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Amoris Robusta

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“Alright, guys, soup’s on,” Dean’s voice echoed out as the bunker’s door clanged shut behind him.

“I’m starvin’,  what took you so long?” Sam’s feet dropped down from where they had been propped on top of one of the research tables in the library.  He snapped a dingy, behemoth of a book closed and rubbed at bloodshot eyes.

Dean rolled his own eyes and took the last step off the metal staircase, shuffling over to dump the six-pack and heavenly-smelling Pellegrino Pizzeria boxes on the map table.

“Lay off, Sammy, they were busy,” Dean snapped back, then added, “So much for Italian efficiency.”

“It’s German efficiency, Dean.” 

Dean could get real tired know-it-all giants sometimes.  Especially when he knew he was in the right here.

“Um, pretty sure ‘Pellegrino’ is Italian, dude,” Dean said, throwing his jacket over the back of his chair.

That’ll show ‘im.   

“No, man, the saying is ‘German efficiency’.”


“Shuddup,” Dean kept his eyes down as he opened up the two boxes, one pepperoni and one cheese.  Awesome , “Would you just go get the plates and stuff, huh?”

Sam snorted with a smile that mocked his older brother before turning toward the kitchen.

“Oh and grab--” but by the time Dean opened his mouth again, Sam was already well out of sight, “...Jack,” he grumbled.

Dean slid down into one of the riley-wheeled metal chairs.  Nights like this were hard to come by.  It was peaceful.  Well, as peaceful as Dean could ask for.  Sure, the Big Bads were still out there, and an unending supply of monsters to boot, but this was more or less family night. There was no certainty in this life and hell if he wasn’t gonna milk the good times for all they were worth.  That’s why when, after finding that the ghosts and ghouls of the U.S. must’ve taken a day off and Dean’s stomach grumbled, his thoughts had gone straight to pizza.

The hot, melty cheese burned Dean’s fingers when he reached for the first slice, but the sting was so totally worth it for the dab of pizza grease he licked off his thumb.  His eyes flashed up at the familiar flutter of tan in his periphery.  Cas emerged from the dorms’ hallway, face more rested than usual.  Cas had kind of taken the day off too, after all.  

Good, dude deserves a break once in a while.

“Hello, Dean,” A smile has seemed to come a lot more easily to the angel since their whole walkabout in Purgatory.  Dean hid his own stupid grin in a bite of pipin’ hot pizza, though he couldn’t resist shooting Cas a wink.

“You joinin’ us for pizza?  How’d babysitting go today, anyway?  Jack do alright?” Castiel’s smile seemed to grow even more fond at the mention of their kid.

“Yes,” Castiel examined the slice of pizza in Dean’s hand, “It’s been a rough couple of weeks, but his soul seems to be no worse for the wear and he genuinely seems to be enjoying the online lessons Sam helped enroll him in.”

Dean nodded along and he cared about what Cas was saying, he really did, but then the angel picked up Dean’s slice and took an experimental bite and the hunter kinda forgot what they were talking about.  Cas’s resounding grimace only made Dean smirk as he took a sip of his beer and his slice was returned to him.

“Molecules?” Dean asked.

“Indeed,” Cas said with a rather resigned sigh. Dean patted the angel’s arm as he took up his seat beside Dean.

“We’ll find something you like, buddy, don’t worry.  Hey, have you ever tried angel food cake?”

Jack rounded the corner from the hall leading to the dorms, eyes wide and already zeroed in on the pizza boxes.

“Oh, I’m starving!” Jack said, a gap-toothed smile splitting his face.

“You and Sammy both,” Dean chuckled.

Jack shuffled an equally gooey piece into his hands, seemingly unbothered by the heat.  The boy groaned around his first bite and flopped into one of the chairs across from Dean and Cas, feet flopping up onto the map table in a gesture he’d, no doubt, picked up from Sam.  It made Dean’s chest a little lighter to see Jack enjoying the simple things.  For a moment the kid just looked like any teenager about to dive headfirst into a pizza coma.  And when Cas admonished Jack for putting his feet on the table and Jack tried to cover up an eye roll, Dean didn’t even try to hide his quiet affection.

Sam walked back in, doing his best to balance plates, napkins, a cup, and the orange juice in his arms.  The kid had been on a juice kick ever since he’d had his soul returned for whatever reason.  They couldn’t find any correlation between nephilim or souls and excess sugar in the lore but it seemed to be a new thing for Jack nonetheless.  Dean would never say it out loud, but he’d snuck a glas of the mango-pineapple stuff Jack had picked out on a grocery run--y’know, just to see what all the fuss was about--and he had to admit the stuff was pretty damn good.  And if the boy could even get cavities they could always just take him to see Garth.

“Alright, you animals,” Sam said as he pointedly set a plate under Dean and Jack’s dripping slices, “plates.  And napkins.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Dean grumbled, but he set his pizza down on the plate anyway and popped the cap off of another cold one for Sammy.

Dean settled back into his seat, catching Cas’s eye as the angel sat with clasped hands and reverently watched the three eat.  Dean felt a little heat creep into his cheeks at the unabashed tenderness in the angel’s eyes just from watching his family enjoy a meal together.

Dean cleared his throat, “So what did y’all do today?”

“Well, according--”


Sam was abruptly cut off by Jack’s excited squeal, trying to gulp down his pizza to speak.  Dean was honestly a little relieved that Jack had interrupted, the older Winchester didn’t want his good mood brought down by whatever hoodoo crap Sam was probably gonna talk about.  Giant-ass books like the one he’d been reading when Dean got home were always chalked full of hoodoo crap--and that was a scientific fact.

“Today, after I finished my geometry lesson,” Jack twisted out of his seat, digging in his jeans’ pockets as he stood up, “I decided to look through some of the old Men of Letters boxes--the non-mystical objects, just personal belongings--and I found this …”

Jack held up a dark purple, wooden yo-yo in his palm.  

“Oh-hooo, sweet!” Dean exclaimed.  Way better show-and-tell than hoodoo crap.

“And I’ve been practicing all afternoon!” Jack beamed, wrapping the worn string around his middle finger and clutching the toy in his hand.  He flicked his wrist and sent the purple shape spinning out like Spiderman casting a web before giving it a sharp yank and drawing it back up.  Jack repeated the easy motion over and over and Dean saw that Sam was smiling with an equal delight.  The kid’s easy joy was kinda infectious, “Oooh! I learned another trick as well!”

With another snap of his wrist the yo-yo bobbed down and Jack’s hands flew to contort the string into a triangle with the wooden toy swinging back and forth in its V.  Dean’s eyes widened involuntarily and he knew he was probably grinning like a moron, but it was a cool trick--sue ‘im.

“Show them the European tower one,” Cas said, not taking his proud blue eyes off the boy.

In motions that were smooth and seemed goddamn effortless, Jack’s nimble fingers wound and twisted the yo-yo’s string into quick triangles.  Before Dean could quite figure out how the kid wasn’t just tying the thing in knots, Jack was suddenly holding up the strings that formed a shape like the Eiffel Tower.

Dean actually gasped, though he tried to cover it up with his hand.  Cas smirked in his periphery.

“And look at this!” Then Jack spun the yo-yo back out again, but this time he flipped it up and the toy defied gravity for a moment.  It was a mess of strings and Jack’s hands as he twirled the purple wood piece like a wheel in the air before somehow untwisting it all and popping the toy back into a smooth line and rolled  it back up into his palm.  A self-satisfied smile blooming on his face as Jack said, “That one was called the ‘Brain-Scrambler’.”  

Awesome! ” Dean exclaimed, making grabby hands to see the yo-yo, “I could only ever walk the dog with one of these babies.”

“And that only took you the afternoon?” Sam laughed appreciatively, “Where did you even learn how to do that?”

“Youtube,” Jack proclaimed.

“Jesus, Sammy, do you remember the little, shitty blue one of these you used to have?” Dean threw back his head in a laugh, “Oh my God, you almost gave yourself a concussion like a dozen times.”

“You guys used to play with yo-yos when you were kids?” Jack asked, taking his seat again.

“I mean, a few, yeah,” Dean shrugged, turning the toy over in his hands again and tracing his thumb over its edge, “If we could get one at a thrift store that wasn’t all knotted, then totally.  Not like a Tonka truck would’ve been easy to take on the road with us.”

“Huh, yeah,” Sam huffed and took a sip of beer, his eyes looking at something far off.

“So,” Jack continued around another mouthful, “whud ‘lse did you do ash kidsh?”

“Jack, don’t talk while you’re chewing,” Cas admonished.  The kid held his hands up in an appeasing gesture that strangely reminded Dean of himself.  

The hunter fished out another--slightly cooler--slice from the box, settling back into his seat.  What had they done as kids?  He didn’t remember a whole hell of a lot from their yo-yo days, he honestly tried to think about that crap as little as possible.  Even the good memories always had a little bit of emotional stickiness at their edges.  The future may be undecided the past was a book that's been slammed shut.  Best not to rock the boat.  

“Well...we had these little plastic army men…” Dean started.

“And, uh, we’d race these, like, tiny metal cars in the backseat while we drove,” a smile quirked Sam’s lips as he held up his gigantor hand, fingers spread apart to the size of a matchbox, “Those were actually pretty fun.”

“Oooh!” Dean slapped the table and sat upright.  How had he forgotten? “And when the motel TV went fuzzy, Sammy and I would arm wrestle.  God I forgot about that!” Dean leaned conspiratorially toward Jack and added, “I kicked his ass at it, too.”

“Oh, dude, shut up,” Sam scoffed, but Dean didn’t miss the smile his brother tried to hide behind a pepperoni slice, “You did not.”

“Did, too.”

“No way.”

“Uh, what’s ‘arm wrestling’?” Jack asked, smiling despite his confused furrow in his brow; Dean could practically see the gears in the kid’s head turning, “Is it like the TV wrestling you showed me?”

“You showed him that television brawling?” Cas arched his brow at the older Winchester.

“Come one, man,” Dean’s mouth felt a little dry and looked away from the angel’s flared nostrils, “Not in front of Cas, remember?”

“Sorry, Dean,” the boy frowned.

“It’s no big deal, Cas,” Dean tried for a non-chalant shrug but obviously Cas wasn’t on board, “Pro-wrestling is all fake anyway.  And-- and it was like the thing for us and Dad when we were kids, y’know?  Dunno, just thought Jack would wanna watch it with me…”

The angel’s eyes softened a little for some reason but hell if Dean knew why.  In any case, Cas didn’t say anything more.  Maybe Dean had won that, before they’d even had it?  Was that a thing?

Sam’s voice pulled Dean from his thoughts and he was suddenly aware that him and the angel had been locked in some kind of staring battle or something for much longer his brother had apparently been comfortable with.

“So, anyway, here, set your arm up like this, Jack…” Sam turned to face a curious Jack, setting his elbow on the table with his fingers wiggling in the air.  Jack warily followed suit--the wrestling he saw on TV probably looked painful, after all.  It was almost comical--screw that, it was comical how much smaller the kid’s arm looked in comparison to Sam’s.  The younger Winchester even scooted himself back a bit so their hands were actually level,  “Good.  Take my hand...alright, now you start with your arms right in the middle like this.  We’d do a countdown, then you gotta use all the strength in you arm to push the other person’s arm down.”

Sam gently pushed their joined hands down on either side of the table from their elbows to demonstrate what it’d look like if either player won.  Jack’s face brightened impossibly more.

“Oh! So it’s a test of strength!” Sam gave his easy-going smile and nodded, “Can we wrestle arms, Sam?”

Sam grimaced a little, “I dunno, bud, we’re not exactly evenly matched...and I’ve already done the whole arm-in-a-sling thing--it wasn’t really fun…”

Jack’s brow lined and there those gears went turning again.  His bright eyes popped back up and looked at the angel beside Dean, “Castiel! Can our arms wrestle?”

“It’s just ‘arm wrestle’, kid,” Dean snorted.

Cas glanced between the two brothers looking only mildly annoyed--and more than a little amused.  

“Yes, fine,” the angel acquiesced, turning to face the boy across the table from him.

Dean absently pushed his pizza and beer out of the way.  This was gonna be some grade-A entertainment: a ( non-lethal) angel/angel showdown.  This was the crap epic poems were written about and the older hunter was about to get a front row seat.  His best friend’s thick, olive hand stood out proudly above the cuff of his trench coat as Cas waited for Jack to scooch close enough to grasp it.  Dean hadn’t ever really thought about -thought about Cas’s hands before.  Sure the dude looked like he gave solid handshakes, but other than that Dean had just...never really considered them.  Cas had definitely patted his back or grabbed his arm with those hands before, but did Dean actually know what the angel’s hands felt like?  Were they calloused? Smooth? Thick? Were his hands warm?  Or perpetually cold?  Out of left field, Dean felt a little bit of disappointment that, no, he couldn’t answer any of those questions.  He’d known Cas for over a decade, was it weird to feel guilty that in all that time he’d never taken the time to find out such simple answers?  Yeah, this was probably a weird thing to be thinking about.

“Are you ready, Jack?” Cas asked, lips quirking up, clearly his annoyance wasn’t holding up against Jack’s eagerness.

The kid nodded and squeezed Cas’s hand tighter.  Sam leaned over, centering the angels’ hands in the middle like a referee, “Keep your elbows on the table the whole time.  First one to pin the other’s hand down wins, got it?” Cas and Jack both glancing over at Sam and nodded.

Dean wasn’t about to be left outta this whole thing, “On your mark...get set... go!

Sam’s hands flew back--super dramatically, Dean noted.  Immediately, Cas and Jack’s arms tensed and the two locked eyes.  Their arms wobbled between them, but never far in one direction before their opponent seemed to get the upper hand (pun 100% intended).  Jack’s face started to pinken with every passing second, teeth gritting, a few strands of dark blond falling into his face.  Cas, though, looked as calm as always.  The angel had the best goddamn poker face on the planet, Dean already knew that, but he didn’t even look like he was straining at all.  How could he look so unphased while he was trying to overpower, arguably, the most powerful being in existence?  Dean had started sweating at some point and would’ve liked to shuck off his flannel but he didn’t want to take his eyes off Ca--the match.  Dean made a mental note to check the ventilation system.  It was winter, he shouldn’t feel so hot under the collar.

Even though the angels’ arms wobbled a little back and forth, there was something... controlled about the give and take that Dean didn’t quite get.  As soon as Dean noticed the greenish bump of a vein starting to pop at Jack’s temple in frustration, the hunter saw a sudden shift in Cas’s expression.  Maybe, if Dean hadn’t known the angel for that decade he wouldn’t’ve caught it, but, yup, that had to be a smirk.

The next second Jack’s arm slammed Cas’s down to the smooth surface of the table with a resounding thud that probably would’ve sent a human and their shattered arm straight to the ER--Sam had definitely made a good call opting out.  

“I won!” Jack beamed, eyes wide as he let Cas retract his arm, “Sam did you see?!”

The younger Winchester had a dorky smile on his face as he nodded--a look Dean hadn’t seen on his brother in awhile.

“Congratulations, Jack,” Cas smiled.

Dean glanced at Cas, and the angel met his eye.  Dean gave the angel a wink as he took a sip of his abandoned beer .  He’d seen it--and Cas’s suddenly-shy smile and averted eyes only confirmed his suspicions.

“Dean was kinda right about one thing, though,” Sam said, crumpling up his napkin and tossing it onto his empty plate, “Dean did used to kick my ass at arm wrestling when we were little...but he also used to be my bigger brother back then, too.”

“Still bigger where it counts, Sammy,” Dean sassed.

“Ew, gross,” Sam scrunched up his nose, “You know what I mean.  Last time you beat me I was probably twelve and your were, what, sixteen? You totally stopped playing as soon as I could beat you.”

“Shut up!  I did not--just got bored winning you all the time.”

“Admit it, you never challenged me to arm wrestle after that summer I shot up to five-ten,” Sam goaded. Dean had the sudden urge to put his dumbass little brother in a headlock and wipe that look right off his face.  Alright, if the little twerp wanted a fight he was gonna damn well get one.

Dean grinned and brought his arm up and slammed it on the table, “Oh, it’s on, bitch.”

Sam didn’t waste a second before bringing his own freakishly-long arm up to the table’s surface and grabbing Dean’s hand.  It’d been forever since he and Sammy had done something kid-like and stupid like this, and Dean wanted to soak in every second.  It was vacation day, after all. 

Jack scooted his seat a little closer to the brothers, as gap-toothed and excited as ever.  An accidental glance at Cas’s poised form and arched brow had the hairs on the back of Dean’s neck raised.  He brought his eyes back to Sam who was wearing a shit-eating grin.

“3...2...1... go! ” They shouted in unison and then-- Jesus .  Sammy had really grown up since they’d last done this.  Dean was gritting his teeth and tensing his whole body way sooner than he’d thought and, fuck, he was gonna lose if he wasn’t careful.  It at least gave him some satisfaction to see that Sam’s face was quickly going red and the cords of his neck had gone rigid.

In his periphery he could see Jack leaning in even closer and gripping the arms of his chair...and then there was Cas.  He could feel the angel’s gaze still fixed squarely on him--not the match, him .  Cas probably thought that Dean was gonna lose--well, Dean just couldn’t have that, now could he?

Trying to will all of his might into his flexing arm, Dean ground his teeth and twisted his wrist slightly.  Inch by hard-fought inch, Dean pressed Sam’s arm and their joined hands closer to the table.  The younger Winchester’s hand clutched and twisted, trying to gain some sort of advantage but now their hands are mere inches from the table.  One final push and Sam’s knuckles wrapped on the hardwood and his arm went limp.

“Yeaaaaah!” Dean threw his victorious (aching) arm up in the air, “Still got it!”

The older Winchester reached out a victorious hand to Jack, and when the boy only stared at it in excited confusion, Dean took the lead and drew in Jack’s own hand for a high-five.

Blue eyes met Dean’s and if he didn’t know any better, the hunter would’ve sworn he saw a pleased glimmer in Cas’s eyes.  Sam’s huffy bitching pulled his attention away before he could think too hard on it.

Dammit ,” Sam sighed and jut out his jaw, clenching and unclenching his tired fist, “You’re like--I mean, how is that even possible?”

“No one likes a sore loser, Sammy,” Dean smirked.

Sam stretched his arm back out, waiting to grasp his brother’s hand, “Best two outta three?”

Dean scanned over his baby brother’s determined features and his downright adorable pouty face.

“If you insist,” Dean replied, oh so innocently.

Six rounds and two bicep cramps later, Dean relaxed back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head and a middle-school kinda pride coursing through his body.

“Huh,” Sam grunted, shaking out his arm at his side, “Asshole.”

“Face it, man,” Dean smirked with a shrug that was supposed to be non-chalant but is anything but, “I’m just the alpha here, I guess.”

“Well, at least they can beat you still…” Sam grumbled, petulant nodding at the two beings of celestial intent beside them, “At least I know Cas can still take your ass down.”

Dean’s cheeks volcanic when all his brain heard was ‘Cas can take your ass’, but he barreled on past it.

“I dunno...I think I could get in a few good blows before he knocks me out,” Dean side-eyed the angel who was looking a little more keen than he had a minute ago.  He kind of wished he hadn’t said ‘blows’ now that he thought about it.

“Only if I allowed you to,” Cas said with one assertively arched brow.  Dean licked his dry lips as they curled into a smile.

“Is that a challenge, harp boy?”

“No, merely stating a fact.”

In any other case, Cas’s slightly tilted his head would’ve indicated confusion--but the glimmer of amusement in the angel’s eyes gave him away.  The little bastard was being a tease .

“Alright, put ‘im up, Cas.  Show me whatcha got,” the hunter said, turning in his chair and propping his elbow back up on the table, “Unless you’re scared of getting beat by lil ol’ me?”

That seemed to do the trick.  The angel’s mouth kicked up at the corner, but narrowed his unwavering gaze on Dean and met his stance.  A little flush itched under the collar of his flannel and Dean suddenly wondered if the angel had any sorta infrared vision that could pick up on temperature changes.

Now that he could actually feel the solid hand he’d been glancing at before--well, something warm and tingly itched at his brain.  Dude had one mother of a grip.  Was it weird that he kinda had the urge to trace over the angel’s knuckles with his thumb?

“I accept your challenge, though I don’t appreciate being goaded,” there was no real annoyance in the angel’s voice, though, so Dean’s smile only widened.

This time Jack leaned next to them as Sam had with him and Cas, steadying their joined hands squarely in the middle between their shoulders.

“Ready...” the kid began, “set...go!”

Jack threw his hands back...but nothing happened.  Or, at least, nothing looked like it was happening.  

Dean logically knew that Cas was, like, a million times stronger than him but feeling the angel’s arm lock up like a steel pillar was something else entirely.  The hunter felt the muscles in his arm ripple and clench, trying the force all 190 pounds of him into one limb.  The angel’s arm never budged a millimeter.  Cas was staring at Dean in that unrelenting way he always did, not even coming close to breaking a sweat.  He felt like an ant trying to push a boot.  

Dean wasn’t usually right up in the angel’s personal space like this--maybe more than he’d admit to, but still--and the whole staring thing was kind of overwhelming.  Unmoving with the hint of a smile, Cas looked pretty badass.  But not badass badass, exactly.  It wasn’t like Dean thought Cas looked like a real badass or anything, the dude was weird and dorky and intense and all of that...but, yeah, Cas did look kinda action hero-y all muscle and unphased like this.

Even though he knew it was pointless, Dean still reached out to clutch their locked fists with his other hand.  He huffed and grunted as he tried to both push and pull the angel’s arm down to the table.  No dice.

“Urrggh, come on, Mr. Universe,” Dean gritted, though Cas only squinted at the reference, “That all you got?  At least make a move!”

Cas shrugged, “Okay.”

Before Dean could even blink his hand had been pinned down on the table.  A small part of him realized that Cas had still withheld his strength and probably would’ve shattered Dean’s hand if he hadn’t.  His stomach did a weird tingly flip.

The angel let up on his hand with the most self-satisfied smile that he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Cas wear.  Dean flexed his hand, the warmth of Cas still hadn’t faded from his skin even though they were no longer touching.

One glance at his little brother’s smug grin had Dean’s stupid cheeks heating up again.

“Jesus, the dude’s like friggin’ Worf,” Dean grumbled, keeping his eyes pointedly away from the angel in question.

“Huh, he actually reminds me more of Data,” Sam chuckled.

“That was awesome,” Jack beamed.  The kid looked downright giddy as he said, “are there any other tests of strength?”

“Well, uh, lots of people do sports that revolve around seeing who’s stronger, I guess?” Sam ventured, “Like football, or weight lifting…”

“Y’know, not to brag,” Dean shrugged, “but I can bench, like, 200.  Maybe 215 if I warm up--”

“Oh, bullshit,” Sam threw his head back on an incredulous laugh.

“But...that sounded like he was bragging,” Jack stated, feature knitting.

“That’s because he was,” Cas huffed, but Sam ignored them both.

“There’s no way you can bench 215 pounds.  That’s more than I weigh.”

“I can absolutely bench 215,” Dean snapped.  How dare. “Alright, stand up, Sasquatch, I  can totally lift your weight.”

Dean’s chair legs screeched as he stood and rounded the table to his brother.

Sam only crossed his arms, “You are not picking me up, Dean.”

“Either get your ass up here...or take it back,” Dean taunted.

Sam rolled his eyes but stood from his own chair nonetheless.  It was then that Dean realized he hadn’t really had a game plan here.  Hadn’t really thought about the logistics of trying to heft up his 6’4” gangly-ass brother.

“Um…” But hell if he was gonna back down now.

Without thinking too much about it, he widened his stance in front of his brother, bending  his knees and digging his heels in.  Dean wrapped squeezing arms around the giant’s waist, and Sam let out a startled ‘ oof ’ and flailed his arms out.  Crushing his whole upper body into Sam’s chest, Dean focused all his might into his thighs.  He grunted and strained with the effort he put into trying to pull his brother’s body from the ground.  It’d been years since he’d had to pick Sam up in a not life-or-death situation.  And without adrenaline coursing through his veins, Dean was seriously starting to think he needed to start lifting weights or something because this was ridiculous.

“Giving up yet?” Sam’s voice was a little gaspy, no doubt from how tight Dean’s grip was.

“Nuh-uh,” Dean gritted, and that was the last push he needed.

He heaved his gigantor brother off his gigantor feet with a triumphant growl.  As soon as he felt he’d held Sam off the ground long enough to prove his point he gracelessly dropped him back down with a thud.  His arms all floaty and his thighs buzzed as he dropped his hands to his knees.  He tried to gulp back his panting breaths.

Fuck , that was hard.

“See...‘s easy,” Dean rasped on a heavy exhale.

“Sure,” Sam scoffed, “looked like it.”

“Can I try, Dean?” Jack asked, “I’ve never been picked up before.”

Dean looked up to tell him ‘no’ because he wasn’t a freakin’ jungle gym, and besides, it wasn’t even a strength test since Sam had at least 50 lbs. on the kid.  But when Dean caught sight of Jack’s bright eyes and gummy grin, he felt his words crumble on his tongue.  He took a final deep breath and rolled his eyes.  Straightening his back out ‘til it cracked, he stood up tall and waved his arms impatiently.

“C’mon, get over here.”

Once the kid stood squarely in front of him, Jack looked up at him with an intense gaze that he must’ve learned from Cas.  Dean had to do little more than lean in a little bit and circle his arms around Jack’s slim waist before he had hoisted the kid up into his arms.  Lifting him was a piece of cake compared to Sammy.  Unlike his brother whose arms had wobbled out to his side when Dean had hauled him up, Jack’s immediately wrapped around the hunter’s shoulders and he hooked his chin next to Dean’s neck.  

“This is awesome!” 

It was a little weird to be this close to Jack since it wasn’t like he’d made a habit out of hugging the kid.  Dean kind of had the itch to set him back down and put some manly distance between them again...but he could practically hear the kid grinning like an idiot.  And, okay, maybe that gave Dean’s paternal side a little pat on the back.  He also sort of felt bad because the kid hadn’t ever really been a kid so, of course, he’d missed out on being little and how much fun it could be.  Even though the memories were faint and blurry, Dean could still remember squealing as Mary spun him around and made rocket ship noises.  Nostalgia and him being a sucker was what Dean blamed his next actions on.

“Deeean!” Jack freakin’ giggled as the older Winchester spun around in quick circles, squeezing him even tighter around the middle.  They whirled in place for a hot second before Dean slowed to a halt.

“Alright, that’s enough of that.”

Sam’s hand on Jack’s shoulder kept the wobbly kid upright until he got his feet firmly underneath him.  Dean reinstated that manly distance, only a tiny bit light-headed himself.  His brother shot him an annoyingly amused look that Dean ignored.

“Cas,” Jack turned his grin to the angel, “Could you pick Dean up?”

“Easily,” Cas flatly replied, already striding over to Dean.  In moments Dean was less than a few inches from the angel.  Jesus, Cas smelled like rain and pine needles and--“May I?”

Dean blinked.  

“Uh, I mean--go for it…”

Dean did not squeak when the angel suddenly hefted him up.  But he hadn’t grabbed Dean around the waist like he’d done for Sam and Jack.  No, this was much more devious.  

Dean’s arms instinctively flew up to grab around the angel’s neck when Cas scooped him up under his knees with one arm cradled around his back.  Cas was holding him freakin’ bridal style and there wasn’t any more dignified way to put that.  The dick was looking at him a little too innocently, but the small twitch at the corners of his lips was giving him away.  Dude knew exactly what he was doing.  Dean didn’t need a mirror to know that his cheeks were flaming.   Okay, maybe Cas didn’t know exactly that his little shows of Herculean strength were making something tingly and all too familiar coil in the hunter’s lower belly--and with any luck he never would.  Dean squeezed his thighs a little closer together and hoped the angel didn’t notice.

He’d hoped for a little more bite in his tone, but really all he could give was a mumbled, “Alright, set me down now, Superman.”

“He does kinda look like Clark Kent, just without the glasses--”

“Shut up, Sammy,” Dean snapped.  Picturing Cas with thick, dark-framed glasses was absolutely not helping the situation between his legs.

Feet now back on solid ground, Dean shrugged off the hand Cas had steadying his back even though it wasn’t often that beings with superhuman strength touched him all gentle-like and it was kind of nice.

“Are there any other strength tests?” Jack asked, but rolled his shoulder toward the angel, “I mean, even though Cas has proven that he’s the strongest of all of us--”

“Yeah, but that’s just ‘cause he’s got his mojo backing him up,” Dean blurted maybe a tad too defensively.

Instead of any incredulity, Cas just gave Dean’s entire body an appraising once over that was somehow clinical and competitive all in one go.  Dean felt his cock twitch in his jeans.  Fuck, Cas better not have infrared vision.

“No,” the angel replied simply, “Even if I were to repress my grace, my vessel’s physicality could still best Dean.  Just not as overpoweringly.”

Oh ho ho, there was no way Dean could just let that slide.  A man’s gotta defend his honor.

“Wait, you can just repress your grace if you want to?” Sam perked up, “Is that even a thing?”

Cas seemed to ponder the question for a moment, though his eyes didn’t move from Dean, “Perhaps ‘repress my grace’ is the wrong phrasing, but I can repress my angelic strength.  There’s usually no occasion for it, but it is possible.”

“You’re on, Schwarzenegger.”




Dean had spent all day in the Dean Cave.  There were only a few empty beer cans, a dirty plate, and a couple of blankets to toss aside before they started rearranging the furniture.  Sam had rolled his eyes like a bitch at this idea but Dean couldn’t care less.  It wasn’t like he had been practically called a weakling, after all.  At least Jack seemed happy as a clam to see a real-life wrestling match up close--even if it was just between Dean and Cas, not actual wrestlers. 

Once they had pushed the recliners and foosball table to line the walls, Dean started untying his boots.  His heart was already starting to pick up speed and he could feel a flush creeping up his chest.  This was a good idea, right?  It was basically a win-win, wasn’t it?  Dean would get to blow off a little steam--they’d been cooped up all day so he kind’ve needed it--and he’d get to show Cas what’s what.  And maybe if he could get his blood going from adrenaline instead of...well, whatever vibes he was getting from Cas, maybe his traitorous cock would finally calm the hell down.

“Alright, Cas,” Dean said, standing up in now-bare feet, “Lose the coat, and tie, and all that.”

Dean turned his back to the angels and his brother, shucking his shirt to the ground.  It was a weird, pointless kind of modesty since he’d be wrestling the angel bare-chested anyway, but still.  

“Dude, why are you taking your shirt off?” Sam asked with a scrunched nose.

“Come on, man.  Haven’t you ever seen Fight Club ?” Dean snapped back.  It was like Sam lived under a rock sometimes, “Seriously, it’s Underground Fighting 101.”

Real men fought in jeans shirtless--it was just a fact of life.  Like Bruce Willis in Die Hard (a sweat and blood-soaked tank top was practically shirtless).  Or Sylvester Stallone in Rambo , and, of course, Brad Pitt in Fight Club .  Dean shook the image of a sweaty, ripped Tyler Durden with a cigarette between his lips out of his mind, and looked back at Cas.  

Surprise, surprise, Cas was already staring at him intently as he laid his jackets and tie over one of the recliners.  When the angel started going for the top buttons of his dress shirt Dean realized that, oh, looked like Cas was just gonna follow his lead on this one.  The angel’s face was totally unreadable as his meticulous fingers worked the white buttons to reveal a deeper and deeper triangle of olive skin.  Cas neatly untucked the shirt and-- fuck , were those really his hip bones?  Those hip bones were gonna be a goddamn menace to his spank bank from now on, weren’t they?  So sharp, and smooth, and biteable--


Dean’s eyes snapped up to baby blues.


“Are you ready to continue?”

“Oh, uh, yup,” Deep breaths, Winchester , “So here’s the rules: in order to win you gotta pin your opponent down and keep ‘em down until they say ‘mercy’.  No biting, no spitting, no choking, no nails--”

“Why would I harm you in any of those ways?” Cas interrupted, little head tilt and puppy eyes included.

“I don’t--It’s not like I think you would, Cas.  Just going over the rules of the game,” that seemed to placate the angel but made Dean’s stomach give a little swoopy thing nonetheless, “Oh...and no crotch shots ‘cause, I don’t know about you, but I ain’t into painplay.”


“Nevermind, just Google it later,” Sam cut in, rubbing a hand over his scruff and turned his eyes to Dean, “Can you two just get on with indulging your little fetish already--”

“Final rule: no comments from the peanut gallery.  Capisce?” A pouty bitchface was his brother’s only reply, “Good.  Now, Cas, go stand over there.”

Once he and the angel stood at opposite ends of an imaginary mat, Dean’s brain was already slipping into that hot, fuzzy feeling he got right before a battle.  Except this time he got to enjoy the blood rushing through him without all the anxiety or, y’know, fear of imminent death.

“Whenever you’re ready, cowboy,” Dean smirked, already bending his knees to lower his center of gravity.  The angel might be a dynamo with an angel blade but, without his angelic strength, he probably had no idea how to duke it out man-to-man.  This was gonna be fan-fucking-tastic.

Cas seemed to take in Dean’s posture and copied it, “I am ready.”

Dean stalked at a curve clockwise towards the angel, Cas copying his footwork to step the opposite way.  It kind of felt like dancing but, like, predatory dancing if that was a thing.  Dean did some fake out steps and felt a grin pull at his lips, Cas seemed to be getting into too if his own gummy smile was anything to go by.

“Come one, already,” Sam sighed.

Dean rolled his eyes but, yeah, Sam kinda had a point.  This was a strength test after all, not Dancing with the Stars .   The hunter took two steps and lunged forward, hands clapping down on impossibly warm, soft shoulders.  Did angels moisturize or something?  Dean felt the angel teeter under his grip and nearly lose his balance before throwing his weight toward Dean to correct it.  Suddenly, broad, solid shoulders were plowing into him.  With the crown of Cas’s floppy hair driving into his collarbone and the angels sculpted arms squeezing around him, Cas drove then backwards.  Was...was Cas trying to hug-wrestle him?  ‘Cause that’s what it fucking feels like--

Dean’s quick slip in thinking cost him his balance entirely when Cas suddenly swirled them around, throwing Dean’s feet out from under him.  Now he was hugging on Cas to keep from falling to the ground.  The spinning thing was definitely new but damn if it wassn’t effective.  Dean is more or less a flailing in the angel’s grip but Cas’s feet seem to be firmly planted shoulders-width apart.  With one final twist that even Dean’s hunter brain couldn’t track, Cas had him down on the ground.  Before he’d even knew what hit him, Dean found himself on his belly, hands pinned over his head, and a firm knee between his shoulder blades.  How in the hell did that even happen?

Now, held down without the distraction of strategy, Dean felt every nerve in his body light up.  Cas wass holding him face down, ass Heavenward, and was panting down his neck like they just went two rounds rollin’ around in the hay together.  Was this some sort of weird sex dream that would earn him a few days of a guilty conscience before being retired to his spank bank?  No, this had to be real.  Those had to be Cas’s freakin’ perfect hands squeezing his wrists hard enough that he could feel his heartbeating in them.  And that had to be the angel’s dress pant-covered knee boxed in against the sensitive skin of his ribs. Yup, this was real.  

Dean now saw the fatal flaw in his perfectly laid plans: he hadn’t counted on a sweaty, half naked, dusky-nippled Angel of the Motherfucking Lord straddling him on the floor.  No way his dick was going anywhere but up now.  Thank God his crotch was being squashed into the ground and not against Cas or something.

“Uh, guys?” 

“Did Cas win?” Jack stage-whispered to the younger Winchester.

Suddenly Cas was lifting off of him and all Dean could feel was the cold of the concrete floor.  Dean scrambled up, almost smacking his knee into the floor before he could right himself.  Sam, the little shit, had his eyebrows hiked up to his hairline and looking pointedly at Dean.  Dean looked pointedly away.  The hunter wiggled his leg, praying to any deity that was listening that Sam and Jack didn’t look down.

Cas shuffled over to the recliner where his clothes were and started slipping his dress shirt back .  No, that couldn’t be it!  Dean--he just...that was barely a match!  He’d only gotten to touch Cas for like 30 seconds!  He--fuck, he just wanted to get some energy out, alright?

“Whoa, Cas--” the angel turned around, shirt dangling by one sleeved arm.  Dude was eons old, only chubby babies and pigs in teacups got to look that cute.

“Yes, Dean?”

Maybe it was a trick of the bunker’s Truman-era lighting but was Cas... blushing ?  Could angels even do that?  Maybe he was just gettin’ a little red in the face from holding back his angelic strength.

“You, uh--I didn’t say ‘mercy’,” Okay, Cas had obviously pinned him pretty good so this was kinda flimsy but desperate times and all, “Match isn’t finished if I don’t say it.”

“Oh, for the love of…”

“Shut up, Sam.”

Cas’s white shirt flopped back over the recliner, and the angel was squaring up across from Dean in record time.  Dean blinked, lips turning up into a smile before he could reel it in.

“Whenever you’re ready... cowboy ,” Cas’s voice lilted like it was a question, but the challenging quirk of his lips called his bluff.  Oh ho, so it looked like he’d be wrestling Sassy Cas this round.

“You wanna dance, sunshine?  Let’s. Dance,” Dean bent low, swinging his hips.

“Dance?  I don’t underst--” Cas momentarily relaxed his stance to squint at the older Winchester and that’s when Dean went for it.

Instead of aiming for an easy spot like he had last timme, Dean dove for Cas’s waist.  He wrapped one arm around the angel’s diamond-sharp hip bones, tucking his shoulder into Cas’s navel and pushed forward like a linebacker.  He felt Cas get the wind knocked out of him and suddenly sag like a ragdoll into Dean’s shoulder.  Dean spun them around and let Cas go, holding up his hands to the angel.

“Hey, man, are you alr--”

Cas turned on Dean with something brilliant and burning in his eyes.  The angel was looking at him like he was a lion and Dean was the tasty, wounded gazelle that got separated from its herd.  Fiery blue raked over Dean and a bead of sweat rolled down Cas’s temple.  The hunter only had a moment to realize that he might just cream his jeans right then and there before Cas was on him.

Dean didn’t even try to get the advantage, he only tried to cushion his fall so he wouldn’t snap his femur in half on the way to the ground.  The next second, Dean is on his back with a lap full of angel and his hands pinned above his head once again.  Cas is sporting the cockiest grin he’s ever seen on the guy, and Dean curses himself for the goddamn wildfire it stokes in his belly.

Oh great, now he learns that Cas is ultra competitive.

But those baby blues don’t even see it coming when Dean wraps his thighs around the angel’s hips like a python and flips them over.  The hunter beamed down at Cas’s startled eyes and held pulsing olive wrists in place above the angel’s head with one hand.  

But, shitshitshitshit , the whole pushing their crotches even closer together thing was an insanely dumb idea ‘cause Cas can probably feel--

Dean’s panic is cut short when Cas seems to snap out of his stupor.  Suddenly they’re being rolled again, but this time Cas is pushing Dean backwards onto his back.  Dean huffed out a breath when his back collides with the ground and then--Cas is sitting on his chest.

Dean had never thought of himself as submissive in bed--the opposite actually.  He loved the feeling of draping himself over his the chick he was with, maybe holding her hands down on the pillow while he fucked into her.  Yeah, that was the good stuff; stuff he was used to and had grown to love.  But lying there on his back, Cas looming over him with two thick, commanding thighs holding his head down like it was nothing...there was no going back after this.  Hell, if Cas had unzipped his pants and tried to shove his dick down Dean’s throat right there, he’d have eagerly swallowed every goddamn inch he was given and ask--no, beg for the angel to finish down his throat--

“Alright, Jack, it’s time to leave.”


“I’ll explain later, just move it.”

Dean heard Jack and his brother leave but no way did he dare look away from the dark, playful eyes holding him in place almost as much as the thighs were.  Cas didn’t even flinch when the solid door thudded shut in its frame.  He really should have cared that they’d probably been sitting here with Dean’s face in Cas’s crotch a really long time if Sam had felt the need to escape with the kid.  ‘Should’ being the keyword there.  Dean honestly couldn’t find a single fuck to give when he was this rock hard with sweaty Mr. Sex Hair beaming down at him like that.

Okay, scratch that--maybe he wasn’t the gazelle after all...maybe he was the lioness ...

“Do you wish for mercy?” Cas’s low velvet voice vibrated through Dean’s body and sent a shudder down his spine, straight to his cock.

Dean blinked, mouth falling open only to snap shut again.  To his amazement, the angel only let out a rumbling laugh and eased the pressure off Dean’s neck, shuffling back to sit on the hunter’s stomach instead.

“Apologies.  ‘No choking’, I forgot.”

“I--” Dean croaked, “Mercy.”

Cas scooted even further back and onto Dean’s hips like he was making to get up--but he suddenly froze.  Dean froze too because Cas had accidentally slid the cleft of his ass perfectly onto the aching line of Dean’s confined cock.

A groan punched out of Dean’s lungs, the muscles in his hips twitching into an upward thrust before he could hold himself down.  His hands automatically clamped down on the angel’s waist to hold off anymore accidental friction.

“Oh,” Cas blinks down at Dean, “You’re…”

“I know.  Shit...sorry...” Dean took deep breaths and seriously tried to cling to whatever shred of dignity he had left, even as he felt his whole body flush.

His brain is scrambled, digging through all the nooks and crannies.  There had gotta be a good excuse why just wrestling and messing around with his best friend had him harder than a forty-one-year-old man had any business being.  But he had nothing, and Cas still wasn’t saying anything.  If the angel would just ( gently ) get up, Dean could go take care of the problem elsewhere and then hide in his room for a week--

A growl ripped out of Dean’s throat when the angel’s hips gave a testing grind.

“Ca aaas… ” Dean meant it to sound like a question but it bled into a moan when the angel’s pert ass gave another lazy thrust against him.

The hunter’s eyes snapped open even though he didn’t remember closing them.  Cas was pink and sweaty himself, all traces of confusion gone now.  His dark, dilated eyes were fixed on Dean.  Those divine olive hands had fallen to Dean’s stomach at some point, and the angel was leaning on them slightly to peer down at him.


A broad hand snaked up the center of his chest until deft fingers tapped on his collarbone.  The hand pressed him more firmly against the ground.

“Is this what you wanted, Dean?” Slow, sure fingers ran up his throat from the hollow over his Adam’s apple and back again.  The angel’s hand splayed out over half of his windpipe, stroking lines with his thumb under Dean’s jaw.  He was applying no more pressure than the simple weight of his hand.  But he didn’t need to, Dean’s head was already spinning.  Those hands once executed the commands of Heaven, could wield an angel blade with scary precision, had expelled angels and demons from their bodies.  Those hands had also healed wounds and scars, had refused to harm him at the cost of an army...those hands raised him from Hell. And now those hands hovered over the soft skin of his throat, just lightly stroking.  He could easily kill Dean like this and it wouldn’t take more than a flex of his fingers.  But he wouldn’t--and that’s what made Dean feel like he was melting into the goddamn floor.


The angel only hummed, thumb drawing circles in his stubble.  Another moan rose out of Dean’s chest when Cas canted his hips forward once, twice, three times.


“All of these years,” Cas said, disbelief and amusement warring in his voice, “Had I known…”

Dean licked his lips, “Had you known w-what?”

The angel’s other hand slid up his chest, and he shuddered when Cas grazed his nipple.  He had never had very sensitive nipples but, well, it looked like it was the day for learning new things.  Fingers threaded through Dean’s hair, tipping his head back to bare his neck even more.  The position forced him to stare at the ceiling but all his mind’s eye saw was the downright obscene picture they made with Cas pinning him down and rocking into him like this.

The teasing touch along his throat skimmed down to his shoulders and skittered along his arm, kneading the silky skin there.

“I can’t believe I didn’t see it before,” Cas’s reverent voice was closer now, hovering right over his chest.   Soft kisses were suddenly pressed into his skin, and his hips jerked up in a weak thrust, “ Stay .” The angel ground down, squashing the hunter’s hips in place.

Cas had just given him a fucking command .  Dean’s whole body tingled.  He obeyed.

“I had always wondered what it could possibly take to get through to you,” Cas resumed, “We’ve been bonded for more than a decade in Earth time, and yet, something was always absent.  Well, not absent , because I have always loved you and known that you loved me--whether you admitted it or not.  We’ve always been headed for a breaking point, Dean,  it was just a question of ‘when’ not ‘if’.”

“Yeah?” Now that he was there, grounded by the angel’s thick fingers, meaty thighs, and warm weight Dean felt like his world was tilting on its axis.  For the first time in a long time he was actually hearing the angel’s words as purely and honestly as they were meant to be heard.  He wasn’t afraid of his own thoughts or reactions to the words, he just heard them and understood them as the truth.

“Indeed,” Cas gave a rewarding rock of his hips and a little bloom of pleasure popped behind Dean’s eyes, “If I had known that this was all it would’ve taken--bringing you into a gentle submission--I would’ve done so long ago.”

A new wave of heat rippled across his chest.  Cas’s kisses were growing sloppier and moving upward.

“If this was what you needed from me all along--the safety and direction to let yourself go…” Cas finally reached the hollow of Dean’s neck and blood was rushing in his ears all the way to his cock.  A teasing pink tongue drew a line up to his chin, “Oh, Dean...I could do this for all of eternity.”

Dean’s eyes fluttered shut when plump, chapped lips were suddenly kissing at the corner of his mouth.  He wanted to tilt his head just a little and meet the angel’s kiss, but he’d been given an order: stay.  So he stayed, feeling his hot breath bounce off of Cas’s cheek and onto his own.

“Cas,” his voice sounded gravel-scratched in the quiet of the room, “ Please… kiss...”

And now he was begging.  Begging --and yet he felt like he’d finally come home.

“Of course, Dean,” Cas’s voice was only a murmur between them now.  The angel pushed his sweaty hair back and kissed his forehead, then each cheek, before finally reaching their ultimate destination.  Dean hadn’t really had expectations for what it’d be like to kiss Cas--he’d never let himself.  It was wet and warm and close like any kiss would be...but there was more.  Dean whined and meweled into it because it was Cas’s wet, warm, closeness he was tasting.  

The angel soon found a steady pace, rocking into Dean’s lap.  After a slight shift and a deep roll of hips, Cas’s own hard-on aligned with his.  Cas growled into the hunter’s mouth, nibbling and licking at his buzzing lips.

“Wanna touch you,” Dean asked, “Can I...?”

Cas nodded, and licked deeper into the cavern of his mouth.  Sturdy hands guided Dean’s, bringing them up to the angel’s immense thighs.  Dean squeezed all of the warm cotton-covered flesh and moaned. 

“Fuck...squeeze me with ‘em, Cas, please…”

The angel chuckled above him.  Powerful muscles tensed around him and Dean’s eyes shut at the sensation.

“Did you like when I held you down earlier?”  Cas hummed, “When I cradled your face between my legs?”

Dean’s breath caught in his throat.  He nodded wildly and Cas kissed the bolt of his jaw.

“What did you think about when I held you down like that?”

He didn’t want to say it.  He’d never said anything like that out loud.  Fuck, he’d only truly admitted to himself that he was into dudes like five minutes ago--and that was ‘cause it was kinda hard to deny when he was grinding up against another dick.  But...he couldn’t say it.

Dean shook his head.

“You don’t know, or you don’t want to tell me?”  The angel’s gaze was soft and Dean hadn’t realized he’d been afraid Cas would be mad at him for not saying until he felt a shaky breath leave his lungs.  Of course Cas wouldn’t be mad.

Dean nodded.

“Which one, Dean?” Cas combed his fingers through Dean’s hair, “I need to hear the words, otherwise I can’t ever be entirely sure that I am doing things to you that you actually want done.  And we’ve both hurt each other far too much to do that again.  Do you understand?”

The hunter nodded again before quickly adding, “Yes, Cas.”

The angel kissed his cheek.

“Thank you.  Now which one is it: you don’t know what you were thinking when I was holding you down or you don’t want to tell me?”

“Don’t wanna tell you,” Dean finally sighed.

“That’s alright, you don’t have to.  But can you tell me why you don’t?”

Dean shook his head.

Dean .”

“I--” Dean sagged against the floor and let his eyes roam the unfinished ceiling.  Why didn’t he want to say it?  Was he worried Cas would judge him for it?  That seemed pretty unlikely since the dude was currently rubbing cocks with him--plus Cas hadn’t really been the self-righteous type for years now.  Did he think Cas would leave him for it?  Well, he’d seen Dean The Torturer on way too many occasions so he could probably handle his stupid blowjob fantasy without freaking out.  He...well, he didn’t really seem to have a reason.

Dean’s hands flexed, the warmth of the angel’s legs around him somehow comforting--something secure to hold onto while his brain flew off the handle.

“I...I thought ‘bout sucking you off…” Dean muttered.

“Hmm,” Cas gazed down at him.  The angels circling hips slowing down to an easy melody, his thumb circling one of Dean’s cheekbones in time, “Is that something you’d like to try tonight?”

Dean nodded, but Cas’s eyes went soft this time and he didn’t make Dean speak.  The hunter was more than a little grateful for it.  

Cas brought their lips together, smiling slightly against Dean and he didn’t have to be a psychic to know what Cas was trying to say. I'm proud of you.

The angel gave one last deep grind, pulling a guttral moan out of Dean.  Then Cas’s thighs were shifting under Dean’s hands as he shuffled closer and began rearranging them.  Pretty blue eyes squinted and assessed their positions, before he shook his head.

“Not only will prolonged time lying on concrete hurt you back, but me putting any stress on your neck at this angle may hurt your throat as well,” the angel stood up, reaching his arms out to Dean.

Dean thought about batting the offered hands away, and if it was anyone else he would’ve--but his knees were a little shaky and it was Cas who was offering.

When he rose to meet the angel, Cas was on him again, kissing and licking and humming into his mouth.  Though his cock--and Cas’s--had flagged a little bit during their sappy little heart-to-heart this was revving his engine back up with a venegeance.  Cas wrapped strong arms around Dean’s waist, drawing the searing lines in their pants back together.  Dean rocked into the delicious feeling and found himself winding his own arms around Cas’s shoulders.

With a small peck to his temple, Cas drew back enough to meet Dean’s eye.  This time, Dean pushed a sweaty lock of hair off the angel’s forehead instead.

“How ‘bout the chair?” Dean jutted his chin toward one of the recliners against the wall.

Cas gave it the same assessing look before a small smile quirked his lips.

“That will do nicely,” he turned a serious eye to the hunter, “but I’ll be sure not to keep you on your knees very long.”

Dean shivered.  

“Oh, I don’t think lasting too long is gonna be a problem for me, sunshine.”




Cas had a big dick.  Not freakishly, impaling-spear big, but definitely bigger than Dean’s and a potentially rough intro to cock-sucking.  Maybe he should’ve seen it coming (pun intended)--Cas was 6’1”, barrel-chested, and no one’s definition of petite--but he didn’t.  Now that he could see its outline up close, he wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that fact.

The angel was folding and piling the discarded blankets to make a kneeling pad for Dean that didn't look too shabby, and was certainly better than nothing.  The reality of the situation was starting to prickle the back of his neck as he stood there, with tented jeans, while a shirtless Cas made him a little blowjob nest.  Doubtful voices rose in his mind, making his skin crawl when one too many started to sound like John Winchester.  What if he hated this?  What if he liked this?  What if he liked this too much and he never had the desire for pussy again?  If he wanted to be with Cas from now on, did it even matter?

The voices turned to static, though, the moment the angel-- his angel--looked up at him with those baby blues.

“Come here, Dean,” something about Cas’s voice was soft and squishy and melted Dean like butter.

“‘Kay,” the hunter flushed.

Dean sank down to the fluffy blankets, body bracketed on either side by those goddamn thighs.  He wasn’t betting on more than ten minutes once he actually got Cas in his mouth and had those beauties trembling and squeezing around him...Dean palmed himself over the rough jut of his zipper.  Maybe he wouldn’t even make it five minutes.

“Cas…” he groaned.

The angel’s tender fingers wove into Dean’s hair and guided their lips into a soothing lock, Dean’s eyes fluttered shut.  That floaty, fuzziness filtered back into Dean’s brain as he followed every movement of Cas’s, devouring every swipe of tongue or worrying of teeth the angel gave him, not taking more, just trusting Cas to give him what he needed.  

Suddenly, only one hand was in his hair and the click click click of a zipper’s teeth drifted into his slushy mind.  Dean’s eyes opened when strong hands cupped his jaw gingerly, one thumb running along his lower lip.

His eyes dropped to the-- oh. Well, there it was.  Cas’s cock was a dusky dark color like his nipples, plump and practically radiating heat where it rested against his bare stomach.  Though Dean thought cocks were generally weird, floppy things that certainly weren’t the most attractive part of the human body...Cas’s was gorgeous .

“Open your mouth, Dean.”

The command sent a buzz of electricity to Dean’s stomach and his jaw dropped down immediately.  

“Good,” Cas hummed, lightly tapping his length on Dean’s kissed-pink bottom lip.  Already as Dean inhaled, the musky, aroused scent was hitting the back of his throat, making his mouth water, “Just take the tip, no more.”

But he kinda wanted to try to take the whole thing…

He shot Cas his best puppy dog eyes.  

“Just the tip first, Dean.  You need to acclimatise,” the angel reasoned.

Cas didn’t bend, but the fond eye roll he received made up for it.

He slid the tip into Dean’s waiting mouth and the hunter immediately latched on.  It was...surreal.  It was thick and hot and pulsed little lines of precome on the back of his tongue.  But, Jesus, the belly-deep cry Cas let out when Dean started suckling almost made him it taste like the best pie in the world.  If every blowjob with Cas was like this, Dean’s knees wouldn’t get sore from prolonged kneeling but frequent kneeling instead.

“Nnngghhhh,” Dean hummed around his angel because he knew from experience that the vibrations would blow Cas’s mind.  The hoarse cry and scratches down his bare back Cas gave him in return only seemed to prove him right.

Dean had never asked--and, frankly, didn’t want to know--exactly what all Cas and April had done to pop the angel’s cherry.  He knew he had no business being jealous considering Cas had had to watch him hook-up with countless women over the years and Dean only had one (dead) ex the contend with.  Still, a selfish, possessive part hoped that he got to be the first to have Cas in this way.

“ good, Dean...”

Dean dug his tongue into the angel’s slit and nearly painted his shorts white when Cas’s thighs seized and started to shake under his palms.

“Cassshhh…” Dean whimpered.

A kind, albeit jerky, hand trailed back to the crown of his head and traced the swirl of a cowlick there.  

“You can take a little more if you’re rea-- aouhhhhhhh…. !”

Cas threw his head back, hands clawing in the hunter’s hair as Dean hollowed his cheeks and bobbed down a couple more inches.  The angel’s tight muscles quivered and squeezed around him.  Dean couldn’t take much more of this.  With one hand stroking Cas’s remaining few inches that he’d have to work up to in the future (please God let there be a future with more of this), the other shoved down his zipper and pushed his jeans and boxers out of the way.

He fisted himself, eyes fluttering shut and whining in relief.  He’d been pent up for hours now and, fuck, he needed to come like yesterday.  The slide was already slick and easy from the absolute fountain his cock had turned into.  He nearly screamed in frustration when sure fingers pulled his hand away, but a complaining growl turned into a broken moan as a perfectly sculpted hand took his place.  He thrust up into the tight heat, half-praises and alphabet soup tumbled out of his mouth and buzzed around the angel’s cock.  

“A-Are you close to climax, Dean?  I am,” Cas’s broken voice crackled in Dean’s ears and rested low in his belly.  Damn right he was close.  

He nodded.

Dean needed this.  Needed to come.  Needed Cas to make him come.  His bones felt like jelly, but with all the strength that he could muster, he clamped his arms around the angel’s legs.  His head and full mouth fell to the right, pillowed by shuddering muscle.

“Clossshhh…” Dean rumbled, losing his rhythm on the angel and bucking up into the squeezing hand around him.

“Good, Dean,” Cas’s free hand gently carded back through the hunter’s hair, “Open your eyes.  I want to see your eyes.”

Dean’s eyes snapped open and a rush of color and light exploded all at once.  His dick twitched in the angel’s stripping hand and Dean felt the ropes of come coat his stomach.  One long broken note punched out of him and danced around the cock still stuffing him.  Cas’s thighs clenched underneath him and another bone-deep shudder seized his body.  

Smoother, warm pulses radiated out from his balls all the way to his fingertips as the angel finally let his softening length fall back between his legs.  A content fuzziness settled over his skin and his vision blurred at the edges where he looked up at the angel.  Cas was pink with a heart-stopping flush, forehead shiny with sweat.  Goddamn was he pretty like this.

Dean wasn’t one to leave behind unsatisfied customers and so he pushed through the haze and started suckling at the angel once again.  Noises Dean had only heard in pornos burst out from Cas’s lips.  The angel rocked his hips in little thrusts and continued to stroke Dean’s hair.  The hunter wasn’t nineteen anymore so there was no way in hell he was gonna get it up again this quickly, but a tender more satisfying delight settled in his stomach.  He was the reason Cas was so blissed out.  He was the reason an angel of the Lord was moaning like a whore.  Dean Winchester got to give this kinda lovin’ to this divine, cosmic entity.  Maybe he didn’t have such a bad-luck life after all.


The hunter nodded and hollowed his cheeks with a renewed fervor.  The angel’s eyes blazed before rolling back into his skull, then Dean’s mouth was being pumped full as Cas’s cock pulsed between his lips.  The hunter gulped and tried to swallow most of the angel spunk but he could feel drops running down his chin and onto the dress pants he was leaning on.  After a tense and twitchy few seconds, the angel sagged back into the recliner and his eyes drooped shut.  Dean gave a suckle or two just to feel Cas’s thighs jerk in oversensitivity.

He finally let the angel’s limp dick slip out of his mouth.  Closing his eyes, he keened into the hand still petting his hair.  Jesus, Cas’s hands could do wonders.

“C’mere,” the angel slurred.

Before Dean had a chance to move, Cas was picking him up and pulling him into the recliner too.  Apparently Cas had decided to put his metaphorical angel pants back on so he could manhandle the hunter.  Well, Dean wasn’t about to complain.

The angel rearranged the hunter to to drape over him as if to prove Dean’s point.

“S’ strong,” Dean mumbled.

A rumbly chuckle bubbled up through the angel and Dean felt the press of lips to his temple.  Dean nuzzled closer and one of Cas’s thighs wrapped protectively around his waist.

It wasn’t all that scary when he thought about it.  Dean loved Cas, and Cas loved him back.  There wasn’t much to be uncertain of anymore.



:::::: The End ::::::