Archive of Our Own

“It seems unnecessary, doesn’t it?” Cas asks one night when they’re curled up beside each other in his bed, bare and satiated, perspiring skin still cooling in the afterglow.

Dean gives Cas a moment to clarify. The list of things that Cas finds unnecessary is probably endless – he could be talking about anything from stubborn bigotry to decorative candles. Dean doesn’t remember when he let his eyes slip shut, already dozing from Cas’s soft, deep voice and strong fingers stroking his hair. “What’s that?” he mumbles, realizing Cas is waiting for confirmation that he hasn’t nodded off yet.

Cas takes Dean’s hand and holds it between them, a gesture of contentment and serenity. The rough pad of his thumb brushes Dean’s knuckles in a soothing, repetitive motion that has Dean practically purring, sinking further into the pillow. “To go back and forth like this. Between bedrooms.”

Dean’s still a little fuzzy-headed from pleasure, and it takes a few moments to pick up the thread of where Cas is going with this. He cracks one eye open. “You saying we should move in together, Cas?” he asks with a smirk, meeting Cas’s gaze.

He’s delighted to see the recognition in Cas’s eyes as he catches onto the joke, happy to play along. “I think we’ve known each other long enough, don’t you?” Cas says with a wry smile.

Dean never takes it to heart if Cas doesn’t follow his dumb, off-hand comments, but it’s always so rewarding when he does, when Dean’s able to coax a sly grin out of him and get a glimpse of that beyond-quirky sense of humor that Dean finds far more amusing than he probably should.

Dean laughs, loud and genuine, and Cas’s smile widens. “Yeah, definitely,” Dean agrees. A beat passes. “So, uh, who’s the lucky winner?”

“It should be yours,” Cas says with no trace of hesitation, with absolute certainty. “It’s home for you,” he adds when Dean blinks at him in mild surprise. Dean supposes that’s true – he’s got personal things, mementos he’s collected over the years, filling all the available shelf space, decorating the walls. Cas barely has any furniture. “It’s the obvious choice,” Cas concludes. “I don’t have much sentimentality for this room.”

Dean nods faintly, doesn’t see any damn reason to disagree with that. “Sure,” he says, flashing another smile, leaning in to brush his lips against Cas’s. “Makes sense to me.”

Cas stares at him intently for a moment, a spark in his eyes. “Of course, there is something very appealing about having you in my bed,” he admits with a pleased, possessive little growl that Dean absolutely does not admit to liking. Cas leans in, nuzzling his throat, leaving a kiss there. “We’ve certainly made some pleasant memories here.”

Dean laughs again, tilting his head back to allow Cas better access.  “I—” his breath hitches when Cas finds a sensitive spot, gently scrapes it with his teeth, “I’m up for one more memory if you are.”

Cas hums his agreement, crowding in close, kissing him deep and easy.

* * *

They wait until laundry day to make it official.

The only thing in Cas’s room that he had any sort of attachment to was, oddly enough, his own bedding. Dean doesn’t get what the fuss is about, but Cas has a special fondness for these sheets and Dean wasn’t about to put up a fight. Instead, he made sure they were freshly washed, plucked them from the dryer, and got to work putting them on the bed, still toasty-hot. Cas had his own good points about why Dean’s room was the right pick, but this bed, in Dean’s opinion, is the biggest selling point – regardless of whose sheets are on it. Even Cas had to concede to the magic of the memory foam.

Then again, Dean would probably sleep on a bed of nails if it meant falling asleep next to Cas, but, you know, given the choice he’ll definitely take the luxury mattress.

Meanwhile, Cas is sorting through his clothes, folding them and piling them into Dean’s dresser. It’s a piece of furniture that’s far too big for Dean’s own limited ‘wardrobe,’ but between the two of them, the drawers are actually getting close to full. It’s sort of horrifically domestic, Dean thinks, the idea of their t-shirts nestled side by side, never mind the fact that they’re spending the afternoon doing laundry together. A part of him wonders if he should be freaked out by giving up his space like that, especially considering it was decades before he truly had a room to call his own, one he didn’t have to share.

But this outcome has always been too inevitable to really be scary, and honestly, he wants this, takes a certain amount of satisfaction in Cas being fully integrated into his cozy little nest. It feels right, there’s no uncertainty now – for either of them. Cas is most definitely staying, staying with Dean, and Dean is most definitely going to let him. Dean hadn’t even realized how the impermanence of it all had unsettled him before, how it contributed to his doubts and anxiety, wondering if he’d show up at Cas’s room and be turned away at the door, if he’d spend all night waiting in his own bed for Cas to come by, only to be disappointed. But now that that’s behind them, Dean’s somewhat taken aback at the relief he feels, how he breathes a little easier. He knows exactly where he’ll be waking up – and more importantly, who’ll be waking up beside him – probably… probably forever, if he has anything to say about it.

He’s trying not to dwell on those sappy-ass thoughts, but it’s comfortably silent at the moment, and performing menial tasks like making the bed always sets his mind to wandering.

“Oh,” Cas says suddenly, and the sound of confusion in his voice catches Dean’s attention. “Did you know these were in here?”

Dean finally glances over and nearly chokes on air, eyes zeroing in on the panties that Cas has loosely gripped in one hand. Cas is alternating between studying them quizzically and looking expectantly at him, and yep, that definitely snaps Dean the hell out of his daydreaming.

Dean’s not sure if it’s possible to blush furiously and feel your blood run cold at the same time, but he seems to be making a valiant effort.

It takes a few seconds to compose himself, to remember that Cas asked him a question. Yeah, sure, he knew they were in there, historically speaking, but obviously it hadn’t occurred to him before he gave Cas free rein to root around in his sock drawer. “Uh,” he hesitates, but he doesn’t really see the point in trying to lie about it, not yet. “Yeah. I guess so.” Of course, he’s not all that forthcoming on the details either.

He swallows hard, the silence settling back in, tense as his answer hangs in the air. His heart’s pounding, the stifling embarrassment warring with all the other, more pleasant feelings he usually associates with that particular article of clothing.

He’s willing to leave it there, to give a terse reply, hope that Cas doesn’t pursue it any further. Of course some of the places they could go further with this topic aren’t entirely mortifying, but—

“Are they yours?”

Dean nearly chokes at that. He’d almost convinced himself that this line of questioning was over with, but apparently Cas is cutting right to the chase.

Honestly, the reality of the situation is hitting him with such force that he can’t even answer right away because fuck, it looks like this is something they’re going to talk about now. Unless he does decide to lie. He’s not even sure, Cas being Cas, if he’s asking what Dean thinks he’s asking when he asks if they’re his.

But lying doesn’t feel quite right here, either. Because, well, they are his, technically, he does in fact have possession of them, they currently occupy a spot in his dresser. Whether he cops to… to anything else is a totally different story.

“Dean?”

“Sorry,” he manages, shaking his head. Dean’s not sure how long he’s been frozen there, awkwardly hunched over, trying to stretch on the last corner of the fitted sheet. Turns out it’s a little small for this mattress.

Cas shrugs, unoffended. “I was just wondering where they came from.”

Dean abandons the bed-making for now, finally stands upright and tries to look Cas in the eye like a well-adjusted adult. He’s not terribly successful. “I, uh,” he trails off for a moment, wets his lips, mouth suddenly dry. “I stole them.” It feels safer, for the moment, to focus on answering Cas’s second question, even if Dean’s pretty sure he’s only delaying the inevitable.

Cas’s eyebrows give a funny little twitch. “From a woman,” he says in supposed comprehension, like he’s not even really asking, just confirming the conclusion that the panties are some kind of… frat boy trophy. Dean’s unsure if he detects jealousy in Cas’s voice – and maybe he wouldn’t mind it so much if he did, so sue him – but with whatever’s going through Cas’s head, he doesn’t seem to think it’s recent, that Dean’s been stepping out on him. He seems to imagine them as some relic from Dean’s past, a past which apparently, in Cas’s approximation, included swiping lingerie from unsuspecting women. And it’s not like he’s never thought about it, okay, but if he was already sneaking out before morning it just seemed rude to rob them while he was at it. And some of those nicer ones might even be missed, ain’t exactly cheap – he knows that with more certainty now than he cares to admit.

“No, not like—” he pauses and feels his face heating. He had an explanation to latch onto, one that seemed to make sense to Cas, one that didn’t bother him, but Dean had to go and open his mouth. “I meant, y’know. Shoplifted. From a JCPenney.”

He could’ve gone to a specialty store, could’ve gotten something more… elaborate. It was no doubt an alluring prospect, but it felt too obvious, too deliberate. It was easy enough to stroll through a department store during their less busy hours, wander out of the more appropriate clothing options and into "Intimate Apparel" without drawing too much attention. Of course, he didn’t really have to resort to petty theft. It wouldn’t have been too much of a stretch to shop by himself, make up some excuse about how he’s looking for a gift for his girlfriend. He lies on a regular basis for jobs, about things of far more dire importance, but this one touched on something too secret, too intimate and personal. He never would have pulled it off, would have been sweating and stammering, nervously licking his lips and probably alerting mall security to the perv creeping around the ladies’ underwear. That assessment wouldn’t even be too far off.

He’d toyed with the idea of ordering something online, but he was a wreck over the prospect of having to make sure no one noticed the package. Besides, he wouldn’t get to touch them that way, to properly imagine what it would feel like when he locked himself in his bedroom and carefully slid them on.

“Oh,” Cas says again, and Dean can tell, when he sneaks a glance, that he’s thrown off this time. He can see the recalculation taking place in Cas’s mind, eyes narrowed in thought. “Why? What did you want them for?” Dean knows he’s working something out but is trying to be absolutely sure about it. Cas is like that. He gets Dean’s number pretty handily, but he waits until he can wield that knowledge with absolute precision, until he can efficiently take Dean apart and put him together again.

“I, um,” Dean stalls, not sure if he can do this, rubs his suddenly damp palms on the worn denim of his jeans. “Sometimes, I…” He stops and swallows again, meeting Cas’s eyes. The openness on Cas’s face calms him, helps him steady his shaking hands. This is Cas, he reminds himself, and frankly, they’re too far down this path for him to try to backpedal, to pull the old I swear, officer, I was just holding them for a friend. “I, uh, y’know… wear ‘em.”

Cas actually looks skeptical at this information, probably wondering if Dean’s fucking with him. Dean’s not sure if that’s comforting or not, that the idea of it seems so absurd, even to Cas. “I’ve never seen you wear these,” Cas says slowly, glancing down at the delicate garment he’s holding, rubbing it between his fingers. Dean’s fucking sweating, feels his pulse ratchet up a notch when Cas looks at him again, holds his gaze with magnetic intensity. “I would remember.”

“Well, y’know, it’s usually—” He struggles to find the appropriate word for it, for when he slips on a pair when he’s by himself, choking on shame and arousal, barely gets a hand on himself before he’s coming hard, gasping and staining the fabric. “…Private,” he decides. His blush is probably giving him away right now. He’s officially flustered at this point, and Cas’s doubt and confusion are being rapidly overtaken by an interest so sharp that it feels dangerous. “Just… for fun,” he adds, cursing internally at how breathy his voice sounds.

Cas eyes the panties in his hand again, eyes Dean, understanding dawning on his face. “Wearing these excites you.”

Dean doesn’t know what Cas is thinking, can’t get a read on his tone yet, but that sure as hell wasn’t a question – it’s a confident conclusion, a statement of fact, and Dean can’t get out the words to confirm or deny. Whatever look he has on his face probably says enough, that and the fact that if he had any intentions of disagreeing – whether or not it was total bluster – he’d have done it already, loudly and vehemently to boot. Cas knows that well enough by now.

“I…” he attempts, gets out one croaked syllable and goes no further. He doesn’t know how to proceed from here, now that that information is out in the open, or if he’s even brave enough to proceed at all.

He considers the consequences if he shuts this conversation down. God knows he’ll never have the balls to bring up again. Cas might, it’s possible – he’s curious like that and able to read Dean to a degree that should be disturbing – but he may have also picked up on the genuine fear and embarrassment in Dean’s eyes, overshadowing any underlying desire for the moment, and he’s too considerate to push if he sees Dean freaking the fuck out.

But as terrifying as it seems to have this discussion right now, the idea of tabling it forever is just…

He could actually share this with someone, because he wants to do it and knows it full well, isn’t just following someone else’s lead and discovering something new and exciting and vaguely alarming about himself.

In those rare moments when he permits honesty with himself, he can admit that it was good with Rhonda, a woman he liked (and who had also figured him out with an aptitude that bordered on scary) but was ultimately a total stranger. He can’t even imagine what it would be like to do something like this with Cas.

And he does want to find out, he does, but—

“I’m sorry,” Cas says quietly, shaking Dean loose from his thoughts. “This is making you uncomfortable.”

Dean frowns at the sight of Cas looking crestfallen and guilty as hell. He doesn’t want Cas to feel bad, like he’s made Dean upset, because that’s not it, not really. He sighs, and hopes Cas realizes it’s directed at himself. “It’s just— I don’t usually—” he attempts haltingly, steels himself and tries again. “Don’t usually talk about this,” he says tightly, managing to hold eye contact.

“Are you ashamed of it?”

Dean just barely resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Am I—” He hopes his incredulous scoff gets the point across, conveys what a ridiculous question that is. “Guys don’t— Guys don’t wear frilly pink stuff meant for chicks, Cas,” he says clarifies impatiently, knowing Cas is going to ask for more explanation. That’s the kind of stuff Cas just doesn’t get. He’ll listen if Dean tries to tell him about it, but that doesn’t make it any less irrational in his eyes, apparently.

“Why not?” Cas asks calmly.

Dean finds himself suddenly annoyed at how casual Cas is being about all this, feels old, self-protective habits rising to the surface and urging him to lash out because he’s vulnerable. “You’re just not fucking supposed to,” he bites out, volume increasing. There’s more to say about that, but he can’t give voice to all the ugly words running through his head about what kind of person it makes you if you’re into this kinda shit.

“But you do it anyway,” Cas says, raising an eyebrow. “You can’t be the only one.”

Dean summons up the self-control to pause and take a deep breath, hates how his heart’s racing – and not in the fun way anymore. Cas is watching him attentively, more or less undeterred by Dean’s poor attitude. Dean realizes what a stupid endeavor it is to try to get and get pissed at Cas right now, when his level, unbiased reaction to this is exactly what Dean needs to keep himself grounded.

“Goddammit, Cas,” he mutters, shoulders slumping, scrubbing a hand over his face with an unexpected rush of emotion.  The fight drains out of him as quickly as it arrived. “Look, I don’t really know how to explain it, alright? I just…” He looks away and trails off, feeling shaky again, unsettled.

Dean wasn’t aware of how huge the space between them had felt until Cas closes the distance, near enough that Dean can actually feel the warmth of his body, mere centimeters away. Cas reaches out and takes Dean’s chin in his hand, urges him to look up and into Cas’s eyes.

He regards Dean intently for a moment and squares his jaw, determination manifesting on his face. “'Not supposed to' sounds like bullshit, in my opinion,” he says, in a deep, rumbling rasp, and hearing Cas swear should not be a turn on, but, well. The pad of Cas’s thumb grazes Dean’s stubble, fleetingly brushes his lower lip. “You like it,” Cas says, just above a whisper, says it like a reminder – that Dean’s allowed to have the things that he wants, even if someone (usually himself) tells him he can’t, a reminder that what Dean likes holds a great amount of appeal for Cas. “Even if it feels—” Cas pauses only briefly to choose the word. “Even if it feels wrong, you like that part too.”

There’s a nearly undetectable trace of a smile on his face, perhaps the slightest bit teasing but entirely fond, never mocking. Because Cas knows all about that, doesn’t he, Dean thinks, feeling his blush return – knows all about the taboo things that drive him wild like nobody’s fuckin’ business, the ones that are very rarely spoken of outside of the moment, if ever.

He holds Cas’s gaze steadily, despite the nerves, because he can feel the underlying heat there too – how Cas is probably remembering the same things that Dean is, how those experiences have been pleasant for both of them. Dean’s not sure he even needs to say anything, because Cas must see it now, the want in Dean’s eyes, that he’s emboldened because he really likes the way Cas is looking at him right now, with that sort of fierce protectiveness that wants nothing more than for Dean to feel safe in his enjoyment, will goddamn fight for that when Dean’s convinced himself he’s not allowed to.

He says, “Yeah,” in agreement, even if it could have gone without saying. Because Cas hit the nail on the head – how the fuck is Dean supposed to argue? And it feels like a rush, like liberation, heart thudding beneath his ribcage. “I do.” Dean doesn’t miss the way Cas’s eyes flash at the admission, the affection and pride easily commingling with a spark of lust.

Dean can only keep up that kind of intense eye contact for so long, especially now, and lowers his eyes, only to get a reminder that – Jesus Christ – Cas still has Dean’s goddamn panties wound in his fingers.

Cas follows his line of sight. “They’re nice,” he comments mildly, evidently changing tack. He holds them up between them to get a better look, thoughtfully feeling the material again.

They’re not much in the way of embellishment or luxuriousness, not like the ones tempting Dean from the Victoria’s Secret window, but the texture, the color feel indulgent and special (and decidedly feminine) compared to what he’s used to. He’d planned on snipping off the little white bow adorning the waistband once he got them home, but, an undefined amount of time later, he still hasn’t gotten around to it. He tries not to read into that.

Cas has relaxed his hold on Dean’s chin, rests his hand on the curve of Dean’s cheek, thumb stroking softly. “How do they feel?” he asks, voice taking on a subtle seductiveness, “When you put them on?”

Dean sways into him, clutches Cas’s arms to ground himself, but the thick muscle beneath his fingers does not help him clear his head whatsoever. “Good,” he murmurs, that’s the only way he knows how to describe it, all that he can manage. “Really good.” That becomes harder to deny the longer he thinks about it, the more he can tell that Cas is thinking about it too.

“I’d like to see that.”

“Yeah?” Dean says, breath catching, pressing himself closer. “You’d really be, uh… interested in that?” It seems pretty damn clear at this point what the answer is, but he’d sort of like to hear Cas say it.

“Very much so,” Cas says smoothly, and god, he certainly looks it. Sincerity bleeds into his expression for a moment. “But I won’t ask you if you don’t want to. I understand if it’s…” he pauses for a moment. “Private,” he concludes, echoing Dean’s language.

Dean appreciates that even with both of their desires more or less laid out on the table, Cas doesn’t insist on being involved, is perfectly okay with Dean just enjoying this on his own time. But Dean’s utterly, shamefully thrilled that he’s interested, is honestly already a little hard at the idea of Cas seeing him like that, even if the actual reality of it is a bit daunting.

He could say it’s private, and Cas would never push him or hold it against him. He never really considers that option. “It, uh—” he clears his throat, suddenly hoarse. “It doesn’t have to be.”

Cas’s eyebrows quirk upwards. “Have you done this with someone else before?” he asks, no trace of judgment or jealousy, just genuine curiosity, thirst for more information.

“Just the first time. With the woman who, uh… introduced me to the idea.” Dean’s relieved to find that it’s easier to talk about it now. “That was it.”

“And you’d show me?” Cas asks, hushed but intrigued. “You’d want to?”

Dean nods in case he can’t get any words out, but he surprises himself. “I want to, Cas. I can show you.” His reservations are rapidly falling away the longer he stands here, with Cas in his space, touch warm and comforting. “Uh, right now?” He aims for casual, but it only comes out hasty, eager.

Cas’s lips quirk. “Tonight,” he says, like he’s already got plans for Dean. “When we have more time.”

Dean can’t help but feel a little let down by that, but Cas does have a point. There’s more laundry to do, and Sam’s probably going to come banging on the door any minute to tell Dean the timer for his meatloaf is beeping.

Dean licks his lips, wants to kiss Cas so badly but there’s no way he’d be able to stop right now. “Yeah. Tonight.” Cas told him to wait, and he’s more than willing to go along with that.

Cas takes a step back and the sadistic bastard actually smiles at him while he slips the panties into his fucking pocket.

Dean doesn’t know how he’s supposed to make it until tonight, how he’s supposed to go about the rest of his evening like everything’s normal when it’s taking all his willpower not to wrap himself around Cas right now, not to say later can fuck off, even if he has to let dinner burn.

* * *

Dean manages to calm himself down by the time he’s in the kitchen, slipping on an oven mitt and carefully setting a hot roasting pan on the counter. Making dinner always takes on a new sense of purpose when he’s got more people to feed.

Charlie’s been staying with them for the past few days. She might be staying with them for a good long while, actually – like the maybe-indefinitely sort of long while – and Dean’s spirits are undeniably buoyed at the idea.

Cas had certainly been glad to see her again, and the feeling was plainly mutual, the way Charlie had lit up when he’d strolled into the room to welcome her. “You live here now?” she’d gasped, surprised and delighted. In a split second she was leveling a glare at the Winchesters. “Looks like someone,” she paused for effect, narrowing her eyes at Dean accusingly, “Hasn’t been filling me in on all the super important shit going on around here.”

And Dean figured it had been long enough – too long – since he’d had a real chat with Charlie, so they grabbed a six pack and holed up in the room he’d made up for her (her room, if she wants it) while he brought her up to speed.

Dean likes having Charlie around. It feels like a relief, like comfort on many levels – she understands him in ways he didn’t fully realize he’d been missing out on, until recently. There are things Dean just can’t talk about with Sam. And although Cas is totally nonjudgmental, there are things Dean can’t talk about with him either. Because despite how patient and considerate he is, Cas only has peripheral knowledge of the kinds of issues Dean’s been struggling with, doesn’t truly get it the way Charlie does.

Dean had started with the simple version of it, how Cas had given up his grace, and, well, here they are. It wasn’t that he was trying to hide what was going on with him and Cas, not entirely, but he hesitated to get into it, not sure if he was ready to stammer his way through the details. But before he knew it he was having that conversation with Charlie, and he was glad he’d waited to talk to her about it in person, even if had taken a few beers and some careful nudging on her end before he actually opened up – before he let it slip that maybe they had a little more in common than a fondness for Star Wars and medieval mock-battle strategy, that not only were he and Cas a thing now, Cas’s male form was far from a fluke or an exception or a stumbling block for Dean.

Charlie hadn’t seemed particularly surprised (Dean, to his own amazement, didn’t get panicky and insecure about that), hadn’t tried to label him either but offered some possible suggestions that he’s filed away, rolls around in the back of his mind when he feels like it. And when Dean couldn’t find the words anymore, lapsed into silence, surprisingly drained, Charlie caught his eye, lifting her chin in mock seriousness. “Welcome aboard, soldier,” she proclaimed, punctuating her sentence with a jaunty salute, smirk threatening to break through her serious façade. “It’s an honor to serve with you.”

And then she’d melted into a bright smile, sweeping him into a hug he didn’t know he needed until her arms were wrapped tight around him. It was corny to even think it, but he could actually feel them growing closer in that moment, one of the unspoken things that bonded them now out in the open, pulling them together stronger than ever.

Talking to Charlie, just having her around, seeing that she’s fully aware of everything, and is totally unfazed, one hundred percent supportive, makes all kinds of stuff easier. It’s been less than a week since she got here but it’s strangely refreshing for her to throw an unimpressed look his way, roll her eyes anytime he tries to ‘retreat into his macho, heteronormative bullshit.’ Although she seems to find it more effective to plaster on a grin instead, gaze up at him sweetly and chirp, “Keep it up, tough guy, I know you love cuddling and Harrison Ford.” She’ll pause, batting her eyelashes. “And not in the manly hero-worship way either.”

Dean will give her a dirty look but can’t deny it, and honestly, if feels sort of good to talk about that kind of stuff, to casually joke about the sort of things he used to take pains to conceal.

Charlie, apparently, has followed her nose into the kitchen, suddenly appearing at Dean’s shoulder and watching with interest as he slathers the meatloaf with one last coat of barbecue sauce.

“Dude,” Charlie says, excitement edging its way into her voice. “Did you put bacon in this?”

Dean’s not too pleased with himself when he answers. “Hell yeah I did.”

“Holy shit,” Charlie says, eyes wide and appreciative, “You kick so much ass.”

Dean laughs fondly at her enthusiasm, planting a quick peck on the top of her head. “Only the best for the queen,” he says affectionately, returning the pan to the oven. He suppresses the urge to laugh again when he sees the look of dismay on Charlie’s face, abruptly heartbroken as the food is taken away.

“No way, are you serious?” Charlie groans dramatically. “When do I get to actually eat it?” She blinks and frowns. “Oh my god, I should not be this excited about bacon meatloaf,” she mutters to herself, burying her face in her hands. “When did I turn into that person? You’re a bad influence.”

This time Dean does laugh. “Just needs another fifteen minutes. You could set the table if you wanna make yourself useful.”

“Yay, I’m helping,” Charlie says, only about half-sarcasm, smile reappearing as she steps away from the counter. “And I’m putting out the salad I bought.”

“Traitor,” Dean declares, narrowing his eyes at her. “I’m renouncing my allegiance to you.”

“You don’t have to have any,” she says, and before he can even voice his distrust she adds, “No, I’m lying, I’m gonna make you eat some. I know, I’m a terrible person, not wanting you to die of a heart attack before age forty.”

He still pretends to be mad at her until the meatloaf is back out of the oven, cooling on the counter. She’s been ignoring him in favor of scrolling through her phone but he gets her attention, beckons her over with a fork and lets her sneak a taste before Sam and Cas get there.

“Don’t tell anyone,” Charlie says as she breaks off a small piece to sample, “But you’re my favorite.” She takes a bite and punches him in the arm, surprisingly hard.

Dean knows Charlie well enough to correctly interpret that. “Yeah?” he asks, raising his eyebrows, grinning widely.

“Holy shit,” she says emphatically, and Dean’s too proud of himself to bother stopping her when she reaches for another bite. “I’m never leaving,” she announces. “Seriously, if you’re gonna cook me stuff like this, good luck getting rid of me.”

She phrases it like a threat but Dean hears it like a promise. He really wouldn’t mind if Charlie stuck around for a while.

When Cas wanders into the room, Dean’s embarrassed at the way he finds himself immediately snapping into awareness, thoughts swiftly drawn back to their bedroom. Cas’s slow smile gets Dean’s heart pounding, wondering if Cas is deliberately trying to look irresistible or it just comes naturally to him, that asshole.

“That smells amazing,” Cas says earnestly. The easy compliment makes Dean feel warm all over and it’s ridiculous how badly he wants Cas closer, touching him, whispering praise into his ear.

“It is amazing,” Charlie insists. “You’ve gotta try it.”

“No more free samples,” Dean says sternly, trying to distract from how he’s close to blushing now, Cas’s promise of tonight ringing in his ears, tantalizing and impossibly far away. “Somebody find Sam so we can sit down already.”

Cas never has any real interest in subtlety for his own sake, given his almost complete lack of shame, but he usually tries to tone it down for Dean. He’s even getting better at it.

But Dean’s especially antsy throughout dinner, jumping guiltily every time Sam happens to clear his throat, because it all feels so fucking obvious – like not only can everyone at the table see the way Cas is undressing Dean with his eyes, they must somehow also know what the two of them have planned for later, that Cas is thinking about Dean in a tiny scrap of pink.

Charlie would probably tease him about it, but not unkindly, if she ever found out about the conversation he’d just had with Cas, about his... other secret. He almost wants to tell her, because apparently now he’s in the business of talking about that shit (though how do you bring something like that up) – just for the reassurance that there are people who won’t judge him for this, and not just because they have no concept of human norms and are exceedingly interested in getting into his pants. Hell, she’d probably volunteer to go shopping with him, and it’s actually a less horrifying idea than he’d have initially thought, to be able to walk into one of those stores, not just with a woman to divert suspicion but with a friend who supports him.

He’s sure Sam, on the other hand, would be merciless if he ever caught wind of this. Dean can’t even blame him, because as much as Sam fancies himself a total bleeding-heart, gentle giant type, he’s still Dean’s obnoxious little brother. And after decades of insensitive name-calling from Dean, dubbing him Samantha, and so on and so forth, the revenge would be just and sweet, too much to resist. He’d probably let up if Dean got uncomfortable, got serious about it but at the end of the day the fact remains – there are some things you just do not discuss with your brother.

Cas keeps throwing him heated glances as they eat, faint smiles that seem benign but are betrayed by the promising glint in his eyes, and suddenly Dean couldn’t care less if Cas is being obvious. It makes Dean feel bold, feel comforted, to know that Cas is just as anxiously awaiting their time alone together. It even makes the salad palatable.

They watch a movie after dinner – Charlie’s always got something cutting-edge and likely-not-legally-obtained to share with them – but Dean can’t even concentrate on the screen right now, not with Cas next to him on the couch, hand warm and heavy on Dean’s thigh. Dean can’t stop thinking about it, how Cas has his panties in his fucking pocket right now. Cas even goes so far as to slip his other hand in there while Dean’s watching – not removing them, like Dean had briefly panicked – no doubt just feeling them beneath his fingertips, imagining what they’ll get up to as soon as the credits roll and they’re behind a locked door.

Dean’s a fucking mess of arousal and nerves by the time they decide to turn in for the night, heading back to their room. His hesitations had been put on the back burner for the most part, in favor of some more enjoyable feelings, but they’re creeping back up on him now. He was definitely up for this before, once they’d talked it through, when it was kind of a spur of the moment idea, when he’d agreed without thinking much about it. But maybe he’s had a little too much time to think about it now. He can’t pass this off as a one-time experiment with a more experienced woman, or something shameful that he’d never let anyone else see. He’s making a real choice, actually owning this as something he wants, inviting Cas to see this, what the fuck is wrong with him—

The panic lessens, nearly drops off altogether when Cas gets close to him as they walk down the hall and into the bedroom, his hand steady on Dean’s lower back, gaze full of open affection.

Dean isn’t certain how this will play out, he doesn’t know if he should bring it up, or if Cas is going to, or—

Cas is on him the second the door closes behind them, pushes Dean right up against it and takes Dean’s mouth in a deep, thorough kiss. He pulls back, already looking dazed, and it’s gratifying to see that the wait has gotten to him too.

Cas cradles Dean’s face in his hands, brows knit thoughtfully for only a moment before leaning in and kissing him again. He hums in satisfaction, still impossibly close as he fixes Dean with an intent look, growls, “Take your clothes off,” into the scant space between them.

There’s a cheeky yes sir on the tip of Dean’s tongue, but he tamps it down, doesn’t want to let on that it’s less of a joke than he might want to pretend. He can’t deny how his toes curl at Cas commanding him like that, a thrill simmering in his belly as he hastens to obey. He’s sure Cas notices, the way his flush intensifies, and Dean can almost see him making mental notes, feels an underlying sense of anticipation for whenever Cas’s latest findings come to light, wondering how Cas will exploit the discovery that Dean likes it when he’s bossy.

He can feel their plans for this evening almost seamlessly bleeding into the whole ‘Cas taking charge’ thing that they’ve been steadily inching their way towards, and it relaxes him as much as it turns him on. Dean’s vulnerable right now, with what they’re about to do, but he knows he can count on Cas not to judge him, to go along with it and assume the lead so Dean doesn’t have to overthink what’s going on, doesn’t give into the doubt and worry and shut the whole situation down before it even begins.

Dean undresses in fits and starts, torn between hurrying things along and giving Cas a show, self-conscious about his own eagerness either way. He pushes those thoughts aside, finally bared to Cas’s attentive gaze, his close scrutiny more familiar at this stage in their relationship, but no less exciting. Dean’s breathing heavier now, pleasant warmth settling in his belly, cock hardening as Cas eyes him with undisguised lust.

As the seconds drag on, Dean fidgets and clears his throat. Cas seems to snap out of it, reaches into his pocket for the panties, eyes flicking between them and Dean. Dean knows what’s coming, the next logical step, the afore-discussed outline for tonight, and reaches out, fighting to still the tremors in his hand.

But Cas doesn’t give them up, only looks down at them thoughtfully, held tight between his fingers. “Will you—” He glances at Dean again, hesitating as if he’s not sure how Dean will react. Dean’s more or less on board with this ride, by now, but it’s comforting to know that Cas never assumes, wants to make sure that Dean is completely into whatever they do. Cas squares his jaw, confidence settling in. “Will you let me put them on for you?”

Dean knows he’s flushing red at that, can feel it suffusing all the way down his neck. He’s not sure what Cas will get out of that (or hell, why the idea gets him going too), or what the hell difference it makes if the results are the same, but he doesn’t see any damn good reason to disagree. “Okay,” he breathes, flexing his fingers and shaking out the apprehension.

Cas pulls him into a tender kiss, his unoccupied hand cupping Dean’s cheek. Dean leans into the touch even after Cas has pulled his mouth away, and too soon he withdraws his hand as well, smoothly dropping to his knees before Dean.

Cas may be the one kneeling but Dean’s still pinned by the intensity of his gaze, feels his cock stirring further as Cas leaves a wet kiss on his hip, sucks a mark into the delicate skin of his abdomen. Dean steadies himself on Cas’s shoulders as he steps into the panties, staring down as Cas reverently slides them up his calves, past his knees, over his hips and into place. Dean can just barely manage to fit his erection beneath the waistband, not sure that will last with the way Cas is running his strong fingers up the backs of Dean’s thighs, squeezing his ass appreciatively. Cas leans forward and leaves another mark on Dean’s belly, just above the dainty white bow on the waistband, and pulls back only slightly, watching Dean, breath hot and tantalizing through the soft fabric.

It feels fantastic every time Dean does this, the way he strains against the gauzy material, how it clings to him tightly, shifts agonizingly with every little movement until he can’t even keep still, impossibly hard, hips rocking into barely-there friction. Cas holds Dean’s hand for balance as he rises to his feet, doesn’t let go of it when he steps back to get a real look at him.

Dean can’t even begin to figure out what Cas is thinking. This pair of panties certainly isn’t the first he’s worn since his night with Rhonda. He tends to discard them pretty quickly (especially once he ruins them), too paranoid about being caught, holding out for as long as he can until he’s desperate enough to pilfer something new. Still, it’s been a while since he’s worn these, and the fit’s a little more snug than he remembers – courtesy of how his life’s been more settled as of late, that comfortable domesticity he’s becoming increasingly familiar with – not that they left much to the imagination to begin with.

He’s actually a little self-conscious about it. Maybe this isn’t the most flattering look, maybe he should have waited to get something that fit him better, something a bit nicer.

But Cas doesn’t seem to mind, if the look on his face is any indication. He hasn’t said anything, seems momentarily beyond words, Dean’s amazed to realize, only whispers Dean’s name, hushed, almost awed, and yes, it’s obvious he likes what he sees.

Cas drinks in the picture he makes, languidly, hungrily, until it’s as if he can’t resist anymore, drawn in by gravity to slot their mouths together. He nips at Dean’s bottom lip, hands roaming every inch of skin within reach, settling on the small of Dean’s back and sinking lower, palms stroking roughly, fingers digging in.

Dean shivers at the sensation of Cas’s clothes rubbing against his bare skin, the rough denim of his jeans catching on silky fabric – which is hot, Jesus, but he feels so fucking exposed, the subtle contrast in power too raw, for right now, for him to enjoy it completely.

He breaks the kiss reluctantly, only pulling his mouth away so he can talk, unwilling to be too far out of Cas’s arms. “Hey, can you…?” he says vaguely, pulling at Cas’s clothes, pushing his overshirt from his shoulders. “I feel kinda—”

He doesn’t exactly finish that sentence, but Cas seems to get the hint, murmurs, “Of course,” against his cheek. He strips quickly with Dean’s eager hands helping him along, sheds his pants and shirt, not entirely bare but so he and Dean are on more equal footing.  Not exactly equal, Dean thinks, comparing his current choice of undergarment to Cas’s usual boxer-briefs, but certainly a lot closer.

With that obstacle out of the way, Dean relaxes even further, gets his hands on Cas again, his tanned muscles and smooth skin always a pleasant distraction. Despite lingering nerves, he’s most definitely turned on, achingly hard from Cas’s interested gaze, his rough, wandering hands.

Cas pulls Dean towards him for another kiss, and Dean breaks away moaning, loudly, when Cas circles their hips together in a slow, deliberate grind that has Dean’s cock twitching, leaves him reeling from how good it feels. It’s hitting him how long he’s been waiting for this – not just today but an immeasurable amount of time before that – and his head’s swimming with how much he wants it, how difficult it still feels to follow through.

He holds onto Cas, clutches his thick biceps and sags against him, buries his face against Cas’s neck. He brushes his lips against the tanned skin there, just briefly before stopping altogether, stock still aside from the way he’s faintly trembling.

“What is it?” Cas asks, infinitely patient.

“It’s just—” Dean tries, still speaking into Cas’s collarbone. It’s a lot of things, even now – can’t believe he’s doing this, can’t believe how far gone he is already. “It’s… embarrassing,” he spits out, failing to keep the bitterness out of his tone. “I told you, I don’t know how to explain it.”

“You don’t have to, Dean,” Cas says quietly, reaching up and running his fingers through Dean’s hair. Dean wraps his arms around him, clinging tighter. “I know it worries you what other people think, but this isn’t for anyone else, right now. This isn’t theirs to know about or to see.”

The assurance, the faint note of protectiveness in Cas’s voice makes Dean feel braver. He tilts his head back, seeking Cas’s comforting gaze. “I get that, but—” He flounders, argument fading into nothing, doesn’t even want to protest, blathering on out of habit before he can stop himself.

“I know,” Cas whispers, as if he hears what Dean’s thinking, as if he really understands it. And Dean has his doubts about that, honestly – Cas doesn’t get ashamed over stuff like this – but he does do his best to comprehend Dean’s insecurities, especially when Dean’s actually trying to be open about them, for once. The nuances of this scenario might escape Cas, maybe, but he usually has Dean pretty figured out. Cas holds him, kisses him softly until the tension’s left him, until he’s responding to Cas’s touch again, hands everywhere, leisurely and soothing. He pauses, slides his hands up to hold Dean’s face in his hands, makes sure he has Dean’s attention. “Do you want to stop?”

“No,” Dean says immediately. Christ, despite everything, he does not entertain that notion for one damn second. “Don’t wanna stop.”

“Good,” Cas replies, voice enticingly deep, raspy with desire, “I don’t want to stop either.”

Dean pulls him in for a kiss, and Cas meets him with fire now, with sharp nips of his teeth and the filthy curl of his tongue. He bites back a whimper – god, Cas is turned on by this, is so fucking hard, Dean can feel it, just from looking at him in flimsy little panties.

Without another word, Cas leads him to the bed so they can lie down. He rolls Dean onto his back, never stops touching him, crowds in beside him to briefly kiss him, his tongue teasing Dean’s before he wanders lower, sucks marks into his neck until Dean’s sighing happily. Dean misses the warmth of Cas’s mouth when he pulls back and props himself up on one elbow, leisurely sweeping his eyes along Dean’s body. Before this afternoon, Dean wouldn’t have expected that Cas would get anything out of something like this, aside from the fulfillment he usually feels from giving Dean what he wants, but right now he looks like he wants to eat Dean alive.

“I can see why this is exciting for you,” Cas murmurs, voice warm in Dean’s ear, palm heavy over his heart. “You look so good.”

Dean huffs out a dry laugh, intending to deflect from how the compliment makes him want to melt contentedly into the mattress. “You really like ‘em? Not just saying that?” The attempted playful edge to his question falls flat.

Cas cups his jaw, stares him down. “I don’t just say things,” he replies vehemently, and even if Dean didn’t take him at his word, the defiance, the ardor written all over his face would deliver the message clearly enough. “You’re beautiful like this.”

Dean’s getting more used to hearing that, learning how to concentrate on how nice the compliment makes him feel, instead of any outdated notions of who that word is supposed to apply to. That’s sort of the point of lingerie like this, isn’t it, to inspire that feeling of desirability. There’s no reason it should work any differently when he’s the one wearing them.

“What do you do?” Cas asks after a moment, quiet sensuousness returning to his voice, “When you’re alone.” He kisses along Dean’s jawline, pausing to watch in apparent fascination as his hand grazes one of Dean’s nipples, pinching and rolling it between his fingers, and Dean’s cock pulses in his panties, wet spot growing in the front. “Do you touch yourself?” he breathes, hardly above a whisper, intimate against Dean’s cheek.

Dean’s already near incoherence, sighs, “Yeah, yeah,” as he arches into Cas’s touch, his hand caressing Dean’s chest, his belly, sinking ever lower, so close to where he’s straining, aching for relief.

“Just like this?” Cas’s fingers finally brush against Dean’s cock through the thin material, satisfying and a terrible tease all at once.

Dean can’t quite stifle a strangled moan, hips bucking, eyes screwing shut. “Yeah, fuck, like that,” he grits out, covering Cas’s hand with his own, urging him to increase the pressure, to give Dean more, but Cas resolutely keeps his pace. “Shit, oh, shit,” Dean whines as Cas palms him torturously slow, searing hot through the cotton.

“That’s good, isn’t it?” Dean can hear the eagerness that’s crept into Cas’s voice, pleased with himself for rendering Dean insensate, enjoying what he’s doing to Dean.

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, wrenches his eyes open for long enough to seek out Cas’s. “Yeah, it’s so good, Cas.”

Dean can see how that admission encourages Cas, how his rapt attention grows even keener, passion evident in his gaze as Dean falls apart from his ministrations.

“Fuck,” Dean gasps, “Fuck, I’m so close.” He’s not entirely surprised to feel that telltale tug in his gut, can rarely manage to last long when he does this on his own but with Cas it’s unbearable. He grabs Cas’s wrist but doesn’t really try to stop him, doesn’t really want to stop him – it’s so goddamn good, it just feels like it’s about to end embarrassingly soon. “Cas.”

“I want to see it,” Cas croons in his ear, not missing a beat, apparently unconcerned if this is over abruptly. He presses his hand down more firmly now, stroking and squeezing until the head of Dean’s cock slips free from the waistband, leaks onto his belly. “You’re so beautiful. Want you to come for me.”

Whatever shreds of Dean’s control that remained completely unravel at Cas’s words. He tenses, white-knuckling the bedding in one hand, clutching Cas’s muscled forearm in the other, coming with startling intensity, like it’s punched out of him with each thick pulse, spilling onto his heaving stomach, panting Cas’s name.

Cas keeps at it until Dean twitches away, strung-out and oversensitive. He kisses Dean gently until his shaking settles, until his ragged breathing evens out. “Okay?” he asks eventually, caressing Dean’s cheek with his fingertips.

“’m good,” Dean mumbles, leaning into Cas – although good is something of an understatement. After a few moments pass he presses his lips together, slightly self-conscious. “Was hoping it would’ve lasted a little longer though,” he admits under his breath.

Cas hums into his ear, kisses the tender shell of it. “We’re not finished.”

Dean scoffs good-naturedly. “You aren’t, you mean,” he says with a faltering smirk, because yeah, that’s pretty apparent, the way Cas is obscenely tenting his boxers, pressed up against Dean’s side.

“I meant what I said, Dean,” Cas says firmly, nipping at Dean’s jaw. “I’m not finished with you either.” He sits up suddenly, insinuates himself between Dean’s wantonly spread thighs and gazes down at him, as if admiring his handiwork, eyes lust-dark at the sight of Dean beneath him.

For a while he just looks, caresses the sides of Dean’s torso, wandering to his belly. Cas drags two fingers through the come pooled on his skin, holds his hand up to Dean’s face expectantly. Dean flushes, squirms in mild embarrassment but opens his mouth obediently anyway, lets Cas slide his fingers in. Cas’s eyes burn into his as he hollows his cheeks around Cas’s fingers until Cas is satisfied and draws them back, drags them damp across Dean’s bottom lip.

Cas shoves his fingers back into Dean’s mouth as he inches down the waistband of his underwear and Dean actually moans, hands itching to touch when Cas bares his cock, eager to return the favor and make Cas come. He wants to sit up, pull Cas closer and swallow him down, let Cas finish in his mouth, spill hot down his throat. But Cas seems content where he is for the moment, letting his hand slip free again, reaching for his cock before Dean gets the chance to.

He drags his wet fingers through the bead of liquid at the head, and Dean can see how hard he is as he strokes his cock in firm, sinuous motions, eyes roving the length of Dean’s body, lingering on his smeared panties, his open mouth.

It’s a heady feeling, the way Cas is admiring him, how he’s getting off on seeing Dean this way, but still taking his time with it until Dean’s the one wriggling with anticipation, eager for it, to watch Cas tumble over the edge.

Dean’s captivated by the sight of Cas too, but he can’t idly watch anymore, lets his hand join Cas’s, a thrill blossoming in his belly at the way Cas’s cock throbs beneath his fingers. They work Cas over together and he groans enticingly above Dean, but he wants Cas closer, grips one broad shoulder and pulls him down. Cas folds forward, slides onto one forearm on the mattress, beside Dean’s head, hovers over him and bends down to kiss him sloppily.

Cas makes a sound when he reaches orgasm that Dean feels all the way to his bones, never fails to get his blood simmering, even when he’s already satisfied. He watches with avid interest as Cas reaches his peak, spurts thickly between their fingers, stripes Dean’s stomach with more come.

Cas hums against Dean’s lips, sliding their mouths together lazily, but not indulging in it for as long as Dean would’ve expected. Before long he’s working his way down, applying his mouth and tongue to Dean’s body, stopping at his abdomen, licking away the remnants on Dean’s skin. He sneaks glances up at Dean between sweeps of his tongue, heat in his eyes only scarcely abated, the sight shooting straight to Dean’s gut. Dean had thought he was utterly spent before, but holy hell, he’s not so sure now, actually feels arousal pulling him under again.

And Cas is true to his word, most certainly doesn’t appear to be finished with him yet. He works his way back up until they’re level again, tilting Dean’s face towards him and claiming his mouth with a languid kiss, lips still sticky, but Dean laps it up eagerly, welcomes the insistent slide of his tongue.

Then Cas is kissing his cheek, his jaw, trailing lower and scraping his teeth along Dean’s still-fluttering pulse. He doesn’t stop there, drags his lips over Dean’s collar bones, taking his time when he reaches Dean’s chest, mouthing at one of his nipples. He teases it with short swipes of his tongue, lightly biting down, fingers tracing circles around the other. Dean can’t contain a whine at the treatment – this kind of attention always gets him worked up real quick, even now, after he’s already come. He’s already writhing by the time Cas finally switches sides, taking the other nipple between his teeth, and Dean gasps sharply at the pleasant sting, feeling his cock stir again.

Cas’s plush mouth on his stomach, then lower, kissing him through the pink fabric, gets Dean even further along, hardening beneath the warm press of his lips. Cas eases the elastic of his panties down, favors him with a few slow licks on his bare cock before pulling away, reaching into the drawer of their nightstand.

Dean’s not sure what Cas is planning, but he has no complaints about this development, spreads his legs further so Cas can get between them and push the panties further aside, make way for his slick fingers.

Cas carefully traces the sensitive flesh with the tip of one finger before sliding inside. Dean’s officially turned on at this point, but he’s usually more out of it when they get to this, much further gone. He just... enjoys it now, feels each sensation more keenly – the hint of a stretch, the smooth slide in and out, neither of them in any real hurry.

Cas works his hand back and forth at an almost sluggish pace, his touch on Dean’s prostate light and brief, not focusing his attention on it yet, easing back into things.

It’s not long before he abandons that approach, and Dean moans in earnest when Cas curls his finger inside him just so, his lips closing around the tip of his cock, taking Dean into his mouth with one steady motion.

And Dean’s been with partners who have more practical expertise at this, more finesse or ‘technique’ but it had been clear from first time that Cas had done his research – not to mention the fact that Cas has an uncanny passion and aptitude for getting Dean off. That second part might have less to do with Cas’s skill and more to do with the fact that Dean’s kind of crazy about him. It’s not as if Cas has any interest in showing off, anyway. He’s just trying to make Dean feel good, is always so attentive and thorough when he does this, turns Dean into a quivering mess, heart thumping from excitement and… emotion, of all things, but well, no one’s ever held his hand while they sucked him off before.

Cas pulls back to ask, “More?” and whatever he means by that, Dean’s agreeing, rolling his hips restlessly, wanting Cas’s mouth again.

He’s properly hard now, cock twitching towards Cas’s tongue as he drags it up the length of it, agonizingly unhurried. Dean hadn’t been sure how quickly he’d be ready to go again but he had no chance against this, especially with another of Cas’s fingers joining the first, crooking with delicate but insistent motions, Dean eagerly pushing back against Cas’s hand.

Cas looks up as he’s pressing his mouth to the soft skin of Dean’s belly, catches his eye while he adds fresh marks there. His lips quirk up at the corner in a fond smile, and Dean can’t help but smile back, melting into the blankets, at ease and happy, a world of difference between now and how things started, how worried he’d been at the beginning.

“Another?” Cas asks, voice gratifyingly deep. Dean can already feel the tip of a third finger seeking entrance next to the first two.

“Yeah,” he sighs, toes curling, humming contently as Cas slides another finger inside, steadily thrusts in and out, fills him up just right.

This is usually where they stop, where Cas pulls his hand away and lines up his cock instead, but Dean doesn’t think Cas is physically ready to do that, at the moment, and he doesn’t seem all that interested in trying. He’s perfectly satisfied here, working Dean open with his fingers, letting him feel the fullness and burn, bending his fingers just enough for a maddening tease against his prostate.

Dean’s cock is throbbing and leaking by now, and he gasps as each time Cas drags his tongue over the head, kisses down the length. A fourth finger is tentatively prodding where he’s stretched tight, and he gasps yes, yes, before Cas can say anything, as easily as ever, as easily he had each time Cas asked if he wanted more, another, deeper, harder. Just that little bit more is surprisingly overwhelming but he’s ready for it, loves how full he feels, how open, how exquisitely Cas is taking him apart.

Cas swallows him down again, takes up a unrushed but steady rhythm, and Dean can’t last long like this, clutches Cas’s shoulders and whimpers his name. He seizes up and cries out as he comes, bucks into Cas’s mouth as much as Cas’s strong hands will allow, is shocked at the intensity of it, feeling tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.

Cas works him through it, only letting his mouth slip away when it gets to be too much, Dean trembling from aftershocks and oversensitivity. Cas shifts up the bed until he’s face to face with Dean, can cradle him close, tenderly kiss his cheeks, his temple, run soothing fingers through his hair.

Dean luxuriates in the attention but can’t help fidgeting, panties askew and starting to pinch without the earlier distractions. Cas carefully eases them down, drags them off with just as much care as he had when he’d put them on.

“You can just, uh, toss those,” Dean says hoarsely, before Cas even gets a chance to wonder about it.

“Oh,” Cas replies, and Dean notes the reluctance apparent on his face. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.” Dean says. Even aside from his persistent fear of someone else finding them, they’re certainly… well-loved, at this point, and he wouldn’t mind the excuse to pick up something a little nicer. “They’re replaceable,” he adds, a hint of promise in his voice, encouraged by the fact that Cas seems to be considering the possibility of repeat performances.

“You’ll get more?”

Dean can’t help preening when he hears the interest in Cas’s voice. “Yeah, if you want.” He’s deliberately being coy now, feigning nonchalance – Cas most definitely wants, Dean can tell, but he’s shamelessly holding out for verbal confirmation.

“I’d like that,” Cas purrs, kissing him soundly and oh yeah, Dean would like that too. “Maybe green,” he says like an afterthought, gazing at Dean intently, thumb caressing his cheekbone. “To match your eyes.”

Dean pulls Cas in for another kiss, only partially to distract from how he’s blushing.

Cas makes himself decent enough to duck out of the room and fetch a warm, damp washcloth from the bathroom. He gets them cleaned up with no help from Dean because yeah, he’s kinda too spent to move, melting even further under Cas’s ministrations.

Cas stays sitting upright at the edge of the bed when he’s done, doesn’t lie down beside Dean yet or get his arms around him, and Dean’s about two seconds away from pouting when Cas smiles and says, “I bought you pie while I was out with Charlie.” Dean’s not sure what his face does in response to that, but it makes Cas’s smile widen, inspires him to lean in for a quick kiss. “Let me get some for you.”

Cas is on his feet before Dean can really react, handing Dean a pair of sweatpants from their dresser and disappearing again.

Dean’s dressed when Cas returns, beaming at him when he saunters into the room, pie in hand. Cas does get back into bed this time, carefully balances plates and utensils as he settles in close to Dean. “Charlie says that pie isn’t too hard to make,” Cas says conversationally, passing Dean a fork. “She’s going to show me.”

“That’s awesome, Cas,” Dean says around a grin that Cas matches, his throat suddenly tight. He’s only sort of embarrassed to realize that the prickle of tears hasn’t entirely subsided, feeling overcome because this can’t be real – having Cas here, showering him with unabashed adoration, bringing him pie in bed, holding him until he falls asleep, whispered praise soft in his ear. There’s no way this is his life now, no damn way.

* * *

Dean wakes up to a tapping sound that turns out to be someone knocking insistently on the bedroom door. Cas stirs behind him, tightening his arm around Dean and pulling him closer, blearily muttering, “Come in,” before Dean has a chance to protest or even process what’s happening.

Charlie pokes her head in tentatively, presumably wary of seeing anything untoward, then fully enters when the coast is clear, leaning against the doorjamb. “Good morning, gentlemen,” she says with a grin, bordering on mischievous, locking eyes with Dean. “Wow, totally called you being the little spoon, by the way.”

Cas pleasantly returns her greeting just as Dean grumbles, “What do you want?” trying – pretending – to be grouchy about her presence, but she’s kind of adorable in all her bed-headed glory, looking relaxed in oversized pajamas with Hogwarts emblazoned on her chest. He just likes having her here in general, happy, safe, no sad eyes or healing bruises.

And if he’s being honest with himself, it’s sort of liberating that she’s casually chatting with them while they’re cuddled in bed together, that he can be openly affectionate with his – well, he still doesn’t know what to call Cas – because Charlie absolutely does not care, is not judging in the slightest. Dean, astonishingly, doesn’t mind that either, that she’s seeing them, seeing him like this, though he does kind of wish that she hadn’t woken them up so damn early.

Charlie isn’t taken in by his grumpy act, as usual, totally unmoved by his glowering. “It’s Sunday, handmaiden,” she says, like that explains anything, smile growing brighter. “The people demand pancakes.”

Dean rolls his eyes, not unkindly. “You seriously come barging in here, wake me up and start putting in breakfast orders? I made you meatloaf last night,” he reminds her, narrowing his eyes. “With bacon.”

“C’mon,” she wheedles, eyes shining playfully. “Cas and I made breakfast yesterday. We’ll do dinner tonight,” When Dean still appears unmoved, she adds, “I bought blueberries,” sing-song, as if fruit is going to help her case.

Dean turns his head to look at Cas behind him. “Do you believe this?” he asks, playing up his annoyance, gesturing at Charlie.

Cas glances in her direction, lips quirking up into a smirk, then back at Dean. “Pancakes sound good, actually.”

Dean flops back onto the pillow with a sound of utter disgust. “Unbelievable,” he mutters, “You guys make ‘em if you want ‘em so bad.”

“But you make them better than anyone else,” Cas says coaxingly, low and intimate but still loud enough for Charlie to hear, brushing his lips against Dean’s cheek.

Charlie laughs, and Dean’s sure his blush lets her know that she’s won. “You guys are gross,” she says with nothing but endearment. “I’m gonna go start the coffee before I lose my appetite.” She saunters out of the room without waiting for further rebuttal, her shout of, “Sam! Dean’s making pancakes!” echoing down the hallway.

The two of them brush their teeth and shower before breakfast, Dean taking his sweet time just to stick it to Charlie. He’s half-dressed, rummaging around in a drawer for a t-shirt, slipping into one of Cas’s because he finds it first and doesn’t see a reason to be picky.

He notices Cas is staring at him from across the room, fondness in his eyes even softer than usual.

“What?” he asks, trying to pull on that mask of grouchiness again but failing, smile creeping into his voice.

“I was just thinking about last night,” Cas says. “It was…” he trails off entirely, brow furrowed, head tilted, eyes lost in thought. It’s humbling that Cas, so quick with language and effusive compliments, is at a loss for words. “Thank you,” he says at last, meeting Dean’s gaze steadily.

Something, everything about that makes Dean’s heart thump in his chest, heat rising in his cheeks. “I feel like I should be the one saying that,” he mumbles, a bit awkward about admitting it.

“Well, you can if you’d like,” Cas says, jokingly smug, before sobering, “But… allowing yourself to be vulnerable like that for me—” He steps closer, gets right into Dean’s space, “You were so beautiful. I know that wasn’t easy for you.”

There’s still a part of him that wants to be defensive about that – the idea that he stopped a goddamn apocalypse but this is what’s difficult for him – but that resistance crumbles like it always does when Cas looks at him this way, with pride and devotion in his eyes. “It wasn’t,” Dean confirms, squaring his jaw and glancing away. “But not as bad as I thought it’d be. I mean I—” He breaks off, makes sure to meet Cas’s eyes this time. “I trust you. You…” His capacity for this level of emotional openness is fading fast, has to spit the rest of it out before he loses the nerve. “…Always worth it, with you.”

Cas’s smile is blinding by the time he finishes his thought. Dean can’t believe how gorgeous he is. “I’m so glad to hear that, Dean,” he says, injecting a level of sincerity Dean wouldn’t have thought was possible in reality, before he met Cas.

Dean pulls him into a hug, just to feel Cas warm and solid in his arms, his returned embrace tight and strong encircling him, hearts beating in tandem. He turns his head, presses their foreheads together and rests his palm against the side of Cas’s neck, caressing his jaw, enjoying the rasp of stubble beneath the pad of his thumb. He allows himself to indulge in only a few sweet kisses, knowing how easily they could both get carried away.

“Come on,” he says, reaching for Cas’s hand and squeezing as he steps back. “Can’t keep Her Highness waiting.”

Something fierce and joyous wells up within Dean to see the way Cas smiles at the mention of Charlie, the way their friendship is blossoming, how two of the people most special to him have found something special in each other.

“Certainly not,” Cas agrees with a small chuckle. He gets distracted looking Dean up and down, mirth in his eyes turning a shade darker. “You look good in my shirt.”

Dean laughs to deflect from the way he’s blushing again, how he knows Cas is thinking about what else Dean looks good in. “Save that kinda talk for later,” he says, tugging Cas out of the room before they make themselves even later for breakfast than they already are, hoping there’s coffee left, that Charlie didn’t drink it all, purely out of spite.