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Like a Virgin

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“I have decided that I would like to experience sexual intercourse,” Cas says, breaking the companionable silence that hangs over the diner booth that he's occupying with Sam and Dean.

“Mm hm sure,” Dean mumbles without even looking up from the newspaper he's reading, and takes a sip of his coffee. If they don't find a way to gank the spirit they're hunting soon, the body count's going to keep going up.

“That's uh... That's great, Cas.” Sam stares out the window beside them at the cars passing by. He's restless, probably because his research has turned up nothing – not even a name or any past suspicious deaths. It isn't like Sammy to come up empty handed.

“Dean,” Cas says irritably, as if he's repeating himself.

“What do you want, Cas?” Dean puts down the newspaper, that Sam immediately snatches. There's another stiff on the front page, the girl they'd spoken to yesterday about the death of her younger sister.

“I have given it a fair amount of thought, and I have decided that I would like you to take my virginity.”

Dean chokes on his coffee, and dumps half the cup down the front of his fed suit. The rest winds up in his lap. Sam barely stifles a fit of laughter, and holds a paper napkin up to his face as he fakes a coughing fit.

“Uh, Cas, I can't do that,” Dean tells him. He's pretty sure his face is an unhealthy shade of red.

“Is this vessel unappealing to you?” Castiel inquires, tilting his head a bit to the right.

“I... I like girls, Cas.”

“Is that really important?”

“Look, I just don't think I could make it a good experience for you,” Dean explains, wishing he could just drop dead on the spot.

“I see. Are you truly sure you can't help with this? I trust you more than anyone, Dean.”

Sam actually gets up and leaves – probably to go outside where Dean either can't hear him laughing his ass off, or to escape the most awkward conversation of the century.

“Let's just torch this poltergeist. We can talk about this later!” Dean replies, uselessly trying to wipe up the puddle of coffee in his lap.

“Very well,” Castiel agrees grudgingly.

They stop back at the motel so Dean can change into clean clothes. He doesn't have another fed suit, so he'll just have to hang back and see what else he can find while Sam does the talking. Castiel had vanished, right in the middle of the diner. It's a miracle no one noticed. To say Dean feels like shit would be an understatement. But what can he do? He isn't gay. He paces restlessly on the street outside the coroner’s office. Sam is certainly taking his time. And why are they even bothering? It's probably exactly the same as the other victims – bruises consistent with being strangled, but no signs of entry into the house or nearby evidence to suggest suicide by hanging. Dean kicks a fire hydrant, and considers bailing with the car to go check out the girl's apartment one more time. Just as he gets in, Sam finally leaves the building.

“Well?” Dean asks as Sam takes his usual spot in the passenger seat.

“Same as the others,” Sam tells him. “It's also the first one to have a connection to any of the previous victims, since her sister was one of the first to die.”

“No one alive has even seen this bitch,” Dean complains.

“I haven't dug up anything either,” Sam agrees. “If it weren't for the EMF readings at the crime scenes, I wouldn't even think it was a spirit. I mean, they're usually stuck in one place. Ghosts don't just hit up everywhere in town.”

“So we've been here almost a week and we've got a fat load of nothing.”

“Yeah, so... What are you gonna do about Cas?”

Dean groans and bashes his head on the steering wheel. “I have no idea.”

“Well, I think you should do it,” Sam says firmly.

“No,” Dean hisses. “That is not up for discussion. We'll find a gay bar somewhere and -”

“Dean, I don't think it's that,” Sam says in that soft tone he uses when he's trying really hard not to piss Dean off, and knows damn well that he's going to. “It's you he wants, and it couldn't have been easy for him to ask.”

“Great. Because that makes it better,” Dean complains, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “That doesn't change the fact that I'm sure I would fuck it up, because I'm not into dudes and I don't know how that works.”

“I don't know, man, just watch some porn or something,” Sam snaps.

“Seriously,” Sam says to Dean, “I'm surprised nothing has happened between you and Cas before now. I mean, I'm not blind; the way you -”

“Shut up, Sam!”

“Just talk to him, at least! I can't believe you don't notice the way you two look at each other.”

Dean throws his shovel on the ground and brushes dirt off his sleeves. “I'm digging up some dead bitch, who might not even be the right dead bitch, and we're talking about this now?”

Sam shrugs and tosses him a canister of salt and a bottle of lighter fluid. Dean catches them, and kicks the broken coffin lid out of his way. They don't know if Mary Townsend is their spook, but she hanged herself at the motel twenty years ago, and that's the only lead they have. Dean hopes they are right, otherwise he'll be pissed that he dug up a body for nothing. What a pain in the ass.

“Hasta la vista, baby.” Dean drops a match in the grave. He shoves his hands in his pockets as he and Sam watch the bones burn.

“So, I rented you a separate room at the motel. I'm pretty sure it's not the one Mary killed herself in.” He holds a key in front of Dean's nose. Dean snatches it and shoves it in his pocket.

“Sweet. Magic fingers and Busty Asian Beauties all night long. You have any quarters?”


“Okay, fine. I'll talk to him. No guarantees though, hell if I know why you want me to bone an angel so badly,” Dean relents.

Back at the motel, Dean practically dives into the shower. If he manages to grow a pair and call Castiel, he definitely doesn't want to do it while covered in grave dirt and smelling like charred corpse. That would just be insulting. Once the water finally runs cold, he crawls out of the shower and puts on a relatively clean black t-shirt and a pair of comfy blue jeans that have seen better days. He runs his fingers through his wet hair and stares at his reflection in the mirror. He recalls Sam's comment about it being him that Castiel wants. Why, though? Maybe it's that 'profound bond' nonsense. And how does he feel about Cas? He's more than a friend; that's a given. Cas is family. Either way, he isn't going to get answers without asking for them – if he even wants them.

“Castiel, come over here. We need to talk.” Dean sits on the edge of the bed, and checks his phone mostly for something to do with his hands.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Hey, Cas.” Dean looks up at Castiel and pats the spot on the bed beside him. “Sit.”

Castiel sits beside Dean and gives him a curious sort of stare. “I should apologize for what I asked of you. If you prefer, we can pretend it never happened.”

“It's okay. I was kind of a dick about it,” Dean tells him. “I've done some thinking and I guess I can try, but only because it's you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Not really.” Dean shrugs. “Tell another soul I said this and I'll never speak to you again, but it scares me a little bit.”

“I have watched you pick up more women than I can imagine, how is this so different? Why does a beautiful, natural act frighten you?” Castiel asks. While the words seem condescending, he knows the angel well enough to know that he's just curious.

“It's different because I have no idea how to do the dirty with a dude, and never wanted to know. But, it's you and I care about you, ” Dean t ells him, kind of wishing he could just die. He'd rather go dig up another grave than have this conversation. “ You deserve better than that for your first time.”

“I have done a bit of research, and I am fairly confident in my understanding of the logistics,” Castiel says, giving him a sideways sort of glance.

“...Okay,” Dean says, trying not to imagine Castiel sitting in a library somewhere reading the gay Kama Sutra. Is that a thing? Probably. “Just... Is Jimmy still in there?”

“No. Jimmy is in heaven.”

“Sure, so, let's make this happen,” Dean says, hoping he doesn't sound like he's too nervous. “Let's start small, though. Take things slowly, because I want to do this right. Have you ever kissed anyone?”

Cas shakes his head.

Well, that Dean can do. “All right, let's go.”

“Go where?” Cas asks as Dean grabs his keys and opens the motel room door.

“The state park nearby, we're gonna sneak in.”

“Why?” Cas presses as they climb into the Impala.

“Do you want to have your first kiss in a cheap motel room, or someplace nice? ...Someplace like the lake shore under the stars, on a warm summer night?” Dean winks and pulls out of the motel parking lot.

“Oh,” Is all Cas says, but Dean sees the soft smile that tugs at his lips.

It doesn't take long to get to the state park; it's just after midnight. They encountered a ranger on the way to the lake, but Cas had the foresight to grab their fake Animal Control badges from Baby's glove compartment. Otherwise, it's a peaceful clear night. As much as the whole nature thing is Sam's happy place, Dean has to admit that he likes it here. The reflection of the stars and dancing fireflies on the calm surface of the lake is beautiful, and he has always liked listening to peeper frogs and bugs at night.

“I like it here; it reminds me of Eden,” Cas says wistfully as he and Dean sit on an old wooden bench near the edge of the lake. “How did you know this place was here?”

“When I was a teenager, my Dad was working a hunt a couple towns over. He dumped Sammy and I here for the day to keep us out of trouble. He didn't think we were ready for vampires quite yet,” Dean recalls fondly. “I got arrested for fishing here without a license. Sam was young enough to get away with it. I had just turned sixteen. Dad was pissed, but it was a good time and the ranger that caught us was pretty chill about the whole thing. So, about that kiss...”

Dean leans in close and brushes his fingertips against Castiel's cheek, finding that he kind of likes the rough feel of his stubble under his touch. After a brief internal struggle, Dean closes the distance between them and places a chaste kiss on his lips. Really, though. What's wrong with him? Why does he feel like some thirteen year old girl that finally got the guts to say something to her middle school crush? It should be easy. Why is he afraid? Sam would never stop laughing at him if he he could see what's going on in his head, and God forbid if he saw that weak excuse for a kiss.

“You are still afraid?” Cas says giving him that weird sort of head tilt and sideways glance – like a puppy.

“I don't know if I would call it that. This whole thing is way outside of my comfort zone, but I'm trying.” Dean sighs and looks up at the stars. Deep down, he knows he's just being a pussy about it. Obviously, it would be different if Cas had a female vessel, but like hell if Dean is going to let him ruin some other poor bastard's family so he can get laid. Then again, if literally anyone other than Cas asked this of him, he would just ditch them at a gay bar somewhere. “Alright, fine. I'm a little scared, I guess. There's not much point in lying to someone who can literally read your mind.”

“No,” Cas agrees with a soft chuckle. “There isn't, but I would never do that without permission. Can we try again?”

“Yeah. Okay.” Dean moves a little closer to Cas so that their thighs are touching, and there is no more space between them on the bench. He closes his eyes and lets Cas pull him into another kiss, a little deeper than the last one. Unconsciously, he lets his hands rest against Castiel's chest and kisses back harder. It's sloppy, considering Cas has even less of an idea of what he was doing than Dean does, but it isn't a bad start.

“What is it that makes you nervous about this?” Cas asks. His tone seems curious, but Dean knows he'll probably piss him off if he says the wrong thing, or the right thing in the wrong way.

“I don't want to talk about it. Just give me time to adjust,” He says, hoping he doesn't make it worse.

“Please tell me,” Cas insists. “I don't want you to do this because you feel that you have to.”

“Damn it, Cas. I just... I want to do it, but I don't know how. I'm not entirely comfortable with the idea of being with a man, but I want to make an exception because it's you. I also want it to be a good experience for you. And I don't know, the way I feel around you – I've never felt this way before. It's confusing,” Dean rambles, looking anywhere but at Cas. “And what about the whole gay thing? I'm pretty sure sodomizing an angel is a one way ticket to Hell.”

“You aren't going to go back to Hell for loving someone, Dean.”

Loving someone? Is that it was – why his heart beats a little faster whenever Cas touches him, or why he can never seem to look away when he speaks? Love isn't something Dean thinks of much. Sex, usually, is more like scratching an itch – just a basic human need. Sure, it had been different with Lisa. But Cas... Cas literally pulled him out of hell, and answers every stupid phone call or prayer, no matter what asinine thing he or Sam want. And how many times has the angel shown up out of thin air to save Dean's ass from some stupid mistake on a hunt? He has taken Cas for granted all that time, he knows that, but there's more to it. Never once has Cas asked for anything in return – until now. Was that what the request was about? Love? Cas probably doesn't know the difference, or acknowledge that there is one.


“Sorry, Cas. I was just thinking... Is this really about sex, or is there something more that you wanted?” The silence that follows makes Dean want to tear his hair out.

After a few moments of nothing but the sound of the night insects, Cas finally answers. “I never expected to become so attached to you. But the more I get to know you, the more I want to know all of you. I suppose I have been among humans so long that I have started to understand emotions on a much deeper level. The one that nags at me the most is fear – fear that I'll lose you somehow.”

“Cas, I worry about you, too.” Dean leans over and places a gentle kiss on Castiel's forehead. “Why don't we -”

Dean pulls his cellphone out of his pocket and glares at it like it has personally offended him. It's Sam calling. That can't be good. Sam was so adamant about him spending alone time with Cas, that there's no way he would have called if it isn't important. Dean shares an apologetic but understanding glance with Cas, but freezes momentarily before he answers the call. How long have they been that way? Able to talk without talking, with just a glance or a gesture? He shakes his head and flips open that week's cheap ass prepaid phone.

“Everything okay, Sammy?”

“Well, you're going to be pissed. We torched the wrong corpse. Want to come pick me up, or do you and Cas want to go check out a crime scene?” Sam asks, sounding genuinely sorry to be bothering them. “I would have just gone but you have the car, so...”

“Yeah, we'll take care of it, where are we going?” Dean replies, equal parts glad to be escaping the never ending chick flick moment, and pissed because holy crap they were actually talking like adults.

 “Well, shit.” Dean kneels down next to the lifeless body of a young woman. “Other than two of the previous victims being sisters, these women have nothing linking them together. There must be something we've missed,” He says to Cas who's petting a little orange tabby cat that's sitting on the dead woman's couch.

Dean grumbles to himself and pulls out his EMF reader. The place is clean, the first floor anyway. Only the woman's body gives a faint reading. He kneels back down and examines the fresh bruises on her neck – the same as the other four victims. It has to be a spirit, but what's it attached to? All the victims died in separate locations, and it isn't like a spirit to travel – unless it has a connection with all five places or victims.

“Thomas saw Harpreet running from a man in a suit. He strangled her with a belt,” Cas says, coming to stand beside Dean.

“Thomas?” Dean asks, frowning. “Is that one of the cops?”

“No, the cat. Animals can see spirits, so I took a look into his memories,” Cas explains as Dean stands and stores the EMF reader in his pocket.

“Huh, that's useful. You're just full of surprises,” Dean replies. “All right, maybe it's some sort of cursed object or a series of them. You look upstairs, I'll take the basement.”

There's nothing in the basement – just ordinary things like the dirty laundry and stacks of old forgotten Christmas decorations. Dean makes a face as his flashlight illuminates a particularly creepy giant plastic angel lawn ornament. What's the connection, though? Other than the victims being female, they have nothing in common – not even their appearance. Actually... None of them were white, Dean realizes. The sisters were black, and were born in Haiti. The other two were Latina, and the most recent one is some sort of middle-eastern descent.

“Great, it's a racist. Like the damn truck,” Dean complains and pulls open a drawer in a dusty old dresser. There's nothing inside, and the EMF is clean for the entire room. He climbs the stairs and goes to find Cas, who is rifling through the woman's closet.

“There does not appear to be anything out of place,” Cas says when he hears Dean behind him.

“No, I think it's a racist, though. All the victims are minorities that weren't born here in the US. I bet if we do some digging on this one, she's an immigrant, too. Man, I can't wait to gank this thing.” Dean quickly takes a look through the dead woman's vanity, and jewelry box. Nothing weird, and no EMF.

“Perhaps that is a lead we could investigate?” Cas suggests as he shuts the closet door behind him. Dean chuckles to himself. “Is something funny?”

“I was going to tell you to come out of the closet, but... Never mind, Cas.” Dean only wants to laugh harder at the confused look on Castiel's face. “Nothing. Let's go back to the motel, see if Sam can find anything about a rash of hate crimes or something.”

Once again, Sam had come up empty handed and they're wasting time at the diner. Dean's theory seems solid, though. The newest victim, Harpreet Singh, was an immigrant – born and raised in India. After her husband's horrific murder, she migrated the US. She worked as a nurse at the local hospital, and was actually a housekeeper for the family that owned the home she was found in. In exchange for her keeping the house in order and watching the kids, they gave her a place to stay free of charge until she got her new life in order.

The story is the same for the others. The Haitian sisters were the starving daughters of a voodoo priest, who sold spells to get enough money to buy them passports and plane tickets to America. One of them was a waitress at the diner, the other was a secretary at the doctor's office. They lived together in a small apartment above the bookstore on the other side of town. The other two women had no relation to each other. One was Colombian, the other from Cuba.

“I don't get it,” Dean complains, picking at his burger. “I mean, how is this thing strangling girls all over town?”

“It has to be cursed objects, or the girls came into contact with it somehow,” Sam explains. “Cas, you know what he looks like, right?”

“Yes, I would recognize his face,” The angel replies, sounding bored.

“Alright, you and Dean hit the library – they have a local history and genealogy department. See if you come across a photo of him. I'll have another look at the places that where the girls died,” Sam suggests.

“Well, ready to hit the books?” Dean says, shooting a Cas sympathetic glance, which he meets with a thoroughly bored expression.

Sitting in the library praying he'll find something useful, is definitely not Dean's thing. He should be out going over what was left of the crime scenes with a fine-tooth comb. This is Sam's scene, and he must have trapped him with Cas to force them to talk. Cas even seems tired, which is saying something because he doesn't need to sleep. Dean loses count of how many random old records and photos they've gone through, and he still has nothing to show for it.

“Wanna grab some dinner?” Dean asks, snapping an old family bible closed and putting it back on the shelf.

Castiel doesn't reply, he seems fixated on the book he's reading.


“The mayor committed suicide in 1925,” He says, and narrows his eyes like he isn't sure what he's reading. “But, he had four gunshot wounds to the head. How could that be that suicide?”

“There a picture of him? Is he our guy?” Cas is right; that sort of thing is never an accident.

“There is no photo, but his name was Richard Giles,” Castiel replies. “This article is very contradictory. It talks about him being a beloved member of the community, and then goes on to say to some townsfolk thought he couldn't be trusted because of rumors that he was a homosexual. Why is that important?”

Dean sighs and opens Sam's laptop to see if he can find any dirt on Richard Giles. “It's not a bad thing, Cas. It's just that the bible says it's taboo, and we're in the wrong neck of the woods to argue against that. Times are changing, but there's still a lot of assholes that hang on to old fashioned notions that can't keep their bullshit out of other people's lives.”

“The bible was written by man,” Cas argues . “Due to man's ignorance, several parts of it are somewhat convoluted and self-contradictory – outright false, even. Much of it is true, but told in a way that twists the reality of the events described.”

“Tell that to someone around here, and we'll get ran out of town if we're not the next dead bodies with four bullet holes in our heads,” Dean replies and turns the laptop to face Cas. “Here's a picture, is this our guy?”

“No,” Cas says, “However, the man standing behind him... That is definitely him.”

“Edward Clark,” Dean reads, “He was a priest at the local church, and get this, he got caught having an affair with Giles' housekeeper. She was Mexican, and an illegal alien. According to the police report, she wanted Clark to marry her so she could have citizenship. When he refused, she exposed their affair to get revenge. Clark lost his priesthood over it. The housekeeper was found strangled to death a few days later, where she was being kept at the mayor's house before she was set to be deported. Clark was supposed to go to trial for her murder, but he committed suicide by shooting himself in the church confessional the morning of the trial.”

“Why did none of Sam's searches yield this information?” Cas asks, reading over Dean's shoulder.

“Because Clark's death wasn't the type of deal Sam was looking for, and the mayor was a gunshot 'suicide'. Neither of them had a previous criminal record, and their deaths don't fit the spirit's MO,” Dean explains. “He just wasn't looking in the right places. I bet it's the church. He's vengeful against immigrants because one ruined him. Well, he ruined himself, whatever. They probably came into contact with the spirit at the church somehow, and that's how he's moving around town. Damn it.”

“Do we burn the body?” Cas asks, moving aside as Dean gets up from his chair.

“Yep. According to the police records, he's buried in the cemetery behind the church. Should be easy enough.” Dean holds the door open for Cas as they leave the library. “Why don't you zap us back to the motel? We can't deal with this until it's dark anyway. Besides, it's Sam's turn to dig up a stiff.”

Back at the motel, Dean flops gracelessly onto the bed. “So... What was this 'research' that you did?”

“About what? The spirit?” Cas asks, doing that silly little head tilt.

“No, Cas... The...” Dean wants to kick something. “About the sex.” Jesus Christ. What is he? Twelve?

“Sam gave me a book. I left it back at Bobby's. I'll be right back,” Castiel answers and vanishes. Before Dean can complain, he flashes back into existence and sits on the edge of Dean's bed. Wordlessly he hands Dean a suspiciously normal looking paperback.

“Oh God damn it,” He groans. “The Gay Kama Sutra. So it is a thing. Why, Sam? Hold on, how long ago did he give you this?” Dean asks, flipping through the pages against his better judgment. His back aches just looking at some of the positions.

“A while ago. I tried to ask him a few questions about the logistics of such relationships, and he brought that to me a few days later,” Cas explains. “It looks... Complicated.”

“Because it is. It's the Kama Sutra, man. It's... Never mind. You know what, we have a few hours. Let's watch some porn,” Dean replies. “I can't believe I'm paying for on-demand gay porn in a shitty motel. What even is my life anymore?”

Cas just shrugs and turns to face the TV as Dean scrolls the options before them. “I don't know. Cas, pick one.” He tosses the remote to Cas and stares at the ceiling that has a few questionable stains on it.

“I do not understand why humans enjoy watching other humans make love. Would they not rather be doing it?” Cas asks, as he flicks through titles in the recently added section.

“Well, some people get off on voyeurism. Some are sad desperate losers who can't get a willing partner, and some of us just want something to watch while we rub one out because we aren't creative enough to fantasize. Fuck, Cas, just click one. I don't even care anymore,” Dean says and props himself up on the pillows.

Cas sighs and clicks play on the next preview. It's kind of creepy, how emotionless he is as he intently watches the video. Dean swallows his pride and watches as well. It could be worse. This one is pretty vanilla, and the actors aren't bad to look at. One is covered in beautiful tattoos of lotus flowers, and the other has pale blond hair and freckles. They both have bodies like Greek gods. The main thing Dean notices, is how gently the tattooed man handles the smaller blond man. Most of the porn he goes for is rough, sweaty and messy. This is different, and well... No girl he has ever watched could give a blow-job as good as the blond man. He can't take his eyes from it, the way his tongue slides along the length of the most perfect cock Dean has ever seen – not that he has seen that many. That, paired with the tattooed man's moans of ecstasy, has Dean harder than a rock.

“I suppose I can see some of the merit in this medium of entertainment,” Cas says thoughtfully. “It is beautiful in a way.”

“I hate that I agree with you,” Dean says in a breathy whisper. His eyes widen as the tattooed man rolls over, pinning the other man to the bed and kissing him like his life depends on it. The video freezes there, and Dean sees that Cas has the remote in his hand – his finger still hovering over the pause button.

“Cas?” Dean whispers.

“You're distracting,” He says, pouting. “I can hardly hear it over you breathing like you've run a marathon.”

“I – uh...”

“What we just watched, I would like to try it. May I?” Cas asks, tossing his trench coat over the back of the chair nearby. “It appears that you might welcome some... assistance.” He unbuttons his cuffs. Dean decides that the way Cas is staring hungrily at him, as he rolls up the sleeves of his undershirt, is officially the sexiest thing he has ever seen.

“Yeah. Okay,” Dean breathes as Cas straddles his hips and kisses him deeply.

Dean's brain completely short-circuits as he melts into the kiss. Cas is a fast learner, that's for sure. He places a trail of soft, feathery kisses across Dean's throat and collar bone. He writhes in Castiel's grip, and gasps he feels teeth graze his nipple. He stops breathing altogether as Cas massages the considerable bulge in his jeans with the palm of his hand.

“Cas, if you... If you don't stop that, I'll...”

“Shh,” Cas whispers as he unbuttons Dean's jeans and slips his hand inside.

“Cas!” Dean sighs with relief when Castiel frees his already leaking cock from the confines of his boxers. He lets out an absolutely filthy moan as Cas swallows him whole without any pretense. His head falls back to the bed and he struggles to remember how to breathe as Cas almost perfectly mimics what they had just watched. How is he so good at it, though? He doesn't even gag. Dean arches his hips involuntarily as Cas drags his teeth gently over the head of his cock. Right. He's an angel. He doesn't need to breathe.

“Holy shit...” Dean mumbles, as Castiel presses his hands firmly against Dean's hips to keep him in place. He grips the edge of the bed so hard he's surprised it doesn't tear. He can't last much longer.

“Cas. I'm going to -! Cas! Oh my God!” The orgasm, when it hits him, is one of the best he's ever had. Dean lays there panting, gasping for breath and shaking like a leaf. When he finally comes down from the high, his head is resting in Castiel's lap as he gently runs his fingers through his hair.

“Was it satisfactory?” Cas asks curiously.

Dean laughs and sits up. “Only you would give someone the best blow job of their life on your first try, then ask if it's 'satisfactory'. Cas, that was awesome.”

“Good, I am glad,” Cas purrs and runs his thumb across Dean's lower lip. “However, please refrain from calling out my father's name during intercourse in the future.”

Dean laughs heartily and ruffles Castiel's hair. “Yeah, okay. Sometimes I forget that 'my God' isn't just an expression for you.” He sits up and kisses Cas slowly, savoring the taste of himself on the angel's lips. “Lay down. I want to try something.”

Cas obeys, watching curiously as Dean lays down beside him. Cas gasps as Dean leans over to unbutton his pants. His angel is harder than a rock, and packing some serious equipment. Dean takes a deep breath as he finds his resolve, and slips his hand inside Castiel's boxers. The angel lets out a soft moan and arches his hips involuntarily, as Dean firmly grips his cock and pulls it free from its confines. He doesn't have a clue what he's doing, Dean has to admit, but he must be doing it right because Cas is coming undone faster than a drunk slut on prom night. It's not that complicated, he thinks. He knows how he likes to be touched, and how he likes to touch himself, so obviously all he has to do is touch Cas the way that he knows feels good. He's trying not to think about it, but he's going to have to do some honest to God research on the actual sex. But this, he can do this.

“Dean...” Cas pants in a needy whisper as the hunter squeezes his dick and drags the pad of his thumb across the slit.

“Relax, Cas.” Dean places a warm kiss against his throat, just below his ear. He loves the all the little noises Cas makes as he strokes him. He's a lot more vocal than Dean expected him to be, considering his usual habit of being somewhat stoic and reserved. He likes it, a lot. It doesn't even feel all that weird – having another dude's cock in his hands. Sure, he knows what women like; it's effortless at this point, but this is... Familiar. He knows exactly how it feels when he slows down his strokes and squeezes the head of Castiel's cock. He's half hard again himself, as he imagines it and Cas mewls like a cat in heat.

“Dean... I can't...” Cas pleads, whimpering desperately as Dean strokes him in a slow, uneven pattern.

He's trying to drag it out, at least a little bit. He knows Cas won't last long, but he wants to make it as good for him as possible. Cas deserves that, at the very least.

“Do you ever touch yourself like this?” Dean asks, slowing to a halt.

Cas throws his head back against the pillows and lets out a sound that's equal parts pleasure, and anguish that Dean stopped his ministrations. “No,” He says weakly.

“So you've never had an orgasm before?” Dean starts again, but barely letting his fingers ghost across Castiel's leaking member.

“No,” Cas repeats, trying to move his hips to get more friction, but Dean uses his free hand to hold him in place.

“Oh, Angel, I am going to make you feel so good.” He decides it's time to stop torturing Cas and picks up the pace, tightening his grip as he does.

“Dean!” Cas gasps, and incoherently mumbles something that Dean is pretty sure is Enochian.

“Shh. Let go. Come for me, Cas.”

Those words are all it takes. Cas lets out a positively filthy moan as he arches off the bed, his entire body body trembling as Dean rides out his orgasm with fast, even strokes. His eyes are wide as he watches Dean experimentally lick his fingertip that's covered in the evidence of his release.

“Was it 'satisfactory'?” Dean asks, with a smirk.

“Very,” Cas says in a husky whisper.

“You could at least help,” Sam complains as he heaves a shovel full of dirt out of Edward Clark's half dug grave.

“I dug up the last one, which was a complete waste of time by the way,” Dean replies. He's sitting on the plain, rectangular headstone nursing a beer. It's a clear night, with just a bit of chill in the air and no clouds to obscure the stars. He silently thanks God it's not raining. There's not a lot of things worse than digging up a corpse in the rain. Last time, he was picking dried mud out of his hair for a week.

“Jerk,” Sam mumbles, narrowly missing Dean as he tosses more dirt out of the grave.


Eventually, Dean gives in and grabs another shovel from the Impala's trunk, before jumping down into the grave to help Sam. It would be best to get it over with quickly, before Cas gets bored of hanging out by the car as he keeps watch in case the cops show up or something. Dean's surprised he's hung around as long as he has. Usually, he would have buggered off on angel business by now. Is he that invested in the whole virginity thing? Or is it something else? Dean isn't touching that with a ten foot pole. Not yet.

“So... You and Cas?” Sam asks, wiping sweat from his brow.

“Not now,” Dean hisses.

“You seem different somehow – the two of you, I mean.”


“What made you change your mind?” Sam presses, in spite of Dean 'accidentally' whacking his leg with his shovel. “Did you...?”

“I'm working on it, okay? Just drop it.”


“Shut up!”

In the awkward silence that follows, they make short work of the rest of the grave. Something is off, though. The heavy concrete burial vault they unearth is wrapped tightly with several heavy chains. Curiously, Dean hits one with the edge of the shovel. The slightly rusted metal is too sturdy to give way that easily, and if there's a padlock holding it on, it must be underneath the vault. He makes uneasy eye contact with Sam.

“This guy was a priest right? Who committed suicide in the church after he got caught having an affair with the mayor's housekeeper, who was an illegal alien?” Sam confirms, as Dean nods his head. “This is weird. If I didn't know better, I would think this was a Victorian vampire burial or something. I mean, these chains are iron and everything. Someone went to a lot of effort to make sure this guy stays planted.”

“Yeah, well, let's get this bitch open and Kentucky fry this dick,” Dean says. “I pray to Castiel to please bring us the bolt cutters in the trunk. They're under the box of hoodoo shit in the back left corner. Thanks, Angel. You're the best.”

Sam snorts as he tries, and fails, not to laugh. “Could you be any lazier? Or gayer?” He asks rhetorically, as Cas walks over to them and tosses Dean the bolt cutters.

“Why is it chained like that?” The angel asks, tilting his head to the side as he inspects the suspicious vault.

“I dunno, maybe we should leave this one alone,” Sam says as Dean wriggles the bolt cutters onto the tightly wound chain. “I have a bad feeling about it.”

“What else can we do? Burn the church confessional? That'll go over well,” Dean retorts. “Let's just torch this racist asshat, and move on.”

“I wonder if he actually had the affair,” Cas comments as Dean works at cutting the chains. “I didn't think of it at the time, but perhaps his death is connected with Giles.”

“The maybe gay mayor?” Dean asks, struggling to cut through the second chain. It's a lot harder than it should be, which is probably yet another sign that he should be leaving it well alone.

“Yes, they were very close. Giles obituary mentioned that he was a member of the church, and spent almost all of his free time there helping with various tasks. Also, Clark's home was donated to the church by Giles. The whole debacle with the housekeeper, and Clark's eventual suicide, only took place over the course of one week after Giles' death,” Cas explains. “Perhaps they were secretly lovers, and someone who did not approve of it used the housekeeper as a scapegoat.”

Dean stops and looks up at Cas. “I think you're reaching, Cas. I mean maybe, but why would the housekeeper have sold herself out if that was true?”

“She was scared,” Sam says. “If someone threatened to have her deported or something, she might have done anything they asked. I think that's actually more believable than than the idea of her wanting some kind of petty revenge because Clark wouldn't marry her.”

“Actually,” Cas says, pulling an old ledger out of his coat. “I found this in the church. Her name was Eva, and she had a daughter, Rosa. Both of them were here illegally. I assume whoever had ill will towards Clark and Giles, threatened to deport Rosa and Eva sacrificed herself to keep her daughter safe.”

“That's all well and good, but how is that any help?” Dean growls, snipping through another chain link.

“Because Rosa is still alive,” Cas tells him. “She was taken in by the church, and acquired citizenship after Ava's death. She's almost a hundred years old, and lives in the nursing home in town.”

“Whatever,” Dean mumbles as the last piece of chain falls away. “Clark's still the one ganking people.” He nods his head to Sam, who grabs the other end of the heavy vault lid and braces himself. It takes a few tries to shove the lid far enough off the vault to get at the casket inside. Dean grabs his shovel, and starts smashing in the top. He stops, frowns, and shines his flashlight into the hole he made.

“Okay, what the actual fuck?” Sam asks, as Dean's flashlight beam reveals nothing.

“It's empty?” Dean says, shaking his head as he breaks away more of the casket lid.

“Empty,” Sam confirms as he kneels down for a closer look. “The good news is that there's no hex bags or markings that would indicate a curse. They just buried an empty coffin, which people do sometimes when there's no body – like if someone's been missing and they pronounce them dead.”

“There was no record of cremation, or exhumation of the body,” Cas adds. “And he wasn't missing.”

“You know, we're talking about the twenties, and this is hallowed ground. It's a church cemetery. If your theory about him being gay is true, it's possible that he was taken from here by the people that orchestrated his death,” Sam muses as he starts refilling the grave. “Which means, we may never find the body.”

“Unless Rosa knows something,” Dean suggests.

Rosa, as it turns out, knows quite a lot. For as old as she is, her bright green eyes still have the spark of life in them, and she more or less has the run of the small nursing home. She's sarcastic, witty, and everyone's favorite resident. She's also more than willing to talk to Dean and Cas about Clark and Giles. She was a little girl when he mother was murdered, but she has only pleasant memories of the mayor and the priest. They were lovers; she confirms that theory with a fond smile and sad shake of her head. She loved both of them dearly, as did her mother who never wanted for anything as long as she kept the mayor's house tidy and cooked their daily meals. Edward, she told them, was devastated when the mayor – Dick, they always called him, was murdered. She knew it wasn't a suicide like the cops said, as it looked like the study was torn apart from the fight that must have taken place. It was Rosa and Eva that found him, after returning from a shopping trip.

Edward had arranged for them to move to Illinois, to stay with his widowed mother who was more than happy to take them in. But that never came to be, obviously. Strange men visited the mayor's house while Clark was away, and threatened Eva with a gun. Rosa hadn't heard much, as Eva had locked her in the pantry the moment she knew something was wrong. For days after that, Eva barely spoke until the police came to question her about the murder. All that time, she managed to keep Rosa hidden. Until one day, when Edward came to visit. They argued, horribly, and Rosa ran away because she was afraid. When she came back several hours later, her mother was dead on the kitchen floor. She never thought to blame Edward, and even when he was arrested for the murder, she didn't blame him because of what 'those people' had done to him and Dick. Still, she can't imagine that Edward would have harmed Eva and is certain that he was framed.

“He was buried in the church cemetery, right?” Dean asks, his mind reeling. How had Cas managed to see through all the bullshit?

Rosa throws her head back and laughs heartily. “I doubt it. I remember the funeral, but the casket was closed. Madre and I knew, he would have wanted to be with Dick. There was another priest, Jacob, who handled it. I remember he winked and told me not to worry, that he'd taken care of Ed's 'final wish'. Jacob was a good man, helped me learn English and become a citizen. Let me tell you one thing, though. My mother never would have had an affair with the Padre. She loved him dearly, yes, but like a brother.”

“Well, all right. You were right,” Dean says to Cas as they leave the nursing home. “There's a problem, though. 'Dick' was cremated.”

“Shit,” Cas complains, and Dean can't help but laugh. Cas never swears, and something about it is just so human. It's kind of adorable, really. “We are not burning the confessional,” Cas adds as Dean opens his mouth to reply. He snaps his mouth shut and leans against the side of the Impala.

He's out of ideas, really. Unless Giles' ashes were interred somewhere, which he kind of doubts. He hopes Sam manages to find something on his end. He's at the police station, trying to find the original reports from Giles' and Clark's deaths. Absently, he drums his fingers on the car door as he looks up at the sky. It's going to rain, probably soon. If he has to dig up another grave he's going to stab Sam with something, especially if they have to do it in the rain.

“What if you... Go to confession?” Cas suggests. “If nothing else, it might draw out his spirit.”

“Do I look like an immigrant girl?” Dean whines, rolling his eyes.

“Sneak in at night, and speak as if you are confessing to Clark rather than the priest who would be taking confessions now.”


It's not a terrible plan. It's just not something he's really comfortable with. He's not the praying type, and he never will be. Maybe he can get Sam to do it, but a little voice in the back of his mind tells him that it's not good enough. His spirit would have more to relate to with Dean. He's questioning everything since the previous afternoon. Maybe he's not as straight as he thinks he is. That thought terrifies the living shit out of him. It shouldn't, he knows that, but it goes against everything he was raised to be. John Winchester would be turning cartwheels in his grave, if they hadn't given him a hunter's funeral. More than once, he'd gotten 'the talk' about gays growing up. It never seemed to effect Sam, but Dean always feels a conscious pull to avoid those sort of thoughts about other men, and oh he definitely has them sometimes. But anyone can crank one out to a shirtless Chris Hemsworth, right? Or, Hell, Cas. He's fucking gorgeous. Even a straight guy can get a pass for staring at him for a few seconds too long, right?

Dean sighs and closes his eyes as the first few raindrops begin to fall. He reaches for the door handle, but Cas grasps his hand and pulls him close. What's happening doesn't even register in his mind, until Cas has him pressed against the car, kissing him softly. Gently, he pushes Cas back.

“Not here, okay? Anyone can see us.”

“Are you ashamed?”

Dean draws a blank and looks up at Cas with wide eyes. His heart is screaming 'no', while the part of his mind that's still functioning is screaming 'yes'. “We're supposed to be working a federal investigation, as far as these people know,” He supplies, weakly. “And we're not really a thing.” Of course he avoids the question. He's not ashamed of Cas. Himself, though? Definitely. He's not supposed to feel anything. It's just a favor, for a friend – this whole fixing Castiel's virginity thing. He's not in love with Cas. They're not... No. It can't be anything. They can't be anything. Everyone Dean loves too much, not that he will ever use those words, ends up dead or fucked up beyond repair. He can't let that happen to Cas.

“I thought... No, never mind,” Cas mumbles, and Dean is left standing alone in the rain.

He can hear the sadness is Castiel's voice, and something in him breaks. It's too late. He's already screwed up – already hurt Cas. He doesn't even turn on the radio as he drives back to the motel in the pouring rain. Sam is already back; the lights are on in his room. It's for the better. Dean doesn't want to have to pick him up, or even interact with him at all. He does want to get shitfaced and pass out. If he doesn't, he might break down and cry like a teenage girl that just got dumped at the homecoming dance. It's too much, all the things he's trying not to feel. He curls up on the bed, and sets an alarm on his phone for midnight. He has to keep his head in the game. He'll do what Cas suggested, and sneak into the church. It's not like he has any better ideas.

Sleep deprived and a little heartbroken, Dean crawls into the Impala a few minutes past midnight. So far, he's ignored six calls, and four texts from Sam. He's also told him to fuck off three times that he knocked on the door to Dean's motel room. Vacantly, Dean thinks that he's a little hungry, but ignores it as he makes the short drive to the church. The doors aren't locked, which he thinks is weird, but the little church is deserted. He takes a look around both floors, as well as the cellar, to make sure that he's truly alone before he locks the doors from the inside. His gaze shifts to the confessional, and he asks himself one more time what the hell he's doing.

Dean's fingers are trembling slightly as he lifts the latch on the old wooden door and hesitates for a moment before going inside. He sits on the small bench inside, and lets the door swing shut. He sighs and switches on the EMF detector in his pocket. Where should he even begin? Should he just act like he's talking to Clark and just tell him that he knows the truth, or should he treat it like an actual confession? If it's the latter, isn't his entire existence is a sin? Every single aspect of his personality, even the fact that he's alive after his father made a deal with a demon to save him?

“Aww fuck it,” Dean says to himself and shakes his head, as if to clear his thoughts.

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “Forgive me father, for I have sinned.” Okay, he can do this. “I honestly don't know where to start. I've lost count of how many times I've gotten black-out drunk and woken up with some random chick in a dirty motel room. I swear like a fucking truck driver. I've killed people, and gotten people killed. Mostly they had it coming.”

The church is still silent, as is Dean's EMF reader. He feels like an idiot, sitting there talking to no one. Sam would be proud of him, probably. He rolls his eyes and keeps going. “I sold my soul to a demon to bring my brother back after he got killed. Then, my father sold his soul to keep me alive which was kind of a waste because I went to hell anyway. Then I was saved by an angel and... Man, my life is like a daytime soap, just with angels and demons instead of love triangles and bitchy in laws.” Deans shifts uncomfortably on the wooden seat and stares vacantly into the darkness. “I, uh, gave my best friend a hand job. I keep lying to myself, saying that I don't feel anything, but I do. It's wrong, I know. But I don't know if I can stop myself. We've been through so much together it's...”

Dean takes a shuddering breath. What is he doing? What's the point? No one's listening. “I love him,” He whispers, fighting back the sting of tears. “I hate myself for it, mostly because I'll never be able to live with myself if something bad happens to him. ...You understand that, don't you? Father Clark?”

As if on cue, the EMF reader goes nuts and the air temperature in the confessional drops several degrees. Dean doesn't know where Clark is, but in his moment of hesitation, a voice answers him in a heavy southern drawl from the other side of the confessional.

“And how does he feel?” The voice says. “Ain't nothin' worse than losin' someone you love, except hurtin' them yourself.”

Dean isn't sure what to do. He can't get at him from where he is, and slashing him with the crowbar he has up his pant leg isn't a long-term solution. So, he keeps talking. “I'm not sure, honestly. He asked me if I was ashamed of him.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I didn't answer.”

“Well, are you?”

Dean sighs and wonders when he signed up for a therapy session with a killer ghost. “No, not him. Just myself, and the things he makes me feel. My father would probably beat the living shit out of me if he was alive.”

“Son, that amounts to the same thing. Now, I know what the bible says, and what folks in these parts think about people like us, but I don't believe for a second that God would hate any of his children, least of all for lovin' someone. That's what he teaches us, after all – to love. Maybe tellin' you this makes me a poor preacher, but you need to let go of that shame.”

“Fair enough, but is that justification for murder?” Dean asks. “Those girls didn't do anything to you, and you know it.”

The air seems to get even colder in the silence that follows. Dean slips the crowbar out of his pant leg and grips it tightly. “It's time for you to go to rest, Father.”

There's no reply, as Dean hears the confessional door creak open on the opposite side. He's on his feet in an instant and gripping the handle to the door. Which, of course, won't budge. He swears under his breath as he kicks it with everything he has but it doesn't move. He can smell stale blood, see it seeping through the screen and dripping down the wall. He pulls out his phone to call Sam, but there's no signal. Resignedly, he collapses down on the bench, with his shoulders sagging.

“I pray to the angel Castiel to forgive me for being an idiot, and to please save my sorry ass. I need you, man.” He can hear the tell-tale whoosh of Castiel's wings nearby in the church, and a loud crash that echoes off the walls. “Cas! Let me out!” Dean yells, banging on the confessional door. A moment later, he's stumbling out of the confessional and right into Castiel's arms and hanging onto him for dear life.

“Dean. Not now,” Cas says and roughly pushes him away, just in time to avoid being hit in the head with a heavy gilded candlestick. “Go, run!” He says and shoves Dean toward the door.

Dean somehow manages to get his shit together and makes a run for it, only to remember that he locked the doors. He fiddles with the lock, that's definitely as stuck as the confessional door, and swears venomously. He definitely does not squeal like a little girl when Cas grabs him by the waist out of nowhere, and zaps them back outside near the impala. He's panting for breath as he leans against Baby, still clinging to Castiel's coat sleeve.

“You should have told me you were planning to do this,” Cas admonishes him, prying his fingers off his sleeve.

“I didn't think you would want to come back,” Dean replies honestly.

“As much as it hurts to know I mean nothing to you outside of friendship, I care too much for you to abandon you in a time of need,” Cas snaps, his voice heavy with anger and bitterness.

“Cas, that's not true. Listen me, man. I... I... Fuck it. I love you. There. I said it,” Dean stammers, fighting the sting of tears as he meets Castiel's eyes. “I love you, and damn that scares the crap out of me.”

Castiel's expression visibly softens and he pulls Dean close. Dean lets his face drop onto Castiel's shoulder, and he hangs on for dear life. “Dean, it's raining,” The angel says quietly. “You'll get a cold.”

Grudgingly, Dean lets go and drives back to the motel with Cas riding shotgun. They don't say anything to eachother on the ride back, or when they wander into their motel room. Dean mumbles something incoherent about the blood in the confessional, that was actually ectoplasm, and heads  into the bathroom for a shower. He stays in there until the water runs cold, mulling over the night's events. He hates the fact that he agrees with a shitty ghost, but some of what he said makes a lot of sense – particularly the parts about needing to let go of his shame, and that there could be nothing worse than hurting Cas himself. Maybe it'll be okay, anyway. Cas is a freaking angel. He's not invincible, but he's anything but fragile. They could even have a future. Dean knows he'll never have that apple pie life with kids, a dog, and a doting wife. Even if he got out of hunting, the nightmares won't stop. He'll still keep salt under his bed and a gun beneath his pillow. It won't be that way with Cas. He won't have to hide and lie to keep him safe. Cas knows what's out there.

When he finally leaves the shower, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, Cas is sitting in the middle of the bed intently reading something. Dean squints, and almost bursts into laughter. It's one of those stupid little brochures about safe sex, the kind of thing they hand out to teenagers with free condoms at music festivals to hopefully stop the spread of STDs and unwanted pregnancies.

“Do I want to know where you got that?” Dean asks, and looks over his shoulder. There's a section near the middle that's circled with black marker, and a note that says 'read this' in what is definitely Sam's handwriting. It's basically an anal sex 'how to'. “Damn it, Sammy.”

“I think it is rather helpful,” Cas comments. “You should read it,” He adds and offers it to Dean.

Part of him wants to laugh it off and walk away, but he has to physically tell himself that he wants to do good by Cas. And, it's incredibly embarrassing, but it's not something he knows much about. He can only recall doing anal once with a girl, and she wasn't particularly into it. He resists the urge to roll his eyes and takes the brochure from Cas. He sits on the edge of the bed, uncomfortably aware of Cas watching him as he reads – probably looking for some kind of reaction. It's about what he expected: Don't go in dry, and it's probably going to hurt a bit the first time. Well, he'll have to be the bottom, then. He wants it to be a good experience for Cas. He feels a blush creeping into his cheeks as he reads the paragraph about proper preparation. He hates it; the whole situation makes him feel like a virgin – touched for the very first time. Great, now he's gonna have a fucking Madonna song stuck in his head. He neatly folds the brochure up and hands it back to Cas.

“Right. Slightly more informational than porn,” Dean admits awkwardly and rifles through his duffel for a pair of sweatpants to wear to bed.

“Would you like to try? I understand if you would rather wait if your are tired, considering tonight's events,” Cas asks, hopefully.

Dean lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. “I don't think I can sleep, so that's no problem, but I don't have any lube. I'd have to go buy some, and no offense but I don't trust you to get the right kind. I don't think there's any place open this late this deep in the boonies, anyway.”

Cas reaches over to the night stand and pulls out a bottle of KY Jelly. “Sam gave me some.”

Dean rolls his eyes and flops down onto the bed. “I'm going to kill him.”

“Why? Isn't it a good thing that he's so supportive?” Cas asks.

“Yeah, I guess so. I've never going to be able to look him in the eyes again, and he'll tease me about this forever,” Dean complains. “You have no idea how smug that little shit can be.”


“Yes, Cas. We can try.” He drapes his sweatpants over the back of the chair and double checks that the door is locked, chain and all. “Why don't you get out of those clothes?”

He's nervous as hell, but he can't help but smile at how eager Cas is. Dean can't recall the last time someone wanted him so badly. He takes a deep breath as he flicks the lights off and helps Cas pull off his button down shirt. It's kind of scary, how far they've come from that completely pathetic kiss by the lake.

“You know, you're gonna need less complicated clothes if we plan on making a habit of this,” Dean jokes, as he fumbles with Castiel's cufflinks as his hands don't fit through his sleeves with them on. The shirt winds up tossed carelessly on the floor when he finally gets it off. “You're beautiful, do you know that?” Dean whispers and presses his hands against Castiel's chest. He's a lot less scrawny than he imagined, with the way his clothes fit – not that he's complaining. His angel has a body that could make a porn star jealous.

“My vessel, you mean?” Cas answers, tugging Dean's towel loose and throwing off the bed.

“Don't make it awkward. You could be wearing a hairy middle-aged balding guy with a beer belly and I'd still think you're beautiful. Doesn't mean I'd have sex with that, but still...”

Cas laughs and ruffles his hair affectionately. “I think that made it more awkward.”

“Yeah, okay. I'll stop talking.”

“You do that when you are nervous,” Cas says knowingly. “Talk too much, I mean. Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Everyone gets a little nervous when they try something new,” Dean tells him and unbuttons his pants. “Let's do this. You, inside me. It's gonna be fine.”

Cas practically tackles him to the bed, taking him in a fierce kiss. Dean's hands wander to Castiel's hips, where he hooks his fingers in the waistband of his slacks and shoves them down. Cas breaks the kiss long enough to kick off his pants, and his boxers with them. Dean openly stares at him, enthralled by the sight before him. He can't wait for next time, so he can fuck him in the back seat of the Impala. He guides Cas down to the bed, touching him wherever he can. He's harder than a horny teenager, and he can't help but be a little disappointed that it probably won't last very long. That being said, he's okay with the overall lack of foreplay. That's a skill Cas will have to learn, and neither of them have the patience for it right now.

Dean lets Cas roll him over onto his stomach and tries to relax, as he hears the far too familiar sound of lube being popped open. It's fine. He can do this. It's just Cas, and Dean is sure he'll be gentle with him. That's an odd thought. He's always preferred sex to be a little on the rougher side, but this... He doesn't know how he feels about this. Like a virgin, that's how he feels – like the first time all over again. He's excited, nervous, and a little nauseous, but it feels good.

Dean's breath catches in his throat as Cas presses a lube covered finger against his entrance. He tries to relax as his finger slides slowly inside of him. It feels weird, not painful, but kind of like it doesn't belong there. Cas places a soft kiss against the back of Dean's neck as he works, prodding a little further.

“Cas!” He gasps, as a wave of intense pleasure shoots through him.

“Does it hurt?” He asks, “Do you want me to stop?”

“No! Don't stop!” Dean tells him. “Yes! Right there!” He cries as Cas finds the spot again.

He's a panting, moaning mess and barely notices as Cas slips another finger inside of him. He's pretty sure he can come from this alone, and really hopes he doesn't because they haven't even gotten to the main event yet.

“I think you are ready,” Cas says, and Dean immediately misses the sensation of his fingers inside of him as he pulls them out.

“Okay,” Dean breathes. “Cas? Just be gentle, okay?” That's it. He's a teenage girl on the inside. Thank God Sam will never hear any of it.

“Of course,” Cas says in a husky whisper as he nudges Dean to turn over onto his back. “Can we do it like this? I want to see your face.”

“Sure,” Dean replies and reaches up to run his fingers through Castiel's hair. He loves how soft it is, and sighs contentedly as the angel gets himself in position. Cas snatches his hand and holds it tightly as he slowly slides inside. Dean lets his eyes flutter closed and tries to remember how to breathe. It burns a little, and he feels a bit too full as Cas buries himself to the hilt with a quiet moan of pleasure.

“Are you alright?” Cas asks, kissing his forehead softly.

“Just move. Slowly,” Dean tells him, trying to adjust to the sensation of having Cas inside him.

A few slow, measure strokes later, and he's able to relax again. “A little faster,” He breathes, and Cas obeys. Dean whimpers when he hits his prostate again, and clings to his shoulders. Cas is a fast learner, and quickly adjusts himself to hit that spot with every thrust.

“How do you feel?” Cas asks, quickening his pace just a bit.

“Awesome,” Dean replies, and Cas takes him in a deep kiss. He can't help but wonder how he's never done this. It's amazing.

“You're so beautiful,” Cas breathes, and brushes his thumb across Dean's cheek. “I love your freckles.”

“How are you... making sentences?” Dean gasps, arching his hips to meet Castiel's thrusts. He's barely holding it together. He won't last much longer. Cas only sighs as he nips at his throat and tangles his fingers into Dean's hair before taking him with deeper, faster strokes. Dean moans and digs his nails in Castiel's back, trying to ground himself. If it bothers him, he doesn't say anything.

“I love you so much,” Cas whispers in Dean's ear.

“Cas!” Dean cries. “I'm gonna...”

The orgasm hits him hard, and he's not entirely sure he doesn't just black out for a moment as Cas maintains his pace and follows him over the edge a few seconds later. He struggles to breathe as his heart tries to pound its way out of his chest. Cas gathers him up in his arms and holds him tight, as he slowly withdraws. Dean hisses as he feels the heat of Castiel's release inside of him, dripping out of him. It's filthy, completely depraved, and he fucking loves it. They both just lay there for a few moments, riding out the last waves of pleasure.

“Holy... Damn, Cas,” Dean finally says, propping himself up on his elbows to look into Castiel's eyes that are wide with wonder and lust.

“I would like to do this again,” Cas says, “As often as physically possible. If you will let me?”

“Yeah, I'm going to feel that for a few days.” Dean stretches and bends over to kiss Cas lightly on the temple. “Next time we're doing it in the car, though.”

The following morning, they're sitting at the diner again, in the same booth as always. Dean's practically inhaling a huge stack of pancakes, while Cas watches him with a slightly judgmental expression on his face. Sam's reading a newspaper, and stops picking at his usual egg white omelet long enough to sigh dramatically.

“Is there something you two wanted to tell me,” He asks with raised eyebrows.

“Not in particular,” Cas replies, as Dean looks up at Sam with a mixture of horror and embarrassment.

“TMI, guys.” Sam rolls his eyes and throws the newspaper he was reading in the middle of the table. “I was talking about this, not whether or not you got laid. But, since you answered that, congratulations?”

“Fuck you so much,” Dean grumbles and picks up the newspaper. On the front page is a photo of the church – or, what used to be the church. It's a burnt out husk, with the headline 'Historic Church Burns, Suspected Arson'. “Oh... Shit. Wait! You think I did this? Dude, no.”

“I can confirm that,” Cas comments, pointing to a line in the article. “It says here that it caught fire around three in the morning. At that time we were having intercourse.”

Dean chokes on a mouthful of pancakes and nearly passes out. Sure, Sam is going to tease him mercilessly, but the look on his face is priceless. He just lays his fork down and stares out the window at a woman walking her dog on the street.

“Well, we need to figure out what happened – and if it's enough to call this hunt done,” Sam says, mercifully changing the subject back to the job at hand.

“I believe his spirit will be at rest,” Cas says with a nod of his head. “I am fairly certain he was bound to the church confessional.”

“Definitely,” Dean agrees. “Trust me on this one, Sammy.”

“Alright, what did you do?”

Dean looks to Cas who gives him a small nod. “Well, Cas had this theory that we might be able to draw his spirit out if I went to confession...” He launches into the story, leaving out the details of what he spoke with Clark about for his own sanity. He's not about to spill his guts to Sam about his little gay crisis.

“You should have told me!” Sam grouses, giving up on his omelet and dropping his fork. “God only knows what could have happened in there!”

“That's what I said,” Cas comments, giving Dean a dirty look.

“Whatever. It's over with.” Dean shoves the last of his pancakes in his mouth. “We gotta get going. We still have that werewolf case in Montana.”

“And I need to check on affairs in Heaven,” Cas says.

“You'll come back, right?” Dean asks, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. He knew it was too good to be true, Cas hanging around as long as he had over the last few days.

“I will not leave you,” Cas says softy. “I promise. My phone does not work in heaven, but I can always hear your prayers, even if I can't answer them. You can talk to me that way, and I will come if you're in trouble – no matter what.”

“Okay,” Dean mumbles. He will not pout. He's a grown ass man, and his boyfriend has his own set of responsibilities. If Cas can trust him to have faith in him, then he will. Damn it.

Cas, of fucking course, vanishes into thin air. It's really a miracle that no one in the diner has noticed. It's like the third time he's done it. Sam just shakes his head and sips his coffee.

“You two are kind of cute together,” Sam says with a smirk.