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a helping hand (let's not be friends)

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There were a few things that were known about Dean Winchester, undeniable things that hadn't wavered once in his entire life. 


One, he liked pie. Two, he loved his car. And three, there was nothing he wouldn't do for his brother. That last fact was widely known by many all over the supernatural world, and even amongst some normal people that interacted with them on random occasions. It had also been proven over and over, a streak that didn't seem close to breaking. 


This, however, was asking too much. 


"Dean," Sam said, his bitchiest of bitch-faces turned up to full blast, "you're being dramatic." 


"I'm not," Dean snipped, tightening his fingers around the neck of his beer. 


Cas stuck his head into the kitchen, chin hooking on the doorway as he arched an eyebrow. "You are," he announced blandly, like the traitor he was, then disappeared back into the other room. 


"I'm not!" Dean called after him, slumping back into his chair with a huff. "Sam, I don't want to do this, okay? Aren't you always the one who's preaching about how I objectify women? Shouldn't you be happy that I'm not jumping at the chance?" 


Sam rolled his eyes. "First, you do objectify women sometimes; you've gotten better, but still. Second, I think this could be good for you! I don't know, you've been...dormant lately, and frankly, I'm worried." 


"Me too," Cas said, sticking his head back in the room briefly, staring with his most serious face to get his point across, then leaving yet again. 


"So, let me get this straight; it's a problem if I want to be with women, and it's a problem if I don't?" 


"I'm not saying that." Sam heaved a sigh and shoved his hand through his hair. "Look, you haven't even glanced at a girl in months. Dean, the last time you went that long without making at least one lewd comment was...never? Literally nothing has kept you from being gross, so yes, I'm worried because you just suddenly stopped. It's Valentine's Day; that's your prime time for...scouting." 


Dean tossed up a hand. "I'm damned if I do, damned if I don't." 


"Again, back to the dramatics," Sam scoffed, tapping a finger against the table. "I think it will be good for you. Outside of hunts, you haven't gotten out and done anything in awhile. You spend all your time with Cas, not that he minds, but you can't stay cooped up all the time." 


Cas stuck his head into the room yet again. "Sam makes many valid points." 


"Did you pay him to parrot you?" Dean snapped, cutting a sharp look at Cas. 


"He did, actually," Cas confirmed. 


Sam made a muted sound of frustration. "Cas, we talked about this. You're not supposed to-" 


"Seriously, Sam?" Dean tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling, lips tipping down. "I can't believe you paid my best friend to help you throw an intervention because I haven't gotten laid in a few months." 


"It's not an intervention. Or, it wouldn't be if you'd just agree to come with me." 


"I am not going." 


Sam tsked in disapproval. "Come on, man, it might even be fun. I'm almost positive that Eileen will bring someone you'll actually like." 


"That's not the point. I don't want to go out and mingle. I'm just...not interested." 


"But why? It's the perfect opportunity for you to-" 


"I don't want to have sex!" Dean exploded, slamming a hand down on the counter. "Jesus fuck, Sammy, I'm just not interested in a quick lay right now, okay? And before you say anything, no, I'm not looking for a relationship with somebody." 


"I just want you to get out of the bunker, Dean," Sam mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest and gazing at Dean with wide, hopeful eyes. 


And Dean got it. He really did. If roles were reversed, he'd be just as worried if Sam abruptly stopped eating healthy and protested running. But roles weren't reversed, so Sam could shove his concern up his ass; he didn't understand. 


Here was the thing, Dean never expected to get old. Up until he actually lived to see some gray hairs, he didn't think he'd make it past thirty. He was now officially over forty by a smidge, which defied all laws of logic, but whatever. With age came certain...changes, Dean knew this. 


He'd been prepared for the aches, for the weakening strength, even the shittier eyesight - seriously, he was one book away from needing bifocals, and Sam just thought he hated doing research. Hell, he'd even come to terms with the fact that what he considered normal was out of time for newer generations. What he wasn't prepared for, what no one fucking warned him about, was the...performance issues. 


It wasn't like it was an entirely new thing. He'd struggled with it before. Coming back from hell, or purgatory, or looking down the barrel of all the shit he'd done as a demon… Well, it could put a damper on the sex-front. He bounced back every time, sure, but it wasn't always the easiest thing; he had to coax his dick back into interest most of the time, but he always managed. Some good porn, low lighting, and he was golden. 


Age, however, was apparently crueler than the worst things that Dean had ever experienced. 


Approximately three months ago, on the night of Dean's weekly special Dean-time, he'd locked his door and put on his headphones with all intentions of relieving some stress, just as he'd done the week before. Then, for seemingly no reason at all, his dick decided to stop working. 


That had not gone over well. 


No amount of stroking would help, not even with lube. The filthiest porn he could find wouldn't even stir the starts of arousal in him. Hell, even dipping into his guiltiest pleasure and imagining Dr. Sexy naked with Doc Holiday (also naked) didn't do a damn thing for him. His dick had remained soft in his hand, not even twitching. 


At first, he'd been sure that something was wrong. His knee-jerk reaction was to assume that he'd been put under some kind of curse, then he realized that it probably had zero to do with things of the supernatural sort. Which, that left genuine health issues, and that had only freaked him out more. It brought him face-to-face with a reality he'd never thought about in depth. Lower sex-drive, performace issues, disinterest in all things sexual - it was truly a horrible thing to fall into.


He hadn't noticed, hadn't even realized it, but his sexual desire had severely decreased over time. He'd forgo chances to masterbate to sleep instead, stop halfway into stroking himself to make himself a sandwich, get distracted from porn by a stray thought. It wasn't that it quit on him, it was that he gave up on it. 


The appeal diminished, his sex-drive took a vacation, and he was officially fucking old. 


Which led Dean to right now. Usually, Dean would jump at the opportunity to join Sam on a double date with Eileen and some pretty friend of hers. It was definitely an easy in; the problem was, he couldn't find it in himself to waste his time. He couldn't even get it up anymore, so what was the fucking point? 


"Look, tell Eileen I'm sorry, but I'm just not interested, okay? You go, have fun, stop worrying about me." Dean pushed up from the table and tried to smile convincingly; he was sure he failed, but the effort was there. "I'll just hang out with Cas until you get back, if you don't head home with Eileen." 


As expected, Sam's face bloomed red as he cleared his throat. "Well...if you're sure. It doesn't even have to be about sex, you know; you can just come with and we'll have a nice night out." 


"I'm fine," Dean told him, waving a hand and backing up towards the door. "A couple movies with Cas, some snacks, and my night's made. Who doesn't love a sleepover, right?" 


"Alright," Sam agreed warily, his underlying worry increasing tenfold. 


Dean bobbed his head and hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "Well, I'm gonna go shower and get ready for that sleepover. When I'm out, you better be gone. Say hi to Eileen for me." 


Sam sighed as Dean quickly ducked out of the room. 


Cas was standing in front of the bookshelf, his gaze sweeping over the titles. He looked at Dean briefly as he entered the room, then said, "To be fair, it was easy money, and you told me never to pass up a chance to make easy money." 


"That I did," Dean agreed with a snort, shaking his head in amusement. "Half of it's mine for the betrayal. Anyway, I'm hopping in the shower, so do me a favor and pick out some movies to watch tonight. I'll meet you back in mine." 


"Okay, Dean," Cas replied. 


With that, Dean started towards the shower. He had to stop by and get a change of clothes, then he was shutting the door and flipping the lock. 


It was pretty much routine for him to spend his shower-time trying to make his dick work. It was perfect timing; no one was around, the water felt good, and it was always easier to think up scenarios in the shower, though he had no idea why. Actually, it should have been prime time for him to manage a stiffy, but it had been three months since his last one. That didn't seem to be changing. 


However, Dean hoped that today was the day he came out of his sexual-slumber and managed something, just as he had every day prior. 


No such luck. 


He didn't understand. It wasn't like he couldn't get horny; his mouth still flooded with saliva when he came across tentacle porn, sexy people in cowboy boots, or - strangely enough - people with stethoscopes thrown casually around their necks.  Maybe if Dr. Sexy had an alien episode, he'd be able to unlock whatever fucking chamber that hid away his ability to get it up. 


Dean hadn't popped a boner in literal months, not even morning wood, and it was driving him nuts. He wanted to, so fucking badly; his dick, however, was not on the same page. 


Standing under the steady stream coming from the showerhead, Dean shook out his hands and looked at his dick. "Today's the day, you're going to work today, or so help me…" 


There wasn't really a threat he could give that made any sense, but the hint at one filled him with determination. Blowing out a deep breath, he tilted his head back, letting the water run through his short hair and down his back. Slowly, sensuously, he trailed his hand over his chest, lightly passing over a nipple teasingly, then closed his eyes as he slowly grasped his dick. It was still soft, but that was okay; he could do this, he would do this. 


He stroked slowly, trying to relax all the tension out of his body, breathing deeply. He allowed his mind to wander, not picturing anything in particular, just letting foggy versions of his favorite things star in the show that should put him in the mood. As usual, he could feel the reaction within him, the interest that flashed in his mind, the small swirl of desire in his gut. The more he lost himself to his imagination, the deeper reaction his body gave. Tingles tap-danced down his spine, his toes curling as he started to breathe heavier, and the ghost of lips over his neck had his heart racing. 


And, once again, his dick didn't so much as twitch. 


Dean opened his eyes, the faint starts of arousal slipping away as disappointment crowded in. With a growl of frustration, he dropped his dick, glaring as it hit his wet leg with a splat. Amongst the anger and disappointment, there was pure shame. 


He was a sexual creature - that was one of his things, a true aspect to who he was. He liked sex, loved it, even. Sex of any sort - from simple masturbation or with partners - was one of his favorite things. It felt good, made him remember what it felt like to be alive, and could put him in a good mood faster than a slice of pie, which was saying a lot. 


But he couldn't do it anymore. It was fucking disgraceful, was what it was. What kind of man was he if his dick didn't even work? 


Another failure. 


Dean rushed through his shower, frustration simmering as he scrubbed his skin raw. He ignored his dick as he got dressed (and why not, it was ignoring him), then stomped towards his room. He slammed open the door and immediately came to an abrupt halt. Cas was sitting on the foot of Dean's bed, hands threaded in his lap, a small stack of movies beside his leg. 


"Hello, Dean," came Cas' customary greeting, accompanied with blue eyes squinting. "Are you okay? You look...angry." 


"I am angry, Cas!" 




Dean looked away, his jaw jumping, nostrils flaring. He took a deep, calming breath. "Nothing, don't worry about it. What movies did you pick out?" 


"Currently not of import." Cas waved a hand, leaning forward to stare at Dean intently. "Are you angry about Sam's intervention? He means well, Dean. He's just worried; it's not like you to avoid certain social situations that you'd usually find enjoyable." 


"I know Sam means well, but he doesn't fucking get it. He doesn't- it's really hard to explain." 


"I will listen, if you'd like." 


"I'm- Cas, I'm getting old, man." Dean huffed a breath and padded over to flop down beside Cas. He reached up to swipe a hand over his face, shoulders slumping. "I'm actually, you know, forty now. I didn't expect to make it this far, so I never really stopped to think about what could happen when I actually got here." 


"You're wary of the longevity of your lifespan." 


"No, that's my point. I didn't think there'd be much long in the lifespan. I assumed I wouldn't have to deal with being old." 


Cas frowned at him. "Is there something wrong with being old?" 


"Besides the deteriorating health, general lack of knowledge on all things modern, and the likelihood that my guaranteed death is closer rather than farther, not really." 


"There's no need to be sarcastic, Dean, though that is your natural defense mechanism when you're feeling upset; along with being an ass, of course." 


"Thank you for that, Cas," Dean said flatly, glaring at the floor, "it really helped." 


"You're welcome." 


"You're a real bastard, you know that?"


"So, you'd hoped that you'd die before you got...old, out running death in reverse, feeling safe because it's on your own terms and has nothing to do with inevitability. Except you happened to live longer, leaving you in a state you never prepared for." 


"Yes, exactly!" 


Cas nodded. "I see. And what is it that bothers you about being old?" 


Here, Dean paused. He wasn't sure if it was something he should actually bring up. Two dudes did not go around talking about dicks, definitely not about how one was failing. Cas probably wouldn't even bat an eye, but Dean wasn't sure if he'd survive the embarrassment. Still, he had frustration bubbling up the back of his throat like rising bile, rancid and acrid on his tongue. 


Slowly, Dean said, "Well, a number of things. I mean, I can't run as fast as I could when I was younger, I don't recover as quickly, my dick stopped working, and the heartburn is a bitch." 


Cas blinked. "Your…" 




Too late to go back now. Ah, fuck it. What were best friends for besides listening to your dick problems? Dean stared resolutely ahead and tried not to sail face-first to the floor in hopes it would swallow him. Fortunately, Cas' silence was pensive rather than judgemental, so that was a relief. 


The thing was, Dean couldn't fucking take it anymore. He was practically eat up with shame, unable to think of one goddamn solution on his own, and this wasn't something he could just repress. It affected him, to the point that he was genuinely feeling like shit day-in and day-out. So, even if it went against everything he knew to bring up his dick so openly with another guy he wasn't trying to fuck-and-flee, he didn't take it back. 


It probably wasn't Cas' area of expertise, but there was no way in hell Dean was talking to Sam. He had to draw the line somewhere and that was it. 


"I'm going to need you to elaborate, Dean. It seems inappropriate to make assumptions about your genitalia." 


"'s exactly what it sounds like." Dean grimaced and cleared his throat, fiddling with his fingers as he continued to stare at the wall. "It just quit fucking working. You ever hear about those dogs that go off to die alone? It's like that." 


"Your penis is secluding itself for death?" Cas asked in blatant confusion. 


And yep, there went his hold on his blush. Face heated with shame, Dean coughed. "Look, man, I can't get it up, alright? Not for anything. I haven't gotten hard in three months." 


"Ah," Cas said delicately, "I see why you're angry." 


"Frustrated," Dean corrected awkwardly. "In every sense. It's fucking stupid." 


"You don't get aroused anymore?" 


"No, that's not it, which is why I'm so pissed. Dude, it's like the car has plenty of gas, but it just won't crank. Arousal isn't the fucking issue, my dick just doesn't want to respond." 


"Have you orgasmed in the past three months?" 


"What? No, I just told you-" 


"You don't need an erection to orgasm, Dean," Cas told him seriously. 


Dean's head snapped over, lips parting in shock. Cas simply stared at him. "Are you fucking with me?" he asked carefully. "Because if you're fucking-" 


"I'm not," Cas interrupted with an eyeroll. "If age is impending your penis' natural response, you can still achieve orgasm." 


"Wait, seriously?" Dean sat forward, reaching out to grip Cas' arm. "Are you sure? How do you know?" 


"I've done it myself. Orgasmic release is mostly emotional. I was unused to my body as a human; when April and I had sex, I orgasmed prematurely and without an erection simply because it was transindal to be cared for in any compacity at that time. Of course, after a few moments, I managed an erection and was able to continue, as you would say, as God intended." 


"Oh my fucking god." 


Cas looked amused. "Perhaps that was a bit of oversharing, but my point is that you can do it." 


"I've tried," Dean countered with a huff, dropping his hand from Cas' arm. "Dude, I've touched my dick more in the past three months than I have in my entire life, and that's really saying something." 


"Continue to try, I'm sure you'll manage to-"


"Help me." 


Cas looked down at where Dean's hand snapped out and gripped his arm again. He arched an eyebrow as he met Dean's gaze. "To be clear, you're asking me to help you orgasm?" 


Right, well, when he put it like that… 


To be fair, Dean hadn't actually considered it like that. Maybe a step-by-step guide or something, but not a hands-on approach. However, that was before Cas didn't look anywhere close to disgusted at the notion. While Cas was a big no-no in his mind most of the time, this was desperate times in need of desperate measures. 


Cas was off limits for two very simple reasons. One, Dean didn't do much more with men than have sex and leave, never thinking about it again. It was something he kept very low-key and never admitted to, for various reasons that could be boiled down to daddy-issues and his own perception of who he was supposed to be as a man - of course, he never actually acknowledged this, even if he knew it. And that led into reason two. Cas was far too important to fuck around with sexually because there was the possibility that it could end in emotional turmoil (and not just for Cas), so he couldn't even imagine ruining the good thing they've got going on. 


Except, and here was the thing, Dean really wanted to have a fucking orgasm. 


"I'm asking on one condition," Dean said carefully, holding up a finger. "And you can say no without explaining why, okay? The one condition is that it's just friends helping each other, nothing else. It's not a thing, can't be a thing." 


Cas merely looked unimpressed. "Dean, why would it be anything else? You are having problems; I only endeavor to help you." 


"Oh," Dean said weakly, "in that case…" 


"Take off your shirt," Cas ordered, wasting no time as he suddenly stood up. 


Dean blinked. "What?" 


"Dean, do as I say." 


Without thinking, Dean did. He felt awkward as fuck, so he pressed his balled-up shirt to the soft curve of his stomach and watched Cas warily. The atmosphere, fortunately, wasn't weird at all. Cas didn't seem bothered in the least as he pulled off his trenchcoat and suit jacket to gingerly lay them over the chair in the corner of the room. When he swung back around, Cas flicked his gaze over Dean's naked torso and gave absolutely no reaction to suggest what he thought about it. 


"What are we doing?" Dean asked as casually as possible, eyes fixated on the motion of Cas unbuttoning one cuff and rolling the sleeve carefully before moving to the next. 


"It could take awhile, so I prefer to have a better range of motion. You'll need to be relaxed and focused on anything else besides the fact that you're unable to form an erection." 


"Sounds like a medical check-up or some shit." 


Cas shot him a flat look. "I'm not your doctor." 


"What a pity," Dean muttered, lips twitching. 


"Remember, the goal here is to orgasm without an erection, so don't try for one." 


"Right. And what are you going to do?" 


"I'm going to help you get aroused, then I will coax you to orgasm," Cas explained simply. 


Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I got that. But what are you going to do? You're planning to touch me, I know that, but what else?" 


Cas regarded him curiously. "What would you like?" 


"Uh, I mean, I don't know. It's not- I'm not picky. If you're asking what gets me going, it's pretty much everything. Kissing, touching, dirty-talk, just a general mood of sex, I guess. I'm easy, I know, but I have pretty much always liked sex." 


"Yes, I know. I will cover most of those bases, but I won't be doing, as you say, dirty-talk. I never quite understood the desire that comes from that. Wouldn't you much prefer praise?" 


Dean opened his mouth to say no, but then snapped it shut. He swallowed thickly, the mere idea that someone - that Cas - would praise him during sex was shockingly enticing. The only problem with that was the fact that he didn't really handle compliments all that well. Cas would say something nice and he'd probably combust on the spot. 


"Maybe no talking," Dean coughed out, clearing his throat. "Anyway, so what's the game-plan here?" 


"Do you trust me?" Cas asked him seriously, not blinking his ridiculously blue eyes. 


Dean frowned. "Of course." 


"Good." Cas finished rolling up his second sleeve and dropped his arms. "The "game-plan" is for me to stimulate your prostate with my tongue, simply helping you feel good until you orgasm." 


"You're gonna eat me out?" Dean blurted, eyes going wide as he stared at Cas in astonishment. 


Cas just nodded. "Yes. You've just showered, which is ideal for it. It is also more soothing with the texture of my tongue than it is with a finger. However, if you're uncomfortable with any penetration, there are-" 


"Nope. No. Nope." Dean waved a hand and tried to tamp down on the hysterical edge to his voice. "That's- it's fine. Sure, you that." 


He was trying to wrap his head around the situation, but it just escalated really quickly. This had gone from 'hey, bro, lemme help you out' to 'hey, how many lines can we cross in one go' without much warning. Not that Dean minded, exactly, but this was Cas; his best friend who, up until this moment, hadn't ever expressed interest to put his tongue in Dean's ass. 


There were alarm bells ringing in Dean's head. 


He ignored them. 


"Take off your pants," Cas told him calmly, watching him without much of an expression. 


Dean did as he was told, standing up and eyeing Cas warily. "Man, this is the start to a lot of porn, just so you know. Should I be protesting this? It feels like something I should be protesting." 


"We can stop anytime you like. This is for you." 


"Right, but you're all gung-ho for it, which is fine, I'm not judging; it's just...surprising." 


"Dean," Cas said flatly, sweeping up one judgy eyebrow, "when have I ever refused to help you? It is, quite literally, the reason I rebelled from heaven." 


Dean stepped out of his jeans and kicked them away, crossing his arms and pursing his lips. "Okay, I'll give you that. But saving the world is a lot different than helping your best friend with his dick problems." 


"Not to me," Cas replied. "There is not much that I wouldn't do to help you." 


"Alright, fair enough." Dean jerked his chin at Cas doubtfully. "And what are you getting outta this?" 


Cas blinked innocently, suddenly seeming like the angel who'd never harm a fly. "I enjoy helping you, I always have. It's what best friends do, is it not?" 


Dean narrowed his eyes at Cas suspiciously. That whole 'I am a sweet angel who doesn't understand the world' act had lost most of its potency over the years, leaving a snarky celestial being who was done with everyone and everything ninety-nine percent of the time. Unfortunately, Dean couldn't parse out exactly what Cas was pretending not to be capable of, so he had no choice but to go with it. 


"Okay," Dean allowed carefully, "if you say so." 


Cas smirked. "I do. Now, take off your underwear." 


That was where Dean hesitated. Halfway into falling the order on instinct alone, he came to a screeching halt, thumbs hooked in the band of his boxer-briefs. Despite the rising anticipation, Dean wasn't even hard. He didn't know if he'd ever reached a point in the midst of what clearly was about to be sex where he was mostly naked and still didn't have a boner. 


Dean averted his eyes. "I'm not-" 


"This isn't a reveal, Dean," Cas told him firmly, tilting his chin up just so. "You're not showing anything off, you're simply disrobing." 


"Right," Dean mumbled, pressing his lips into a thin line and shoving his underwear off quickly, just like ripping off a bandaid. 


Cas didn't even glance down, just continued to look him in the eyes, his expression emoting nothing. It was strangely calming not to know what the fuck was going on in his head; at least if it was bad, Dean wouldn't be able to tell. 


Cas took a measured step forward, being careful on purpose, which was annoying. Dean wasn't some delicate flower, he didn't need to be handled with care. He just wanted to get off. Fortunately, when Cas saw him react normally, he stopped holding back and drew close enough to touch. 


"I'm going to touch you," Cas murmured. 


He was like a really good intro to a high school essay; he told what he was going to do, then proceeded to do it. Cas put his hands on Dean's shoulders first, a solid and warm grip, then trailed his fingers down over his arms. He stopped at the wrists, worked his way back up, drew back down again, but over Dean's chest this time. Over and over, Cas ran his hands up and down Dean's body, never going lower than his waist, never digging his nails in. 


Strangely enough, it helped Dean relax. By Cas' fourth circuit, he was back to cracking jokes. "Gonna play connect-the-dots with freckles next, Cas?"


Cas smiled a little, eyes brightening with a brief flash of mirth. "Perhaps, at some point. First, would you like me to kiss you?" 


Dean immediately flicked his gaze down to survey Cas' lips. They were nice lips. Objectively. Puffy and slightly chapped, plus a sweet pink color. That didn't mean Cas was a good kisser, but Dean had seen Cas kiss before. Objectively, it looked as if Cas was. 


"Do you... want to kiss me?" Dean asked slowly. 


"If it makes you comfortable, I'm happy to do so. If it doesn't, I won't." 


Truth was, Dean had only kissed two guys before in his entire life. He'd had sex with plenty, some he'll never learn the names of, but out of all his encounters with men, he'd only kissed two. The first had been when he was seventeen; it was in the middle of spin-the-bottle and hardly counted as a kiss at all, even if it was nice. The second had been in the back of a hatchback with one of those faceless and nameless guys while he'd been fucked so thoroughly that he'd mindlessly stifled his moans into the other man's mouth; that had definitely counted and was a fond, if not guilty, source of spank bank material. Well, it was. 


It was fucking stupid, but he could fuck men and forget about it; kissing, however, was going too far. It was too personal, too... memorable, and it added weight to something that couldn't matter. Let it not be said that Dean had handle on his sexuality because he certainly fucking didn't. 


"Cas, you're about to…" Dean trailed off, unable to voice what was about to come. Namely, him. He took a deep breath and let it explode harshly on its way back out. "Yeah, man, you can kiss me." 


The alarm bells in his hear rang louder. He did his absolute best to ignore them once again. 


"Alright," Cas replied. 


Without a hint of trepidation, Cas lifted his hands to cup Dean's cheeks before leaning in and pressing a short kiss to his lips. It was so fucking simple that Dean almost felt bereft. Of course, Cas was just warming up to it, letting him get his bearings so to speak, because the next kiss wasn't short or simple. 


Cas kissed slow with gradual intensity, gingerly ushering things along to more heated with such ease that Dean thought he might have practiced it. Gentle pressure, tentative movements, harder pressure followed by one swipe of his tongue, two swipes in quick succession, then Dean was opening up with a sigh without even realizing it. And once Cas got to the point he wanted to, he got there. Jesus. 


Dean wasn't hard, but fuck, his mind didn't give two shits about that. There was no evidence to suggest just how this was affecting him besides his hands coming up to grip Cas' arms like he might fall over, but if it was capable of doing so, his dick would be so hard it could hammer nails after a kiss like this. Cas was not fucking around. 


"Goddamn," Dean cursed hoarsely when Cas pulled away, lips no longer chapped but glistening and puffier than before. 


Cas huffed a rough laugh. "Okay?" he asked. 


"Yeah, that was- yeah," Dean assured him, clearing his throat. "I mean, you can't tell, but it was-" 


"This is not about a response from your genitalia, Dean. You can be aroused without an erection; if you are, that's good. It's the goal, remember?" 


"Right, right. I hear ya, Cas." 


"Good," Cas praised. He paused, pulling back slightly to survey Dean's features curiously. Slowly, he tilted his head and said, "You're good." 


Instantaneously, and without fucking permission, Dean swallowed thickly and licked his lips, fingers twitching on Cas' arms. "Thanks," he rasped. 


There was a knowledge in Cas' eyes that Dean did not like at all. Knowledge that could get Dean in trouble, undoubtedly. Cas didn't smirk, but his eyes were bright with how smug he was. 


"Lay down on your front with a pillow beneath you for support. Allow your legs to dangle from the bend of your hips at the end of the bed. I will be kneeling behind you," Cas said, sounding for all the world as if he was discussing the weather and not telling Dean how to arrange himself so he could get his ass ate. 


Dean wasn't even sure if he'd go through with it, not until he was already pulling away from Cas like a man made for commands. Being nude wasn't an issue for him; he knew just how attractive he was. The fact that couldn't get hard was a problem, however; he felt - in a way he never had before - insecure. 


As he walked over to grab a pillow, Dean looked back and eyed Cas curiously. "You, uh, seem to know what you're doing. How'd you...learn this stuff?"


"Men are not the only people who enjoy this particular activity. Daphne enjoyed it immensely, mentioned something about her catholic school days. I believe she, as a young woman, thought that anal wasn't a sin - not that sex is a carnal act to begin with." Cas frowned and looked confused for a moment, eyebrows drawing together. "It took some time, but I think I got quite good at it." 


Dean chuckled, shaking his head as he clutched the pillow to his chest and moved to the end of the bed. His amusement drained rapidly and he glanced at Cas uncertainly. "So, you're going to just…" 


"Yes," Cas confirmed. 


"Well," Dean muttered, "alright then." 


There was reason to stall. He took a deep breath and turned around, laying his torso on the bed with the pillow shoved beneath his hips. He probably looked ridiculous, like some kind of parody of a meal on a plate, except it was his ass presented on a pillow. He felt stupid, so he laid his forehead against his arms and stared down at the shadow his body made in the small space. When he breathed in, it was stuffy recycled air that made his ears stop ringing as muffled silence descended around his head, like he existed in a separate bubble from his body. 


Cas must have kneeled behind him because hands suddenly landed on the back of his thighs right beneath his ass. "Dean, you only need to tell me to stop and I will. Otherwise, focus completely on how it feels and nothing else." 


Dean didn't reply, didn't plan to say a damn word through this whole thing. He just wanted to come, get this over with, and move on. Hell, maybe his dick would get with the program if it remembered what it was missing out on. 


Cas really was an angel because he didn't dive right in. Rather, he gently stroked over Dean's legs, massaging the muscles and tendons beneath the skin, pressing all the way down to his calves and pushing all the way up over his ass to the bend in the small of his back. Just as before, Dean gradually relaxed into it and felt more at ease. 


After a few moments on the impromptu massage, Dean felt lips brush over his right asscheek, then the left. With that as his only warning, Cas spread him open and went to work. 


Okay, listen. Dean had this happen to him only four times; each experience was different, some better than others, but none of those experiences started out gentle and went for very long. This, however, was not the case with Cas. As he'd done with kissing, Cas started out slow and simple, gradually moving it along to something filthier over time. 


The thing about this was that it wasn't as glamorous as porn made it out to be. Without preparation, it could be painful if it wasn't done carefully. Just as with fingers, there had to be some stretching, and it wasn't any good if there wasn't a lot of saliva. Cas had to coax him with swipes of his tongue, opening him up slowly and consistently. Frankly, it was a lot of work, but Cas didn't seem to be complaining, and all Dean could think about was how Cas' jaw would ache for hours after and how the floor must be murder on his knees. 


Fortunately, Cas really did know what he was doing. After his ministrations managed to succeed, it actually began to feel good. Not that it felt bad to begin with, but it was actually starting to head into exciting territory. 


Dean found out very, very quickly that Cas had an unnecessarily long tongue. Once he had the room to do what he wanted, Cas put his tongue to good use, apparently having full-mobility of the damn appendage, and Dean was going to have a fucking heart attack here in a moment. As if sensing his hiking tension, Cas curled - actually fucking curled - his tongue inside Dean, which wrung out some kind of noise Dean didn't think he'd ever heard from himself before this moment. 


Cas was relentless. Once he figured out that Dean liked something, he did it over and over, each time better than the last. His tongue wasn't the only thing he was using; his hands had left Dean's ass already, leaving his face buried in between, and were now gripping Dean's hips to press him down into the bed. Which, that was good, really good. 


And yet, he still wasn't hard. 


There was progress, though! His dick did stiffen slightly for a few moments before softening again, pressing into the mattress below him briefly before going limp against his thigh. Even still, that didn't make him feel any better. Here Cas was, doing a stellar fucking job, and Dean couldn't even show proof of how crazy it was making him. He felt broken, inept, useless. 


Cas was really good, so Dean didn't feel that way for very long, too taken by the attention his ass was getting. At some point, Dean couldn't focus on much else besides what Cas was doing. It just kept going, and going, and going; Cas seriously was just going to do this for however long it took. 


Dean panted into the space his arms boxed his face into, going a little lightheaded at the combination of heated air and what was happening behind him. He was only half aware of the sounds he was making, barely able to hear himself over the silence in his mind. He was utterly enraptured by the feeling of Cas working him open over and over, sliding his tongue in, brushing his prostate just so, then curling his way back out before doing it all over again. Honestly, it felt fucking amazing. 


Cas had told him to focus, but he couldn't. He was all over the place, eyes squeezed shut as he whined and canted his hips back. The hands gripping his hips let go, trailing up his sides with the faintest of touches, softly dragging back down like the whisper of wind against his skin. It was almost ticklish, yet not quite, and with everything else going on, it was almost unbearably sensitive. The hair on Dean's arms stood to attention as goosebumps broke out all over his body, tingles spreading throughout every inch of every one of his limbs. His fucking toes curled. 


There was a feeling building, washing through him like a river of honey, warming him from the inside out. He snatched his head up, gasping on fresh air like he'd been drowning, and shuddered as waves of pleasure unfurled within him. 


Just like that, Dean had his very first orgasm without an erection. It was very different than an orgasm with one. For starters, it was slower and less like it was punching out of him, and it felt as if it was spread through each limb rather than his dick being the focal point. It wasn't as intense, but that didn't make it any less enjoyable. 


"Oh my god," Dean choked out, going boneless against the bed, chest heaving as he stared at the wall to his left. 


Cas pulled away. "I told you," he said calmly. 


"Yeah," Dean croaked, breathing slowly regulating as he shifted on his side. "You really did." 


"I will bring you a towel." 


Dean blinked as Cas swept out of the room. He glanced down, surprised to see a very small mess on his thigh; so small, in fact, that Dean could probably swipe it away with his thumb and be done with it. Huh, that was odd. Still, Cas walked back into the room with a small hand towel. 




Cas smiled. "Did I help?" 


"Yeah, you did." Dean slowly sat up, grimacing at the wet feeling as he settled on his ass. "Thanks." 


"It was my pleasure," Cas told him without an ounce of teasing. 


Sure enough, when Dean looked, he found that Cas was not lying. It apparently was his pleasure, if the stain on his pants were anything to go by. Dean could only see it on the black fabric because of the lighting, but Cas didn't appear to be trying to hide it. 


"So, I guess I don't need to return the favor, huh?" 


"No, I orgasmed as well." 


"Yeah, I can see that. Cas, you never took your hands off me, and I'm pretty sure I would have felt it if you were humping my leg," Dean said pointedly. 


"As I said before," Cas told him, dipping his head and pinning him with a surprisingly flirtatious expression, "orgasms are mostly emotional." 


Dean blinked. "So, you just-" 




"Huh. Okay. Cool, I guess." 


"Do you feel better?" Cas asked curiously. 


"Dude, you have no idea. Seriously, you gave me my first orgasm in months. And you were unfairly good at it?" Dean cocked his head to the side, half-amused and half-confused. "For a fucking angel, you eat ass like a goddamn demon." 


Cas squinted at him. "Thank you?" 


"Listen," Dean muttered, coughing as he scratched the back of his neck, "I don't want things to be...awkward. I just-" 


"Dean," Cas cut in, arching an eyebrow, "this is not a thing. We agreed to that. Let's not make it one." 


"Oh." Dean straightened up. "Okay." 


Cas nodded. "If the issues don't cease and you wish for another orgasm, I will be happy to help. Seek me out if you want to." 


"Sounds good to me, Cas. Hey, you still down to watch these movies and make bets on whether Sam's coming home tonight or not?" 


"You know I shouldn't be gambling, Dean. Sam said it was becoming a real issue." 


"Oh, come on, it's a fifty-fifty chance. Loser has fill up Baby's gas tank next time." 


Cas side-eyed him. "Deal." 



It took Dean approximately two weeks and seven more orgasms for him to realize that he had a problem. That being, he was kinda, maybe a little bit, sorta addicted to Cas. 


Specifically, sex with Cas. 


Even more specifically, just Cas. Literally anything to do with Cas, honestly. 


He'd always heard the saying about how sex could change a relationship, but he'd never had much of a relationship with anyone he had sex with. Well, besides Lisa and Cassie, and look where that got him. But Cas was different. 


Dean wasn't trying to make this a thing; they'd agreed that this wasn't a thing. While he was totally on board with that mentally, he was having some disconnect emotionally. Frankly, no matter how much he denied it, this felt like a thing. 


They broke all the rules they'd made on not making this a thing. After the first time, while watching movies, they agreed that it only went as far as the bedroom, they weren't to sleep together in bed, and to keep kissing to a minimum. By the time they'd had sex the second time, they'd broke each of those rules on multiple occasions. Between their little inside jokes that made Sam scratch his head, the amount of times they passed out after sex and slept until morning, and all those moments where Dean stole a kiss for no other reason than because he wanted to… Well, it was definitely a thing. 


Dean wasn't actually that worried about it, surprisingly. He liked Cas, always had. They'd had an instant connection, so it wasn't shocking that it carried over into this as well. It was kind of hard to keep the intimacy away when they had the bond that they did - like Cas said so long ago, it was profound. As long as he didn't do anything as insane as fall in love, he figured it would be okay. 


Of course, not even a day after he'd had that thought in passing, in the middle of Cas massaging an orgasm out of his flaccid dick, Dean quietly whimpered, "I love - how that feels," and immediately went into internal panic mode. 


If Cas noticed the pause, he didn't comment on it, which was good because Dean had no fucking idea how to explain what that was. In that split second where that pause practically throbbed with you, I love you, Dean came to a very abrupt realization. 


As it turned out, Dean didn't have to worry about falling in love with Cas because he already was, and probably had been for awhile. 


Which, yeah, that was fucked up. 


So, the problems stacked up. Not only was his dick still frustratingly refusing to work, but now he was in love with his best friend who had zero interest in being anything else. As if things couldn't get worse, the sex continued to happen and only got better as more time went on. It got to the point that Dean had forgotten what a normal orgasm felt like and was beginning to wonder if he even cared to experience it again. In his mind, a malfunctioning dick wasn't that bad of a price to pay to have Cas so intimately. 


And sure, he was freaking out about the fact that he was crossing all the lines he'd drawn when it came to someone man-shaped, but it was hard to resent Cas for it. Himself? Oh yeah. There was a running tirade going on in a loop in his brain that pointed out how much of a piece of shit he was for having a dick that didn't work, that he was a waste of space for daring to covet Cas at all, and that he was nothing more than a shitstain for wanting a guy (or guy-adjacent) at all. Oddly enough, that tirade would silence the moment that Cas so much as entered a room. 


Dean would look at Cas and think, how could anyone not love him? That pretty much cemented the fact that he was screwed. 


All of this happened just because his dick decided to go caput in his old age, a fact he was mourning in great length when Sam randomly plopped down in the kitchen one afternoon instead of heading out for his usual run. Dean was immediately suspicious. Sam didn't just up and decide not to run for no reason; hell, the kid would run in the rain. 


"Hey," Sam said easily. 


Dean stared at Sam. He was only four years younger than Dean, not quite forty. He was a peak health, always watching what he ate, always exercising. God, he had no idea what was coming his way. 


"Appreciate your dick, Sam," Dean told him solemnly, staring at the tabletop with a frown. 


Sam's eyebrows flew up. "What?" 


"You heard me," Dean insisted, looking up to glare at Sam, the ungrateful brat. "Appreciate your fucking dick and the fact that it works. Before you know it, that will all be gone." 


"Is that a...threat? Dean, I don't understand what-" 


"I'm old, Sammy. One day, you will be too." 


"I'm not following," Sam admitted, eyebrows knitting together as he stared at Dean like maybe he'd officially gone insane. 


Dean leaned back in his chair, waving his beer through the air in vague directions. "You'll get old and it'll just stop working. Happened to me, it'll happen to you too, mark my words." 


"Wait," Sam said, his concern suddenly becoming a lot more potent. "What do you mean it happened to you? Are you having...issues?" 


"S'what I just said," Dean grumbled, curling his lip and sighing. "Guess it was too much to ask that I just fucking die before I live long enough to see my ability to get it up fail forever." 


Sam looked torn between his serious concern and laughter, which was a weird mixture. "Dean," he said carefully, "are you drunk?" 


Dean scowled. "Might be a little floaty or whatever. Found some wine, thought it'd be a good idea to drink the whole thing. Was not a good idea." 


"Yeah, okay, I see that. Well, that makes this conversation moderately easier to have." Sam sighed and sat up straight. "You do know it's not normal to be having those types of issues, right? I mean, once in awhile is normal, but not consistently and out of the blue. And it doesn't have anything to do with your age. Forty isn't actually old, and technically, you're in the prime of your life." 


"Hold the fucking phone," Dean blurted, slamming his beer down as he bolted up straight. "You tellin' me that something's wrong with my health? Something serious, like cancer?" 


Sam took a deep breath and looked skyward, closing his eyes briefly. "When did this start?" he asked, opening his eyes and looking at Dean in an unimpressed fashion. 


"About four months ago, why?" Dean muttered, reaching up to scratch at the scruff on his face; he needed to shave. 


"I'm going to make you a doctor's appointment," Sam told him slowly, looking as if he wanted nothing more than to leave the room. "I'm almost positive that it's not cancer, but I'll let an actual physician tell you that. It's probably just erectile dysfunction." 


Dean blinked at him. "Those are two words that should not be paired together ever." 


"Yeah, well, real life can be a bitch." 


"So, is my dick broken or not?" 


"Probably not," Sam said flatly. 


"Oh." Dean frowned. "Damn, me and Cas are gonna have to stop having sex." 


Sam slowly turned his head towards Dean from where he'd looked away. He blinked rapidly, lips parted in shock. "Are you fucking kidding me?" 


"Shit," Dean said with a wince. "What kinda fucking wine was that? Jesus Christ." 


"You mean to tell me that, even though you haven't been able to perform, you've been having sex? And with Cas of all people!" 


"Okay, before you flip your shit-" 


"What kind of world do you live in where you have sex without the working parts?" Sam exploded, waving his hands around wildly. "Guess who has working parts? Me! Guess who's getting laid? Not me! How the fuck did you even manage that?" 


Dean grimaced. "So, Eileen still isn't having sex with you, huh? I mean, can you blame her? The superstition that your dick kills people hasn't exactly been disproven, and in our world, it's best to take all precautions. What was her ultimatum? Wait at least six months first, right?" 


"Yes," Sam grumbled, sinking back into his chair with a heavy sigh. "Which, that's perfectly fine. I'm totally cool with waiting! It's just… She keeps talking about it, so now it's all I can think about, and she won't stop bringing it up. I'm literally counting the days. I think I'd prefer it if she wasn't excited about it, because now I'm excited. Do you know I haven't had a wet dream since I was twelve, but guess who's having them again? It's torture." 


Sam deflated after he finished, taking a deep breath and looking more relieved. Dean took a swig of his beer and asked, "So, how many days left?" 


"Sixteen," Sam replied instantly, then turned very red. Dean grinned at him. "Oh, shut up. I don't think you get to talk, you're having sex with Cas." 


"You say that like it's a bad thing." 


"It is. You do realize that it's going to blow up in your face, right? You've been avoiding your thing with Cas for years, and for good reason." 


Dean's smile fell. "You think it'll end badly?" 


"I think you won't tell him the truth and spend the rest of your life suffering in silence like an idiot." 


"I mean, I'd have to suffer anyway. He's not interested in anything past sex. Not even really interested in that. He just does it to help me out. Did you know you can-" 


Sam held up a hand, face screwing up. "Don't wanna know. But I will say this. I'm pretty sure that's not all Cas wants from you." 


"Pretty sure isn't good enough, Sammy." 


"Yeah, that's why I never mentioned it. He means too much to you. I honestly can't believe you jeopardized y'alls relationship like that." 


"Dude, I was desperate." Dean leaned forward and scrubbed a hand over his face. "It had been months, he was offering, and I just- I couldn't help it." 


Sam shook his head. "You'll be your own wrecking ball, Dean." 


Dean snorted. "What else is new?" 


In the following two weeks up until his doctor's appointment, Dean had as much sex with Cas as he could get away with. While Cas never complained or said no, he did seem slightly suspicious when Dean consistently yanked him in his room every night. 


Whatever, that was future-Dean's problem. 


The appointment was at three in the afternoon, and Dean was dreading it. He didn't want to go to some sterile office where gloved-hands would poke and prod at his un-inflatable dick. As ashamed as he was to admit it, he especially didn't want to go alone. 


The solution to that came when Cas knocked on his door and stuck his head in. "Hello, Dean. Are you available to help me fix the TV?" 


Dean's lips twitched. "Dude, did you hit the input button again?" 


"I'm not sure," Cas admitted sheepishly. 


"Well, it's gonna have to wait, or you'll have to ask Sam. I have an appointment." 


"For what?" 


"My, uh, issues," Dean said, gesturing in the general direction of his crotch. "I just want to make sure that I don't have cancer or something." 


"You don't," Cas assured him. "I'd smell it." 


Dean blinked. "Okay… Well, I'm still gonna go, just to be on the safe side." 


Cas nodded. "That's a good decision. Would you like some company?" 


"Oh god, yes," Dean blurted out automatically, nearly folding in half in his relief. 


"Are we leaving now?" 


"Yeah, let's go." 


By the time three o'clock rolled around, Dean was sitting in the waiting room of a doctor's office, fidgeting restlessly while Cas flipped through a magazine curiously beside him. The receptionist called him back and escorted him to his room; Cas followed without asking, which Dean was grateful for. He never liked hospitals much, not that this was one, but it had doctors. There were too many bad memories associated with doctors. 


This doctor, however, turned out to be a chipper Indian woman who was almost as tall as Sam. She rolled around in her chair like it was a toy and jabbered on about her kids while she went over his chart. She frowned a couple of times, no doubt noticing the severe lack of information on there, but she didn't scold him or anything, which was nice. 


"So, Mr. Winchester," she said, putting away the chart and adjusting her white coat, "why don't you tell me about what's been going on with you?" 


Dean cleared his throat. "Uh, well, I haven't been able to...get an erection for about four months straight. I didn't really think anything was wrong, just kinda assumed I was old, but I figured I'd better check and make sure I'm not secretly dying." 


She smiled at him. "Certainly. Better safe than sorry, I say. Well, there are a few different common explanations for why that may be happening. I'll ask you some questions, and if they don't help shine light on what's going on, we'll run a few tests. Hopefully we'll be able to get you and your husband back to a healthy sex-life as quickly as possible." 


It took Dean a second to realize that she meant Cas. Apparently, it took Cas just as long because he frowned and said, "I'm not-" 


"Thank you," Dean cut him off quickly, smiling kindly at her. "We'd really appreciate it." 


"I'm sure," she said lightly. "So, first thing's first. Did you start taking any medication around the time that the issues began, and if so, have you continued to do so over the course of these past four months?" 


Dean frowned. "Uh, no, not really. I mean, I take my naproxen every morning to keep from having a headache that I usually get, but that's it." 


"Ah, well, that explains it." She bobbed her head and stood to her feet. "Naproxen commonly causes erectile dysfunction, which won't be an issue to get rid of. Nothing serious at all." 


"Wait, seriously?" Dean asked, blinking rapidly. "Just like that? I'm okay?" 


She laughed lightly. "So it would seem. No need to look disappointed, Mr. Winchester. This is a good thing, not the end of the world." 


No, it was just the end of he and Cas. At this point, Dean considered those two things the same. 


Naproxen was officially out. Viagra was officially in. 


His doctor, who turned out to be really awesome, had explained everything to do with erectile dysfunction. It wasn't just the medicine he was taking that caused the problem; apparently the pressure he put on himself made things much worse, which...who knew, right? Anyway, he had to take some medication to get his dick back to working again, and with less stress and (according to his doctor) psychological issues with his own masculinity, he should be able to get it up on his own with time. 


The best part about all of this? 


Well, Dean had use the Viagra on someone. Okay, he actually didn't, but Cas had offered to help him, so that was his story and he was sticking to it. 


Another two weeks passed before he managed to get a boner on his own, and if he nearly cried in the shower while he fucked his fist...well, it was nobody's business but his own. Unfortunately, it wasn't a regular thing, so he never knew when he'd randomly get a hard-on; as expected, it mostly happened when Cas was around - a fact that didn't go unnoticed. 


One night, after they were both spent, Cas turned on his side and softly asked, "Why did you let your doctor believe we were married?" 


Dean froze. "Uh," he said eloquently. 


"Was it a joke?" 


"Yes! No? I don't know." 


"Dean," Cas murmured quietly, "can this be a thing now? It feels like a thing." 


"D'you want it to be a thing?" Dean mumbled, averting his eyes to where his fingers twisted together on his stomach. 


"That was my goal, yes," Cas told him seriously. 


Dean snapped his head over to gaze at Cas in open surprise. "You- you used my malfunctioning dick as a way to get to me?" 


"Not exactly. An opportunity presented itself, so I decided it best to take it." 


"You…are so ridiculous. I knew you were hiding something! You're a little shit, you know that?" 


Cas smiled sweetly. "I never denied it."


Dean shook his head, lips curling up at the corners without his permission. "You know, you managed to make me go from hating my dick to being thankful that it wasn't working. You're a fucking miracle and a goddamn curse." 


"I never did anything wrong," Cas muttered, eyes dancing with amusement, "I was simply helping out a friend." 


Dean grinned. "And thank god you did."