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Dean sucks in a sharp breath as Castiel lowers himself down completely. The pleasure is blinding, the angel’s ass is so freaking tight and burning - Dean’s hips twitch in his effort to keep still.
When Cas starts moving, his nails digging deep in the muscles of Dean’s shoulder, Dean thinks he might pass out, or come right there like this, barely a minute after starting. It’s been so long since he’s done this, since he’s been with someone, and this is so different from what he’s used to - it’s Cas for fuck’s sake - but it still feels overwhelmingly good.
Cas seems to like it a lot though and he’s making these obscene sounds, deep throat moans every time he grinds his hips and slams his ass back on Dean’s thighs. The sounds rise along the slap of flesh and the wet sound of Dean’s cock slipping back inside of him, and it’s the dirtiest kind of song, and Dean can’t resist singing along with it.
The hunter’s eyes are wide open in the dim lit room, he feels stuck, like the air around them has turned into butter. Thick, wet, sticky butter, and he can’t move, he can’t escape. He’s not sure how this happened. An hour ago he was just watching a movie on Netflix, and now Cas is straddling his hips and fucking himself on his cock, and Dean can’t stop staring.
He can’t stop staring at Cas’ broad, masculine shoulders, the muscles of his stomach, of his arms, of his thick thighs working above him. He can’t stop staring at Castiel's throat, at his collarbones, slick with sweat, at his neck, covered in a days old scruff, a freaking beard, because he’s a dude, and Dean’s fucking him.
And as he pounds back into the moist heat of Cas’ ass he stares at Cas’ face, at his lips so fucking pink and cushioned, popping out against the darkness of his stubble. His hair is sticking to his forehead, his mouth half opened in bliss, and if Dean was into that, he’d say Cas is freaking gorgeous, so fucking gorgeous. He can’t resist but reach up and slide his palm around Castiel’s cheek, feeling the roughness of his jaw against his palm, the plumpness of his mouth under his thumb. He feels his dick throb inside of Cas and his hips buck up, making Cas cry out his name.
“Dean!”
“Sorry, I-”
Blue jewels glisten in the dark as Cas opens his eyes and stares down at Dean. His cheeks are dark red and he just looks so-
“Harder,” Cas growls, fingers gripping tighter around Dean’s shoulder. “Fuck me, harder.”
Dean whimpers as he obeys, thrusting up into that blissful heat and letting both hands curl around Cas’ asscheeks, following the grind of his hips. He’s still not sure of what’s happening, how it happened, if this is - what the fuck this is - but his brain is boiling on the inside, fried on the outside, and suddenly it doesn’t matter if Cas doesn’t have boobs or a vagina, what matters is how it feels, and that nothing has felt this good in a long, long time.
It doesn’t matter that Cas isn’t as soft as the girls Dean usually lays, with silky skin and soft breasts, smooth stomachs and plump thighs. This is - there’s softness but there’s also hardness, it’s a dude - but it’s not as scary as Dean always thought it would be. He can feel Cas’ balls rolling against his stomach, his cock, definitely hard, the roughness of the hair on his legs rubbing against his waist. Cas is hard in many ways, he’s hard and unknown and strange but he’s also Cas, and Dean focuses on that, and that suddenly feels like everything that matters. Cas feels like a bright light in the darkest of rooms, and Dean holds on to him as tight as he possibly can.
He slides his hands around Cas’ waist, finds a surprising softness on the curve of his ass, such a good ass, the best freaking ass he’s ever touched, ever seen, so fucking soft and smooth and sweet and - Dean holds on and gives him everything until he cries out, bucking, spilling deep in the tight heat. His dick throbs, and suddenly he feels Cas spasming around him, tightening, if such a thing is possible. Cas ducks down, Dean can feel his burning breath on his face, his blood red lips just a few inches from his own. A warm liquid spurts on Dean’s chest, Cas lets out a long, throaty moan, jerking softly on top of him, spraying him in sticky, thick cum.
Then it’s all over. Cas slips off him, still breathing heavily, and drops on the mattress next to him. Dean stares at the ceiling, feeling numb, empty, exhausted. Through the thick post-orgasm haze, he feels a striking fear creeping up and infiltrating through his veins, freezing the tip of his fingers.
What did they just do? What the actual fuck has just-
“Thank you,” Cas suddenly says, voice ringing out loud in the suddenly silent room. “I really needed that.”
“Yeah. Sure. You, uh,” Dean clears his throat, trying to chase the weird shakiness out of his voice. “You really just… came in and… knew what you wanted.”
“Was I too direct?”
Dean lets out a blank chuckle, trying to remember the chain of events. It’s all so blurry now. He was watching Netflix, and then…
“Well, you basically walked in and started sucking my dick…”
He feels Cas turning his head and looking at him. “Your dick didn’t seem to mind.”
Dean swallows thickly at the memory. He was way too disconcerted to protest, air literally punched out of his lungs, and Cas’ mouth just felt so freaking good-
“I just - I didn’t know you - I - humans don’t - friends don’t just usually do this with each other,” Dean finally blurts out. “Dudes, bros, we don’t - we’re not supposed to-”
“The friends to lovers trope is one of the most common in books and on television-”
“Yeah but not-”
“Dean.”
Dean shuts his eyes tightly when he feels a warm hand curling around his wrist, Cas’ tone soft and firm.
“I apologize if I forced you into something-”
“No, it’s not like that.”
There’s a small silence, Cas’ hand still wrapped around Dean’s arm, his thumb tracing small soothing circles on his skin. Dean attempts to breathe, to gather his thoughts. He’s painfully aware of the sweat drying on his skin, making him cold, and of being naked in these sheets, next to Cas. But he just said it, despite everything, despite the fact that Dean didn’t - that he’s not into - it’s still, when he touched him, when he touched the top of Cas’ head with his dick down his throat or when he brushed his palm on Cas’ face while he was - he can’t deny it, how much he liked it.
“I don’t feel about you the way just friends do, Dean,” Cas murmurs as the silence stretches out between them. “I never have, I think. But if this isn’t something you want to do, then we can forget this happened, and go back to the way things were.”
“No,” Dean says, his lips, dry and sharp. His fingers grip back Cas’ hand just as he’s about to slip away.
Suddenly he’s dragging Cas back against himself, all of his naked body, thick, manly thighs sliding between his own, flat chest and muscled arms, hairy legs, rough jaw pressed against his neck. It’s strange, and Dean’s heart is beating too fast in his chest and he’s scared, but he only tightens his hold around Cas’ shoulders, slipping his finger in the softness of his hair, enjoying Cas’ warmth, his slow breathing, his familiar smell.
Dean kisses Cas’ forehead, his temple, his cheeks, and his lips, finally. Those lips.
When Dean comes up for air, several minutes later, a heavy weight, a weight that’s probably as old as he is, has finally been lifted.
“No. I don’t want to go back,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb on Cas’ cheek, softly kissing his lips, over and over and over. “Let’s not ever go back.”