Rating: Adult (sexual content). If you're under eighteen, please go elsewhere now.
Description: Dean and Cas spend the night in a motel. A fix-it fic with a missing scene from "Heaven Can't Wait." Spoilers for that episode.
“You’ve been sleeping at the convenience store? In the storage room?”
Cas' fingers tighten on the cheeseburger he's holding. After the babysitting adventure was over, Dean had suggested dinner, so they’d found a local diner. Now they’re both devouring greasy, hot, delicious burgers.
“I couldn’t afford an apartment,” he says stiffly.
“Why the fuck not?” Dean glowers at him over his cheeseburger. “I put together that bag of stuff for you, dude. There were a couple of credit cards in it. Why the hell didn’t you use it?”
Cas glares right back. “I threw it out.”
Dean puts down his burger. His lips are moving slightly, and Cas suspects he is counting to ten. He’s not sure how this activity benefits Dean, but he’s noticed Dean does it when he is irritated—or, as Dean would put it, “pissed off.” It is also not clear to Cas what pissing has to do with anger, but he shelves his wandering thoughts about the peculiarities of the English language and waits for Dean’s response.
The counting doesn’t seem to have helped, because Dean still looks pissed. “You,” he says. “Threw. It. Out.”
“Yes.” Cas meets Dean's glare unflinchingly, refusing to look away. He might only be a sales associate at a shabby little convenience store now, but he is a quondam angel of the Lord, and he’ll be damned if he’ll let a human intimidate him.
Dean’s lips move soundlessly again. At last he says, in a slightly calmer tone, “Why?”
Cas lifts his chin. “Because you threw me out.”
Dean seems to have forgotten his burger, which is not normal behavior for him. Some of his anger seems to fade, and his gaze flickers sideways, away from Cas. “Yeah,” he says roughly. “About that. I kind of—well, I didn’t want to, Cas. I just…”
Cas raises an eyebrow, waiting. When Dean’s explanation sputters and dies out like the Impala running out of gas, he scowls.
“Forget it,” he says. “I didn’t want your money, and I don’t need you to take care of me. I’m fine.”
“You’re sleeping in a storage room, Cas.”
“I have a sleeping bag,” Cas answers with dignity, and is taken aback when Dean’s eyes crinkle at the corners like he’s trying to hold back amusement.
“A sleeping bag. Well. That’s okay, then.”
Cas strongly suspects that he is being made fun of, and it annoys him. “Bite me,” he says coolly.
This time Dean doesn’t even try to hide his amusement. He barks out a laugh, and picks up his burger.
“You’re awesome, Cas,” he says, and at the unmistakable affection and admiration in his voice, Cas is conscious of a warm sensation in his middle, a sensation like nothing he's ever experienced before. Maybe, he thinks, it’s hunger.
He turns his attention back to his own burger, but the warm sensation doesn’t go away.
“No.” Dean sounds pissed again. “I’m not taking you back to the convenience store this time of night.”
Cas crosses his arms over his chest. “That is where I sleep.”
“Not tonight, it isn’t. I’m going to get a motel room, okay? You can come along.”
The idea that he should tag along with Dean, like a baby brother who needs protection, makes Cas’ teeth grind together. Really, it’s no wonder humans need dentists. Between the way his jaw clenches when he gets angry, and his fatal weakness for blue slushies, he probably has cavities forming right now.
“Just drop me off at the Gas-N-Sip,” he repeats.
“Nope.” Cas glares, but Dean is cheerfully oblivious to his annoyance, or maybe he just isn't impressed by it. It’s not like Cas can smite him any longer. Which is unfortunate. “We’re going to check into a motel.”
“Damn it, Dean—"
Dean slides a glance in his direction, and flashes a bad-boy grin. “I’ll get you home in time for work tomorrow morning, don’t worry.”
Cas wonders how many women Dean has said that to, and the thought makes the warmth in his stomach begin melting down entirely. It’s an odd sensation, and one he isn’t sure he likes. He shifts on the bench seat, uncomfortable, and tries not to imagine being alone with Dean in a motel room for the next eight hours.
He doesn’t entirely succeed.
The motel room is shabby, but clean, with tattered green bedspreads, Audubon prints of birds on the walls, and peeling floral wallpaper. It's like a million other hotel rooms where Cas has visited Dean and Sam. Only this time, he’s not visiting, and Sam isn’t here. It’s just him and Dean. He isn’t sure why that thought makes his heart pound harder, but it definitely does. He’s almost afraid Dean might hear the sound, and that makes his cheeks heat. He thinks he's blushing, and that makes him get even hotter.
He covers his odd reaction by stalking toward the bathroom. “I could use a shower,” he says. Showers are a rare indulgence for him, one he really likes. He has gotten very good at cleaning himself thoroughly with only a sink and soap, out of sheer necessity, but he is fastidious by nature, and has a preference for long, hot soaks in the shower.
“Okay.” Dean leans back on the bed and flips on the television.
In the bathroom, Cas strips off his clothes, noticing with distaste that they smell of sweat after the stresses of the night. A date that turned into babysitting, a baby with a fever, an angel trying to kill him. It’s no wonder he's sweaty. He wishes he had a change of clothes, but he doesn’t. He folds the clothes neatly and places them on the toilet seat, then peels off the bandage Dean applied to his hand earlier. His scratches are no longer bleeding, though the palm of his hand still smarts. He tosses it in the trash, then turns around and turns on the water.
It is hot within seconds, and he steps under it, sighing with pleasure at the feel of the hot water sluicing down on his shoulders. Showers are nice. Showers are very nice. If there was ever a compelling reason for becoming human, he thinks, this is it.
Over the sound of the rushing water, he thinks he hears a creaking noise. He stiffens slightly, and sure enough, a second later the shower curtain is shoved aside. Cas’ heart pounds—he’s seen Psycho more than once, thanks to the Winchesters’ penchant for late-night horror movies—but the intruder isn’t a crazed, knife-wielding maniac.
He has just enough time to realize that Dean is as naked as he is before Dean’s voice says roughly, “Move over, will ya?” Automatically, he steps aside and makes room for the other man. But his head is whirling with confusion. As an angel, he has watched humans for years, in all sorts of situations, and he is quite certain that showering is almost always a private activity, except between sexual partners. And he and Dean are not sexual partners.
He wishes he knew more about being human, because what he does know doesn't explain this situation in the least.
“Hand me the soap,” Dean says, and Cas gropes for it blindly, and passes it to him. His hand brushes against Dean's, which is so warm and wet that Cas discovers that it's hard to let go. His mind is still clamoring, What the hell is going on?, but his body has moved on to something of an understanding of the situation. He has an erection, and he sincerely hopes that Dean won’t look down and notice.
He wonders if Dean has an erection too, and the thought makes his stomach melt more than before.
“I figured you could use some help in here.” Dean is standing close behind him, lathering up his back with the soap, like it’s the most normal thing in the world for him to be doing. The evergreen scent of the soap rises with the steam, teasing Cas' nostrils. “I guess you haven’t taken a lot of showers, if you’ve been living in a storage room.”
“No.” Cas is alarmed by the low, gruff sound of his own voice. He sounds as if he’s getting a cold, and he wonders if he could possibly have caught the baby’s virus so quickly. He clears his throat and tries for a more normal tone. “No, I haven’t.”
“Well,” Dean says, lathering soap all over his shoulders. “We better get you nice and clean, then. No telling when you might get another chance at a shower, if you’re gonna be stubborn and refuse to let us help you out.”
Dean still sounds pissed, but Cas doesn’t care. He’s totally focused on the sensation of Dean’s hands moving across his shoulders. Dean isn’t just lathering him up; he’s sort of massaging Cas, his fingers rubbing deep into the tense muscles, and it feels so good that Cas wonders if he really is melting. His body, he discovers, doesn’t seem inclined to remain in a vertical position. He leans his forehead against the wall, and a moan escapes him before he can stop it.
Dean's hands, strong and competent, are moving over Cas, using the soap to work up a lather, and then reaching around him and spreading it all over his chest. When Dean’s hands brush over his nipples, Cas gives a pathetic little whimper. He can’t help it. Dean still doesn’t seem to notice. He strokes his thumbs over Cas' nipples until they're hard and aching, and then his hands slide down across Cas’ abdomen, toward…
Oh. It’s all Cas can think as Dean’s hand closes gently around his erection. Oh, oh, oh. His mind has lost all capability for logical thought, and there’s nothing in his head except pleasure, and the craving for more pleasure. He’s vaguely aware that his hips are moving, shoving his erection into Dean’s hand, rubbing against the wet, slick palm and fingers, and it feels so good that he quivers all over.
“That’s it,” Dean says, right in his ear. “That's right, Cas. Let me take care of you.”
He isn’t sure if Dean is talking about touching him this way, or about the fact that he wants to give Cas money, to support him, and his mind is too fogged to care right now. Dean’s hand moves on him, slowly, steadily, and he becomes aware of something big and hot pressed against his posterior.
Oh. Dean does have an erection. He definitely does.
The realization makes fire race through his veins. He lifts his hands, bracing them flat against the wall of the shower, and tries to push into Dean’s encircling hand harder, but Dean is controlling the pace, and he won’t let Cas have what he wants. His hand works Cas, very slowly, and Cas is desperate for more. Faster harder more more. He moans and whimpers and tries very hard to utter a complaint, but all he can manage is, “Dean—Dean—"
“I want you to promise me,” Dean says, his voice low and deep and protective, “that you’ll let me give you some stuff. Clothes, money, ID. And that this time you'll keep it, okay?”
A spike of rage goes through Cas, so intense that it startles him. He turns his head to the side and glares at the other man, and his words snap out like blows. “I am not a prostitute, Dean.”
Dean looks shocked at the terse words. “’Course you’re not. What the fuck, Cas? I’m just trying to help you out, same as I’d help Kevin or Sammy or Charlie or any other member of the family.”
“You… wouldn’t… do this… for… Kevin.”
“Not this,” Dean says with an impatient squeeze that makes Cas grunt. “But the money thing, yeah, of course I would. Quit fighting me on it, okay? We're family. Family take care of one another. I don’t like thinking about you sleeping on a concrete floor.”
“You are using… sex… to try to… control me.”
“This? This isn’t sex. I’m just helping you get clean, buddy.”
Despite Dean’s words, his hand moves a little faster. He is doing something with his thumb now, flicking it softly over the head of Cas’ erection, so lightly it almost tickles, and it makes Cas groan, and forget completely that he was trying to argue with Dean. There is something slick all over the head of his penis, not water but moisture from his body, precome, and Dean’s thumb begins to slide through it more firmly, stroking all around the sensitive flesh, pressing the pad of his thumb into the leaking slit at the tip, and Cas’ back arches as his head drops back.
He realizes with a vague, dim corner of his mind that he's almost entirely overtaken with lust. But it's not like the lust he's experienced before. It's deeper, more compelling somehow. It's consuming him from the inside out, so that his mind is filled with nothing except his need for Dean. A snatch of lyrics from a song Dean plays all the time races through his mind: Love is an angel disguised as lust.
For the first time, he thinks he understands that line. This is lust, and yet... it's not. It's something much stronger, something far beyond the physical.
Dean’s mouth is moving gently over the nape of his neck. Dean, Cas realizes, is kissing him there. The thought makes him shiver, compels his muscles to strain toward completion, and he hears himself groaning Dean’s name again.
“Promise me,” Dean says, his lips hot against Cas’ neck, his erection hot against Cas' hip. “I’m going to get you credit cards and shit, and this time you’re not gonna throw it all out.”
“Stop it,” Cas grinds out. He is really getting annoyed here. Dean is definitely using sex to get what he wants, which is so totally Dean that it’s almost heartbreaking. Damn it, he wants Dean to be doing this, to be sharing this with him, just because he wants to do it, not because he’s trying to manipulate Cas into cooperating. “Just stop it.”
Dean’s hand stills, loosens. “You really want me to stop?”
“Not that, damn it.” Cas is just about ready to spin around, grab Dean by the shoulders, shove him up against the wall, and punch him, the way he did once or twice when he was an angel. But he’s not sure he could manage it now. Dean is stronger and better trained, and Cas knows he might just get his ass handed to him. At any rate, he knows that fighting is not what he really wants right now. “Quit talking, Dean. I think you would say… shut the fuck up.”
He can feel the soft huff of Dean’s laughter against his skin, and then Dean’s hand moves on him, faster, harder, more,just what he wanted, what he needed, and he cries out sharply as pleasure and heat coil in his testicles, taut and compelling and achingly needy. Dean doesn't stop this time, only jerks his hand even harder, until the heat inside Cas all seems to explode outward in a long, hot rush. He comes all over the wall, in spurt after spurt, and it’s the most powerful rapture he’s ever known.
He hears Dean grunting softly, feels the hot rush of Dean’s come against his ass cheek, and the knowledge that Dean is coming right along with him makes his orgasm even more intense. He cries out with the pleasure of it, his body tense and shuddering, while Dean's hand keeps stroking him, drawing it out, prolonging it until he can't bear it any longer.
And then he’s slowly relaxing, falling against the wall, and he hears himself whispering Dean’s name. Dean wraps his arms around him and holds him, preventing him from collapsing completely.
Dean’s body is warm against his, solid, heavy, limp, and he loves the sensation of having reduced Dean Winchester to an inert, exhausted mass of flesh. He’s still annoyed—pissed off—at Dean for trying to negotiate in the midst of an intimate moment, but he knows Dean’s worried about him. Dean worries. It’s what he does. And Dean means well, even if he’s clumsy and awkward and tactless in his protectiveness.
A little while later, Dean pulls him upright, and the two of them finish cleaning each other off, and then dry each other with scratchy hotel towels. They finally tumble into bed together, ignoring the television in favor of touching each other softly, learning each other’s bodies more intimately.
They don't discuss the matter of money any further, but that's all right, because there is quite simply nothing to discuss. In the morning, Cas will go back to his job, and he’ll stand on his own two feet, without any help from Dean. This, he thinks, is what a man does. He is learning to be a human, and he will damn well do it on his own.
But just because he won't accept charity from the Winchesters doesn't mean he’ll have to struggle through the transition from human to angel entirely alone. He's still not sure why Dean made him leave, and he knows in the morning they will part ways with no promises made, and much left unsaid between them. But he also knows Dean will be back to see him when he can, and that the two of them will share more moments like these, moments of touching and kissing and quiet whispers in the dark.
And that will have to be enough.