of his stomach. "What?"
"Yes. Let's make out." Cas turns his head to look at Dean and shrugs. "No big deal, right? Just passing the time away."
Dean can feel his eyes go wide, wonders if he looks as much like a deer-in-the-headlights as he feels. He wipes his suddenly sweaty palms along the worn cotton of his sweatpants. "Okay, then."
"Okay."
They both remain frozen on their respective ends of the couch, staring at each other across the span of the musty upholstery.
"I know it's been a while for me, but if I remember correctly I think we have to be a bit closer to each other to actually, you know, make out." Dean feels like a dumbass for saying it, but snark is always his fallback behavior in awkward times like this.
Cas rolls his eyes. "I'm well aware of that, Dean."
Having acknowledged that the distance between them does not a makeout session make, neither one of them moves for another thirty seconds or so, both seemingly too freaked to make the first move. Finally, Cas takes a deep breath and swings his arm along the back of the couch, eliciting a jump and a yelp from Dean.
Cas snorts, attempting in vain to bite back a smile. "Really, Dean? Are you going to be the blushing virgin in this scenario?"
Narrowing his eyes and scowling, Dean retorts, "Just get the fuck over here and we'll see who or what ends up being the one blushing."
Cas scoots the rest of the way across the couch, sliding up next to Dean. All joking aside, Dean is unsure and not a little terrified of what's happening, and one look into Cas's eyes shows that he seems to be feeling much the same way. Cas leans in closer to Dean, their lips ghosting but not quite touching. Both of them keep their eyes open, looking and waiting for what will happen next. Dean's grateful the lighting is dim. He can't see exactly how blue Cas's eyes are in this light, just that they're dark and bottomless. The last thing he needs is to let the alcohol make him get all poetical and shit about the ridiculously gorgeous color of Cas's eyes.
They're trading breaths, Cas's little exhalations quick and hot and moist against Dean's lips. Dean wonders if they could go on like this indefinitely, so close and on the brink of something unknown, and strange, and exhilarating. But then he glimpses Cas's tongue as he licks his lips, and next thing Dean knows he's chasing that tongue as it disappears back into Cas's mouth.
The first touch of lips is awkward and fucking weird. Dean has never kissed anyone with stubble before. They both seem unsure of how to press their lips against each other, who does what and when, and at first Dean can't get over the feel of roughness as he slides his hand along Cas's cheek to cradle the back of his neck.
After a few minutes of timid bunglings and stumblings, Cas grunts and pulls his head back to look at Dean. His voice is gravelly, sounding like it's been soaking in whiskey for fucking years, when he mumbles, "Dean, I'm not made of glass. If we're gonna do this, then kiss me like you fucking mean it."
With that, he grabs the back of Dean's head, fisting his hair and yanking him forward. Their mouths crash together, and when Cas bites Dean's bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, Dean moans like a fucking porn star on ecstasy while the tiny portion of his brain that isn't firing like a rocket clues into the fact he maybe doesn't have to try to be gentle and mindful of what Cas is feeling and needing, because Cas damn well isn't afraid to take what he wants. In fact, he's licking his way into Dean's mouth and owning it so completely Dean can barely keep up, his tongue sliding against Dean's teeth, tasting him and mapping out every square inch of Dean's palate like he's Christopher Columbus and Dean's mouth is the New fuckin' World.
And it's game fucking on from that moment. Dean wraps his arms around Cas's waist and heaves him onto his lap, guiding his legs to straddle his hips. Cas looks down at Dean as if he's surprised and not sure how he got there. His lips are red and swollen and covered in saliva, hair sticking out in a thousand different directions, as Dean slides his hands up Cas's chest, wrapping around the back of his neck and pulling him back down. He bites his way into Cas's mouth, holding his friend's head in place as their tongues tangle, and Cas groans and grinds his hips down, bringing forth a gasp from Dean.
"Jesus fuck, Cas..." Dean whispers against Cas's neck, as he sucks his way from his friend's jaw to his collarbone. He pushes his hips up as Cas pushes down, their rapidly hardening cocks rubbing against each other through the thin fabric of their sweatpants. Dean pulls Cas's mouth back to his, whimpering as their tongues slip and slide against each other again, in tandem with the rocking of their hips.
Cas rubs his cheek against Dean's, licking his way along Dean's neck to nip at the juncture of neck and shoulder. Dean reaches around, grabbing Cas's ass and pulling him down harder, the feel of Cas's dick through his pants and Cas's teeth biting into his shoulder making his eyes roll back into his head. He's close, so fucking close, but he doesn't want to come with Cas in his lap – even after all that's happened, that still feels like one step further than he wants to go right now.
"Cas, oh god, I need... I need you to get off me, man, just, let's just..." Dean pauses, waits for Cas to catch up to what he's saying. A part of him doesn't want to stop, wants to fucking come all over Cas's stomach, or hand, or fuck, his mouth, that fucking mouth, but he just can't do it right now, can't make that last leap.
He starts to push Cas's shoulders because the dude apparently didn't hear Dean or just doesn't give a fuck, since he keeps biting and licking and sucking and rubbing. "Cas, move, man, I wanna do something else—"
"What?!" Cas finally hears him, leans up to look into Dean's eyes, and goddamn. Dean thinks he's never seen anything so fucking debauched and hot in his life. Cas's pupils are so dilated that there's no iris at all anymore, his lips are swollen and flushed and wet, his cheeks are pink and already have stubble burn from Dean's face, and there's an angry bruise forming on his neck from when Dean apparently turned twelve years old and gave his friend a hickey.
"Dude, I need... I wanna jack myself off, okay?" Dean knows it's weird, after all that they've been doing for the past twenty minutes, but shit, there's nothing about this situation that isn't weird, so he can deal with making it a little bit weirder.
Cas looks confused by this request. Then, as Dean watches realization hit, he looks pissed. And possibly a little hurt, which makes Dean feel bad, and that in turn makes him feel confused, and if these thoughts keep up he's gonna lose his boner, so he stops thinking and gently pushes Cas to sit next to him on the couch. He can feel Cas's eyes on him as he starts to slide the waistband of his sweats down, but instead of making him feel self-conscious it starts to turn him on even more.
As he takes his cock in hand, he looks over at Cas, whose eyes are wide, watching as Dean's hand starts to glide along his shaft. "Dude, don't you need to take care of some business, too?" Dean whispers as he leans his head back against the couch.
Cas breathes a sharp intake of breath, locking eyes with Dean as he slides his own hand under his sweatpants. He starts rubbing himself under the fabric, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as he closes his eyes to the sensation. Dean stares, his own pulse and breathing quickening along with his strokes. "Take it out, Cas."
Cas jumps when he hears Dean's voice, his head snapping to look at him. Slowly, he does as he's told, lifting his butt off the couch as he slides his pants down. His cock slaps against his stomach, hard and heavy, the head already wet. Dean watches as Cas focuses on Dean's hand moving up and down his own dick. When Cas begins stroking himself, Dean moans, biting his lip as he squeezes his balls.
Whether subconsciously or not, Cas matches Dean's rhythm, stroke for stroke. When Dean slides his hand over the head of his cock, smearing his precome before slicking his hand down to the base and squeezing, Cas does the same, his breath hitching when Dean whimpers and whispers, "Fuck yeah, Cas, just like that."
As Dean's strokes begin to speed up, he closes his eyes and leans his head back against the couch, listening to the wet slick slaps of skin against skin being emitted from both of them. He lays his hand down on the cushion between them, gripping the fabric with his fist. A second later, he feels Cas's hand cover his own on the cushion, and he spreads his fingers so that they can interlace. He moans, squeezes Cas's hand, and Cas cries out, "Dean, yes!"
Hearing Cas scream his name pushes Dean over the edge, and gripping his friend's hand, he groans, "Fuck, Cas, yes," before spilling over his own stomach.
They both lie there for several minutes, listening as each other's breathing slows down. Dean enjoys the bliss and blankness he always feels right after a mind-blowing orgasm, for the moment not having a care in the world. But as the pleasant buzz starts to wane, his mind starts to go into overdrive. What the fuck did we just do?
He doesn't even realize they're still holding hands until Cas begins to pull his fingers away. He blinks his eyes open blearily, sparing a look at Cas as he feels the cushions dip beside him when his friend moves to get up. Cas steps over to the shelves lining the wall of the den, snagging a couple of tissues out of the Kleenex box and shyly handing one to Dean so he can clean himself up.
Cas clears his throat, but before he can speak Dean beats him to the punch. "So, uh... you good with never speaking about this again?"
Several emotions flit across Cas's face, one of which seems to be confusion, but the last one Dean chooses to interpret as relief. "Yeah," Cas replies. "I think that's a wise decision."
Dean nods as he tries unsuccessfully to wipe the jizz off his shirt. "So, uhhh... how 'bout them Red Sox?"
Cas snorts, and Dean feels an overwhelming sense of relief, but also a vague and unnerving sense of disappointment.
**********************************************
The second time it happens, it's all Cas's fault. Or rather, it's the dickwad-who-picked-a-fight-with-Dean-at-the-bar's fault. But then it's Cas who manhandles Dean into the dimly-lit and empty bathroom at the bar to get him away from the dickwad, and to wash and clean up his bloody knuckles.
Dean is drunk, adrenaline pumping through his veins from the fight, and watching Cas's fingers gently wash away the blood is captivating. It's the closest they've been to each other in weeks. Between studying for finals and the tension between them over The Incident and pretending The Incident never happened, they've not spent much time together, and even less time alone, and even less time being... close. Not that they've ever been really touchy-feely, but they haven't ever hesitated to wrap an arm around each other good-naturedly or give a hug if a hug is called for.
But not since The Incident.
And as much as Dean may tell himself he wants to forget it ever happened, it's been pretty fucking impossible because it was one of the hottest makeout sessions he's ever had, and because his subconscious seems to have decided not to let him forget, given how often he's dreaming about dark blue eyes, and stubble, and strong hands. Strong hands that are massaging his hands right now.
Cas's head is bent, his focus intent on seeing to Dean's cuts. Dean watches as each breath he exhales makes Cas's hair flutter beneath his mouth. If he just moved forward a couple of inches, he could sink his nose in Cas's hair, breathe in his scent of soap and sweat that's become more familiar to Dean than his own. Dean feels his pulse quicken as he realizes just how close they are right now, and just how alone they are in this bathroom.
"...Cas?" he murmurs, not sure if Cas even hears him until he feels his friend still his ministrations. Cas slowly raises his head, and Dean notices that Cas's breathing is rapid and shallow, as well.
Dean falls forward, leaning his forehead against Cas's. "Just between us, right?" he whispers.
Cas rubs his cheek along Dean's jaw, breathing him in as if he's been desperate to smell him, to taste him, all these long weeks apart. At this point, Dean's breathing so hard, so in need for this, that he's practically fucking panting for it. But Cas takes his sweet time to move his lips to Dean's, licking along the seam before pausing to whisper into his mouth, "Yes, just us."
Dean sucks his words down, grasping Cas's face with both hands and swinging him around. He slams Cas back into the wall and maneuvers his thigh between his legs, pulling a moan from Cas as he applies pressure to his already hard dick.
He can feel his body just sink into Cas, molding himself around his friend so tightly that he can't tell anymore where he ends and Cas begins. But truth be told, Dean's beginning to realize it's kinda felt that way from the moment they met; only now the feeling is manifesting itself more physically than before. It's always felt like Cas was burrowing in under all of his defenses and finding a place of his own, but now Cas is finding ways to mark him and make Dean his own for real, and Dean is simultaneously terrified by it and desperate to stake his own claim on Cas.
He bites and sucks Cas's lips, paying special attention to that upper lip that always looks so full and juicy, almost as if it's teasing Dean, challenging him to try and make it bruised and ripe with his own mouth. Cas slides his hands around Dean's waist, gripping his hips tight as he rocks down on Dean's thigh. "Fuuuuck, Dean," he rasps.
Dean chuckles, his mouth tracing a path along his friend's jawline and down the tight tendon of his neck. "You like that, Cas? You like the way my leg feels?"
He pauses long enough to nibble a collarbone. "Imagine what it's gonna feel like once I've got my hand wrapped around you."
Cas moans way too loudly considering they're in a public bathroom, and Dean reaches up to place his palm across his mouth, muffling him. With his other hand, he deftly unbuttons and unzips his own jeans, pulling his uncomfortably hard dick out, and pumps his shaft a couple times. He momentarily abandons his own need to fumble at Cas's jeans, taking way too fucking long to snap them open and get that goddamn jaws-of-life zipper down. Finally, finally he gets Cas's pants open and quickly shoves them down to mid-thigh, along with his boxers.
He catches a glimpse of Cas's cock and his mouth waters, which, hello. Never thought he'd have that response before when faced with another man's cock. His mind swims with thoughts of wrapping his lips around Cas, sucking him down and making him scream, but he knows right now isn't the time or the place to do that because he wants to spend an age on that shit, finding out all the different sounds and faces he can squeeze out of Cas.
No, for now it's gonna have to be quick and dirty. The last thing Dean wants is to get caught or be interrupted bumping dick with his best friend. So it's gonna have to be a double duty handjob, with a side order of Cas's stupidly hot mouth.
Dean licks his palm, and turns it towards Cas, who's watching the proceedings with hooded eyes. "Lick."
Cas doesn't take his eyes off Dean as he slowly opens his mouth and pokes out his tongue, licking stripes back and forth along Dean's palm before reaching his thumb. Cas gently bites at the pad before wrapping his mouth around the tip and sucking it down. Dean focuses on what Cas is doing, imagining the things that tongue could do wrapped around his cock, and begins to reconsider the whole handjob only decision for tonight.
But before he can suggest Cas get down on his knees and put Dean's dick where his thumb is, Cas releases it with a wet pop and leans forward to land a hot open-mouthed kiss on Dean. Dean uses the opportunity to slip his hand down between them and grasp both of their cocks in his fist. Both men gasp at the first brush of their dicks together, Dean moaning as he feels the precome from both wetting his fingers even more than Cas's tongue just had.
He leans forward to murmur against Cas's skin, at the cord of muscle between neck and shoulder. "Have you been thinkin' about this, Cas? Have you been thinking about me?" He suckles at skin, tasting sweat and reveling in the smell of sex that's already saturating the air.
He slowly slides his hand along their shafts, swiping along the heads before reaching back down and gently squeezing. It's awkward and clumsy, especially given it's his first time ever doing something like this, but the friction seems to be enough to get them both close to blowing their wads embarrassingly fast.
"Do you jack yourself off thinking about that first time we made out? Does thinking about me make you come?" Dean whispers along the shell of Cas's ear, breath wet and hot.
Cas moans, and covers Dean's hand on their dicks with his own, coaxing him into a faster, more frantic rhythm. "Yes, Dean, yes... " He clings to Dean's back with his other hand, twisting his shirt with his fist. "I think about you all the time, I can't stop thinking about it..."
Dean bites Cas's shoulder, mouthing and tonguing at the cloth of his t-shirt as the pace of their hands becomes faster and faster. He listens to Cas panting against the side of his neck, shivering as his fevered breath tickles the tiny hairs along Dean's nape.
Dean waits until he hears his friend whimper, hears his breath stutter as he comes close to the point of no return. Then he nuzzles his way back up to Cas's ear to whisper, "I think about it all the fucking time too, Cas. And you know what makes me come the hardest? The thought of me fucking your mouth."
Cas cries out, slamming his head back against the wall as he spills over their hands. Dean follows only seconds after, the feel and sound of Cas coming undone enough to push him over the edge and beyond. He leans into Cas, feeling the stickiness between them but not finding a fuck to give, especially with the adrenaline from his fight and this epic whatthefuckever suddenly draining from his body and leaving him a boneless mess.
It seems that Dean's body is about the only thing, other than the wall, holding Cas up, too. They're almost but not quite cuddling, and Dean would pitch a fit and push away except it just feels so damn good to let go and allow his body to sync up with another. He nuzzles the spot between jaw and neck where Cas seems extra-sensitive, and smirks as he hears Cas sigh and feels him loosely wrap an arm around his waist.
Dean's beginning to think he could stay like this the rest of the night until he hears a yell from somewhere on the other side of the door and remembers that, oh hey, there's a bar full of people out there. He pulls back and away from his friend, not able to hide a smug smirk.
"So, uh, that was pretty awesome, right?" He glances up at Cas before turning to the sink, yanking a few paper towels out of the dispenser to try to wipe some of the come stain out of his shirt. Really need to remember to strip off next time, he thinks, as he hands a couple of the towels to Cas.
Cas snorts. "Yes, Dean, that was pretty awesome." He turns the faucet on and squirts liquid soap onto the towels to do his best to scrub out the stain, watching Dean try to quick-dry his shirt under the hand dryer.
They get themselves cleaned up in silence, Dean finishing before Cas and announcing that he should leave the bathroom first so as not to arouse suspicion. Cas rolls his eyes, but silently nods and agrees to do as Dean says.
As Dean reaches for the door knob, he turns and says, "Next time though, we should try doing it in a less public place. Or at least lock the door first." He pulls on the door handle, but is yanked back when the door doesn't budge. He looks down at his hand on the knob, stunned, before staring back up at Cas.
"You locked it?! How did you know—"
"Dean. We were entering an empty room together for the first time in weeks. I was planning on attacking you regardless. You just happened to attack first."
Dean stares, surprised. "Guess I'm gonna have to up my game, then."
"I look forward to it," Cas smirks.
**********************************************
The third time it happens, the fault lies purely with Jim Beam and an impromptu party thrown by their friend, Ash.
It's a week since their makeout session in the bathroom of the local bar, and neither of them has said a word about it or acted any differently. Except, Dean has noticed them sitting a little closer than usual whenever they're hanging out, playing video games or watching Saturday night movies with Sammy and his friends. Their hands seem to linger a little too long when they touch, handing a beer off to each other or slapping a shoulder when saying goodbye.
But Dean chooses not to think about it too much. He's the king of repression and being avoidy after all, and he doesn't hold that crown lightly. He figures as long as he doesn't dwell on it, as long as they're able to be normal with each other most of the time, then there's nothing to worry about, nothing has to change, he doesn't have to address the giant elephant in the room, or rather, the one in the closet.
If he just so happens to let himself think about it when he's jacking off in the shower each morning, then so be it. A man can only be so strong.
Ash's party is crowded and cramped and hot. There are a shit ton of chicks too, most looking to blow off some steam and not afraid to get handsy doing so. Dean is amused by it at first; it's like shooting fish in a barrel. He knows he has his pick of the crop here – if his reputation didn't precede him, then his looks would take care of any pretense a girl might have.
But as his eyes scan the throngs of people throughout the evening, more often than not they tend to land on Cas. His friend is across the room, leaning against the keg, holding and taking occasional drags off a bottle of whiskey. He's engaged in a very heated discussion with Ash about God knows what, and Dean watches, amused, and wonders what the topic of conversation could be.
Dean's not drunk. He's consumed just enough beer to have a nice warm buzz going, enough to not give a shit how he looks staring at his best friend. He leans against a wall, stuffs his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, and watches. When Cas is drunk, he becomes much more animated, which, to be honest, isn't really saying much. But still, it's hilarious and adorable to see him get worked up about whatever he and Ash are debating. His eyes are dancing bright, his free hand slices the open air in front of him, and he points a long, slender finger in Ash's face to get his point across.
Damn, Dean had never really noticed how nice Cas's hands are. They're beautiful really, strong and graceful, wrists slender but in no way weak. Dean watches them move, one hand clinging to the whiskey bottle, fingers circling the neck, while the other hand reaches to the mouth of the bottle, a finger circling the wetness before traveling up to his mouth, the beads of liquor slowly being sucked off the digit.
Dean shifts uncomfortably as he stares, his jeans suddenly feeling about a hundred times too small and the room about five hundred degrees too hot. Cas' mouth suddenly splits into a grin, and Dean's eyes shift up to find Cas watching him right back. Bastard.
Dean shoots him a filthy and only slightly pissy look, but quirks an eyebrow when Cas smirks and nods in the direction of the bedrooms down the hall behind him. Intrigued, he watches as Cas says some final words to Ash, then casually strolls away, walking down the dark hallway and turning into a room on his right, shutting the door behind him.
Dean knows that if he follows Cas into the room they'll get up to some sexy shenanigans. He knows that if they keep doing this in public places, one of these days they'll push their luck too far and get caught. He knows that his need for Cas is starting to become a problem, and growing stronger than his desire for pretty much any chick he's ever met. He knows that at some point, if this doesn't stop soon, he's going to have to address some issues with himself.
But right now, all he cares about is following Cas into that room and finding out what's waiting for him on the other side.
He does his best to wait another five minutes, although it pretty much kills him. He's already sporting a partial woody just thinking about what will happen when he finds Cas, and trying to hide it is damn awkward. When he finally deems that sufficient time has passed, he maneuvers his way around the dancing bodies between him and the hallway, and walks as quickly and unobtrusively as he can down the dark hall and to the door through which Cas passed earlier.
He turns the doorknob, quickly stepping into the dark room and shutting the door behind him, making sure to lock it as he does so. He leans back against the door, his eyes trying to adjust to the sudden dimness after the bright lights of the party. There's a lamp emitting a tired yellow glow off in one opposite corner of the room, but the light is weak at best. As soon as the lock clicks, he feels hands fisting into his jacket, pulling him forward and turning him before roughly pushing him against the wall.
There's a body pressed up against Dean's then, lips raining rough kisses along his jaw. "Um, seeing as how I can't see and all, I really hope you're who I want you to be," Dean chuckles.
Cas whispers along the shell of his ear, "I sincerely hope my identity doesn't disappoint." He bites and sucks at Dean's earlobe, drawing forth a shudder and moan from the man.
"Watching you watch me suck my fingers reminded me of what you said last week," Cas murmurs, as he kisses a path back to Dean's lips. He pauses to lick his way into Dean's mouth, tongue teasing and tasting Dean's own. "Do you remember what you said to me, Dean?"
Dean slips his hand under the back of the waistband of Cas's jeans, grabbing his ass and squeezing, pulling him closer to rub their groins together. "Dude, when you're tongue-fucking me like this, I'm lucky if I can remember my own name," he breathes. "I think I'm gonna need you to refresh my memory on this one."
Cas takes a moment to thrust against Dean, finding just the right angle for both their dicks to drag against each other, pulling deep groans of appreciation from the both of them. His hands make their way to Dean's head, fingers stroking through Dean's hair and yanking his head down and to the side so he can have better purchase of Dean's throat. He worries at the skin there for a few seconds more, before whispering, "You said what makes you come the hardest is imagining that you're fucking my mouth."
Dean feels his pulse quicken even more, and his breath goes shaky. "Your point?"
Huffing, Cas takes a moment to nuzzle his earlobe before replying. "Care to find out if the real thing is as good as the fantasy?"
And... yeah, Dean almost spills his wad right then, the image flitting across his brain, along with the way Cas's voice rumbles through his chest as he speaks, having pretty much the best effect possible on all of his senses.
"Oh, fuck yeah, Cas," is about the only thing he can force out of his mouth, and to be honest, he's pretty damn impressed with himself that he was able to form even those words. He cracks his lids open long enough to see Cas staring at him, eyes fathomless. They gaze at each other as Cas unbuckles Dean's belt, nimble fingers working efficiently to unbutton and unzip.
Cas leans forward to give Dean a surprisingly chaste kiss on the lips, before riding his t-shirt up his stomach. He kisses his way down and over the bunched up fabric, pausing to swipe at each nipple with his tongue, just long enough to make them pink and hard, and to have Dean arching his back. Dean watches as his friend slowly works his way down his abdomen, glancing up every so often to see the effect of his actions on Dean's face.
Once he reaches the open waistband of Dean's jeans, he tugs the pants down and off his hips, pulling until Dean's cock is free from the constraint and bobbing in the open air. Cas stares at Dean's dick, concentrating on it as if it's one of the freaking theology texts he's always obsessing about. Dean doesn't want to push him into this, especially if he's having second thoughts, but the dude is killing him here, down on his knees in front of his dick and yet not touching it.
When Cas licks his lips, Dean fucking whimpers, to his never-ending embarrassment. Cas looks up at him through his eyelashes and smirks, the asshole. Before Dean can pull his pants up along with the last shred of his dignity though, Cas has pulled them the rest of the way down to his knees. He lays a hand on each of Dean's thighs, sliding them up until one hand is splayed against a hipbone, and the other hand encircles the base of Dean's cock.
Dean stares as Cas sticks his tongue out and slowly swirls it around the head of his cock. He can see the sheen of wetness as his precome and Cas's saliva mix together, a string of it connecting Cas's mouth and his dick when Cas pulls back to look up at him. Dean's unable to resist sliding his thumb along Cas's bottom lip, wanting to feel the slickness, and when he does so Cas opens his mouth to taste it.
Dean's breath hitches as he watches and feels the sleekness of Cas's tongue grab onto his thumb and suck. There's something so intoxicating about this moment; it's so arousing to have Cas on his knees in front of him, wanting to please him. Cas pulls his hand away from its grasp of Dean's hip long enough to reach down and unbutton his own pants, pulling his cock free. Dean can feel his eyes go wide as he notices that Cas's cock is just as hard and in need of relief as his own, and the thought of Cas getting off on sucking Dean's dick is enough to make Dean desperate to drown himself in Cas's mouth.
Cas looks up at Dean as he leans forward and takes the head of Dean's dick between his lips. The feel of that first wave of suction, and wetness, and impossible heat as Cas takes him further into his mouth, draws a deep groan from Dean's chest. He slams his head back against the wall and squeezes his eyes shut tight, wanting nothing to distract him from the sensation of Cas engulfing him. His arm moves of its own volition, hand reaching out to grab Cas's head and hold him in place, but he stops himself. He doesn't want to make a wrong move, doesn't want to piss Cas off by treating him like a fuck-toy, because he's so not that.
When he feels Cas grab his hand and move it to the side of his head, Dean quickly opens his eyes and looks down to find Cas staring up at him as he sucks and licks his way along Dean's length. "You said you wanted to fuck my mouth, Dean," he pulls off to murmur, and then his tongue teases its way under the head of Dean's cock, his fingers squeezing the base before slowly pumping back and forth along the shaft. "So go ahead and fuck it."
Cas smirks as he takes the swollen tip between his lips again, and if Dean were more coherent he'd wonder how the hell somebody can pull off a smirk with a mouthful of cock, but coherency went out the window about ten minutes ago. He places a palm on each side of Cas's face, his thumbs slowly stroking over closed eyelids, lashes tickling the pads of his fingers before he threads them through the hair above and behind Cas's ears, fits his hands around the back of Cas's head, and begins to thrust lightly into his mouth.
Dean is mesmerized watching his dick disappear between Cas's full, red lips. He wants to close his eyes and concentrate on that wet heat, but he can't stop staring. In his peripheral vision, he sees Cas begin pumping himself, matching each thrust that Dean makes into his mouth stroke for stroke. The thought of Cas getting off on deep throating him makes Dean's rhythm falter, and he pushes further into Cas's mouth than he intended. He can feel the back of Cas's throat, expects his friend to cough or push him away, but instead he's overwhelmed when the vacuum becomes impossibly tighter as it constricts, Cas swallowing him down and moaning.
The vibrations from the moan are what pushes Dean to fist his fingers tighter in Cas's hair and begin thrusting faster. Cas hums his approval, his mouth sucking ever tighter around Dean's dick, as his strokes to his own cock become faster and more erratic. He slides the fingers of his other hand around Dean's shaft, slicking them in the wetness from his own mouth before shifting them around his hip and cupping Dean's ass. Dean groans as Cas massages his flesh, watching with eyes half-closed as Cas takes him in even deeper, impossibly so.
When Dean feels a wet finger slide between his butt cheeks and begin circling his hole, and he could swear his life flashes before his eyes, that lights are exploding in the room and sparks are showering down around them. He was planning to warn Cas before he came, to give his friend the chance to pull off and not swallow, but as soon as that finger pushes in, he loses all control, spilling himself down Cas's throat. He feels Cas cough a bit and choke, but to his credit he doesn't push Dean away. Instead he moans, swallowing Dean down ever further.
Dean listens to the scrape and slap of skin against skin as Cas brings himself off while he drinks Dean in. He hears a whimper, feels the vibration as Cas groans around his cock, signaling his own release. He still doesn't stop licking and suckling Dean down as he continues to slowly pump himself through his own orgasm. After a few moments, Dean begins to wince, his softening dick becoming too sensitive to Cas's ministrations. When Cas notices, he pulls off, taking care to tuck Dean's dick back into his briefs before sitting back on his feet.
Knees feeling like jelly, Dean allows himself to slide down the wall, landing with a thump on the floor. He leans his head back against the hard surface with his eyes closed, trying his damnedest to get his breathing under control. After a couple seconds, he hears and feels Cas scooting up beside him. He opens one eye just enough to take a peek at his friend, sees that Cas is staring off into space at nothing, breathing heavily.
Dean knows something needs to be said, but he's damned if he has a clue what, or how to say it. So, as per usual for him, he falls back on lame jokes. "So, uh, fantasy? Ain't got nothin' on reality," he chuckles.
He watches as Cas huffs a laugh and glances at him. "Good to hear I was able to live up to expectations, then."
"Oh buddy, you fucking surpassed expectations. You could do that for a living and never have to worry about money again, trust me."
Cas rolls his eyes and moves to get up. "So, you're saying I'd make a good hooker? Thanks a hell of a lot, Dean, way to make a guy feel special."
Dean grabs his wrist and pulls his friend back down, inadvertently pulling him against his chest. It isn't intentional, and Dean's first instinct is to push Cas back away and off him, because he's not a cuddler, especially not with another dude – plus, after the last time he definitely doesn't want Cas thinking this is becoming a habit. But Cas is so warm and solid against him, and it feels so right, and it makes Dean want to stay right here in this spot for the foreseeable future. So he does.
Before he realizes what's happening, he's wrapped his arms around Cas's waist and pulled him closer, his friend's back against his chest. Cas is stiff at first, obviously unsure of what's happening. Dean's beginning to think it wasn't the right thing to do, but then he feels Cas relax in his arms and hears him sigh. A moment later, he leans his head back against Dean's shoulder, nuzzling his cheek with his nose.
When Cas wraps his hands around Dean's wrists, gently stroking his skin, Dean squeezes him tighter and whispers in his ear. "Just so you know, this ain't cuddling. It's recuperating."
Cas sighs again. "Shut up and recuperate, Dean."
**********************************************
The fourth time it happens, it's all Lindsey Draper's fault.
But to be fair, the fourth time it happens, it doesn't really happen at all.
It's ten days after Ash's party and right in the middle of finals week. Lindsey Draper has been flirting aggressively with Dean for weeks. He so is not interested, for several reasons, one being that she's a bit too aggressive for Dean's liking. He never really thought such a thing was possible for him, but then he met Lindsey. Between her constantly shoving her admittedly fantastic rack at him, and making sure she's deep-throating whatever phallic object is at hand whenever she sees him (including but not limited to bananas, lollipops, popsicles and, in one regrettable instance, a letter opener), he finds himself wincing whenever he hears her squealing his name and announcing her arrival.
But finals week has him wound up and tense, and needing to blow off some steam. And this whole thing with Cas has him feeling confused, and vulnerable, and insecure. He doesn't understand what the fuck it means that he's now attracted to a guy. Strike that, he's intensely, overwhelmingly, absurdly, and painfully attracted to a guy.
He hasn't been able to sleep or eat or think about anything because all he can think about is Cas, and that is fucked up. He's never felt this way about anyone before, let alone about another guy. He has no problem with homosexuality or bisexuality, he's always felt people should live and let live, and get their jollies where they want. But there's a difference between being okay with other people being gay and finding out that hey, I think I might kinda like dick, too.
The rational part of his brain tells him that it doesn't matter, that he should be thrilled he has found someone who makes him happy. But right now, it's the irrational part of his brain that's in control, the part that reminds him he's supposed to be the all-American good ol' boy, the one who likes beer, and fried food, and fast cars, and loose women. That's women. He definitely isn't supposed to be the guy who likes to cuddle with his male best friend, and fantasizes about sucking said friend's dick.
So, when Lindsey Draper asks Dean, again, if he wants to go out and have some fun tomorrow night, he finally says yes. He instantly regrets it, but doesn't tell her he's changed his mind. He figures, a quick fuck and then he's out of there, just to prove to himself that he can still get it up for pussy. He knows he should feel bad for using Lindsey like this, but he's never pretended to be something he's not with her. She knows the score, if not from him then from all the other girls he's messed around with that she knows.
On the night of their date, he's surprised to get a call from Lindsey as he steps out of the shower. She informs him that she's been puking the last several hours from food poisoning and can't go out with him, and he has to bite his tongue to keep from whooping and yelling THANK GOD! He tells her he hopes she feels better soon and says his goodbyes before she can reschedule the date for some other night.
But now he finds himself still frustrated and wound up from all the studying he's been doing, and from not getting to hang out with friends all week. He immediately starts to wonder what Cas is doing right now and if he's finished with his exams yet. He texts him where are u? and almost instantly gets a reply: Home. Wanna come over?
Dean barely takes the time to shove his sneakers on before jogging out the door and to the Impala. Five minutes later, he's at Cas's apartment and ringing the doorbell. The door swings open, and Cas is standing there in the t-shirt and sweatpants Dean had loaned him all those weeks ago. Dean's gaze looks him up and down slowly before he asks, "Where's your cousin?"
Cas grins. "All done with finals, so he's gone back to his folks' house already."
Dean licks his lips and smiles before stepping into the foyer and shutting the door behind him. "I hope your neighbors have fucked off somewhere else too." He takes the few steps separating him from Cas before wrapping his arms around his friend's waist and pulling him close.
"I believe Adam is still home, but these walls are surprisingly thick," Cas murmurs against his lips.
"Good to know," Dean croaks, before biting Cas's lower lip and licking his way into his mouth.
They slowly fumble their way to the couch, wrapping themselves around each other and making out like horny preteens who've just discovered the joys of dry humping. They take their time, enjoying each other's kisses and laughing at stupid shit only they could find funny.
Dean mentions what a turn-on it is for Cas to be wearing his clothes, and Cas admits he did it on purpose, causing Dean to tickle him in retaliation for being so sneaky. Cas's face when he's laughing that hard is probably the most adorable and endearing thing Dean's ever seen – his nose scrunches up, his smile goes all gummy, and his eyes get crinkles in the corners.
Dean stares at him, and he can feel the goofy smile he has on his face, but he doesn't care. He leans forward to kiss Cas again before saying, "Man, I'm so glad Lindsey canceled on me tonight. This is way more fun than having to deal with her shit."
He feels Cas go still and tense underneath him. "What did you just say?"
Dean pulls back to look Cas in the eyes. "Um, I'm glad Lindsey canceled our date?"
Cas stares at him, his brow furrowed and his eyes wide in disbelief. He puts his hands up between their bodies and pushes Dean off of him. "Get out."
Dean is stunned. He sits there, silent as he watches Cas pull away from him, watches as he stands up and strides to the door. "Cas, wait... what? What's wrong?"
Cas glances at him, eyes watery and hurt, before looking away and opening the door. "Dean, I can't... I can't be around you right now." He stares at the floor and wraps his arms around his stomach, closing himself off. "Especially if you don't even see what's wrong with this. Please…" His voice cracks, and the sound of it makes Dean's breath hitch. "Just leave."
A few seconds pass in which Dean stares at him, wanting to reach out to him but somehow knowing that if he does Cas will probably punch the shit out of him. He doesn't understand what's happened, but he knows it's his fault and he knows he needs to sit down and figure this out.
"Okay, Cas." He shuffles his way to the door, not able to keep from reaching a hand out to touch Cas's shoulder, but he pulls it back when Cas flinches and turns away. Once outside, he turns to get one last look at Cas, but all he sees is the door slamming in his face.
**********************************************
The fifth time it happens is because Dean is an idiot.
And he is one hell of an idiot.
No, scratch that, he's a fucking moronic, imbecilic idiot with not enough sense to shut his fucking idiotic mouth when he damn well should know when to shut it.
A week has passed since Cas threw him out of his apartment. It took Dean all of five minutes to realize why Cas was so upset. It took him a night of feeling sorry for himself, getting drunk, nursing an epic hangover, and hiding under the covers of his bed all day to realize that he may have fucked up beyond all repair the best thing that has ever or will ever happen to him.
He calls Cas. Many, many times. Cas never answers. Dean leaves countless voicemail messages, always smiling every time he hears Cas's awkward, bumbling voicemail greeting. At first, he just asks Cas to call him back. The next few messages he leaves, he kind of begs Cas to call him back. Then on the next few he gets kind of mad, yells into the phone, tells Cas to stop being a fucking baby. Every message he leaves after that are begging forgiveness for calling Cas a baby, pleading with him to just call so they can talk this out.
After a few days, Dean gives up.
He stops calling, decides he needs to just forget about it, move on and concentrate on work. He's staying in his apartment near campus all summer, choosing to work at the garage to make and save up as much money as he can while he's not in school. Campus really isn't that far away from home, so it's not like he's not going to see Sammy and his dad on a regular basis anyways.
Last they'd talked about it, Cas still hadn't decided if he was going to go home for the summer or stay in his apartment near campus. He had a pretty unbeatable year-long lease, one that was much cheaper per month than if he'd gotten one just for the months he was in school, so he had the luxury of being able to choose whether he wanted to stay in his apartment or go home for the summer and lease it out to someone else for a couple months.
Dean hates not knowing if Cas is still in town or if he went home to Chicago almost as much as he hates the thought of Cas leaving without saying goodbye. He tries to distract himself with work, but it doesn't help. He tries to distract himself with alcohol, but that only leaves him maudlin and lonely, and hungover at work. He tries to distract himself with porn, but that only makes him antsy and frustrated, and depressed when the only way he can bring himself off is by thinking of Cas.
Finally, he decides he can take this no more. He has to know if Cas is still in town. If he is, Dean will beg for forgiveness and find a way to make Cas let him back in. If he's not, he'll get Ash to use his freaky computer skills to hunt down Cas's parents' address in Chicago so he can go there and stand under his window with a fucking boombox, or some shit like that.
When Dean pulls up to the parking lot outside Cas's building at dusk that evening, the sunset is spilling dark pink and purple splashes across the horizon. He spots Cas's Toyota clunker in its usual parking space and it sends a spark of hope zinging through him even as he reminds himself that doesn't really mean anything, since Cas usually leaves his car here when he flies to Chicago anyways.
Dean makes his way up the steps to Cas's door, and takes a deep breath before ringing the doorbell. He waits a good thirty seconds before ringing the bell again. He rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet, shoving his hands into his front pockets and chewing on his bottom lip. Just as he's about to turn tail and leave, he hears the lock click on the door. He watches as the door squeaks open just a sliver, blue eyes peeking at him through the crack.
"What do you want, Dean?" Cas's voice is husky and monotone, giving nothing away other than that he's still pissed.
Dean can feel the bottom drop out of his stomach at the flat note in Cas's voice, but he refuses to back down after all that's happened. "I wanted to say I'm an idiot."
Cas is silent for several beats before saying, "Yes, you are."
"And I'm a moron."
"Yes, you are."
"And I'm crude, and rude, and I drink too much, and I eat really bad food, and I'm emotionally stunted and have abandonment issues and tell too many fart jokes. And I don't know when to shut up, and I don't think before I speak."
"Yes, I agree. To all of that."
"And it takes me way too fucking long to get a clue."
"...Dean, I—"
"And I'm really sorry I hurt you," Dean cuts in. "I couldn't face up to the fact that I like you. Not like in a best buds kind of way, although I like you that way, too… I always have. But I like you in the you drive me crazy and are all I can think about and you're all I ever want to be around and wake up to kind of way. And figuring that out scared the shit out of me because I didn't understand what that means and if that changes who I am. But then I realized what scared me most was that you're my best friend, and I always fuck things up, and if I fuck this up, then I won't have my best friend anymore, and that's unacceptable, Cas."
"...Dean, I—"
"I miss you, Cas," Dean forges on desperately. "I miss hanging out with you, and I miss how you piss me off, and I miss how you always make me feel smarter and more important than I am, and I miss how you smell and how you taste and how you feel. I'm sorry for being such an idiot. I'm sorry it took me so long to get here. I just...I'm sorry, Cas. Please, if you'll just…" He stops, puts his hands up, and tries Sam's puppy-eyes trick just in case.
"Dean. Remember how you said you don't know when to shut up?"
"...Yeah?"
"Shut up, get in here, and kiss me."
**********************************************