
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2643881.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Castiel/Dean_Winchester
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Castiel, Sam_Winchester, Gabriel_(Supernatural), Charlie
      Bradbury, Missouri_Moseley, Lisa_Braeden, Balthazar, Alfie-Samandriel,
      Meg_Masters
  Additional Tags:
      Underage_Sex, Teacher_Dean_Winchester, Student_Castiel, Mutual_Pining,
      Self_Confidence_Issues, Jealous_Dean_Winchester, Popular_Castiel, PWP,
      Underage_Castiel, Possessive_Dean, Both_are_freaking_smart, Top_Dean,
      Bottom_Castiel
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-11-20 Completed: 2014-12-12 Chapters: 6/6 Words: 29228
****** Sweetest Taboo ******
by Lusciousinpain
Summary
     “God.” He sighs tiredly, rubbing at his eyes with both hands, wishing
     he could go a whole day without masturbating to the image of large
     blue eyes gazing longingly at him and pink full lips desperate for
     his kisses.
Notes
     So this was totally going to be 100% porn. But then Dean got jealous,
     and Cas got pissy, and I realized they both just really needed to
     work things out before falling into each other's arms. This was also
     meant to be a 4000 word fic. But it's turned into a multi-chaptered
     monster. And hey, this is Dean after all, and we all know that he
     needs to feed the monster.
     I'll be posting weekly, fingers crossed
     So eat up and enjoy, my lovelies!
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Sexy and Seventeen *****
“Novak.” Dean shouts, voice loud and clear in the nearly full classroom.
“…”
“Mr. Novak?” he tries again when there’s no immediate reply.
“...?...”
“Castiel Novak!” he says for a third time, unable to keep the irritation from
his tone when all he gets this time is a smattering of muffled giggles from his
students. “Fuck my life.” He mutters under his breath, then asks, “Does anyone
here know where Mr. Novak is?”
He looks around the room and tries to make eye contact with any student brave
enough to glance his way. “Well?”
A small cough from across the room gets his attention. “Alfie?”
“Ooop…” Alfie squeaks. “There.” He answers, voice barely above a whisper,
nervously pointing to the closed window across from his seat.
Dean squints and looks out the window, but all he can make out from where he’s
standing is that it’s two teens making-out against a brick wall.
He edges closer, not too surprised when he sees that one of them is the
unmistakable figure of the Castiel Novak. Although it’s difficult to be certain
since the teenager's body is almost completely obscured by the slightly larger
frame of the other teenager, who, from what Dean can tell, seems to be trying
his damnedest to swallow his student’s face.
Dean moves closer still, but the nearer he gets the higher his dread mounts.
Now, from this new vantage point, he can clearly make out that the other male,
molesting his student, is not a teenager at all, but a…man.
A blonde man. Forcing himself on Castiel. Pawing at the teen. Pressing his
smarmy face against the boy’s neck.
Dean growls and his vision clouds over; everything’s red.
“Thanks, Alfie.” He grits out, jaw clenched so tightly it wouldn’t surprise him
at all if his teeth cracked from the pressure.
He covers the last few feet to the window in three quick strides and stares.
“Fucking great.” he curses, hands braced on the sill and sighs, beyond fed-up
and done with this particular senior’s out of control antics.
But why is he so fucking pissed? Why is the sight of Castiel with another
person enough to render Dean into a complete Neanderthal? An unthinking boor so
regressed he’s all base instinct and action, with only one thing on his mind,
to gladly take what is clearly meant to be his.
To say Dean finds these feelings disturbing, is an understatement. But he finds
the dangerous curl of jealousy that's twining itself tighter and tighter around
his gut over Castiel's love life, even more distressing.
It really doesn't surprise Dean that seeing the teenager with another person,
especially in such a compromising position, would drive him to the point of
lunacy. No, what does surprise him, gets under his skin, disturbs and
frustrates the ever-lovin-shit out of him, are his goddamn stupid reactions to
the teen's taunts and what an easy target he makes.
It all started, six months ago.
When Dean first laid eyes on the seventeen year old, his jaw dropped, literally
struck dumb when the school’s Principal introduced them. That pivotal event,
would forever alter his life.
That afternoon, like all previous first days of class, Dean was leaning against
his desk and taking attendance, gearing up to give a perfunctory explanation on
his course to this year's crop of new students, when absolutely everything went
to hell.
“Excuse me, Mr. Winchester.” Principal Moseley hollered from the room’s
entrance. “I have a new student for you.” she announced cheerily, an
unmistakable note of awe stressing her announcement.
He looked curiously her way, greeting for his new student on the tip of his
tongue, when in walked a tall, lean boy, and the words died in his throat; the
teenager was beautiful, his gait graceful, all casual confidence and self-
assured swagger. Dean was instantly captivated.
“This bright young man, here, is Mr. Castiel Novak.” She informed the entire
class. She stepped further into the classroom and waved for Castiel to join
her. "I must say, Castiel, we here at Carver Edlund High, are deeply honored
that you have chosen to spend your senior year with us." she gushed, beaming
widely and bright eyed, chest puffing up visibly with obvious pride for having
enrolled a verifiable boy-genius.
"Mr. Winchester," She went on, turning her attention back to her star teacher,
voice pitching a little higher with her building excitement. "I'm leaving
Castiel in your very capable hands, and I'm trusting that under your expert
tutelage, he’ll blossom into yet another one of this institution’s highest
achievers. So please make sure you take very special care of him for us.
Understood?" She asked, but with the addition of an arched brow and the thin
stern line of her naturally full lips, her instructions sounded more like a
series of dire warnings to Dean, rather than a polite request.
Dean scoffed, not outright, of course, at the ridiculousness of her zeal. But
in all honesty, he was more than a little offended by the insinuation that if
he didn’t take ‘special care’ of this particular senior, then Castiel’s failure
would be Dean’s fault, and not the boy’s.
How was that even right? Or even fair?
It’s not like Dean hadn’t already spent the better part of the past ten years
doing just that; churning out hundreds of stellar students and first-rate
engineer candidates, year after year, without fail, for this goddamn school!
But, whatever.
The way Dean saw it, Principal Moseley was well within her rights to be
cautious over the welfare of her new student, as well as justified in her
exacting expectations from her staff.
Besides, he figured, it’s not like it was going to be that much of a hardship
to spend a little extra time with the boy. To work closely with him after
hours, to be at his beck and call, to insure that he would always be available
for the teenager – on school related matters, of course. Because even though
Dean immefiately liked the idea of spending as much private time as he could
sanely manage with Castiel, the boy’s drop-dead-good-looks would have no
bearing, whatsoever, on how Dean would conduct himself.
Na-ah and no sir-ee, in spite of the teen’s attractiveness, Dean was definitely
going to behave. Well, that was the plan, at first. Dean was going to be
professional, mature and respectful, a complete fucking gentleman, especially
when alone with the boy.
Meanwhile, in the background, Principal Moseley continued with her spiel,
rattling off more orders, throwing in a few more words of praise, both in
regards to Castiel as well as Dean, all the while resting her hand protectively
on the teenager’s shoulder.
But Castiel didn't feel the warm weight of her touch, didn't hear what she had
said or even register the meaning behind her words. He only had eyes for the
handsome and brilliant man standing tall and imposing at the front of the room.
Castiel sent a smile Dean’s way, it was small and hesitant, shy actually, but
it grew in size and confidence the second he realized his teacher was staring
right back at him, and his gaze was just as intense.
Dean’s shapely green eyes were scanning every inch of Castiel’s face, seemingly
as fascinated by the boy before him as Castiel was over his new teacher.
A loud, pointed “A-hem” from Principal Moseley, finally caught Castiel’s
attention. When he turned to the frowning woman, he offered her an apologetic
smile. He then scanned the rest of the classroom, pausing a moment to send a
nod of acknowledgment to his fellow classmates, and then with a gentle nudge
from the Principal, made his way towards Dean, stopping only when he was
standing well within Dean’s personal space.
“A pleasure, Mr. Winchester.” Castiel had purred, reaching out to take Dean’s
hand in his and shaking it with an impressively firm grip.
“It’s Dean.” Dean replied automatically, then flinched, Castiel’s unexpected
‘nearness’ and his intoxicating scent, coupled with the off-the-charts-sexual
charge that shot like a lightning bolt right through Dean’s system the second
their hands connected, left the teacher flailing and well…stupid.
Luckily, Dean uttered his response on a hushed breath, and the verbal slip went
unnoticed by Principal Moseley and the rest of the class. Unfortunately,
Castiel did catch his words, and the full meaning behind their intent.
“I just wanted to tell you that it’s an honor to be your student.” The teenager
went on to add. “And that the main reason I chose your school, is well…because
of you.” he confessed easily, casually, like admitting that purposefully
seeking out the older man was nothing to be embarrassed by. On the contrary, in
Castiel's opinion, Dean’s celebrity status in the highly competitive world of
engineering, was something the young teacher should have already been
accustomed to.
They stared at each other a moment longer, Castiel still slowly pumping Dean’s
hand in his warm possessive grip, lips curling with the subtlest of smiles, a
flirtatious wink setting his dumbfounded teacher’s heart all aflutter.
And since that day, since that very moment in time, Dean and Castiel’s
relationship has been wrought with sexual tension. The strain has left both men
teetering on the edge of something that has the potential to be either life
altering wonderful, or, because of the danger inherent to both of their
futures, especially Dean’s, incredibly disastrous.
That, in itself, should have been enough to deter Dean from pursuing the boy.
But Castiel’s insistence that the older man take what he eagerly offered, did
little to help Dean in his daily struggle against his increasingly lustful
urges for the teen.
And now, this.
Dean should be numb and well accustomed to Castiel flaunting his promiscuity in
his face. But the pain that stabs at his heart and prickles at his skin feels
as fresh today as it did the first time he witnessed the teenager engaging with
another partner.
“Goddamnit!” Dean grumbles darkly, keeping his voice down so that no one nearby
hears. And without pausing to consider if this is the best course of action to
take or not, opens the window, leans out and shouts, “Yo, Novak, mind getting
your ass in here?”
The thundering boom of his voice startles the blonde man off Castiel, but he
doesn’t get very far. “Get back here.” Castiel pouts, saying the words loud
enough so that they carry clearly across the yard and right into Dean’s
straining ears. “Not done with you yet.”
The fuck you are! Dean almost roars, reaching up and slamming the window back
down, the impact so great the glass rattles in its frame.
“Open your texts to last night’s assignment and have your answers ready by the
time I return.” He instructs his stunned students and weaving his way through
the haphazardly arranged desks, storms out of the room.
Three minutes later, he’s standing in front of Castiel, eyes darting all around
trying to locate the soon to be dead blonde that had the audacity to lay his
hands on the senior. “Where…” he pants, out of breath from running around the
building in order to get to Castiel, more than a little eager to confront his
student and pummel his blonde boyfriend into the ground. “Where did he go?” he
finally manages.
“Hello Dean.” Castiel says instead, ignoring Dean’s question, leaning with his
shoulders pressed flat against the brick wall and his narrow hips jutting out.
“Nobody here but little-ole-me.” he says, voice vibrating from deep within his
throat, low and seductive. “You need something?” he asks, moistening his plush
bottom lip with a wet swipe of his tongue, leaving it spit-shiny and too
fucking tempting for words.
Dean ignores the teen’s use of his first name, for now, and stares. He cannot
not stare. It would be physically impossible for him to tear his eyes away from
the exquisite teen; Castiel, with his large blue eyes, dark tousled hair, and
full pink lips, is quite simply, Dean’s definition of walking sex. And if he’s
not careful his ruination, as well.
“Just…just get back inside.” He stammers, poking his own tongue out to mimic
Castiel’s erotic-as-fuck gesture and steps closer, pupils dilating with arousal
for the boy in front of him. “Please.” He pleads, voice soft, but expression
grim, fists clenched into tight balls by his sides, no longer certain if
confronting the teen had been the wisest course of action, after all.
He takes a step back and shakes his head, trying to clear it, but when he tries
to turn and flee, he finds that he can’t. “What the…” he asks dumbly watching
as the teenager wraps nimble fingers firmly around his belt loops and uses them
to tug him closer. “Let me go, or-” Dean orders, tone cold, but his voice
wavers; he feels himself hardening under the teen’s heated gaze and knows that
he needs to get away from Castiel now, or risk bending the boy over and fucking
him on the spot, regardless of the consequences.
“Or…?” Castiel counters, eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint, responding to
Dean’s command with a provocative quirk of his brow. He doesn’t let go of Dean,
of course, does the complete opposite, instead. He moves in closer –slim hips
still leading the way - and makes sure to press his own impressive hard on
against his teacher’s thigh. Then, sucking sensuously on that damn bottom lip,
dares Dean to make a scene in front of his entire class.
Dean turns his gaze towards his classroom’s windows, not at all surprised when
he sees all of his kids watching their heated altercation with the kind of rapt
attention he’s only ever witnessed between a bloodthirsty predator and its
hobbled prey. And considering with whom he’s dealing, Dean’s got a pretty good
idea which of the unfortunate two he would be in that particular scenario.
He turns back to the devil in front of him, nostrils flaring to take in a deep
calming breath, and then exhales. Get a grip, Winchester.
“Look, Novak,” he sneers. “I’ve had about as much of your shit as I can take
for one day. So you either get your ass back into my classroom, right the fuck
now,” Dean threatens, unwittingly leaning into the teen. “Or you can leave and
join your little boyfriend. But if you do that,” he hisses, tipping his head
lower, exhaling warm puffs of air against Castiel's cheek. "Never come back."
He bluffs, looming menacingly over the wide-eyed boy.
“Mr. Winchester!” Principal Moseley shouts. “Mind telling me what the hell’s
going on here?” she demands, walking briskly across the campus until she’s
standing between Dean and Castiel.
Dean glares at Castiel, telling him with his eyes to keep quiet and let him do
all the talking. “Missouri, I mean Principal Moseley. I was just coming out
here to, um, see what was keeping Mr. Novak.” He offers weakly.
Missouri harrumphs and taps her foot, thoroughly unconvinced by Dean’s lame-ass
explanation. “You don’t say?” she says lightly then turns her intimidating
glower on the teenager “And why are you out here and not in class, Mr. Novak?”
Castiel opens his mouth to reply but Dean cuts him off again. “He was out here
with his...uncle. Isn’t that right, Cas?” Dean blurts out. “He forgot his, ah,
homework and his uncle was dropping it off. I just came out here to introduce
myself.”
Cas? Missouri frowns at the familiarity, but ignores the shrill clanging of
alarm bells that immediately go off in her head. “Is that so?” she replies
sarcastically and eyes them skeptically. “Hm, well, fine then.” she relents,
tired of the entire exchange, and if she’s being honest, a little unsettled by
the unusual chemistry radiating off the pair. She checks her watch and turns
her keen focus back on Castiel.
“According to my watch it seems that you have missed today’s class. Therefore,
you will make up today’s lesson after school, Mr. Novak. And Mr. Winchester,”
she says, turning back to Dean. “I want you to ensure that Cas here, stays
until he’s learned today’s lessons, backwards and forwards.”
“What? Mis-, I mean Principal Moseley, that won’t be necessary. Today’s lesson
was mostly passages the class had to read from their textbook, so I’ll just
give Castiel the chapters to study and call it a day, okay.” Dean rambles,
words tripping over each other in an effort to get out of having to spend any
more time alone with the irresistible teen.
“Dean,” Missouri gasps, clutching at her chest with righteous indignation,
completely dismayed to find that her best teacher could be so blasé towards the
education of their school’s brightest student; even if Castiel also happens to
be one of its most unruly.
And, gauging from Dean’s reaction to her instructions (his lack of concern over
the teenager's welfare, his indifference to Castiel’s education, and his
dismissive attitude towards the teen’s behavior) Castiel’s habitual truancy,
let alone any implied delinquency, is the result of not being sufficiently
challenged or cared for by her staff.
“You will stay late tonight with Castiel, your student.” She insists. “I
believe you owe this young man a full lesson, Mr. Winchester. And,” she plows
on, holding her hand up to halt Dean’s counter argument. “I want Castiel, and
the rest of the student body to realize that even if they’re late, or miss a
lesson entirely, they’re still required to put in a full day’s work. I will not
tolerate anything less. Do I make myself clear?”
Now in full panic mode, Dean scrambles, wracking his brain to find a way out of
the shit-storm he’s sure to face if he has to follow through with Missouri’s
order. “Ah, sorry but tonight’s not good, I um, have this thing with my brother
and I’ve been putting it off. You know how it is, right?” he babbles, but then
with a spark of inspiration, adds, “And besides, I’m sure Mr. Novak here has a
date or something planned for tonight, too. Right, Cas?” he says, hoping this
last ditch effort to get out of their punishment saves him from the inevitable
doom that will surely befall him if he has to spend even a minute alone with
the teen.
Up until now, Dean has managed to never be completely alone with the boy – and
let’s face it, Dean Winchester may be one stubborn sonofabitch, but Castiel’s
appeal is something even he’s not sure he could resist, if the seventeen year
old were to unleash his full powers of persuasion on him, in private.
“Actually, Mr. Winchester, I’m totally free tonight. Which means, I’m all
yours…if you'll have me." Castiel chimes in helpfully, to Dean’s great dismay,
batting his eyes so innocently and grinning so smugly, Dean can’t believe
Missouri doesn’t call him out on it.
“Well, ah…” Dean flounders, fish-mouthing, still desperate for an out from this
dangerous turn of events.
“Reschedule with Sam, Dean, I’m sure your brother will understand.” Missouri
advices, her tone so final, Dean doesn’t even bother to argue.
Missouri stands between the pair a moment longer, brows knitting together while
she studies them. “Trust me, gentlemen, this is for the best.” And even though
she’s far from satisfied with the outcome, graces them with a tight smile and
walks away.
…
Dean's never understood the meaning behind the term ‘rue the day’.
Until now.
Because now, after knowing and interacting with the teen for almost half a
year, he can totally get behind the sentiment.
Has it really been almost six months? He wonders, scratching absently at the
day old stubble on his chin with the blunt end of his pen.
“Hmpht.” He snorts, frowning when it dawns on him that he’s only known Castiel
for a measly six months. And if that’s the case, then six months ago was the
last time Dean knew peace. The last time he had a restful night’s sleep. It’s
like an epiphany, the sudden realization that before Castiel Novak came into
his life, a full and happy, although dull life, he was a carefree thirty-four
year old bachelor unfretted or bogged down with life’s usual problems.
Carefree? Really? What the hell was that even like? He tries to recall, unable
to recollect a time when his stomach wasn’t tied up in knots or his thoughts
thick and muddled, completely saturated and full to the brim with images of the
truly delectable seventeen year old.
Yeah, Dean was 'content’ before Castiel came into his life. Okay, maybe his
life wasn’t chuck-full-of-excitement, and maybe it lacked painfully in the
fulfillment department, but at least he had peace. So he keeps telling himself.
“God.” He sighs tiredly, rubbing at his eyes with both hands, wishing he could
go a whole day without masturbating to the image of large blue eyes gazing
longingly at him and pink full lips desperate for his kisses. It's all a lie,
anyway! Not like the kid feels anything real for me. He stubbornly argues.
“What the hell am I even thinking?” he grumbles to himself, because even though
he believes Castiel’s attraction for him to be insincere, if not downright
misguided, he knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that he has to find a way to
stifle his own perverse obsession for the boy.
But it’s difficult as fuck, especially when all of his thoughts revolve around
the many varied and sinful ways he would like to thoroughly mark the boy’s body
with his mouth and teeth and hands. From the teen’s tempting-as-hell hips, to
the long graceful column of his neck, Dean needs to find a way to end the
obscene images that persist on playing in an endless loop through his feverish
mind. Stat!
But if only it were that easy, he considers briefly, then helpless to stop
himself, drops his hand under his desk and palms his rapidly swelling cock.
“Fuck…” he groans in the quiet room, pressing firmly on the growing tent in his
slacks. Right now is really, really, not the time. No sir, the last thing Dean
wants is to give Castiel the satisfaction of seeing him with a full on
erection.
But who’s he kidding, once his mind starts replaying images of hot and sexy,
distracting-as-hell-Cas-tee-el, it’s pretty much game over for Dean, but game
on for his traitorous dick.
He reclines in his seat and leans back far enough so that he can spread his
legs and give his hand more room to play. “Umphhh…” he moans when his fingers
brush along the bulging outline of his shaft. “Mmmpht…” he groans softly from
the full-blown shivers that ratchet up his spine. “Fuck…” he mutters sadly,
unable to stop the heavy sigh of resignation that accompanies each gasp, each
blissed out exhale. And even though Dean’s lack of self-control weighs heavily
on him, he nevertheless takes a few minutes to indulge in his fantasies. 
He closes his eyes and his fantasy unfurls, licking his bottom lip while he
envisions the dip in the teen’s lower back and the way it highlights the
narrowness of his waist, the pronounced sweet swell of his ass. His focus
shifts to the boy’s appearance, on how dangerously low the teen wears his too
tight jeans, and the way his hair curls around the lobe of his ear when it gets
too long, mocking Dean, tempting him to reach out and pull at the unruly locks.
“Casss…” he gasps, lengthening the boy’s name on a heated exhale.
And when the tightness in his pants becomes too uncomfortable, Dean slowly tugs
his zipper open. But it’s still not enough. Now that he’s given himself
permission to chase this one tiny pleasure, he decides to take it one step
further; he dips his hand inside the waistband of his brief’s, pulls out his
dick, and wrapping his fingers snugly around the thickening length, fists
himself to full hardness.
His head falls back and he groans, “Fucking,..fuck-” he swears, hissing when he
exposes the heated flesh to the room’s cool air. “Cas-“ he sighs longingly, but
this time the scene in his head is lewd, pornographic, a scenario where
fantasy-Castiel crouches snugly between Dean’s spread thighs – the teen's
perfect full lips pursed and puckered around Dean’s dick and looking hotter and
better than any fantasy has a right too. “Baby…yeah, just…just like that.” Dean
gasps, spurring on his fantasy-boy, gathering a pearly bead of pre-cum with an
upward flick of his wrist and a careful swipe of his thumb, using it to slick
himself further and work his hand a little bit faster, losing himself utterly
to his lust as his daydream plays out.
Fantasy-Dean places both hands on either side of fantasy-Castiel’s jaw and
gently pries his dick from the teen’s lips. He then slowly rises to his feet –
dick, rock hard and swaying along with his easy movements – and helps the
teenager to his feet as well. “Come here, baby,” he tells his fantasy-boy. “I’m
not done with you yet...” Dean says, repeating Castiel’s earlier command to his
then fleeing lover.
Dean grabs Castiel by the scruff of his neck and guides him towards his desk,
nudging the teenager by the shoulder until he’s laying flat on his back.
Fantasy-Dean bends over the teen and kisses him, small nips and bites that
quickly turn into an aggressive display of dominance. There’s no finesse or
grace to Dean's actions anymore, only an urgent need for satisfaction. He sucks
on the teen’s plush upper lip then bites down, hard, on the pouty bottom one,
works his tongue into the boy's mouth and licks at its entirety, mapping every
nook, memorizing every cranny, plundering, owing, claiming, while his large
hands run with a greedy desperation over the boy’s supine form.
Dean briefly pauses in his ravaging, slowly drags his hands down the boy’s
hips, unzips his jeans, then forcibly yanks them, along with the teen’s
underwear, down and off. He leans back, but only far enough to take in the
sight of what he imagines will be a very impressive cock, if the large bulge
the boy usually sports whenever he's around Dean, is any indication.
Fantasy-Dean then licks his lips, ‘cause yeah, the boy’s cock is just as pretty
as he’d imagined.It’s fucking glorious, in fact, flush and thick and just long
enough, with a gorgeous plumb head and delicately veined, from root to crown.
His mouth waters and his eyes flutter, picturing himself buried, nose deep,
where groin meets thigh, swooning when he inhales the sweet scent there,
whimpering as he nuzzles against the exquisite warmth and softness of that
area’s delicate skin. The heady image leaves Dean dizzy with desire. He hums in
delight around the teen’s imaginary length, hot and heavy in his mouth, eyes
rolling to the back of his head when the boy’s sweet-salty pre-cum hits his
tongue.
As his strokes quicken, Dean’s legs fall completely open. The distinct sound of
skin slapping wetly against skin is almost deafening to his ears, the quick
whir of his hand loud and obvious as his slicked dick flies easily through the
snug tunnel of his fist. The sight he makes, obscene and downright drity,
leaves him wishing, with something very close to insanity, that Castiel would
walk in and ask to join him.
“Ahhh…” he moans with that particular image in mind, gasping for air, lip
caught between his teeth to bite back a sob. Just a little bit more, he
thinks.I’m almost there,he pleads, straining from the building pressure.
His thoughts spiral out of control, run wild, heart rate speeding into
overdrive as fantasy-Dean devours fantasy-Castiel. As he digs his fingers
cruelly into boy’s ass cheeks, and spreads them apart. As his fingers, nervous
and frantic with urgency, dip into Castiel’s crevice and slide towards his
hole, prod at the magically spit-sloppy rim, swipe indelicately over the tight
seal, press against it, almost breaching it, Castiel’s hole fucking soaked and
begging to be penetrated...
The shrill blare of Sam’s boner-killing ringtone snaps Dean out of his current
state of madness.
He slams his seat back down and grunts in frustration, reaches into his
trouser’s front pocket – careful to avoid the long angry length of his dick –
and pulls out his phone. “Yeah?” he snaps as he vainly tries to tuck himself
back into his pants.
“And hello to you too, Dean.” Sam chuckles.
“Yeah, okay, hi. Wadda want?” Dean asks, tone gruff and terse, pissed the fuck
off with his brother’s unbelievable timing. Although, now that he’s had a
moment to cool off, realizes he should be grateful for the interruption. “Hey,
sorry for baling out on you. Again.” he apologizes, tone less harsh, dick
finally soft enough to tuck in and zip up.
“Missouri wouldn’t let me off.” he goes on to explain. “Says I gotta make sure
all of my students, especially her precious little protégé, get a thorough
education. Whatever the hell that means.” And call him crazy, but Dean swears
he can practically hear Sam’s eyes roll from the other side of the line. “Dude,
don’t roll your eyes at me. I may be shorter than you, but I can still-"
Sam cuts him off with a snort of his own, and laughs. “Dean, look, it’s no big
deal. Just checking to see if you want to meet up this weekend, instead."
“Yeah, sounds good.” Dean agrees. It’s not like I have anything or anybody else
to do this weekend, anyway. He reflects bitterly.
They talk for another minute, making tentative plans for their get together,
when out of the blue Sam remarks, “Oh by the way, this student you ditched me
for tonight, he wouldn’t happen to be Castiel Novak, would he?”
“How, who said, wait…did Missouri call you?”
“What, no, just curious. Because if it is him, then expect him to be a little
late, okay. He just left the office.”
Dean’s head spins from Sam's information.How the fuck does my brother even know
the kid?  “How the fuck do you even know the kid?”
“Whoa, tone down the hostility, bro.” Sam tells him. “For your information,
Castiel is interning in my office. His dad, Chuck, is our new litigator.”
“Oh…’kay. Um, thanks for the heads up.”
“Yeah, you’re welcome. Anyway, he should be there any minute. Oh, here's a
little something you’ll appreciate, the guy that picked him up has a really
nice vintage corvette. You should totally check her out, real beauty. Looks
mint, the owner definitely takes good care of her. Bet…” Sam rambles on,
completely unaware that his innocent enough comment hits Dean like a sucker
punch, right to his fucking balls.
Sam drones on and on, but Dean’s not aware of anything else his brother says
after the bombshell he dropped about Castiel being picked up by a ‘guy’. “Hey,
ah, Sammy gotta go now, okay, gotta get my lesson ready, for, ah, the
kid...Castiel.” He lies, grinding his teeth because he knows, can bet a year’s
salary, that the ‘guy’ in question is the same blonde dick from this morning.
“Sure. Oh and Dean,” Sam says, finally pausing in his idolization of Castiel’s
boyfriend’s car to add, “Look, I can tell something’s bugging you, so-”
“So?” Dean snaps back, cutting him off, and if he wasn’t in a shitty mood
before, he sure-as-shit is now.
Sam sighs, long and weary, all too accustomed to his older brother’s reluctance
to discuss his feelings or sudden mood swings, but regardless, he presses on.
“Fine, just…just try not to take it out on him, okay. He’s a good kid, hard
working and really sweet. So, don’t be too rough. I know how overzealous you
tend to get when it comes to drilling lessons into your students, especially if
you’re in one of your pissy moods.”
Dean immediately has a dozen snarky one liners on how drilling Castiel –in the
sexy way— is exactly what he intends to do to his insatiable student, but
instead answers with, “No worries there, Sam. Trust me, I’m gonna make real
sure that Castiel learns his lesson tonight.” he pauses for a beat then adds,
“In fact, it’ll be my pleasure.”
***** I Want You To Want Me *****
Chapter Summary
     It’s incredibly dangerous and extremely stupid, but Dean can’t be
     bothered to care. No, right now, all he cares about, all he wants, is
     to close the last few inches separating their mouths and finally
     press his lips against Castiel’s, to kiss and taste the boy, to suck
     on his watermelon candy-coated tongue, and only separate when the
     bothersome need for oxygen becomes necessary.
Chapter Notes
     I'm hoping to post Tuesdays and Fridays
     Thanks for reading and I hope you all enjoy!
     Chapter title taken from the classic Cheap Trick anthem. I felt it
     fitting for our boys.
“The fuck is he?” Dean wonders, glancing up at the room’s clock for the
umpteenth time. “Probably blowing his fucking boyfriend in his fancy fucking
car.” he curses, then grumbling about the injustice of it all, leans back in
his chair and angrily flips through the large stack of essays on his desk.
Great, now that he’s opened his mind back up to thoughts of Castiel and his
overt sexuality, Dean can’t help but think back on the many instances, too many
really, when he was the teen’s prey. How Castiel would corner him, walk right
up and stand close, too close, so close Dean could easily count the individual
lashes lining the teen’s too blue eyes.
“Damn…” he huffs in frustration, recalling the teenager’s enticing scent and
the way it wraps around him whenever the boy hovers nearby. ”And why does he
have to smell so fucking good?" he gripes. Then, with nothing better to do
(Castiel still hasn't shown up, and doing this will at least kill some time
until he finally does) Dean uses his keen mathematical mind and calculates the
various components that make up the boy's exotic blend. This is his conclusion:
1. Watermelon candy the teen enthusiastically sucks whenever in Dean’s
presence.
2. A hint of fresh cut grass that clings to his skin from his early morning
jogs.
3. And a delicious something else that’s exclusive to Castiel, setting him
apart from all others.
"Yummy..." Dean hums over the delectable cocktail.
But then his thoughts turn to Castiel’s outrageous flirting, the numerous
instances of unprovoked sexual advances and romantic overtures, shocking
behavior Dean vehemently insists is unwarranted and definitely unwanted by him
– cough, cough, bullshit! – instances which convince him that what the teenager
must really be after, is his complete and utter destruction.
There's just no other explanation.
But why? Why this vendetta against him? Is it for sport? To pass the time? Is
he doing it on a dare? It’s not like he’s lonely. So try as he might, Dean
can’t come up with a plausible reason as to why Castiel would be out to get
him. Unless it’s because the teen actually has feelings for him and he really
does want…
N’ah!
Dean immediately dismisses that ridiculous, and very dangerous, train of
thought. Because seriously, why would a gorgeous, smart, sexy-as-fuck seventeen
year old want with an old bachelor that’s never even been out of the goddamn
country, for fuckssake?!
It just makes no sense, Dean concludes, confident that his reasoning is
perfectly logical. And it is...sort of, if you squint really hard, and examine
it through a dirt blackened window, sideways, in a typhoon. And just as he's
about to spiral into an endless pool of self loathing and doubt, the door flies
open.
“Fuck, s-sorry…” Castiel pants, short of breath. He rushes into the empty
classroom and loses his footing, skidding to a dramatic stop beside Dean’s
desk. ”Got…whew…” he gasps, bending over and hanging his head low between his
legs, trying to catch his breath. “Got…had to um, get out of my previous
engagement.”
“Previous engagement?” Dean repeats, brow cocked loftily, eyes skimming
judgmentally over the entirety of the boy’s body. “With whom, may I ask?” he
asks, but the cool detachment he’s trying to project sounds contrived, even to
his own ears.“Not with that blonde um…let me see, how can I put this without
offending you?” he mutters, steepling his fingers under his chin while
pondering this particularly troublesome conundrum. “Yesss,” he declares,
snapping his fingers. “Blonde douche.”
“Blonde?” Castiel asks, graciously ignoring the ‘douche’ part and cocks his
head in confusion, eyes widening when he realizes to whom Dean is referring.
“You mean, Balthazar? The man from earlier?” he guesses correctly, nose
scrunching up, baffled by his teacher’s poorly veiled aggression.
And fuckitall if the little prick doesn’t look all kinds of adorable making
that face. But Dean’s far too incensed now to backtrack and fawn over his
student’s obvious physical attributes. He’s a man on a mission, and right now
he wants answers.
“Seriously, that dick’s name is Balthazar? What, he couldn’t bare to let you
out of his sight for one friggin night?”I know I couldn’t, he wisely keeps to
himself. “Tell me Mr. Novak,” he sneers, tone condescending, words acerbic. “Is
the reason you’re so late, also the same reason I've had to wait all goddamn
night, because that man insisted on taking the scenic route?”
Castiel bristles, Dean’s tone irritates him and his antagonistic attitude puts
the teen on the defensive. The confused furrow on his brow smooths out and he
replaces it with a stoic, unreadable expression. “Yes, and no.” he answers,
voice tight, matching the building tension between them.”Balthazar, is the
‘blonde-douche’s’ name.” he air quotes. “Not that it’s any of your business,”
he adds icily, his already deep voice dropping lower the more his aggravation
grows. “But a., he wasn’t my ‘previous engagement’. And b., he wasn’t the one
that dropped me off just now.” he supplies, but then in an angrier voice
growls, “But since you seem to think it’s alright to badger me incessantly over
things which are clearly none of your concern, then-“
Dean shoots to his feet so quickly, the abrupt movement almost knocks his seat
over. He stands still for a second, attempts to rein in his anger and tamp down
the hateful words threatening to spill out. "Look," he snaps, walking around
his desk to confront Castiel. “Just give me a friggin break, okay." He says,
forcing a casual tone, but the simmering rage bubbling under his skin makes him
irrational, and he fails miserably. “Just...don't bother. I don't wanna hear
it."
Well, so much for casual.
“I don’t give a rat’s ass what you do when you’re not in my classroom, Mr.
Novak, so do me a favor and save it for somebody who does.” Dean's anger is
getting the better of him, he's almost shouting, the harsh words meant to hurt
Castiel, to make the teen feel at least a shred of Dean's anguish, of his
suffering.
Dean tips his head lower, matches Castiel's startled gaze with his own fury
filled glare, then pauses; this close he can practically taste the boy. His
nostrils flare when he takes a deep long pull of Castiel's sweet smelling musk.
It's exquisite. He sighs, licks his lips, and hates himself for it.
"Which I’m pretty sure…“ he says softly, all but exhaling the words. “That, um,
in your case, it won’t be too difficult, seeing as you have an endless stream
of beaus at your disposal.”
His anger fizzles, and now, drained from his mini tantrum, Dean turns back to
his desk and plops down. “Now, how about you get your text book out so we can
get started, hm?” he suggests, not bothering to look up at the glowering teen,
uneasy after succumbing so easily to his pathetic jealousy. “Oh, and don’t
worry, I’ll try to keep this brief. Just like you, I’m eager to get the hell
out of here and on with my own date.” Lie! “Although,” he keeps going, this
time making eye contact. “I’m sure you’re especially desperate to get this over
with so you can get back to Balthazar, or any of the other countless men you
must have waiting at your disposal.” It's a cruel taunt, he knows it, but he's
so far gone, there's no stopping him.
Castiel doesn’t say a word; he won’t deign to respond to Dean’s childish
behavior or his vicious comments. He drops his eyes instead, turns his back on
the still fuming man, and walks to the nearest desk. Once seated he pulls out
his books, arranges his tools, sets himself up nicely, and ignores his teacher.
It's a calculated move, but it pays off nicely.
“Ready?” Dean barks, trying to get Castiel to look at him. "Well?" He asks,
loud and obnoxious, boring a hole through top of the teenager’s head.
Still not looking up, Castiel replies in a bland monotone. “Whenever you are.”
Fine, so now he won’t even look at me? When just a few hours ago he was
practically humping my leg! Okay, fine, two can play that game! Dean thinks,
and pursing his lips, proceeds to prove that age doesn’t necessarily equate
maturity.
...
It’s a good half hour later before Castiel speaks up again. But in all fairness
to his pride, it’s in response to Dean’s question.
“The correct answer is A., the encoder.” He replies stiffly, but when Dean
signals with a wave of his hand for the teenager to go on, Castiel elaborates
with the following, “In this case, it’s the encoder in the communications
system that receives the signal and converts it into a digital stream.”
Dean leans back in his seat and grins, a genuine pleased smile that lights up
his handsome face. “That’s right, Mr. Novak, very good.” he says, clearly
impressed by Castiel’s brilliance. “That was a tricky one, too. You’re the only
one that got it right.” He admits, nodding his head and smiling despite his
earlier rancor. Unfortunately, the hope that they had reached a point in the
evening where they could move past their earlier ill feelings towards each
other, slips away when Castiel doesn’t even acknowledge the compliment.
Dean drops his eyes back to the text, grips the edges of the large tome
tightly, and turns the page with more force than necessary. “Alright, let’s
see,” he sighs tiredly. “That was the last question from this afternoon’s pop
quiz...which you missed.” He mutters, not caring if the teen hears the childish
jab or not. "And after that I was, um, going to go into linear equations and
their applications in engineering.” He recites by rote, more concerned over the
unsettling pain twisting and tearing at his heart, than repeating their day’s
foiled study plan.
“Are you freaking serious? We already covered those!"
Dean’s head snaps up, startled from his morose thoughts by the outrage in
Castiel’s tone. “Beg your pardon?” he asks, brow furrowing in mild amusement.
Castiel leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. “Mr. Winchester, I asked
if you seriously intend on going over work that has already been covered.
Extensively. At the start of this school year. By you.” He clarifies, stressing
every word with a squinty-eyed glare.
“Well, be that as it may, Mr. Novak,” Dean replies not bothering to keep the
venom from his tone, and mirroring the boy’s posture, folds his larger, more
sculpted arms across his broader chest, and with a hard cold smile, explains,
“The majority of your classmates fared poorly on last week’s mid-term exam.
And, even though you aced it, because apparently you’re a bonafide genius,” he
adds, eyes steady on the teen’s, no hint of sarcasm behind the praise. “You
don’t get a free pass on any of my classes.
“But…since I'm feeling generous today, I’ll give you two choices. One, you can
suck it up and suffer through another long series of agonizing lessons on this
subject in blessed silence" he stresses. "Or..." he pauses and leans over his
desk, eyes unblinking, focus razor sharp on Castiel’s face. “Two…you can try to
be a little more generous and a lot less selfish with your time and offer to
tutor those students in dire need of your, ahem, special talents. That’s if
your many boyfriends don’t mind sharing you a few times a week. Don’t want to
make them jealous, do we? And we definitely don’t want them thinking that I
might be trying to keep you from them on purpose. Or, god forbid, take you for
myself. Hmpft," he snorts in derision. "As if I'd be interested in their hand-
me-downs.”
Castiel gasps, a sharp intake of breath, astonished by Dean’s scathing
comments, and can’t for the life of him fathom the reasons behind Dean’s
hostility, especially when he laces so many of his rather rude, if not
downright vicious remarks, with sexual innuendos. It’s incredibly hurtful,
frustrating, and continuously puzzling to the teen.
Right from the start, from the very first second he set eyes on Dean, all
Castiel has ever wanted was Dean’s esteem and respect.
That he's longed, hoped, and pined for the older man’s affections, as well,
goes without saying. But he realized, very early on, that those things would
have to be earned. And he’s tried. Oh boy has he tried. Used every trick in the
book, every weapon in his arsenal, subtlety be damned!
Of course, Dean’s above average good looks added substantially to Castiel’s
attraction for the young teacher, but that was never the sole reason for his
initial pursuit.
Truth be told, Castiel has been in love, or at least in complete awe, with the
genius-level mathematician, ever since he started following Dean’s career-path,
some seven years back.
As a precocious ten year old, Castiel actively sought out and read any
publication that featured the highly heralded Cal Tech graduate. He was
immediately entranced by Dean Winchester, who instead of seeking fortune and
fame amongst the academic elite upon graduation, chose to spread his vast
knowledge where he believed it would do the most good; with America’s high
school students. Especially those teens eager to go into the sciences, but for
one reason or another, struggled, yet still hungered to excel.
The more Castiel delved into Dean’s origins, the more intrigued he became, the
more his obsession grew. He eventually learned that Dean (the very definition
of a juvenile delinquent in his early youth) only flourished in school after
overcoming a very traumatic childhood. Because of the opportunities presented
to him by his surrogate father, Bobby Singer – also a high school math teacher
– the guidance and encouragement of a mentor, the acceptance and stability of a
family base – Dean was able to tap into his innate talent and natural affinity
for learning and redirect his grief, trauma, and youthful restlessness into
teaching.
And that is why, ever since their first encounter, Castiel has all but thrown
himself at the older man, in most cases brazenly, unashamedly, never holding
back on how much he wants Dean Winchester to be his and in turn, be completely
owned by his teacher. Anything less was simply not an option.
But all of his efforts, his ceaseless attempts and creative endeavors to
achieve his goals, have been thwarted by Dean himself. He’s met obstacle after
obstacle in the form of his very obstinate teacher; it’s been an uphill battle
for the tenacious youth. That Dean has managed to resist his undeniable
charisma, his thick as honey magnetism, his non-too-subtle advances, has
baffled Castiel to no end.
Up until now, life for the physically stunning youth has been a veritable
smorgasbord, a fuck-buffet, if you will. But Dean’s reactions have been
contrary to his expectations, a figurative slap in the face and a brutal
beating to his ego.
Ultimately, it seems that all of his hard work was for naught, all of his
efforts backfiring, a wretched failure. Because unbeknownst to the love-struck
youth, flaunting his complete and utter awesomeness over every other person
within Dean's immediate orbit, only elevated Castiel to such ridiculously
unattainable heights – in Dean's eyes anyway – that the only thing he
successfully managed to achieve with the persistence of his pursuit, was to
scare Dean away.
Or so he believed.
But now, six months after their initial meeting, it finally hits him.
Everything, all of his flirting and bating has actually worked, actually paid
off. Because now, he sees that the reason behind Dean’s constant rejection is
not because the older man doesn't want Castiel, but because he does! Dean sees
him as too perfect, too untouchable, and completely out of his league. That has
to be it, right?
“Oh my god!” Castiel gasps, stunned, hand rising to cover the shocked 'O' of
his mouth as the truth of this knowledge sinks in, blue eyes growing larger
with understanding.
Dean is jealous, quite epically, in fact.
“You…you’re jealous.” He accuses, pointing at Dean with one finger while
patting his chest with his other hand. “I mean, I guess I should say I’m
surprised. But really,” he purrs, voice-dipping lower, leaning over his own
desktop. “Who are we kidding here?” he asks, winking suggestively, foolishly
reverting to his former cocky self-assured guise.
Fuck, am I that transparent? Dean wonders with something close to disgust over
his own shortcomings. He swallows thickly, throat suddenly too dry, cheeks
reddening from the scorching heat that flares up his neck when he hears the
senior's raspy baritone; the lower timbre in the teenager’s voice and his
shameless come on, causes Dean's dick to jerk with interest, but he resists.
“Pahleeze,” he huffs instead, throwing his head back and laughing way too
forced and way too loud to be truly convincing. “Don’t...do not flatter
yourself, kid.” He croaks, voice breaking. “I’m not big on sloppy seconds.” He
counters and grins, knowing he’s hit Castiel where it hurts when the teen
visibly winces.
And it does hurt. A lot. Way more than Castiel thinks it should. But hearing
the man he loves and admires speak those words with such cruel disdain, is like
having the air punched right out of him. He almost staggers, wondering how he
could have misjudged the situation so completely; he’d been so sure Dean wanted
him as well.
He drops his eyes and stares at his hands, fingers digging into the soft flesh
of his palms, denting the skin and leaving behind deep crescents. “I…I’m done.”
He stammers, giving up, eyes still lowered, voice rough with emotion. “I can’t
anymore. You win, Dean.”
Dean?
“It’s Mr. Winchester... slut.” Dean hisses without thinking, spitting the
vicious words out in a low rush of air.
It's more than Castiel can take. The teen’s eyes snap back to Dean’s, not
because he heard the harsh words, but because he actually felt the wave of
irrational rage, like a physical blow, wash over him. “Wha-what?” he asks
unable to hide his shock at Dean’s unwarranted attack, and it pisses him off.
"Why do you…I don’t understand.” He says voice dropping low, his rising anger
making it sound rough and gritty, dangerous; Dean’s baseless aggression towards
him is overwhelming, too confusing, and painful. Castiel has had enough. “Why
do you hate me so much?" He demands to know. "What have I done to warrant
this...abuse? Answer me!" he growls, but his eyes are glassy and his words are
chocked and broken.
The flash of anger in Dean’s eyes dims and the fire in his blood cools, eyes
dropping in shame when he sees the effect his thoughtless remarks have on the
visibly crushed teen. But he recovers quickly, shaking off the momentary insane
hope that his student’s reactions, his anger and pain, might be genuine, that
Castiel could feel anything other than an amused interest in him.
Dean still stubbornly refuses to believe Castiel’s advances could be sincere.
It’s not possible!
Even though Dean doesn’t deny the electrical charge in the air whenever they’re
in the same room, his view on their whole fucked up ‘relationship’, or lack
thereof, has been totally different than Castiel's. Because just as Castiel
suspects, Dean sees the teenager, for lack of a better word, as perfect.
Dean absolutely loves everything about the boy, not that he would ever admit
it, especially to Castiel. From the teenager’s over-confident cockiness, to his
brash smugness, from his stellar intelligence and dry wit, to those few
precious moments of melancholic introspection that Dean catches glimpses of
whenever the teen thinks no one is looking; especially then, when the boy lets
his guard down, does Dean truly appreciate the infinite complexities that make
up that arrogant little prick.
“Look, quit trying to get out of tutoring.” He argues, expertly deflecting
Castiel's outrage as his skewed logic kicks in. Because yeah, that’s totally
why the boy looks so…hurt. “Most of these kids are your friends, remember? Just
suck it up,” Suck it up, really?"And help me, I, I mean, them... help them
out.”
Dean face-palms from the verbal slip, but barrels on. “Just stop with the
crocodile tears, already. Don’t be such a drama queen, geesh. Nobody hates you!
Just help your friggin peers, and then you can go back to your merry
bedfellows.”
Castiel settles back into his seat, shoulders tense, posture ramrod straight.
“Very well.” he replies, voice flat expression blank, he's shutting off, coming
to terms with the fact that Dean Winchester will never look upon him with
kindness, let alone love. And no longer caring to spend anymore ‘alone time’
with his idol, and more than a little desperate to escape this nightmare, adds,
“Will that be all, Mr. Winchester? I’ve got places I need to be.”
No, that’s not fucking all! I’m not done with you, yet! Dean wants to shout.
Please don’t go! Stay with me! Please stay with me! He wants to beg, the words
like bullets ricocheting around his addled brain, loud and deafening. But he
won’t say them out loud, never let Castiel know how truly pathetic and madly in
love he is. So instead, he bites back the words he desperately wishes he had
the courage to confess and utters with an unimpressed snort, “Yeah, get out of
here. I’m done with you too.”
Castiel quickly, and silently, starts gathering his supplies, opening his bag
with surprisingly steady hands, neatly storing his things away and so lost in
his own riotous thoughts that he nearly jumps out of his seat when Dean taps
him on the shoulder, reflexively reaching up and grabbing onto his teacher’s
hand before the older man can pull it away.
They lock eyes then, really stop and look at one another, each taking a moment
to memorize the contours and features of the other’s beloved face. It’s Dean
that finally breaks the silence.
“Ah…sorry, didn’t mean to…” he starts to say, voice low, intimate, tongue
running across his dry lips, resisting the urge to turn away and cover his
reddening face from the teen’s scrutiny. “I was calling you, but you didn’t
hear me. So, ah, here.” He says, shoving a piece of paper at the gaping youth
with his free hand while purposefully keeping his trapped hand under the heavy
weight of Castiel’s tight grip.
“Mmmm…“
“It’s, um, a list of the areas that we need to focus on. For you to…that you
need to focus on. For the kids. The ah, on the things…stuff, they need the most
help on.” Dean sputters, words tumbling out, taken aback by Castiel’s iron like
grip and penetrative stare, unable to think clearly or piece words together,
all of his focus currently on the teenager’s unwavering gaze and the
overwhelming warmth radiating up his arm from their point of contact. He feels
his body heating up, making him downright dizzy, and in a moment of absolute
lunacy, squeezes the teen’s shoulder and leans in closer.
It’s almost comical how wide Castiel’s eyes become from the unexpected act. As
it is, the provocative gesture leaves him practically flailing in shock. “Sh-
sure…” he stutters and gulps. “I’ll study it carefully and set up a schedule.
I-I’ll have it ready for you by tomorrow morning, Dee-, I mean, Mr.
Winchester.”
"Yeah, s'good.” Dean says and smiles, eyes glued to the teen’s, sending another
series of shivers through Castiel’s spine when he squeezes the boy’s softly
muscled shoulder again. “Look, Cas, I mean, Castiel,” he corrects and leans
just a little bit closer, breaking into the boy’s personal bubble. “We, ah,
still have some time left and um, more of the lesson to cover…that you missed,
that is. So, maybe, stay a little while longer, okay. Don’t rush off yet.” he
whispers, tone hushed, as if about to impart a well-guarded secret.
And who knows, maybe he is.
Castiel’s eyes grow impossibly large, so much so Dean fears that if he were to
fall, he’d drown in their bottomless depths. Oh, but what a way to go.
“…Yes.” Castiel sighs replying to Dean's question with a small hopeful smile.
“I mean, no.” he adds almost immediately, expression dreamy and far away.
“No?” Dean’s face drops and his heart clenches. “No…you won’t stay?”
Fucking knew it!
Castiel nods in the affirmative, once, twice. But when Dean bites his lip and
starts to pull away, he shakes his head furiously, eyes clearing, and blurts
out, “Yes! I mean, no!” he seesaws, making no sense whatsoever. “I don’t want
to leave. I mean, I don’t want to risk upsetting Principal Moseley by not
staying and completing today’s lesson plan. Right?” he scrambles to explain,
tightening his hold on Dean’s hand and ever so slowly, dragging it towards his
chest.
“Y-yeah, me neither.” Dean nods, body flooding with relief. “Don’t want to be
on the receiving end of Missouri’s wrath, that’s for sure.” He chuckles softly,
more pleased than he cares to admit over Castiel's reply, and bending
unnecessarily closer, places the hand not currently clutched in Castiel's warm
grasp on top of the teen's desk.
Castiel doesn’t pull away, if anything, he inches up, inclining his body slowly
towards his teacher’s with every intention of meeting him in the middle. He
licks his lips, this time the gesture is unconscious, and with a gentle tug to
Dean’s hand, closes the mile-wide gap that separates him from the man of his
dreams.
Dean’s eyes immediately flick from Castiel’s mouth to his eyes, back to his
mouth, riveted to the boy’s face, moving closer, chasing the teen’s tongue like
a lure, hand still clasped tightly around Castiel’s, face so close to the
boy's, he can feel the moist heat from each exhale.
It’s incredibly dangerous and extremely stupid, but Dean can’t be bothered to
care. No, right now, all he cares about, all he wants, is to close the last few
inches separating their mouths and finally press his lips against Castiel’s, to
kiss and taste the boy, to suck on his watermelon candy-coated tongue, and only
separate when the bothersome need for oxygen becomes necessary.
Castiel’s eyes grow dark, an obvious hunger brewing in their depths after he
inhales the masculine scent of Dean's aftershave, and he whimpers, an almost
silent moan that rumbles through his chest. He sighs and his lips part.
They’re both panting softly, knowing exactly what’s about to happen, faces
close enough now for their noses to brush, thrilling from the anticipation, the
air around them crackles, their bodies screaming finally and just a little
closer, they can almost taste the other from their shared exhales, from their
exchanged sighs, from the building heat, from their...
A very loud and very obnoxious honk from just outside the classroom’s window,
startles them apart.
“Hey, Cassie, haul ass!” someone whistles and yells.
Dean tears free from Castiel’s grasp and grimaces. “You’re boyfriend’s here!”
He snaps and turns towards the noise. He nearly trips trying to reach the
window but once there doesn’t hesitate to lean out and yell angrily, “Shut that
goddamn noise! Your boyfriend will be out in a minute!” douche bag goes unsaid.
“No…that’s not, I mean, you don’t understand. It’s not what you think.” Castiel
rushes to explain, getting up and running to Dean’s side, wrapping his long
fingers around his teacher’s forearm. “Dean, please, that’s-“
Dean wrenches his arm free and rounds on Castiel, the boy stares back, mouth
gaping, brows arced high, his face a mask of sorrow laced with more than a
little fear.
“Don ‘t you fucking touch me…Cassie.” He spits. “Go, get out!” he hisses,
baring his teeth and pointing to the door.
“But, Dean, please, just let me-“
“Hey, what’s the hold up?” the voice from outside wants to know.
Dean steps around Castiel and returns to his desk, sits down and starts
shuffling his papers into a neat stack. “Look, regardless of the little games
you seem to enjoy playing, Mr. Novak,” he says coolly, eyes down. “I still
expect you to live up to our bargain. “ He looks up, expression stern and cold.
“Capiche?”
“I-“
“Don’t make me come in there and get you!” the outside voice singsongs.
“Just…please go.” Dean tells the thoroughly devastated teen and goes back to
his paperwork, not looking up until he hears the classroom door open then
close, the soft click echoing like a sonic boom in the suddenly suffocating
quiet of the large room.
***** Lonely is the Night *****
Chapter Summary
     He's so tired of this – bone deep exhausted over his feelings for
     Castiel and their constant fighting. He wishes like hell he could
     just drop this ridiculous façade, run after the teenager, wrap him in
     his arms, and beg for his forgiveness; show him how truly sorry he is
     with his mouth and hands, kiss his endless apologies into the teen’s
     skin.
Chapter Notes
     Sorry for the short chapter. I wanted to post twice this week, but I
     forgot about the holiday and my plans got all squiffy. Promise to
     update with a hotter, longer ep next week.
     Chapter title's from a great Billy Squire song. Gah, now I'm dating
     myself!
     Hope you enjoy, and please let me know your thoughts. I LOVE LOVE
     LOVE reading your comments!!
The door closes and Dean's shoulders drop, would have sunken to the ground if
he wasn't already sitting when Castiel walked out of his classroom.
"Fuck's wrong with me?" He mutters glumly, slumping further into his seat. It's
like someone took a pair of scissors to his marionette's strings and cut him
loose, savagely snipping his tethers, severing the only connection that was
keeping him upright, leaving him jelly-limbed and boneless, helplessly
collapsing in on himself.
He sits there for a long while after, the tightness in his chest eventually
loosening enough so that his slump becomes more a sag, but he's not sure if
it's in relief or in defeat. He's still so stupidly stunned by what almost
happened. Was about to happen.
“Damn it.” He mumbles dejectedly and drops his head into the cradle of his
arms. He's broken up, torn to pieces over the stricken look on Castiel’s
beautiful face when he threw the boy out. "I fucked up, I fucked up, fucking
fucked up, fuck, fuck..." He laments weakly, sighing the words softly into the
crook of his elbow.
He's so tired of this – bone deep exhausted over his feelings for Castiel and
their constant fighting. He wishes like hell he could just drop this ridiculous
façade, run after the teenager, wrap him in his arms, and beg for his
forgiveness; show him how truly sorry he is with his mouth and hands, kiss his
endless apologies into the teen’s skin.
But he didn't, and he won't.
Dean grit his teeth instead and kept firm. He stubbornly ignored the way
Castiel’s jaw worked around unsaid words and the liquid that flooded his eyes,
grateful as fuck when the teen finally gave up and left after realizing he was
beyond listening, and that any attempts on Castiel's part to be heard, would be
pointless.
But what did the boy expect? Seriously, what?
As it is, Castiel lingered for far too long. And Dean would be lying if he said
it didn’t’ hurt when the teen's boyfriend unexpectedly showed up and whisked
him away. Because it did. Like a motherfucker.
Even now, hours later, Dean's still trying to find a way to chase away the
bitter sting that's still coursing through his body and erase the foul taste
that lingers in his mouth.
“So what’s got your satin-panties all in a bunch?” Charlie asks jokingly,
scooting closer to Dean and punching him lightly on the shoulder to get his
attention. "It's like you're a million miles away."
The petite redhead raced over to his place after a brief conversation, where
all of Dean's responses were in the form of noncommittal grunts, alarmed her
sufficiently to rush over and check in on him.
Now, sitting on Dean’s couch, Charlie’s initial fear that all was not well with
her best-friend is justified, if the somber mood and the beer that he’s nursing
is anything to go by.
“Quit it.” Dean gripes, shooing her away with an impatient wave of his hand.
“I’m fine. Here, let me get you another beer.” he smoothly deflects, reaching
for her empty bottle and bracing himself on the sofa’s edge before getting up.
But Charlie's on to him and doesn’t back away, instead she readjusts her
position and places him in a headlock. “I will when you tell me what’s eating
ya.” She insists, grunting as she clumsily clambers on top of him. “Is it Lisa?
Aaron? Why are you so...out of it?”
Dean barely struggles in her grasp, makes no real effort to shake her off,
doesn’t really register the weight or strain as her tiny body valiantly tries
to overpower his powerful frame. If anything, it's what she said that's left
him floundering for words.
She’s right, he reflects, I am miles away. Or at least hours away.
It's only been a few short hours since he was alone with Castiel. Since he and
the teen argued. Since he and the boy locked horns. Since Dean hovered
predatorily over Castiel and Castiel, always giving as good as he gets, surged
up to meet him, head on, matching Dean’s fire with his own, and they almost…
He shudders over that near miss, because just as he had predicted, the ill-
conceived private lesson with the teenager, a near fatal accident waiting to
happen, ended on a disastrous note. That's not to say that things were going
smoothly between the two throughout the course of their session, but when the
boy’s boyfriend demanded that Castiel leave with him, well then, that’s when
things went from gut wrenching horrible, to outright catastrophic for Dean.
He shudders again, terrified of what might have happened if the teen hadn’t
left when he did. But a small part of him, the part he desperately tries to
keep in check, can't help the wave of disappointment that swept through him
over the ill timed interruption, or the infuriating need to destroy his rival
that accompanied it.
“Ah-ha! Why did you shiver just now?” Charlie asks, immediately picking up on
Dean's uncharacteristic skittishness and demanding to know the cause. "Come on,
fess up, is it Lisa or-"
“What the hell are you even talking about?” Dean finally answers, voice a raspy
croak from her choke-hold. “G’off, s’nothing, can’t breathe!”
She gives him one last tight squeeze then bounces off and away. “Spill!”
"Look, it's nothing like that, okay. And anyway, you know Lisa's dating
Victor."
"Victor? I thought she was dating Gordon?"
"That douche? No! Besides, he's got the hots for Jo."
"Jo? I thought she was with Benny?"
"No, Jo's dating my brother."
"No way! You mean Sam and Jess broke up!"
"Are you nuts?! No, Jo's with Adam. I've got two brothers, remember?"
"Geesh, Winchester," Charlie grumbles, exhaling her own shaky breath. "Give a
girl a break, okay. it's hard as hell to keep up with all of your love-life's.
It's like a freaking episode of Melrose Place, ‘round this bitch."
"Hmpht, careful dude," Dean snorts. "Your age is showing."
Charlie just rolls her eyes at Dean's dig and huffs with feigned annoyance.
"Well, unlike you, Dean, we here in the twenty-first century have a little
something we like to call Netflix. We use it whenever we need to delve into the
past." she retorts cheekily, but then using her most intimidating I'm-not-
kidding-and-I-mean-business voice, says, "And quit trying to change the
subject!"
Dean turns from her fierce glower and rubs at his tender neck, not because he’s
really hurt but because he’s buying time; he needs to think over all of his
options and weigh them closely in order to gauge which excuse will satisfy her
curiosity and hopefully throw her off track.
“None of your beeswax.” He eventually replies, ‘cause it’s been a hell of a
long day, and that’s all he can come up with at that moment. “Chrissakes, you
make it sound like I actually have something to hide.” He counters, meeting her
eyes again and giving her an offended eye-roll of his own.
Charlie eyeballs him a moment longer then throws her hands up in defeat. “Fine,
have it your way.” She cedes, for now, then bounds right back towards him.
“Just don’t come crying to me when whoever you’re messing around with breaks
your heart!” she warns, lips a tight line, brow furrowed, poking a pink
manicured fingernail threateningly against his chest.
Dean reaches for her hand and stills the offending finger, patting the digit
gently to calm her. “Thanks, I think, but, don’t worry about me. Everything’s
peachy.”
“A-hum, sure.” she answers with a tentative nod, not believing one single word.
“Peachy, you say?” she challenges, eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Okay,
Winchester, if you say so...but be careful, for fraks sake." She orders but the
look of genuine concern on her pretty face belies the stern coldness of her
words.
…
“The hell, Cassie? That hurt!” Gabriel yelps, rubbing aggressively over the
blossoming bruise where his baby brother punched him. “Way to be grateful for
the ride.”
Castiel ignores his brother's protests and fixes him with a murderous glare,
fists clenched tightly at his sides. “What were you thinking, Gabriel?" He
hisses angrily. "What you did was very…wrong. My teacher was furious over the
interruption. We were in the middle of a lesson and he-“
“Wait a sec there, bro.” Gabriel interrupts, hand shooting up to halt Castiel's
rant. “What exactly did I interrupt?" He asks shrewdly. "What exactly were you
and your teacher, your much, much older teacher,” he emphasizes. “Doing, that
couldn’t be interrupted?”
Castiel stills at the unexpected question. “Ah…” he starts, at a complete loss
on how to answer. Of course, he knows what not to say. But he’s finding it
exceedingly difficult to answer so simple a question under his older brother’s
narrow eyed scrutiny.
Well, simple on the surface, that is. Because whatever it was he and Dean were
doing, or in this case, not doing, is a mystery even to him. “We were…I mean I
was catching up on some work I missed, of course.” He finally manages, and if
he holds his chin up defiantly and his tone is at all defensive, well, it’s
only because he’s still upset with Gabriel over the whole car honking fiasco.
“Ah-hum.” Gabriel ah-hums, brow cocked in utter disbelief. “So you mean to tell
me that the reason you’re so worked up over getting picked up, late I might
add, is because the two of you were really, like seriously, into your lesson?”
he asks, words laced with more than a touch of skepticism. “That also why you
felt the need to beat my arm black and blue? Because I cut your ‘lesson’
short?” he air quotes, must be a Novak thing. “And not at all because I
interrupted your ‘bonding’ session,” air quoting again. “With your too-hot-for-
his-own-good, teacher, right?” he sums up, knowing he's right when he sees
Castiel's cheeks turn an alarming shade of red.
Castiel opens his mouth to protest, to offer an excuse, any excuse. “Like I
said,” he reiterates, but this time it’s in a small, defeated voice, eyes
staring at the floor, shoulders drooping, much like Dean's were earlier. “We
were…he was going over today’s lesson with me. That’s all we were up to.” He
admits sadly, and it’s mostly true.
Gabriel snorts and Castiel’s head shoots up.
“Cassie, Cassie, Cassie…” Gabriel tsks, striding over to his brother’s side and
resting both arms around the younger boy’s shoulders. “What the hell were you
thinking? Hell, what the hell was he thinking?”
“Gabriel, I don’t know-“
“Don’t even.” Gabriel shushes, reaching up and pinching Castiel’s top and
bottom lip shut with the pads of two fingers, silencing him. “Don’t’ try to
bullshit a bullshiter.”
Castiel pushes him off with an aggravated grunt. “Believe what you want,
because as much as I would love for there to be something between me and that
wonderful man, sadly, there isn’t.” he accidentally confesses, not really sure
what possessed him to divulge so huge a secret to his brother, but feels
unexpected relief flood his system from his shared grief.
Gabriel doesn’t say a word, to Castiel’s astonishment, further compounding it
when instead of berating Castiel for his utter lack of good judgment, engulfs
him in a heartfelt embrace.
“Gabe?” Castiel asks after an awkward moment of not knowing whether or not to
return his brother’s embrace, but then he finally relents and returns it
enthusiastically. “How did you know?”
Gabriel loosens his hold and steps back, but only after he feels Castiel’s
shoulder relax. “I've always known. Well, maybe not always, but definitely
since you started going on and on about how you were going to marry him when
you were old enough. You were what, five?"
"Try ten, Gabe. And I never claimed I wanted to marry him.” Not out loud,
anyway.
"Heh, me thinks thou doth protest too much, Cassie, but whatevs. Point is, I've
known about your epic crush on the very epic Dr. Winchester-”
“And don’t refer to him as doctor. Dean says it makes him feel-“
“Dear God you're whipped!” Gabriel grimaces, cutting his brother off sharply
and throwing his arms up imploringly. But when he sees there’s no guidance
coming from the heavens, heaves a huge dramatic sigh, and continues. “Anyhoo,
like I was saying, before you so rudely interrupted me, I've known about your
feelings since the first time you mentioned him.” he says again, placing both
hands, palms open, on the teen’s shoulders, and gazing at him steadily with his
kind amber eyes.
“>_<”
“Hey, come on. Look, none of that, okay.” Gabriel chastises, face
uncharacteristically serious, but his tone is soft, free of judgment or
condemnation. “It’s okay, honest. Well…” he pauses and looks up, taking a
moment to consider the truth of that claim. “Maybe not so much in the eyes of
the law. Or mom and dad. Or society. Your school. Or your other boyfriends.
Probably not so great for your teacher’s boyfriends, either. Heh,” he laughs
wryly. “Actually, pretty much nobody else is gonna be on board with your
illicit affair. But I’m okay with it. So…” he shrugs.
Castiel groans inwardly, already painfully aware of every obstacle his brother
helpfully pointed out. He's also contemplated, quite thoroughly in fact, what
the ramifications would be if he and Dean were found out. If there was anything
to find out, that is. Which at the moment, there isn’t; a fact that has driven
the teen to resort to some rather drastic measures. But at this point, and
especially after their unfortunately interrupted private lesson, Castiel is
convinced of Dean’s very real interest in him and is willing to do anything and
everything, to get his man.
And he will.
In fact, almost immediately after their disastrous lesson ended, the teen
started formulating his new plan of attack. ‘Operation-Reverse Psychology’, he
coined it, and he's more than ready, if downright impatient, to put it into
affect the second he comes face to face again with its intended target.
But for now, in the accepting presence of his well-meaning, but troublesome
brother, Castiel pushes aside all possible and probable repercussions, and
smiles. “Gabe, I…thank you.” he says, and means it, grateful, from the bottom
of his heart, to have Gabriel in his corner.
“No problemo, little bro. Besides, you’ll be legal by Christmas and as long as
this dude makes you happy, and does right by you, then, I’m happy too. But just
FYI,” he adds, tone hardening. “All kidding aside, if he hurts you…I hurt him.”
he warns, then shaking off the sudden tension in the air, smirks and waggles
his eyebrows. “Now, tell me, is that hunk of a man, cut or uncut?”
…
Dean wakes the following morning feeling, well...like shit. But also with a new
found sense of purpose; he's going to terminate, once and for all, his
unhealthy feelings for Castiel.
It's a scheme he came up with when he realized, after hours of tossing and
turning, that he needed to figure out a way around this particular clusterfuck,
or sleep would forever be out of reach.
When he next sees Castiel, Dean will act as if nothing happened – or was about
to happen, or will ever happen – between him and the teen. He will go about
business as usual. Get back to his regularly scheduled routines. Go out with
his friends. Catch up with his brothers. Heck, even hit a bar or two, turn on
that old Winchester charm and score a hot piece of ass to warm his bed, instead
of relying solely on his out of control fantasies.
With this plan, Dean hopes to move past his ridiculous crush on Castiel and
push all thoughts and feelings for the teenager aside, store them in the
deepest, darkest depths of his psyche, so far inside, even he will be immune to
their influence. Fingers crossed!
He takes a deep breath, stretches out his long limbs while still under the
covers and reflects solemnly on the reasons surrounding his decision. "It'll
have to do." He mutters in the silent room, because the alternative, a fantasy
fueled fake reality, is unacceptable. And that’s exactly what an affair with
the beguiling teen would be, an unreal, untrue, impossible, living dream.
"Jesus, kid, what the hell have you done to me?" Dean asks the empty room,
rubbing roughly at his dry, irritated, sleep deprived eyes, then reaches to his
side, grabs a pillow, and pulls it tightly against his chest.
"Cas..." he sighs sadly into the plush give of his pillow, and closes his eyes.
Now, instead of a pillow, it's the boy's lean limbed body he's holding, the
teenager's fragrant neck he's inhaling, Castiel's smooth skinned back he's
reverently running his hands over, and the boy’s taut warm belly his morning
wood rubs against.
"Not again...” he sighs ruefully, powerless to stop his hand from dipping under
the waistband of his boxers and his fingers from wrapping around his dick.
"Fuck it," he concedes, because what's one last time, anyway. One last hurrah,
one more precious session where he allows himself to indulge in what he most
desires, what he most wants and needs, to be with Castiel.
He gives himself over to this final-fantasy, eyes sealing shut, legs falling
open, breath coming out in short shallow gasps. "Mmmm...yeah..." He moans,
luxuriating in the glorious riot of pleasure that races up his spine.
"...Castiel," he sighs, loving the feel of the boy's full name as it rolls off
his tongue.
And with his length firmly in hand, Dean jerks off to the erotic-as-fuck image
of his dick slipping deliciously into Castiel’s tight heat.
...
Castiel wakes the following morning feeling much the same way as Dean…like
shit. But also, with something very close to hope. And that feeling buoys his
spirit.
Today's the day, he thinks and smiles.
The day he's putting his new plan of attack into effect, and his confidence is
riding high. And even though his chest is stuffed full of butterflies beating
frantically to get out – because it's all or nothing from here on out – today
is the day he will finally make Dean his.
And nothing, not his reputation (the teen is well aware of the fact that
everyone knows he's been ‘around’) or his past partners, of which there have
been numerous. Or even Dean, whose main objection to a romantic relationship
with Castiel is not because he truly believes the teen to be a ‘slut’ or that
he’s ‘tainted-goods’, let alone ‘sloppy-seconds’, as Dean so cruelly pointed
out the previous afternoon, but because he knows perfectly well that the
promiscuous teenager can have anyone, literally. But these trivialities are all
moot. Because from here on out, nothing will stand in Castiel’s way.
There is one more thing, however, one minor itsy-bitsy detail Castiel
purposefully neglected to broadcast. A revelation he's kept to himself until
certain of Dean’s future role in his life. And what is this huge mystery that
surrounds the teen? It's quite simply the fact that Castiel, for all intents
and purposes, is still a virgin.
That’s not to imply that Castiel is a saint - he's far, far from it - because
he does have a great deal of sexual ‘experience’ under his belt, especially for
someone so young. For one thing, he’s had plenty of oral sex, both on the
giving and receiving end. There’s also been a great deal of fondling and
groping, tons of making out, but no one, ever, has fucked him, or, been fucked
by him.
No, Castiel can honestly say he’s never dipped his dick into anybody else’s
hole, boy or girl. Although he’s had plenty of opportunities, hundreds, really.
And yet he’s turned them all down, every last single one, for Dean.
He vowed years ago to wait for his ideal, and he has. Because when he loses his
virginity, it’s not going to be to some random fuck. No, when he does, It's
going to be for love. And after today, if all goes as he hopes, his wait will
finally be over. 
This very uplifting thought leaves him giddy, soaring sky-high on his euphoria.
He stretches in bed, raising his arms over his head and yawns. "Mmm...Dean..."
He sighs happily, voice gruff and sleep slurred, then drops his arms and rubs
tiredly at his eyes. He turns on his side and checks the time on his
nightstand. "Plenty of time." He smiles knowingly, then reaches under the
sheets and shrugs out of his sweat pants.
The cool pocket of air created by jostling out of his clothes sends a jolt of
pleasure throughout his sleep-warmed skin, and the feather light touch of the
soft, soft sheets brushing over his morning wood intensifies his need for
release even more, and it makes him groan, makes him gasp, makes his breath
come out faster.
He caresses his thighs with the tips of his fingers, fleeting skittering
touches that leave his groin tingling with anticipation and his flesh, goose
bumped. He draws his knees up and spreads them wide. “…Dean-" he huffs
longingly, head pressed flat against his pillows, eyes closed, using one hand
to forcibly shove the sheets past his knees and the other to take a firm hold
of his stiff cock, giving it a few slow pulls until it’s iron hard and the tip
is pooling with his building excitement.
“D-Dean –“ he stammers, breath hitching, and fuck, I'm already so close.
“Umpht…” he moans, using his thumb to rub tantalizing little circles around the
slicked head of his dick. He sucks in his bottom lip and begins thrusting
slowly into his fist, cups his balls with his free hand and gently massages
them, groaning from the building pleasure, from the velvet weight between his
fingers, from the very real possibility that after today, Dean will be his
partner the next time he whips his dick out.
His arousal spikes and his pace quickens.
His hand’s a blur of movement as he jerks off to images of Dean fucking him: of
Dean pounding his ass with a relentless urgency, of Dean’s fingers sliding
smoothly from his balls to his hole and the insistent pressure against his
entrance, prodding and poking until his finger pushes past the tight
resistance. Dean breaches Castiel, entering his body with one finger then
hastily adding a second, but it’s too soon and it burns. Castiel’s back arcs
and his hips press down, pushing Dean’s fingers deeper, he grunts from the
stretch and pull, clenching his jaw shut, lips curling back and baring his
teeth, feeling fucking amazing.
Castiel gasps, chocking on a mixture of curses, endearments, and Dean, Dean,
Dean – hips bouncing faster as he drives himself deeper and harder onto his
lover’s fingers. But the penetration’s not enough and he adds a third finger,
and oh yeah, fuck, just like that, he purrs encouragingly to his lover, but
when dream-Dean passionately whispers his imaginary reply into Castiel’s neck,
the boy shatters and cums.
“Mm…me…too, D-Dean….” He answers back. “Always… always, love you-“ he pants,
heart racing as his hips slow their frantic rhythm. “So much.” He swears, not
loosening his grip until his dick is emptied.
“Jesus, Dean, what in the name of God have you done to me.” he gasps out loud,
pushing his sweaty bangs off his forehead with a shaky hand. And fuck, if
that’s what having sex with a fantasy feels like,Castiel marvels, then I'm glad
I've saved himself for the real thing.
"Soon Dean, soon..." he vows, stumbling weak-kneed towards the bathroom. "Soon
I'll see if the real thing is as great as my imagination."
And he's willing to bet anything that Dean is.
 
 
***** Take Me I'm Yours *****
Chapter Summary
     “Yes, I can see that.” Castiel observes with obvious sarcasm, it’s a
     verbal slip and contrary to his plan, but he manages to keep the acid
     bite of his words from seeping into his tone and his remark succeeds
     in coming off as polite rather than bitchy. “Obviously your concern
     over my virtue is strictly professional, and not because you might be
     jealous over my past behavior or harbor any legitimate feelings
     towards me.” His expression remains blank but his words are
     undeniably clipped, terse. He plows on regardless, eager to tick off
     his own list of charges against Dean and his self-righteous bullshit.
Chapter Notes
     A bit more Dean/Cas pesky bickering to get out of the way. These two
     love to argue!
     Chapt title from an amazing Squeeze song. Check it out, it says it
     all!
     Thanks again for the kudos, reading and commenting!! You're all so
     wonderful!
“Novak.”
“…”
Fuck, not again. “Mr. No-“
“Here.”
Dean’s eyes shoot up when he hears the telltale deep monotone of Castiel’s
voice and immediately scans the back of the room for the source. He spots
Castiel looking right back at him and notes with building dread, the boy’s
steady and unblinking gaze focused squarely on him.
"Nice of you to join us." He greets Castiel civilly, because he's choosing to
be the bigger person here and act, well...civilly.
He’s going for mature, composed, and totally in control, 'cause it’s not like
he even has to try, right? It’s not like his heart seizes up the moment he
catches Castiel’s eye. Or, he has to scramble for air when it starts up again,
beating so fucking hard and so fucking fast Dean actually worries it might
gallop right out of his aching chest and expose his pathetic crush on the teen
for all his class to see. Right?
So yeah, Dean's gonna play it real cool and calm, all chill and relaxed and
frosty like, because he’s totally got this.
"Take off your jacket and stay awhile." He adds with a cursory nod and a pained
smile, feeling like a total dork and wishing like hell that the floor would
just open up so he could dive in, head first, and put an end to his pathetic
existence.
“…”
“Just friggin awesome.” he sighs to himself and goes back to the attendance
sheet.
Unfortunately, thirty-five minutes later, he’s once again forced to address
Castiel.
“Okay, stop your whining.” He yells over his student’s grumbling, trying to
shush the outbreak of protests from all corners. “If you don’t learn these, you
will all fail the final. I guarantee it.” he warns, referring to a specific
group of equations they all need to know backwards and forwards if they hope to
pass to the next level. “Now, Mr. Novak, here,” he announces, gesturing to the
teenager with a tilt of his head. “Has kindly offered to take time out of his
very busy social calendar and tutor any one of you that would like the extra
help. So-“
Another outbreak of voices cut him off, this time accompanied with a smattering
of hoots, fierce clapping, loud whistling, and more than a few shouts of hells-
yeah.
Dean looks around his classroom, brow creased and lips pursed, fingertips
rubbing at his aching temples, silently cursing himself for yet another
miscalculation. Fuck, does everyfuckingbody want a piece of this kid? He
wonders, but before he can put an end to his students' increasingly
inappropriate comments, Castiel speaks up.
“I’ll be available from seven pm till, well, till…whenever, during the week,
and from four pm till, again, whenever, Saturday and Sunday.” He informs them;
face still blank, tone still indifferent. “Sign up, if you’re interested.” He
adds, pulling out a blank sheet of paper and placing it on his desk.
This time, to Dean’s great dismay, the classroom’s reaction is even more
sexually explicit.
Oh, fuck no.
“Ah…no. That won’t be necessary Mr. Novak.” Dean protests, yelling over the din
of scraping chairs and clamoring voices as most of the girls, and more than a
few of the boys, race to sign the teen’s tutoring-form. “Everybody, back to
your seat! Hey, I said now!”
The class eventually settles back down, no thanks to Castiel and his
infuriatingly indifferent attitude to everything and everyone around him, a
nonchalant air that only serves to make the teen even more irresistible to his
classmates.
“Well, I’ll just pin this up, then.” he announces coolly and steps away from
his desk. He walks casually over to the cork-board and pins the blank piece of
paper smack dab in the middle of Dean’s announcements, lingering there longer
than necessary so that every person already actively ogling him, gets a clear
view of his magnificent ass.
“Ahhh…oomm...” Dean moan-whimpers, unable to stifle the pleading little sounds
that bubble up his throat from such a tempting sight. “Okay then, thank you.”
he eventually manages, throwing in a tight smile and even tighter nod to
disguise his discomfort. But then quickly turns back to his blackboard when all
he gets in return from Castiel is an unimpressed stare.
…
It’s half an hour later and the end of class, and just as the bell rings, Dean
dares to look up again.
“Okay, tomorrow we’re tackling differentials and their applications to-” he
hollers over the shrill ringing, only to be cut short, again, by an even louder
chorus of boos and groans from his students as they gather up their supplies.
“Look, it’ll be a piece of cake,” he assures them, scanning the room to make
eye contact with the more vocal complainers. “Especially if you go over the
math examples in chapters seven to thirteen. So…” he adds with excitement he
doesn’t feel. “Make sure you understand the concept, because you never know
when there might be a pop quiz, or two, on them.” he warns and steps around his
desk, eyes glued to the room’s exit and zeroing in on one student’s movements
in particular.
“Ah, Mr. Novak, a word, please.” He calls out, trying to get Castiel’s
attention before he flies out the door.
Castiel freezes the instant he hears Dean say his name. He stops just inside
the door, book bag slung over his shoulder, one hand gripping the strap, the
other holding the elbow of a pretty brunette. Meg Masters. He turns towards his
teacher and they lock eyes, and without breaking eye contact, Castiel leans
towards the girl and whispers something in her ear.
“Okay, but you owe me, angel.” She drawls, not bothering to keep her voice
down. “See you later, baby.” She says and standing on her toes, presses a loud
kiss on the boy’s cheek. She walks to the door, throws Dean an all-knowing
smirk and yells, “Don’t keep Cassie out too late again, teach!”
Dean scowls at the pair, irritated by their shared intimacy and the girl’s
effrontery, because who the fuck gave her the right to touch, let alone kiss,
his boy!
Fuck! Not my boy! Dean reminds himself, cursing his wretched desire-fueled
reflexes.
“On your way, Meg.” Dean tells her, scowl turning into an outright glower when
she blows a kiss his way and cackles.
God, I really dislike that girl.
“Mr. Novak.” Dean calls again when it’s finally just the two of them.
“Castiel?” he tries a third time when the teen still hasn’t budged from his
spot by the door. “In my office, please.” He says when Castiel starts to move.
Dean turns on his heel and heads to his private office; the small intimate
space is more like a suite when compared to his coworker’s shoebox sized rooms.
But they don’t begrudge him, Dean’s earned his loftier status.
After all, his rise to the top started at a very young age. Not only did he
work his ass off doing three, sometimes as many as four jobs at a time to put
himself through school, but his younger brothers as well. Dean worked night and
day, for years, putting in long hours in his various classes, taking every
available shift at his assorted jobs, interning for his professors, delving
passionately into his chosen profession until inevitably becoming his field’s
leading expert. And as a result, Dean’s course at the school consistently
produces the nation’s most gifted college bound engineer-oriented students.
This fact also helped boost his school’s ranking to a top tier institution,
with only the most qualified teen’s accepted for enrollment.
As far as Castiel is concerned, these simple and irrefutable truths are yet
more reasons to admire, laud, and love Dean Winchester,
Dean reaches his office and walks in, stopping just in front of his desk. When
he turns and sees Castiel standing in the open doorway, he crooks his finger
and motions for him to enter. "Oh, and close the door behind you…please.”
With an exaggerated put-upon exhale, Castiel shrugs and walks in, clicking the
door shut once he’s inside. He makes his way towards his teacher, but stops
several feet short from where Dean’s leaning against his desk. “Yes, Mr.
Winchester?”
Dean immediately notices the change in the teen’s demeanor. Castiel's usually
assertive – bordering on aggressive – and presumptuous behavior, is now
standoffish and disinterested, as if he’s bored by Dean’s mere existence.
Dean snorts and shakes his head. Well, this is what I wanted, he grudgingly
admits, swallowing back the bitter taste of regret that suddenly fills his
mouth and mentally kicking himself over his stupid pride. “Look, about the
tutoring, I think it’s safe to say that not everyone who signed-up has
honorable intentions towards you. I mean, I know for a fact that the majority
of them are doing perfectly well.” he points out, gesturing to the sign-up
sheet he grabbed from their classroom’s cork board, and more than a little
astonished by its content.
“But I guess the opportunity to have, um, one-on-one time with you is too much
to pass up.” he comments in regards to the rows and rows of student’s names
covering it from margin to margin, some with hastily scribbled phone numbers
and smiley-faces. But many, he notes, with a disturbing amount of sexual
innuendos and pleas for Castiel’s attention.
“Hmph.” The boy hums in consideration and nods, expression closed off, still
not giving anything away.
Dean rubs the back of his neck and shrugs apologetically, this time berating
himself for even suggesting the idea. “Yeah, guess it’s kinda my fault really,
putting you in this position, at their mercy, I mean. Heh, dream-come-true for
them, but, ah, I’m guessing not so much for you or your boyfriend, huh?” He
chuckles awkwardly, trying to lighten the suffocating mood currently
circulating around them; it’s like a tempest, thick and heavy weighing the air
down and stifling the flow of oxygen, making it difficult to breathe. For Dean,
at least.
“Like I said earlier, it’s not a problem. I have no prior commitments.” Castiel
explains with a shrug. “And besides, you’re the one that reminded me that your
students are also my friends and that I should take on a more active role in
their education, and that I should-“
“What? No, I didn’t…” Dean objects, holding his hand up to stop Castiel mid
sentence.”I mean…I only wanted you to, I don’t know, do more with your free
time than to go out and…I don’t know. Look,” he offers feebly, trying to
clarify his intentions without completely giving himself away or going back on
his resolution. “I just figured that maybe if you had a goal, something more
challenging to look forward to, then you wouldn’t feel the need to…pursue, um,
unhealthy distractions.” Like older men. “Or go out so much.” And screw around
with every Tom, Dick, or Balthazar.
Castiel lowers his head and sighs heavily. “I really don’t see how that’s any
of your concern, Mr. Winchester.” He replies stiffly.
Well I do! Dean wants to yell, but doesn’t. Instead, he takes a cautious step
towards the teen, keeping in mind his earlier pledge to ignore any-and-all of
his carnal impulses towards the youth. Because I’m gonna be cool here, no more
crushing on my underage student, goddammit. I’m acting here on his behalf, for
his benefit. I’m totally looking out for him. This has nothing to do with my
own desires!
Yeah, that’s totally it.
So pushing past his blinding jealousy, Dean tries for nonchalance, but fails
miserably with what he says next. “Well, it does concern me. I’m not too crazy
with the idea of one of my students being cooped up with a bunch of degenerate
teens all aiming to take a chunk outta you the moment they get you alone, Cas!”
he all but shouts, railing angrily at the teenager, tone indignant, words full
of outrage.
Sonofabitch! Dean winces. ‘Cause yeah, way to be smooth.That little outburst
didn’t make me come off like I’m an out of control possessive douche, at all!
Castiel smirks inwardly, secretly pleased, insides jittery with excitement
because, yes, his ploy to get Dean Winchester to breakdown and acknowledge his
true feelings for him is working out brilliantly. He lets Dean stew in the
lava-flow of his emotions for a moment longer before moving ahead with his
plan. Castiel knows they’re at a crucial turning point in their cat-and-mouse
game, and that the outcome depends entirely on how he handles Dean’s reactions
to the following provocations.
“Obviously, I’ve made you…uncomfortable. Again.” he replies, expression poker-
face serious. “Please don’t waste your time worrying about me, I’m fully
capable of handling even the handsiest of admirers.” He assures Dean, choosing
his words carefully. He takes a step forward and stands almost, but not quite,
in Dean’s personal space, eyes intense and unblinking, mouth soft, and with his
relaxed posture and the low slope of his shoulders, the teen projects complete
confidence in all that he’s saying.
For Dean, simply being in the teenager’s presence roots him to the spot, the
boy mesmerizes him, enchants him, leaves him speechless, only capable of
humming stupidly in reply.
“And, from here on out,” Castiel continues after a heavy silence, tone still
neutral, body still exuding effortless calm. “I will limit my time with you to
only the classroom, and cease…pursuing you, especially after you made it so
painfully clear what a low opinion you have of me.” he states matter-of-fact,
strategically throwing back Dean’s earlier slur, heightening the impact with a
half smile, just the slightest curl of his lips. “I apologize for any
discomfort and will…leave you alone.” He promises, but nevertheless takes
another small step towards Dean, ever mindful to remain frustratingly out of
arms reach.
Dean sways where he stands, thoroughly under Castiel’s spell, like a cobra held
in place by the snake charmer’s hypnotic trance. “What, no!” he objects
sluggishly, shaking his head slowly from side to side. “I don’t, I mean, I
didn’t want you to…what do you mean ‘leave me alone?’”
“Leave you alone. Not bother you anymore. Stay out of your way. Out of your
line of sight.” The teenager clicks off, replying in an infuriating
conversational tone, yet inches nearer, taking an almost imperceptible step
closer to his victim. “It’s what you want, isn’t it?” he asks, tilting his head
minutely to the side. “That I stay away.” he clarifies in a low husky whisper,
looking up coyly through the thick fan of his lashes.
Castiel is standing tantalizingly close now, just within range, all Dean has to
do is reach out with his arms and pull the boy towards him.
“I never, I mean, yeah the way you sometimes, I don’t know, make fun of me,
gets under my skin.” Dean stammers, searching for the right words, thrown off
kilter by the boy’s unexpected and softly delivered accusations. “But, you
know, as long as you don’t shove your boyfriends in my face, it’s kinda rude,
and I guess I don’t really like it.” he prattles on, voice shaky-as-shit,
wondering where the hell his resolve to stay firm and resist the irresistible
teen could have evaporated to. But he plods on, hoping his mindless rambling
will keep his unintelligible answer just this side of vague and unclear enough
to get through the rest of this awkward-as-fuck conversation and escape
Castiel’s penetrating-as-fuck stare.
The teen just regards him with an impassive detachment, arms folded, finger
tapping an impatient beat on his elbow. “Hmph, yes, I see. Yesterday’s
interruption was rather unfortunate. But, you never let me explain, did you?
You just blew up and…dismissed me. Will you let me explain now?” he asks, the
question comes out soft and confidential, made even more intimate when he
punctuates it with a seductive sigh.
“Yesss...” Dean sighs back, hopeless under the teen’s power, and by this point
so far gone, he’s willing to agree to anything and everything Castiel suggests.
A small smile alights on the teen’s face, relieved that finally Dean will hear
him out. “Dean,” he starts, tone firm but non-threatening. “The man that
dropped me off yesterday, and then picked me up afterwards, is Gabriel, my
brother. My brother.” He reiterates, moving one-step closer to the slack-jawed
man.
“I’m sure you’re well aware of my feelings for you. I’ve never made them a
secret.” He reminds Dean, voice dropping lower, the timbre dipping deeper,
slinking nearer, eyes narrowing as he stresses this fact. “That I’ve only ever
wanted you is common knowledge. And you have to believe me when I tell you that
nothing, absolutely nothing too serious, has ever happened between me any of
the others.” He helpfully adds, hoping this tiny detail will cushion the impact
of his past indiscretions.
Dean hears Castiel’s words clearly but he’s having trouble wrapping his mind
around their meaning. He’s in a lust-filled daze, attention rapt to Castiel's
every move as the teen draws closer, all of his focus currently revolving
around the growing bulge in his pants and the urgent need to grab the teen and
rub up against him. But when the teenager’s explanation finally sinks in, its
clear-cut implications snap him out of his stupor.
“Hold on!” He says sharply, rounding on the teen, love-struck-gaze evaporating
and gone as if never there in the first place, quickly replaced with his usual
grim and unforgiving expression. “That’s just it, Cas.” He snaps. “Others?
Really? You mean to tell me ‘nothing too serious’ ever happened between you and
any of them?” he argues, punctuating his disbelief with air-quotes and feeling
ridiculous for even making the overly dramatic gesture, but he’s so swept up in
the moment, he’s unable to help himself.
“Seriously like, what the hell does that even mean?” he prods. “Or should I
ask, oh let’s see-” he wonders aloud, head tipping back, gaze drifting to the
ceiling, fingertips stroking his chin as if in deep thought. “Oh yeah, that’s
right!” he cries triumphantly, fingers snapping as the metaphorical light bulb
goes on in his head. “How about we check with that douche, Balthazar? Or get
Meg’s thoughts on your love-life?” He’s yelling now, incensed, spitting out the
accusations with full on anger defining his words. “Remember Ion? Hanna ring a
bell? Bartholomew, maybe?”
The list of names goes on and on, a damning collection of lovers that Dean’s
had the misfortune, during the course of six months, to have noticed. And it
would be funny if Dean wasn’t so consumed by it, but as it is, he’s counted
each and every person Castiel has ‘dated’ since the boy first joined their
school. And it infuriates him, makes it so he can’t stop his body from stepping
closer, or his arm from rising and reaching out, fingers spreading, body
buzzing with the need to hold Castiel, to grab and take him, erase from the
boy’s body the touch of all others.
And then what? Replace it with my own touch? Brand him with my own marks? The
sobering thought stops Dean dead in his tracks, and recalling his earlier vow
to resist his insane attraction to the boy, drops his arm and balls his fist.
He inhales deeply and counts to ten. “I mean, not that I care.” He lies -
recovering some of his equilibrium – it’s an unconvincing and pathetic attempt
to save face, because bottom line, Dean’s still determined to preserve his
dignity. I still have pride, damn it! He stubbornly insists, even though a part
of him recognizes it for the delusion it really is.
“Yes, I can see that.” Castiel observes with obvious sarcasm, it’s a verbal
slip and contrary to his plan, but he manages to keep the acid bite of his
words from seeping into his tone and his remark succeeds in coming off as
polite rather than bitchy. “Obviously your concern over my virtue is strictly
professional, and not because you might be jealous over my past behavior or
harbor any legitimate feelings towards me.” His expression remains blank but
his words are undeniably clipped, terse. He plows on regardless, eager to tick
off his own list of charges against Dean and his self-righteous bullshit.
Dean feels himself flush, nervous with the direction Castiel is taking their
discussion. “I…feelings?” he stutters, grappling to understand before the teen
can go any further.
“Yes, feelings, Mr. Winchester, surely you remember what those are.” Castiel
asserts, gasping in mock surprise when Dean only looks on with a baffled and
stunned gape. “No?” he answers sharply, barreling on before Dean’s brain can
register the dangerous turn in their conversation. “Well then, let me clarify
it for you. Have you, Mr. Winchester, ever entertained romantic feelings
towards me?”
Dean helplessly fish-mouths at the unexpected question and struggles to answer,
but finds it exceedingly difficult to speak when his mouth dries up and his
throat constricts from the unsettling blow. So he just stares, too numb, and
frankly too taken aback to do much else, knowing full well that whatever excuse
or explanation he dreams up, will only end up sounding too much like the lie it
truly is.
But Castiel isn’t fooled or discouraged by Dean’s silence. “Perhaps you’ve
suppressed a secret fondness for me, or a deep rooted affection?” He hedges,
leaning dangerously close now, dipping his head down and biting his lower lip,
reddening and plumping it prettily. “Have you ever had lustful thoughts
about...us? Together? Or fantasized about things you would like to explore?
With me?”
The rest of Castiels’s unsettling inquiry tapers off into an uncomfortable
silence, and for a long stretched out moment neither man says anything more.
That is until Castiel (eye still firmly fixed on his prize) chastises himself
for the provocative teasing and deduces from Dean’s silence that the prudent
thing for him to do next would be to harness his assault and proceed at a
calmer, more lucid pace.
“Well, Mr. Winchester? Do you feel anything for me? Anything?” Castiel asks
again, the angry tone in his voice surprises even him. “Or are your affections
solely reserved for…Ms. Braedon?” Damn it! he winces, that wasn’t at all what
he was planning on saying, or how he intended to sound. No, not at all.
He meant to revert to his stoic persona, shutter his eyes, and steer them
towards the finish line. But instead, derails all of his hard wrought work with
this ill-timed outburst. And he knows it. Knows it’s too late to take his words
back. He’s utterly exposed himself, and now, with a multitude of cracks marring
his neutral and composed façade, his only alternative is to beg Dean to
understand and admit his own feelings about him.
“It’s true, though, isn’t it?” Castiel insists. “I mean, I may have gone out on
a few dates, but after I met you, I never…well, did much more than just, you
know, PG-Rated stuff. And anyway,” he goes on, now with a defensive note to his
words. “I only started dating again after I saw you with her, and maybe got a
little jealous and perhaps made some stupid decisions.” He confesses, eyes
dropping in embarrassment over his pettiness.
Dean squints in confusion and frowns, shuffling his feet as he mulls over what
Castiel just said. It's the boy’s jealousy that's throwing him off, it’s
completely unexpected and something he never would have predicted. “Lisa? Hmph,
yeah, nothing happening there,” he mutters mostly to himself, but then in an
uncommonly kind gesture clarifies this simple truth for his distressed
student’s benefit. "Just so you know, she and I…we’re just friends.” he states
this clearly and without hesitation, quirking a brow and chuckling softly at
the absurdity of it.
“But you two are always together. You share lunch every day.” Castiel counters.
“And then I saw her get into your car a few months back and then yesterday you
said you had a date with her and that you were eager to get to it-” he rambles
on, eyes growing wide as he tries to grasp the truth behind Dean’s words.
Dean drops his head and clasps his hands, shoulders shaking with muffled
laughter. But when he looks back up, he instantly sobers. It’s Castiel’s eyes.
The wide blue orbs shining fierce and liquid and so full of…is that hope, that
Dean instantly weakens, and his resolve, tenuous at best, wavers, leaving him
scrambling for the self-control he feels unraveling all around him.
He bites back his snarky comeback, sucks in a deep breath and contemplates, not
for the first time, throwing caution to the wind and following through with his
carnal desires.
“Look,” he starts then stops, exhaling sharply through his nose, stomping down
what he was dangerously close to doing. What he’s been dying to do. But he
doesn’t. Instead, he decides to take a moment to steel himself for what he
knows is the right thing to do. That he must do. Because even though Dean’s
entire body – heck, his whole fucking being – is screaming at him to give in
and take what he wants, he refuses, determined to never surrender to the teen,
or succumb to his own depravity.
But a man can only hold out for so long.
“Well, actually, Lisa and me,” he begins. “We’re ah…we’re only friends…now. And
yeah, we hang out sometimes during and after work. But, ah…and yesterday what I
said, I, um, might have said that because I was maybe also a little bit upset
that you always had someone waiting for you.” he admits, face heating up from
the confession, unconsciously taking one more bold step towards the boy. “I
wasn’t too crazy thinking about you with anybody else either…Castiel.”
“W-why?” Castiel asks, the word slipping silently from his parted lips, eyes
wide and expectant.
“Why?” Dean fires back, eyes narrowing as his brows knit together over the
teen’s ridiculous question. Especially when the answer is so fucking obvious.
“Because I do have feelings for you, goddamnit! Fuck!”
Dean can’t believe the words coming out of his mouth, the raw honesty, the
fucking frankness – and he likes it – speaking his mind, spilling his guts,
it’s fucking liberating. And that right there, paired with the brightening of
the teenager’s features, the way Castiel's posture visibly eases, as if the
colossal weight of his uncertainty has magically lifted, motivates Dean to
press on and no longer hold back.
“That clear things up for you, any? Now do you get why I can’t fucking stand
seeing you with anybody else? Because I don’t. Not one little bit, man. And
I…just, can’t anymore, okay? I didn’t like the fact that some other guy or
girl…men, Cas, fucking adults, actually got to touch you!” he growls, voice
rising, nostrils flaring, chest heaving, incensed, losing his temper when
images of the teen being fondled by hands that aren’t his, flash through his
fevered mind.
And dammit he didn’t want to lose control like this, but he's dangerously close
to his breaking point, feels it in his simmering blood and his churning gut,
and he needs to do…something.
Castiel sucks in a sharp breath and braces himself, fearing his knees might
give out any second after witnessing Dean’s shocking outburst, his glorious
admission. But eventually manages to steady himself enough to present as cool a
front as he can manage given the dramatic circumstances. But he can’t help the
tremor in his voice or the slight trembling of his hands as he watches Dean, in
slack-jawed fascination, tear down the barriers that separate them, thrilled
beyond measure as the walls come crumbling down until it’s finally just the two
of them left to sift through the rubble.
Yes, we’re finally getting somewhere, he thinks, but he holds his ground, heart
beating a frantic rhythm in his chest as Dean unravels with jealousy over him.
It’s all Castiel can do to keep from throwing himself at the older man and
declaring his undying love and devotion.
But Castiel’s no fool, he realizes that his own loss of control is what
hastened Dean’s revelation, and that now, more than ever, he needs to keep a
clear head. After all, he’s going for broke here and in no way going to
unwittingly do anything that will jeopardize ‘Operation-Reverse-Psychology’ by
prematurely declaring it a victory.
Therefore, after witnessing Dean’s very animated freak-out over his past
relationships, the teenager wisely decides to alter his strategy; from this
point on, he will not rein in his emotions or suppress them. No, from now on he
will bare all, every honest-to-god feeling he has for his teacher, put them all
out there for Dean to study, dissect, crush or embrace.
“I’m sorry.” Castiel apologizes, eyes downcast, sucking on that damned bottom
lip. “About…everything. I didn’t mean to upset you. Perhaps it’s best if I just
left.” He suggests hesitantly. But instead of turning to leave, moves closer,
stopping only a few inches from Dean’s personal-space bubble, close enough for
the older man to see the tears welling in his eyes, the high flush tingeing his
cheeks, and the slight trembling of his bottom lip. “I only wish things could
have been different. That I had known sooner how you really feel.” He adds
regretfully, not bothering to hide the slight quiver in his voice or the hitch
in his breath.
Dean’s taken aback, fucking flabbergasted by Castiel’s quiet dismissal of his
tirade, not a hint of a challenge or a note of indignation forthcoming, if the
boy’s downcast expression is anything to go by. But it’s the teenager’s
uncharacteristic display of raw honest sorrow, his words stripped of all
pretense, and his regret over Dean’s hurt-feelings, that’s truly stunning.
Up until now, their relationship had been one of a mutual give and take, an
unspoken understanding where Dean is the stubborn irrational prick to Castiel’s
infuriatingly overconfident confrontational dick. That the teen now chooses to
react contrary to all of his previous incarnations confuses Dean, and he
flounders, unsure of his own reactions.
The fuck?
He feels as if he’s lost his footing in this whole scenario and fallen way out
of character in thier ridiculous script. So gathering his wits about him, Dean
decides to take back control of this preposterous conversation – as if he ever
had any in the first place – and moves in for the attack. He will berate the
teen, rant and rage over whatever injustices he’s been subjected to, legitimate
or imaginary, because of this insufferable boy.
But then a single tear slides down Castiel’s cheek and Dean breaks, body
physically deflating and he surrenders. And just like that, the realization
that he is truly and unequivocally fucked, head-over-heels in love, and way
over his head, leaves him gasping for air. His throat closes up and his head
spins, heart beating furiously in the confines of his too tight chest, palms
clammy, stomach doing funny little flip-flops. He’s so screwed.
There’s no room for lashing out now, no space for harsh words anymore. His body
moves on automatic and lurches towards Castiel, closes the last remaining
inches that separates them, wraps his fingers around the teenager’s softly
defined biceps, and yanks him forward.
“You-“ Dean hisses, grunting the word like an accusation. “I…” he croaks,
throat dry, mind reeling, unable to form coherent sentences let alone fully
process the magnitude of what he’s about to do.
What he’s been dying to do.
What he needs to do.
And what he now believes, the boy wants as well.
He slowly lifts a hand to Castiel’s face, and with extreme care and painstaking
gentleness, traces the tear’s glisten trail with the pad of his thumb. He’s
panting, short shallow breaths, words are beyond him, he pushes aside any
lingering doubts, boldly leans forward and licks away the fat saline drop
hanging provocatively on the sharp cut of the adolescent’s jaw.
He moans, savoring the sweet-salty tang that coats his tongue, groaning from
the incredible taste, from the unbelievable warmth that radiates from the
teenager’s skin, the softness against his lips, and smiles; the boy is even
more delectable than Dean could have ever imagined.
And he finally gets it, finally believes that Castiel wants him too, if the
boy’s iron-like grip on his hips and his own sighs and whimpers are anything to
go by. Yeah, Dean may never understand it, but at least now he’s willing to
accept it as fact, and no longer believes that teen’s affections for him are a
joke or a cruel trick at his own expense.
“Cas…” Dean says, not sure if he’s about to beg or grovel, only positive that
he’s terrified; there are so many reasons this could be his worst decision
ever, and only one assuring him that it will be his greatest.
He lowers his head, angling it closer to the teen’s. “So-“ he starts, exhaling
the word on a long shaky breath, forehead pressed lightly against Castiel’s.
“I, ah, kinda need to hear that you’re really on board with all of this.” He
says, gesturing with a sweep of his hand, eyes darting up to meet Castiel’s. He
swallows down his dread and waits, all the while luxuriating in their
closeness, brushing the tip of his strong angular nose against the straight
pertness of Castiel’s, parting his lips to breathe in the other’s exhales,
anticipating, aching, wanting, hoping the permission he needs will be in the
teenager’s response.
Castiel doesn’t make him wait long.
“Yesss…” is his immediate reply, lengthening the single syllable on a heated
exhale, staring back at Dean with eyes so lust blown they’re almost black, only
a ring of blue outlining the iris.
“Yes?” Dean sighs back and stills; he doesn’t breathe, doesn’t blink, stands
stock-still, frozen in place by the hunger in Castiel’s eyes and the heated
puffs of air from his open mouth. He's unsteady on his legs, feels like he
might fall, as if his mind, body, and soul are plummeting into the glorious
depths and monumental impact of the boy’s life altering answer.
Dean's resolve crumbles and he finally gives in, gladly surrenders to his wants
and desires...to Castiel.
So no longer caring to hold back, he dives, head first, into the fiery depths
of his damnation, and figures since he's already going to hell, he's going to
make damn sure it'll be worth both their whiles.
***** Slow Dive *****
Chapter Summary
     He grabs the teenager roughly, lips crashing, teeth clanking, kisses
     Castiel like he’s been starving for him, which in all truth, he has,
     for ages now. Dean’s ravenous and his hunger makes him aggressive,
     his actions brutal, his grip more than a little painful, but he
     doesn’t hesitate because he knows it's what they've both been
     craving. And besides, there will be enough time later for tenderness,
     for a warm embrace and a gentle caress. But for now, and once this
     initial fire between them has been smothered, he will ravage the boy,
     gorge on his lusciousness until they’re both fat and sated.
Chapter Notes
     Whew! Thought we'd never get here! So, dear readers, without further
     ado, I give you sweet-finger-lickin-good Destiel porn.
     Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!!!
     Song title from Siouxsie and the Banshees. This band is super hot and
     sexy! Check them out if you get a chance.
To say Dean’s dreamed about this moment since he first met Castiel, would be an
understatement. Being with Castiel carnally, bonding with him intimately,
joining with him sexually, has been his go-to spank-bank material since the
first day they met. In fact, not a single a day has gone by, since that first
fateful meeting, that Dean hasn’t masturbated to one or more of the x-rated
fantasies he's concocted, involving himself and the boy.
He’s taken Castiel from behind, from the side, on all fours, bounced him on his
lap, fucked him on the hood of his car, thrust into him against a wall. Heck,
Dean’s even imagined sucking Castiel off while the teen hangs suspended from a
swing and his dick slips in and out of Dean's mouth in time with the swing’s
momentum.
But this is no fantasy. And Castiel's life-altering answer was all the
permission Dean needed to make his dreams, reality.
So now, with their walls finally down and their souls thoroughly bared, far
removed from uncertainty and fear, Dean lunges, and with steadfast
determination marches towards his future.
...
He grabs the teenager roughly, lips crashing, teeth clanking, kisses Castiel
like he’s been starving for him, which in all truth, he has, for ages now.
Dean’s ravenous and his hunger makes him aggressive, his actions brutal, his
grip more than a little painful, but he doesn’t hesitate because he knows it's
what they've both been craving. And besides, there will be enough time later
for tenderness, for a warm embrace and a gentle caress. But for now, and once
this initial fire between them has been smothered, he will ravage the boy,
gorge on his lusciousness until they’re both fat and sated.
Yes, now that the floodgates have opened, Dean’s going to allow himself…this.
He will take and have this boy. He will claim and mark and own him, make it his
life’s mission to ruin Castiel, utterly, for all future lovers. Not that Dean
will ever allow that. No, now that he finally has Castiel in his arms, Dean
doubts he will ever willingly let him go.
Darting in quickly, Dean snatches that damn bottom lip, sucks it in between his
teeth and clamps down hard, cruelly licking and pulling on the plump flesh
until it’s red, swollen, and wet from his attack. He pushes his tongue into
Castiels’s mouth, slipping and sliding his way in while his fingers wrap around
Castiel’s nape and pulls him closer, deepening their kisses, melding their
bodies.
Both men gasp, overwhelmed by their mutual passion. And even though Dean’s the
supposed ‘aggressor’ in their twisted relationship – his bigger bulkier build
easily overpowering the seventeen year olds slighter frame – Castiel gives as
good as he gets. He opens up willingly to Dean’s impassioned demands, sighs
sensuously into his mouth, drags his tongue across Dean's stubbled jaw, peppers
his neck with kisses, rolls his hips against Dean’s groin and spreads his
thighs, creating the perfect cradle for Dean to thrust into.
“Fuck-“ Dean groans breathlessly then pulls back to take a deep gulp of air.
"So good…so perfect…” he murmurs into the softness of Castiel’s hair. Then
dropping his hands, grabs hold of Castiel’s hips, spins the teenager around and
pins him against the front of his desk. “Want you…” he says softly against the
boy’s cheek. “You're mine, Cas-" he breathes into the teen’s neck, scraping his
teeth over the rapid beat of Castiel’s pulse.
“Y-yes…yours, Dean-“ Castiel agrees, ass resting on the desk’s edge, arms
coming up to wrap around Dean’s shoulders, pulling him in, fingers digging into
the flexing muscles of Dean’s back. “Always…always yours…need you…always-” He
swears, mouthing his promises against Dean’s lips.
Dean can’t help the growl that slips past his lips after hearing those words,
the throaty vibration rumbles up unexpectedly from deep within his chest,
pleased beyond measure over the teen’s eager submission. He moves his hands
from Castiel’s hips and rests them on the boy’s ass, squeezes the firm muscles
so hard, Castiel yelps, but before he can retaliate, Dean inexplicably pulls
back.
“Wha-“ Castiel whimpers, a mournful little mewl when he finds himself suddenly
empty handed. He grips the desk’s edge for support, knuckles turning white from
his building frustration. “Get back here!” he orders, staring daggers at Dean’s
retreating back. But Dean doesn’t stop, and all Castiel can do is watch
helplessly as his teacher stumbles and staggers drunkenly towards the room’s
closed door.
“Heh, eager much, Cas?” Dean chuckles evilly, head turning so he can look over
his shoulder and toss the pissed off boy a suggestive smirk and a wicked wink.
When Dean gets to the door, he reaches for the knob. Castiel’s jaw drops, along
with his stomach, certain that Dean’s come to his senses and is about to flee.
Dean grabs the doorknob and Castiel’s heart stops, all hope lost in that one
agonizing moment. But when he realizes that Dean is simply, and smartly,
clicking the lock in place and pulling down the small window’s shade, he
collapses in relief, leans heavily against his teacher’s desk and exhales, a
loud whoosh of air he didn’t realize he was holding.
Dean leans back against the now locked door, arms folded across his chest,
tongue poking out to moisten his lips. He doesn’t say a word, just takes his
time to undress the reclining boy with his eyes, gaze darkening from his
building arousal. And within one blink and the next, he crosses the room,
rushing towards Castiel in long steady strides until their bodies are pressed
flush against the other’s, complete contact from chest to thigh.
“Better?” he asks, the words hot against Castiel’s skin, eyes half-lidded as
they feast on the teen’s upturned face; the hunger in Castiel’s eyes a mirror
to Dean’s own.
"Getting there.” The boy retorts cheekily, biting down temptingly on his abused
bottom lip and with a soft grunt, pushes off his teacher’s desk and surges for
Dean’s mouth.
Castiel’s attack knocks the breath out of Dean, but the older man recovers
quickly and accepts the kiss hungrily, capturing Castiel’s mouth with a degree
of enthusiasm that rivals that of the teen’s, tongues curling and tangling,
slippery muscles sucking sloppily on one another; it’s filthy and desperate and
fucking perfect.
Dean’s hands roam freely over the boy’s arms and across his back, he drops them
lower to cup Castiel's ass, then thrusting forward, gyrates dirtily against the
teen's crotch.
“Dean…” Castiel breathes, voice raspy rough, gasping for air and breaks the
kiss. He places both hands on either side of Dean’s head and pulls back, barely
an inch, but he needs to see Dean’s face, to search his eyes, to trust this is
really happening – greatly gratified when he sees his own naked longing staring
right back at him through Dean’s lust-filled gaze.
“Wha-?” Dean whispers softly, expression dreamy, eyes fluttering, feeling as if
he’s just woken from a wonderful dream. “What is it, baby?” he asks, the
endearment rolls off his tongue with ease, feeling so fucking ‘right’ and so
fucking natural, the sudden elation that grips his heart and sets it soaring,
momentarily takes him by surprise.
“You okay, Cas? Tell me what you want, sweetheart.” He asks sweetly, leaning in
to press a wet kiss on Castiel’s cheek. “Hm?” he hums, nuzzling against the
teen’s temple. Then, pressing their lower bodies closer, slides his hand around
the small of Castiel’s back and thrusts into him, a slow roll of his hips that
grinds his hard-as-fuck-erection against the boy’s thigh.
“What...do…you...want?” he asks again, punctuating each word with a quick snap
of his hips.
But he really doesn't expect a reply, knowing just by touch that the writhing
creature in his arms is beyond words. "Gotta speak up, baby." He teases, and
needing to feel the teenager's skin, rucks Castiel’s t-shirt and runs his
fingers gingerly across the warm silky flesh of the boy’s waist.
“I-I…want-” Castiel barely manages, breaking out in goose-flesh, melting into
Dean’s touch. He wants so much. Starting with Dean. How much he needs him. How
much he loves him. But right now all he can focus on is the urgent need for
more friction. So he wriggles in Dean’s arms, pivots his hips just so, juts his
pelvis up and off center, angles his groin just right…and…oh yeah, right there!
“Want what, baby?” Dean coos, tightening his grip on the slippery boy. “Bet I
already know, though.” He smirks, because he does know, all too well in fact,
what Castiel is after. And as luck would have it, it’s also what Dean’s after:
mutual gratification. So he swivels his lower body until their clothed
erections are pressed together, then with a twist and a half-roll of his hips,
starts rubbing deliciously against the teenager.
“Umph…” Castiel gasps.
“Fuck-“ Dean groans.
They’re both breathing heavily now, grinding and rutting with abandon, bodies
slotting together, dicks catching and dragging against the other’s, the heat
and pressure exquisite.
“Like that…huh?” Dean puffs out, smug tone evident even though he’s short of
breath, then further stuns Castiel when he yanks the teenager’s t-shirt up and
off.
“…Y-yesss-“ Castiel stutters, the answer torn out of him with a startled gasp,
sounding more like an embarrassingly high pitched yelp rather than the deep
seductive purr he had intended.
Dean grunts in approval, relishing all of Castiel’s sweet little sounds and the
lovely way the boy’s body squirms in his arms. “Yeah, figured you would.” He
answers cockily, reaching around to wrap Castiel tighter in his arms and pull
him closer. He runs his hands over the full expanse of the teen’s back, down
the length of his sides, fingers dipping up and over each rib, finally settling
on the boy’s hipbones. "Jesus, Cas…” he says, not bothering to mask the awe in
his voice, honestly awestruck by the teenager's hot-as-fuck body. He rests his
thumbs over the sharp juts of bone, spreads his fingers under the teenager’s
waistband, and squeezes. Hard.
“Dean!” Castiel yelps again, slapping Dean on the shoulder for his brutish
manhandling – but secretly loving every painful grasp, possessive grip, and
rough caress.
Dean snorts and loosens his hold, but only to gently nudge Castiel back and
coax him to lay flat on the desk’s surface. “Gorgeous.” He mouths, unable to
produce any sound when he takes in the decadent expanse of flawless skin.
He steps forward, right between the boy’s legs – as is his right – bends at the
waist and kisses Castiel, a hungry open-mouthed, no-hold-bars, ravaging that
leaves them both winded. When he pulls back he braces both hands on either side
of the teen’s head and starts working his way down, starting from the boy’s
kiss-swollen lips towards his naval, lovingly following that trail until he
gets to Castiel's shoulder, pausing to lap at the divot where neck meets
clavicle. He runs his tongue along the sharp outline of the teenager’s
collarbone, dragging the wet tip towards his dusky nipples, stopping to take a
slow sweet moment to suckle and tease at them, not moving on until the nubs are
standing high and hard above the smooth planes of the boy’s chest.
Castiel wiggles and bucks, wrestles for a better angle, not content until he’s
wrapped his legs around his teacher’s back. He arcs and thrusts up, searching
for relief for his trapped cock, shamelessly humping Dean’s chest, moaning in
delight when he manages to brush satisfactorily against Dean’s body.
The obscene thump, thump, thumping of the teenager’s clothed dick against
Dean's sternum is not something the older man will soon forget. If ever. But it
doesn’t stop Dean and he doesn’t veer from his goal, just eases lower, nipping
and sucking his way down, fingers spreading wide and possessive along the
teen’s sides, digging and denting the firm flesh of Castiel's hips and ass and
thighs.
He stops again when he's hovering over Castiel’s stomach, drops his head and
presses his face there, nose flush against the boy’s taut belly. Dean inhales,
takes a deep greedy drink of the warm fragrant skin and shivers from the chills
that race up and down his spine. He exhales; the long heated rush of air
rustles the fine hairs that line a path towards Castiel’s groin. “God help me.”
he mumbles into the boy’s skin, pressing kiss after moist kiss over the entire
area before pulling away so that he can finish undressing him.
Still leaning over Castiel, Dean grabs hold of the teen's ass and pulls him
closer to the desk’s edge. Then straightening, takes hold of Castiel’s legs and
hikes them higher, resting them on his shoulders. Dean’s fingers skitter back
towards Castiel’s hips, he means to start removing the boy’s pants but his
momentum’s derailed when he spies the large bulge straining against the
confines of the teen’s stupidly tight, low-cut jeans. He sucks in a breath and
licks his lips, reaches out with a surprisingly steady hand and presses his
cupped palm along the outline of the teenager’s erection, stroking it
reverently before giving it a gentle squeeze.
Castiel whimpers and whines from Dean’s touch, but the more Dean fondles him
the more his sobs turn into outright wails, loud uninhibited pleas for mercy.
Dean looks up when he hears the muffled thud of the boy’s head hitting the
surface of his desk, and he smiles, it’s everything he’s ever wanted, Castiel
unraveling because of him, because of his ministrations. Dean couldn’t have
asked for a better student.
Dean’s own reaction to the boy’s frenzied display is no less heated; his mouth
waters and his belly pools with lust, arousal skyrocketing as the boy thrusts
into his hand.
He shifts awkwardly and winces in discomfort from the excessive tightness in
his own pants; he’s in dire need of relief and if he doesn’t do something right
the fuck now, he’s afraid his balls will explode. So without wasting anymore
time, he rushes to undo his own fly, snakes a hand inside his briefs, pulls out
his dick, and gives it a few lazy pulls until he feels stable enough to
continue.
“So fucking hot, Cas…,” he sighs quietly, but still loud enough for Castiel to
hear the admiration in his voice. “Fucking beautiful for me-“ he croaks, voice
cracking and body shuddering, skin tingling with anticipation, he needs to calm
himself now, or risk cumming before he even gets the boy fully naked.
He closes his eyes, takes a few more grounding breaths – hand still tugging
languidly at his shaft – willing his excitement to abate. But it’s torture;
Castiel, laid out before him, pliant, needy, and Dean’s to use as he pleases,
is torture: sweet, delicious, heart-stopping torture.
After a few more head-clearing breaths, and confident he’s not about to cum in
his briefs, Dean reaches out and undoes Castiel’s belt buckle, and with a
practiced flick of his wrist, unsnaps the boy’s jeans and pulls the zipper
down.
Castiel looks up when he feels Dean’s impatient pawing at his crotch,
momentarily mesmerized when he catches sight of his teacher’s fingers trembling
as he struggles to open his fly. But he can’t fault Dean for his overexcited
state. Not really, especially since he’s just as anxious, if not more so, to
have Dean wrap his beautiful bow shaped lips around his cock.
And fuck, that mental image is enough to make him cum right then and there.
He grunts in frustration, because this needs to move along at a faster pace, or
else...
So with a sexy little wiggle of his ass, Castiel helps Dean by shimmying out of
his pants.
Dean does not whimper at the erotic display, and his eyes absolutely do not
roll to the back of his head from the headiness of it all. But he definitely
bites down on his lip, and it’s only a heartbeat later that he’s pressing his
face against the thin layer of cotton that separates his mouth from the boy’s
shaft, and only seconds after that he’s shamelessly mouthing at the obscene
tent in Castiel’s briefs, tongue licking a long wet line along its length,
dampening the fabric.
“Mmmm…Cas…” he breathes, face softly rubbing back and forth across the
teenager’s erection. “Fucking want you…” he says again, all of his filters gone
now that he can freely speak his mind, lovingly nuzzling the boy’s groin.
Dean wants Castiel. No big surprise there. But truth be told, what Dean truly
feels for the boy surpasses mere want. And if he’s being completely honest, and
he finally is, Dean will admit that deep down what he feels for Castiel Novak,
is simple unadulterated need, right down to his very core, to his very soul.
At this point, it’s a bone deep addiction, an all consuming desire to own the
boy, and in turn, be owned by him; a debilitating ache that easily transcends
mere want.
Some might even it call it love. Dean certainly does.
“…need you-“ Dean utters brokenly, desperate for Castiel to grasp the enormity
of this declaration. “Mmmm…baby, so fucking much. Need you, so much, Cas.” He
mumbles against the now sopping wet patch across Castiel’s ruined briefs,
feeling lighter than he has in months now that he can finally admit the full
extent of his feelings for the teenager.
Castiel’s a writhing mess throughout, but briefly tenses at Dean’s confession.
“Dean-“ he sighs softly in reply and his body quickly loses its rigidity. But
his new found peace of mind isn’t entirely due to Dean’s exceptionally talented
hands and mouth, but also because of this admission, because Dean has accepted
his feelings and is willing to share them.
“Please-“ Castiel begs. “Dean…Dean…“ he moans over and over, reaching out with
unsteady hands to card shaky fingers roughly through Dean’s hair, grabbing
handfuls of the longer strands to guide his lover’s head right where he wants
it. “Please…umph, fuck me…D-Dean…” he beseeches, his pleas desperate and
urgent.
And yeah, okay, Dean’s more than willing to comply, especially for something
he’s been aching to do for far too long. “Yeah…okay, baby, gonna take real good
care of you.” he whispers soothingly, then without further ado, dips his
fingers under Castiel’s waistband and pulls the teenager’s underwear off,
tossing them carelessly over his shoulder and well out of sight.
Castiel sucks in a sharp breath; the blast of cool air hitting his overheated
cock makes him break out in goose flesh. He scrambles to sit up, but finds he
can’t, Dean’s large hands planted firmly on either side of his hips force him
to keep down and hold still. He lifts his head instead, and groans, because
staring right back at him from between his spread thighs is Dean, his teacher,
his lover, eyes dark with desire, mouth open and hovering right over the tip of
his dick, his intention to take Castiel into his mouth, loud and clear.
“Dean,” Castiel whines, loosening his hold on Dean’s head to cradle it in a
loose grip. “Stop teasing-“ he growls, growing impatient. He bites down on his
bottom lip trying to stifle his whimpering and cover his desperation, but to
Dean’s delight, the teen easily gives himself away when his grip tightens and
he lets loose with string of curses and pleas.
Dean doesn’t budge but smiles widely, because who knew he had a ‘begging-kink’
too, and makes a mental note to add it to his list of turn-ons. “I’m just
getting started, Cas.” He says ominously, and Castiel knows from Dean’s tone
and the look in his eyes, that his torment is just beginning.
And he’s not wrong; Dean’s going to draw out their foreplay, he wants the boy
to taste his pleasure and feel his pain. And with his smoldering gaze fixed
firmly on the teen, Dean pokes his tongue out (long pink tip fully extending
towards the teen’s cock-head) and flicks it.
“F-fuck me!” the boy cries out, body jack-knifing, head slamming, again,
against the desk’s hard surface.
Dean stabs repeatedly at the boy’s leaking tip. Flick, flick, lap.
“Dean…for god’s sake…please…”
Flick, lap, slurp, tongue swirl.
Castiel’s hips jerk upwards, unable to control his body’s reactions to Dean’s
special brand of torture. He grunts and groans, hips thrusting, dick butting
against Dean’s lips, unmindful and uncaring of the death grip he’s got on
Dean’s head.
“Like that, baby?” Dean teases. “How about this?” he asks with feigned
innocence then opens his mouth, lowers his head and swallows Castiel down,
down, down, stopping only when his nose is pressed flush against the teen’s
wirey curls.
“Gnumph! Je-Jesus!”
Dean hums around a mouthful of cock, then pulls off with an exaggerated slurpy
pop. “I’ll take that as a yes.” he says triumphantly, words thick and guttural.
He latches on again, wraps his lips around the teen’s length, drops kisses on
the tip, prods the slit with his tongue; Castiel’s resulting mewls and whimpers
fuel his already overexcited libido and overflowing passion for the boy.
He’s got one hand wrapped around Castiel’s shaft, lips meeting his fist with
each consecutive flick of his wrist, building up a steady rhythm, fully focused
on getting the boy off, but also on savoring the moment, on appreciating the
simple fact that he can do this. That he’s finally allowed.
“Fuck…“ Dean murmurs, head bobbing, eyes hooded, he relaxes his throat and
takes Castiel deeper, suction powerful and relentless, Dean could live off the
teen’s emissions; the taste and warmth filling his mouth. He exhales and
swallows, the action drags Castiel’s dick towards the back of his throat and he
gags, eyes watering as he chokes on the boy; the resulting river of Dean's spit
and Castiel's pre-cum that spills from between Dean's lips, leaves the teen's
hole thoroughly drenched.
He moves his other hand from the boy’s balls and glides it gingerly between
Castiel’s spit-slicked cleft. “Mphttt-“ he grunts, ready to burst when his
fingers walk across the slippery searing heat of Castiel’s perineum. He gently
presses a fingertip over the clenched pucker and uses the calloused pad to rub
slow tantalizing circles around the spit-lubed rim, mouth still sucking
hungrily, never letting up.
“Dean…umpht…” Castiel chokes out and pushes down, jerks back up, then presses
down again, bouncing shamelessly against Dean’s teasing digit, eager for
penetration. “Come on…” he urges with a roll of his hips.
Castiel’s uninhibited gyrations are quite possibly the hottest thing Dean’s
ever witnessed, and definitely more than he can take; he honestly can’t believe
he’s lasted this long.
To hell with holding back. He scoffs. And I've drawn out this goddamn teasing
long enough. He concludes.
And with those thoughts in mind, foreplay is officially over and Dean finally
gives in to the teen’s demands.
He pushes a soaked finger in, just the tip, gingerly testing the give of the
tightly clenched muscle, before slipping it in further.
“Argh…yessss-“ Castiel hisses pivoting his hips down, forcing the finger
deeper.
Okay, wow!
Now it’s Dean’s turn to stifle his moans, because holy shit, that right there,
Castiel’s blissed out intensity, coupled with all of the delicious little
sounds coming out of his pretty mouth, just about does Dean in. And if he
starts prepping the boy at a swifter pace than he normally would, well then,
it’s not like Castiel is complaining, or like Dean can even help it at this
point.
Because seriously, wow.
He hastily inserts a second finger, quickly followed by a third. Pumps them in
and out and in and out, scissoring Castiel’s entrance in a steady rapid rhythm
– Dean’s hand is a blur of motion as he finger-fucks the teen’s loosening hole.
Castiel grits his teeth at the painful intrusion and his hips stutter; his
smooth tempo becomes erratic and he falters, mouth slack and gaping, breath
catching in his throat, sucking in short shallow breaths, cock hard and
slippery in Dean’s fist. It’s filthy and sinful and fucking glorious but before
his mind can wrap around the sheer blessed bliss of Dean's enthusiastic
efforts, Dean crooks his fingers and an electrifying jolt of pure pleasure
shoots through his body...and he cums.
“Ooomph!” Castiel’s grunts, back curving at a dramatic angle when his orgasm
crests, crashing over him like a tidal wave. “Ungh…grah!” he sputters, voice
breaking, words gibberish, hips slowly pulsing on Dean’s fingers, hole
spasming, dick jerking as warm semen shoots out and lands on Dean’s cheek, on
his outstretched tongue, spilling over his fist.
Dean delicately eases his fingers out, but only after he’s sure Castiel is
emptied, then slowly and carefully, slides two back in, mindful of how
sensitive the teenager’s entrance must be after his intense climax and Dean's
aggressive reaming.
He flexes them open, gently scissors the boy’s hole to loosen him further.
“Fuck…so fucking gorgeous, baby.” Dean whispers, exhaling the raspy-soft words
against the rounded swell of the boy’s ass, eyes riveted to Castiel’s puffy
pucker. He licks his lips and leans in, spreads the fingers still buried in the
teen’s opening, and forces Castiel’s hole to stretch wider. He moans softly at
the thoroughly pornographic sight then slips his tongue in, shoving it as deep
and as far as he can, pulling it out to lap around the rim, then rams it back
in, again and again, all the while holding the squirming boy, one-handed, by
the hips, until he’s had his fill.
But he doesn’t linger too long, because even though now is definitely the time,
his tiny office is most certainly not the place. So only a short while later,
Dean reluctantly pulls away, smacks his lips dramatically and licks his fingers
clean. “Dee-fuckin-licious!” he declares with great relish and climbs to his
feet.
He leans between Castiel’s splayed legs, hips nestled snuggly between the
teen’s thickly muscled thighs, and gently reinserts his fingers, pushes them in
and out in quick, short pulses, smearing Castiels’ entrance with a generous
mixture of his own spit and the teen’s release.
“Dean…” Castiel croaks, voice hoarse, gritty from his earlier straining.
“Dean…Dean…” he says over and over, this time the words fall from his lips on a
soft sigh, the volume low and hushed, deep and quiet, mouthing his lover’s name
with the utmost reverence, with awe, with love, too spent and too weak to do
much more.
Dean bends and kisses him, one hand still working between Castiel’s legs, the
other busy fishing out a packet of lube and a condom from his wallet. He pulls
away but only far enough to push his pants lower and only long enough to tear
open the condom wrapper, lubricate Castiel, and roll on the condom.
He stands between Castiel’s thighs, both hands now pinching and kneading the
tender inner flesh, his own dick hanging fat and heavy between his legs; Dean
is beyond fucking ready.
He takes himself in hand and gives the base a tight squeeze, lines himself up
with the boy’s pink pucker and places the blunt end right against it, prodding
and pressing against the springy flesh without breaching. “Ready?” he asks, his
voice cracks and the word slips out broken, but he has to make sure, needs to
hear the words, get the boy’s permission.
“Yes…Dean…”
Yes!
And then he’s pushing in, slowly, gently, mind whiting out when the tip finally
pushes past the tight clench, relishing the heat and incredible pressure that
immediately surrounds him.
Mine, and finally, and take. All these thoughts race through his mind as he
inches forward, eyes fixed on the teen’s face, breath hitching in tune with the
boy’s shaky exhales, his own body shivers. He’s been teetering on the edge of…
something, for so long now, endured months of heartache and insomnia-inducied-
stress, over this boy. This maddening, bullheaded, foolhardy, relentless, force
of nature, that stormed into Dean’s life six months ago and figuratively swept
him off his feet. He stalls for a second, just a beat in time, needing the
brief pause to curb his flooding emotions lest they overwhelm him as he
processes the enormity of this moment and the symbolic solidifying of their
bond.
“Dean-“ Castiel growls through clenched teeth, straining to speak from the
exertion. “Move…damn it, come on!”
And fuck it all if Castiel’s petulant little pout and gruff pushy demands don’t
do all kinds of things to Dean’s will. And in one smooth slick thrust, he
bottoms out, curls his fingers around the boy’s hips, and grinds deliciously in
place. He tips his head back and exhales, pulse heavy, deafening in his ears.
It’s all white noise from then on, the bone deep satisfaction of being buried
inside the teenager’s perfect ass, both of them drowning in an all-consuming,
single-minded, crippling passion for the other, sets him off to a punishing
pace.
“Gah-“ and “Umph-“ these guttural grunts shared between them coupled with an
endless stream of muffled curses, punctuate the wet sloppy sounds of skin
slapping against naked skin, in the otherwise silent room. Dean pounds away,
working up to a steady rhythm, sweat gathering at his temples and between his
shoulder blades, and with each successive thrust his pants slide further down
his thighs until they're nothing but a puddle of fabric around his ankles.
He hooks his arms under Castiel’s sweat slicked thighs and leans over, pressing
the teenager’s thighs flat against his chest. He rocks forward, rolls his hips
and starts slamming mercilessly into the boy with sharp even snaps, and oh
fucking god, the sensations and the delicious burn have Dean quickly losing
control, gasping for air, groping for words.
He drops his head lower and slots his lips against Castiel's, capturing him in
a breathless kiss, a brief meeting of mouths. He bends even lower, easily folds
the seventeen year olds limber body in half, tongue stretching out to lap at
the boy’s nipple, suck it into his mouth, roll it between his teeth, and
doesn't stop until the teen is whimpering and begging for mercy.
“S-so…“ he slurs, mind blurring, drunk with lust. “Fucking…fuck…awesome-“ he
fumbles clumsily, not giving a flying fuck for stating the obvious. Dean pounds
into the boy, a relentless merging of cock into ass, digs his fingers into
Castiel’s hips and draws him closer, thrusts into him faster; dick iron-hard as
he slams repeatedly into the smooth velvet tunnel of Castiel’s tight hole. And
he needs to come,like yesterday. But it’s just a few more snaps of his hips, a
few more pumps of his ass, body jerking, back curved low, grunting and
swearing, panting like he’s running a fucking marathon, as he chases his
orgasm.
Then it’s right there, he can fucking taste it, body burning up from the drag
and pull of his dick slamming into Castiel. He looks down and mutters a curse,
caught off guard by the gorgeous sight of the boy's hole stretched wide around
his dick and how it greedily swallows him up, how tender and abused it looks.
Dean groans and his balls draw tight, his hips falter in their even rhythm, his
body locks up taut as a drawstring, and he cums.
He grunts out a breathy “Cas…” while his dick pulses and his ass clenches,
spilling into the boy, huffing his name over and over, interlacing it with
fuck, and holy shit, plus a series of endearments and promises that slip freely
and easily from his lips.
And isn’t that just fucking great? It's a bonafide miracle, actually. Dean
Winchester not repressing his emotions or stifling his feelings; it's unheard
of. And Dean couldn't be happier, because he's finally done holding back. 
***** Everlong *****
Chapter Summary
     Castiel’s pink full lips curl into a full-blown smirk, but his eyes
     glow with love and affection, an obvious fondness behind them as he
     regards Dean coolly from his perch in the front row. Well, more like
     a throne, really, since he is his school’s reigning ruler, after all.
     But especially now, with Dean as his faithful co-King, Castiel feels
     every bit like royalty.
Chapter Notes
     Here we are, the end at last! For us at least. Not so much for Dean
     and Cas.
     I want to thank you all for reading and kuddoing (is that a word?)
     and commenting!! I had a great time writing this, but I enjoyed
     knowing you all liked it, even more.
     Chapter title from the ever epic Foo-Fighters!
     *warning for mention of golden-showers*
THREE MONTHS LATER:
"Novak!"
"..."
Oh for fucksake!
"Cast—“
"Here, Mr. Winchester" Castiel finally answers; the unmistakable ‘smile’ in his
voice adds a charming lilt to his words. “Right in front of you.” he goads,
supremely pleased to get a rise out of his boyfriend whenever he misbehaves in
class.
"Next time pay attention when I call your name, capiche?" Dean barks back, but
there's no bite to his words, only the very interested twitch his dick gives
whenever his boyfriend does something naughty in public.
Castiel’s pink full lips curl into a full-blown smirk, but his eyes glow with
love and affection, an obvious fondness behind them as he regards Dean coolly
from his perch in the front row. Well, more like a throne, really, since he is
his school’s reigning ruler, after all. But especially now, with Dean as his
faithful co-King, Castiel feels every bit like royalty.
He sends his lover a surreptitious wink, lifts his arms high over his head, and
stretches his back, arching gracefully, and moans, almost causing a riot when
his shirt rides up and exposes a sliver of tan skin around his waist.
“Mr. Novak?” Dean calls out again, voice deep and husky, just a little bit
breathless from the teen’s erotic display.
"Yes, "Mr. Winchester?” Castiel replies, eyebrow cocked, his tone defiant,
unmistakably challenging, smile small and smug, a perfect match to the devilish
glint in his eyes. “Do you have a question?” he asks innocently, sprawling his
long limbs lazily out in front of him and effortlessly tuning out the excited
murmurs from the rest of the class.
Dean gulps, I’m so fucking screwed.
He knows this. Knows it for what it is. By now, so well accustomed to Castiel’s
playful teasing (especially since the teen’s never wavered from trying to get a
rise out of him since they first met) that Dean easily slips into his
character’s role, and rolls with it.
And it's the same today, as it has been every other day: this endless tug-of-
war for dominance, their ceaseless push-and-pull of wills.
Although, there was that one fateful day, three months ago to be exact, when
Castiel’s behavior, usually so predictable, veered drastically off course and
threw Dean for a loop. That day, Castiel descended upon Dean's classroom like a
spectra, a ghostly blank slate that quietly set up residence in his usual spot,
acting so disturbingly aloof and indifferent towards Dean, that the older man
lost his place in their carefully scripted scenes together and fumbled his
lines.
Gone was the teenager’s usual brashness, bravado, and burning wit. Dean
floundered and lost his concentration. And as a result, his plans to cut the
boy out of his life once and for all, were thwarted, smashed to bits; his hope
to distance himself from Castiel – and all of the inherent dangers associated
with him — rent asunder.
Now, however, Dean finds their repartee terribly amusing, as well as incredibly
arousing, and he’s more than happy to play along. Looks forward to it, in fact.
Dean sweeps his eyes hungrily over the boy’s body once more, no longer too
concerned with subtlety, then narrows his focus on the teen’s smug expression
and smirks right back. He licks his lips and tosses Castiel an all-knowing nod,
signaling to the teenager that he knows exactly what the spark of mischief
lighting up his blue eyes, implies – it’s the teen’s 'or else?' look – and Dean
braces himself for what’s to come. 'Cuz, yeah, it's going to be one of those
days, again.But he rolls with it.
He steps away from his desk and squares his broad shoulders, steeling himself
for the inevitable showdown with his student. He takes a deep breath and walks
right up to Castiel's desk, straightens to his full six foot two height, and
growls, "Yes, Mr. Novak, as a matter of fact, I do have a question for you." he
moves in closer until he’s looming over the boy’s enticing body. "I want to
know if I’ve made myself clear. Or, do we need to take care of this after
class? Again?" he warns, peeling back his upper lip in a sexy-as-fuck snarl.
Castiel fucking swoons where he sits, the dangerous menace in Dean’s throaty
rumble leaves him weak in the knees and gasping for air. And oh yeah, It's
definitely on now, because Dean is playing dirty and he knows perfectly well
Castiel will have no choice but to retaliate, after his non-to-subtle display
of dominance.
The entire class stills, each and every student holds their breath for fear of
disturbing the dramatic scene that’s slowly unfolding before them.
“Perhaps I could do with some private lessons in time management, Mr.
Winchester,” Castiel replies evenly, voice dropping to a hoarse and gritty
rasp. “A firm hand to show me how to control my wandering…thoughts.” He says
softly, but the room tenses further.
Luckily, Dean's well practiced on how to deal with Castiel's provocative
retorts, so it's really no surprise that he successfully manages to keep his
composure, even after hearing the boy's sexually charged double entendre.
He takes a step away from Castiel’s desk, just a foot or so, straightens his
posture, stands with his legs apart and fists planted firmly on his hips, and
fires right back.
...
Later that same day:
"Mind telling me what the hell that little performance was all about?" Dean
murmurs, mouthing the words against the smooth skin of Castiel's cheek, rubbing
the course hair of his own stubble against the teen's reddening flesh, knowing
that in a very short while, months at the most, the boy will be able to respond
in kind. "What was that?" Dean asks again when all he gets from Castiel is an
undecipherable jumble of gasps and hisses.
"Wha...pah-fohmace-" Castiel manages to mumble back, this time exhaling his
reply into Dean's open mouth, bringing his arms up and wrapping them tightly
around the older man's neck when Dean takes that opportunity to latch onto the
boy’s bottom lip and tug on it cruelly. "Eeeen!" He keens, so distracted by his
lover's tongue and hands that he's honestly unaware of what Dean is asking.
And it’s no wonder that after a full day of Castiel poking and prodding at
Dean’s caged tiger, that the duo would end it with a heated ‘discussion’. The
verbal sparring that’s par-for-the-course between the pair, especially since
recognizing their true feelings for each other, usually culminates in the
desperate need to douse the out of control inferno, that ignites whenever
they're in the same room.
And so far, it’s been working out splendidly. They both swear by it. Mainly due
to Castiel enthusiastically embracing his role as provocative-bossy-over-lord,
to Dean’s reluctant righteous-holier-than-thou victim.
But Dean gladly rolls with it, and he'll keep on rolling with it for as long as
the (fully legal) eighteen year old Castiel, will have him. Dean’s going to
enjoy their time together, bask in Castiel’s affection, revel in the teen’s
company, delight in the boy’s body, and worship at his alter. All with great
enthusiasm.
That’s the plan anyway, but this is Dean, and he worries.
Of course he does.
Starting with the inevitable tragic ending he foresees befalling their doomed
love affair. The reasons behind his trepidation are many and varied, but the
chief reason he believes their romance will undoubtedly fail, is that he can’t
honestly fathom why this beautiful, loving, selfless, young man would even want
to be with him in the first place.
Sure, Dean kinda, sorta, grudgingly, accepts that maybe Castiel might have
loving and desirous feelings towards him. But, seriously, why?
Bottom line: Dean’s certain Castiel will grow tired of him, eventually realize
that he wants more out of life than to be tied down to an over-the-hill school
teacher, and leave. Move on without a backwards glance.
But in all fairness, and to Dean's credit, he does struggle daily to steer
clear of these gloomy predictions and turn from his sullen moods. And he
succeeds. For the most part. But unfortunately, try as he might, panic still
flairs up unexpectedly from time to time; the tightening in his chest and the
ache in his gut, squeezes all hope and joy from Dean’s heart, leaving him
scrambling for air and reaching out for something to ease the pain. But thus
far, he’s only found blessed relief in Castiel’s arms, in the promises the teen
whispers between his parted lips, and the kisses he presses against his skin.
…
Summer Break:
“Dean…” Castiel groans, grinding his ass insistently against Dean’s erection.
He reaches around and grabs hold of Dean’s hips and pulls him closer, angles
his lower body so that Dean’s dick slips between his crevice and gyrates, a
slow sensual roll of his hips that drags Dean’s dick back and forth between his
ass-cheeks, slowly, lazily, until Dean’s panting heatedly against the back of
his neck.
“Wanna look at you, baby.” Dean whispers into the sweet smelling skin just
below the boy’s earlobe, voice husky and gruff from sleep. “Turn around.”
Castiel purrs happily but reluctantly pulls free, turns and repositions himself
in their bed until his body faces Dean’s. “Good morning, Dean.” he whispers
back, then leans in for his morning kiss.
Dean smiles lovingly against the warm plushness of Castiel’s pucker, toes
curling under the sheets because he’s so fucking happy to finally have the teen
living with him, to know that from here on out, he will be waking up every day
to his beautiful boyfriend.
“Morning, sweetheart.” He says between kisses, nudging Castiel’s thighs apart
with his knee so that he can slot their legs together. “Sleep well?” he asks,
shifting until his dick’s nestled snugly against the boy’s hip.
Castiel hums, “Mmmm…yesss.”
“Mmm…so fucking awesome waking up to you, Cas…” Dean hums back, pressing
further into the boy, rocking slowly into him, fully awake now. He reaches up
and knots his fingers in Castiel’s hair, rakes them towards the longer curls at
the nape, and cradles the teen’s head, bringing their lips closer and deepening
their kisses, a slow, arousing dance of tongues.
“Dean…” Castiel sighs, hips synchronizing with Dean's thrusts, hissing and
bucking when Dean’s dick rubs against his own. “F-fuck-“ Castiel grunts, he’s
already so close. He digs his fingers into the firm muscle of Dean’s ass and
hooks his ankles around Dean’s knees, entwining their bodies, holding on
tightly to rut against his lover with more force.
Dean maneuvers until he’s lying on top of the teen, settling his weight into
the delicious vee of Castiel’s spread thighs, props himself on one elbow,
snakes his free hand between their bodies, and grabs hold of their dicks. Now,
with this better angle, and with more leverage, his speed picks up. Dean
thrusts into his fist and strokes their joined cocks, thumb gathering the
wetness that collects at the tips and uses it to slick them further, to strip
their dicks faster. His body shudders, erratic little shivers that race up and
down his spine as he works himself and the boy to completion: grinding dirtily,
clutching on tightly, hips stuttering, he drops his head to catch Castiel’s
lips and whispers into the boy’s mouth, “I love you, Cas-“ and cums.
Castiel doesn’t last much longer, but when Dean’s words fill his mouth, his
body thrills with overwhelming pleasure and it punches the orgasm right out of
him. He spills, cumming hard and heavy between them, hot, thick fluid mixing
with Dean’s own.
Dean collapses on top of the boy and chuckles at Castiel's exaggerated grunt.
He tips his head to the side and captures Castiels lips, latching on to their
succulence to trade deep and passionate kisses while his fist, pressed flat
between their sweaty bodies, slowly milks their cocks until they’re both spent
– and not budging from his very comfy spot until the teen wiggles out from
underneath him, claiming he needs air.
“Umpht-“ Castiel huffs out loud, swallowing deep gulps of air until his
breathing’s under control. He turns so that he’s lying on his side, then swings
his leg over Dean’s bare ass. “That was amazing!” he sighs contentedly. “You
are amazing!” he exclaims excitedly, smiling large and wide, eyes sparkling as
they gaze dreamily upon Dean’s handsome face. “Fucking love you so much, baby!”
he swears, dragging his hand up Dean’s back and pausing between his shoulder
blades to rub deep soothing circles over the whole area. “Love your hands!”
Castiel continues, tone serious. “Love your mouth!” he claims, stretching his
neck to nip at Dean’s shoulder. “Madly in love with your…dick!” he whispers and
fucking giggles, then nudges Dean to turn until he too, is lying on his side.
Castiel presses his open palm over Dean’s heart, giving a gentle squeeze to the
firm pectoral, and stills for a moment until his own heartbeat matches the
heavy thumping of Dean’s rhythm, eyes fixed unwaveringly on his lover.
But instead of replying to the teen’s vehement proclamations, Dean drops his
eyes, and remains silent. That in itself is enough to alarm Castiel, but when
Dean glances back up and all the teen sees in the older man’s expression is a
sad resignation, Castiel panics.
“Dean?”
“…”
“Baby?”
“;_;"
“Dean, what is it?!?!” Castiel demands to know, body going rigid, now truly
worried.
Dean immediately locks eyes with Castiel, the boy’s forceful tone, edged with
just a hint of despair, makes it impossible for him to ignore Castiel’s
command. “It…it’s nothing. Geesh, don’t look so friggin scared.” He finally
answers, but his casual shrug and tight smile belies the wetness in his eyes.
“Dean!” Castiel repeats, voice dropping lower, stern and authoritative, eyes
narrowed and disapproving. He pulls back, but only far enough to give them both
enough space to catch their breaths, hand still firmly placed over Dean’s
heartbeat. “Please, tell me.” he asks gently, opening his hand and grabbing
onto one of Dean’s diamond hard nipples, absently pinching and rolling the
hardened nub between his fingers.
The gesture soothes Dean, to a degree. But he drops his eyes again, still
unsure if he wants to share with the teen the dark-sickly-brooding things that
have burrowed under his skin. But he’s also well aware that if he hopes to have
any kind of future with Castiel, then he needs to ‘man up’ and confess his
fears as well as his dreams to the boy.
”Well,” he starts to say, although haltingly, still not making eye contact.
“It’s just that, um, just now, when you said all those things…about, um, loving
me and stuff. Well,” he pauses and swallows, finding the courage to open up
when he feels the warm weight of Castiel’s reassuring grip on his hip. “I guess
I just figured that you feel that way now, but, maybe, not, you know…later.” He
says and winces, because even he can hear how pathetic he sounds.
Jesus, I thought Sam was the one with the vagina.
Castiel’s eyes soften dramatically from Dean’s apprehension, heart beating a
rapid rhythm at his beloved’s distress. “Dean,” he says softly, reaching up to
cup his jaw, gently stroking against the grain of Dean’s summer beard, loving
the course-softness of it under his thumb. “For your information, I’ve been in
love with your mind, and soul,” he whispers, voice dropping even lower, dipping
his head into the crook of Dean’s neck to press a tender kiss against the raspy
skin. “Way, way, before I fell in love with your body.”
Castiel doesn’t pull away after this bold declaration, simply winds his arms
around Dean’s back and pulls him closer, pressing his own body flush against
his lover’s.
“Hmpht,” Dean scoffs. “Then I guess that means you’ll be sticking around even
after I’m old and grey and my body’s all gnarly and,” he takes a deep gulp,
here. “Flaccid?”
Castiel still doesn’t pull away, nuzzles even deeper into Dean’s neck, and
hums. “I’ll still be here even after you lose your hair, and your teeth, and I
have to feed you, and bathe you, and wipe your a-“
“Alright, alright!” Dean yelps, cutting the teen off sharply, cheeks turning
red, mortified but also feeling tons lighter.
And he does feel better. For now at least.
Of course knowing that Castiel will be attending his alma mater, Cal Tech, in
the coming fall and that he will continue to call Dean’s small apartment ‘home’
in lieu of living on campus, means more to Dean than he’s willing to let on.
Not because he’s unsure of their, gulp, love, but because sharing a home will
prove to their families just how serious they take their commitment to each
other, and to their future together.
“Well, just don’t go falling in love with any of your professors, ‘kay.” Dean
says with a forced smile, trying not to show how fucking insecure he continues
to be when it comes to their future, knowing he fucked up royally when he feels
the boy’s body tense in his arms.
Castiel slowly untucks himself from Dean’s side, sits up against the bed’s
headboard and glowers darkly at the cowering man. “Dean,” he grumbles. “I will
not tolerate your disrespect, any longer. Nor will I deign to reply to that
insulting remark.”
Fuck!
“Fuck, Cas, look…sorry, okay. That was stupid, I know it was…seriously forgive
me, okay.” Dean stammers, because he does trust Castiel, of course he does.
“Listen, I trust you. Trust you with my life, man. Just not those douche
professors so much.” He admits with a pout. Then to sweeten his chances at
forgiveness, offers his visibly upset boyfriend his very best puppy-dog eyes.
“So…” he prods sheepishly, batting his eyelashes prettily, reaching out to run
the tip of his finger down the teen’s exposed arm and stopping at the wrist,
wrapping his large hand around the deceptively delicate joint and gingerly
pulling Castiel down.
Castiel lets Dean pull him down, lets him put his arms back around his body,
but refuses to hold Dean back. “You’re insufferable, you know that?” he grits
out angrily. “I just don’t know what to do any more.” He grouses, exhaling a
long suffering breath. He shifts until they’re facing each other again, studies
Dean for a moment then says, “Listen, I have an idea. My classes start a few
weeks before yours, so….why don’t you come with me? You already know the entire
staff there. Come show me around; help me settle in, hm?”
Dean’s eyes light up at the teen’s brilliant suggestion. Of course, why didn’t
I think of that? “Ah, yeah, sure, if you want me to?” he answers calmly, trying
not to sound too eager or desperate.
In all honesty, Dean would love nothing more than to follow his boyfriend to
college and shadow his every move. And if he happens to wrap his arm
possessively around the boy’s shoulder when he introduces Castiel to his
colleagues, or lets slip the fact that the teen is living with him, as a
couple, thankyouverymuch, well then, he’s just being a considerate boyfriend.
He’s insuring that all of his degenerate peers know exactly where they stand
and exactly with whom they are dealing. It’s not like he’s going to flick his
dick out and piss on the boy in front of them, coat Castiel nice and thorough
with his scent, unless Castiel wants him to…but nah, Dean’s sure they’ll get
the picture just fine from the stormy glower on his face. And if not, then
he’ll just have to introduce them to his fists.
“Feel better?” Castiel asks after a long comfortable silence. He pulls back and
smirks, brow cocked and assessing. “Although, I can tell from the look on your
face that you’re either fantasizing about pummeling them into the ground if
they so much as look at me. Or pissing on me again. So which one is it, you
kinky bastard?” And without waiting for a reply, Castiel throws his head back
and laughs, a delighted throaty chuckle that has Dean pinning him to the
mattress, and silencing him with his mouth.
…
Last Day of Castiel’s Semester:
Is it really the last day of classes?
Castiel is thrilled, ecstatic even, because now, with his classes finally over,
he’ll finally be able to spend more time with Dean.
Yes, they see each other every day, share the same bed, and shower together as
often as they’re able, but with his enormous work load and multiple exams,
Castiel’s had very little, bordering on nonexistent, ‘free’ time for either of
them.
However, all of that, although extremely important, always took a back seat
whenever either of them had to deal with their families; the most challenging
obstacles they continue to tackle daily.
It’s been an extremely difficult road for them, largely due to their families’
overwhelming lack of support for their relationship; both Castiel’s father and
Dean’s brother are strongly adverse to their romance and not shy with their
harsh opinions on the matter. But Dean and Castiel's insistence that their
‘affair’ didn’t start until well after Castiel graduated from high school,
mostly to insure that Dean’s reputation or job didn’t suffer because of their
relationship, also caused a great deal of stress for them. But oddly enough, it
also brought them closer together, as if that was even possible, or necessary.
They are thankful, however, for the few people that vehemently support their
love. Finding cheerleaders in the form of Charlie, the entire senior class, and
Gabriel, offers a great deal of comfort to the harried pair.
And that’s how life’s been for them since 'coming out' officially, as a couple:
a massive whirlwind of angst and joy, coated over thickly with crippling
insecurity, and swirled tightly with a mad dash of underlying hope.
Challenging, to say the least, especially for Dean. Because no matter how often
Castiel tries to convince him of his undying devotion to their love with his
mouth, or reassure Dean of his commitment to their relationship with his body,
Dean still experiences brief, though debilitating, bouts of insecurity. But at
least now he’s learned that it’s just as easy, and infinitely more pleasurable,
to lose himself in the real possibility of a permanent future with Castiel,
rather than to fret over their status, or lack of support from their loved
ones.
And as long as they’re together, they can overcome any hurdle.
That’s Castiel’s mantra, any way, and he adheres to it religiously.
As for Dean, well, he staunchly adheres to his own motto to 'simply roll with
it', and he does just that, but he always makes sure to keep Castiel close for
the ride.
…
Today, however, is a day for celebration. Because as of now, Castiel can ease
back and relax, go back to being a carefree nineteen-year old who only has
himself and Dean’s desires to indulge.
He slumps leisurely at his desk, smack dab in the middle of his Physics class
small lecture hall, so absorbed in the results of his exams that he completely
misses Professor Cain’s irritated grunt when he calls out his name.
“My apologies, Professor, he-“ Castiel starts, stunned silent when he sees that
the man currently taking roll-call is most definitely not, Professor Cain.
“Focus, Novak. Pay attention when I call your name. Do I make myself clear?”
Dean
Castiel keeps his gaze hot and heavy on his boyfriend – smoldering in fact –
his silence drags out for a long moment while the rest of the class waits with
bated-breath for their overlord to pass judgment on this interloper.
"Crystal…Mr. Winchester." He almost growls and swallows, his throat too dry all
of the sudden. “But perhaps I could use your help on improving my…concentration
skills. I would be most grateful.” He purrs, and everybody exhales, a uniformed
breath that fills the room with relief now that the tense moment has passed.
Just like old times.
For his part Dean smirks, sends the young man a surreptitious wink, and nods,
because it's on.
And with his head overflowing with all of the wonderful wicked ways he will be
doling out Castiel’s punishment later that night, Dean goes back to Professor
Cain's attendance sheet, and concludes this class’ last roll-call of the
semester.
End Notes
     The Title is from a great Sade song 'Sweetest Taboo'
     Chapter title is from a fckng classic Stray Cat's song, 'Sexy and
     Seventeen' Thanks for reading! Please let me know if you're enjoying
     it so far. Your thoughts are the sweet, sweet nectar that feeds my
     beast!!
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
