Title: Westbound Highway
Pairing: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Warning/Spoilers: Set between “Free To Be You and Me” and “The End.”
Word Count: 2900
Summary: “I don’t know why I’m here. It made a sort of sense to couple before, when we expected my death the next day. There is no such urgency now.”
Notes: Written for 50 reasons to have sex, reason #30: (S)he wants to.
Bobby didn’t know where Dean was this time but knew where he was headed, so Castiel watched the westbound highway for a familiar black car. When he spotted it, he appeared in the Impala’s empty passenger seat and the car swerved.
“Shit! Cas! Warn a guy!” Dean said but there was no real anger there, so Castiel said, “Hello, Dean,” and looked out the window at the passing countryside. It was twilight hour, the light soft and muted, rendering the surrounding fields purple and grey and mossy green. There was a lone oak tree in one of the fields, and he wondered at its age and origin — if, like the tree planted by Anna’s grace, it marked the place where one of his brethren had rebelled and fallen.
“So what bug’s up your ass tonight?” Dean growled, and Castiel pondered the answer to that question. He hadn’t mentioned why he was looking for Dean to Bobby, but Bobby hadn’t asked. Bobby tended not to. It was neither knowledge nor assistance that he sought, but what it was, Castiel couldn’t name.
The simple fact was this: since their adventure in the brothel and his subsequent deflowering in the Impala’s back seat (Dean had made a promise, after all) Castiel had wanted … more. More skin, more passion, more sweat, more reveling in the pleasures given from one body to another; more of Dean’s hands and mouth and hips, more of his chest and legs, more looking into Dean’s eyes and seeing that look of wonder in them.
(Because Dean had felt wonder. Castiel knew this as surely as he knew the wonder he had felt himself.)
He had no idea how to broach this topic with Dean, however, and no idea if Dean felt the same way. How did mortals make their desires known? For as long as he’d been observing Dean, he could see nothing special in the way Dean approached the men and women he took to his bed: he talked, sometimes — most of the time — they shared a libation, and then by mutual agreement they moved to someplace they could complete the act in private.
Perhaps, Castiel thought, the drink was the key.
“Do you thirst?” he said and Dean looked at him, confused. Castiel realized it had been several minutes between Dean asking his question and Castiel answering, and even worse, the two had nothing to do with each other. Well, he was still learning the art of conversation. More practice was called for.
“No,” Dean said and pointed to the twist-capped bottle tucked in the wheel well. “I’m covered there, thanks. Is that why you popped in? To see if I’m thirsty?”
“No,” Castiel mumbled and looked out at the fields again. Darkness was falling, and he supposed Dean would find a town to stop in soon if he didn’t sleep in the car itself, just pulled off to the side of the road or perhaps further into the fields, sheltered from prying eyes.
Castiel would not have minded driving all night, though. While it was far slower than he could travel on his own, driving with Dean offered insight that Castiel suspected he would not find elsewhere. Dean was most himself when driving. He told stories. He sang along to the loud music on his limited supply of cassette tapes. Sometimes he lapsed into silence but his hand tapped on his thigh as if to a rhythm only he could hear. With one hand on the steering wheel, he could eat a burger, chili fries and a milkshake, and the car would never stray from its path down the highway.
The car was everything to Dean, home, office, kitchen, boudoir. Castiel glanced back at the back seat, wondering if Dean had entertained any other company there since himself, but while it was cluttered with the usual Winchester detritus — books and newspaper and photocopied pages and hamburger wrappings — it offered no other hints.
He turned back to face the road in front of them, and caught Dean looking at him as he did so. Confusion on Dean’s face, as so often happened when they interacted, though it had happened less and less frequently as thy got to understand each other. He gazed back at Dean a moment, then out the windshield.
“Okay,” said Dean and pulled the car off the road to the shoulder. He turned off the engine. “Spill it.”
“Spill. Whatever’s on your mind. I promise I won’t be shocked.” He patted his chest twice in rapid succession. “Lay it on me.”
“Oh,” said Castiel. “Well.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I … desired your presence. Your company. Your …” He inhaled deeply. “Body.”
“Oh,” said Dean, and then, “Oh,” more softly, and then he started to smile. “You’re back for another taste, is what you’re telling me.”
Castiel nodded, his face hot.
“Well, ain’t that somethin’,” Dean murmured. He cranked the ignition and threw the car into gear again, and they were back on the highway with a rumble of gravel beneath the wheels. “It’s about an hour to the next town and I was planning to bunk down there for the night. Unless you can’t wait that long and we should just find a friendly side road.”
“I can wait,” Castiel said and leaned his face against the window.
The town was small and the motel garish, with blinking neon signs and faded paint on the concrete walls. Castiel waited in the Impala as Dean made the arrangements for their accommodations, and he returned Dean’s grin when Dean got back into the car with a hesitant smile of his own.
The room was unremarkable. Clean and tidy, though the carpet was patchy in places, but its energy was good. Nothing horrible had happened here in the room’s memory, which was not always true of the rooms the Winchesters chose.
There were two beds. Castiel sat on one and folded his hands together as Dean brought in his duffle bag and a few books from the Impala, then took off his jacket and hung it over the chair at the little desk. “You hungry?” Dean said, and his mouth quirked. “Do you thirst?”
“No,” Castiel said to both. He rarely hungered. He barely knew thirst. The desire that he felt now to be nourished and fed was something else entirely.
“You just want to get down to it, then,” Dean said softly and sat on the bed beside him. Dean took Castiel’s face in his hand and kissed him as if it were easy, and Castiel swayed, overwhelmed by the nearness of him, of the scent and taste and heat of his skin.
It had been like this before, too, in the backseat of the Impala. Dean had been so much — so big, so handsome, so strong, his body hot and supple under Castiel’s hands, his mouth open and his kisses generous and lavish. That night, it had made sense. Dean didn’t want him to be destroyed without experiencing this most basic of human pleasures, and when he didn’t achieve that with the obvious solution Dean had taken matters into his own hands.
Now, though. Now. There was no reason to do this. Death was not imminent. He had no reason to be here, to be tugging at Dean’s shirt and pushing him into his back — two actions that were at odds with each other, he realized, and pulled away, trying to make sense of every emotion and desire that swirled through his being, and failing.
“Cas?” Dean propped himself on his elbows. “What’s the matter, man?”
Castiel passed a hand over his face. “I don’t know why I’m here. It made a sort of sense to couple before, when we expected my death the next day. There is no such urgency now.”
“So you came because you wanted me. Which is great, really, ’cause I’ve kind of been missing you, too.”
“But,” said Castiel and Dean caught him by the tie and kissed him.
“Hey,” he said, his tone gentle as when he spoke to frightened children, “hey, dude, it’s okay. Totally normal. This is what people do. They have sex because they want to, not because the world is going to end.”
“The world is going to end,” said Castiel, shrugging off his trench coat nonetheless.
“Yeah, but probably not tonight, and probably not even tomorrow.” He kissed Castiel again. “If you don’t want to, that’s another problem.”
“I want to,” Castiel breathed and pulled off the suit jacket. “Do you?”
“Oh, yeah,” said Dean without hesitation and kissed him as if to prove it.
Dean laughed and said patiently, “Yes, Castiel, with you. Now take off your clothes.”
Castiel blinked off the rest — it seemed simplest — and Dean threw back his head with laughter. He pulled Castiel to him and kissed him, and as they kissed he put Castiel’s hand on the fly of his jeans. Castiel palmed him through the denim, kissing him eagerly, pressing harder when Dean pushed against him and pulled on his shoulders.
The last time, in the Impala, Dean had taught him to kiss, and they kissed now as if Dean was making certain he had forgotten nothing. Wet, eager. Tongues playing games and giving chase. Hot, bitten lips. He could feel Dean smiling, and Dean’s fingers walked up his spine and knotted into his hair.
Dean pulled back Castiel’s head, smiling deeper at the whimper Castiel made and the way Castiel’s mouth followed his. Dean pushed Castiel onto his back and held his hands over his head. He licked his lips, eyes darting over Castiel’s face, and then dipped his head and kissed Castiel.
Castiel pushed up his hips, softly moaning as his flesh rubbed against Dean’s jeans. The last time — the first time — he had finished quickly, just from Dean’s hand, gasping and stunned. Dean had said, “Oh, Cas,” in an amused, resigned sort of way, “guess we’re gonna do it this way,” and he’d had taken Castiel, finding places inside him that brought pleasure so deep Castiel thought he might abandon the vessel from pure ecstasy. This time — Our second time, and the thought made him shiver — he thought he might want that again, he might want Dean inside him. Or he might not. He knew he wanted Dean’s body and mouth and sweat, but how, what they should do —
“Leave your hands there,” Dean whispered and moved over Castiel’s body, tasting and nibbling him, as Castiel left his hands over his head obediently and watched Dean through his lashes, every kiss and bite like a tiny shock to his nerves.
When Dean’s tongue touched his organ Castiel shouted and clenched his hands, wanting to thrust them into Dean’s hair and shove into the warmth of his mouth. Instead he held his body rigid, not daring to even shiver until Dean whispered, “It’s okay, I’ll tell you if it’s too much,” and held Castiel’s hips as he took Castiel into his mouth.
Soon Castiel rocked with abandon, his hands still clenched over his head, while Dean held his hips loosely and made the same soft, happy sounds he made when he ate a particularly good piece of pie. Finally he pulled away, his lips red and swollen, and fumbled off the rest of his clothing as if his hands shook too much to undress more carefully.
Dean put his hand to Castiel’s lips. “Lick,” he ordered, so Castiel licked his fingers lavishly, feeling dazed. He spread his legs, expecting Dean to repeat what he had done before — shivering at anticipation for it, in fact, remembering the twist of Dean’s fingers and how it had made sparks fly along his pathways, earthy and celestial combined.
Instead, Dean knelt over Castiel, organ wet at the head, and a grimace crossed his face as he sank onto his own fingers. “Oh,” Castiel breathed and Dean smiled quickly before he caught his lower lip in his teeth.
“Gonna dehymenate you completely, Cas,” he growled and Castiel’s fingernails dug into his palms. He watched in fascination as Dean rode his own fingers, teeth gnawing at his already well-used lips.
Finally Dean moved off Castiel to dig through his bag. Castiel’s hands were aching, his body trembling, but he stayed still as he was told until Dean gave him more instructions. Dean brought a condom to him and tore open the foil with his teeth, and spat the wrapper away. He knelt over Castiel and unrolled the condom onto his organ, and Castiel closed his eyes and gasped, his hands shaking. “Cas,” Dean said, “Cas, touch me, watch me.”
Castiel grasped Dean’s hips with unsteady hands, and his breath grew short and shallow as Dean took Castiel into his body. “Don’t push, not yet,” he said and Castiel nodded and licked his lips.
It was slow at first, and hot, tight. Dean told him, “Okay, I’m good,” in a trembling voice, and Castiel pushed, completely lost in the feeling of flesh surrounding him and the sight of Dean’s body over his.
He’d felt overwhelmed the first time. This — he had no words for this but joy and love and perfect. He ran his hands over Dean’s hips and chest as Dean rode him, and Dean touched his hands and arms and bent sometimes to kiss him. He touched Dean’s face and Dean kissed his fingers.
When Castiel said, “Can I have you like you did me? Can I be on top of you?” Dean nodded and took himself off Castiel, to flop at his side as if already exhausted. Castiel wet his fingers and pushed them into Dean, pausing at Dean’s grunt until he said, “It’s okay, that’s good, I’m ready,” and then he knelt between Dean’s open legs. Dean moved his legs so that his thighs pressed against Castiel’s chest, and he hooked a hand around the back of Castiel’s neck as Castiel entered him again.
Oh, this was exquisite. He could choose how fast, how slow — fast made Dean grunt and tug on him, slow put wonder back in Dean’s eyes and made his lips part. Castiel kept the rhythm slow for as long as he could, deep into Dean, pulling out again sometimes to rewet his fingers and push the saliva into Dean, and then into him with renewed determination. He didn’t even need to ask if it was good — Dean made sounds like he was in pain, but there was no pain on his face, in his eyes, in the way his fingers clutched at Castiel’s back and the way their tongues touched when Castiel kissed him.
And then Dean’s hand was between them, tugging on himself as he breathed hard through his open mouth, and Castiel pushed himself off Dean so he could watch — this fascinated him, too, the way Dean’s body tensed, the way his organ was beautiful in this state than Castiel had expected to find it, the way Dean groaned and his eyes closed as if he couldn’t bear it, and how his hand slowed, still stroking himself until his orgasm was completely spent.
Castiel stopped his own hips to watch, and moved down Dean’s body to lick up the hot, bitter-tasting liquid. “Jesus, Cas,” Dean whispered and pushed his hand into Castiel’s hair.
“I want everything of you,” Castiel told him, and that made something flicker in Dean’s eyes.
“C’mere,” Dean said, gathering Castiel to him with arms and legs, and Castiel slid his hands under Dean’s hips and his member into Dean’s relaxed body. He was no longer slow, and Dean groaned with each thrust until his voice was hoarse.
And then — and then — it was like flying through a lightning storm, it was like drawing a first breath, it was feeling all the life around them at once. He thought he saw other couples in the same state of frenzy and completion, and he thought he saw lovers of Dean’s past crying out his name, and he thought he saw the path his own body followed until there was nowhere left to go.
He collapsed onto Dean, eyes wide, lungs laboring. Dean murmured, “Sh, sh, it’s okay, you did great,” as he stroked Castiel’s hair, and Castiel buried his face in Dean’s neck and couldn’t speak.
The next day, they bought Castiel a phone and card that Dean said gave the phone minutes to use. In the Impala, Dean showed Castiel how to use the text program and make calls, and programmed his number into the speed dial. “See? You just press one and you’ll get me. Easy.”
“And I can call you for anything?” said Castiel.
“Anything you want me for,” said Dean, and Castiel gazed at the phone, thinking it would be nice just to hear Dean’s voice sometimes. He tucked the phone away and kissed Dean, and when he pulled away Dean inhaled and said casually, “Next time you want a booty call, you can just use the phone to tell me.”
“A what?” Castiel said.
“A booty call.” Dean turned the key to start the ignition. “That’s what last night was. You came by for some sex, so we had sex.”
Castiel frowned. “That sounds so … impersonal.”
Dean paused, then leaned over and kissed him. “It’s okay to want sex. It’s particularly okay for you to want sex with me. When people like us find somebody like — well, like us, it’s okay to hang onto them. You know? I mean, we don’t just have to have sex, but we can whenever we want to.”
“Oh,” said Castiel. Dean’s meaning seemed just beyond his grasp, but he thought it might mean … “So when I miss you again …”
“You can call me up and say, ‘Dean, let’s get together and fuck.'”
“I will not be saying that,” Castiel said but kissed him anyway.