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Yours, Mine and Ours

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     His head was bobbing up and down to some unknown beat, hips swaying just the tiniest bit as if he was dancing. He slammed the lid to the washing machine closed and I pulled myself around the corner, just as he was turning to leave the room. With the sound of the water finally covered I could hear him humming some inane tune that was most likely from at least twenty years previous. I had only been passing by, and wanted to understand the “laundry room,” but somehow I knew Dean would not have wanted me to see him dancing.

     He stopped suddenly, turning back to the plastic basket, as his humming grew marginally louder. From that basket he drew a small bundle of pink cloth. Glancing guiltily over his shoulder he tossed it into the machine and sidled out of the room.

     Curious, I peered into the washing machine, pulling out the mysterious piece of clothing which turned out to be a pair of pink lacy panties. It suddenly didn't seem worth my effort. Why did it matter if Dean was washing his latest girl’s undergarments? But then again, why did Dean wash them for her? Why was he so secretive about them?

     I delicately placed the garment back in the washer, gingerly closing the lid before tiptoeing back to the room Dean had told me to use. I sat on the small bed and wondered about Dean’s laundry. He hadn't left the bunker in weeks and no one had “stopped by.” I would have sensed them.

    It took me a great deal of time to come to an even remotely sensible conclusion. If the garment wasn’t some floozy's, and Dean was washing them, then they had to be Dean’s. I let the idea settle in my mind, morphing, unbidden, into an image. 

     Dean asleep in his bed, blankets shoved down past his navel, barely an inch of pink peeking out from under the sheet. With a muffled grunt he rolls onto his back, the sheet twisting further down his thighs, showing the entirety of his pelvic bone, and just a hint of his arousal. 

     Dean’s eyes flicker open, that awe-inspiring green gaze meeting my own. The corner of his lips hint at a smile as he gestures at the space next to him. He holds up the edge of the sheet and pats the mattress. I step towards the bed, preparing to tuck myself into the warm cocoon of the blankets and Dean. 

     A buzzer blared. 

     I opened my eyes, letting the thoughts drift away back into the dark corners of my mind from which they should never be released for any reason. But as the thoughts receded a heat was left in their wake, a burning low in my stomach and a tension in my shoulders unlike any I had ever felt before. 

     “Castiel?” came the call from down the hall. I stepped out of “my” room and responded.

     “Yes, Sam?”

     “I was about to head out totown,” he wandered up next to me, “and I was wondering if you needed anything.”

     “Will you get pie? Dean said the next time we get pie, that I could try some.”

     With a smile Sam nodded and turned to leave. “Is that everything?”

     I thought for a moment. “Actually I have a question.”

     “Shoot.” It took a while for the human expression to sink in. “

     Well, I’m not really sure where to start but... I saw something.”                       "Something bad?”

      “No, I just don’t understand it. I know I shouldn’t talk about it, but now I can't get it out of my head.” I shifted uncomfortably on my feet, trying to quell the knots in my stomach and the pressure in my shoulders. Sam was waiting patiently. “ I feel tight all over like I’m going to burst and sometimes it makes me nauseous.”

     “This thing,” he prompted, “is it a person?”

     I nodded.

     He smiled at me. “I think you know what to do about this.” And with that exceptionally confusing answer he turned to leave. He’d reached the end of the hall before I called out.

     “I don’t understand!”

     “It’s all instinct, Castiel,” he called over his shoulder before slamming the bunker door closed behind him. I wandered back to my small room and sat down on the bed again. 

     Instinct, a human’s natural or intuitive way of acting or thinking, often considered animalistic. What would an animal do with these thoughts, this burning sensation deep in their gut? 

     There was another sharp buzz. My mind made up, I stood and strode into the hallway, towards the laundry room.

     I allowed myself one moment of weakness before I marched into the room. There was Dean, pulling clothing from the dryer. That pair of pink underwear was probably soft and warm just about now. The heat was back, three times as strong in such proximity to the object of my admiration.

     "Dean," I intoned. "Dean." My voice was deeper than when I had spoken to Sam. He spun around, dropping the armful of clothes into a basket.  

     "Cas," he murmured. I stepped closer to him, to the point he usually told me to mind his space. He made as if to speak, but I silenced him with a look. Something in his eyes shifted, softened around the edges but turned harder. I took another step. He stumbled back from me, I followed through the motion, mirroring him. There was a monster in me, and I had let it loose. With a growl, I shoved him.

     "Ca-" I shoved my lips against his, holding his shoulders against the wall until the beast began to settle. Dean worked his hand up to my shoulder and pushed me away. The seal of our lips broke with a loud smack. He was panting, hard, eyes wild, as he leaned back against the wall. My own knees were weak

     "Dean," I panted, "I'm sorry."

     Dean shook his head. "Do you understand why that was inappropriate, Cas?"

     "Because you don't love me, the way that I love you," I whispered and began to back out of the room, "I'm sorry-"

     "No," the hunter interjected. I stopped moving to listen to him. "Because you didn't ask permission." He smiled at me. My eyes grew wide as he stepped towards me and took my wrist. "Did you have something to ask me?" he laughed. 

     "Dean," I whispered, my voice more air than sound, "Dean, may I kiss you?" By the time I had gotten the words out he was nodding his head vigorously. 

     "Yes, Cas. Yes."

     I backed him against the wall again and slipped my arms around his waist. Angling my head, I pressed my lips against his. It was strange this human action, I had never really stopped to consider it, but something about it just made sense with Dean. He grabbed ahold of my bottom lip with his teeth, sending tingles across my shoulder blades. I moaned. 

     Dean spun us around, and pressed me against the wall. “You want this?”

     “Dean,” I panted, “yes.” He rested his lips on my sternum for a moment before he sank to his knees.

     “Cas-”

     “Don’t,” I interjected, slipping my hand around to cup the back of his head. He nodded, grasping my hips. The burning in my stomach was spreading, seeing Dean, my Dean, on his knees before me, touching me. It sent such pleasure through my soul it was unbearable. I closed my eyes. A cry escaped my lips as his hand found its way into my jeans, nimble fingers toying with the fastening. I shuffled to get my legs out from the material, practically falling on my own face in my need. 

     “Where are they Dean?”

     “The what Ca-” his voice fell away in a moan as I ran a finger gently behind his ear. I reached around him to get into the dryer. My body slipped away from the warmth of his while I search for them. Those blessed little panties that started this whole thing rolling. 

     They’re not there.

     A noise escapes my lips, one of frustration and pain. Then I see it, the tiniest hint of pink in the corner of the laundry basket. I dive for it, grabbing them and spinning around to face Dean.

     His mouth hangs open.

     “I can - it’s not what you think.”

     “It’s not sexy as fuck?”

     “I swear - wait, what?”

     “I saw them earlier.”

     “Did you just curse?”

     “I thought they would look so fucking good on you.”

     “You did it again,” he gasped, incredulously.

     “I want to see you in them,” I murmured, stepping closer to him, backing him against the wall again. He shivered visibly as I brushed the undergarments against his cheek. 

     "Stand," I ordered. He did so, fumbling to obey as quick as he could. It set my jaw quivering. So obedient. Mine. I grabbed a fistful of the sweatpants at his hip and yanked. "Put them on Dean."

     He shuddered, taking the panties in one hand and leaning against the wall with the other to slowly slip his pants off the rest of the way. He was not wearing boxers. 

     "It's laundry day," he smirked.

     "I do not understand that reference."

     "Kiss me."

     If nothing else I was a good soldier. I knew how to follow a justified order. 

     He was half hard already, weighing heavily between his legs and tensing with every movement I made. He pulled me closer.

     "Cas," he mumbled against my neck and he canted his hips towards me. The lace hung from his hand. He had yet to follow my instructions. There would be consequences.

     "Dean," I growled low, "this is serious." He nodded his head. "I mean it," I prodded.

     "So do I," he responded taking a step back. "This is serious and it had better be permanent."

     There was such sincerity in his eyes, I could feel every bit of his meaning pulsing through my body. He loved me, just as I did him. This was real. My Dean. Mine. 

     I thrust him back against the wall of the laundry room. "Mine."

     "Always," he gasped out as I took him in hand, the pink panties still hanging from my fingers. Barely three strokes of the delicate lace, and he was whimpering in my grasp, coming apart under my fingertips. I licked into his mouth while my lace covered thumb pressed against the head of his penis. 

     A high pitched keen leaked from his lips, followed by a laugh. I pulled away from him, again. He smiled at me, seeing my confusion he laughed again, that beautiful, infectious laugh. I couldn't help it, I laughed with him. He took me by the wrists, and pulled me closer, ever so gently.

     "I think I love you Castiel," he murmured.

     "I have loved you since the moment I touched your soul, and felt its purity surrounded by such darkness."

     "Well don't you know how to make a girl feel special,"

     I cocked my head. "I don't -"

     "Understand. Yeah I know you don't." He leaned in towards me. "I don't always understand either," and he pressed those perfect lips against mine again. 

     He released one of my wrists and slipped his hand down between us. My hand followed his, resting on his navel, fingers toying with the skin there. I moaned as he brushed his palm against my thigh, his fingers curling into the hair that surrounded my groin.

     His other hand slipped from mine and wormed its way around to the back of my neck, pulling me closer. I grabbed him by the waist and clenched him to me. Squishing our hands between us, I held him tight.

     "Dean," I gasped against his lips, " my Dean, so perfect." There was a quiver in my jaw, I had no control over my body. He just smiled that smile and took hold of my erection. 

     "So uptight, for someone with a dick this perfect," he laughed as he started stroking.

     Another strangled moan escaped my lips.

     "I keep forgetting how new all this is to you." 

     My jaw quivered and my knees shook, I could barely draw breath. "Dean, I -"

     "Let it go, baby, come for me."      

     "I can't ." Every molecule was vibrating, but he kept stroking me, his hand making lewd sounds as it pumped.

     "Just let go, Cas." 

     I stopped breathing. My heart stopped beating and I could feel pure energy surging and pulsing through every vein.

     And then my legs stopped working.

     I slid to the ground, pulling my mate along with me. My Dean was kneeling over me, his thighs split over my lap. I couldn't focus, everything was just a little fuzzy, except his hands. His beautiful hands, sliding so fast along his length. 

     "Oh fuck, Cas," he moaned, thrusting into his hand. And then he was shaking, pulsing a white substance onto my stomach. It was warm as it splattered across my abdomen. Through the fog around my mind I dragged a finger through it, and brought it to my lips. My Dean whimpered, and swung his leg to my other side, sitting next to me. He rested his head against my shoulder and reached for the panties with one hand. 

     "You liked these?"

     I was unable to form words, but I nodded slowly. I started to play with the ejaculate on my stomach absentmindedly.

     "You like mixing us together." I thought about it. I guess I had secreted a fluid. Strange, this human function. But I liked the idea of my Dean and I together in this white mess along my body. 

     "Yes," I rasped. A shiver ran through my Dean's body at the sound.

     "You kinky bastard."

     "Says the man who likes to wear women's underwear." 

     He smirked at me as I sucked on my fingers again.

     "If I were 16 again, " Dean trailed off, "but you don't understand that." He smiled at me and started to mop up the mess along my abdomen with the panties.

     "I guess we'll just have to wash these again," I grinned. 

      He laughed, that beautiful, infectious laugh.

     "Come on stud, let's get you to bed." He clambered up, pulling me with him. "I was getting ready to do a second load," he explained as he pushed the panties down into a dirty laundry hamper, "but I think that can wait a while."

     He took me by the hand, interlocking our fingers tightly and led me from the room. 

     We passed my room but my Dean did not stop.

     "I thought maybe.." He trailed off, a little uncertain as I had stopped at my door.

     "Are you inviting me to your bed?" I asked. 

     "Only if you call it our bed," he said as he tightened his grip on my hand. I squeezed back. 

     "My Dean, in our bed."