Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Cas had always been pretty innocent—naïve, even.

From the way he dressed in school—plain blue jeans, a short-sleeved button-up shirt always done all the way to his throat, collars stiff and proper—to the way his ears turned pink whenever Dean started in on one of his stories.

Dean Winchester loved an audience. He would lean back in his chair, stretch out long legs, and talk about boys, girls, hands in the back of cars, mouths pressed together in the shadows behind the gym. He’d describe everything in the kind of grave, shameless detail that could make even a nun cross herself twice.

And Cas, with his pristine collar and neatly combed hair, would bury his face in a book, knuckles white on the edges of the pages, pressing his knees together like that might keep his thoughts pure.

Still, no matter how hard he prayed, no matter how many times he whispered the rosary under his breath at night, nothing could scrub away the truth: he had a hopeless, freakishly huge crush on Dean Winchester.

The school’s biggest heartthrob—and its most notorious sinner.

Dean was a walking scandal, the devil’s fruit hanging low on the tree, the serpent coiled and whispering in the garden of Eden. Everyone knew his reputation. Girls giggled in bathrooms with whispered confessions of his hands on their hips.

Boys laughed nervously about what it was like to kiss him, to be touched by him. He was temptation embodied, with a smirk that made promises Cas had no business wanting.

And yet—he wanted him anyway. That was what made it unbearable. The very fact that it was forbidden. His father would never allow it. Not Dean. Not with his history, his rumors, his sins lined up like notches on a belt. Chuck didn’t care that it was a man Cas longed for; he had always been oddly progressive about that. No—the problem was that Dean Winchester was dangerous. Wild. A bad influence with a trail of broken rules and broken hearts.

But Cas couldn’t stop himself.

Because Dean, despite everything, was good to him. He stood up to bullies when Cas’s quiet answers and too-formal clothes made him an easy target. He offered him a ride home in the pouring rain, windows down and music blaring, while Cas clutched his seatbelt and tried not to smile too hard.

Once, when Cas found himself locked out of his house, Dean hadn’t even hesitated—just pulled him inside, tossed him a shirt, and let him stay the night like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And Cas, foolish as he was, thought it meant something. That maybe they were friends. That maybe, beneath the rumors and reckless grins, Dean saw him.

But friendship wasn’t supposed to feel like this—like carrying a secret so heavy it ached in his chest every time Dean looked at him.

+

Dean knew Cas was innocent. Hell, it was written all over him, in the way he walked the halls like he was afraid to disturb the air around him, in the way he buttoned his shirts so high it looked like he was suffocating. Dean liked to watch him sometimes, chin propped in his hand, just to see if he’d ever loosen up.

Spoiler: he never did.

That was the thing, though—Dean couldn’t get enough of it. That innocence. That nervous way Cas would glance at him from under his lashes when Dean talked about screwing around.

Dean would lean in close at lunch, voice pitched low, describing the curve of some girl’s waist, or the way another boy had moaned for him, just to see the telltale flush crawl up Cas’s neck.

He loved it—the way Cas would snap his book shut a little too hard, or cross his legs tighter under the table like he was trying to squeeze the thoughts right out of his head.

Dean knew it was cruel. Knew he was corrupting something good. But there was a filthy part of him—the part that didn’t give a damn about rules, or reputations—that wanted to drag Cas right down with him. Wanted to smear that innocence until all that was left was Dean’s mark.

And he tested those waters every chance he got.

Like that night Cas had been locked out of his house and ended up crashing at his place. Dean’s mom wasn’t around, Sam was out with friends, so it was just the two of them. Dean tossed Cas an old t-shirt and told him he could take the bed while he took the couch. But when Cas walked out of the bathroom wearing Dean’s shirt and his own boxers—bare legs pale, hair damp, collarbones sharp in the thin cotton—Dean almost choked on his own tongue.

“Damn, Cas,” Dean drawled from the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. “Didn’t know you had legs under those church jeans of yours.”

Cas blinked at him, confused and flustered, clutching the hem of the shirt like it was indecent. “This was the only thing you gave me to wear.”

“Yeah, and you’re fillin’ it out just fine,” Dean teased, eyes dropping shamelessly to where the shirt barely covered the tops of Cas’s thighs. He grinned when Cas flushed, practically glowing red in the lamplight.

“Dean,” Cas muttered, scandalized, “you are… inappropriate.”

“Inappropriate?” Dean smirked, sauntering into the room. “Baby, if you knew half the things I was thinkin’ right now, you’d never look me in the eye again.”

He said it just to watch Cas stumble, just to hear that sharp intake of breath. Dean loved that reaction—half horror, half curiosity. Like Cas wanted to bolt but couldn’t quite bring himself to move.

Dean threw himself on the bed beside him, sprawled out wide, close enough their shoulders brushed. He could feel Cas go stiff, holding himself like the mattress had turned into holy ground. And Dean leaned in, close enough his breath stirred the damp hair at Cas’s temple, and whispered, “Relax sweetheart, I don’t bite… unless you ask me to.”

He laughed when Cas practically dove under the covers, mumbling something about needing sleep. Dean stayed awake long after, staring at the ceiling, grinning like the devil himself, wondering how long it would take before Cas finally snapped—and whether Dean would be the one to break him.

Dean wasn’t blind to the way Cas looked at him when he thought no one else noticed. It was hunger, raw and aching, buried beneath the weight of a thousand prayers. And if Dean had one talent in this world, it was finding cracks in armor and prying them wide open.

So he started slow.

Little things. Walking past Cas in the hallway and tugging at his buttoned collar, murmuring, “Loosen up, sweetheart, you’ll choke yourself.” Or sliding into the desk beside him in class, spreading his legs wide, letting his thigh bump Cas’s just to see him shift uncomfortably. At lunch, he’d lean in with some new story, smirking as Cas’s face went crimson.

But the real fun was in the displays.

Dean knew damn well Cas was watching the day he pushed some girl against the lockers between classes, kissing her deep enough she moaned into his mouth.

Dean had cracked an eye open mid-kiss, just long enough to catch the sight of Cas frozen halfway down the hall, books clutched to his chest like a shield, staring with something between horror and fascination. Dean made sure to groan loud enough for Cas to hear before pulling away with a grin, lips wet, eyes locked on him like a challenge.

Another time, Cas stumbled into the wrong stairwell after school and found Dean pressed up against the wall, some boy on his knees between his legs. Dean had one hand in the guy’s hair, the other braced above him, head tipped back, mouth open in something sinful.

He hadn’t even stopped when Cas gasped, hadn’t looked ashamed. No, Dean had looked straight at him, eyes hooded, lips curling around a smile that was all filth and invitation. And when the boy sucked him harder, Dean had moaned Cas’s name just low enough that he wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it.

Under the bleachers was worse.

Dean had a reputation there too, and Cas knew it. Sometimes during lunch he’d sneak off with someone, come back thirty minutes later with swollen lips and his shirt disheveled. And sometimes—if Cas was unlucky—he’d pass by on his way to the library and hear the sounds: wet, obscene, muffled groans and whispered curses.

Once, just once, he’d caught a glimpse through the slats—Dean sprawled out on the grass, one hand lazily stroking the back of the girl’s head, the other covering his own eyes. But when she pulled off with spit shining on his cock and Dean’s grin went lazy and satisfied, he’d opened his eyes and looked straight at Cas. Like he’d known he was there all along.

It was torture. It was intentional. Dean was slowly, steadily, dismantling every wall Cas had built around himself. Because no matter how many prayers Cas whispered at night, no matter how tightly he clutched his rosary, Dean Winchester was teaching him a truth he couldn’t unlearn—innocence only lasts as long as someone isn’t hungry enough to take it from you.

And Dean was starving.

+

The late-afternoon sky had gone soft with the colors of autumn—muted oranges bleeding into gray, the air cool enough to sting in Cas’s lungs with each breath. His shoes crunched against the sidewalk, leaves curling brittle beneath his steps. He clutched his satchel tighter against his side, head bowed, collar done to the very top as always.

The neighborhood smelled faintly of woodsmoke, like someone had lit their fireplace early.

Halfway down the road, the low, throaty rumble of an engine rolled in behind him. He didn’t need to look to know what it was—the sound was unmistakable. Dean’s Impala.

The car slowed beside him, black paint gleaming under the weak sun, windows down. Dean leaned across the passenger seat, one hand lazily draped over the wheel, the other tapping a rhythm against the door. Sunglasses perched on his nose even though the light was fading, a smirk tugging at his mouth.

“Need a ride, church boy?” Dean drawled, voice carrying over the engine.

Castiel’s grip on his satchel tightened. “I am perfectly fine walking.”

“Walking? In those shoes? You’ll wear a hole through ‘em before you even get home.” Dean coasted along the curb at his pace, deliberately slow. “C’mon, Cas. Don’t be stubborn. Get in.”

“I said I’m fine.”

Dean leaned back, grinning like he had all the time in the world. “Yeah? What if I promise not to corrupt you? No dirty stories, no filthy music, no talk about what I did in some chick’s basement over the weekend.” He paused, lips twitching. “Unless you ask me to.”

Castiel’s ears burned. He kept his eyes straight ahead, steps a little quicker. Dean matched his speed without effort, the Impala gliding along the road like a predator shadowing prey.

“You know,” Dean went on, “most people would kill for a seat in this car. Leather seats, custom stereo, windows that actually roll down. But not you. You’d rather drag your ass home like a pilgrim.”

Cas finally stopped, glaring through the window. “Why do you insist on bothering me?”

Dean tilted his head, feigning innocence. “Maybe I like the view.”

The words landed heavy. Cas blinked, swallowing hard, but before he could answer, Dean reached over and popped the passenger door open with a click. The door swung wide, like a mouth waiting to swallow him whole.

“Get in, Cas,” Dean said, softer now, though the grin lingered. “I’ll even keep my hands to myself. Cross my heart.” He traced an X over his chest with two fingers, smirk still sharp.

Cas stood frozen for a moment, the wind tugging at his collar, leaves skittering across the pavement. Against every prayer, against every warning voice in his head, he slid into the passenger seat. The door closed with a solid, heavy thud that felt too final.

Dean didn’t move the car right away. He just leaned back, arm stretched across the back of the seat, watching Cas with that infuriating half-smile. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Castiel tried to keep his eyes on the windshield, but they kept dragging sideways, kept landing on the curve of Dean’s mouth, the way his hands looked wrapped around the wheel, the way his thigh shifted in ripped jeans. Dean caught him staring more than once, each time raising his brows, smirk deepening like he’d won a game Cas hadn’t agreed to play.

The Impala purred down the road, leaves scattering in the wake of its tires. Inside, the smell of leather and motor oil clung heavy in the air, the faint thrum of classic rock humming low from the radio.

Dean drove one-handed, wrist loose on the wheel, the other draped over the back of the bench seat so close Cas could feel the heat of it against his shoulders.

“See?” Dean said, shooting him a sideways glance. “Rides a hell of a lot smoother than those church shoes of yours.”

“I told you,” Cas muttered stiffly, staring out the window, “I was fine walking.”

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, but then I wouldn’t get the pleasure of your company. Or the chance to watch you squirm in my car.”

Cas’s jaw worked. He turned, finally, to look at Dean, blue eyes narrowing. “You are relentless.”

“Damn right I am.” Dean winked, pressing harder on the gas, the car surging forward just to show off. “Besides, you like it. Don’t pretend you don’t.”

Cas stayed silent, but the way his fingers dug into the strap of his satchel gave him away. Dean grinned wider, drumming his fingers on the wheel.

“So, what’d you do after school?” Dean asked casually, though his tone was anything but. “Go home, polish your halo? Pray I stop corrupting you?”

Cas shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass, but Dean only laughed, the sound low and rough in his chest. He loved that look—half furious, half flustered. He lived to provoke it.

The silence stretched for a few beats, broken only by the low rumble of the engine. Then, out of nowhere, Cas’s voice broke through, hesitant but firm.

“How,” Cas asked, eyes fixed on the windshield, “do you ask someone out… on a date?”

Dean’s hand slipped slightly on the wheel. He barked out a laugh, almost disbelieving, and glanced over at him. “You serious right now? That’s what’s been rattlin’ around in that holy little head of yours?”

Cas’s ears burned red, but he didn’t look away.

Dean shook his head, grinning like the devil himself. “Oh, Cas. You’re killin’ me. Have you ever even kissed a girl before?”

Cas turned then, sharp as a knife, voice low and unshaken. “Boy.”

The word landed heavy.

Dean’s grin faltered for the first time. He blinked, caught off guard, before that smirk curled back onto his lips—slower this time, filthier. “Well, shit. Guess I stand corrected.” He let out a low whistle, tapping the wheel with his fingers. “Never kissed a boy, huh? No wonder you’re wound so tight.”

Cas’s blush deepened, but he didn’t deny it. His hands knotted in his lap, and Dean watched the motion like a hawk, hunger simmering low in his gut.

“Tell you what,” Dean said, leaning back in his seat, voice dripping with suggestion, “you ever decide you’re ready for that first kiss… you know where to find me.” He licked his lips, not even trying to hide it, eyes dragging deliberately from Cas’s mouth back up to his wide, startled eyes.

Cas turned away quickly, but not before Dean caught the way his throat bobbed with the swallow, the way his breath hitched like the very thought had stolen the air from him.

Dean laughed again, softer now, satisfied. “Yeah,” he murmured, eyes back on the road, “that’s what I thought.”

+

The Impala rolled to a slow stop in front of the Novak house, gravel crunching under the tires. Porch lights glowed warm against the growing dusk, and the smell of damp leaves drifted through the cracked window. Dean let the engine idle, the low vibration humming through the seat.

“Home sweet home,” he said, glancing at Cas with that lazy smirk as he placed his shades on the dash.

Cas didn’t move. His hand stayed tight on the strap of his satchel, his body still turned half toward Dean as if rooted there. The silence stretched until Dean cocked a brow.

“What, halo slip off? You forget how doors work?”

Cas ignored the jab, his expression unreadable in the faint glow of the dashboard lights. Finally, he spoke, voice steady but carrying that particular seriousness only he could pull off.

“You seem… comfortable,” Cas said, his gaze fixed on Dean’s mouth for one terrifyingly long beat, “with both men and women.”

Dean’s grip tightened slightly on the wheel. He leaned back, arm still draped along the back seat, inside his chest something quickened. “Yeah,” he drawled, lips quirking. “You could say that. Why? You takin’ notes?”

Cas didn’t blink, didn’t flinch, didn’t even blush this time. “I would like you to show me,” he said clinically, as though reciting a line from a textbook. “How to kiss.”

For a heartbeat, Dean just stared at him. Then his lips curved—not into his usual boyish grin, but into something darker, something sharper. A grin that was more sin than humor. The kind of smile that promised nothing good and everything Cas wasn’t supposed to want.

“Christ, Cas,” Dean murmured, voice low and dangerous, “you don’t know what you’re askin’ for.”

Cas tilted his head, innocent to the tension twisting the air taut between them. “I only want to learn,” he said plainly. “It seems… important in relationships, with people.”

Dean’s eyes flashed, green gone wild in the dim light. He leaned in closer, slow enough to make Cas swallow hard. His breath ghosted warm over Cas’s cheek, close enough that the scent of leather, smoke, and mint gum wrapped around him.

“You want me to show you?” Dean whispered, his voice rough as gravel. “That what you’re sayin’? You want me to take that sweet little innocent mouth of yours and—” He broke off with a low chuckle, pulling back just enough to keep him trembling on the edge. “Goddamn, you’re too much.”

Cas’s brows knitted in that familiar frown of his, the one that came when he was trying to understand a joke he hadn’t been told. “Is that a no?”

Dean laughed then, a throaty sound that slid straight between Cas’s ribs. “No, sweetheart. That ain’t a no.” He licked his lips slow, deliberately, eyes locked on Cas’s. “But you better be real sure before you let me teach you. ‘Cause once I start…” His grin widened, wolfish. “…I don’t think I’ll wanna stop.”

The engine idled on, the porch light glowed steady, but in the Impala’s cab the world felt smaller, hotter, like it was holding its breath, waiting for Cas’s answer.

Cas didn’t say another word as he climbed out of the car, pulling his satchel over his shoulder. Dean watched him for a second, jaw tight with all the things he could’ve said, then killed the engine and followed.

The Novak house was quiet, just as Dean expected. Porch light glowing but no other sign of life, the stillness inside pressing down like a cathedral. Chuck always worked late on Wednesdays, and Dean knew it—he had been over enough times to notice the pattern.

What Dean also knew was that Cas would spend the evening letting him in, tolerating his flirting, enduring his teasing until his ears burned red and his thighs pressed together under the weight of something he would never name. Then, after Dean left, Cas would pray for forgiveness. Dean could practically feel the guilt clinging to the walls.

Cas slipped out of his shoes neatly by the door. Dean, of course, left his boots on, tracking a bit of grit onto the polished floor.

“Would you like something to drink?” Cas asked, heading toward the kitchen, voice clipped like he was running through a script.

Dean smirked, shoving his hands into the pockets of his worn jeans. “Got any beer?”

Cas turned, glaring at him over his shoulder. “You are underaged.”

Dean’s grin widened, lazy and shameless. “Only in the U.S. of A.” He threw in a wink that made Cas groan audibly.

The eye roll that followed was so exaggerated, Dean swore he heard it. “You will have water,” Cas muttered, disappearing into the kitchen.

Dean called after him, voice full of laughter, “Fine, fine. As long as it’s holy.”

By the time Cas returned with a tall glass of water, Dean had already made himself at home. He’d wandered down the narrow hall, past the old family photographs and the framed cross-stitch verses, and straight into Cas’s bedroom. The door was wide open, as if Cas was too innocent to imagine needing privacy, and Dean took that as an invitation.

When Cas walked in, Dean was sprawled across his neatly made bed like he owned the place. Boots kicked off but still lying half on his side, propped up on one elbow. In his other hand, he held one of Cas’s books—a thick, dog-eared paperback he’d pulled from the shelf above the desk.

Dean stared at the cover, squinting at the title. His lips curved into a wicked grin. “Damn, Cas. You read this for fun? No wonder you don’t get laid.”

Cas froze in the doorway, glass in hand, color rising hot in his cheeks. “That is not a suitable thing to say.”

Dean flipped another page with mock seriousness.

“You should not be handling my books so carelessly.” Cas strode forward and set the water on the desk with a sharp clink.

Dean stretched, tossing the book onto the comforter and folding his arms behind his head, grinning up at him. “Relax, Cas. I’m just broadening my horizons. Who knows? Maybe I’ll leave here all enlightened and pure.”

Cas narrowed his eyes, unconvinced. “Unlikely.”

“Aw, c’mon.” Dean patted the spot beside him on the bed, eyes glinting. “Lighten up. Sit with me, professor. Teach me some morals.”

Cas hesitated, torn between throwing Dean out of his room and… staying. Dean watched the war play out in his face, and his grin only widened. The tension between them hummed like a live wire, sharper here in the close walls of Cas’s bedroom.

And when Cas finally sat down on the edge of the bed—stiff-backed, lips pressed tight—Dean shifted closer, the air between them charged enough to burn.

The contrast between him and Dean—who was sprawled out with lazy confidence, boots dangling over the side of the bed, head tipped back into the pillow like he’d been born to lounge there—was almost laughable. Almost.

Dean turned his head just enough to look at Cas, watching the faint rise and fall of his chest, the subtle tension in his jaw. The silence hung heavy. The air smelled faintly of old books, cedar polish, and the cool crispness of autumn clinging to their clothes.

“You always this fun when your old man’s not around?” Dean broke the silence, voice low, teasing.

Cas gave him a side glance, unimpressed. “You are insufferable.”

“Insufferable?” Dean echoed, grinning. “You wound me, Cas. I’m your guest, you know. Should treat me better.”

“I brought you water,” Cas countered flatly, gesturing to the glass on the desk.

Dean rolled onto his side, propped himself up on his elbow so he could loom closer. His knee brushed Cas’s thigh, a light touch that made Cas stiffen immediately. Dean smirked. Gotcha.

“That’s what passes for hospitality around here?” Dean murmured, eyes glinting. “Not even a snack? A little entertainment?” He dragged his gaze deliberately over Cas, slow, unashamed. “Guess I’ll just have to make my own fun.”

Cas’s ears burned red, but his voice stayed steady. “You are sitting on my bed. That is inappropriate.”

Dean let out a low chuckle, leaning back slightly but not pulling away. “What’s so inappropriate about it? It’s just a bed, Cas. You never let anybody else sit on it?”

“No.” The word was firm, final.

Dean’s grin sharpened, wolfish. “Then I feel honored.”

Cas’s lips pressed into a thinner line, his frown deepening when Dean stretched, arms over his head, muscles shifting under his worn t-shirt. The mattress dipped beneath his weight, tilting Cas slightly toward him.

Dean turned his head and dropped his voice to a conspiratorial murmur. “Y’know, Cas, there’s a lot you can do in a bed.”

Cas looked at him sharply, scandal clear in his eyes. “Dean—”

“I’m just sayin’.” Dean shrugged, feigning innocence. “Sleep, read, eat… pray. Don’t give me that look. What’d you think I meant?”

Cas’s mouth opened, then shut again, cheeks scarlet. Dean laughed, rich and low, and reached out to nudge his shoulder lightly, his fingers lingering just long enough to make it feel deliberate.

“You’re too easy, Cas. Way too easy. I say one little thing and you’re about ready to combust.”

“You should not…” Cas began, then faltered, at a rare loss for words. He stared hard at the floor, as though it might save him.

Dean tilted his head, studying him, a softer edge slipping into his grin. He leaned closer, enough that Cas could feel the warmth of him, the scent of leather and soap. “Hey,” Dean said, voice low now, careful.

Cas’s eyes darted to his, wide, startled, but he didn’t look away this time.

Dean let the silence stretch, let the tension wind tight until it buzzed in his bones. Then he smiled—a slow, devilish curl of his mouth, something wicked and inviting all at once. “You ready for that lesson, Cas?”

Cas’s breath caught. The room seemed to shrink around them, the ticking of the old wall clock loud in the silence, the glass of water untouched and forgotten. Dean didn’t move, didn’t push. He just watched, letting the question hang between them, sharp as a blade, waiting to see if Cas would dare to answer.

Cas didn’t answer, but he didn’t pull away either. His lips parted, breath shallow, and that was all Dean needed.

Dean sat up fully, the mattress shifting beneath them until they were shoulder to shoulder. He turned his body toward Cas, knees brushing, the space between them small enough that every exhale mingled. Dean rested his forearm casually across his thigh, leaning in close.

“Alright,” Dean said softly, his grin tempered with something gentler now, though his eyes still gleamed wicked. “First rule—don’t look like you’re about to take a math test. You gotta relax, Cas. Kissing’s about feelin’ it, not thinkin’ it.”

“I am relaxed,” Cas said quickly, though his spine was stiff as a board.

Dean chuckled low. “Yeah, and I’m the Pope. Loosen up.” He reached out and pressed two fingers under Cas’s chin, tilting his face toward him. “See? You’re all locked up. If you kiss someone like that, they’ll know you’ve got no clue what you’re doin’. And you want ‘em to want more, not pull away.”

Cas swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing under Dean’s fingers. His blue eyes flicked nervously between Dean’s hand and Dean’s mouth. “So… what should I do?”

Dean shifted closer, their knees touching now, his hand still guiding Cas’s chin. His voice dropped, softer, like it was meant only for him. “Start by breathing. Slow, steady. Let yourself lean in, don’t force it. You gotta let it happen like… like gravity.”

Cas inhaled shakily, then exhaled, his lips parting slightly. Dean’s thumb brushed his jaw, and for a moment Cas looked so undone, so vulnerable, that Dean almost laughed from the sheer power of it.

“Better,” Dean murmured. He leaned in just enough for their noses to almost touch, his breath warm against Cas’s lips. “Now, when you finally kiss, don’t rush. Soft at first. If you go in too stiff or too fast, it’s over before it starts. Got it?”

“Yes,” Cas whispered, his voice barely audible.

Dean’s grin curved, slow and devilish. “Good.”

Then, finally, he closed the distance. His lips brushed Cas’s in the faintest whisper of contact, testing. Cas flinched when Dean kissed him. And then Dean pulled back just a hair, eyes half-lidded. “See that? Just a tease. Makes ‘em want more.”

Cas’s eyes were wide, pupils blown, his breath stuttering against Dean’s mouth.

Dean didn’t give him time to recover. He leaned in again, pressing a little firmer this time, tilting his head just enough to fit. His lips moved slow, coaxing, showing him the rhythm. He murmured against his mouth, “Relax. Just… feel it.”

Cas did, trembling but slowly softening under the pressure, his lips yielding, uncertain but eager. Dean deepened it slightly, enough to make his point, enough to leave Cas flushed and breathless when he finally pulled away.

Dean licked his lips, tasting him, eyes glittering with something darker. “Not bad for a first try,” he teased, voice low and rough. “We’ll make a sinner outta you yet.”

Dean’s thumb brushed over Cas’s jaw again, coaxing, steadying him. “But you’re holding back. Loosen up, Cas. You gotta let your mouth do the work, not sit there like you’re waitin’ for communion.”

Cas blinked, startled at the comparison, but before he could respond, Dean leaned in again. His lips captured Cas’s, warmer, firmer this time. Dean shifted closer until their thighs pressed, until Cas could feel the heat radiating off him.

“Part your lips,” Dean whispered against his mouth, breath hot and teasing. “Slow. Just like that.”

Cas obeyed, hesitant, his lips trembling as they opened. Dean rewarded him with a deeper press, a soft slide of tongue just at the edge, not invading, just tasting. Cas gasped, a tiny sound trapped between them, and Dean swallowed it with a low chuckle.

This is wrong, I change my mind, Cas told himself, heart pounding hard against his ribs. This is indulgence. Sin. I should stop. I should—

But he didn’t. He couldn’t. The warmth of Dean’s mouth, the intoxicating press of his body, every argument wilted under it. Dean’s hand cupped the back of his neck, anchoring him, pulling him closer until their foreheads touched, until Cas could smell the faint trace of his cologne and the lingering smoke of the Impala’s leather seats clinging to Dean’s skin.

“Good,” Dean murmured, pulling back just enough to speak. “Now don’t be scared to move with me. Tilt your head, let it fit. That’s it.”

Cas shifted awkwardly, trying to mirror Dean, and their noses bumped clumsily. Heat flushed up his neck, embarrassment crawling over his skin. He pulled back a fraction, breath ragged.

Dean grinned, utterly unbothered. “Chill Cas. It’s supposed to be messy. That’s the fun.” He leaned in again, capturing Cas’s bottom lip gently between his teeth, tugging lightly before releasing. “Try it. Use your mouth, your teeth. Let me feel you.”

Cas swallowed hard, then mimicked him, pressing forward tentatively, his lips moving in small, uncertain motions. Dean hummed approvingly, low in his throat, a sound that sent a shiver all the way down Cas’s spine.

Is this what I’ve been missing? Cas thought wildly, gripping his knees tight to stop his hands from trembling. All those nights I prayed for strength, for clarity—this heat, this ache was what I was trying to banish. And yet… it feels—

Dean’s tongue flicked lightly against his, breaking through the thought, dragging him deeper into the moment. Cas’s breath hitched, and Dean pulled back just a little, smirking at his stunned expression.

“That,” Dean said, voice husky, “is what makes it good. Don’t fight it. Just follow my lead.”

Cas nodded faintly, too dazed to form words, and Dean swooped back in. This time he kissed with purpose—slow and sensual, coaxing Cas’s mouth into motion, showing him how to press, how to linger, how to taste. Cas melted, his body betraying him, leaning into Dean without thinking.

This is what it means to fall, Cas realized, dizzy, undone. Not into sin, not into damnation. Into him.

Dean pulled away just enough to whisper against his swollen lips, “See, sweetheart? Nothing to be scared of. You’re a natural.”

The words scorched through Cas, tangled mess of pride, shame, and something far deeper. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, he only knew he wanted more.

And Dean, grinning like the devil himself, knew it too.

The room was quiet but for the old wall clock ticking steadily, its sound suddenly unbearably loud in Cas’s ears. He sat frozen, lips still tingling, chest heaving with uneven breaths. Dean leaned back slightly, green eyes glittering, studying him like a prize he’d just won.

Cas’s thoughts tangled together in a mess of guilt and exhilaration. This shouldn’t have happened. I should have pushed him away. I should have— He licked his lips unconsciously, tasting Dean still there, heat curling low in his stomach. —but God, I want more.

Dean smirked, watching him squirm. “Not bad for a rookie,” he murmured, thumb swiping lazily across his own bottom lip. “You’re pickin’ it up faster than I thought.”

Cas glanced down at his hands, clenched in his lap, knuckles white. He tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat. His heart thudded like a drum. Dean’s smile deepened at the sight of him so undone.

“Relax, Cas,” Dean teased gently, leaning close again so their shoulders brushed. “It’s just a kiss. Not like I stole your soul or anything.”

Cas’s pupils were blown wide, blue swallowed by black, lips trembling with the effort not to chase Dean’s mouth again. He swallowed hard, throat dry, pulse wild. Dean tilted his head, and in the softest, filthiest whisper asked:

“You ready to take your new-found skill for a ride?”

Cas’s breath hitched. His mouth opened—whether to protest, to agree, even he didn’t know—but Dean didn’t wait.

He caught Cas’s lips again, hungrier this time, not the careful coaxing of a teacher but the reckless claiming of someone who had been waiting too long. His hand came up to cradle the back of Cas’s neck, tugging him closer, deepening the kiss until Cas’s careful control shattered.

Cas gasped against him, and Dean took the opportunity to slide his tongue past his lips. Cas startled but then—almost desperately—responded. His tongue flicked forward in a bold, clumsy stroke, wild and unpracticed but so eager it made Dean groan low in his throat. The sound vibrated between them, hot and filthy, sending a shockwave down Cas’s spine.

Dean pulled back sharply, panting, his grin feral now. “Fuck, Cas,” he rasped, his voice roughened with something raw. “Where the hell did that come from?”

Cas’s face was scarlet, lips swollen and glistening, chest rising and falling in frantic rhythm. He looked both mortified and proud, his voice small but steady. “You told me not to hold back.”

Dean barked out a laugh, breathless, tilting his head back for a second before pinning Cas with that green-fire gaze again.

He leaned back in, close enough to kiss but holding just out of reach, making Cas tremble with anticipation. “Careful, sweetheart,” Dean murmured, smirk curling devilishly. “Keep that up, and you might just corrupt me.”

Cas’s lips parted, breath hot, words failing him entirely. All he could do was sit there, dizzy, trembling, waiting for Dean to kiss him again because for the first time in his life, sin had never felt so much like salvation.

Cas swallowed hard, his cheeks turning crimson, heat crawling down his neck. “What do you usually do during make-outs, or do you just… kiss?”

Dean grinned, lazy and sharp. He leaned closer, his thumb brushing Cas’s jaw, then slid back to the nape of his neck. “You mean, where do I put my hands besides here?” His fingers pushed deeper into Cas’s hair, messing up the neat, careful combing, tugging just enough to make Cas gasp.

Cas fidgeted, fists curling tighter in his lap. His voice came out low, halting. “Yes… I understand that… touching is… allowed?”

Dean arched a brow and pulled back slightly, lips quirking. “Allowed?” he repeated, laughing under his breath. “Cas, it’s not a goddamn library. Yeah, it’s allowed. In fact—” His voice dropped into that dangerous purr, smooth and sinful. “It’s encouraged.”

The words alone made Cas squeeze his thighs together. Dean saw it—of course he saw it. His grin spread wolfish, green eyes flashing like they could see straight through him.

“Tell me something,” Dean said, leaning in, his breath fanning over Cas’s lips. “You want me to just give you a play-by-play on how I make a girl—or a guy—fall apart when I’m kissing them? Every move, every touch? Give you something to use as a guideline when you eventually kiss someone else but me.”

Cas couldn’t answer. His throat locked around the words, his body burning with embarrassment and something darker. Dean chuckled, soft and low, and slid even closer until their knees pressed together.

“Guess we’ll just have to do this the practical way.”

And then he was kissing him again, nothing careful this time. His mouth claimed Cas’s with rough insistence, tilting his head, tongue sliding hot and deliberate. Cas gasped, caught off guard, but Dean didn’t let up—his hand tangled firmly in Cas’s hair, holding him right there.

Cas whimpered against his mouth, the sound shocking him as much as it thrilled Dean. He tried to keep up, to mimic the way Dean moved—pressing, pulling, licking into him awkward but eager. Dean groaned approval into the kiss, the vibration humming through Cas’s lips, making him melt further into the mattress.

Dean’s other hand found Cas’s side, sliding up over the crisp fabric of his buttoned shirt, fingertips dragging just enough to tease. “See,” he murmured between kisses, lips brushing Cas’s as he spoke, “this is what I meant. Hands gotta move. Touchin’ lets them know you want more.”

He slid his palm higher, resting just below Cas’s ribs, not grabbing—just there, warm and steady. Cas stiffened at the contact, but Dean coaxed him back with another deep kiss, tongue sweeping slow and filthy.

Cas’s head spun. Too much. It’s too much. His heart thundered, his lungs burned, his lips felt swollen and wet. But it’s—good. It’s so good. His fists slowly unclenched, and with trembling hesitation, he lifted one hand. It hovered, uncertain, before finally pressing against Dean’s shoulder. His fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt like he needed proof he was real.

Dean smiled against his mouth. “There you go,” he whispered, nipping lightly at Cas’s lower lip before sucking it into his mouth. “Touch me. Don’t be shy.”

The encouragement broke something loose inside him. Cas let his hand slide awkwardly from Dean’s shoulder down to his bicep, feeling the flex of muscle beneath the sleeve of his shirt. His other hand, braver now, lifted to Dean’s chest, fingers splaying wide, clinging.

Dean groaned at the contact, deep and raw, and kissed him harder, hungrier. Their mouths clashed, tongues tangling, spit slicking their lips. Cas gasped when Dean tugged his hair harder, his head tipping back, giving Dean access to kiss down the corner of his jaw, hot and wet.

Cas’s pupils were blown wide, his lips trembling with anticipation, body shaking under Dean’s relentless teaching. He couldn’t stop himself—he kissed back, frantic, messy, before he tried something bold. His tongue flicked forward in a sudden, wild motion, sliding against Dean’s in a way he hadn’t meant to.

The sound Dean made in response—a guttural moan deep in his throat—was unlike anything Cas had ever heard. It vibrated right through him, set his body on fire. Dean pulled back, panting, lips swollen and wet, staring at him with something darker than mischief now.

“Jesus Christ, Cas,” Dean rasped, his grin wrecked and dangerous.

Cas sat there flushed and dazed, lips parted, breath shaking. His voice came small but honest: “I… just wanted to try.”

Dean laughed, low and filthy, licking his lips like he could still taste him.

His grin tilted darker as he drank in Cas’s flushed, trembling face. Cas’s chest still heaved from the wild kiss, lips swollen, eyes wide and uncertain. Dean licked his own mouth, savoring him, and then murmured, “C’mere.”

Before Cas could question it, Dean hooked a hand around the back of his neck and guided him backward, easing him up the bed. The mattress dipped and creaked as Dean followed, crawling forward with deliberate slowness until he was braced above him. Cas’s back hit the pillows, and suddenly Dean was there straddling his hips, caging him in, all heat and weight and impossible closeness.

Cas’s breath hitched, panic fluttering in his chest. His hands flew up, not to push but to hover uselessly between them, as though he couldn’t decide what to do. “Dean—” he stammered, voice cracking. “This is… this is too—I don’t think—”

Dean immediately caught his face in both palms, thumbs stroking his cheeks. His eyes, though burning green, softened just slightly. “Hey, hey. Breathe, Cas.”

Cas swallowed hard, throat bobbing. Dean leaned in until their foreheads pressed together, grounding him with touch, with voice.

“Just a kiss,” Dean whispered, voice gone rough and intimate. “Filthy, yeah. Wet. Exactly what you’ve been dying to know. Nothing else unless you want it. You trust me?”

Cas hesitated for a beat, nodded, jerky but certain.

And then Dean kissed him again, raw and consuming. His mouth opened against Cas’s, tongue sliding in hot and shameless. The kiss was wet, messy, breath stolen between them until Cas whimpered into it. Dean groaned in approval, pressing harder, swallowing every sound.

Cas’s panic bled into something else—an ache that made him grip Dean’s shirt tight, knuckles white. He kissed back desperately, mouth clumsy but eager, letting Dean take and take.

Dean’s hand left his face, sliding down, over the line of Cas’s throat, the buttons of his starched shirt. Fingers toyed with the fabric, then slipped beneath, warm palm sliding against bare skin. Cas gasped into his mouth, arching involuntarily as Dean’s fingers spread wide over his stomach.

“God, Cas,” Dean muttered against his lips, voice a filthy rasp, “you’re burnin’ up for me. Skin’s like fire. Bet you’ve never let anyone touch you like this, huh?”

Cas tried to answer, but the words died in his throat, replaced by another desperate kiss. Dean chuckled darkly into it, his tongue curling against Cas’s.

“Of course you haven’t,” Dean whispered, lips brushing wet against Cas’s jaw as he dragged kisses lower, biting at the line of his neck. “First time for everything.”

His hand drifted higher beneath the shirt, fingers skimming over ribs, up to the sharp peak of Cas’s chest. Cas jolted, eyes flying open, a strangled sound escaping.

Dean hummed low, biting just under his jaw. “Sensitive, huh? You like that.”

“I—Dean—please—” Cas babbled, shame burning in his cheeks.

Dean lifted his head, grinning down at him, sweat-damp hair falling into his eyes. “Relax, baby. I don’t mind.” His hand pressed flat against Cas’s chest again, firm, steady. “Not like I can’t tell you’re already hard as a rock under me.”

Cas made a mortified noise, trying to turn his face away, but Dean caught his chin, forcing him to look up at him. His grin was wicked, his eyes gleaming.

“Don’t worry,” Dean whispered, leaning close enough his lips brushed Cas’s ear, hot and filthy. “I’ll pretend I don’t feel it.” He ground his hips down just a fraction, slow and deliberate, making Cas gasp and buck helplessly beneath him. “Even though I fucking do.”

Cas’s hands fisted tighter in Dean’s shirt, his voice breaking into panicked little fragments. “Dean—I—this isn’t—we can’t—”

Dean hushed him with another open-mouthed, dirty kiss, tongue tangling deep, stealing every syllable. His hand slid further under Cas’s shirt, fingertips brushing skin that had never been touched this way before.

“You want more,” Dean murmured against his lips, words slick with heat.

Cas, dazed and trembling, let his mouth fall open, letting Dean consume him whole.

Chapter Text

For two weeks, it had been this.

Dean’s usual teasing in school—the way he’d brush against Cas in the hallway, whisper filth in his ear just low enough to make him shiver, smirk across the cafeteria like he was remembering something Cas wished he could forget.

The flirtation never stopped. Under the bleachers, in empty classrooms, even brushing shoulders in crowded hallways—Dean was a constant temptation.

And when Chuck wasn’t home, Cas would invite him over. Every time, Dean sprawled across Cas’s bed like he owned it, and every time, it ended the same. Filthy, breathless kissing that stretched for hours. Dean’s tongue coaxing, claiming, until Cas felt wrecked by nothing more than a mouth.

Dean left hard as a fucking rock, smirking and adjusting his jeans on his way out the door. Cas, trembling and burning, would lock himself in the bathroom, strip off his shirt, and stand under the punishing spray of a cold shower, begging his own cock to soften.

He had never touched himself before, not once. Masturbation is a sin, after all. In the locker room, he’d overheard the other boys laughing, bragging about how good it was, how easy. He’d dismissed it then, uninterested, unaffected.

But now… after Dean’s lips, Dean’s tongue, Dean’s voice dripping filth against his ear… the ache became unbearable. The urge was there, heavy and insistent, but Cas resisted. He denied himself as though restraint might keep him from falling further.

Dean, of course, noticed. Dean always noticed.

“Jesus, Cas,” he’d muttered once, pulling back from a kiss, grinning down at him, both of them panting. “You’re so fucking hard for me.” His palm pressed shamelessly against Cas’s thigh, eyes wicked. “Bet if I touched you right now, you’d fall apart in seconds.”

Cas’s face flamed, his voice cracking. “I—no. I’ve never—never even done it myself. Why would I let you?”

Dean had chuckled dark, lips grazing his ear. “I don’t know, baby. Maybe ‘cause you’re desperate for my touch.”

Cas had turned away, cheeks blazing, breath ragged, refusing to answer. Dean’s laughter had followed him all the way into another desperate, wet kiss.

+

Friday morning, Chuck’s voice cut through the clink of silverware and the rustle of the newspaper one morning at breakfast. “You can have one friend over while I’m gone.”

Cas looked up sharply from his cereal bowl, startled. “What?”

Chuck didn’t lower the paper. “Remember? I’m going out of town for work tomorrow. Said you could have a friend over, or spend the night at a friend’s house. But you insisted on sleeping in your own bed.”

Cas frowned into his spoon. “Yes. Because I’m eighteen, Dad. I can manage one night on my own.”

Chuck snickered, folding the corner of the paper to sip his coffee. “Sure. But I’d feel better if you had someone here with you. House gets too quiet. Company’s good for you.”

Cas sighed, shoving books into his bag. “Fine. I’ll… ask someone to spend the night tomorrow.” He swung his bag over his shoulder, already turning toward the doorway when—

“Don’t you invite that Dean Winchester over.”

Cas froze. His father’s voice was firmer now, eyes peeking over the paper with a narrowed warning. “That boy is bad news. Walking sin incarnate. Don’t think I don’t hear the rumors.”

Cas’s throat closed. He swallowed, forcing steadiness into his voice. “No… I promise, Dad. I won’t.”

Chuck nodded once, satisfied, disappearing back behind the newspaper.

Cas walked out the door, pulse pounding in his ears. The promise had already curdled into a lie on his tongue.

+

“My dad’s going out of town this weekend. Insists I invite someone over to spend the night,” Cas said later, standing at the bottom of the school steps.

Dean looked up from his phone, green eyes catching Cas’s blues with a glint of interest. He arched a brow, smirk curling. “Oh yeah, sweetheart? Who’re you wanting to bring over?”

As if to prove his point, he leaned back and winked at a passing group of girls, who giggled instantly. Cas’s stomach twisted, but he forced the words out, soft and halting.

“Would… do you want to… spend the night?”

Dean’s grin widened at Cas’s stammered invitation. He slipped his phone into his pocket and leaned forward on the step, elbows on his knees, green eyes gleaming with unholy delight.

“Well, well, well,” he drawled, letting every syllable drip with smug satisfaction. “Took you long enough, sweetheart. Two weeks of sneakin’ kisses in your room and now you’re beggin’ me to stay the night? What’s the matter—you finally gettin’ tired of those cold showers?”

Cas flushed crimson, jaw tightening as his fingers clutched the strap of his satchel. “That’s not—”

Dean cut him off with a bark of laughter, standing up and stepping close, invading his space. “Don’t even try, Cas. You’re inviting me over, not your church choir buddy. You want me in your bed all night long. Admit it.” His grin turned downright filthy. “I knew you’d break eventually.”

Cas opened his mouth, desperate to argue, but smiled when suddenly a hard shove came from behind. He lurched forward, breath catching in his throat—would’ve gone sprawling if Dean’s reflexes hadn’t snapped into place. Dean caught him around the waist, staggering back a step himself, steadying them both.

A chorus of cruel laughter followed. “Careful there, Novak!” one of the jocks jeered, his varsity jacket loud in the fall sunlight. “Wouldn’t want you fallin’ into Winchester’s lap. Oh wait—that’s probably exactly where you wanna be.”

The group erupted in snickers, high-fives cracking like whips, as if it was even funny. One boy in particular—Adam Milligan, linebacker, smug asshole—stood at the center, grinning like he owned the world.

Dean’s jaw clenched. He eased Cas back onto his feet, then turned, green eyes sharp as knives. “Real classy, Milligan,” he called out, voice hard. “You and your pack of idiots get off on shovin’ people smaller than you?”

Adam stepped forward, puffing his chest. “What’s the matter, Winchester? Gonna defend your boyfriend?” He sneered at Cas. “Didn’t think choir boys swung that way. Oh… wait.”

Dean opened his mouth, ready to bite back with words—or fists—but he didn’t get the chance.

Because Cas moved first.

Before Dean could blink, Cas had shoved past him, eyes blazing with a fury Dean had never seen before. He drew his fist back in one clean motion and slammed it square into Adam’s jaw. The crack of knuckles against bone echoed sharp and shocking. Adam’s head snapped to the side, and he stumbled back with a howl, clutching his face.

The courtyard went dead silent for a beat, the air electric. Cas stood there, chest heaving, knuckles red, his satchel hanging half off his shoulder. His expression was unreadable—calm on the surface, but his blue eyes burned hot and wild.

Dean stared at him, lips parted in shock, then broke into a grin so wide it looked dangerous. He let out a low whistle. “Holy shit, Cas.” He turned, shouting to the gaping jocks. “Looks like your boy here’s got more balls than the rest of your team combined.”

The laughter this time came from the surrounding students, not the jocks. Adam’s face flushed crimson as his friends tried—and failed—to cover their smirks.

Dean reached out and grabbed Cas’s wrist, tugging him back before the situation could explode further. “C’mon, Rocky,” he murmured under his breath, still grinning like a madman. “Before you knock out the whole damn team.”

Dean didn’t let Cas get far before he was tugged sideways, dragged down a deserted corridor, and shoved into the dim stairwell that reeked faintly of dust and floor wax. The heavy door slammed shut behind them, cutting off the noise of the courtyard.

Before Cas could speak, Dean pressed him back against the wall, forearm braced beside his head, green eyes glittering with wicked delight. “You,” he growled, lips curving into a grin, “just punched Adam Milligan in the damn face. Sweet, innocent Cas Novak.” He leaned closer, his breath brushing Cas’s ear. “And fuck me if that wasn’t the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Cas flushed scarlet, eyes flickering with both pride and panic. “I shouldn’t have hit him—”

Dean cut him off with his mouth, crushing a kiss against him so filthy and breathless it stole the thought clean away. Their lips clashed, wet and desperate, Dean’s tongue forcing past Cas’s parted lips to taste him deeper. Cas whimpered, clutching at his jacket, overwhelmed and undone.

Dean groaned into the kiss, pressing his body tight against Cas’s, grinding him into the cinderblock wall. “God, Cas,” he rasped between kisses, “you have no idea what you do to me.” His hand slid to Cas’s hip, gripping hard enough to make him gasp. “One punch and I’m ready to drag you somewhere darker and show you how proud I am, got me so fucking hard man.”

Cas shivered violently, lips trembling, but his mouth chased Dean’s back each time they broke for air. It was messy, frantic, a make-out fueled by adrenaline and want. When Dean finally tore away, both of them panting, he pressed his forehead against Cas’s and whispered, “You’re mine tomorrow night, sweetheart. I don’t give a shit what your dad says.”

+

Dean showed up the second Cas texted that his dad was gone. It was late, a little after seven, the porch light throwing long shadows across the yard. When Cas opened the door, there he was—Dean Winchester in a black hoodie and gray sweatpants, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Casual, comfortable, but still somehow devastatingly dangerous.

Cas swallowed hard, stepping back to let him in. The air seemed to shift as soon as Dean crossed the threshold, the Novak house suddenly smaller, heavier with tension.

Dean didn’t hesitate. He strode straight down the hall to Cas’s bedroom, dropped his bag onto the neatly made bed, then wandered back into the living room like he owned the place. His eyes flicked over the family photos on the walls, the neat stacks of books, smirk tugging at his lips.

“I, um…” Cas cleared his throat, pushing his hair back nervously. “I ordered a pizza for us. It should be here soon.”

Dean sprawled onto the couch, stretching out like a cat, hoodie riding up to reveal a strip of tan skin. He grinned up at Cas, lazy and smug. “Look at you, Novak. Playing house already. Pizza, sleepover, me in your bed tonight…” He winked. “Your old man would shit a brick.”

Cas rolled his eyes, trying to mask the heat crawling up his neck. “This is not… that.”

Dean chuckled, propping his boots on the coffee table. “Sure, Cas. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

His green eyes glittered as he watched Cas fidget, gaze lingering on his flushed cheeks and the way his hands tightened on the hem of his shirt. Dean licked his lips slowly, deliberately, and murmured, “Can’t wait to see how this night ends.”

The doorbell rang twenty minutes later, and Cas nearly jumped out of his skin. He hurried to answer it, slipping the delivery boy a folded bill before carrying the warm cardboard box back to the living room. Dean was still sprawled on the couch, hoodie sleeves shoved up his forearms, phone discarded on the armrest, grinning like a cat who’d already gotten into the cream.

“Dinner is served,” Cas muttered, setting the box down on the coffee table.

Dean popped the lid open immediately, inhaling dramatically. “God bless you, Novak. Didn’t know you had it in you.” He grabbed a slice and leaned back, folding it in half before biting into it. “Hot damn. Heaven itself couldn’t top this.”

Cas rolled his eyes, sitting cross-legged at the other end of the couch with his own slice. “You are so dramatic.”

“Yeah?” Dean smirked around his mouthful. “Says the guy who made me wait two weeks before askin’ me for a sleepover. You nearly killed me with anticipation, Cas. Pretty sure I lost years off my life.”

Cas flushed, chewing slowly to avoid answering. His eyes darted to Dean’s lips—the way grease and cheese clung there, the casual confidence in the way he ate—and before he could stop himself, the words slipped out:

“Am I… a good kisser?”

Dean froze mid-bite. His brows arched, and then that wicked grin spread across his face, slow and dangerous. He set his slice down deliberately, licking his thumb clean of sauce before leaning forward. “Sweetheart,” he drawled, “if you weren’t, you think I’d be sittin’ here in sweatpants instead of out gettin’ laid, getting my dick sucked? You’ve been keepin’ me busy.”

Cas’s cheeks went crimson. “Dean,” he groaned, ashamed.

“What?” Dean leaned back, arms sprawled across the couch. “You’re good. Messy. Innocent as hell. Drives me fuckin’ crazy.”

Cas picked the mushroom off his slice and, with a flash of rare playfulness, flicked it at him. It bounced off Dean’s hoodie and tumbled onto his chest.

Dean blinked down at it, then looked up with a laugh. “You just throw a mushroom at me, Novak?”

“You deserved it,” Cas said primly, though his lips twitched.

Dean plucked the mushroom from his hoodie, popped it into his mouth, and chewed with exaggerated relish. “Mm. Delicious. Just like your kisses.”

Cas groaned, burying his face in his hand. “You’re insufferable.”

Dean grinned, leaning closer across the couch. “And yet, you can’t keep your eyes off me.” His voice dropped lower, teasing but edged with heat. “Bet you’re countin’ the minutes ‘til we’re back in that bedroom.”

Cas froze, pulse skittering, and Dean chuckled again, satisfied. He grabbed another slice, biting into it like he hadn’t just wrecked Cas’s composure all over again.

+

The pizza box lay abandoned on the coffee table, half-empty and cooling. Dean had claimed the remote, of course, flipping through channels until he landed on some late-night action flick. The explosions lit the room in bursts of orange and blue, but neither of them was really watching.

Dean stretched out across the couch, sprawling like he owned it, hoodie riding up to reveal a strip of skin at his waist. Cas had tried sitting prudishly at the far end, hands folded in his lap, but Dean wasn’t having it. With a quiet grunt and a tug, he reeled Cas in, shifting him bodily until he was sprawled between Dean’s legs, head resting tentatively against Dean’s stomach.

“Better,” Dean murmured, not looking down, eyes fixed on the screen as if this were the most natural thing in the world.

Cas lay stiff for a moment, back rigid, the weight of Dean’s thighs bracketing him setting every nerve on fire. But then Dean’s hand slid into his hair, fingers gentle, combing slowly through the strands. It was absent-minded at first, almost lazy—like petting a cat—but it had Cas melting despite himself.

His heartbeat slowed, his breathing steadied. The warmth of Dean’s stomach beneath his cheek, the faint smell of soap and leather clinging to him—it felt… safe. Wrong, yes, undeniably sinful, but achingly safe.

Dean didn’t look at him, eyes glued to the TV, hand still idly stroking. “Comfortable?” he asked casually, as though he hadn’t rearranged Cas like a doll.

“I… suppose,” Cas muttered, though the heat in his cheeks betrayed him.

Dean’s lips twitched. “Coulda fooled me. You’re stiff as a board down there.”

Cas scowled at the screen. “I am not.”

Dean hummed low, still petting his hair. “You sure? ‘Cause every time I touch you, you light up like a fuckin’ Christmas tree. And now you’re sittin’ here, head on my stomach, lookin’ like you don’t know whether to pray or bolt.”

Cas’s throat tightened. He didn’t answer.

Dean finally glanced down, green eyes glinting in the flicker of the TV. “Admit it, Cas.” His voice was low, sweet-talking, playful and sinful all at once. “You want this. You want me.”

Cas swallowed hard, lips parting, but nothing came out. He tried to look away, but Dean tugged gently at his hair, tilting his face up just enough to catch his eyes.

“C’mon,” Dean murmured, grin curling, “say it. I already know, sweetheart. I can feel it every time you kiss me. Every time you get hard just from my mouth on yours. Hell, I can feel it right now.” His thumb brushed Cas’s temple, slow and steady. “But I wanna hear you admit it.”

Cas’s lips trembled, his pupils blown wide. His chest rose and fell against Dean’s stomach in shallow, nervous breaths.

Dean leaned down a little, still smiling, but softer now, wicked but not cruel. “Cas,” he whispered, “do you want me?”

The question hung heavy between them, louder than the movie, louder than Cas’s pounding heart.

Dean’s hand stilled in Cas’s hair for just a beat, then moved again, slow, coaxing. His voice came low, softer than the teasing but edged with intent.

“Am I who you wanted to ask out, Cas?”

Cas froze, every muscle tensing. His eyes flickered up to Dean’s face, wide and uncertain, before dropping back down to the stretch of dark fabric covering Dean’s stomach. His lips parted, then closed again. For a long moment, the only sound was the muffled noise of the movie on the TV.

And then—barely there, almost imperceptible—Cas gave a small, jerky nod.

Dean’s grin spread slow and triumphant, his green eyes flashing. “Knew it,” he murmured, his voice a sinful purr.

Cas’s cheeks flamed, words spilling out in a mess. “You’re—you’re insufferable. God. You’re a—slut. Everyone says so. You’ve kissed everyone. Touched everyone. And you—you drink and you flirt and you’re everything my father warned me about—”

Dean chuckled, tilting his head back against the couch, smugness radiating off him. “Keep goin’, sweetheart. You’re really sellin’ me here.”

Cas stammered, fists clenching in Dean’s hoodie. “But—” His voice cracked, eyes darting up before dropping again. “But you… you make me feel things I—things I don’t know how to stop. I try to, but then you’re—” He swallowed hard. “And I want more of it. Even if it’s wrong. I… want more of you.”

Dean’s grin turned downright filthy to warm in seconds. He cupped Cas’s cheek, dragging his thumb along the flushed skin, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Goddamn, Cas,” he murmured, voice husky. “You just confessed you want me right after callin’ me a slut. That’s the second hottest shit I’ve ever heard.”

Cas’s lips parted but Dean leaned closer, whispering against them, “You want me ‘cause I am all those things. You like that I’m filthy. You like that I can do things to you no one else can. And you want me to ruin you in ways you can’t even imagine.”

Cas’s breath stuttered out, eyes wide, but his body betrayed him—leaning closer, trembling with want.

Dean chuckled low, pressing their foreheads together. “Relax, sweetheart. You’re mine now. Whether you admit it out loud or not, I’ve got you.”

And then, with no room left for protest, he kissed him again—slow, deep, claiming—like he’d just sealed the deal.

+

The house was hushed, the kind of silence that pressed down heavy. In the hall bath, the soft echo of running water had faded; toothbrushes rinsed, mouths freshened, the ordinary ritual of a night’s end made suddenly intimate by sharing it.

Cas flicked off the overhead light before climbing into bed. The room dipped into silver and shadow, the blinds open to let the pale spill of moonlight stripe across the floor and over the edges of the bed. The sheets were cool, the air tinged with autumn’s bite, but Cas’s body was already too warm with nervous anticipation.

Dean slid in next to him, hoodie shed, white t-shirt stretched across his chest. He lay flat on his back, arms behind his head, pretending to watch the ceiling. Cas stared up too, stiff and wide-eyed, every nerve awake.

Dean counted. One hundred and eighty seconds exactly. Then, with a grin he knew Cas couldn’t see in the dark, he turned.

His hand found Cas’s cheek, thumb brushing softly over the flushed heat there. “Hey,” he murmured, voice low, rich. And then he kissed him.

It was slow at first, gentle. Dean’s lips persuading rather than claiming, tasting instead of taking. Cas melted almost instantly, breath catching, his mouth opening in hesitant surrender. The kiss deepened gradually, like the tide pulling them both under.

Cas made a small, desperate sound and shifted closer, fingers knotting in Dean’s shirt. Dean chuckled against his mouth, savoring it, and that only spurred Cas on.

He tugged at Dean’s shoulder, pulling him until their bodies pressed together, until Dean was half on top of him, weight braced on one arm. Cas broke the kiss, breath ragged, and tilted his head. Before Dean could tease, soft lips pressed into the line of his neck.

Dean gasped, the sound torn from deep in his chest. His hand tightened reflexively on Cas’s hip.

Cas stilled, startled, then did it again—open-mouthed now, lingering. Dean groaned, low and rough, the sound vibrating through him. Cas’s lips curved faintly against his skin, emboldened, and he kissed him again. And again.

Each press dragged another noise from Dean, each one dirtier, rawer. Until Dean was clutching at Cas’s shirt at the waist, fist twisted in the fabric like he needed something to anchor him. His head tipped back against the pillow, throat bared, mouth parted in wordless pleasure.

“Fuck, Cas,” he rasped, voice wrecked. “You keep doin’ that and I’m not gonna last the night.”

Cas’s chest heaved, his own pulse hammering, but he kissed him again anyway—greedy now, eager to hear that sound again, to know he could unravel Dean Winchester piece by piece.

Dean couldn’t take it anymore. Cas’s mouth at his neck, soft and insistent, had him trembling with want, every nerve lit up like fire. His fist bunched in Cas’s shirt, but then it wasn’t enough—not nearly enough.

He slid his hand under the hem, fingers warm and sure against bare skin. Cas gasped, startled, but didn’t pull away. Dean’s palm traced slowly upward, over the flat plane of his stomach, ribs shifting under his touch.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ warm, so soft,” Dean moaned into Cas’s ear, voice low, filthy, sending shivers down his spine. His hand moved higher, brushing across Cas’s chest, fingertips grazing a nipple. Cas stiffened, breath catching.

Dean grinned, wicked. He circled the spot lazily with his thumb, watching Cas squirm beneath him.

Cas’s throat worked, eyes wide in the slats of moonlight. He shook his head once, barely.

Dean’s grin deepened. He rolled the nub gently between his fingers, teasing until Cas let out the tiniest sound. Dean’s mouth dropped closer to his ear, breath hot, words curling like smoke.

“Wonder what you’d sound like if I used my mouth on you,” Dean whispered, filthy promise dripping from every syllable. His tongue flicked at the shell of Cas’s ear, quick and teasing. “Suck on you, lick you ‘til you’re beggin’ me for more. Think you’d fall apart for me?”

Cas swallowed hard, chest rising in quick, shallow breaths. He cleared his throat, shyness nearly strangling him, but the need was louder.

“Can I,” Dean whispered, soft but sinful, fingers still teasing mercilessly. “You’ll like it, Cas, I promise.”

There was a long pause, Cas trembling beneath him, eyes fixed on some far point in the shadows. And then, shaky but audible, the answer came.

“Y-yes.”

Dean shifted his weight, swinging a leg over until he was straddling Cas’s lap. The position alone was filthy—Dean looming above him, hips pressing down just enough for Cas to feel how hard he was. Dean’s hands slipped under Cas’s shirt, palms dragging upward over heated skin, gathering the fabric until it bunched high on his chest.

“Arms up,” Dean ordered, his voice rough with want.

Cas hesitated, trembling, but lifted his arms all the same. Dean tugged the shirt away and tossed it to the floor without looking, eyes already locked on the pale stretch of chest beneath him. Cas lay bare in the moonlight, shivering violently from a mix of arousal, want, and crushing shyness.

Dean leaned down, kissing the long line of his throat, slow and wet. “Relax,” he whispered against his skin.

Cas’s breath stuttered as Dean worked his way lower, lips trailing down the column of his throat to the hollow of his sternum. Dean flattened his tongue there, licking a slow, deliberate stripe upward. Cas shuddered, fists twisting in the sheets.

Dean grinned against him, then angled lower, mouth finding its target.

Cas gasped as Dean’s lips brushed his nipple, soft at first. Dean’s tongue traced a lazy circle around it, slow, teasing, wheedling Cas into helpless writhing. “Dean—” Cas whispered, voice breaking, but Dean only hummed, the vibration shooting straight through him.

He switched to the tip of his tongue, careful, tracing light patterns, figure eight’s, tight circles, making Cas twitch and gasp. Then, without warning, Dean flicked his tongue fast over the sensitive nub, merciless.

Cas cried out, loud and desperate, hips bucking involuntarily beneath Dean’s weight. His back arched off the mattress, hands flying up as though to push him away—but instead they caught in Dean’s hair, clinging.

Dean moaned low in his throat at the sound, sucking gently now, alternating teasing flicks with deeper pulls of his mouth. “Fuck, Cas,” he murmured against his skin, wet and reverent. “Didn’t know you’d sound so good for me.”

Cas whimpered, his entire body trembling, overwhelmed by sensation. Shame and need warred in his chest, but the need was winning fast. “Dean—I—” His voice broke again. “Please—”

Dean lifted his head just enough to smirk down at him, lips slick, eyes glittering like green fire. “Please what, baby? You want more?”

Cas’s chest heaved, lips trembling, unable to form words—but the desperate nod he gave was answer enough.

Dean’s grin turned wolfish, devilish and filthy and instead of moving on, he dropped his head again, lips fastening on Cas’s other nipple this time. He gasped loud, back arching, hands flying to Dean’s shoulders to anchor himself. Dean licked slow, broad strokes at first—flat tongue dragging until Cas’s chest gleamed wet in the moonlight—before closing his lips around the nub and sucking hard.

“Ah—Dean!” Cas cried out, voice cracking, his hips jerking helplessly beneath him.

Dean groaned around him, the sound vibrating straight into Cas’s chest. He switched to rapid flicks of his tongue, relentless, merciless, until Cas’s thighs clamped together and his hands clutched at Dean’s hair in desperate surrender. “God, you taste so good,” Dean rasped when he pulled off, his chin slick. He bit gently at the oversensitive bud, just enough to make Cas yelp, then soothed it with his tongue.

“Stop—stop—please—” Cas babbled, though his body told a different story—arched up, trembling, cock straining hard beneath Dean’s weight. Wet. He’s so wet, it’s embarrassing.

Dean smirked, licking one last circle before finally trailing kisses lower. He pressed his mouth over Cas’s sternum, then lower still, lips grazing the trembling line of his stomach. “Are you sensitive everywhere, huh?” he whispered, blowing cool air over damp skin and grinning when Cas shivered.

Cas made a strangled sound, hands fisting the sheets as Dean kissed down to the waistband of his pants, teeth grazing just above it. Dean nosed there deliberately, his hot breath ghosting over Cas’s hips.

“You okay, Cas?” Dean murmured, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the sharp jut of his hipbones. His tongue darted out, a filthy lick just above the waistband, making Cas buck violently.

“D-Dean—oh—no please… I—” Cas stammered, words dissolving into incoherent noises. His chest heaved, his eyes screwed shut, his whole body caught between shame and unbearable want.

Dean chuckled darkly, dragging his mouth back up Cas’s stomach in slow, teasing kisses. When Cas’s babbling grew frantic—half protests, half moans—Dean stopped. He pushed himself up, bracing on his elbows above him, staring down with green eyes burning hot and wild.

“Hey,” Dean murmured, cupping Cas’s face again, gentling him. His thumb brushed along his cheekbone. “Relax, sweetheart. I’ll stop. I don’t wanna push you too far.”

Cas blinked up at him, dazed and wrecked, lips swollen and wet. His chest still heaved, his whole body trembling beneath Dean’s.

Dean leaned down, kissed him slow and dirty once more, then pulled back just far enough to smirk. “Christ, Cas… you’re such a virgin.”

The words landed like a strike, making Cas flush crimson from throat to hairline. He turned his face away, embarrassed, but Dean only laughed softly, kissing the corner of his jaw.

Dean’s words burned in the air between them—you’re such a virgin—and Cas could feel the shame crawl hot over his skin.

Dean didn’t push. He didn’t shove him deeper into the fire. Instead, he gentled. His hand stayed cupping Cas’s cheek, thumb brushing steady along his skin. He dipped in and pressed a soft, patient kiss to the corner of Cas’s mouth. Not demanding. Not devouring. Just there, warm and coaxing.

“Hey,” Dean murmured, his voice softer now, the filth gone but the heat still simmering. “Don’t hide from me. You’re doin’ fine. Better than fine.”

Cas’s lashes fluttered, his blue eyes flicking up uncertainly to Dean’s. The green there wasn’t cruel—it was lit with something else. Something steady, grounding.

Dean smiled, crooked and easy. “You wanna try?” he whispered, brushing their noses together. “You take the lead. Kiss me however you want. I’ll follow your cue.”

Cas blinked at him, confused. “Me?”

“Yeah, you.” Dean chuckled low, the sound vibrating where their chests brushed. “Trust me, sweetheart—you bein’ in control? That’s hot as hell.”

For a moment, Cas lay frozen, pulse hammering against his ribs. Then, hesitantly, he lifted a trembling hand and slid it to the back of Dean’s neck. His fingers tangled in the short hair there, uncertain but possessive.

Dean stilled, letting him.

Cas leaned up slowly, pressing his lips to Dean’s. It was awkward at first, hesitant, but Dean melted instantly, letting him set the pace. Cas kissed him again, firmer this time, lips parting just enough to taste. His tongue brushed shyly against Dean’s lower lip, testing, and when Dean moaned softly in response, Cas surged with a strange, heady confidence.

He deepened it, pulling Dean down closer, their mouths moving together in a kiss that was messy and earnest, but entirely his. Dean let him. He let Cas explore, let him tug and clutch and open him up, his only contribution a low hum of encouragement, the occasional answering flick of his tongue.

When Cas broke for air, his lips were swollen, his chest heaving, but there was no shame in his eyes now. Only hunger.

Dean grinned, breathless, forehead resting against his. “See?” he whispered, voice rough with arousal. “Told you. You bein’ in charge suits you.”

Cas’s lips parted again, as though to argue, but instead he kissed Dean harder, dragging him back down, this time with no hesitation.

And Dean let him—smiling against his mouth, surrendering to Cas’s trembling, desperate need—because sometimes, letting Cas take the reins was the filthiest thing of all.

Cas kissed him again, deeper this time, his tongue pressing forward with an eagerness that made Dean moan low in his throat. Dean let himself be pulled into it, his hand still at Cas’s jaw, though it was Cas who set the rhythm now—open-mouthed, hungry, clumsy but achingly earnest.

Dean shifted, hips grinding once before he caught himself, biting back another groan. “Fuck, Cas,” he murmured against his lips, “keep doin’ that—gonna drive me insane.”

Cas swallowed the words, his trembling hand sliding from Dean’s neck down to his chest. He pressed tentatively against the warm expanse beneath Dean’s thin shirt, palm spreading flat as though testing the rise and fall of his breathing. Dean’s muscles tensed, then shuddered, his breath catching.

Cas broke the kiss, panting, his eyes wide. “Is this… allowed?” he whispered, his voice wrecked with nerves.

Dean laughed breathlessly, a filthy, broken sound. “Allowed? Baby, I’ve been waitin’ for you to touch me like that.”

Cas’s hand inched upward, exploring the hard lines of Dean’s chest. His fingers brushed over one nipple, accidentally at first, and Dean’s whole body jerked. A strangled moan escaped him, muffled against Cas’s mouth.

Cas froze, startled.

Dean’s grin was half-wild, half-pleading. “God—don’t stop. Please. Cas…” He leaned down, his lips brushing Cas’s ear, voice gone ragged and desperate. “Touch me there. Play with ‘em.”

The plea startled Cas more than anything else. He’d expected arrogance, smugness. Not Dean Winchester fucking begging him.

Slowly, cautiously, Cas dragged his thumb across the tight peak again, pressing, rolling and pinching gently. Dean gasped loud, bucking into him, the sound filthy, raw. “Fuck, yes—just like that.” His voice cracked, and he let out a broken moan that made Cas’s stomach twist with heat.

Cas blinked up at him, realization dawning. “You… like this?”

Dean laughed, breathless, eyes glazed. “Like it? Sweetheart, you’ve got no idea.” He bit down on his lip, trying and failing to smother another noise as Cas’s fingers rolled the nub carefully, experimentally.

Encouraged, Cas leaned up and pressed his mouth to Dean’s throat again, kissing wetly down the strong column until he reached the hollow of his collarbone. His tongue darted out, shy but curious, tasting the salt of Dean’s skin.

Dean groaned, head tipping back.

Cas’s free hand pushed higher, bolder now, until he was palming both sides of Dean’s chest. His lips moved down, hesitant kisses growing more insistent. When his tongue flicked experimentally over the fabric stretched tight over one nipple, Dean’s reaction was immediate—hips grinding down against Cas’s body, a filthy cry tearing out of his throat.

Cas’s eyes widened at the sound, his pulse racing. He did it again, this time with more intent, dragging the flat of his tongue over the tight nub. Dean’s answering moan was wrecked, shameless, filthier than anything Cas had ever imagined.

Dean clutched at the fitted sheet on the bed, his body trembling with every noise Cas wrung out of him.

He shifted closer into Cas’s side, their bodies pressed together in a messy half-on, half-off tangle that made breathing and moving awkward. Dean didn’t mind the heat of Cas under him, the solid line of his thigh. What he did mind was how his cock had a mind of its own, caught somewhere between grinding against Cas’s clothed leg and dragging against the mattress. Each subtle rock sent sparks up his spine, and he was fighting not to moan.

Then Cas’s hand moved. At first it was tentative, sliding from Dean’s hip down to the front of his sweats. Dean sucked in a sharp breath, arching away before he could stop himself.

“Cas… what are you—” His voice broke, and he had to swallow hard. “You don’t have to do that.”

But Cas’s touch didn’t retreat. His palm hovered, hesitant but deliberate, brushing over the bulge that had Dean biting his lip hard.

“I’m curious,” Cas said simply, his tone clinical, but his voice shook just enough to betray the storm beneath. “I want to know what… it feels like for you.”

Dean groaned, half in frustration, half in disbelief. “C’mon, Cas, you know what a dick feels like.” He buried his face against Cas’s shoulder, heat flaring in his cheeks. Thank God for the dark; he didn’t want Cas to see how undone he already was, how close to breaking from nothing but his mouth and that shy, curious hand.

But Cas, in his maddening honesty, only murmured back: “Not yours.”

Dean’s whole body jolted. His cock throbbed, and for a second he thought he might embarrass himself completely right there. That blunt, innocent confession hit him harder than the filthiest thing anyone else had ever said to him.

“Jesus, Cas,” Dean rasped, dragging a hand down his face. He tried to laugh, but it came out strangled. “You can’t just say shit like that.”

Cas blinked at him through the shadows, utterly serious, utterly unashamed.

Dean exhaled, trying to get a grip, forcing himself back into the teasing swagger he knew. “Listen, sweetheart,” he said, voice dropping low, coaxing, “it’s better if you touch yourself first before you start grabbin’ on my dick. Get used to your own hand, your own pace. Otherwise you’ll just—fuck—wreck us both before we even get anywhere.”

Cas sat up, blue eyes steady even in the dim spill of moonlight. His voice was calm, clipped, but not without heat. “What do you want me to do? Masturbate in front of you?”

Dean stared at him for a beat. Then a laugh tore out of him—loud, breathless, cracked around the edges of arousal he couldn’t hide. He dropped back against the pillows, shaking his head, a grin stretching across his face.

“Goddamn, Cas,” he chuckled, still catching his breath. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

The sound of Dean’s laughter filled the room—warm, filthy, and helpless—while Cas sat beside him, lips pursed, cheeks faintly red, as if he truly didn’t understand what was so funny.

And Dean, with his cock aching and his chest heaving, thought he’d never wanted someone more in his life. His laughter tapered off into a low, hungry hum. He propped himself up on one elbow, watching Cas with a half-lidded stare, his grin softening into something darker.

“You’re serious, huh?” Dean murmured, brushing his thumb across Cas’s jaw. “Never touched yourself. Not once.”

Cas’s throat worked, his eyes narrowing faintly like he wanted to argue, but he gave a small shake of his head. “I told you. Never.”

Dean let out a long, slow whistle, his smirk curving again. “Christ.” He leaned in close, his breath brushing Cas’s ear. “Alright, sweetheart. You trust me?”

“Yes,” Cas said, voice rough.

“Good.” Dean pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, green flashing in the moonlight. “Then I’m gonna teach you. Step by step. You copy me, yeah? That way, we both learn somethin’.”

Cas’s blush deepened, but he nodded.

Dean sat back against the headboard, tugging Cas with him until they were side by side. He slipped his hand under the waistband of his sweats and groaned, exaggerating it just to make Cas squirm. “First lesson—get comfortable. No shame here, Cas. Just us.”

Cas hesitated, stiff, but slowly slid his own hand down, mirroring Dean. His breath hitched, body jerking faintly when his palm brushed over his cock through his pants.

“There you go,” Dean coaxed, voice husky but low, like persuading a skittish animal. “Don’t rush. Just hold yourself. Feel the weight of it. Get used to your own damn body.”

Cas swallowed hard, fingers tentative, curling around himself. His cheeks flamed crimson.

Dean watched, eyes hooded, biting back a moan at the sight. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous like that.” He squeezed himself deliberately, hissing through his teeth. “Now tighten your grip a little.”

Cas did, lips parting when the sensation jolted through him.

“Yeah, that’s it. Now stroke. Slow. Up and down.” Dean set the pace on himself, slow, languid drags of his fist, his cock swelling hot in his palm. His voice dropped filthy, sinful. Cas mirrored him, clumsy but eager. His breath caught with every stroke, chest heaving, thighs trembling.

Dean grinned, moaning low just to rile him up. “That’s it. Keep goin’. Look at you—already red in the face, already leaking for me.”

Cas whimpered, eyes fluttering shut. His strokes grew uneven, too fast, too frantic.

Dean reached out, catching his wrist gently. “Slow down,” he whispered. “You’ll blow too soon.”

He tugged Cas’s hand away, then leaned over, his own hand sliding beneath Cas’s waistband. Cas gasped, his entire body jolting at the first touch.

Dean chuckled darkly. “Perfect.” He stroked him once, long and slow, savoring the way Cas’s hips bucked.

With his free hand, Dean stroked himself, the same steady rhythm he was giving Cas. “Up… down. Just like this. Same pressure. Same speed.”

Cas, dazed and desperate, obeyed. His hand found his own cock again, mirroring the exact pace Dean set for him. The room filled with their breath, their muffled groans, the obscene rhythm of flesh on flesh.

Dean leaned close, lips brushing Cas’s ear. “That’s it, sweetheart. We’re in sync now. You feel how good that is? You touching you, me touching me—fuck—it’s like we’re jerking each other off.”

Cas moaned helplessly, his strokes faltering as his body trembled violently, the pleasure almost too much.

Dean groaned, tightening his grip on himself, never breaking rhythm. “God, Cas—you’re a mess.”

Cas couldn’t answer—only babble, incoherent sounds spilling out of him as his head dropped back, overwhelmed and burning. Dean, watching him fall apart under his guidance, thought he’d never seen anything filthier, or more beautiful, in his life.

Cas started squirming next to him, thighs twitching, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts. Dean glanced over, brow furrowing for a second, wondering if Cas was even enjoying this—or if the nerves had swallowed him whole.

So Dean scooted closer, pressing shoulder to shoulder, heat searing through the thin barrier of their shirts.

“Here,” Dean murmured, voice low and steady. His hand slid down, tugging at Cas’s waistband. Cas froze, shuddered, but didn’t stop him. Dean peeled the fabric down and Cas’s cock sprang free, flushed and hard, thick in a way that made Dean bite his lip. Untouched.

Dean’s fingers twitched with hunger, every instinct screaming to get in between his knees and show Cas what a cock slut he really was. But he forced himself to breathe, to go slow, because this was Cas. This was his first… everything.

He shoved his own sweats down, his cock springing up heavy, flushed red, slick already at the tip. Cas made a strangled noise at the sight.

Dean reached with his left hand, crossing over to Cas’s lap. His palm hovered, then closed, tentative at first, around Cas’s cock. Hot, hard, velvet skin stretched tight under his grip. Cas’s entire body jolted, hips bucking up off the bed.

Dean smirked and caught his hand—Cas’s trembling fist—and guided it down to his own cock. He pressed Cas’s palm against him, wrapping fingers around the thick shaft.

“Follow me,” Dean whispered, his lips brushing Cas’s ear. Then he started stroking—slow, deliberate, dragging his fist up, down, up, down over Cas’s length.

Cas’s hand moved too, clumsy at first, squeezing Dean’s cock too tightly, the rhythm jerky. But Dean groaned anyway, deep and low, and Cas felt it reverberate through him.

Cas’s mind whirled, too hot, too full. I’m touching him. I’m touching Dean Winchester’s cock. It was nothing like he’d imagined—so hot, so hard, smooth, pulsing in his hand with every shaky stroke. Dean’s cock was slippery in his grasp from all the precum that leaked throughout their foreplay. This is wrong. I shouldn’t want this. But God—God—it feels so good.

Dean’s hand stroked him steady, unrelenting, and then his thumb brushed over the swollen head of Cas’s cock.

The sensation hit like lightning. Cas’s mouth fell open, and a loud, helpless moan ripped out of him before he could stop it. His back arched, his hand tightening instinctively on Dean’s shaft.

Dean chuckled, wicked and breathless, his lips curling into a filthy grin. “Yeah, sweetheart,” he groaned, squeezing Cas tighter. “That’s it. That’s what I wanted to hear.”

Cas couldn’t help himself. Between the soft sound of slick fists moving and Dean’s low, ragged breaths, he dared a glance sideways. The blinds were open, moonlight pouring through in pale ribbons. It cut across Dean’s face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his cheekbone, the parted lips glistening with spit where he kept dragging his tongue across them.

Dean looked devastating like this—flushed, sweating, hair mussed, his green eyes half-lidded and hazy with lust. Too much. Too beautiful. Cas’s stomach flipped, his chest seized, and he tore his gaze downward just in time to see a bead of precum drip thick from his own cock, slicking Dean’s fist. Heat shot through him, embarrassment and arousal tangled.

Dean’s grip tightened suddenly, his fist twisting at the head, and Cas cried out more. The motion wrung pleasure out of him so sharp it made his toes curl. His own hand, clumsy but desperate to keep up, copied the movement on Dean’s cock—tightening, twisting, dragging across the swollen head.

Dean’s whole body shuddered, a deep, broken whimper spilling from his throat. He bit down on his lip, eyes fluttering shut, then laughed breathlessly. “So good.”

Cas swallowed hard, eyes glued to Dean’s lap where his hand moved. I’m doing this to him. I’m making him sound like that. The thought pulsed hot through his body, making his strokes more certain.

Dean moaned again, leaning closer, their shoulders pressed tight. “Yeah, baby, just like that. Don’t stop. Squeeze a little harder at the top—fuck, yeah, right there.” His voice was hoarse, filthy with pleasure.

Cas obeyed without hesitation, his brows furrowed, concentration carved into every line of his face. His hand trembled but he copied exactly, matching pressure for pressure, twist for twist.

Dean’s breath cracked open into another groan. He let his forehead drop briefly against Cas’s temple, whispering rough encouragements right into his ear. “You’re so good, Cas. Perfect fucking hands. You feel that? How hard you’ve got me?”

Cas’s breath stuttered. He dared a glance back at Dean’s face and instantly regretted it—the sight of his flushed cheeks, mouth slack with pleasure, made Cas’s cock jerk hard in Dean’s fist. His hips bucked, precum smearing over Dean’s knuckles.

Dean hissed through his teeth, grinning despite himself. “Messy already, huh? Don’t worry, sweetheart. Messy’s good.” He kissed the shell of Cas’s ear, wet and filthy. “Now twist it slower. Make me beg for it.”

Cas whimpered at the command but obeyed, dragging his fist in a slower twist over the thick head of Dean’s cock. He felt Dean shudder under his hand, his body trembling with the restraint it took not to thrust into Cas’s grip.

Their hands moved in sync, slick and desperate, the obscene rhythm filling the room. Cas’s chest heaved against Dean’s shoulder, his breath uneven, every stroke pulling him closer to something terrifyingly inevitable.

Dean leaned in, catching his mouth in a kiss—hot, filthy, tongues colliding. Cas moaned into it, his breath shuddering as though the kiss itself threatened to undo him. He clung to Dean’s shoulder with his free hand, fingers digging into muscle, needing the anchor as heat coiled low in his gut.

Dean’s fist tightened, twisting expertly at the swollen head of Cas’s cock. Cas nearly sobbed into the kiss, hips jerking helplessly. Dean groaned in response, his own cock slick in Cas’s trembling grip, leaking and hot. The friction between them was maddening.

Dean broke the kiss with a gasp, forehead pressed to Cas’s, their noses brushing. “Faster, Cas,” he moaned, voice wrecked. “Yeah, just like that.”

Cas’s eyes fluttered shut, his mouth open, words spilling broken and desperate. “Dean, I’m—I think I’m—something’s—” His thighs clamped together, trembling, panic mixing with want.

Dean’s grin was ragged, filthy, his voice breathless. “Yeah, baby, you’re gonna cum. I can feel it—feel how hot you’re gettin’ in my hand.” He squeezed deliberately, pumping harder, faster. “Stroke me faster too—fuck—just like that. You’re so close. Fuck. You’re gonna make me cum too.”

Cas gasped, the words striking through him, his whole body seizing. His toes curled hard against the sheets, his back arching as if he couldn’t contain it. “Dean—oh—!”

Dean kissed him again, swallowing the cry as he jerked Cas faster, merciless now.

Cas squeezed his eyes shut, overwhelmed, every nerve burning. The coil inside him snapped, and with a broken moan, he spilled hot over Dean’s pumping fist, thick and wet, streaking across his stomach.

Dean groaned at the sight, his hips thrusting into Cas’s clumsy strokes, chasing his own edge, his forehead pressed tight to Cas’s as though they could fall apart together.

Dean’s fist never slowed, even as Cas spilled hot over his hand. He groaned at the way Cas’s body shook beneath him, undone and trembling. Cas’s grip on him faltered, but he still tried, his strokes messy and uneven.

“Fuck—Cas—” Dean gasped, hips jerking into that shaky fist, chasing the edge. “Goddamn, you’re so fucking perfect—look at you—”

Cas whimpered, eyes squeezed shut, but Dean kissed him hard, swallowing every sound. He wrapped his hand around Cas’s fist, and pumped himself through Cas’s hand once, twice, and then the heat snapped. His whole body shuddered as he came, spilling hot and thick across Cas’s fist and his own stomach, mixing with the mess already there.

Dean groaned into Cas’s mouth, the sound filthy and broken, his hips stuttering through the aftershocks. He pulled back, gasping, forehead pressed to Cas’s, both of them sticky and panting in the moonlight.

For a moment, the room was silent but for their ragged breathing, the smell of sweat and sex heavy in the air. Cas lay wide-eyed, chest heaving, hair plastered to his temple, still shaking from the force of it.

Dean chuckled, low and ruined, dragging his hand up to smear the mess across Cas’s stomach. “Look at that, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “Made you cum so hard you didn’t even know what hit you. First time, and you’re already wrecked for me.”

Cas turned his face away, shame and heat flooding him, but Dean caught his jaw and made him look back. His grin was lazy, filthy, but his eyes burned with something steadier.

“Hey,” Dean whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “You did so fucking good. You hear me? So goddamn good.”

Cas swallowed, his lips trembling under Dean’s. “I… it felt—” His voice cracked. “Dean, I didn’t know it could feel like that.”

Dean smiled against him, kissing him again, slow this time, tender despite the mess between them. “Told you I’d teach you, sweetheart. And trust me—this is just the beginning.”

Chapter Text

On Monday, Cas walked into school looking almost unrecognizable. Gone was the usual uniform of buttoned-up shirt and stiff jeans. Instead, he wore a plain fitted t-shirt and a pair of dark jeans that sat lower on his hips than anyone had ever seen. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make heads turn, whispers passing between students who thought for a second he might’ve been a transfer.

Dean noticed. Of course he noticed. He noticed the way the fabric clung to Cas’s chest, the way his shoulders looked broader, the way his hair seemed softer somehow without the stiff collar framing it.

He noticed so much it made his teeth ache. But he didn’t say a word. Not through first period, not at lunch, not even when their eyes met across the hall.

Not until halfway through the afternoon, when he grabbed Cas by the wrist between classes and yanked him under the stairwell, pressing him against the cool brick wall.

Dean’s mouth was on his immediately, a hungry, breathless kiss that had Cas clutching at the strap of his bag for balance. When Dean finally pulled back, green eyes flashing, Cas smiled a little shyly.

“Hey,” Dean said with a smirk, leaning his weight against him, pinning him gently but firmly.

“Hi,” Cas answered, voice soft.

Dean dipped his head to his ear, his lips brushing the curve. “Kept thinking about you yesterday when I got home,” he whispered, his breath hot, making Cas shiver.

Cas wanted to sound less naive, less innocent, and the words slipped out before he could stop them: “What did you think about?”

Dean kissed just beneath his ear, slow and deliberate, dragging his lips up the sharp line of Cas’s jaw. “How hot you looked when you came in my hand,” he murmured, filthy and shameless. “Had to leave class to jerk off in the bathroom.”

Cas flushed instantly, the heat racing up his throat and into his ears. Dean smirked at the reaction, pressing closer, hips brushing. “Got me so fucking hard, Cas.”

“I’m sure anybody makes you hard,” Cas countered, trying for sharpness.

Dean leaned back just enough to grin, amused and turned on all at once. “C’mon, sweetheart. Don’t talk to me like that,” he teased, though the warning in his voice carried heat.

Cas blushed deeper, but his lips curved into a smile. The flush only grew when Dean cupped his cheek, brushing his thumb gently over the color there, grounding the moment with something unexpectedly tender.

“So…” Cas asked quietly, voice almost trembling, “are you my boyfriend now?”

Dean blinked, caught off guard, his grin fading into something more unreadable. He cocked his head, thumb dragging lower to press against Cas’s bottom lip. For a long beat, he said nothing. Then, carefully, “I don’t… date, Cas. I don’t do the boyfriend thing.”

The words landed like a stone. Cas’s expression fell immediately, like it wounded them both. Dean felt the regret the moment it left his mouth. He squeezed Cas’s cheek gently, desperate to soften the blow.

“But,” he added quickly, his voice rougher now, “I’ll make an exception for you.”

Cas frowned, eyes narrowing. “Why?”

Dean’s lips twitched, a shaky smile forming. “I don’t know, man. Maybe because you’re this sweet, innocent virgin that I can’t get enough of.” His voice dipped, husky and vulnerable all at once. “You make me want things, Cas. Make me wanna corrupt you and care for you at the same time. And that’s dangerous as hell for me.”

Cas’s expression softened, but his voice stayed firm. “I won’t date you in secret.”

Dean huffed out a laugh, though it wasn’t mocking—it was surprised, almost relieved at the steel in Cas’s tone. “Then I guess we make it public.” He smirked again, leaning closer. “What about your dad? I know he fucking hates me.”

“He…” Cas hesitated, swallowing, “he just doesn’t know you.”

Dean grinned, wicked and boyish all at once. “Then I guess it’s time he learned.”

+

Dean didn’t wait. The very next period, he made good on his word.

When the bell rang, they filed into the crowded hallway, students jostling with books and chatter. Cas walked a half step ahead, his face still flushed from what had happened under the stairs. Dean caught up easily, slipping in beside him. Then, without hesitation, he reached out and laced their fingers together.

The hallway seemed to fall into stunned silence, at least in Cas’s head. Whispers sparked immediately, wide eyes following them. Someone nudged their friend, pointing; a girl from chemistry dropped her jaw. Dean didn’t look at any of them. He just walked, chin high, smirk plastered across his mouth like a challenge. Yeah, I’m holding Cas Novak’s hand. You got a problem with it?

Cas’s pulse hammered, his grip tight around Dean’s. But instead of shame, what swelled in his chest was something warm, steady. Pride. Like he just won Dean Winchester, and nobody else has.

By the time the last bell rang, the whispers had grown louder, rumors already spinning like wildfire. Dean walked Cas to the Impala, opened the door with a flourish, and slid in after him.

The ride was quieter than usual, Dean’s bravado dulled to a thoughtful silence. His fingers drummed the steering wheel, his jaw tense, and he kept sneaking glances at Cas like he wanted to say something but didn’t.

When they pulled up outside the Novak house, Dean cut the engine but didn’t move. He leaned back in his seat, exhaling hard. “So… your old man,” he said, trying for casual but failing. His voice cracked slightly at the edges. “What’s he like?”

Cas tilted his head, watching him. Dean Winchester—cocky, reckless, fearless—was fidgeting. He was nervous.

“My father is… particular,” Cas admitted. “Strict. He doesn’t warm easily.”

Dean scrubbed a hand over his mouth. “Yeah, no kidding. He already thinks I’m Satan in a leather jacket.” He let out a shaky laugh. “Cas, if he throws me out on my ass—”

Cas reached across the seat, steady and certain, and took Dean’s hand. Their fingers laced together again, tighter this time. “Then we’ll deal with it,” he said firmly. “But I’m not hiding you. Not anymore.”

Dean stared at him, the weight of the words hitting deeper than he expected. His smirk softened into something small, almost shy. “You’re somethin’ else, Novak.”

Cas squeezed his hand once, then opened the door. “Come on.”

Dean climbed out, following him up the walk. His heart hammered in his chest in a way no fight, no rumor, no detention ever had. But when Cas led him inside, hand still locked in his, Dean held his head high.

If this was going to be a war, he was damn sure he wasn’t walking into it alone.

Chuck was in his usual spot in the living room, glasses perched low on his nose as he read. He looked up when Cas came through the door and offered a smile—warm, automatic. But the moment Dean stepped in behind him, shoulders hunched and a sheepish grin plastered on his face, Chuck’s smile faltered, then nearly disappeared altogether. He removed his glasses and placed them on the coffee table.

“Cas, you better have an extremely good—”

“Dad, this is Dean,” Cas cut in, fast and certain, his voice steady. “We’re dating.”

Chuck froze, his mouth still half-open. His eyes darted from Cas to Dean and back again, his face tightening. Dean felt his heart slam so hard against his ribs it echoed in his ears. He could feel the heat in his face, his cheeks burning red, his smile wobbling into something awkward and nervous.

“You…” Chuck started, then stopped. He dragged a hand down his face, pinching the bridge of his nose before letting out a long, heavy sigh. His voice, when it came, was sharp. “Kitchen. Now.”

Cas glanced at Dean and laid a steady hand on his shoulder. “Sit down. It’s fine,” he whispered, squeezing lightly. Dean’s gut twisted, but he obeyed, lowering himself onto the couch.

In the kitchen, Chuck kept his voice low, sharp whispers cutting through the air—quiet enough that Dean couldn’t hear from the living room, but Cas heard every word.

“Cas, I love you dearly, but this… I can’t approve of this. Dean is—”

“Dean is wonderful,” Cas said firmly, not letting him finish.

Chuck’s eyes narrowed. “He’s also a troublemaker. A—” He stopped himself, but the word hung unsaid.

“What? A sexual deviant?” Cas supplied flatly. “He’s eighteen. He’s legal.”

“He drinks,” Chuck hissed.

“So did you at his age.” Cas’s tone didn’t waver.

Chuck pinched the bridge of his nose again, exhaling hard. “I just want what’s best for you, Castiel. And Dean is… he’s not—”

“You’re not going to tell me I can’t,” Cas interrupted again, his voice breaking slightly but no less determined. “I’ve tried, Dad. I’ve tried to stay away. I’ve prayed for it to go away. I’ve begged God for it. But I can’t.” He swallowed, shoulders tight. “He’s… important to me.”

Chuck stared at him, stricken, his face softening despite himself. He didn’t reply—just turned, leaving the kitchen.

Dean scrambled upright the second Chuck reappeared, jerking his foot down from the coffee table where he’d been nervously propping it. His hands dug into his knees, posture stiff. Chuck nearly lost his composure at the sight, but he held himself steady. Their eyes locked across the room, the weight of the moment pressing heavy. Behind him, Cas stood in the doorway, silent, pleading with his eyes.

Finally, Chuck cleared his throat. “You’ll stay for dinner?” The words came out tight, more like a command than an invitation, but laced with an undercurrent of reluctant concession.

Dean swallowed hard, throat dry. His gaze flicked to Cas, who gave him the smallest nod, and then back to Chuck. “Uh… yeah. I—yes, sir.”

Chuck gave one curt nod, turned, and disappeared back into the kitchen. Pots and pans clattered as if he needed the noise to ground himself.

Cas immediately crossed the room, tugging Dean up from the couch by the wrist. Dean let himself be dragged, his heart still hammering in his chest, but the corner of his mouth twitched into a shaky grin.

They’d barely taken two steps toward his room before Chuck’s voice bellowed from the kitchen: “Keep your door open, Castiel Novak!”

Cas laughed, quick and unbothered, and Dean snorted behind him, unable to help himself.

The tension didn’t vanish.

+

The three of them sat around the table, plates of pot roast and vegetables laid out, the air thick with unspoken things. Dean sat stiffly, shoulders tight, trying his best at polite. He kept his elbows off the table, chewed quietly, and answered questions when asked, though every word felt like walking a tightrope.

“So, you have a brother?” Chuck asked, his tone casual but his eyes sharp, assessing.

Dean cleared his throat, setting his fork down neatly beside his plate. “Yeah. Sam. He’s fourteen. Goes to the school across town.”

Chuck nodded, cutting into his chicken. “And your parents? They still together?”

The question landed like a thud. Cas shot his father a sharp glare, but Dean only shifted in his seat, reaching for his glass. He took a sip of water, buying himself a moment, before answering quietly.

“Uh… no, sir. My dad died when I was young.”

For the first time all evening, Chuck’s expression softened. He set his knife down, looking at Dean with something closer to sympathy than suspicion. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Dean gave a small shrug, his mouth twitching in a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Long time ago. He died a hero.” Another sip of water, the glass hiding the tension in his face.

Cas glanced at him, worry in his eyes, but Dean met his gaze and gave a little nod, as if to say I’m fine.

Chuck cleared his throat. “Was he… in the service?”

“Yes, sir. Marines.” Dean stabbed at a green bean with his fork, rolling it across his plate. “But he didn’t die overseas or anything. It was… different.”

Chuck let that sit for a moment before moving on, leaning back in his chair. “So it’s just you, your mom, and your brother?”

Dean nodded, stabbing his fork into the roast this time, chewing deliberately before answering. “Yes, sir.”

The table went quiet for a beat, the only sound the scrape of silverware. Cas shifted in his seat, his jaw tight, silently begging his father to stop. The weight of Chuck’s curiosity pressed down on the table like a storm cloud—less outright hostility now, but still sharp and unrelenting, every question a probe, every answer another measure taken.

Dean kept his head down, but every time he lifted his eyes, Cas was watching him. And that steady blue gaze, firm and protective, was the only thing keeping him grounded.

Chuck set down his fork, folding his hands on the table. His gaze didn’t waver from Dean, sharp and measuring.

“And what about your future, Dean? You planning to go to college? Or are you going to… drift?” The word landed pointed, heavy with implication.

Dean shifted in his seat, his leg bouncing under the table. “Uh… yeah. I mean, I haven’t figured it all out yet. But I’ve been working in my uncle’s garage, learning cars. I’m good with my hands.” He gave a quick, nervous laugh, instantly regretting the phrasing when Cas coughed sharply beside him. Dean cleared his throat. “What I mean is, I’ve got options. College maybe. Trade school. I’ll figure it out.”

Chuck’s eyes narrowed slightly. “And your grades?”

Dean stabbed another piece of roast, chewing longer than necessary. “Not terrible. Not… great either. I’m better with practical stuff than books.”

Cas straightened in his chair, glaring at his father. “He’s smart. He just doesn’t show it the way you expect.”

Dean’s heart gave a sharp, painful twist at that defense. He hadn’t expected Cas to jump in. He risked a glance sideways; Cas’s jaw was set, eyes blazing with a silent challenge. Don’t push him.

But Chuck pressed anyway. “You’ve got quite a reputation, Dean. Around school. With girls. Boys. With drinking.” His tone was clipped, deliberate, as though he were laying charges in a trial.

Dean’s ears burned. His grip tightened on his fork, knuckles whitening. “Yeah,” he admitted, voice low, “I’ve screwed around. Made mistakes. Who hasn’t?” His throat bobbed as he forced himself to meet Chuck’s eyes. “But I’m not here to bullshit you, sir. I care about Cas. More than I can explain. And I’m not gonna hurt him.”

The silence that followed was thick, oppressive. Cas held his breath, every muscle tense, waiting for his father’s judgment.

Chuck’s expression shifted, not softened entirely but cracked at the edges. He sighed, deep and weary, as if the fight had drained from him. He reached for his glass, taking a long sip before speaking again.

“Well,” he said at last, his tone less cutting, more resigned, “I suppose we’ll see if your actions match your words.”

Cas exhaled slowly, relief flickering across his face.

Dean swallowed, then nodded firmly. “They will, sir.”

Chuck gave him one long look, then picked up his fork again, returning to his meal as though nothing had happened. “Eat. The food’s getting cold.”

The rest of the dinner passed in uneasy quiet, punctuated by the occasional scrape of cutlery. But the storm had passed. Chuck hadn’t thrown Dean out, hadn’t forbidden Cas from seeing him. For now, that was enough.

When the plates were cleared, Cas caught Dean’s eye, and they both knew what it meant: a small victory.

+

The dishes had been washed, the kitchen tidied, and Chuck finally grabbed his jacket and keys, muttering something about the night shift and not to stay up too late. The door shut with a solid thud, and both Cas and Dean exhaled like they’d been holding their breath the entire time.

Cas shut his bedroom door with a soft click, leaning back against it for a moment. His chest rose and fell, the tension unwinding from his shoulders. “God, I thought he’d never leave,” he groaned, pushing off the door and plopping onto the bed. He’d changed into a pair of loose shorts and a plain t-shirt, hair still damp from a quick shower, mouth minty from brushing his teeth.

Dean had stayed in his clothes, though his boots were kicked haphazardly near the dresser and his leather jacket was tossed carelessly over the chair. He sprawled across Cas’s bed like he owned it, jeans snug on his thighs, black shirt clinging to the lines of his chest. Arms tucked behind his head, he grinned at Cas’s dramatics.

“Your old man put me through the wringer,” Dean muttered, shaking his head. “Thought he was gonna start askin’ me for my blood type next.”

Cas huffed out a laugh, lying on his side to face him. “You did fine.”

Dean turned his head, catching those blue eyes in the dim lamplight. “Fine? Sweetheart, I was fuckin’ charming.” He winked, and Cas rolled his eyes, but the smile that tugged at his lips gave him away.

For a beat, it was quiet. The kind of quiet that hummed with everything unsaid. Dean’s smirk softened, his eyes dragging over Cas’s face, the flush in his cheeks, the damp strands of hair curling at his temple. He shifted onto his side, closer, until their knees brushed.

“C’mere,” Dean murmured, voice gone low.

Cas didn’t hesitate this time. He leaned in, closing the small distance, and their mouths met. The kiss started soft, tentative—lips pressing, pulling back, pressing again—but quickly deepened, like they couldn’t help themselves.

Dean’s hand slipped to Cas’s waist, tugging him closer. Cas responded with a quiet hum, his fingers clutching at Dean’s shirt. Their mouths opened, tongues sliding, the kiss turning messy, breathless.

Dean broke away only long enough to murmur against Cas’s mouth, “Your dad doesn’t know shit. You’re safe with me.” Then he kissed him again, deeper, stealing the air from his lungs.

Cas smiled into the kiss, tension and relief dissolving under the weight of Dean Winchester pressed close.

The kiss deepened until neither of them could breathe properly, lips swollen, breaths mingling hot in the darkened room. Cas tugged Dean closer by the hem of his shirt, pulling him flush until Dean rolled easily on top of him, bracing one arm on the mattress.

Dean kissed him slow and thorough, savoring every shaky inhale Cas gave him. His free hand slid over Cas’s side, warm palm tracing the shape of his waist, the dip of his hip, the soft fabric of his t-shirt bunching beneath his touch. Cas shivered, his body rigid for a beat before melting into it, sighing into Dean’s mouth.

Cas’s lips trembled as he leaned back up for another kiss. His hands moved too, tentative at first, fingers clutching Dean’s shoulders, then his back, then fisting into the black shirt as though he couldn’t get close enough.

Dean groaned, low and wrecked, and shifted his hips. Slowly, firmly, he pressed down, grinding against Cas in a long drag. Cas gasped into his mouth, the sound sharp, startled.

Dean’s grin curved against his lips. “God Cas,” he whispered, kissing him again. He rolled his hips once more, this time slower, dragging his hard length over Cas’s thigh through the thin barrier of fabric.

Cas moaned softly, chest arching up to meet him, legs shifting instinctively to give him more room. His own cock strained against his shorts, trapped and aching, the friction making him dizzy.

Dean pressed down harder, grinding with deliberate pressure, his cock aligned against Cas’s. The heat of it, even through layers of cotton and denim, made Cas’s heart race. His hands slipped down Dean’s back, clutching at his waist, pulling him closer, urging him to keep going.

Their kisses turned desperate, sloppy, wet. Cas gasped between them, his breaths shuddering with every drag of Dean’s hips.

“Mm, Cas,” Dean groaned into his mouth, voice broken. “You feel so fucking good under me. Like you were made for this.”

Cas whimpered, his eyes fluttering closed, his entire body alight with sensation. His hips jerked up, clumsy but eager, pressing into Dean’s grind with a need he couldn’t hold back anymore.

Dean moaned at the answering friction, his forehead dropping to Cas’s, their noses brushing, breath mingling. “That’s it, sweetheart. Grind up on me. Show me how bad you want it.”

Cas obeyed, moving against him in a messy rhythm that had them both panting, their bodies locked tight in the silver glow of the moonlight.

“Dean,” Cas started, his voice soft but urgent, breaking through the rhythm of Dean’s slow grind.

“Yeah, Cas, just like that,” Dean groaned, too wrapped up in the heat of rubbing against him to realize Cas was trying to say something more. His hips rolled again, slow and firm, cocks dragging together through denim and cotton, each friction-laced stroke setting him alight.

“Dean, I want… can we… I want you to…” Cas stumbled over the words, his voice cracking with nerves, his face flushed so dark it almost hurt to look at him. But Dean heard it now, and he knew instantly what Cas was—kind of—asking.

Dean froze mid-grind, breath catching in his chest. “Cas… we can’t—”

“Why not?” Cas asked quickly, confusion laced with want, his blue eyes wide and searching.

Dean shook his head, chest rising and falling as if he were holding himself back with sheer will. “Cas, I… we just can’t. I don’t even have condoms on me—”

“I have condoms.” Cas’s voice was shaky, but the words tumbled out before he could second-guess himself.

Dean blinked, his heart lurching. “…I don’t have any lube—”

“I have that too,” Cas insisted, cutting him off, his blush deepening but his voice steady.

“Sweetheart…” Dean’s hands slipped up, running through his own hair as though he needed the anchor. His voice cracked when he dropped it lower, more intimate. “We just made things official.”

Cas’s expression fell, his lips parting like the words had sliced him open. “You don’t… want to have sex with me?”

Dean’s gut clenched so tight it nearly hurt. He cupped Cas’s face with both hands, his voice low, urgent, pleading to be understood. “Trust me baby when I tell you this. I would love to have sex with you, I would love to—” he murmured, his thumbs brushing over Cas’s flushed cheeks. His hands slid down Cas’s sides, gripping possessively, as he leaned closer, his voice a filthy rasp, “—shove my fingers inside you, slowly stretch you open, get you ready—”

Cas flushed crimson at Dean’s words, heat rushing through him so fast he almost shook, but his cock pulsed, straining against his shorts, arousal burning hotter than embarrassment.

Dean’s lips ghosted over Cas’s ear, his voice dropping even lower. “—for my cock and fuck that tight, little virgin ass you have.”

Both of them moaned when Dean shoved down hard, grinding their cocks together in a dirty, deliberate drag that made Cas buck beneath him. “God, Cas,” Dean groaned, his face twisting with the force of it, “making my dick harder than it already is just thinking about it.”

“Dean… please… can we?” Cas’s voice cracked, raw with need, his hands fisting tight in Dean’s shirt.

Dean leaned back, hovering above him, taking in the sight. Cas’s face was flushed, his lips swollen and slick from their kisses, his cock embarrassingly wet and hard under his shorts. Dean felt undone just looking at him.

“Cas, there’s so much I want to do to you before we have sex.” Dean’s voice softened, rough but steady.

“Like what?” Cas asked, his voice steadier now, his hands slipping under Dean’s shirt from the back, fingertips brushing over hot skin.

Dean shuddered violently at the touch, his breath catching in his throat. “Like,” he gasped, “I don’t know… blow jobs, orgasms…”

Cas’s lips curved faintly, his blue eyes narrowing with curiosity and heat. He dragged his nails lightly down Dean’s back, testing.

Dean hissed through his teeth, then gasped outright, grinding down harder, unable to control the response.

“Do you want me to give you a blow job?” Cas asked, his voice calm but weighted with seriousness, his gaze locked on Dean’s.

Dean’s eyes fluttered shut, and a broken moan escaped his throat before he could stop it. When he opened them again, his grin was crooked, hungry, desperate.

“Jesus Christ, Cas,” he rasped, his voice shredded with want. “Do you want me to tell you how to do that too?”

Cas smiled faintly, shy but pleased, his chest heaving under Dean’s weight as if he’d just learned the sweetest, filthiest secret. “Yes.”

+

Dean had to sit up before he lost his mind. He had slid off Cas’s body and leaned back against the headboard, spreading his legs just enough, his cock thick and flushed beneath the denim. He tugged his shirt over his head and tossed it aside, chest rising and falling with sharp breaths.

He patted the mattress between his thighs, green eyes locked on Cas. “C’mere, sweetheart.”

Cas pushed himself up slowly, nervous energy written in every stiff movement. His hair was a little wild, his lips red and swollen, and his chest heaved like he’d just run a mile. His eyes darted from Dean’s face to the hard bulge in his jeans, then back again.

Dean’s smirk softened at the edges, though the filth never left his tone. “Don’t look so scared, Cas. I’ll talk you through it.” He unzipped his jeans with deliberate slowness, dragging them down just enough to free himself. His cock sprang up, flushed red, the tip glistening with precum.

Cas froze, staring. His breath caught audibly. He’d only felt Dean’s cock in the dark, and seeing it now, in the lamplight, made his stomach flip.

Dean chuckled, low and wrecked. “Yeah, I know. Big, isn’t it?” He wrapped his hand around the base, giving it a lazy stroke that made his head fall back briefly. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. You don’t have to take all of me. Just listen to what I tell you.”

Cas swallowed hard, his hands trembling slightly as he crawled closer, settling awkwardly between Dean’s spread thighs. His knees pressed into the mattress, his fingers clutching at the blanket for balance.

Dean brushed a hand through Cas’s hair, gentling him. “That’s it. Now—start with your hand.” He guided Cas’s wrist, wrapping his fingers around the shaft just beneath the head. Cas flinched at the heat, at the slickness smearing his palm, but didn’t pull away.

“Mm, yeah,” Dean groaned, his head tipping back against the wall. “Up and down, slow. Just like I showed you before.”

Cas obeyed, his strokes awkward at first, grip a little too tight, but Dean hissed and shifted, coaxing him. “Loosen up, sweetheart. Not so hard. Think of it like… holding something you don’t wanna break… yeah, that’s better.”

Cas found a rhythm, his lips pressed together in concentration. He glanced up, eyes wide, as if seeking approval.

Dean’s gaze dropped down to meet his, pupils blown, lips parted. “Fuck, Cas… you look so good like that. Hands on my cock, lookin’ up at me with those pretty eyes. Christ.”

Cas flushed deeper, but his hand didn’t falter.

Dean licked his lips, his voice dropping lower. “Alright. Now get closer. Use your mouth. Just the tip.”

Cas hesitated, his heart hammering in his chest. He leaned down, tongue darting out tentatively, licking across the swollen head. The taste—salty, bitter, strange—made him jolt, but Dean moaned so loudly at the contact that Cas did it again and again and again.

“Jesus, Cas,” Dean gasped, his hand tightening in Cas’s hair. “Fuck, that’s good. Wrap your lips around it now. Gentle.”

Cas parted his lips and took the head into his mouth, cheeks hollowing as he sucked carefully. His eyes squeezed shut, his face burning, but the sound Dean made—the deep, guttural moan—spurred him on.

Dean’s voice broke into filthy encouragements, each one winding Cas tighter. “That’s it, baby. Just like that. Hollow your cheeks a little. God, yeah. Now swirl your tongue—mm, yeah, fuck—you’re so good.”

Cas’s hand stroked the base as his mouth worked clumsily at the tip, spit starting to gather, slickening the slide. His own cock strained painfully against his shorts, but he couldn’t focus on anything but Dean’s noises—low groans, hissed curses, and his name dragged out like a prayer.

Dean tugged gently at his hair, gently moving his head to take him a little deeper. “Take me in just a little more, sweetheart. Don’t force it. Just enough to feel the stretch. Yeah—oh, fuck, yeah.”

Cas gagged lightly, pulling back with a startled noise, but Dean’s thumb brushed his swollen lip, grounding him. “Hey. Easy. You’re doin’ so good. Don’t rush it.”

Cas nodded, breathless, then leaned down again, lips wrapping tighter this time. His tongue flicked over the slit, tasting precum directly, and Dean’s hips bucked involuntarily.

Dean groaned, his head hitting the wall behind him.

Cas moaned softly around him, the vibration making Dean curse loudly.

Dean’s eyes snapped open, staring down at the boy between his thighs. His grin was half-wild, half-wrecked. “You like it, huh? You like making me come apart?”

Cas pulled back just far enough to answer, his lips glistening, voice rough. “Yes.”

Dean’s cock twitched in his fist, his breath breaking.

His hand tightened in Cas’s hair, his hips rolling shallowly as Cas worked him with his mouth. Every clumsy lick, every sloppy drag of his lips sent fire racing through Dean’s veins.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Dean groaned, his voice low and frayed. “God. Suck me a little deeper—yeah, just like that. Hollow your cheeks. Christ, Cas…”

Cas’s jaw ached already, his throat tight with nerves, but Dean’s moans kept him going. He stroked the base with his hand, matching the rhythm of his mouth, spit dripping down his fist and slickening the slide.

Dean’s head tipped back against the headboard, his breath ragged, sweat beading at his temple. His thighs trembled under Cas’s grip. He forced his eyes open long enough to look down, and the sight nearly undid him—Cas on his knees between his thighs, lips stretched around him, blue eyes wide and earnest.

Dean hissed through his teeth. “Fuck, Cas—I’m close. I’m gonna cum. You gotta—fuck—you gotta pull back—”

But Cas didn’t move fast enough. He froze for half a heartbeat at the warning, his lips still wrapped around the thick head, his hand still stroking.

Dean groaned loud, his whole body jerking. “Oh fuck—Cas!”

Hot spurts of cum spilled onto Cas’s tongue, thick and sudden. His eyes went wide as the taste hit him, bitter and heavy. He tried to swallow instinctively, but the texture made him gag. He yanked back quickly, coughing, his chin wet, his hand still on Dean’s cock.

Dean gasped, one hand flying to the sheets as he tried to catch his breath, the other still tangled in Cas’s hair. When he looked down and saw Cas’s wide-eyed expression, lips swollen and messy with spit and cum, he broke into breathless laughter.

“Jesus Christ,” Dean rasped, dragging a hand over his face. “You didn’t even pull back. Fuck, Cas.” He grinned through the laughter, shaking his head. “You just… swallowed me down like it was nothin’.”

Cas flushed crimson, coughing once more, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I didn’t expect—” He coughed again, embarrassed, eyes darting away.

Dean reached down, cupping his jaw, forcing him to look up. His grin softened, though his eyes still burned with heat. “Hey. You did so fuckin’ good. First time, and you already nearly killed me. God, Cas—you don’t even know how hot you looked.”

Cas’s lips curved shyly despite himself, his chest still heaving.

Dean chuckled again, shaking his head. “Next time, though… we’ll work on the swallow.” He winked, filthy and smug.

Cas groaned, mortified, but Dean leaned down, kissing him slow and dirty anyway, tasting himself on Cas’s mouth and not caring one bit.

Chapter Text

They did work on it.

In the days that followed—days where Chuck was “okay” with Dean being around (okay was a generous word, but at least he wasn’t forbidding it)—Cas found himself with freedoms he hadn’t had before. Dean came over after school without question or Cas slipped across town to Dean’s house and returned just before curfew: ten o’clock on weeknights, midnight on weekends.

Those days blurred together in a haze of heat and experimentation. Cas, eager and determined, practiced on Dean with a devotion that left them both wrecked. He learned fast, almost unnervingly fast, how to suck Dean’s cock. They discovered he had almost no gag reflex when he worked his throat further down, swallowing Dean deeper than he thought possible.

The first time Cas managed it, Dean almost came right then and there, his hands fisting the sheets, green eyes wide in disbelief. Cas had pulled back with swollen lips and damp chin, asking shyly if that was… good. Dean laughed breathlessly, dragging him up for a kiss. Good? Nobody else had ever made him see stars like that.

And God, Cas made him cum quick. Ten minutes of teasing, Cas’s wide blue eyes locked on him, then five minutes of determined sucking, and Dean was gone—groaning, spilling down his throat. Cas always looked embarrassed afterward, like he’d failed him somehow. Dean would stroke his hair and murmur, “Sweetheart, nobody else has ever made me cum that fast.”

By the following Wednesday, Dean had enough of being on the receiving end. He insisted it was Cas’s turn. He spent the whole evening winding Cas up, kissing him slow, grinding against him until Cas was a shaking mess. When he finally tugged Cas’s pants down, his cock was already flushed red, wet, and dripping with precum, slicking his shorts.

Dean didn’t even get three minutes in. He’d barely wrapped his lips around the head, sucking deep and slow, when Cas gasped and clutched at the sheets. His body seized, and he came hot and hard down Dean’s throat, filling his mouth with thick spurts that overflowed before Dean could swallow.

Dean pulled back, coughing on the sheer volume of it, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. “Fuck, Cas—you cum so much,” he said with a grin, still licking the taste from his lips.

Mortified, Cas yanked the sheets over his head, refusing to show his face. Dean only laughed, warm and fond, crawling under the covers with him. He kissed Cas’s flushed cheeks, his temple, whispering filth-soft praise until the tension bled out of him.

+

By Saturday, almost two weeks later, Cas was restless. He told his dad he was spending the night at Dean’s house, expecting it to go over like usual. But instead, Chuck sat him down at the kitchen table, folding his hands, his face grave.

“Castiel,” he began, “we should talk.”

Cas blinked, uneasy. “About…?”

“The birds and the bees.”

Cas’s eyes went wide, his face turning crimson instantly. “Dad, I know—”

But Chuck pressed on, clearing his throat, speaking in the clipped, clinical tone he used for lectures. “You may think you’re ready for certain things. But sex—real sex—comes with responsibility. You need to understand the risks. Protection. Respect. Consequences.”

Cas wanted to melt into the floor. His ears burned, his hands clenched tight in his lap. He could barely hear the words over the rushing in his ears. His father’s voice sounded like a hammer trying to nail down every last shred of innocence he had left.

It wasn’t a talk meant to educate—Cas could tell. It was meant to warn. To make him hesitate. To make him change his mind.

By the end, Cas nearly bolted. He mumbled something like “I understand,” then shot up from his chair, grabbing his bag. He could feel his father’s eyes on him as he left the house, but he didn’t stop.

He ran across town, his sneakers pounding the pavement, lungs burning in the cool night air. But his mind was steady, one thought louder than everything else:

He and Dean were going to fuck. And nothing—not awkward lectures, not his father’s disapproval, not even his own nerves—was going to change his mind.

+

Dean was restless in his bedroom, unable to stop himself from fussing. He tossed dirty clothes into the hamper, straightened the sheets and tucked them tight, then smoothed the comforter like it mattered. He stacked extra pillows neatly by the others, as if Cas would notice.

Hell, he even grabbed the can of air freshener and sprayed a few mists around the room, making sure it smelled clean and sharp instead of like sweat or engine grease. It didn’t, not really—Dean took pride in keeping himself and his room smelling good—but tonight was different. Tonight had to be perfect.

Cas had stayed over before, but it had always ended the same: teasing, heavy kissing, touching until they were both wrecked, and then drifting into an exhausted sleep. This night was different. This was the night.

Cas—his not-so-innocent-virgin, after weeks of messy blowjobs, grinding, and awkward but eager hands—was going to be in his bed. The same bed Dean had fucked other people in, but tonight it was going to mean something different. It was going to be Cas, stripped down and open, trusting him. They were finally going to fuck.

Dean’s chest felt tight. He wanted Cas’s first time to be good—not rushed, not sloppy. He knew how to make someone feel good, sure, but Cas was new to all of it. He needed patience. He needed gentleness. Dean kept replaying their aborted attempt a week ago, when Cas had nervously asked him to touch him there.

Dean had slid his fingers down, pressed inside, and Cas had liked it—just for a few seconds—before panic set in. He’d gasped, pushed at Dean’s chest, begged him to stop. Dean had pulled out instantly, murmuring reassurances while Cas panted, rattled by the fear his father might come home. They’d agreed then: no more trying unless they had a whole night, no risks.

And tonight, with Dean’s mom pulling another Saturday night shift, and Dean bribing Sam with money to spend the night at a friend’s house, they had that night.

So when Cas finally arrived at the door—sweaty, flushed, looking like he’d run across half the town to get there, because he did—Dean wasted no time. He grabbed his wrist and tugged him inside, slamming the door shut behind him. They bounded up the stairs, Dean’s nerves sparking with every step, and spilled into his room.

Cas dropped his bag by the dresser and turned to face him. His chest was still heaving, his blue eyes bright and anxious.

“Mind if I shower before we… you know.” His voice cracked on the last words, but the intent was clear.

Dean swallowed hard, heart flipping. He forced a casual smile. “Yeah, sure, sweetheart. Take your time.”

Cas nodded once, quick, then headed straight for the adjoining bathroom. The door clicked shut, and a moment later Dean heard the faint rush of water. He stood frozen in the middle of his room, running both hands through his hair, exhaling hard.

The shower hissed on, and Dean’s mind raced. He kicked off his boots, peeled out of his jeans, leaving only his black t-shirt and boxers, and sat heavily on the edge of the bed. His leg bounced, his palms damp. He wanted this—God, he wanted this—but it wasn’t just about wanting. It was about Cas.

Through the half-open bathroom door came the faint thud of clothes hitting the tile. Dean closed his eyes, imagining Cas stripping down piece by piece, water sluicing over his pale skin. His cock twitched at the thought, but he shoved the image back, gritting his teeth. Not yet. Not until Cas came out ready.

The minutes stretched. Dean lay back against the headboard, staring up at the ceiling, his nerves tangling with arousal until it was unbearable.

Then the door opened, and Cas stepped out. His hair was damp and curling at the ends, his skin flushed pink from the heat of the water. He wore only a towel wrapped low around his hips, his bare chest gleaming in the lamplight.

Dean sat up slowly, his breath catching in his throat. Cas’s eyes found his, shy but steady, and the air between them thickened instantly.

“Feel better?” Dean asked, voice lower than he meant it to be.

Cas nodded, his lips quirking nervously. “Yes.” He hesitated, then let the towel slip a little lower on his hips, his blush deepening as though daring Dean to keep looking.

Dean’s mouth went dry. He dragged his tongue across his lips, his cock throbbing against the fabric of his boxers. “Jesus, Cas…” he murmured, his grin shaky but hungry. “You’re tryin’ to kill me.”

Cas stood there, towel loose around his hips, damp hair dripping onto his collarbones, every inch of him trembling with nerves. Dean could see the rise and fall of his chest, the faint tremor in his hands where they hung uselessly at his sides. He looked like he might bolt.

Dean reached up, brushing his knuckles softly over Cas’s cheek. “Hey,” he murmured, green eyes steady. “Breathe, sweetheart. I got you.” He pressed a soft kiss to Cas’s lips, just enough to ease the tension, then pulled back with a crooked grin. “Lay back. Let me take care of you.”

Cas swallowed and obeyed, moving stiffly toward the bed and climbing onto it. He leaned against the pillows, clutching at the towel with one hand, eyes tracking Dean’s every move.

Dean got up, crossing to the corner where his old iPod sat in its dock. He scrolled through until he found the song he wanted—slow, grounding—something Cas had brought up in a random conversation. The soft pull of John Mayer’s “Gravity” filled the room, warm and heavy, each note smoothing the edges of Dean’s nerves and, hopefully, Cas’s too.

He flicked the overhead light off, plunging the room into a softer darkness, then turned on the small corner lamp. Its amber glow washed the walls, leaving the space intimate, close. Not harsh. Not intimidating.

Dean turned back, taking in the sight: Cas stretched out on his bed, towel still clutched, blue eyes wide and uncertain. The lamp lit his pale skin in gold and shadow, made the damp strands of his hair curl darker at his temples. He looked fragile and impossibly beautiful.

Dean’s chest clenched.

He crossed the room slowly, deliberately, like approaching something sacred. When he reached the bed, he climbed onto it with easy grace, moving over Cas’s trembling body until he hovered above him, braced on his elbows.

“You okay?” Dean asked softly, his breath fanning Cas’s lips.

Cas nodded, though his throat worked visibly, betraying his nerves. “Yes.”

Dean smiled, tender but hungry, and lowered his mouth to kiss him. The music swelled around them, guitar strings humming as their lips moved together. The kiss started gentle, Dean’s tongue brushing Cas’s until he melted, sighing into it. Dean deepened it slowly, drawing out the sound of Cas’s soft whimper, kissing him until his trembling eased.

Dean’s hand slid down, resting against the knot of the towel at Cas’s hip. He kissed him again, slower, longer, then pulled back just enough to murmur, “Can I?”

Cas’s lips were red and wet, his eyes wide. He nodded, the smallest movement.

Dean peeled the towel away carefully, dragging it from Cas’s hips and down his thighs. He tossed it aside without looking, his gaze fixed on Cas’s flushed skin, the heavy rise of his cock against his stomach.

Dean groaned low in his throat, dropping his forehead to Cas’s. “You’re so fucking perfect, Cas.”

Cas shuddered, every muscle taut, but Dean kissed him again, grounding him, willing his body to relax under his touch.

Cas kissed him back with a desperation that made his hands shake as they slid beneath the hem of Dean’s shirt. His fingers trembled against warm skin, fumbling until he managed to tug the fabric upward. Dean lifted his arms obligingly, letting Cas peel the shirt away. It fell carelessly to the floor, forgotten, and before Cas could retreat from the boldness of his move, Dean leaned back in, claiming his mouth again.

The kiss was deep, until Dean felt Cas shift beneath him. Cas pulled away—not to escape, but to press his lips lower. Wet, hesitant kisses landed against Dean’s clavicle, a spot Cas had discovered made Dean shiver. When Cas sucked lightly on the sharp protruding bone, Dean groaned low in his throat, his body jolting.

Encouraged, Cas let his tongue trace a hot, wet line up the column of Dean’s neck, finally finding his mouth again. Dean kissed him back hungrily, pride curling in his chest at Cas’s growing confidence. Their hands wandered with the kiss—Dean’s palm smoothing over Cas’s side, down his ribs, squeezing the narrow dip of his waist. Cas’s skin was still warm and damp from the shower, smooth under Dean’s rough fingers.

Dean broke the kiss to mouth at his throat, peppering kisses down the long, pale expanse. His lips found the pulse point, and he sucked until Cas gasped, tilting his head to the side in offering. Dean took advantage, dragging open-mouthed kisses along the length of his throat, then down to his sternum.

He sucked marks into Cas’s chest, claiming patches of pale skin with heat and wet until Cas was writhing beneath him. Cas parted his legs instinctively, his hips jerking up to grind against Dean’s, but Dean pressed down firmly, his own hips pinning him in place.

“Slow down, sweetheart,” Dean whispered against his skin, voice rough but patient. “I want you to feel good.”

Cas whimpered, his lips trembling as he leaned up to capture Dean’s mouth again. Dean kissed him once, soft and grounding, before pulling back.

He shifted, kneeling above Cas now, reaching for the drawer in his nightstand. Cas’s breath hitched, his wide eyes following every move as Dean pulled out a small tube of lubricant. Then moved to grab a pillow.

“Lift your hips for me,” Dean murmured.

Cas obeyed instantly, raising himself enough for Dean to slide the pillow beneath him. It lifted his body at just the right angle, leaving him open, vulnerable. Cas swallowed hard, his face flushed crimson, but he didn’t look away.

Dean returned to his knees between Cas’s legs, squeezing a line of lube onto his fingers. The slick gel caught the lamplight as he rubbed it slowly between his fingertips, warming it. He leaned down, kissing Cas again, soft and filthy all at once, while his free hand drifted lower.

He settled his palm against Cas’s trembling inner thigh, stroking gently, coaxing him to open wider. Cas spread his legs until the stretch made him twitch, every muscle taut with anticipation.

Dean’s lips hovered over his jaw when he whispered, “You okay, sweetheart?”

Cas’s nod came fast, too fast, and Dean nearly chuckled against his skin. Instead, he kissed him again, reassuring, before moving lower.

His slick fingers slid carefully down, down, until they found the tight pucker between Cas’s cheeks. Dean didn’t rush. He circled slowly, achingly gentle, drawing wet circles over the untouched ring of muscle.

Cas tensed, his breath catching, but Dean kept his gaze fixed on his face. He watched every flicker of emotion, every shift of blue eyes, as his fingers continued their slow, torturous rhythm.

Dean bit his lip as he felt Cas clench reflexively around nothing. He stroked the rim until Cas’s chest rose and fell in ragged, shallow breaths. Then, cautious, Dean pressed the tip of one finger forward, nudging past the tight resistance.

Cas squeezed his eyes shut, biting down on his lower lip as a whimper escaped him. His hands twisted in the sheets, body trembling under the slow, careful invasion.

Dean’s free hand stroked his thigh again, grounding him. “That’s it,” Dean murmured softly. “Relax sweetheart.”

He stilled the moment his fingertip slid inside, the tight heat gripping him like a fist. His breath caught. Christ, he’s so fucking tight. It took everything in him not to groan too loud, not to let his hips rut forward at the thought of being buried deep in that perfect heat.

“God, Cas…” Dean murmured, forehead pressing against his temple. His voice cracked with reverence. “You’re squeezin’ me so hard and it’s just one finger.”

Cas whined, clutching the sheets, his body tense as a bowstring. Dean felt the way he tightened around him, instinct fighting against intrusion, and immediately leaned down to press wet, grounding kisses along his neck. His lips found the place just under Cas’s jaw, then his pulse point, his tongue tracing slow circles there.

“Relax, sweetheart,” Dean coaxed, his voice a soft rasp against his skin. “Don’t fight me. Just breathe. Let me in, I got you.”

Cas nodded jerkily, biting his lip, trying to force himself to loosen around the thick intrusion. Dean rewarded him with another kiss, then carefully pushed deeper until his whole finger slid inside, snug and hot.

Dean groaned under his breath. “Jesus, Cas. You feel like you were made for me.”

He held still until Cas’s body adjusted, then slowly dragged the finger out before easing it back in. Each stroke was deliberate, unhurried, letting Cas get used to the stretch. He curled his knuckle slightly, brushing gently against the inner walls, watching Cas’s face for every reaction.

Cas gasped when Dean crooked his finger, his hips jerking involuntarily. His hole clenched tight around the intrusion and Dean kissed the side of his throat again, whispering filth-soft praise. “That’s it. Feels weird now, I know. But I promise it’s gonna feel so good later.”

After a minute, Dean slipped his finger out and drizzled more lube over his fingertips. He circled Cas’s rim again, smearing the slick around, before pressing in two fingers side by side.

Cas gasped, his whole body tensing, hands fisting tight in the sheets. Dean shushed him gently, kissing the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, then back to his neck, murmuring between kisses. “Easy, baby. Easy. You can take it. I’m right here. Just squeeze my hand if it’s too much.”

Cas whined low in his throat, but slowly, with Dean’s patient sweet-talking, his body gave way. Dean pushed carefully until both fingers slid inside, scissoring them slightly, stretching the ring of muscle open. The slick sound of lube mixed with Cas’s ragged breathing filled the room.

Dean couldn’t stop himself from groaning, his forehead pressed to Cas’s. “Fuck, you’re so tight. It’s driving me insane. Can’t wait to feel you around my cock…”

His fingers worked in slow, steady motions—pushing in, pulling back, scissoring, twisting just enough to press at new spots, gently forcing his body to open. Every time Cas clenched up, Dean soothed him with soft kisses and murmured praise, until he felt him melt again under his touch.

Cas was shaking, his lips parted, his eyes shut tight, but his hips started rocking ever so slightly, chasing Dean’s fingers without realizing it.

Dean smiled against his throat, pressing a filthy kiss to his damp skin. “That’s it, sweetheart. You’re getting there. You’re startin’ to want it.”

Dean kept the rhythm slow, his fingers gliding in and out with care, scissoring Cas open a little more each time. Every squeeze, every tremor, he soothed with kisses—pressing his lips to Cas’s temple, dragging them over his jaw, whispering low encouragement against his flushed skin.

“Fuck,” Dean murmured, the words a steady anchor. “You’re takin’ me so well. Just breathe. Let me do the work.”

Cas’s face was tight with concentration, but his body was learning. Slowly, cautiously, his hips started to move more—lifting just slightly, pressing down against Dean’s hand as though searching for more. Dean felt the change instantly. His cock throbbed at the sight of Cas chasing his fingers.

“Yeah,” Dean groaned, his forehead pressing to Cas’s. “That’s it. Look at you, fuckin’ yourself on my fingers.”

He pulled back just enough to watch. The sight made his breath hitch—Cas spread out on the pillow, hole stretched around his slick fingers, his cock lying heavy against his stomach, flushed red and leaking precum with every clench of his body.

“God, Cas…” Dean rasped, voice breaking. He couldn’t stop himself from moaning, low and guttural. “You’re so fucking hot like this.”

Cas’s hips jerked again, more insistent this time, and Dean knew he was ready. He drizzled more lube over his hand, then eased in a third finger, slow and steady. The stretch made Cas cry out, his back arching, his hands clawing at the sheets.

Dean kissed him instantly, swallowing the sound, his mouth moving hot and insistent against Cas’s. “Shhh. Easy. I got you.”

His fingers slid deeper, spreading Cas open with care. Then, as he twisted them just so, the pads of his fingers brushed over a spot that made Cas seize.

Cas broke the kiss with a ragged moan, loud and helpless, his whole body jerking.

Dean groaned into his mouth, nearly undone at the sound. He kissed him again, rough and quick this time, desperate to smother the noise. His tongue slid into Cas’s mouth, swallowing the helpless sounds as his fingers pressed that spot again and again, pulling more of those filthy cries.

Cas writhed under him, eyes squeezed shut, his cock throbbing hard against his stomach, smearing precum across his skin.

Dean’s breath was hot against his lips as he murmured, “That’s it, baby. Let me hear you. Let me make you feel good.”

And he pressed deeper, slower, until Cas’s body shook with every brush of Dean’s fingers against that perfect spot.

Dean worked his fingers in a steady rhythm, brushing deliberately over that tender spot inside. Every stroke made Cas twitch, his legs spreading wider, his hips canting up to meet him. The more Dean teased, the more Cas trembled—caught between unbearable pleasure and the fear of letting go.

Dean kissed him through it, smothering the desperate whimpers against his mouth. His free hand stroked over Cas’s trembling thigh, grounding him. “That’s it, sweetheart. Just relax. Let me take you there.”

Cas gasped when Dean pressed deep and curved his fingers. His hands fisted the sheets, knuckles white, his cock flushed and leaking steadily across his stomach. His face was a portrait of torment and bliss—eyes squeezed shut, mouth parted, sweat beading at his hairline.

Dean pulled back just enough to watch him unravel, his green eyes devouring every twitch, every shiver. He moaned low in his throat, overcome by the sight. “Fuck, Cas… you’re beautiful like this.”

Cas whimpered, his hips rolling down on Dean’s fingers without thought now, chasing the friction. Each brush over his prostate made him jerk and cry out, but Dean never rushed. He kept the strokes gentle, insistent, coaxing.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Dean murmured, leaning close, lips brushing Cas’s ear. “You feel that? You’re right there. Don’t fight it. Let it happen for me.”

Cas shook his head, as if overwhelmed. “Dean…”

Dean pressed harder, curling his fingers, dragging across that perfect spot until Cas’s entire body arched off the bed.

“Yes, Cas. Right there. Cum for me, baby.”

Cas’s breath broke into sharp, helpless cries as the tension finally snapped. His body convulsed around Dean’s fingers, his hole gripping them tight as waves of pleasure tore through him. His cock jerked against his stomach, smearing slick across his skin, though not a single drop spilled. It was all sensation, all pressure blinding release without mess.

Dean kissed him hard through it, swallowing the moans that threatened to echo too loud, his hand never faltering inside him.

Cas clung to him, trembling violently, his body wracked with aftershocks as Dean’s fingers kept that gentle rhythm until the spasms slowed.

When Cas finally sagged back against the pillows, boneless and gasping, Dean eased his fingers out, slick and shining. He stroked Cas’s cheek with his clean hand, his grin soft and wrecked all at once.

“Jesus, Cas,” Dean whispered, brushing his lips over Cas’s damp temple. “You just came harder than I’ve ever seen anyone. And you didn’t even spill.”

Cas opened his eyes, dazed and glassy, his lips parting to speak but no sound coming out. Dean kissed him again, slow and sweet this time, murmuring against his mouth, “Told you I’d make you feel good.”

He was still trembling from the orgasm that hadn’t spilled, body limp and glowing in the amber light, when Dean kissed him again. It was slow, grounding, as though Dean could press him back into himself with just the softness of his mouth.

But Cas wasn’t satisfied. Not yet. The ache between his legs hadn’t eased—it had sharpened, blazed hotter with every stretch of Dean’s fingers, every stroke that had left him clenching on nothing when Dean finally pulled them out.

His hand fisted in Dean’s hair, pulling him closer. “Dean,” he whispered, his voice raw and desperate. “Fuck me.”

Dean froze, eyes snapping open, staring down at him.

“Cas—”

“Please,” Cas cut in, his voice cracking. His blue eyes were wide, glassy, shimmering with need. “I can’t—I don’t want just your fingers. I want you.” His thighs spread wider, trembling. “Please, Dean. Fuck me.”

Dean’s cock twitched so hard it almost hurt. He groaned low, kissing Cas with a hunger that bordered on reverent worship. “Jesus Christ, Cas… you’re begging for me now? You have no idea what that does to me.”

He pulled back only to shove his boxers down, his cock springing up flushed, thick, and aching. Cas stared openly, breath catching in his throat. Dean reached to his dresser without breaking eye contact, yanking open the drawer and pulling out a small box.

From it, he plucked a foil packet. He grinned crookedly, eyes burning, as he tore it open with his teeth. Cas swallowed hard, his cock twitching as he watched Dean roll the condom down his shaft with practiced ease. The sight alone—Dean’s hand sheathing himself in latex, veins bulging, tip glistening—made his stomach twist with anticipation.

He’s so much bigger than his fingers, Cas realized, heart pounding. The memory of Dean’s fingers stretching him still lingered in his body, but this—this was different. This was full. Real. Terrifying and intoxicating all at once. Will I even be able to take him?

Dean slicked himself with the leftover lube on his fingers, then settled between Cas’s thighs again, his cock pressing against the stretched, glistening rim. He leaned down, kissing Cas’s lips, his jaw, his temple, murmuring against his skin. “I’ll go slow. I’ll stop if it’s too much.”

Cas nodded, his voice breaking as he whispered, “Okay.”

Dean smiled softly and kissed him again, then angled himself, guiding the blunt head of his cock against Cas’s hole. He rubbed there first, circling, coating the tip in lube and slick, teasing him open. Cas gasped, his whole body twitching, his hole clenching around nothing, as if already remembering Dean’s fingers.

And then Dean pressed forward, just enough to breach him. The head slipped inside with a stretch that made Cas whimper loud into Dean’s mouth, his nails digging into Dean’s shoulders.

Dean groaned, eyes squeezing shut. “Fuck—you’re so tight, Cas. So fucking tight around me.”

Cas’s mind reeled. Dean’s cock was so much thicker than his fingers had been, the stretch deeper, fuller, unbearable and exquisite all at once. It feels like he’s splitting me in half.

Dean kissed his face, his throat, his words tender and filthy all at once. “You’re doin’ so good, Cas.”

Cas forced his body to loosen, forced himself to trust, and Dean eased deeper, inch by inch, until the thick root of his cock pressed against Cas’s ass. Dean was panting, trembling, his forehead resting against Cas’s as if he couldn’t believe he was really inside him.

Cas gasped, lips trembling. His whole body felt aflame, stretched wide, but a strange, dizzy pleasure curled beneath the sting. His cock pulsed, drooled against his stomach, untouched but begging.

Dean cupped his cheek, brushing his thumb across flushed skin. “You’ve got me, Cas. Every inch. You feel me?”

“Yes,” Cas gasped, his voice high and raw. So big. So full. Feels so fucking good.

Dean kissed him again, slow and reverent, before pulling back the smallest fraction and pressing in again. The slow drag over Cas’s stretched rim had them both moaning, their voices tangling with the hum of the music still playing low in the background.

Dean kissed him softly, brushing his lips across Cas’s damp temple, murmuring, “You’ve got me, sweetheart. Every inch. Just let yourself feel it.”

Then, carefully, he pulled back an inch and eased forward again. The slow drag of his cock made Cas whimper, his hole fluttering helplessly around the thick intrusion. Dean groaned low, his hips shaking with restraint.

“God, Cas—you’re squeezin’ me so fucking tight. Feels like heaven.” His voice broke into a gasp as he withdrew again, then pushed back in, steady and slow.

The rhythm was careful at first—measured thrusts, shallow and deliberate. Cas’s body fought the stretch with every drag, but Dean kissed him through it, grounding him, whispering filth-soft praise against his lips.

And slowly, Cas’s body began to open. The sting dulled, giving way to something hotter, something sharper. His hips shifted instinctively, tilting up, and Dean felt it—the way he loosened, the way he began to want.

“Yeah, fuck… yeah,” Dean groaned, pressing deeper, his forehead dropping to Cas’s. “That’s it, sweetheart. You’re lettin’ me in now.”

Cas whimpered, his thighs trembling, his cock twitching between them. Each slow stroke dragged over that spot inside that made him gasp, and soon he was lifting his hips, bucking up to meet Dean’s careful pumps.

Dean wrapped his arms around him then, sliding one under his neck, holding him close as if he could fuse them together. He kissed him deep, tongue sliding into Cas’s mouth, swallowing the desperate sounds spilling from his throat.

As if reading Cas’s mind, Dean’s hips picked up pace, his thrusts a little faster now, deeper, syncing perfectly with the needy jerks of Cas’s body. Cas moaned into his mouth, clutching him tighter, his body trembling but no longer from fear—this was want, raw and insistent.

Dean pulled back just enough to breathe against his lips, his voice wrecked. “There you go. You feel that? That’s me makin’ you mine.” He thrust again, harder, his cock grinding over Cas’s prostate, and Cas cried out, the sound muffled as Dean kissed him hungrily, drowning in him.

Cas’s mind was a blur, every thought consumed by the stretch, the fullness, the dizzying rhythm of Dean’s body moving inside him. He feels so big. So deep. I can’t… I don’t ever want this to stop.

Dean groaned, sweat beading at his temple as he felt Cas finally surrender to it—his body softening, opening, taking him in like it was always meant to.

Dean let his hips truly move, thrusting with slow, building hunger, guiding Cas from the edge of pain into the heart of pleasure.

The room was hot now, the lamplight casting a golden sheen over slick skin, the faint hum of John Mayer forgotten beneath the ragged sound of their breathing. Dean’s thrusts were steady, careful, but Cas was losing patience. His lips broke from Dean’s mouth, his head tilting to his ear, his voice breaking in a whisper so desperate it made Dean’s cock twitch inside him.

“Harder. I want it harder.”

Dean’s eyes squeezed shut. He nearly lost it right there. A guttural groan ripped from his throat, and he buried his face in Cas’s damp hair. “Jesus Christ, Cas… you’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me.”

He pulled out with a wet, obscene sound, and Cas nearly sobbed at the loss, his body clenching on emptiness. But Dean was already coaxing him, his voice low, rough. “Flip over, sweetheart. On your stomach. I’ll give you what you’re askin’ for.”

Cas obeyed without hesitation, trembling as he rolled onto his belly. The pillow still propped his hips up, his ass lifted just enough, his hole glistening with lube and stretched open, quivering like it was begging Dean to fill him again.

Dean’s chest ached at the sight. He leaned down, pressing kisses across Cas’s shoulders, slow and reverent, then lower—down the line of his spine, over the ridges of bone, until Cas shivered beneath him. Dean knelt up, his cock slick and straining in his fist as he lined himself back up.

The swollen head pressed against Cas’s rim, and Dean groaned as he sank back inside, inch by inch until he was buried to the hilt again. Cas gasped, his arms buckling against the sheets, his body trembling at the fullness.

“Fuck,” Dean hissed, his hands gripping Cas’s soft hips tight, his thumbs digging into the damp skin.

He started to move, thrusts deeper, harder, and the sound of their bodies colliding filled the room. Cas moaned, raw and unrestrained, his face pressed into the sheets, his knuckles white where he clutched the blanket. Every thrust made his cock jerk against his stomach, smearing precum into the sheets beneath him.

Dean fucked into him harder, faster, his hips snapping forward with growing urgency. The headboard banged against the wall in time with their rhythm, rattling with each sharp drive of his cock. Sweat slicked their bodies, dripping from Dean’s temple, sliding down Cas’s spine, making the glide between them wet and filthy.

Cas was loud now, so loud that his moans bordered on cries, his voice breaking with every thrust. Dean didn’t shush him, didn’t even try. He wanted to hear it, wanted the neighbors, the whole damn block to know who was inside him.

Dean’s groans filled the space between Cas’s cries, low and guttural, his breath ragged. “Goddamn, Cas—you’re milkin’ me so hard I can barely move. You like it like this, huh? My cock pounding into you?”

Cas’s body clenched around him so tight that Dean cursed, his rhythm faltering for a moment before he doubled down, driving into him with everything he had. The sound of skin slapping, the wet drag of lube, the creak of the bedframe—every noise was drowned out by Cas’s raw, helpless moans.

Dean bent over him, his chest slick against Cas’s back, his mouth at his ear, his thrusts relentless. “That’s it, baby. Scream for me. I wanna hear how good I’m fuckin’ you.”

And Cas did—his voice breaking open, his body clutching Dean’s cock like it was made for him, pulling him deeper with every frantic thrust.

Dean’s rhythm was brutal now, hips slamming against Cas’s ass, the headboard rattling the wall in time. Sweat dripped down his temple, sliding onto Cas’s back, mixing with the damp sheen already slicking his pale skin.

Cas was gone, completely undone, as loud, exhausted moans poured out of him. Every thrust drove Dean’s cock over that tender spot inside him, and his body clenched tighter, hips rocking back helplessly to meet each punishing snap.

“Dean—oh God—Dean,” Cas choked, his voice cracking as his cock dragged against the sheets, smearing precum in thick, wet streaks. His whole body was trembling, thighs shaking, his hole spasming desperately around Dean’s cock.

Dean bent over him, his breath hot at Cas’s ear, voice shredded. “That’s it, sweetheart—take it. Take my cock. Fucking cum on it, you’re so close. I can feel it.”

Cas whimpered, his hands clawing at the blanket as the pressure built to unbearable heights. His cock jerked untouched, spilling precum in messy spurts, and then it snapped. He cried out, raw and broken, as he came hard across the sheets. Thick ropes painted the blanket beneath him, his body shuddering violently as his hole clenched tight around Dean’s cock.

Dean groaned, guttural and exhausted. The sudden vice of Cas’s ass strangled him, draining him so hard he nearly blacked out. “Fuck, Cas—fuck!”

His thrusts grew frantic, slamming into him harder, faster, until one final snap of his hips buried him to the hilt. He stilled, shaking, his cock throbbing deep inside as the orgasm ripped through him.

Dean moaned into Cas’s damp shoulder, his voice broken, hips twitching uncontrollably as he spilled hot into the condom. The swell of release pulsed in waves, the condom stretching tight as he filled it. His breath came in ragged gasps, curses spilling between whimpers as Cas’s ass kept squeezing, milking every drop from his sensitive cock.

“Jesus Christ, Cas,” Dean groaned, forehead pressed to the back of Cas’s neck.

Cas whimpered beneath him, still twitching with aftershocks, his body weak and trembling from the force of it.

Dean held him close, both of them slick with sweat and cum, still locked together in the mess of tangled sheets and heat.

+

“How do you feel?” Dean asked quietly.

It had been half an hour since they’d collapsed together, sweaty and spent. Cas sat propped against the headboard, hair still damp with sweat, nursing a glass of water Dean had shoved into his hands the moment he’d caught his breath.

Cas took a careful sip before answering, cheeks flushed a deep, lingering red. “Hurts… a lot. But…” His lips quirked faintly. “I feel fine.”

Dean winced, guilt flickering, though his smirk returned a moment later. “Sorry, sweetheart. I won’t fuck you as hard next time.”

Cas didn’t even have the energy to roll his eyes or fire back. He just made a soft noise in his throat, half complaint, half surrender. Dean leaned in and pressed a slow kiss to the side of his neck, tasting the salt of his skin.

“Did you like it?” Dean asked, his lips brushing Cas’s pulse.

“Yeah,” Cas mumbled, almost shy, his voice muffled as he set the empty glass on the nightstand. Then, without ceremony, he slid down into the mattress, boneless, utterly wrung out. His lashes fluttered heavy against flushed cheeks. “Felt so good.” He added tiredly.

Dean chuckled, shaking his head, and got up to click off the lamp. The music, long forgotten, was finally silenced with a flick. Darkness and quiet settled over the room. Dean slipped back under the sheets, tugging them high and pulling Cas into his arms. Cas melted against him instantly, face burying into Dean’s neck, mumbling incoherent words that were more warmth than meaning. Dean held him tighter, his heart strangely steady.

The following week, Dean was at his locker between classes when he noticed the folded piece of paper tucked between the vents. Curious, he tugged it free, smoothing the creases.

Cas lingered around the corner, out of sight, nerves buzzing under his skin. He peeked just enough to watch Dean unfold the note.

Dean’s grin spread the moment he saw the handwriting—neat, careful strokes, unmistakably Cas’s. In the center of the page, in crisp blue ink, were three words: I love you. Beneath them, a tiny crooked heart.

Dean’s chest tightened, warmth flooding him, and he scanned the hallway until he caught sight of Cas half-hidden against the wall. He walked over, holding the note between his fingers, grin wide and shameless.

“Someone left a note in my locker,” Dean teased, voice carrying just enough.

“Oh?” Cas blinked, feigning confusion, his brows pinching together. “Who?”

Dean shrugged, flashing the note. “Don’t know. Says they love me, though. Right here in black and white.” He held it up in front of Cas’s face, grinning when Cas reached out and snatched it, pretending to read it with exaggerated seriousness.

“Hmm,” Cas said flatly. “Sounds like a real charmer.”

Dean laughed—and then, without hesitation, kissed him. Hard. Right there in the middle of the hall, in front of hundreds of students. The chatter faltered, eyes turned, whispers erupted, but Dean didn’t care. His hand cupped the back of Cas’s neck, his mouth claiming his like the rest of the world could watch and take notes.

And Cas kissed him back, slow and certain.

Gasps rippled down the hall the moment Dean’s lips crashed onto Cas’s. A few lockers slammed shut in shock, a whispered “Oh my God—” cut through the murmur of voices. For a second, it was like the whole school froze, staring at the sight of Dean Winchester—the boy everyone knew as a cocky sinful heartthrob, the one whispered about under bleachers and in locker rooms—kissing Castiel Novak, the quiet, buttoned-up kid who never so much as looked at anyone.

The whispers started almost immediately, buzzing through the crowd.

“Are you seeing this?”

“No way—Dean and Novak?”

“Holy shit.”

Someone even wolf-whistled. A group of girls clutched at each other, squealing in disbelief. A couple of jocks sneered, muttering too loudly, but Dean didn’t so much as glance their way. He kissed Cas harder, like a dare.

When he finally pulled back, Cas’s lips were red and swollen, his blue eyes wide, breath shaky. Dean grinned at him, smug and wrecked all at once, and let his voice carry just enough for the crowd to hear.

“Guess the not-so-secret secret’s out, sweetheart.”

Cas blinked, cheeks blazing, but the shy smile that tugged at his lips was worth every second of the attention. He tilted his head slightly toward Dean and said, “I told you I won’t date you in secret.”

Dean barked a laugh, loud and unapologetic. He slung his arm around Cas’s shoulders, tugging him against his side as he turned to face the hallway full of gawkers. “What? You think I’m gonna hide this?” He pressed a quick kiss to the crown of Cas’s soft hair, flashing his green eyes over the crowd with a look that dared anyone to speak up.

Just like that, the dynamic shifted. The whispers didn’t stop, but nobody said a word to their faces. The same girls who once giggled at Dean in the hallway now whispered with wide eyes. Some looked away quickly, others kept watching like they couldn’t believe it.

Cas, pressed to Dean’s side, felt the weight of every stare, every murmur. But Dean’s hand was firm on his shoulder, his grin cocky and unbothered, his body a shield. And slowly, Cas realized—he didn’t care either. Not if Dean didn’t.

They walked the rest of the hall together, side by side, the note tucked in Dean’s pocket like a promise. And for once, Cas didn’t feel small or hidden. He felt claimed. Claimed by the school’s biggest heartthrob.

Dean glanced down at him as they reached the stairwell, smirk curling his lips. “Told you, Novak. You’re mine.”

And when Cas let himself laugh, quiet but certain, the whole world could’ve been watching—and neither of them would’ve cared.