Castiel’s clothes had gotten ruined on the most recent hunt, and by ruined, well, his pants were torn to shreds, and his boxers were lucky to make it out alive, as Dean would’ve said. So now he was in Dean’s room, pants off, shirt, jacket, and coat still on, going through Dean’s clothes, seeing if he could find something to borrow.
Dean was lounging on his bed, already showered, clicking through things on his laptop.
“You know, you’re gonna look funny if you don’t change your whole outfit,” Dean told him.
Castiel sighed, closing Dean’s drawer, not sure any of these pants would fit him right. He’d run the calculations in his head, and they would be too tight, particularly around his thighs and his groin.
“Perhaps Sam’s clothes…” he murmured, standing.
“What? Why Sam? We don’t have to bother him,” Dean said, Castiel suddenly smelling some discomfort from him, even upset.
“I fear your clothes won’t fit me.”
Dean got up now, closing his laptop, and went over to his bureau.
“Oh, sure they will. Besides, Sammy and I are the same pants size. His whacko height’s gotta be mostly in his torso.”
He started digging through his jeans, and Castiel noticed he was very close to his bare legs. If he shifted, pretended he was trying to get comfortable, maybe he could be a few inches closer...
Dean found a pair that Castiel immediately started running the measurements for. His friend held it up, a smile on his face, eyebrows raised hopefully.
“Huh? Come on, I wear ‘em for the ladies.”
“Wear them for the ladies?” Castiel repeated, tilting his head, squinting at him.
Dean playfully slapped him on the ass as he rose, startling Cas quite a bit, having his hips lean forward into Dean just as he got to his feet.
“Yeah, makes your ass look good.”
“Does my ass need to look good?” he asked, taking the jeans as they were handed to him.
Dean winked, telling him, “Looks perfect.”
Then there was a heavy silence, Dean suddenly seeming to realize what he’d said, and he stepped back, rubbing his hand on his shirt, and then his face grew red. Castiel wasn’t sure he liked this embarrassment. He wanted to be past this. He wanted more than just standing in this room, no pants, but for practical reasons. He wanted…
Castiel stepped forward. “Dean.”
Dean stepped away.
“No, no. Just try the jeans on.”
Castiel did so, and they were much too tight, but he kept them on as he searched for something else to wear. Though they were certainly uncomfortable. The fabric hugged his thighs, gripped at his groin, his ass, and he was sure if Dean was looking he could see every detail of what he looked like below the waist. Well, not quite. That was the problem.
He got to the bottom of the drawer, and he found an article of clothing that was quite… small. He held it up, eyeing it suspiciously, heart thumping wildly, head picturing something that surprised him a bit. Though, it wasn’t the most heat-rising image he’d ever pictured of Dean. Perhaps he wouldn’t even be surprised if Dean owned something far more racier. Still, this was something.
Castiel turned in his crouch, to Dean, who was back on his bed, promptly ignoring him.
He cleared his throat.
That didn’t get his attention.
Perhaps if he threw it at him?
No, best to be blunt, yet not rude.
“What are these?” he asked.
Dean turned, clearly not expecting much, eyes tired, and a little glazed over with bored, inattention.
They widened a bit as he saw what Castiel was holding.
Shorts. Shorts that barely had any fabric for coverage.
Dean made a sort of growling sound in his throat, perhaps to clear it, even as his cheeks turned a little pink, and he scratched at the back of his head. Castiel waited.
“Uh… um… Wear ‘em to clean the Impala.”
So “Baby,” as Dean called her, was privy to Dean in those shorts, long legs, strong thighs, bare, but Castiel wasn’t.
“And yet I don’t get to see you in them?” he asked, standing.
Castiel didn’t know what had come over him — perhaps the stress of the hunt, exhaustion at this back and forth he had going with Dean, impatience that he had had these too-tight jeans on for much too long — but he decided he would not back down.
He tossed the shorts at Dean, and they landed over the laptop screen, hanging there.
“Put them on.”
At those words Castiel wished he could take these jeans off. The fabric was soft, no doubt, as Dean sometimes liked to splurge when it came to clothing, but they felt most uncomfortable in between his legs. Dean’s eyes were there now, then back at the shorts.
Dean picked them up from his laptop and stared, and then he swallowed roughly, looking back at him.
“Oh, oh. Okay.”
He rushed up, shoving his laptop aside, and he ended up on the far side of the bed, where Castiel couldn’t see his legs very well.
“In front of me.”
“I am— oh. You mean, like-like, on the other side— okay.”
Head down, face flushed, he shambled over, and started undoing his belt. His fingers kept slipping.
Castiel came forward to do it for him, and Dean’s head came up, suddenly breathing in the same air Cas was.
“I… I don’t usually do this,” Dean said.
“Do what?” Castiel asked, not sure what he was referring to. Of course he didn’t usually do this. This was Castiel’s first intimate experience with Dean as well.
“You know, men. I think about it, but uh…”
“If it helps, I’m not a man,” Castiel explained. “I’m a celestial being far larger and more powerful than you could ever comprehend inhabiting the body of a man that I’ve come to know as my own. What you see is…” He tilted his head up, considering his words, meeting Dean’s eyes when he found them, “What you can handle.”
A pleasant smell was coming from Dean now, a musky warmth, and Castiel knew it well from him. Desire, pleasure, affection. His human friend had even leaned forward, and Castiel couldn’t ignore the slight hardness against his hands.
Castiel wasn’t sure he knew what to say now. Dean had been in his presence when he’d been aroused such as this, but not quite the other way around. Sure, when he watched him sleep, and his dreams brought about excitement and his blood pressure changed, but being on this side of it left him unsure, breathless. Still, he undid his belt, and his jeans, and then stepped back so Dean could pull them down.
For a second Dean’s hands moved to his semi-erect cock, as if to cover it, but the way they were staring at each other, speaking without words, saying, yes, yes, yes, he decided not to.
Taking some of his confidence back. Dean winked at him, and then sashayed his hips back and forth as he pulled his jeans down. Getting them the rest of the way off was less beautiful, but Dean was laughing from it, with his lovely voice, and that beautiful confidence Castiel knew he had with sexual intercourse.
Oh, his jeans were far too tight. Frustrated, he too, started tugging his own pants off, which gave Dean pause.
Castiel ordered “continue” with his pants half-off, thighs bulging as he struggled with those infernal creations.
Finally his legs were bare, the pressure in between them given the room it needed, and Dean was pulling the shorts on.
Once he did, he twirled around for him, sticking out his ass, showing it off for him. Castiel wasn’t sure he quite understood sexual desire. He knew if he saw sexual things he sometimes grew aroused, and he knew he felt things for Dean, knew that right now his mouth was wet, his heart was pumping wildly though it didn’t even need to, and his breaths were coming in short gasps, and he felt hot, and… hard. There was a lot of pressure.
Castiel glanced down.
Oh! Oh, he had an erection too.
Oh gosh, he did not know what to do about that, but he knew he felt close to Dean, so when his back was to him, with all that freckled skin showing on muscle, curve of his ass just perfect, he came forward and wrapped his arms around him. He pressed tight against him, feeling some relief doing so.
Dean let out a long exhale, but his hands reached up to grip his. The touch sent tingles up Castiel’s arms.
“Didn’t plan my night going this way. Just thought you needed pants, you son of a bitch. You always this smooth?”
Castiel could figure out Dean was teasing him, so he tried to play along, “Not usually. Maybe I am with men who call their cars stupid names.”
Dean gasped at that, and made to turn around, but Castiel held him fast, pressed even harder up against him, ground his hips, and started rocking him back and forth.
It cooled Dean’s anger, while igniting something else. Dean was moving his hands, telling Castiel, without words, where he liked to be touched.
“These shorts look good on me?” Dean asked.
“I want to see you in them once a week.”
“Once a week? Come on, be more demanding.”
“Once a day, then.”
“There we go.”
Castiel found that he was curious, so he placed a kiss to the back of Dean’s neck. He was hot, and he was sure the action had his pulse racing.
“How do they feel?” Castiel asked.
“Tight,” Dean rasped, moving Castiel’s hands lower, one against his straining erection, the other down over his bare thigh. His skin was warm there, and beneath his other hand he was sure he could feel him throbbing. “Do you want them off yet?”
“Not just yet.”
A whine left Dean’s mouth, and Castiel pressed up harder, having Dean grunt as he was shoved forward. Oh, he could imagine the way he must’ve bit his lip as he’d whined. Such nice lips he had. Castiel had stared at them too much to not touch them.
He ran his hand along the inner part of Dean’s thigh for a bit, feeling the softness that even his impressively dangerous and demanding life couldn’t harden, and then up, fingers teasing at the edge of his shirt before dragging the garment up and over his torso. Dean arched back into him, but his hips came forward, and then he pushed at that hand, having him work his palm over it. There was that unmistakable twitch again, and then a soft sound from the hunter.
Castiel grabbed his jaw, and twisted his head back as he leaned into him, bringing their mouths together. Dean’s had already been open, and he breathed heavily into him. Cas eagerly swallowed it up, even as he tried to figure out how their lips fit. Dean’s were plump, soft, wet, and mmph, he felt the head of his cock growing wet at that realization, and Castiel, Cas was sure that somehow his lips could be right for Dean’s.
After some attempts at which they grew to know each other better, Dean pulled back just a fraction to breathe, “Hold my neck.”
He looked up at him, green bright and beautiful under long eyelashes. “Hold my neck.”
Castiel moved his hand there, but kept his grip gentle, and then he was kissing Dean’s jaw. To his surprise, Dean let out a loud moan, and Castiel hadn’t even changed the way he was grinding against him, or palming him. It sparked something in Cas, something not quite human, but perhaps not angelic either. Something that was all him. And he ended up tearing off the button on Dean’s shorts, and ripping the fabric around the zipper, and forcing them down his legs.
Dean cried out at that, and then Castiel was freeing himself. There was so much bare skin he could barely handle it. He was moaning, rocking, holding him tight.
This was Dean, and he wanted to give Dean everything.
He held the base of his cock in his hand, feeling Dean’s blood hot and raging, and he closed his eyes.
“Dean, quasahi,” he growled in his ear. “Quasahi.”
Power flowed from the word, and it wasn’t long before he had to release Dean’s neck and wrap an arm around his torso, holding him up as his body tried to give out. Dean’s legs surely felt numb, limp, like nothing compared to what Castiel had given him. Castiel curiously stroked the end of Dean’s cock as his seed was released in what seemed like pleasurably-agonizing bursts, and the hunter’s face was pressed tight against his, cheek warm and sweaty. It brought Castiel to his end as he rutted against him. But it didn’t compare to Dean’s end, to watching it, to seeing him, to lowering him to the ground so he could hold Dean in his arms, watch his reddened chest rise and fall, his cock slowly soften against his legs.
“What the…” Dean gasped, “What the hell was that?”
Dean, muscles almost limp, but still working, snaked his torso around, and pressed their lips together in a sloppy kiss. Saliva dripped between them when he pulled away.
“Don’t say it again.” He resumed leaning back against him. “Not ready.”
“It’s Enochian for—”
“Shut it. Don’t wanna know.”
“But you said—”
“Humans say a lotta things.”
Content with Dean in that space, Castiel tried to follow it up, so he replied, “Angels can too.”
“Apparently,” Dean mumbled.
He started climbing up, and Castiel helped him, cleaning him with his Grace at the same time, figuring Dean would appreciate it in the morning. He fell to his bed, rolling around till he was in a position that was comfortable, showing Castiel his naked backside.
Then he patted the mattress beside him. “Strip. Forget about pants. You’re sleeping with me.”
“Ihm sleepin’,” he slurred, mouth shoved against the pillow. He twisted his head. “You’re gonna keep that Enochian to yourself.”
Castiel shook his head, and started undressing, deciding that the problem of his ruined pants could wait till tomorrow. He ran a hand through Dean’s hair, and pressed a kiss to his earlobe.
“And what if I say that word again?”
Dean slapped a hand to Castiel’s stomach, a startlingly pleasant sensation, and then he promptly drifted off, snoring.
So, the word for pleasure in Enochian worked on him.
Castiel was going to have to remember that one.