Chapter Text
“I still do not understand what the point would be,” Cas said again.
“Dude, we’re in Florida. On the beach. In summer. I think we’re, like, contractually-obligated to get drunk and jump in the ocean.” Dean didn’t bother telling himself it wasn’t also an extremely convenient excuse to ogle Cas wet and nearly naked.
“I was unaware we had a contract.”
Dean rolled his eyes. He set the mostly-empty whiskey bottle in the sand and began peeling his t-shirt over his head.
“And I don’t know how to swim,” Cas added, frowning slightly.
That stopped Dean. “Dude, you’re a fuckin’ angel. Weren’t you around when your dad pissed out this shit?”
“My father did not --”
Dean interrupted him before his fingers could quirk into air quotes. “Look, I got you. And we don’t have to go that far out anyway. It’s just… I’ve never seen the ocean before. Please?” he wheedled.
Cas sighed and gave in, shrugging off his trench coat and folding it in a neat square. Dean grinned at him. “Plus Sammy’ll be pissed he missed out. Serve him right for being a bitch and staying in the motel.”
They discarded the rest of their clothes, Cas’ in a meticulous pile on his coat and Dean’s strewn across the sand, until they were both down to their boxers. Cas took a few uncertain steps towards the water.
Dean Winchester did not consider himself a romantic man. Hell, he didn’t even consider himself a particularly gay man, though he’d gotten over questioning his sexual identity after a few memorable blowjobs in high school. But the sight of the angel silhouetted in the moonlight against the endless waves short-circuited his brain for a moment, and he began to wonder if this was actually a good idea.
He shook himself and caught up to Castiel, who was standing in ankle-deep water and toeing thoughtfully at the wet sand, watching it envelop his foot.
“The sensation is very strange,” said Cas. “Like I’m being swallowed."
For fuck’s sake, thought Dean, as his imagination took off running. He was relatively sure that Cas was oblivious to his little crush -- and all crushes, for that matter -- but that made him no less apt to accidentally torture Dean.
He shook his head and splashed further in until the water was at his chest. He turned around to check on Cas, who was making his way through the shallows with slow, careful movements -- then let out what could only be called a shriek when a wave crashed into his back. Cas looked at him with a raised eyebrow.
“Shut it,” Dean said politely, glad Sam wasn’t there to catalogue that sound in his giant brain. To hide his embarrassment, he took a deep breath and ducked under the next wave. A few moments later he broke through the surface, sputtering, and wiped the saltwater from his eyes.
He turned back to Cas, grinning. Cas had stopped in waist-deep water and was staring at Dean intently, his head tilted.
“What?” Dean said, still smiling. “Come on, it’s fuckin’ amazing.”
“You’re very beautiful,” said Cas matter-of-factly.
Something twisted in Dean’s stomach. He was used to Cas’ utter lack of filter -- found it endearing, even, though he’d never quit giving him shit about it -- and he knew Cas was just stating a fact; it had no more depth to it than saying “the ocean is cold” or “pie is the greatest thing in the world”. That knowledge did nothing to quench the heat spreading down his neck.
“Dude, this is already a chick flick’s wet dream,” he said with a slightly forced laugh. “Don’t make it worse.”
The angel gave him a look -- the one that occasionally made Dean wonder if Cas understood more than he let on about human nature -- and trudged forward to where Dean stood, pausing to brace himself for each wave.
“You OK?” asked Dean, reaching out a hand as a bigger wave knocked Castiel off-balance. It was strange to see the angel floundering in the water, instead of his usual precise movements.
“Yes. It’s disconcerting,” he admitted, skimming his hand over the surface, “but not unpleasant.”
“You should duck under the big waves. Pass right over you instead of knocking you over.”
Cas looked uncertain, shifting as small waves splashed against his stomach. He held out his hand. “Would you do it with me?”
A hundred innuendos flashed across Dean’s brain, followed by another hundred sarcastic chick flick moments retorts, but he looked at Castiel standing in front of him with the grey-green Atlantic licking at his skin and the moon reflected in those unearthly eyes and the sea breeze doing things to that stupid fucking hair, and he was privately sure in that moment that if Cas asked him to rebuild the Byzantine Empire and give it to him in a shoebox he’d be booking a flight to fucking Istanbul tomorrow.
Instead he reached out and grabbed Cas’ hand.
“Hold your breath and close your eyes before you duck,” he instructed. “Hold your nose, too.”
“Hold my --?”
Dean rolled his eyes and demonstrated, pinching his nostrils with his free hand. Cas copied the gesture.
“Keeps the saltwater from gettin’ in there. Not fun.”
Cas nodded. They turned and faced out to sea, letting small waves lap against them, until Dean pointed out a wave in the distance, about a foot tall and gaining strength.
“Ready?” Dean asked, gripping Castiel’s hand as it drew closer. “On three -- just let yourself fall. One -- two --” He dropped his legs and tugged the angel’s arm. He felt Cas duck below the water just before the wave crashed overhead.
They resurfaced a few seconds later. Dean was gasping and giggling like a child -- and again thanking the stars that Sam wasn’t there to hear it. He turned to Cas and the laughter died in his throat. The angel’s eyes were closed and there was an actual, honest-to-God grin on his face, and Dean was suddenly really fucking glad his lower half was in cold water. He let go of Castiel’s hand abruptly.
“So,” he said, clearing his throat, “better than gettin’ bitch-slapped with a wall of water, huh?”
“Yes, Dean,” said Castiel, his features resolving themselves back into neutrality, but a small smile remained playing around his mouth. “I believe I enjoyed that.”
Dean splashed water at him, and to his astonishment Cas splashed back, and instantly a splash war worthy of seventh-grade pool parties erupted. For a few minutes the bleak reality of their lives faded to background noise and they forgot their world filled with demons and fallen angels and dead family, a world in which death was not so much an inevitability but a daily likelihood, and maybe wasn’t so final after all. Dean had never seen that open, relaxed look on Cas’ face -- hell, he couldn’t really remember the last time he felt it on his own face -- and he had just reached down to try to escalate the water fight with a handful of sand when a huge wave pummeled them and they both went somersaulting under the water.
Dean popped his head up, throat burning with salt.
“Cas?” he called, scanning the unbroken surface. “Cas!”
A ball of white-hot panic was beginning to twist in his bones when he heard the water a few yards behind him churn. He whipped around and as soon as he saw the dark hair emerge from the water he dove towards him, half-running and half-swimming. He stopped when he saw Cas’ face.
Dean sort of forgot Castiel was an angel fairly frequently, really. He knew it consciously, of course, but he found it hard to reconcile the occasional sarcasm, the puppy-dog innocence and impassive face with angel. So when he saw the look of pure, absolute joy on Cas’ face, it felt a bit like getting punched in the stomach.
And then Cas’ wings unfurled.
Dean had never seen them, really seen them, only shadows and silhouettes, and even now they nearly blended with the sky, dripping saltwater like tears, and Cas was so still and his eyes lowered and his mouth and those fucking --
Dean kissed him.
It would not have been a lie to say that Dean had been fine with how they were. He acknowledged his attraction but he was fine with it, kind of enjoyed it, even if it never came to fruition. He wasn’t hurting for sex and it made the weird home life they’d all established a little more fun. But then Castiel rose out of water, and the panic, and the look on his face, and the wings…
…and oh shit, Cas wasn’t kissing him back. Dean pulled back, and the angel was looking at him with wide eyes, folding his wings back in, and -- oh, fuck.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “Fuck, sorry, sorry, I --”
He pulled back and started shuffling blindly towards the shore before a hand reached out and caught his wrist.
“Dean,” said Cas, and of course his voice betrayed nothing. “Dean.”
Dean spun back towards Cas and suddenly hated him for his stupid unreadable voice, and he started to tug his hand away, but Cas gripped him tight.
“No,” he growled. “I want this.”
Cold seawater wasn’t enough to diffuse Dean’s reaction to that, not even close. Whiskey and nerves and eddies of lust chased each other through his veins. The two stood frozen an arm’s length apart, Castiel’s fingers around Dean’s wrist the only point of contact. He stared at Castiel, into that unfathomable face.
“You…”
Cas’ other hand slowly came up to lock around Dean’s free one, and holy shit, he was dying again, he had to be dying, but this was so much better than the other times. He thrummed with tension, with sensation: the parabolic roar of the ocean in his ears, the salt in his nose and mouth, the impossible depth of Castiel’s eyes and the sear of the fingers around his wrists.
Something snapped and they were on each other in a tangle of limbs and slippery skin, and Dean felt the sensory overload contract to lips and tongue and teeth. The waves manhandled them and they stumbled and choked and licked the salt from each other’s skin.
A wave broke over them and they came up gasping. Cas wrapped his arms around Dean’s neck and sucked at his throat and Dean groaned, then pushed him off. Cas blinked.
“Not fuckin’ you in the ocean, Cas,” he got out and turned towards the shoreline, then stopped because Cas’ breath was in his ear and suddenly fucking in the ocean seemed like an absolutely brilliant idea, especially when Castiel’s fingers were tracing down his ribs, but --
“No. Fuck. Jesus, fuck, come on -- weren’t you the one who didn’t want to get into the water?”
“I find myself enjoying it.”
The angel’s eyes remained inscrutable but the corners of his mouth were twitching.
“Did you seriously just grow a sense of humor, you dickhead?”
“We can leave if you want, Dean.” His mouth wandered across Dean's neck -- where the fuck did he learn to do this?
Dean shifted suddenly into overdrive. “Yeah, I fuckin’ well want,” he said, biting at Castiel’s lip before tugging him towards the shore.
And oh, God, this was the best thing ever, rolling over on the sand until Castiel was underneath him. He caught at Cas' wrists and dragged them through the sand, pinning them over his head. He licked the water off collarbones and kissed until the salt burned under his mouth and --
Shit.
The angel was a virgin, Dean was fairly sure, and as hot as it would be to seduce him on the beach -- and his brain shorted out at the idea, every time their breath sucked in with the tide --
But the sand scraped against his knees, and he licked across angry red marks in Cas’ skin as he knelt over him.
“Not here,” he managed.
Cas whined, fucking whined, and Dean bit down on his shoulder, and in Dean’s personal opinion he should be made a goddamn saint for resisting the urge to find out right there what other noises Cas could make. They both still had their soaked boxers on, and when Castiel arched up Dean decided he’d settle for knighthood and ground against him before standing up, pulling at Cas’ hands.
“Motel’s like two blocks away,” he said. “Not gonna… not gettin’ sand all up everywhere.” He grabbed their clothes and started to walk down the beach when Cas pulled him back, rolling his eyes, and suddenly they were in the bathroom of their motel room.
“Jesus, Cas,” said Dean. “Two blocks. Patient, huh?”
“No,” said Castiel. “Not patient.” He pulled Dean into the shower, turning on the taps and raking their boxers down with the same motion. It should have been unnerving but Cas never acted without purpose, and the deliberate movement was somehow calming.
Dean leaned his head against the cool tile and tried to gather himself. Making out drunk in the ocean was one thing, not that it wasn’t possibly (definitely) the hottest thing in the entire goddamn universe, but standing there in the harsh yellow light and watching Cas bend down testing the water temperature, everything seemed a lot more real.
“Cas,” he finally managed. “Are you sure -- we don’t -- I mean, I’m --”
Castiel straightened up, apparently satisfied with the water, and flipped the shower on. He turned to Dean, doing that inexplicably sexy head tilt again.
“You talk too much,” he said, and suddenly Dean was getting kissed so hard his knees went weak. And what the hell, thought Dean distantly, in the tiny part of his mind that wasn’t focused intensely on Castiel’s tongue, shouldn’t he be the one who has a clue what the fuck he’s doing here? Then Cas slid his mouth to Dean’s neck, tugging them both back and under the spray, and Dean decided that if Cas’ heavenly powers included being some kind of angelic sex god, he’s pretty on board with that.
“Cas,” he gasped, digging his fingertips into those perfect hipbones. “Cas, Cas, I want --”
Cas brought his hands up to the sides of Dean’s neck, running along his jawline, and brushed his lips across his ear.
“Tell me what you want, Dean,” he murmured, and his voice shot straight to Dean’s dick, do not fucking pass Go, do not collect $200.
“You,” he hissed. “Want you, want you, always wanted you. Wanted to -- to taste you, touch you -- fuck, Cas --”
“To fuck me?” he said, and Dean could hear the smirk in his voice, the smug asshole, and Dean decided it was time to wrest back some control. He grabbed his shoulders and shoved him back against the tile.
“Yes,” he growled, grinding his thigh between Cas’ legs, and hummed in satisfaction when the angel shuddered. “To fuck you.” He caught Castiel’s lip between his teeth and tugged, slipping his tongue back into his mouth, and twisted their hips together. He was so hard he ached, and when his cock slid against Cas’ his vision went staticky. “Want to hear the sounds you make, Cas,” he whispered. “Bet you sound so fucking good.”
He broke away and began to lick down Castiel’s neck, down his chest, pausing to tug at a nipple with his teeth. He licked a stripe down Cas’ ribcage and bit gently at his hipbones, lapped at the rivulets of water running down his stomach, dropping lower and lower until he was perched on his knees, his breath ghosting over Cas’ skin.
“Your cock,” he murmured sincerely, “is even prettier than I’ve been imagining.” He locked eyes with Castiel, whose infuriating self-control had finally gone out the window; he was staring down at Dean, wide-eyed, biting his lip and gasping. Dean bent forward, pressing a wet kiss to the underside. Cas made a choking sound and closed his eyes. Dean dug punishing fingernails into Cas’ hips, leaving tiny red half-moons.
“Keep your eyes open,” he said, keeping his lips on Cas. “I want to see you watching me.” His knees ached but this wasn’t going to last long, no way. As much as he’d love to take his time, drawing it out and finding the things that made Cas see stars, he was already so close he thought he would come just from looking at Castiel, and based on the pulse he could feel thrumming in Cas’ cock, his hitching breath and the pre-come already beading heavily, the angel wasn’t much better off.
Still, he couldn’t resist teasing a little. He swirled his tongue around the head and sucked gently at the sensitive spot on the underside, tracing his fingertips over the ridges. One of Cas’ hands twisted in Dean’s hair.
“Dean,” Cas choked out. “Dean, please, Dean --”
Dean smirked up at him, as much as you can smirk with someone’s cock in your mouth, but Dean was pretty sure there was nothing in this world or any other that would enable him to resist the sound of Castiel begging. He wrapped his lips around Cas’ head and his hand just below his mouth, and without breaking eye contact he sank down, taking Cas into his throat. And oh, God, the sounds he was making were even more obscene than Dean had fantasized about.
The second Dean’s nose hit Cas’ skin the angel was coming, groaning and shuddering. Dean reached down and fisted himself, and with Cas repeating his name in those sex-broken tones he was coming before Cas even came down.
Cas sank to his knees and Dean leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together. The water sliding down their skin was turning lukewarm but neither made a move to turn it off.
“Told you I have good ideas,” said Dean, entwining their fingers. “Hey, Cas?”
“Yes, Dean?”
Dean avoided eye contact. “I, uh -- I know you don’t need to sleep and stuff, but -- if you wanna stay, I mean --”
Cas smiled slightly. “Yes, Dean.”
--
“Dean?” called Sam from the bathroom the next morning. “There a reason there’s clothes all over here -- including in the shower? Dude, did you bring someone back here even though you were out with Cas?”
Dean snorted softly without opening his eyes. Castiel tugged him closer and hummed against his neck.
The bathroom door banged open. “Seriously, Dean, that’s just --” Sam squinted in the darkness, finally noticing that Dean’s bed had sprouted a second body-shaped lump. “Dude! I’m in the fucking room! Did you just leave Cas? What if he’d just, like, angel-blinked in?”
“Hello, Sam.”
There was a pause.
“Oh, no, no, you have got to be kidding me. I need to go drown in bleach. Is there a laundry room here? Jesus Christ. We are so getting two rooms from now on.” Shuddering, Sam grabbed his keys and stumbled for the door.
“Bitch,” said Dean into Castiel’s hair.
“Jerk,” Sam answered, slamming the door.