Archive of Our Own ^beta

How he’d gotten here, Dean couldn’t remember. He could remember the art teacher handing him the classroom keys and trusting him to lock up and turn the lights out when he was finished clearing up his paint, but after that, everything was a blur. All he knew was that the teacher was long gone, he was sitting on the table next to the paint he’d never put away, and that Castiel Novak – Castiel friggin’ Novak – was in between his legs, sucking on his lower lip and cupping his erection with a gorgeous, slender hand.

However this had happened, Dean was damn glad that it had.

He’d been pining after Castiel for a while, ever since the guy and his huge family had moved to Wichita in the middle of Dean’s junior year. Sure, he’d hooked up with a few guys before, but he’d never had feelings for them, so at first he couldn’t understand why he went all tingly whenever Castiel turned those endless blue eyes on him, or why, the first time he’d heard the dude talk, he’d had to awkwardly reposition himself at his desk so that no one could see his sudden arousal. It took Dean until the end of junior year to admit to himself that he sure as hell wouldn’t mind getting his brains fucked out by this stupid, ethereally gorgeous boy who’d come and ruined Dean’s life with his gravelly voice and weird obsession with bees.

Of course, Sam had known from the beginning. He commented daily on the sexual tension between Dean and Castiel, and when the Winchester brothers had gotten to know the Novaks – in all of their ten-kid-family glory – pretty well, Sam had raised his eyebrows suggestively at his older brother whenever he and Castiel invaded each other’s personal space – which was quite a lot.

And now, here he was. Sam would either be smugly satisfied or completely horrified when he found out that his older brother was about to get laid in the art room. But, after surviving half of senior year without jumping Castiel and sticking his tongue down the other boy’s throat, Dean figured that he needed a reward. And he was getting it. Jesus Christ, was he getting it.

“Cas,” he moaned, balling the lapels of Castiel’s trench coat in his fists and pulling him closer. Too close for Cas to continue palming his erection, but Dean didn’t mind when Cas’ fingers slid around to squeeze his ass instead. “Cas,” he repeated into the other boy’s lips.

Castiel pulled away. “Yes, Dean?”

“Why are you doing this?”

Cas flushed, moving his hands from Dean’s ass to the table top on either side. “I was under the impression that you were enjoying it.”

“I am. No, Cas –“ when Castiel tried to step away, Dean squeezed the other boy’s hipbones with his knees, keeping him in place. “I am. Really. But…”

“You’re questioning my decision to make love to you and not a different person.”

He always did have a knack for phrasing everything as awkwardly as possible. “Yeah,” Dean mumbled. “Why?”

Cas stared up at him, his brow furrowing slightly, and hell, he was fucking adorable when he did that. “Because you’re beautiful.”

Jesus Christ, there was no way Dean was getting out this alive, not when Cas said shit like that – and especially not when he followed those words by reaching up to grip Dean’s hair and pulling him closer to press a gentle kiss to his forehead.

That shouldn’t turn me on. Why am I so fucking turned on?

“Dean,” Castiel chuckled, moving his lips from Dean’s forehead down to his lips and hovering there. “Relax.”

And then he was all over, everywhere, his mouth mashed against Dean’s and his hands stroking Dean’s tailbone and his perfect, perfect chest pressed against Dean’s stomach. He gripped the Winchester’s waist and pulled him off the table, never breaking their kiss, and spun him around, backing him up against the wall. And Dean let him. For some unknown reason, he completely trusted this weird, blue-eyed boy who didn’t understand sarcasm and felt guilty watching porn. And, yet, he must have watched quite bit recently, because Dean didn’t understand how the few fumbling relationships Cas had been involved in could have produced the sex god pressed against him without a little nudge of help from the internet. But wherever Cas had learnt how to do this, Dean sure as fuck wasn’t going to complain.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Cas,” he breathed before yelping at the unexpected sharp bite Castiel delivered to his jaw.

“Don’t blaspheme.”

He mouthed his way down Dean’s jawline, licking over his jugular and sucking hard enough to leave marks. And fuck, did Dean want those marks. He would wear them proudly, show them off, if only to see Sam’s expression of horror. He ran his hands through Cas’ hair, clenching and unclenching his fingers and combing the soft, dark strands away from his lover’s face. There was a ghost of pressure across his erection and he almost groaned when Castiel slid his hands from Dean’s waist to the front of his jeans, fumbling with the button.

When Cas pulled away from the kiss to focus on the button he couldn’t quite seem to manage, Dean took the opportunity to pull his henley over his head and leaned forward to yank Cas’ trench coat down off of his shoulders. It hung bunched up at his elbows, and a frustrated Dean batted Cas away from his half-undone jeans to properly remove all of Cas’ clothing from that perfect, pale torso.

Dean stared. He wasn’t expecting the perfectly smooth forearms, or the way Cas’ biceps rolled when he yanked his tie off. He had always covered up his surprisingly built arms with at least one shirt. And his chest… Dean stopped that thought in its tracks before it could evolve into a situation where he came waaaay too early. “You sonofabitch!” He exclaimed happily. “Why do you wear three shirts and a fuckin’ trench coat all the time?”

Castiel looked confused. “Should I not?”

Dean just laughed – a rich, guttural sound that went straight to Cas’ cock – and slid his fingers up Cas’ smooth arms, leaving goose bumps in his wake. God, Cas had perfect arms. And a perfect chest. And perfect hair, and a perfect voice and a perfect fucking face. And it’s mine right now, Dean realised. All of it.

He hummed happily as Cas leaned forward and finally – finally – yanked his jeans down, waiting until Dean had stepped out of them to slide his hand around and cup Dean’s cheek, bringing their lips back together. Dean was achingly hard, the tent in his boxers almost embarrassing. But that didn’t matter when Cas, in all of his pale, shirtless glory, slid his lips roughly down Dean’s torso and knelt in front of him, only pausing to catch the elastic of Dean’s underwear in his teeth and peel it off. Dean supposed he should have felt awkward, backed up against the wall in his high school art classroom with his boxers shoved to mid-thigh and his best friend eyeing his painfully hard cock longingly. He didn’t, though, especially when Cas leaned in to press teasing kisses to the tip of his erection.

Dean would never admit later to the needy moans that escaped his throat when Cas slowly took him in, enveloping him in wet heat. Because, sure, he’d been with other guys or even girls who’d given pretty damn good blow jobs, but none of them had looked as good between his legs as Cas. None of them had ever had their pale pink lips – the most fuckable lips Dean had ever seen – wrapped so prettily around Dean’s cock, none of them had had electric blue eyes that stayed locked on Dean’s as their cheeks hollowed around him. But Cas went down like a fucking champ, all teeth and tongue and things that made Dean shiver and press closer to the wall.

And then Cas moved down, mouthing at Dean’s balls, and licked a teasing strip down to his – oh god oh god oh motherfucking Christ the boy I’m in love with is rimming me. He is rimming me. Holy fucking shi – Cas’ slowly lapped at his partner’s hole, and Dean was about to come just from that.

“Fuck,” he moaned, gripping the base of his cock tightly as Cas dipped and licked and sucked. He nibbled at Dean’s swollen, sensitised rim, making Dean whimper. Fuck, where did he learn that? Learn how to thrust and jab his tongue deeper inside of Dean, causing beads of bitter pre cum to dribble onto Dean’s stomach.

“Fuck,” he repeated, gasping.

Cas pulled away. “Yes,” he agreed, returning his stare to Dean’s jade gaze. And then his finger – where did that come from? Oh, god – was slowly, tantalizingly circling Dean’s entrance and then carefully slipping in, up to the first knuckle. Dean panicked, tensing, and realisation flashed across Cas’ face.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. He pulled out, reaching into his jeans pocket and struggling to retrieve a noisy silver packet. When Dean raised his eyebrows questioningly, Cas had the decency to blush. “I… I expected something like this to occur.”

Jesus. Was he trying to…? Oh, my god.

“So you, uh…” Dean chuckled. “You brought lube? How long have you been planning this, Cas?”

Cas kissed the tip of his partner’s erection, smearing the salty pre cum over his lips before licking it off. “Months.”

“You – seriously? So this isn’t, like, a one-time thing?”

Cas pulled away, staring at Dean and looking slightly hurt. “Would you like it to be?”

“What? Wh – oh god, no. No! Jesus, I’ve wanted you to fuck me for so long…“

Dean raised his eyebrows, looking for an explanation when Cas smirked, a little tug at the corner of his lips that made Dean thread his fingers through Cas’ hair so that he wouldn’t start jerking off right there. Somehow, Cas still managed to look fucking adorable when he rubbed his cheek against Dean’s erection. “Gabriel owes me fifty dollars,” Cas explained.

“What? Why?”

Cas’ smirk grew into a shit-eating grin – which, on him, was extremely rare. His eyes crinkled at the corners and his grin was all gums and bright white teeth and it definitely didn’t make Dean sigh like a girl. “He wouldn’t accept the fact that you’re not a “top”.”

There was a beat before Dean burst out laughing. “Are you fucking serious? Oh, man, the poor bastard, betting on my sex li – ohhh holy shit, Cas, fuck!” He moaned and almost bit his own tongue off when Cas pushed a now lubed-up finger just enough into his entrance to fill him. And then that finger was joined by another, and oh, god. They pumped in and out of Dean’s ass, finding a good, steady rhythm, and the calloused pads of Cas’ long slim fingers found that bundle of nerves inside of Dean and pressed –and oh holy fucking SHIT–

“Cas – Cas! Oh, god –“

And, just like that, the fingers were gone. Dean almost whimpered in disappointment, but then he was being pulled to the floor, joining Castiel in a pile of their discarded clothing. And, really, who could whimper when soft, slightly chapped lips – still holding the taste of Dean's cock – pressed against their mouth? Not Dean, that’s for sure. Instead, he let out a long, obscene moan that caused Cas to pull Dean’s jeans and boxers all the way off his feet and then discard his own, as well.

“Dean.” Cas waited for Dean to lift his piercing green gaze from Cas’ cock back to his eyes.

“Cas. Fuck.”

“Mmm,” Cas hummed in agreement, pressing forward and crowding Dean against the wall. “You're gorgeous, Dean.”

“Yeah, you’re not so bad, yourself,” Dean mumbled against Cas’ lips, smirking as his hand wandered and caused Cas to gasp and rut against his palm. And Christ, he couldn’t deal with the way Cas arched his head back and fucking mewled. Like a ridiculous, sex-hungry kitten. A kitten.

“Shit, Cas, I need you in me. I need you to fuck me.”

His eyes fluttered shut and he moaned as Cas drizzled the lube over himself and spread it around. A few cold droplets landed on Dean’s thigh. God, he just couldn’t take in all of these sensations, all of the sights, the smells, the feeling of Cas.

“What do you need, Dean? Say it again.”

Jesus Christ.

“I need… oh, god, Cas, I need –“ He broke off as Cas pressed up against his entrance, swallowing a groan. “I need you to fuck me. Please.”

And then Cas pressed in, all long and warm and filling, and Dean’s hands came up to clench in his hair, pulling it just shy of too hard, and when Cas’ bare stomach rubbed against his cock it felt so damn good. Cas leaned back, lying down and pulling Dean with him. Dean looked confused, his lips settled in a little pucker that made Cas’ cock twitch where it was still buried inside his best friend. But then it all made sense when Cas smiled – looking so damn innocent, how was that even possible in this fucking situation? – and said, “I want you to ride me.”

Ohdearfuckinglordinheavenandallofhismotherfuckingfriends –

“Yeah,” Dean breathed. “Yeah, I can do that.”

He lifted himself up so that Cas could get comfortable underneath him and then bit his lip and lowered himself back down slowly, opening himself up with Cas’ dick. It wasn’t particularly thick, not like Dean’s. But damn, it was long, just like the rest of him, and reached places inside Dean that no one ever had before.

“Dean,” Cas growled. “Move.”

So he did. And he would be a filthy liar if he said that this wasn’t the best sex he’d ever had. But right now, he was just filthy. Especially when he started bucking his hips, fucking himself back on Cas’ dick, and especially – especially – when his fingers slipped into Cas’ mouth, getting slick and wet so that when they made their way back down to his own pelvis they glided along his cock. He thrust up into his tight fist and groaned when Cas – his best friend, his fantasy, Cas – brought his fingers up to join Dean’s, trying to match the rhythm the Winchester was setting.

Dean snapped his hips down again and again, panting and supressing a moan whenever the tip of Cas’ perfect, pink dick rubbed against his prostate. Jeans - Dean couldn't tell who's they were - chafed against his knees. He was so utterly lost in the sensations of sex: a single bead of sweat, dripping from his brow to splatter on Cas' ribcage, the way Cas gripped his hips as they rocked again and again, probably hard enough to leave bruises. But that would just be another way for Cas to claim him, for Dean to be his. And then Cas gasped, “Dean… fuck.” Hearing the expletive from Cas’ gorgeous, pure lips sent Dean over the edge, thick ropes of pearly come striping across his chest. Cas followed almost immediately, pulsing inside Dean and shaking. Dean kept rutting, riding his partner through both of their orgasms. Opening his eyes, Cas stared at Dean with that endless azure gaze that always made the other boy melt.

“Shit,” Dean breathed, finally lifting himself off of Cas’ cock and collapsing next to him.

“That sums it up, yes,” Cas sighed cheerfully, snaking his arms around Dean’s waist and pulling him close.

“Cas. Dude, I ain’t the little spoon.”

Cas smiled into his lover’s hair. “Shush.”

They stayed there, curved together, until all traces of afterglow were gone and Dean decided that he needed to clean up and put his clothes back on. And he really did need to put the paint away.