Chapter Text
Spent, they'd tumbled into bed still kissing; the last thing Dean remembered before sleep overtook him was Cas's mouth at his ear whispering, "You deserve this, Dean, you deserve this.” In his half-conscious state he let himself connect this to his declaration in the mirror, and he drifted off dreaming of love.
When he woke, Cas was already propped up on one elbow looking down at him, one hand stroking his chest like he was smoothing clay. Dean pulled him close to kiss his morning-stale mouth.
The kiss grew heated as Cas sucked at Dean's full lower lip and worried it with his teeth. Dean spread his legs around Cas's hips, and soon he was groaning in appreciation while Cas slid slow fingers into him—after a week sharing a bed (a bed! he still awoke surprised), they'd stashed supplies under an extra pillow, unwilling to leave off touching long enough to rummage for lube. When Cas entered him, thrusting at a lazy, rolling pace, Dean tangled shaking hands in his hair and mouthed helplessly at his jaw, sobbing out his pleasure. They only broke eye contact to blink, and when Dean arched his back with a gasp to spill over Cas's stomach, he felt like he was drowning, swept away by the ocean he'd never seen.
“You know,” he said after Cas collapsed face down next to him. “I don’t think I’ve had this much sex with the same person in years?”
"Likewise," said Cas a little breathlessly. “And it’s been longer than that before I tried anything new. You liked it, right?”
“Hell yeah I did. Any time, I’m game. And Cas, the—the things you made me say, thank you. I needed to hear that.”
“Mmm, you’re welcome. I wish I could fuck the self-loathing right out of you.”
“You do for a while. You do, just being here.” He reached out to trail a hand up the ridged column of his spine.
Cas sighed and turned towards him. "Which means this is the worst timing ever, but...Dean, I need to go home for a while."
A thing happened in Dean's stomach rather like being stabbed with a hot knife. He kept his voice level with supreme force of will: "Oh yeah? Just gotta get away from the constant awesome sex? I can see that."
"No, no, no. Dean, look at me." Cas sat up, gazing down at him with renewed intensity. "It's not because I want to, for God's sake. It's professional. I can't write here, I need to be back in my own space."
"Oh. That's,” Dean’s brain churned furiously, and for once logic prevailed, “OK, that sucks, but I can believe that. You have, like, a routine and a process and all that, I can see that being hard to transfer."
"Precisely. I would if I could, I hope you know that." Cas punctuated his words with a very convincing kiss.
"Because of the constant awesome sex?" Dean said with a grin when he pulled away.
"Yes, because of the constant awesome sex," said Cas with an answering smile. "It's just that I've got a spot in an anthology—queer sci-fi, I’m their Big Name—and the deadline's looming, and I've tried to write here while you're at work but it's just not happening."
"You haven't written anything?"
"Honestly, that'd be easier. I've written too much. I've got three stories, and they're all over 20,000 words, and I need one that tops out at 15. I'm hoping being back at home will let me edit down."
Dean raised his head to snatch a kiss, then dropped back to the pillow with a heavy sigh. "Shit, I'm going to miss you."
"Well, I can't leave yet, I'm covered in come," said Cas with a grin.
Dean laughed out loud. "Time for one of your trademark handsy showers, huh?"
"Absolutely."
Washed and fed, Dean sat morose on the bed watching Cas pack, gathering scattered black clothes from the floor and the couch and the kitchen counter—Dean found a pair of boxers wadded on a bookshelf and tossed them to Cas, who fumbled the catch. All he could think was don’tleavedon’tleavedon’tleave.
Cas zipped his duffle and slung it on his shoulder, walked over to the bed to stand with his knees knocking against Dean’s. There was a look of such loss on his face, like his dog had been hit by a car, and paradoxical joy simmered under Dean’s skin, that leaving him could ever cause someone pain. "You could come with me?" asked Cas, hopeful. “We could have sex in every room in my house. It has more than one! And I have a bathtub, and a backyard. I could fuck you in the sunshine. God fucking dammit all to fucking hell, Dean, I don’t want to not be with you.”
Dean flopped back on the mattress with a groan. "Fuuuuuck, I can't, it's stupid shitty goddamn timing, Cas. It's late November, we're heading into the month where we're just slammed constantly. I have to be there, we all do. I usually end up putting in, like, fourteen-hour days until Christmas. In fact, if you were gonna be around to gift-wrap part-time, I’d hire you on the spot."
Cas looked crestfallen, but nodded. "Not even next week? It’s Thanksgiving. Or, wait, are you seeing your brother?"
Dean shook his head. “No, his wife, Jess, is just about ready to pop, she can’t fly, and I can’t afford it. Probably can’t do Christmas, either. Retail’s a bitch.”
“I’m sorry. Wish you could come to Thanksgiving. It’s a bullshit racist holiday, but it’s about the only time I see my family—well, the ones I speak to, Gabe and Daphne.”
“Wait, I know Gabe’s your brother. Who’s Daphne?”
Cas shifted his weight to one foot. “My ex-wife.”
Dean realized as he opened his mouth that he was going to say something very, very stupid.