Chapter Text
Dean stands up on achy, wobbly legs after laying down the last section of flooring. The company he does carpentry work for has been hounding him about getting this particular apartment done, so he decided to stay late and finish the job. He's exhausted. Some days, Dean would like to tell them to fuck off with their fickle whims and absurd demands, but, unfortunately, they pay leaps and bounds better than anyone else in town. He's got a little brother to put through college, so he needs the money.
He’s still gonna bitch about the job though - Dean considers it part of the benefits package.
The snowstorm that was set to hit tonight looked tiny on the radar portion of Dean's weather app, but he still hopes he will make it home before it hits. His Impala can drive in a little snow, but Dean doesn't like to do it, especially with the salt and sand they always put down to stave off the ice. He rushes through his post-job checklist and throws on his coat and gloves before he walks out of the apartment with a little pep in his step.
Dean is immediately halted by what he sees outside the giant window overlooking the parking lot - he did not beat the storm. The forecast said up to an inch, but Dean is looking out at a world blanketed by enough white, fluffy snow to reach his hip. Fuck.
The Impala is never making it out of here. Dean walks over to the window and smooshes his face against the glass, just in case all that snow he was seeing was some kind of weird glare or something. Where the hell are all the snow plows? It doesn't look like a single road around here has been touched. This is the fancy part of town! Aren't the rich supposed to get first dibs on that shit?
Dean's phone rings in his pocket, and he answers it immediately when he sees that it's Sam. “Hey, bitch,” Dean tries to joke, but he sounds defeated even to his own ears.
“Hey, jerk, where are you? I woke up from a nap, and it looks like Alaska outside, and your car’s not here,” Sam asks before he yawns.
“Yeah, I stayed too late at a job,” Dean admits. Immediately, he wants to kick himself, because he knows Sam will worry. “Guess I'll just have to slum it and spend a night here at The Ritz,” he jokes.
The apartment complex at the edge of town is not anywhere close to “The Ritz,” it's just what townies have always called it. It's the kind of expensive that makes it exclusive, and the owners haven't left it to fall into disrepair like the rest of the town.
“Oh, yeah, I'm sure that empty apartment is the height of luxury right now,” Sam snarks.
“I'll have you know that I will be sleeping in a bedroom bigger than our whole apartment. That sounds pretty fancy to me.”
“Dude, you'll still be sleeping on the floor!”
Dean rolls his eyes. “I've slept in worse places than on a floor, Sammy.” Dean doesn't bring up how it will actually be terrible, even with natural wood and high-grade adhesive, because of the fumes.
“You should at least grab the green blanket from the car,” Sam still sounds uneasy.
“That's the plan,” Dean says brightly, even though he knows he's probably not going to put in the effort for the threadbare blanket. He'll be fine. “Go back to sleep. I might even be back before you wake up.”
“Okay. But keep me updated.” Sam yawns again.
“Nah, I don't think I will,” Dean says to make Sam laugh, and he's not disappointed.
“Jerk.”
“Bitch.”
Dean hangs up the phone and turns back to the empty apartment. He almost jumps out of his skin when he sees someone standing outside the only other door on this floor. “Jesus, man, you scared me.”
The stranger is gorgeous; tall, lean, dark-haired, and blue-eyed. Dean's exact type. Dean thinks the man may have started his day in a suit, but he's down to black socks, slacks, and a white dress shirt rolled up at the sleeves and undone at the collar. He has to stop himself from drooling. He allows himself to take in every detail about the man, so he can think about him later during alone time.
“My apologies for startling you. I heard you out here in the hallway and became concerned,” the stranger explains.
Shit. Dean didn't mean to disturb the residents; he didn't even think about how he might be heard out here. The guy is probably pissed to have his evening disturbed by some blue-collar ragamuffin.
“Sorry about that, I'll keep it down.” Dean smiles big and bright. He's hoping to put the guy at ease, so he won't ask any questions. Dean can feel the eyes of the man scrape across his whole being, and he's certain the guy is picking out details for when he calls in a complaint to his rental office. Great, Dean is going to get an earful for that.
“Would you like to come inside?” The man asks. “I just put stuffed shells in the oven.”
“What?” Dean asks before he even thinks about it.
“I heard you on the phone.” He indicates towards Dean's phone with a hand. “I am offering dinner and somewhere more comfortable to sleep than the floor.”
“And what would I be offerin’?” It wouldn't be the first time Dean has traded access to his body for a hot meal and a place to sleep, but he likes to know what he's getting into.
The man grins at Dean. “Just your company.” A chime goes off somewhere in the man’s apartment, and he turns to walk back inside, but not before he deliberately opens his door wider with a pointed look at Dean.
There is a decision to be made, and it's making Dean’s heart race. He could march into the unknown, or he could just go close the door and brave a night on the floor in the empty apartment, fumes be damned. They might be less dangerous than the Mystery Man. Dean doesn't want to do that. The open door is calling to him like a siren song, even though he can name about four hundred fucked up ways this night could end.
What if Mystery Man is just a nice guy who plans to offer up food and a soft surface for sleeping? What if Dean wants him to demand want more?
Dean walks into Mystery Man's apartment and closes the door behind him. He flicks the deadbolt closed and hopes he didn't just delay himself a few precious seconds in a getaway.
Dean looks around the little hallway he's walked into for any clues about the type of man he'll be spending his night with. This apartment looks like the one Dean has been working on before the renovations. The old, gothic-looking light fixtures are still intact, and the floor is a dark-stained wood that extends into panels that cover the bottom third of the walls. The remaining three-fourths of the walls are covered in a red and gold wallpaper that gets more unsettling the longer Dean looks at it. He looks away.
On Dean's right is an ornate wooden table that holds keys and a bowl for loose change. Next to it is a coat rack where a tan trench coat hangs beside a plain black Patagonia sweater. On Dean's left, there is a series of pictures of different landscapes. Dean walks over to more closely examine the pictures.
“Do you like them?” Mystery Man asks, suddenly beside Dean.
“Shit! Someone should put a bell on you!” Dean jumps back from the man, then curses himself for being rude. “Yeah, they're great! Where did you get them?” He adds in an attempt to smooth things over.
Mystery Man looks down the hall where he just came from, then back to Dean with an amused glint in his eye. “I shall take to announcing my presence.” He reaches out and straightens an already straight photo of a dune at sunset. “And thank you. I took all the photos myself.” The man taps the corner of a photo where a little name is printed: Castiel’s Creations.
“Wait. You're named after the Angel of Thursday?” Dean asks.
“How would you know a thing like that?” The appraising look Castiel gives Dean makes Dean flush.
“My brother goes to the college up the road. He was taking this theology class and asked me to quiz him with flash cards.”
“Ah, with Professor Novak?” Castiel asks.
“How would you know a thing like that?” Dean echoes.
“I am Professor Novak.” Castiel smiles at him. “And now, you know my first and last name, and I have yet to be given one of yours.” He prompts.
Dean could laugh at himself for getting all Hot For Teacher… er, Professor, but there's a crackling energy in the air he's struggling to define. He hasn't been in school for a long time - he ended up doing the GED path because it was easier to do while working - but he feels drawn to some inherent authority the title of “Professor” gives Castiel. He thinks about lying about his name, even if just to save Sam some embarrassment, but, unlike with cops, Dean finds that thought uncomfortable.
“Dean Winchester.” Dean almost sticks out his hand to shake, but decides at the last second that it would be weird.
“Thank God. I was worried you would be related to one of the awful ones and I'd have to pretend not to hate them.”
Dean laughs at Castiel’s deadpan delivery and feels a swell of pride that his baby brother isn't one of the “awful ones.”
“Yeah, Sam’s a good kid. Always has been.” Dean can't stop staring at Castiel. He feels a little less like he's going to be brutalized in some way now, even though he can hear Charlie’s voice in his head, reminding him that most people are hurt by the people closest to them. Castiel isn't that close.
“I can believe that.” Castiel nods. “What I cannot believe is that we are still in the entryway. Please remove your shoes and join me in the kitchen.” He turns to walk further back into the apartment.
Dean thinks about how it would really suck to have to run out into the snow without his boots on, before he chastises himself. Castiel is a Theology professor who doesn't wear shoes in his apartment and takes pretty pictures of places he has been. He also looks at Dean like he wants to devour him, so Dean tucks the laces in his boots in case he needs to slip them on quickly and bolt. He nods down at his boots, then heads in the same direction Castiel went.
The apartment is a mirror of the one he was working on, so it's a little disorienting when Dean comes out of the hallway and into the apartment proper. The various plants that seem to cover every available surface don't help. Dean eventually gets his bearings and navigates his way to the dark, gothy-looking kitchen where Castiel is slicing cucumbers for a large salad sitting next to him in a glass bowl on the counter.
Dean can't stop staring at Castiel's hands and the way he wields the knife.
“You're free to sit down at the counter, if you'd like.” Castiel indicates with the knife towards the black granite-topped counter unnecessarily. “Would you like a glass of wine?”
Dean walks over and pulls out one of the black chairs and slides onto it while he thinks about Castiel's question. He isn't cultured enough to know anything about wine, and while that usually doesn't bother him, it feels embarrassing now. He's also not sure that he should be drinking, even though he's dying for something to soothe his nerves. It's just one glass of wine, right?
“Would you be upset if I don't like it?” Dean sounds more nervous than he'd like.
“Of course not.” Castiel looks at him curiously before he dumps the cucumber into the salad, then the dishes into the sink. He dries his hands off with a towel on the counter. “I'll be right back.” Castiel walks out of the room.
Dean takes the time to look closer at the apartment. Aside from the pictures in the hall and the plants everywhere, there doesn't seem to be a lot of personal touches. Maybe the old, solid, wing-backed furniture is actually a personal touch that Castiel bought to fit the vibe of the apartment, now that Dean thinks about it. He had originally just assumed it came with the place.
Everything in the apartment is neat and tidy. There isn't even dust on the windowsill! Dean wonders if Castiel does all the cleaning himself or if he has a service come in to do it for him. What must they think about this place? What does Dean think of it? It seems to fit Castiel, who Dean would suspect of being a vampire if those things existed. As it stands, Dean wonders if perhaps there are old middle school photos of Castiel in eyeliner.
“I am entering the room,” Castiel announces as he walks in with a bottle of wine in his hand.
Dean laughs. Castiel did say he was going to start announcing himself. “Thanks. I don't think I could handle another jump scare.”
It's Castiel's turn to laugh as he sets the bottle down and pulls out the wine opener, then two glasses. “I brought out a Chianti for you to try. It is a classic pairing with marinara-based dishes.” Castiel uses the wine opener to pop open the cork.
“Oh, Hannibal Lecter mentions that one,” Dean says excitedly.
“He was the cannibal, correct? You'll have to forgive me, my pop-culture knowledge is next to nil.” Castiel pours a small puddle of wine into a glass, then comes around the counter to stand next to Dean.
“Yeah, he was the cannibal.” Dean is a tall guy, so he doesn't often have to look up at someone. He only has to do so now because he's sitting and Castiel is standing, but it still feels vastly different than towering over someone or standing eye to eye.
Before Dean can reach out for the glass, Castiel brings his empty hand up, slowly, deliberately, to cradle the side of Dean's face. Anxiety spikes in Dean even as his dick fattens up in his underwear. This is it. What sort of fucked up stuff is this rich weirdo gonna be into? Dean snaps his eyes to Castiel's, and the intense blue gaze lights a firestorm in his lower belly. Dean isn't surprised when the wine glass reaches his lips; he'd been following it in his periphery, so he doesn't hesitate to tip his head back and part his lips to accept the wine.
Castiel smiles at Dean as he tilts the wine glass so the lightly chilled, red liquid pours into Dean's mouth. Castiel only breaks their eye contact once to glance down at the wine flowing past Dean's lips, before he goes back to staring at Dean's soul through his irises.
By the time Castiel removes the empty glass, Dean is turned on enough that he has to regulate his breathing so he doesn't pant like a dog.
“Did you like that?” Castiel asks, voice more gravelly than before, as he strokes Dean’s cheek with his thumb.
“Yes.” Dean didn't taste a single drop of that wine because he was too busy using every one of his senses to pay attention to Castiel. He hopes Castiel was mostly asking about the action.
“Very good. Would you like your own glass?” Castiel asks as he pulls away and walks back over to the bottle of wine.
Dean feels bereft. He already misses the feeling of being studied like a bug pinned on a spreading board. “Yes.” Dean really hopes that more wine means Castiel will do that again.
What even was that? Was it a test? Did Dean pass?
Castiel pours Dean half a glass of wine, which he places in front of Dean, much to Dean's disappointment. Castiel then pours his own full glass before stopping the wine and putting away the opener. The same chime from earlier goes off, and Castiel reaches over to tap a button on his oven. He opens the oven, grabs two black pot holders from where they hang on the side of his stainless steel fridge, then reaches in with the pot holders to pull out a white ceramic baking dish.
Dean forgot that he was hungry earlier; there's been a lot going on, but the sight and smell of the shells bring the feeling back full force. Suddenly, he's ravenous. It's almost enough for him to forget how aroused he just was, but not quite. “Man, that looks awesome.”
“Thank you. I hope it will also taste awesome.” Castiel busies himself with collecting a spoon and pulling down a plate. Just one.
Dean is confused. Didn't Castiel say he was offering dinner? Is Castiel just going to eat while Dean watches? That feels a little rude, but then again, he wasn't exactly expecting company. Castiel is already doing more than is necessary. Dean focuses on Castiel's hands as he goes about piling the plate with food.
“I want you to know that you can refuse me at any time,” Castiel explains as he walks back over to stand where he gave Dean the wine and places the food on the counter.
“Okay.” Dean doesn't know what else to say, and Castiel is back in his orbit, throwing off all his senses.
Castiel brings a hand up to cradle Dean's face as he did earlier. “You will always have the option of eating your dinner and sleeping on the couch.”
“Thank you,” Dean answers automatically as Castiel reaches over to cut, then scoop a bit of stuffed shell onto the spoon.
Castiel brings the food up to Dean’s mouth and smiles when Dean automatically opens it. “It's hot, Honey. Blow on it first.”
The wine scrambled Dean. This blows him apart. Being fed like this? Fucking Honey? What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck? He manages to shove a few scraps of his remaining mind back together to purse his lips and gently blow on the food.
“Very good.” Castiel praises, and Dean has to go through the whole process of gathering and then smashing parts of his mind back together again.
When Castiel has determined the food is cool enough, he moves the spoon closer to Dean's lips. Like before, Dean eagerly opens his mouth to accept the food. Castiel makes a pleased noise when Dean closes his lips around the spoon.
“There we go,” Castiel says in that same praising tone as he removes the cleared utensil from between Dean's lips.
Dean is so aroused that he feels almost dizzy with it. He watches as Castiel scoops up more food, but instead of bringing it to Dean's lips, he brings it to his own. Dean clamps down on a moan as he watches Castiel blow on the food, then take it into his mouth from the same spoon Dean used. Maybe he should find that gross, but he doesn't. Instead, he finds it highly arousing. He reasons there probably isn't any more saliva transfer than with a kiss. Fuck. Is he gonna get to kiss Castiel?
More food is placed in front of Dean's lips, and he blows on it automatically as he spirals about what other things Castiel might have in store for him. He actually tastes what's put in his mouth this time, and it is as awesome as it looks.
“Thank you. It's delicious,” Dean says after he swallows his second bite.
“So polite.” Castiel gently sweeps his thumb across Dean's cheek, where he's still cradling Dean’s face. “I'm pleased that you like it.” Castiel takes his own bite, but he doesn't savor it. “Would you like more wine?”
“Yes, please,” Dean says eagerly.
Castiel beams down at him, places the spoon on the plate, then picks up Dean’s half-full wine glass. Like before, he brings the glass to Dean’s lips and locks blue eyes with green. Castiel tilts the glass so Dean can take a sip.
Dean swallows the wine he's given, and Castiel places the glass down before picking the spoon back up. Dean doesn't know what the fuck is going on here, but he does know that he likes it. Still, there is a siren going off in the back of his mind that tells him this could be dangerous. What other kind of strange shit is Castiel into? Sure, he said Dean can say “no,” and it would all be okay, but Dean knows that sometimes people just say that shit.
“How are you feeling?” Castiel asks before Dean's third bite.
“Good.” Turned on. But Dean doesn't want to go into that. “Thank you,” he adds, because it feels right.
“Would you like to continue?” Castiel asks even as he brings the next bite up to Dean’s face for him to blow on.
“Yes, please,” Dean says emphatically. He didn't mean to be so eager about it.
Castiel chuckles. “Perfect. Open up, Honey.”
They finish out the whole meal with Castiel cradling Dean’s face, feeding them both, and providing sips of wine. By the time the plate is cleared, Dean is feeling satiated, floaty, and hard as a rock.
Dean still has manners, so when Castiel moves into the kitchen to put the food away, Dean hops off his chair and walks over to the sink. He turns the tap on hot and is surprised to find that he doesn't have to wait through three minutes of tepid water to get to a proper dishwashing temperature.
“What are you doing?” Castiel asks.
“The dishes. The cook doesn't clean.” Dean plugs the sink.
Castiel molds himself to Dean’s back and reaches forward to turn off the tap. He puts his lips to Dean's ear. “I have a dishwasher.”
The phrase itself isn't particularly sexy, though Dean hates dishes; it's the proximity and the pitch of Castiel’s voice that makes Dean shiver.
Castiel tilts to the side and opens the dishwasher, then returns to put his lips to Dean's ear again. “Pick up the spatula, rinse it off, then place it on the top rack.”
Dean sucks in a breath. “Okay,” Dean says and reaches for the spatula.
“I would prefer ‘yes, Castiel' for this part.”
“Yes, Castiel,” Dean repeats, and is surprised when it doesn't come out as a moan. He follows Castiel’s instructions and thinks about how fucking weird it is that he's getting off on loading a dishwasher.
“Would you allow me to run you a bath?” Castiel asks after the dishes are taken care of.
“Yes, Castiel,” Dean answers. He has an inkling that Castiel will be joining him for that bath, and he couldn't be happier about it. Whatever this thing is that Castiel has going on, Dean is more than into it.
Castiel pulls away, and Dean lets out a small noise of protest.
“It's just for a moment, Honey,” Cas assures as he takes Dean's hand. He leads Dean through the apartment towards a closed door.
Dean starts surveying Castiel's bedroom the moment the door is opened. He was hoping for a wackier wallpaper, but it looks more like the black and muted gray from the kitchen. Castiel's bed surprises Dean because the color scheme isn't red or black - it's white sheets under a forest green duvet set in a dark, ornate four-poster frame. Dean could ask Castiel about his choice in decorations and home design, but he likes the mystery of it.
The en suite Dean is led into doesn't disappoint on the theming - it's all white, black, and gray with gold hardware.
“What happens if you refuse me?” Castiel asks as he turns around to look Dean in the eyes.
“What?”
“I went over this earlier.” Castiel reminds him.
Dean thinks back. “Uhh, I'll sleep on the couch?”
“Very good,” Castiel praises.
Warmth floods through Dean at the tone as Castiel turns to plug the drain and run the tap of the obscenely large, black, clawfoot tub.
Castiel turns back around and begins undressing. Dean's heart hammers in his chest as he reaches for his shirt, too.
“Please, allow me.” Castiel nods towards Dean’s hands as he removes his own button-up shirt.
Dean drops his hands and focuses on Castiel disrobing. He zeroes in on every single detail of Castiel’s skin as it is revealed to him. Dean is pretty sure this is a one-night-only exclusive because he was in the right place at the right time, and he wants to be able to revisit these memories in high definition. His whole body jolts with arousal when Castiel's cock is finally bared. It's long and thick, well on its way to being fully hard, and the perfect shade of pink. Dean lets out an embarrassing noise at the thought of it being inside of him in any capacity.
Castiel smiles at him and steps forward to remove Dean's clothes. Castiel is handsy as he gets Dean naked, caressing and stroking across Dean's skin like he's mapping out all the best spots to drive Dean insane.
Dean’s cock is practically leaking by the time Castiel gets him completely undressed. He feels like he was caught up in Castiel's movements for hours, but when he looks over at the bath to make sure it hasn't run over, it's only half full. He watches Castiel move to turn off the water, then step into the bath before sitting down.
“Come here, Dean,” Castiel commands.
Dean is quick to obey. In no time, he's settling between Castiel's thighs in the bath. Almost immediately, Castiel snakes an arm around Dean, hand resting just below his collar bones, and pulls him back to his chest. Dean wiggles until he's comfortable.
“There you go, relax.” Castiel pets Dean's chest with gentle fingertips that start out soothing, but then move dangerously close to Dean's nipples.
It's difficult for Dean to relax when he can feel Castiel's hard cock against his lower back, and he's all keyed up in anticipation of nipple stimulation.
Castiel kisses Dean’s shoulder, and Dean realizes that they haven't actually kissed yet. Dean doesn't hold on to the thought for long because Castiel moves his kisses up Dean's neck at the same time that he finally grazes one of Dean's nipples.
Dean’s moan is so loud that it startles him.
“Oh, Honey.” Castiel pulls back from Dean's chest and ignores Dean’s indignant protest. He grabs Dean's arm and maneuvers it up and back so Dean can place his palm against the back of Castiel's neck. Castiel brings his other hand up to mirror the motion on Dean's other side. Once Dean’s arms are out of the way and his chest is beautifully on display, Castiel goes back to teasing Dean like he did before, this time adding his other hand.
Dean gasps when Castiel's index finger almost strokes across his nipple. He isn't usually so sensitive, but it's not surprising with how long he's been turned on by Castiel's hospitality.
“Castiel,” Dean whines. After that feels like years of anticipation.
“Hmm?” Castiel asks from where he's nipping at Dean's shoulder.
“Please? More?” Dean begs. He can be embarrassed about how early he caved later, right now, he feels like he's going insane.
Without preamble, Castiel strokes his thumbs across Dean’s nipples at the same time. Dean grunts and fucks his hips up into nothing, his cock beaching the water.
“Is that what you wanted, Dean?” Castiel asks lowly in Dean’s ear.
“Yes, Castiel, thank you,” Dean pants.
“You are extraordinary.”
Before Dean can respond to Castiel's compliment, Castiel strokes his thumbs across Dean's nipples again. This time, he doesn't stop at one swipe; he starts an up-and-down slide meant to drive Dean insane.
It works.
“Castiel!” Dean moans. He doesn't know what Castiel did to him, but it's like there's a direct line from Dean’s nipples down to his cock. Each swipe of Castiel's thumbs has Dean throbbing.
About the time that Dean starts to wonder how long Castiel will keep this up, Castiel changes to lightly pinching Dean’s nipples intermittently instead of just rubbing them. Dean almost shouts at the first pinch. It's so good, but it also kind of feels like touching a live wire. He's consistently fucking up through the water and into the air now. He alternates pushing his chest into Castiel's hands and trying to pull it away.
Castiel is relentless. Until he isn't. Suddenly, Castiel removes his fingers from Dean's nipples, which causes Dean to let out a pathetic sound.
Castiel slaps Dean's nipples.
A silent scream tears out of Dean as his hips jerk up sharply. Castiel begins peppering Dean's nipples with rapid little slaps.
Dean screams audibly now.
Castiel goes back to rubbing Dean again. Dean's nipples are sore, but the pain zings right down to his cock. He's so fucking close. He removes his hand from where it rests on Castiel's neck to stroke himself, far too turned on to question the motion.
“No,” Castiel says sternly.
Dean returns his hand immediately as the reprimand lights up his whole body with the kind of shame that makes his cock leak. He whines and shoves his hips up through the water again.
Dean feels a familiar tightening in his balls as Castiel switches back over to slapping his nipples, a little harder this time. “Castiel! I'm gonna…”
Dean fucks his hips up as he comes hard enough to see stars. His cock twitches and jerks, half out of the water, shooting come nearly to his neck.
“You were perfect, Dean. So good for me,” Castiel praises in Dean's ear.
Dean pants like a racehorse and shivers through his comedown. He cannot fucking believe he just came from having his nipples played with. He thought that was a porno myth!
After several minutes of settling, exhaustion rolls through Dean, and he thinks he might fall asleep in the tub. He's so relaxed after his orgasm, but then Castiel swipes a wet thumb across one of his sensitive, sore nipples. He looks down and whines.
Castiel has taken to rubbing his come into Dean’s abused buds. Dean thinks he might pass out.
“Castiel,” Dean groans. His nipples sting, but it feels so fucking good that his cock is trying to get hard again.
“Shhhh.” Castiel stops his movements on Dean. He changes to cupping water and depositing it on Dean's chest, rinsing the come off.
“What about you?” Dean slurs. He can still feel Castiel’s erection on his lower back.
“We'll take care of that in bed,” Castiel assures. “Can you stand?”
“Yeah,” Dean says, then does. It's harder than he thought it would be. That orgasm wiped him out. He hopes whatever Castiel has in store for him isn't too strenuous.
Castiel stands, removes the plug for the drain with his toe, helps Dean out of the tub and onto the plush bath mat, then steps out himself to grab a fluffy white towel from a cupboard.
Dean reaches out for the towel, but Castiel doesn't let him take it; instead, he moves in close to dry Dean off himself. Dean blushes, which he thinks is stupid after all that Castiel has done to him, but this feels softer somehow. He watches Castiel dry himself, much quicker than he dried Dean.
Castiel turns away from Dean to drop the towel in the hamper and grab something gray and fuzzy from the cupboard. He unrolls it to reveal that it's a robe, which he holds up for Dean to shrug into.
Dean turns so that Castiel can put the robe on him. The material feels warm and cozy on Dean’s skin. Before Dean can reach down to tie the robe closed, Castiel circles his arms around Dean to tie it for him.
Dean turns around to find Castiel shrugging on his own robe, but he doesn't bother to tie it closed. Dean stares as much as he can at Castiel's drool-worthy body before Castiel pushes Dean out the door. The closer Dean gets to the bed, the more tired he feels. He wants to get Castiel off, and he's certain it will be hot, but he's had a long day and one of the strongest orgasms he's ever experienced. He climbs into bed when Castiel turns the covers down and tries to mentally jolt himself awake.
Maybe he should tell Castiel he's too tired right now? What if Castiel reacts poorly? He's done so much for Dean tonight, he might feel like Dean led him on. Dean mulls over whether it would be worth it to say “no” as Castiel poses them. Dean ends up with his head on Castiel's chest while Castiel is sprawled out on his back. There's an arm wrapped securely around Dean’s back, and the opposite hand uses a phone to turn off the light from the bathroom.
“Good night, Dean,” Castiel says into the dark, then kisses Dean's forehead.
“Wait, what?” Dean asks. “What about you?” He tries to sit up, but the arm at his back squeezes him tight.
“You're very tired, Honey. Get some sleep.”
“M’sorry,” Dean slurs, well on his way to following Castiel's order.
“I'm not,” Castiel assures and kisses Dean's forehead again.
Dean falls asleep.
The smell of sausage wakes Dean up. He's disoriented for a moment by the strange surroundings, but he quickly remembers himself when he shifts and the material of the robe slides across his sensitive nipples. Memories of last night flood his brain as his dick fattens up. He groans and rolls out of bed, eager to be in Castiel's presence again.
Dean catches sight of his phone plugged in on the nightstand. Castiel must have plugged it in when he woke up this morning. Dean checks his messages as he walks to the bathroom to do his business and finds one from Bobby telling him the snowplow drivers went on strike and that if he or Sam needs a rescue, to call. Dean does not call for a rescue. He fires off a message thanking Bobby for the offer. No message from Sam, yet. He texts Sam that he made it through the night with the help of a hookup in the building.
Dean sets his phone down on the counter and finds an unopened toothbrush. He feels a warm tingle at the sight. It's something simple, maybe a freebie Castiel had from his last dentist appointment or something, but the care it took to dig it out and have it waiting for Dean is a lot to take in. He's usually the one who thinks about little stuff like that for everyone. He uses the toilet, boner killed by thinking about Bobby earlier, then brushes his teeth before heading out towards the scent of sausage.
“Good morning, Dean,” Castiel greets and reaches up to pull out another mug.
“Good morning,” Dean says brightly. He's happy to find that Castiel also didn't get dressed and is still just in his robe.
“Coffee or tea?” Castiel asks.
“Coffee, please.” Dean sits down in the same chair from last night. “Sorry again about falling asleep…” Embarrassment laces his voice.
“As I said last night: I'm not.” Castiel pours coffee from a fancy silver carafe into the black mug he pulled down for Dean. “You were banging around in that apartment when I left yesterday, and you were still at it when I came home.” He places the mug in front of Dean and turns towards the fridge. “I then fed you a heavy meal, put you in the bath, and provided you with an orgasm. It was more than understandable.” Castiel sets a carton of half-and-half next to Dean's mug.
Dean flushes at the easy way Castiel talks about their night together. There's something about the phrasing that makes Dean's brain melt. He watches Castiel heat tortillas in a pan, pile them high with sausage and eggs, then roll them into perfect breakfast burritos.
“I hope this is okay,” Castiel says as he sets a plate with two burritos in front of Dean.
Dean comes back to himself at Castiel's words. “More than. It smells delicious.” He takes a tentative sip of his coffee. He appreciates that Castiel set out cream, but he's a black coffee kind of guy if he can't have one of those overly sweet carmelicious monstrosities he gets when he visits Sam on campus. When the coffee doesn't burn his mouth, he takes a big gulp, then sets the mug down.
“Thank you.” Castiel takes a bite of his own burrito as he stands over the counter.
Dean makes a mournful sound before he has the chance to think about it.
“What is it, Honey?” Castiel asks with a smile that says he knows.
“Why, uh…” Dean doesn't know how to finish the statement. He knows the words - “Why are you not feeding me this time?” - But he doesn't know how to make himself ask something like that.
“How did you feel after I fed you last night?” Castiel asks.
“Good, uh, syrupy.” Dean feels his ears get hot and his dick throbs.
“How responsible would it be if I sent you off in that state?”
“Oh, uh, about that. The plow drivers all went on strike, so I've got time.” Even if he calls Bobby, it will be a while. “But I'll get out of your hair if you want, I didn't mean to imply you had to let me stay, and….”
“Dean,” Castiel sounds both stern and kind. He walks over to stand where he stood last night, next to Dean's chair. “I would very much like it if you stayed here with me.”
Dean looks up at Castiel, eager and wanting. “Thank you.” He shivers when Castiel cradles his face like he did last night. Dean takes in every single detail as Castiel reaches over to pick up the burrito and bring it up to Dean's lips. Dean moans as he takes a bite. Getting fed like this feels even better now than it did last night, and the food is divine.
Dean should maybe examine these new things he's learning about himself courtesy of Castiel, but he's not going to do that. At least not anytime soon. They're both enjoying themselves, and he no longer feels like he's on the cusp of danger. That's good enough for now.
Castiel is being as slow and methodical as he was last night. The feeling of being spread out and examined is back, and Dean revels in it as he eats the breakfast being fed to him.
It's relaxing for Dean, having someone else call the shots for once. He picked up the heavy uranium ore of hyper responsibility when his parents died all those years ago, and he's never been able to put it down. Until now. Dean wonders what it would be like to live all his days like this. Would it always feel this good, or would he get bored?
Castiel feeds Dean his last bite, then unceremoniously shoves his final portion into his own mouth. He walks back into the kitchen and quickly loads the dishwasher before turning it on.
“I was gonna do that,” Dean points at the dishes.
“Were you eager to do the dishes, or eager for me to guide you through them again?” Castiel asks with a grin.
“Hey! I wanted to do my fair share and get you all up in my business. It would have been a win-win.” Dean sputters as a blush creeps up the back of his neck.
“I have better instructions for you to follow,” Castiel says heatedly as he walks back over to Dean and offers his hand to help Dean off the chair.
Dean very much likes the sound of that. He takes Castiel's hand and allows himself to be led through the apartment. Dean can feel the first zing of arousal under his skin as he walks through the doorway of Castiel’s bedroom.
“Take your phone out of your pocket and place it on the nightstand,” Castiel orders as he opens the heavy, thick curtain to bring in some light.
Dean follows the order and thinks about how he probably would have forgotten that step. He doesn't take off his robe. Castiel hasn't told him to do that yet. He watches Castiel move over to the bed and pile the pillows at a slope. Dean thinks of all the wonderful positions he and Castiel get into using pillow configuration.
“Remove your robe and lie back against the pillows. Get comfortable.” Castiel sits at the foot of the bed.
The near-clinical nature of Castiel's command makes Dean shiver - he usually does this part after frantic touches and messy kisses. Dean shrugs out of the robe in what he hopes is a sexy way. He hands Castiel the robe when he holds his hand out for it, then climbs onto the bed and mashes himself into the pillows.
“Are you comfortable?” Castiel asks just after Dean goes still.
“Yes, Castiel.” Dean remembers how Castiel had him switch over when he walked Dean through loading the dishwasher.
“Oooh, Clever Boy,” Castiel praises.
Pride and arousal flood Dean's system, causing him to moan while his cock jerks and fully fattens up.
“Touch your chest for me, Dean.” Castiel urges.
Dean's heart rate kicks up when he realizes he's going to be putting on a show. “Yes, Catstiel.” He moves his hands to his chest and begins to caress the area around his collar bones.
“Very good,” Castiel says as he crawls further up the bed and turns around to sit right at Dean's feet.
Dean accidentally grazes a nipple and hisses from how sensitive it is. He rolls his hips up, fucking into the air.
“Are your nipples sore?” Castiel asks.
“Yes, Castiel.”
“Poor baby,” Castiel says faux sympathetically. “Pinch them for me.”
Dean moans just from the order alone. The anticipation of touching his nipples is enough to make his cock throb. He circles the area around his nipples for a moment before he gently pinches the overly sensitive buds. The pleasure is intense and overwhelming. Dean throws his head back and lets out a silent scream as he thrusts his hips up again.
“So good for me, Dean.” Castiel opens his robe and brings his hand over to wrap around his hard cock. He hisses as he takes hold, then looks up at Dean. “Again.”
Dean pants and whines as he prepares himself for the onslaught of pleasure. He watches as Castiel starts to jerk himself off and wonders if he's going to have another orgasm without touching his own dick. Dean pinches his nipples and makes a pathetic sound.
“Perfect, Dean, perfect,” Castiel’s voice is grittier than it was before. “Spread your legs, Honey, let me see.”
Dean groans and obeys. “Yes, Castiel.” His voice is trembling. Castiel's intense gaze is a spotlight shining on all the parts of Dean he keeps hidden in dim rooms. Dean feels like he's been put under a microscope, and it surprises him how much he likes it.
“Keep one hand on your chest and move the other down to wrap around your cock,” Castiel demands gruffly.
“Yes, Castiel.” Dean has his hand around himself before he's even finished speaking. He stops himself from stroking. “May I move my hand?”
Castiel groans loudly and throws his head back, his hand stilling on his own cock. “You are exquisite,” Castiel praises after a moment. “Yes, baby, you can stroke yourself.” He tilts his head back down to watch Dean. “Tell me before you come.”
“Yes, Castiel,” Dean gasps as he starts to jerk himself off. He matches Castiel's pace when Castiel starts stroking himself again.
“Rub your nipples,” Castiel grunts.
“Yes, Castiel.” Dean feels his cock throb in his hand at the order. He swipes a thumb across a nipple and moans. He slides his thumb over his abused peak a couple more times before switching over to his other nipple.
“Castiel, I'm close,” Dean informs him.
“Good boy!” Castiel groans. “Stop stroking and flip over and onto your knees.”
Dean almost comes immediately after Castiel calls him a good boy. "Yes, Castiel." On shaky limbs, Dean rolls himself onto his hands and knees with Herculean effort.
“Drop down to your chest, reach back, and pull yourself open for me. I want to see your pretty hole,” Castiel orders.
Dean moans loud and long. He's already flushed from arousal, but he can still feel a blush roll across his cheeks. What if his hole isn't pretty?
“Yes, Castiel.” Dean barely gets out as he follows the order. He's flooded with… shame? Embarrassment? Whatever it is, it makes his cock leak.
“That's it, pretty baby. So good. So good.” Castiel grits out.
Dean doesn't know how long Castiel stares at his exposed hole, and he doesn't care because Castiel keeps growling out praises about how petty Dean is like this, and it makes him shiver.
“On your back again, Honey. Stroke your cock, I want to watch you come all over yourself,” Castiel sounds wrecked.
“Yes, Castiel.” Dean's a little disappointed Castiel won't be fucking him, but it's quickly drowned out by all the pleasure sloshing around in his system.
Dean flips over and immediately starts stroking himself. He won't last long, especially now that he’s looking at a fucked out Castiel furiously jerking himself off. Dean moans and forces himself to keep his eyes open.
“Come on, Honey, let go. Let me see you come.” Castiel coaxes. He sits up on his knees, moves to tower over Dean, and braces a hand on the headboard, all with his hand still flying across his cock.
“Yes, Cas…” Dean's orgasm hits him like a train - his brain melts as his body locks up except where his cock is shooting come across his chest and stomach.
“Yeah, that's it. So good, so good,” Castiel groans.
Dean shivers and makes pathetic little sounds as his orgasm ebbs away. He opens his eyes just in time to see Castiel reach his own peak, cock aimed to add more to the mess streaked across Dean. Castiel is loud and lively in his comedown, grunting and shivering as he milks the last of his orgasm from himself.
There's a quiet moment where they just pant and look at each other before Castiel tilts to the side to grab some black fancy box, then shimmies down to lie next to Dean. Before Dean can ask about what's in the box, Castiel pops open the lid to reveal wet wipes.
“Allow me?” Castiel asks, and Dean nods.
Dean's a little annoyed that Castiel is less affected than he is. He'll have to figure out what really blows Castiel apart. If Castiel wants more than just one day, that is. Dean is pretty sure he can convince him.
Dean watches Castiel clean the considerable amount of come that he's covered in and takes note of how much Castiel seems to like it. There are a lot of questions Dean could ask about this encounter, but he's too fucked out to really put them into words. He'll ask later when reality is less nebulous.
Castiel finishes cleaning Dean off, then throws the used wipes away before returning the box to the nightstand. Castiel turns back to Dean and cuddles up to his side. “Thank you,” he whispers.
“Thank me? That was so good, I feel like I should have to pay you."
Castiel laughs. *
About the time that Dean has regained his faculties enough to start asking questions about what just happened, his phone rings. Dean snatches his phone off the nightstand and answers immediately. Usually, a phone call is serious.
“Hey! What the heck is your car doing at The Ritz?” Bobby asks. From the sound quality, he's in his truck and definitely on speakerphone.
“Uhhh, got stuck here in the snowstorm, decided to stay with a friend.” Dean flinches. He doesn't know if saying that is going to upset Castiel, so he doesn't look over at him.
“Ah, well, came for a Roadside Rescue, but they cancelled it. Probably decided it wasn't worth it after all. I got the flatbed, and she's gettin’ along just fine. We could dig out that car of yours and get her inside.” Bobby shouts into the phone.
Dean doesn't want to leave, but he knows getting Baby out of the snow is a good idea, Sam might need him for something back at the apartment, and it's probably best not to overstay his welcome here, anyway.
“Yeah, okay, I'll be down in a few minutes,” Dean says reluctantly.
“Take your time, I'll be waitn’.” Bobby hangs up.
“You have to go,” Castiel states, and Dean can't figure out the tone.
“Yeah, my uncle's gonna help me dig out my car and put her in my garage. She's a classic, a ‘67 Impala I inherited…” Dean can't go down that road; it's too painful.
“I have a garage,” Castiel informs Dean.
“What, is it attached to your third-story window?” Dean jokes because he realizes that Castiel is fishing for a reason for him to stay, and that feels huge. They just met. Wouldn't staying be crazy? Dean also has to check on his little brother… who is in college now, and totally able to take care of himself.
“No, it's in the parking lot. It is assigned by number. It contains my grandmother’s Lincoln Continental. I don't know why she paid extra for the garage; the car is in abysmal repair.” Castiel explains. “We could take out the Lincoln and replace it with your Impala.”
“Won't your grandma be mad?” Dean's stomach is doing flips.
“You are not the only one who inherited your car.” Castiel sounds sad.
“Sorry for your loss,” Dean says, because his good ole boy manners kick in when he doesn't know what else to say.
“And I'm sorry for yours,” Castiel says.
“I wanna stay,” Dean blurts because he can't hold it in anymore.
Castiel beams, big and bright. “Great! I'll come down with you.” Castiel jumps up and walks over to his dresser, unselfconscious about his beautiful naked body.
“Are you out?” Castiel asks as he pulls clothes out of his dresser.
“Out of what?” Dean asks as he rummages around on the floor for his clothes from yesterday.
“The closet,” Castiel says as he pulls on a pair of black boxer briefs. “I want to know how careful I need to be around your uncle.”
Dean shrugs on his flannel. “Bobby’s cool. He was the first person I ever told I didn't just like women.” It's so easy to talk to Castiel as they get dressed. It feels so natural.
“What did he say?” Castiel asks.
“After he laughed at me, he just said, ‘I know.’” Dean grins at the memory while Castiel chuckles.
They finish getting dressed, stop in the hall to put on boots and coats, then make their way outside.
Dean can see that Bobby is talking to someone in the passenger seat of his truck. He assumes it's Rufus or Jodie until Bobby spots him and slides out of the cab of the truck.
Dean catches sight of Sam, whose eyes snap open comically wide.
“You hooked up with Professor Novak?!” Sam asks, strangled.
Oops. Dean forgot that part.
“Good afternoon, Sam,” Castiel greets with a wave, like he didn't hear what Sam said.
“Friend, huh?” Bobby teases as he assesses Castiel.
“Can we just swap the cars, please!?” Dean asks, exasperated by his family.
“You wanna take my truck?” Bobby asks gruffly as he pulls out the supplies they'll need to clear out Dean’s car.
“About that…” Dean explains that he's putting his car in the garage here.
“How long you plannin’ on staying here?” Bobby asks. He's got that old-man “I know something you don't know” glint in his eye.
“Until he kicks me out,” Dean answers honestly as he sweeps snow off the roof of the Impala.
Castiel beams at him again, and Dean's heart flutters.
Bobby looks like he knew that was going to be the answer, which Dean likes for some reason.
Sam mutters, “Oh my God,” under his breath, and walks back over to the cab of Bobby’s truck and obviously pretends to be looking for something.
They get the cars swapped, Castiel wasn't kidding, the Lincoln sucks, and they send Bobby and Sam back out on the road with the promise that they will text when they get back to their respective homes.
“Did you mean what you said about staying until I kick you out?” Castiel asks as they toe off their boots.
“Yeah, probably,” Dean shrugs. There are actual logistics to work out, but Dean doesn't have a lot. It won't take too long to sort, really.
Castiel backs Dean into the wall, caging him in with his own body. “I was trying so hard not to get attached,” Castiel nearly growls as he brings his hand over and swipes a thumb across Dean's bottom lip.
Dean realizes that through all the sexy shit they did together, they never kissed.
“It was a foolish endeavor. Look at you.” Castiel feeds Dean his thumb.
Dean sucks and swirls his tongue around the digit in his mouth. “Too busy looking at you,” he says when Castiel removes his thumb. They gravitate towards one another, slow and steady, each savoring the anticipation.
Their lips lock, and it feels like they were always supposed to end up here, together.