Chapter Text
“So, this is the place?” Dean asked as he pulled Baby into park. He heard the shuffle of bodies as Sam and Cas looked towards their respective location devices. While the electronic glow of the gps lit up Sam’s phone, he could hear the soft rustle of paper behind him as Cas opened up the map they had used for the tracking spell.
“2632 Mulberry Lane. Yup. Is she still here Cas?”.
A second passed as Castiel studied the contents of the paper in front of him before he replied. “Yes. The blood hasn’t moved, so neither has she.”
Dean turned in his seat. They had gone over the plan several times during their trip from the motel, but one could never be so sure of themselves when you were dealing with witches.
“So, here’s how this is gonna go: 1) We trap her, 2) We get her to tell us how to undo whatever she did to her merchandise, 3) We kill her, and 4) We get back to town in time for happy-hour at that bar we passed. Capeesh?”.
Sam rolled his eyes at his last remark but checked the barrel of his revolver as he did so, showing that he was on board and ready to go.
“I capeesh.” Cas replied, also readying his weapon, Angel Blade slipping silently from his coat sleeve. Dean watched him gracefully flip the blade into what Dean liked to call ‘fucking-shit-up’ position with a small – if unnecessary – flourish that made him internally chuckle. Show off.
All that left was himself. He patted down his leg to find his colt still strapped tight and secure in its holster, then reached across his brother to pull out a knife and small flashlight from Baby’s glove compartment. Just to be safe.
“Alrighty then, let’s kill us a witch.”
They all clambered out of the car and bound up stone steps to the front entrance of an empty shell of a mansion. What once must have been a lavish woodland retreat for some hoity-toity white-collar family was now falling apart at the seams, Dean only further damaging the deserted house with a swift kick to its front doors. The wood splintered to the side with a crack, and they all rushed in at once, their three-person army ready for battle.
Once inside though, everything changed. It wasn’t empty anymore. It wasn’t dark and decrepit but filled to the brim with light like a fire - every friggen light in the damn place seemed to be on.
Rugs with complicated, beautiful designs lined a hallway that stretched in front of him, decorated with an assortment of paintings and pictures covering almost every inch of its walls.
It was such a sudden change of scenery that Dean felt dizzy with whiplash. It was definitely disorienting, but it wasn’t enough for him not to notice a very important development in his situation.
Sam and Cas were gone.
Vanished.
Poofed away.
Without a second thought of who, what or why, Dean tried to collect himself enough to formulate a new plan: Find his family and then kill the witch that took them, cursed objects be damned.
“Cas? Sammy?!” He hollered into the vast expanse as he began to run, following the carpeted trail down the hall.
All the walls looked the same as he continued, like they were copy and pasted into an endless loop. The hallway twisted to the right, and then again, and then again until he felt like newbie driver who still hadn’t figured out how to take a left turn. It felt fine at first, but the further he went, the longer he ran, Dean knew something was going on. (Not that things hadn’t already been going on, but witches, ya know?.)
The longer he looked, the more his anxiety rose. He had no idea how far he gotten into the house. It felt like he had been searching forever, but the monotonous scenery made it feel like he had made no progress at all.
Eventually tiredness began to sink into Dean’s bones. His legs had been carrying him at a fast pace since he began his search and were starting to cramp, his voice becoming hoarser and hoarser as he continued to yell out.
Stupid fucking witches. Unlike demons or your run of the mill ghost or monster, their shit was never consistent. Magic was too diverse to be predictable. It was always such a process to figure out each individual flavor of it, which didn’t just make every case handling them hard but fucking annoying.
Like thinking you were just going to confront some witch who liked selling cursed board games to teenagers and ending up in said witch’s equally cursed house that poofed away your family and placed you in an architectural ground hog day.
“Fuck it.” Dean said to himself as he halted his steps. Continuing was getting him nowhere – literally.
The hallway was apparently an endless dead end, so going back to the front of the house was his best bet, providing that it wasn’t same nonsense. He couldn’t be sure it wouldn’t be, and his best guess was that it would, but it was better than nothing.
Decision made, Dean turned to head back the way he came, just to walk face first into a door.
“Ow! Fuck! Seriously?!” He exclaimed at the slight injury the wood imposed on his nose as it met the door’s hard surface.
That was definitely not there a second ago.
Dean wasted no time debating the opportunity, despite the surprise. He just wanted out, so he immediately reached for the handle.
Randomly appearing doors had yet to be the strangest thing to happen to him today, or ya know, ever.
Dean twisted it open and was again met with a drastic change of scenery. In contrast to the blinding lights of the mansion, darkness enveloped everything on the other side of the doorway. An invisible barrier seemed to separate the entrance from the rest of the space, not even letting the hallway illuminate it an inch beyond the threshold. There was no way to distinguish the depth or the distance of the ominous expanse in front of him.
Not creepy at all.
I’m not gonna find them if I stay in this stupid hall, Dean rationalized as he took a step into the darkness.
The floor of the new room was more solid but infinitely creakier than the carpeted floor of the hall and groaned under his weight. It was exactly what he had expected when he first entered the house – someplace old and more… historic than the shiny upkeep of what he had actually stumbled into. What he hadn’t expected though was the brush of something soft and fluffy against his hand as he stepped in further.
The sensation was certainly startling, but it wasn’t concerning. He grabbed the fluff with his hand and felt the slide of fabric between his fingers. A coat?
Was he in a closet?
Dean swiped his hand against the pressure of more fabric, the telltale clatter of hangers settling back into place following after, dust floating up into the air with its movement.
A creaking groan of floorboards sounded from farther into the closet, making Dean reflexively reach for a weapon.
His right hand landed on his gun.
“Who’s there?” Dean asked, trying to put as much bravado he could muster into his words.
“Dean?” a voice called out – no – Cas called out, tone dripping with concern, volume competing with the creek of his steps as he drew closer to where Dean was standing.
Dean retracted his hand from his gun and relaxed with relief. One down, one to go.
“Cas, buddy. Yeah it’s me.” He said, stepping in closer to the coats in front of him to reach his friend.
“Dean,” Cas said again, this time with more urgency, his steps increasing in fervor. How big could a closet possibly be?
“Don’t let the door close behind you! Dean, go!”
A rush of air whirled around Dean as, at once, Cas emerged from the cave of coats and the door behind him slammed close with a loud BANG.
“Fuck!” Cas exclaimed, immediately reaching around his waist to fruitlessly jimmy the door handle behind him.
Dean to pause, but not only due to the increasingly weird situation he was finding himself in. Cas cursing was such a foreign occurrence, and it was making Dean feel a certain way that he definitely shouldn’t be feeling right now, but he was also really fucking close – close enough for his stomach to be flush to Cas’ chest.
It was a weird position, Cas crouched awkwardly under his arm to reach the handle it sounded like he was currently trying to murder, but it was um… Doing things to Dean, you could say.
Dean forcibly coughed in an effort to not only distract his own brain but to gain Cas’ attention enough to get him to explain what the hell was happening. When Cas didn’t immediately get the hint, he instead reached his arm around to grab him by the shoulder and gently push him a safe distance away.
“Cas, chill the fuck out.”, Dean said firmly, trying to calm his friend, “And uhm… personal space dude.”
Cas responded with an irritated huff of annoyance and what Dean could only assume was an equally irritated scowl on his face in the low visibility of the closet. “We’re both locked in here now Dean, and- “he paused, backing up a few inches in demonstration, Cas’ back hit the wall of the closet with a soft thud, muffled by the coats behind him “our ‘personal space’ is gone.”.
Dean stilled. “Wait, what happened? You were at least a few yards away from the door when I first opened it. It took you like a full minute to reach me!” He said, examining his surroundings again as Cas spoke. He still couldn’t see anything relatively well, but the air did feel stuffier. More condensed.
“When I got trapped in here, it was just as small as it is now, but when you opened the door everything… dilated, expanded and knocked me back.”
“It threw you? Are you okay?” Dean asked. He heard Cas shift and the sound of a hand rubbing up and down the cotton of his trench coat by his ribs.
“Yes, I was thrown on my back, and I fear I might have a few bruised ribs, but I am okay.” He said, slight grimace in his voice.
Any normal person getting bruised from impact wouldn’t usually make Dean worried. It was perfectly normal. But this was Cas, and Cas was an angel. Angels don’t get bruises.
“A bruise? Dude how are you bruising?!”
“I don’t know, but Dean, whatever we’re dealing with, it’s not a witch.” He said, voice urgent as ever.
“What makes you say that?”, Dean asked.
Castiel huffed, pausing before he spoke, “It’s going to sound quite ridiculous…”.
Dean scoffed at that. He’s heard pretty ridiculous things in his time, one more wasn’t going to surprise him. “I don’t care Cas, spit it out.”.
Another huff, “Before I got locked in here, I was transported to a room and forced to play something called ‘twenty questions’ with a sentient puppet. After I answered the very invasive questions, the door appeared and I thought I was free to go, but then I got stuck.”
There was a small silence after Cas’ admission, until Dean burst out laughing, voice booming in their small, shared space.
Castiel in turn did not sound so amused as he continued, a stern annoyance in his words, “This place, all of it, isn’t just one place, but many different planes condensed into one. I can sense the cosmic differences. Witches don’t have this type of power.”
Planes, witches, and ‘cosmic differences’??? (Oh my)
“This thing can control space, Dean, and everything in said space. Seeing as it can cause harm to me, we’re at the mercy of a very powerful being with a… strange sense of humor, to say the least.”
Sounding deflated, he heard Cas slump to sit on the floor across from him. Reminded of his own weary state, the soreness of his muscles and the scratch at the back of his throat finally settling in, he followed his friend to the ground, mirroring his position. As long as they were stuck in here, it wouldn’t hurt to rest.
They sat in neutral silence for a moment. Dean could only guess Cas was pondering the possibilities of their situation with the same festering feeling of hopelessness as he was. It’s not as if things had exactly gone to plan.
When the quietness started to become unnerving, Dean suddenly remembered the other person he was looking for before he got trapped.
Fuck, how did he forget about Sammy?
“I know this is probably stupid to ask since you would’ve mentioned it, but did you happen to see Sam? Before or after you got got?”.
Cas sighed, he seemed to have calmed down a little in their silent interim, but Dean could tell he wasn’t any more relaxed. “I was going to ask you the same thing. I haven’t. I’m sorry.” his friend said with utter sincerity, like he had failed Dean somehow by not keeping a better eye out. Which, hey, that’s Dean’s job, not his.
Dean knocked his boot against Cas’ Oxford in understanding. He shouldn’t feel guilty when they were all in what he could only describe as a definite pickle. “Don’t sweat it Cas. Sam’s a big boy, he can handle himself… for the most part. We found each other though, so it ain’t all bad.”.
“Yes, we did.” Cas responded softly.
The mood shifted. The silence that followed wasn’t neutral or unnerving this time, but comfortable, if not charged with the undercurrent of something that always stuck to his and Cas’ interactions.
He knew, logically, the closet wasn’t getting any smaller, but somehow the air felt denser than before.
“What did she have you doing before you found the door?” Cas asked suddenly, breaking the moment in a much-needed way.
Dean was starting to become claustrophobic in more ways than one.
“Huh?”
“We found her because she was cursing games that she sold at her store, and she had me playing a game. I can only assume that is her… thing - games, so what did she have you play?”, Cas elaborated.
“I don’t know man,” Dean started. Thinking back to the hallway, it didn’t really feel like a game, just - he didn’t know, infinite?
“I ran down the first hall I saw looking for you guys, but it wasn’t normal. It was just like a continuous loop of the same place until I decided I had enough of it and tried to get back to the front of the house, then the door appeared and – “Dean made a gesture with his hand as if to say, “so there”, only remembering halfway through that Cas couldn’t actually see him. He aborted the motion, “Now we’re both locked in a closet.”
“Now we’re locked in a closet. -” Cas parroted. “Hmmmm.” He continued in a thoughtful tone, as if Dean’s comparably uneventful account had sparked a revelation.
“’Hmmmm’ what?” Dean asked, curiosity piqued.
“She obviously didn’t have you playing a game, at least not one either of us are familiar with. If she can control space, maybe she was keeping you in some sort of …waiting room.”
“Waiting for what?” Dean responded.
“Waiting to figure you out somehow – make a game for you.”.
Dean slowly began to pick up what Cas was putting down, realization dawning on him. “So, you think my game’s this closet or something?”
“Or something. If its not that, it still might in here somewhere.” Cas said. Dean felt him straighten up a little.
“Okay, so if it’s that, what do we do? Neither of us can see a damn thing in here.”.
Silence.
“Didn’t you… Didn’t you grab a flashlight before we left? Did you lose it?” Cas asked.
Oh yeah, the flashlight. The flashlight he grabbed ‘just in case’ and then promptly forgot about. That flashlight.
It was a good thing at least one of them was using their brain right now.
“I didn’t lose it. Just, um, give me a sec.”. Dean rummaged through the pockets of his jacket until he felt the cylindrical metal against his fingers. “Yahtzee!” He said as he flicked the light on.
Across from him, Cas’ face was illuminated by the flashlight, the blues of his irises almost sparked alive by LED before a hand came up to block the view.
“Dean, please don’t shine that directly in my eyes.”, Cas said, disgruntled.
“Sorry. I - yeah.” Dean said, promptly redirecting the light. He chose instead to readdress his surroundings being able to fully see this time.
It was no Narnia, but the coats surrounding them almost made it feel like it. They were a mixture of fur and undoubtedly fine linens, structured and stiff, like the only way for them to be worn was over some equally fine suits. The walls to their sides were covered with flowery wallpaper that looked dulled with age, a few spots of their once vibrant colors sparse and few between.
Dean shone the light upward to reveal a shelf hanging above them that seemed to be holding boxes of things he couldn’t quite make out.
“I think there might be some board games up there? Imma get a better look.” He said, repositioning his weight until he had enough leverage to fully stand.
Dean had to perch on the tips of his toes to be able to assess the shelf fully, which was not emasculating at all, he told himself as he began to search.
Everything was coated with a thick layer of dust that stuck to his fingers as he sifted through the items. Hats, some shoe boxes, a sewing kit disguised as a cookie tin, and a file box filled with manila envelopes.
Dean grabbed the handle of the file box with his one free hand in order to examine its contents. He lost his grip for second due to the tricky angle, sending some paper as well as a healthy dose of dust particles cascading to the floor.
“Hey, dude, look at those for me while I go through this. Tell me if you find anything useful.”.
“Of course.” Dean heard Cas say from below him, the small fwp of ripping paper following as his friend began opening envelopes.
A moment of concentration passed, both of them going through their respective files before Cas spoke up again, enthusiasm in his voice at his findings. “Dean I think I found something. I believe it’s some sort of clue.”
Hope stirred in Dean’s chest. “Read it to me. The faster we figure it out, the faster we can get out of here.”
“Can you shine the light down so I can see it better?” Cas asked.
“Oh, yeah.” Dean said, pointing the small LED downwards, which oh no no no proved to be a mistake as Dean took in their positions.
Cas was still on the floor but had moved to a kneel, using the spare beams from the flashlight to read. There hadn’t been much room to move his whole body to either side of the closet, so Dean was still directly adjacent to the angel below him.
Crotch adjacent.
Out of context, the scene read like the start to a bad porno.
Abruptly, Dean shot back down to a sitting position across from Cas, banging their limbs together as he descended. Their close proximity didn’t help matters, but at least that mental image was quickly laid to rest under piles of let’s-not-read-into-that dirt and barred with police tape labeled “DO NOT CROSS.”.
Thinking about Cas like that did feel like a crime after all.
As Dean settled back down, Cas let out a noise of surprise which quickly turned into confusion.
“Dean, you didn’t have to- you could’ve stayed up there. Why did you- “.
“Yes I did and no I couldn’t.” Dean replied, trying to keep his quickly slipping composure under control. “You’ve got the light now, so please just read the thing already.”
Cas gave him a look, the one he always adopted when a certain human trait bewildered him: a slight ‘What the fuck am I witnessing?’ that only lasted a second before looking down at the paper.
“This old man, he played seven,
He played knick-knack up in heaven;
With a knick-knack paddywhack,
Give the dog a bone,
This old man came rolling home.”
“I believe it’s a riddle of some sort.” Cas continued, “Or possibly an allusion to the Old-Irish game of ‘knick-knack’, traditionally played with spoons or bo- why are you laughing?”
Dean couldn’t help it. The seriousness at which Cas had read the thing, theories fresh right after was admittedly hilarious..
“Cas, it’s not a riddle or an allusion, or whatever the fuck you just said. It’s a nursey rhyme. Like little Bo-Peep or, or The Little Red Hen!” He said between breaths. If this didn’t account as a workout, he didn’t know what did.
This time, Cas’ scowl wasn’t left to the imagination, shown in full view by the flashlight, the shadows making the lines of his brow and frown lines more pronounced than usual. “The Little Red Hen isn’t a nursery rhyme, it’s a fable.”.
The small declaration only made Dean laugh harder. “So, you know The Little Red Hen, but you don’t know This Old Man?”.
Cas gesticulated his hands in exasperation at Dean’s amusement as he continued. It was an oddly human gesture.
“That is beside the point. It’s the only thing either of us have found that isn’t just legal documents or empty envelopes, so what does it mean?”
Dean tried to calm his laughing and thought for a second. Cas was probably right, and he wasn’t helping by laughing at the strange, but not unusual situation. He rolled the words around his mind, trying to sleuth his way to a possible conclusion.
Four words stuck out to him: Seven, heaven, paddywhack, bone.
While it was a known fact that Dean’s mind practically lived in the gutter, it just being in his nature since his brain tried to make something out of every seemingly innocuous situation when it came to Cas, he couldn’t help but take in his current reality.
They were locked in a closet. A closet where they were supposed to play a game. A game that somehow involved seven, heaven, paddywhacking and boning and -
oh shit…
fuck fuck FUCK!
Dean wasn’t gonna just kill this pseudo-witch. He was gonna go full medieval on her ass. Fire, stake, the whole shebang, because apparently the only way out was to play Seven Minutes in Heaven with Cas.
Did he mention oh shit?
Dean made a hard gulp before speaking. “Cas, I uh, I think I figured out what game she wants us to play.”
A second passed.
“… Are you going to tell me?”.
He let out an uncertain breath. “It’s Seven Minutes in Heaven. We have to play Seven Minutes in Heaven.”.
Dean waited for a chuckle at his admission, recognition of the ridiculousness of his verdict, possibly an alternate solution that made even a modicum of sense, but it never came. Instead, what he got was Cas’ notorious head tilt of confusion and the reminder of the naivety of the man sitting across from him.
“I don’t know what that game is. Is it painful? You sound pained.”
Damn right he did. “Cas, don’t tell me you don’t even have an idea of what it could be. I really, really, REALLY don’t want to have to explain this...”
A look of determination set on Cas’ features. “No, I don’t know what you are talking about, so if we are going to get out of here, you are going to have to tell me.”
“Fine, fine!” Dean said, pinching the bridge of his nose as he began. The whole experience was giving him a headache.
“So, its basically a game teens play to get some action. Two people are picked to go in a closet for 7 minutes and um… try to hit all the bases before their time is up.”.
Thinking back on Cas’ very literal interpretation of things, Dean elaborated, “Action and bases mean like, kissing and…sexual things, Cas.”.
Despite his anxiety, he chanced a look at his friend’s face to gauge his reaction. For a teensey weensey moment, Dean thought he saw something ruefull flash across Cas’ features before being schooled, like it never happened in the first place.
“And you don’t want to do those things with me.”
“No! I don’t!” Dean responded quickly, more to assure himself than the man across from him.
It didn’t calm him though – it felt like he was lying, but he didn’t know to who.
“Why?”
Cas was staring at him, or more like into him as he spoke. His gaze boring into something farther than just Dean’s face, something beyond it. Like he could find the answer to his question if he just looked deep enough.
“What do you mean ‘why?’, Cas?! Because…Just because!”.
Damnit, he was floundering.
“That isn’t a valid reason, Dean. The sooner we play the game, the sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can find Sam and be done with this hunt.” Cas said in an odd tone, urgent. Dean tried not to acknowledge the part of himself that stung at his words – Get it over with?
He wasn’t successful.
“Get it over –? I don’t want to just ‘get it over with’, dude! It’s just – I can’t – “.
Cas let out a sigh at his blabbering, his shoulders dropping in a way that emphasized his already slouched posture. He was frustrated. “What are your hang ups about this other than the fact that it’s me?”
“It’s not that – “
“Then what is it, Dean?!” Cas asked, cutting him off with a sharp edge. “We know the problem. We have the solution, so why not?”.
The question felt complex, even if Cas had said it in the simplest of terms. It was laced with something that weighed heavy in the air. Like Cas’ stare, it stretched beyond Dean and into something abstract, like this was a solution to more than one problem.
It wasn’t a question.
It was a dare.
Dean couldn’t comprehend the implications behind such a look. He just couldn’t. It was the wrong place, the wrong time, the wrong everything! In any other circumstance he would at least try to privately unpack it, but he couldn’t, because the reality of Cas’ implication was monumental.
It wasn’t meant for a magically coerced, timed make out sesh. It was meant for something slow and sweet like Dean had always chastised himself for even entertaining, not this – not forced.
“Cas, its not you. It’s not even me. It’s the fact that we have to. I don’t want something like this to happen because its – because it’s mandatory!”.
“What if I actually want this, Dean?!”, Castiel practically growled across from him. “What about that?!”.
Silence.
Dean was sure that his brain short circuited at that moment. He was not expecting, well, that, and therefore was not prepared at all to respond to it.
Him and Cas had always existed in the realm of subtleties. Small innocuous touches, words that meant something more than what they were really saying, a mutual understanding of who they were in relation to each other that Dean never saw a chance of changing. It was a dynamic they had carefully crafted over the years that allowed them to function in the way they needed to… but not how they necessarily wanted to. This weird bond they shared existed in subtext, and that’s where Dean thought it would always stay.
And then Cas just went and popped the bubble.
You know what? Fuck it. Fuck it! Dean thought. He had already proved to be an opportunist when he walked through that closet door, so maybe this was one more opportunity to take – a leap of faith he hoped would have them landing somewhere they actually wanted to be for once.
Running off of a sudden spark of bravery, Dean surged forward, onto his haunches and then to his knees, crawling into what was left of the small space between him and Cas. The flashlight fell, rolling to illuminate Cas’ expression perfectly. Any bravado his friend had during his interrogation was washed away by the owlish look he wore now, caught off guard.
Dean hitched the hilt of Cas’ tie between his fingers, drawing him impossibly closer before asking the deciding question, softly.
“Are you sure about this Cas? Are you absolutely sure this is the solution?”.
A pause.
Dean watched Castiel not-so-discreetly flick his gaze down to his lips, then back up to look him straight in the eyes. Fire distantly danced behind his baby blues even as Dean watched the nervous bob of his adams apple as he swallowed harshly. His normally steady voice sounded strung out as he replied.
“Yes.”.
Without hesitation, their lips met. Dean wasn’t sure who took the final step, connecting the warm press of their mouths, but it didn’t matter. The floodgates were open.
Unlike Dean had imagined (which he was willing to admit now that he definitely had imagined it before), Cas was a tenacious kisser. It wasn’t the sensual slide of lips he occasionally allowed his subconscious to indulge in, but a heavy, insistent exploration.
Their hands weren’t gently holding one another’s face, caressing – skirting along the edges of lust. No, their hands were everywhere. It felt like Cas was trying to study each contour of his abdomen through his shirt while Dean tangled his fingers through the already messy trusses of hair on the angel’s head.
Still feeling brave, Dean chanced a slight tug on the locks. The reaction he got was absolutely wonderful.
Cas’ movements stuttered and he let out a breathy gasp that Dean happily swallowed before he softly bit down on the plush swell of Cas’ bottom lip, rewarded by another gasp for his efforts.
Moving down from his mouth, the curve of his jaw, to the long column of Cas’ neck, Dean began to pepper wet kisses to all the exposed skin he could find, giving them just enough room to breathe but not escape the bubble of endorphins they had created.
“Dean,” Cas had began to say, but it came out as more of a croak. The sound of his name sounded rough and ragged, just like the rest of Cas’ breathing. It was the most beautiful sound Dean had ever heard.
“Yeah, Cas?”, he asked in a brief pause before diving into the sweat slicked junction where Cas’ neck met his collarbone. It looked like it tasted delicious.
“Dean,” Cas said, more needy than before. “I need – ah – I need more. I don’t – I don’t know. Wha - where are you going?”.
Dean had sat up barely an inch, but it was – dare he say adorable – to see how much the loss of contact effected Cas. To assuage the worry painted on his face, Dean placed a quick, but soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. It was much more tender than before, but it was just as nice.
“Don’t worry, Cas. M’ not going anywhere. I just needed enough room to do this – “, Dean said as he began to tug his jacket off and away. Castiel seemed to get the hint and began to strip himself of his trench coat and suit jacket in turn, usually graceful fingers frantic.
Once down to nothing but their pants, torsos now fully exposed, Dean crowded back into Cas’ space. The skin-on-skin contact was simply intoxicating. The taught lines of his friend’s stomach felt so soft and warm, melted for him to form anew under his touch.
Cas was equally greedy, grabbing and groping every inch of Dean he could reach. Unlike his own hands, calloused from years of rough work, Cas’ hands were soft and delicate. It almost reminded him of a woman’s touch, but the comparison ended where the unmistakably masculine grip began, strong and unyielding. It should worry Dean how much he absolutely loved how it felt – so close to manhandling – but he was too consumed by sensation to even entertain the thought.
They had been so lost in rhythm that when Dean bit down on an apparently special spot right under Cas’ left clavicle, the unvoluntary buck of his hips almost startled Dean out of his trance.
Almost, because in that split second of contact Dean had felt something that transformed his simmering hunger into ravenous want.
Cas was hard.
Of course he was, Dean was too, but he had been so blinded by their necking that Dean had almost forgotten about the other possibilities of their situation.
With a moment’s hesitation, Dean placed his weight on one hand and grabbed one of Cas’ hipbones (damn, those bad boys were sharp) with the other, effectively pinning him down. Dean then lowered himself, warm breath ghosting over the shell of Cas’ ear.
“Angel- “he said in a low tone, testing the pet name on his tongue. It produced the desired effect, Cas shivering as the word brushed across his skin. “I’m gonna do something. If you don’t like it, tell me. Okay?”
He felt a nod of agreement, Cas’ stubble catching slightly on his own. It was all confirmation Dean needed.
Letting go of Cas’ hip, he made quick work of their flies, pushing his jeans and Cas’ slacks down as much as he could in the confined space. With a roll of his hips, Dean grinded down, rubbing their clothed erections together, the friction heavenly. The heat that had been slowly building in his belly began to burn white hot at the much-needed attention. The deep groan Cas released at the contact only served to stoke the fire.
“Dean. Oh my, oh – ah. Please, please do that again.”.
Dean obeyed, setting a steady pace as he began to rut in earnest, the noises Cas released becoming more and more lewd by the second. A wonton moan here, a breathy gasp there, but Dean’s favorite were the whines. The high pitch of pure neediness contrasted so beautifully with Cas’ usually rough-as-gravel voice. It made him sound so undone, unraveled. The best part was that Dean had done that to him. Dean was the one taking him apart piece by piece and Cas was just letting him – begging for it, actually.
“Dean, this feels so good. S’good, but I need – I need – “.
“What? Tell me what you need, Angel.”.
Cas placed his hands on either side of Dean’s face, directing his focus back to his own, but doing nothing to stop their determined grinding.
“Dean, I w-wanna touch you. Please, let me touch.”.
Dean felt the pressure in his gut build at the thought. Cas sounded so desperate it bordered on hysterical - it was exhilarating.
“Yes, Cas. Yes.”.
He then felt Cas’ left-hand begin trail down his neck to his collarbone, and around the curvature of his pec. His fingers danced over the muscles that covered Dean’s ribs, tiptoeing along the V of his pelvis until they finally reached the band of his boxers, tracing a line that led straight to Dean’s dick. Not once did Cas break the roll of their hips or the hold of his gaze and damn if Dean didn’t think it was the hottest thing he had ever experienced.
On odd an up-cant, Cas tactfully slipped him out and into the velvety palm of his hand, turning the hold into a down stroke on his cock.
“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck, Cas. Oh-ah, that’s perfect.”.
Cas’ hand tightened marginally at the praise, like he was trying to milk the words from Dean’s lips.
“Dean, you’re so… solid.”.
God, Dean knew those words shouldn’t sound so salacious, but the way Cas had said them, with something close to awe in his voice – like his dick was precious somehow - just made him want more.
“Cas, let me help you out too. Let’s get you out of those briefs.”
“Please.”.
With no effort at all, Dean swiftly maneuvered Cas out of the cloth confines of his underwear, cock already slick with precum leaking at the head. He pushed the shaft into Cas’ hand, then proceeded to wrap his own around the angel’s deft fingers, effectively jacking them both in unison.
A guttural noise came from Cas’ lips, like it had been punched out of his lungs. He sounded feral.
Dean let out a heady groan himself at the feeling. It was a perfect mixture of wet, warm slickness between them. Their joined hands slid effortlessly up and down, arousal growing and growing to an inevitable precipice.
Cas had begun to babble, an incoherent string of words that Dean could barely make out until it turned into a quiet chant of his own name, sung like a prayer for only him to hear.
“Deandeandeandeandeandeandeandeandeandean.”.
Dean was so close to tumbling over the edge. He could feel his orgasm bubbling beneath the surface, waiting eagerly for release. He wanted Cas with him there though, to make the decent together.
“I’m so close, Cas. What do you need, Angel? Tell me what you need.”.
“Dean, just – ah. Just kiss me. Please, just kiss me again.”
Dean wasted no time slotting their mouths together once more. It was sloppier than before, no room for any performance when it was just a means to an end. Their noses bumped against one another. Their teeth clashed every other move to reposition, but it was all mended by the dire glide of tongues and lips that devoured their mutual moans and mewls.
Suddenly, he felt the muscles of Cas’ stomach seize under the hold of his free hand, rigid as he let out a final cry of pleasure, hot cum spilling between their still slotted fingers.
Dean took in the alluring image before him: Cas shirtless and covered in sweat and jizz beneath him, dazedly blissed out look on his features but still cognizant enough to keep a firm grasp on Dean’s cock. It was all Dean needed to finally let his own orgasm crash over him, a tidal wave of relief and just pure goodness.
He came with a high-strung groan, head comfortably tucked into the crevice of Cas’ neck. It was the best feeling in the world.
Dean immediately collapsed onto Cas’ chest. He didn’t mind that they were essentially glued together with sweat and cum. Dean felt too boneless right now to care, drunk, and so incredibly content as Cas lazily wrapped his arms around his shoulders.
He spoke directly into Cas’ neck as he said his next words, the moist skin catching on his lips. “Cas that was…That was amazing.”.
He felt the rumble of a chuckle beneath him in response. “Yes it was-.”.
Suddenly, he felt Cas tense, which was no bueno given their current predicament.
Abruptly Dean was pulled out of his haze, everything leading up to it instantly catching up to his arousal drunk brain.
The witch that was apparently not so witchy, the hallway, the closet, SAM.
Dean shot up, pulling out of Cas’ grasp.
“Dude we gotta – “.
Cas’ hand suddenly shot out to silence him, jizz covered palm covering his lips (which ew, but in a hot way Dean had no time to unpack now or ever). He then brought an index finger to his own lips, clearly telling Dean to keep quiet.
Annoyed but cautiously obedient, Dean did just that as he took in his surroundings.
So, uh, they weren’t in the closet anymore…
Yay.
Apparently Dean’s post coital haze had allowed him not to notice the change in scenery until now. Sex really did wonders to breaking down years of hunter’s training, the essential need to be aware of what the fuck was happening around him.
They were in a new room, reminiscent of that stupid fucking hallway/waiting room thingy. The same carpet on the floors, same portraits and pictures gracing the walls. It was all the same except a collection of couches and a TV that looked like it was sent straight from a 70’s Sears catalogue stationed on the other side of the room.
When Dean spotted who was laid across from said TV, he realized why Cas had tensed up.
There sat Sam, oblivious to their existence and flushed in the face from alcohol if the half-empty tequila bottle at his feet told Dean anything about the scene displayed before them.
The show playing on the TV made a sudden dinging noise that reverberated throughout the room, causing his brother to jostle to life.
“DRINK!” Sam exclaimed loudly as he took a swig of the golden liquor.
So, good news: They found Sam.
Bad news: Apparently his brother was in the middle of a very enthusiastic drinking game, and he was still half-naked on top of Cas.
He said it once and he’d say it til the day he fucking died: Fuck witches (and very powerful pseudo witches).