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The Last Resort

Summary:

When Sam finds a case where guests at a gay resort are mysteriously aging decades overnight, Dean and Cas pose as a married couple to investigate. Dean's looking forward to a luxurious beach vacation, even if it means working harder to conceal his feelings for Cas. Only, after they've begun spreading their cover story, they realize they aren't at a couples' resort at all—in fact, Araucaria Resort is a popular hookup spot. Now there's nothing to do but adapt their story, posing as a couple looking to invite a third into their bed, all while trying to track down any kind of lead.

Notes:

I always love Pinefest season, and I'm pleased as (tropical) punch to share this fic with you. Many, many thanks to Mittens and Cass for running this wonderful event every year, and extra thanks to Cass (thevioletcaptain), who I was lucky enough to be paired with for the second year in a row, for the wonderful artwork embedded here. Go check out the Art Masterpost and leave some love on it! <3

Thanks also to MalMuses for beta-ing, but especially for egging me on when I came to her and said, "I have the worst fic idea."

Araucaria, of course, is a genus of evergreens, many of which are called pines.

Enjoy, and please consider reblogging the Masterpost!

Chapter Text

title card by thevioletcaptain

Cody groans as he blinks himself awake. It must be close to noon, because the sun that streams through the sheer curtains of his room is already high in the sky.

What a night!

What a night of mind-bendingly intense, practically transcendental sex.

Okay, there might have been drugs involved. Almost certainly were, because no matter how good the sex is—and it was very, very good—it doesn’t usually feel like being transported to a higher plane. 

He wishes he could remember what he took. He’d like to experience that again. Whatever it was, his head feels surprisingly clear, especially when he takes into account the number of drinks he had at Araucaria Resort’s dance club even before any other substances got involved. He doesn’t have even a hint of a headache.

His body, on the other hand, feels surprisingly stiff and achy, and not just in the places he’d expect it after a night of vigorous sex. He hopes he’s not getting too old to enjoy a night of dancing, followed by a marathon romp between the sheets. He’s only twenty-six for fuck’s sake, and he works out regularly at the gym on 8th Ave.—the one with the hottest guys.

Come to think of it, that’s probably the problem. He’s been skimping on workouts since he arrived at Araucaria, too focused on making the most of his vacation. That’s fixed easily enough. The resort boasts a world class gym.

Satisfied, he stretches, spread-eagling himself across the giant bed. His fingers brush only empty sheets, with no lingering trace of body heat from his bedmate. That’s not too surprising, though. He did sleep late.

In fact—he leans further to grab his phone from the bedside table—what time is it?

His finger slips as he goes to swipe it on, and instead of the clock, he finds himself looking into the front-facing camera.

He blinks in horror at the unflattering image it shows him of his own face. He needs a new phone. This one always makes him look so old. 

He closes the camera and checks the time. 12:06. All his friends will have headed down to the beach without him hours ago. He might as well join them.

With one last stretch of his stiff muscles, he rolls out of bed and pads towards the bathroom, ready to wash off the evidence of last night.

He flicks on the bathroom light and glances into the mirror in passing, then glances again, then freezes, staring at himself in horror. 

Not at himself. That’s not his face.

Yes, it is. It’s his, but— 

“How the hell did I get old?”

Somehow, overnight, he’s aged at least twenty years.

Cody screams.

~

 

"It's fascinating," Sam says when Dean stumbles across him in the library, already buried in a thick tome, with several others cracked open around him, and searches running simultaneously on both his laptop and his phone. "I've never heard of them acting quite like this."

Dean had been searching for Cas—what better way to spend their downtime than a movie marathon with his best friend?—but allows himself to be sidetracked by a potential case. "What's fascinating?" he asks, scooping up Sam's phone to take a look at the open page. 

"Gays Age on the Bay," blares the headline.

"Huh," says Dean. "Cute rhyme. So, what's the deal? Gay retirees aren't that weird. Haven't you seen Grace and Frankie? You sure this is our kind of strange?"

Dean knows he could read the article himself, but why deny Sam the chance to lay it out there? If Sam's already this deep in the research, it means he's already parsed through the sensationalistic pap for the nugget of truth within. Dean waits.

"You watch Grace and Frankie?" Sam asks, momentarily distracted. He shakes his head. "Not the point."

"Hey, it's a good show. Jane Fonda and Lily Tomlin, what's not to like?"

Sam gives him a look like he can’t tell if Dean’s messing with him or if he’s actually this dense.

Dean rolls his eyes and gestures magnanimously for Sam to go on.

"Right," Sam says. "So, there's this resort—a gay resort, I guess—and a number of the guests have aged, like overnight."

Well, that is starting to sound like their kind of strange. “How much are we talking? Like, ‘I need a vacation from my vacation’ or—”

“Decades,” Sam interrupts him. “Someone will go to sleep in his twenties and when he wakes up, his partner is gone and so is twenty years.” 

“Partners gone, huh? Are we talking a missing persons case, too?”

Sam shakes his head. “I don’t think so. There’s no mention of anyone missing. Just that the guys this is happening to are waking up alone.”

“Well, that’s something at least.” Dean gestures at Sam’s piles of research. “You’ve obviously got a working theory already, so let’s hear it.”

“I think it’s a succubus,” Sam says.

“Wouldn’t it be an incubus?” Dean asks. “I mean, gay resort, so dude sex demon, right?”

“Actually,” Sam says, “that part’s really unclear. The usual belief is that incubus are male and succubus are female, but other sources say that incubo means to lie upon and succubare- means to lie beneath, so it could depend on…” He waves a hand in the air, looking uncomfortable.

“Who’s taking it and who’s giving it,” Dean finishes for him. “How do you think that would work if you were doing reverse cowgirl?” he asks, just to see the bitchface Sam always gets when Dean talks about sex. “Or do sex demons only do it missionary style? That would be kind of ironic.”

“Do you ever listen to yourself?” 

It’s a rhetorical question, so Dean doesn’t dignify it with an answer. Instead, he asks, “You said succubus, so do we know that our sex demon is bottoming?”

Sam groans. “No, we don’t, but the point is that, names aside, succubi and incubi are pretty much interchangeable. Same origins, same physiology, same sensitivity to iron. What’s interesting is that they usually stick with one victim, draining them night after night until they die. But this one isn’t killing. It’s taking twenty years, here and there, but each time from a new guest.”

“So he found himself an all-you-can-eat buffet, and he’s sampling every dish.”

“They can shapeshift, so I think he must be transforming himself to look like his victims’ partners—”

“And then banging them silly and stealing their youth, got it. How do you think he’s keeping the actual partners away?”

“I’m still working on that part,” Sam admits.

“Well.” Dean leans his hip against the side of the table, so he can get a better look at Sam’s notes. “Killing his victims or not, twenty years is still a lot of life for a person to lose, so we need to find it and stop it somehow. What’s our in? CDC?”

"We could try that angle too, but actually, I think our best bet is to go in as guests. That way we have an excuse to be there at any time, and to talk to the staff and the guests."

Dean thinks about white sand, wide, luxurious beds, maybe even some kind of fancy spa, and is tempted, but— "I'm not going to pretend to be banging you."

Sam's face scrunches up in equal disgust. "Ugh, no, of course not. You could pair up with Cas, pretend to be married, and I'll stay nearby and do the CDC thing."

Dean’s heart stutters in his chest. Married to Cas. Pretend married at least. Would they have to share a bed? Probably, Dean concludes. And they'd have to show affection—hold hands, maybe kiss. All part of the act. A pang of wistfulness strikes him.

Can he do it? Dean hides his swallow. Can he do all the things with Cas that he secretly dreams of, knowing they're not real?

"Of course," Sam says, "if you're uncomfortable, I could do it instead." The expression on his face is pure understanding, and Dean narrows his eyes at him. 

"What are you implying?" 

Sam thinks he's so smart, Dean grouses internally, thinks he's got Dean's number when it comes to Cas, but Dean can handle his feelings. He's been doing it this long.

"I'm not implying anything," Sam says, but Dean can see right through him. "I just know that you—"

"I'm doing it," Dean bites out.

"Are you sure?" Sam sounds so concerned.

"Yes, I'm sure. Stop asking stupid questions, Sam, and make the reservations."

~

 

Dean leaves the details in Sam's hands and disappears to find Cas before Sam can get any more gooey and starry eyed over Dean's feelings. Dean’s plans for a movie night with just the two of them might be scrapped, but he might as well give the guy the heads up about the case. If Cas has got any objections to being fake married to Dean, well, better Dean hears them now than later in front of Sam.

He finds Cas in the bunker's dated but functional gym, working his way through a set of pushups. Since Chuck was defeated and Cas gave up his grace to avoid being taken by the Empty, he's taken to regular workouts, something about "taking care of the gift of this mortal body"—and what a gift it is, Dean thinks, though that feeling might be as much about Cas as about the body he inhabits. 

On occasion, Cas has even managed to persuade Dean to join him, despite Dean's complaints. Of course, unbeknownst to Cas, the true torture isn't the grueling workouts, it's trying not to watch Cas while he does the same. If there were anyone left to pray to, Dean would send one up, praying that Cas never discovers weight training and calls Dean in to be his spotter. There's only so much a man can take.

Like right now. There's sweat beaded along Cas's hairline and sticking the back of his shirt to the wings of his shoulder blades. Dean clears his suddenly dry throat, averting his gaze.

In one smooth move, Cas rolls over and gets to his feet. "Hello, Dean. Do you want to join me?"

“Hey, Cas.” To keep his eyes and hands occupied, Dean stoops down to pick up Cas’s bottle of water from the edge of the mats and holds it out to him. “I actually came down to let you know about a hunt.” 

“Oh, of course.” Cas lifts the hem of his t-shirt to wipe his forehead and takes the water with a grateful quirk of his lips. “Go ahead.”

Dean quickly outlines the case and Sam’s theory on what it is, while Cas nods along. “And, uh, we’re going to have to go as guests.” He pauses to rub a hand over his face. “As, uh, a married couple. If that’s not, y’know, too awkward for you.” He attempts to arrange his features in a way that shows Cas how totally okay it is if Cas does find it too awkward, though he expects it comes across more as a grimace than anything else. 

“It doesn’t bother me,” Cas says. He hesitates a moment, then asks, “It doesn’t bother you?”

“No,” Dean answers quickly.

Too quickly.

“No,” he tries again. “I mean, could it get weird? Sure.” He laughs awkwardly and stops himself with a wince. “But we’ll just be two buddies enjoying a vacation. Plus, we’ll be staying in a fancy-ass resort while Sam’s off in one of our regular motels. More than makes up for it, right?”

“Right.” 

Cas still looks a little troubled about the eyes, so Dean tries again, unexpectedly desperate for Cas to be on board. 

“Come on, man, you deserve to experience some luxuries in life. I promise I’ll show you a good time. Being married to me won’t be that bad.”

Cas’s tiny smile when he says, “I never thought it would be,” will be the death of Dean.

~

 

Sam will need his own set of wheels while he does his CDC thing, so they make the drive up in two cars. Dean and Cas take Baby, naturally, and Sam, the nondescript sedan that Cas had been using before Chuck's defeat and his fall finally gave Dean the chance to convince him to stop gallivanting off trying to stave off the latest crisis and stay.

Dean still has a hard time believing it's true—that tomorrow won't be the day Cas tells him he needs space and heads out on his own. If and when that time comes, Dean hopes he won't give in to his selfish wants and beg Cas to stay. Cas, of all of them, deserves to be free. If that means Dean keeping his mouth shut forever, well, he has a lot of practice, so be it. 

Right now, though, Cas looks content. He's settled into the bench seat, aviators tipped down over his face, a small smile playing on his lips as Baby eats up the miles and the Creedence croon on the tape deck. He looks so touchable like this, so human, clad in jeans that fit tight around his (incredible) thighs, and a simple, deep blue t-shirt that, when he’s not wearing sunglasses, brings out his eyes in a spectacular way. 

When Cas had first fallen and needed to change his clothes every day, Dean had gone out and bought him a couple of six-packs of the shirts, to supplement the clothes he was borrowing from Dean. Dean had figured he'd take Cas out shopping to pick out something more to his personal taste once he had settled into humanity a little more, but it turned out that Cas preferred the soft, stretchy fabric of those shirts to just about anything else, and when Dean did take him out, he'd simply ended up tossing a couple more packs of them in the cart. Dude knows what he likes, and that's good enough for Dean.

The tape ends and Cas hits eject, retrieving it. He replaces it with one he produces from somewhere Dean doesn't see, and leans down to stash the first tape in the box in his footwell while the opening strains of Travelling Riverside Blues fill the car. Good choice. Dean flashes a grin in his direction and sings along, his mood high.

It isn't until the song ends and Thank You begins that Dean realizes which tape this is. He's only made one mixtape with those songs in that order.

He cuts his gaze away from the road, over to Cas. "I didn't know you still had this tape."

The look Cas gives him return is impossible to read behind his shades, but his voice is serious and earnest when he says, "Of course, I do. It was a gift."

It's a good thing Dean is driving, because otherwise, he might have thrown caution to the wind and kissed Cas then and there. "Damn right," he says instead, his heart erratic in his chest as he turns his gaze back to the road.

You keep those.

In his younger days, Dean might have done the drive from Kansas to Florida in two days, or even one, switching out with Sam, but these days, he prefers not to push his body that hard if he doesn't have to. Besides which, they had to make their reservations a week out anyway, so they give themselves a good three days to make their way to the resort.

"Hey," Dean says, half-jokingly, as they cross over into Tennessee. "Want to take a detour and go see Dollywood?”

Cas gives it a surprising amount of thought. "Another time," he concludes, "when we're not on a hunt and can enjoy it properly."

That sounds an awful lot like Cas wants to take a vacation—a real vacation—with Dean. And Sam, Dean reminds himself, before he can get too into his head about it. Though, Dollywood doesn't really seem like Sam's scene. Is Cas counting him in?

"Didn't know you were a Dolly Parton fan," Dean says, just to say something.

"When I had my truck, the radio was set to a country station," Cas says. "And her commitment to promoting literacy for underprivileged children, among other causes, is very commendable," he adds.

"Huh," says Dean, then, "That's settled then. Next time we get some downtime: Dollywood."

He basks in the light of Cas’s smile.

When they stop for the night, Cas opts to stay in the motel and take a shower while Dean and Sam head out to find takeout to bring back for the three of them.

Sam has apparently been waiting for his chance, because as soon as they pull out of the motel's parking lot, he remarks, "You know, it's not too late to switch roles for this hunt."

Dean scoffs. “Got your eye on a high-class mattress and poolside lounge? ‘Cause it’s too late now if you think I’m gonna give those up.”

“I’m serious, Dean,” Sam protests. “I know I give you flack for being invested in being this big, manly guy, but I don’t want you to be too uncomfortable to play the part. Whoever does it needs to be convincingly gay, after all.”

At that, Dean slides a side-eye in his brother’s direction. Sam is giving him his puppy dog stare, as if anything he just said makes any sense. “Dude, of the two of us, I’m the one who sleeps with men, so if one of us is going to be convincingly gay, I think it’s going to be me.”

Sam blinks at him long and hard. “I’m sorry, I thought I just heard you say that you sleep with men.”

“Yes?” It’s Dean’s turn to be incredulous. “You knew that. You walked in on me and the doublemint twins more than ten years ago.”

“You told me yourself that ‘It’s not gay if it’s in a three-way.’”

“What about Aaron?” 

“Aaron?” Sam echoes. “Your gay thing ? I didn’t think you were serious.”

“Dude, I had a ‘summer of love’ with Crowley.” Dean makes a face. “What did you think I was doing?”

“I don’t know, murder ? You were a demon. You really slept with Crowley?” Sam scrunches up his nose.

“Hey, I didn’t say I was proud of it.” Dean gives an exaggerated shudder and turns his attention back to the road. They drive in silence for a minute or so, before he chances another glance at his brother. “You seriously never knew?” He shakes his head. “You called me out on overcompensating years ago.” And okay, maybe at one time Dean had taken great pains to hide this side of himself—even from himself—but still. “Nothing tipped you off? Not even the Cas thing?”

“The Cas thing?” Sam repeats and Dean immediately regrets his words. “What about the Cas thing?” Sam’s eyes narrow. “Did you—are you telling me you slept with Cas?”

“What? No! I never slept with Cas,” Dean protests before his brother can launch into whatever well-meaning lecture he might have about daring to sully an angel’s virtue. Dean’s gone over all of them, many times, all on his own, thanks.  

But Sam, of course, is like a dog with a bone. “You never slept with him,” he deduces, “but you want to.”

“Shut up, Sam,” Dean says.

“You do, don’t you?”

“Shut up, Sam.”

“You have feelings for him.”

A long hard glare.

“You’re in love with him. How did I never see it? It’s all so obvious when you think about it.”

Dean groans. “For the love of—Shut up.”

~

 

They arrive at the resort around mid-day. Sam and his sedan already peeled off the highway an exit ahead of them to head for the motel where he’ll be holed up. He’d spent the last two nights shooting Dean smug little looks anytime Dean and Cas interacted, but thankfully had refrained from actually saying anything when Cas was in the room. Brotherly teasing has its limits.

Dean parks the Impala near the edge of the hotel's lot, under the shade of a tree dripping with Spanish moss. He and Cas emerge, blinking into the bright sun. The main building of the resort stands before them, white walls gleaming, at the end of a palm tree lined walkway. The wide main entrance is framed by bright hibiscus and cheerful-looking, tropical Norfolk pines. Past the hotel they can see the stretch of white sand and turquoise ocean, like something out of a postcard.

Case or no case, fake marriage awkwardness or not, Dean's looking forward to this. 

He sings under his breath, a few lines of Kokomo, as he unlocks the trunk and retrieves their bags. Maybe they should have bought suitcases, he considers as he looks back at the fancy facade, but he dismisses the thought. Their beat-up duffle bags are hardly enough to give the game away.

What might give it away is Dean's reaction when, halfway down the tree-lined corridor, he feels Cas's strong hand slip into his. He feels it like a jolt through his whole body and accidentally comes to a halt.

"Are you okay?" Cas stops too, but doesn't release Dean's hand. "This is what married couples do, isn't it?"

Dean takes a breath. "You're right. Sorry, buddy, you just startled me. But, uh, since we're doing what married couples do"—he untangles his hand from Cas's and reaches into his shirt pocket, pulling out a pair of round metal bands. Catching Cas's left hand in his again, he slips one onto Cas's third finger, then the other onto his own. 

For a long moment, Cas doesn't move, staring down at the ring with the oddest expression on his face. Dean clears his throat. "It's, uh—it's iron. So, if you touch the incubus, you'll know. But, uh, they also make it look like we're married, so—" He can feel his face heating.

Cas bites his lip. Still looking at the ring, he lifts his other hand, rubbing a finger slowly over the smooth metal, back and forth. Dean feels a frisson down his spine. At last, Cas raises his head, meeting Dean's eyes, even if there is something unspoken deep in his gaze. "Thank you, Dean," he says. "This was a good idea."

Dean swallows. "Sure thing, Cas. Just you wait, I'm gonna be the best damn fake husband you've ever had."

The thing about human Cas that absolutely wrecks Dean is that he laughs more often, and he does now. It's a quiet little thing, but it makes Dean's heart stumble even more than seeing Cas wearing his ring.

This time, it's Dean who reaches out and laces their fingers together, giving Cas a gentle tug. "Come on, let's get checked in."

The hotel lobby is bright and airy and well air-conditioned, with wide archways leading to wings of rooms and resort amenities and outside to a massive pool deck that overlooks the perfect beach. There are a few men in the lobby—a group of three finishing up at the reception deck, a few singles heading to or from their rooms, a boisterous pack of five emerging from one of the hotel’s restaurants. Something niggles at Dean’s attention and it takes him a moment to realize what it is—he sees no obvious couples.

Before he can do more than idly note the observation, the trio of men peel away from the front desk, key cards in hand. They retrieve their luggage and head off, presumably in the direction of their rooms, while the desk clerk waves Dean and Cas forward.

“Welcome to Araucaria Resort. How can I help you?” The clerk has wavy brown hair and a wide toothy smile. He wears a nametag that reads “Juan.” 

“Hi, Juan.” Dean gives the clerk his most charming smile as he slides the appropriate credit card across the front desk. "Checking in. I'm Dan Ponderosa and this is my husband, Christos." They'd chosen the name deliberately, on the chance that they could flush out their sex demon with a well-timed introduction. He wraps an arm around Cas's waist, tugging him in.

"Oh, you're married?" There's no flicker of black eyes from Juan, just mild curiosity, and no hiss of pain when he brushes against Dean’s ring as he takes the card. He begins tapping at his keyboard. Dean mentally crosses him off their list of suspects. That's one down. "That's unexpected. We don't get a lot of married couples here. I mean, uh, congratulations. I hope you enjoy your stay." 

Dean and Cas exchange a glance, but Juan is already handing them a little envelope, and a line is forming behind them. "There are your keycards. You're in room one-fifteen. The fastest way is past the pool." He points through the archways to a long wing that juts out, lined with tropical bushes separating little private patios. "The Wi-Fi password is written inside. And here." He passes them a pair of wristbands. “Your food and drinks are included as long as you're wearing these."

Dean whistles. “Sounds like a pretty great deal, huh baby?” he says to Cas, loud enough to sell their cover story to the men around them, but the pet name feels strange in his mouth. From the look on Cas’s face, he found it equally jarring.

Well, whatever. Dean shrugs to himself. He’ll just have to call Cas what he’s always called him. Ain’t no reason a guy can’t call his husband buddy. They say you should marry your best friend, right?

There’s no call for the wash of wistfulness Dean feels at that thought, and he swiftly shoves it down.

“Thank you,” Cas says to the clerk, accepting the items. To Dean, he says, “Let’s go find our room and get settled in,” and then he—of all the things he could do—slips a hand into Dean’s back pocket and steers him poolward while Dean’s brain is still busy throwing out an error message.

Dean’s brain has started recalibrating as they step out into the sunshine. This is fine, this is normal, Cas’s hand is on his ass. They’re supposed to be a married couple. He can do this. 

Their path takes them past a wide patio area with a bar and hightop tables, then along past the massive pool deck, lined with lounge chairs and yet more palm trees, complete with cabanas, a multi-level abstract-shaped pool and two more bars—deck side and swim-up. At the far end of the area, a sparkling, clear railing overlooks the drop-off to the beach. Loud music pipes out over the deck. 

A wing of rooms lines the left side, with the patios Dean saw from the lobby, and two more storeys with wide balconies above, while across the pool area is the entrance to the resort’s nightclub, and beyond that, another wing of guest rooms and amenities and a row of luxurious “cabins” for those really willing to shell out the big bucks. Dean and Cas’s room is near the far end of the near wing.

As they walk, Dean takes note of more things, the niggling doubt he’d had in the lobby becoming more and more insistent as he observes scantily-clad guys flirting, laughing, tanning, playing. A number of guys notice Dean and Cas right back, giving them a frank, assessing once-over or a flirtatious smile. Sure, here and there they see a couple guys who look like they’re getting awfully hot and heavy for a pool deck, but one thing becomes clear to Dean: none of these guys seem to be an established couple. No one looks like they’re here enjoying a romantic getaway. The whole atmosphere is of one big party, and everyone’s here for one reason.

With dawning certainty, Dean knows: somewhere along the way, they made a mistake.

Cas stops in front of the second room from the end and retrieves the keycard to unlock the sliding glass doors. They enter into a sea of white and sea green. With a quick look around the room, Dean notes a comfortable-looking couch, a table and two chairs, a credenza with a minibar and a large TV, and dominating the room, a massive bed swathed in white linens. The door to the bathroom is ajar, and Dean spies the corner of what looks to be a jacuzzi tub inside. At the far end of the room, there's another door, leading to an indoor hallway. In contrast to the heat outside, the air is refreshingly cool and smells faintly of sweet sea breezes.

The door shuts with a soft click, and Cas steps further into the room. "Dean," he says, sounding grave. "I think pretending to be married might have been a mistake."

Dean lets out a dry, humourless chuckle. "You don't say." Even though he knows Cas is only talking logistically, it still makes his chest ache to hear it. He paces briefly, lips pressed together in thought, then blows out a breath.

“Okay.” Done pacing, Dean tosses his duffle bag towards the head of the bed and sinks down onto the corner of the mattress. It depresses just slightly beneath his weight, firm and plush, a far sight better than their usual digs during a hunt. “Okay. We can fix this.”

Cas hovers just outside of touching distance of Dean’s knee. It’s an awkward distance, putting his chest—and the soft t-shirt stretched over it—directly in Dean’s line of sight. His own bag is still slung over his shoulder.

“I could go,” Cas offers. “I can stay with Sam and help with the research.”

“Oh sure, that wouldn’t look suspicious.” Dean snorts. “Checked in less than an hour before my husband disappears, and I spend the rest of the week flirting with anything that moves. Best case scenario, I look like an ass. Worst, the monster gets tipped off and skedaddles. Not gonna work. We're just going to have to fake our way through this, too." Well, at least he has someone he can blame for this mishap. "Fucking Sam.”

While Cas stands helplessly by, Dean punches the numbers in his phone. It rings three times.

“Sam, you dumbass,” Dean says without preamble when his brother picks up. “It’s a hookup resort. And Cas and I already told them we’re married.”

~

 

Less than two hours after checking in to the resort, Dean and Cas find themselves in Sam's shabby motel room, polishing off greasy burgers and fries. They'd stuck around the resort long enough to unpack, not wanting to draw attention to themselves by rushing off too soon after arriving, and had swung by a fast-food joint to pick up a late lunch—burgers for them, a sad looking grilled chicken wrap for Sam—before coming here.

Seated at the table with his brother, in one of the motel room's hard plastic chairs, Dean balls up his wrapper and tosses it in the direction of the trashcan, cheering when it goes in. Cas, who is perched on the hideous mauve bedspread, still nibbling more politely on his burger, rolls his eyes, though Dean tells himself he sees a fondness in it.

"I'm really sorry about this, guys." Sam sets down his half-eaten wrap. "It didn't even occur to me that it could be a single's resort, and I was so wrapped up in the lore, I didn't think to look into it further. Get this, did you know that the Gilgamesh might have been fathered by an incubus?"

“That’s true,” Cas confirms. “His name was Lilu.”

Sam perks up like a dog that’s heard the word walk, a thousand questions clearly on the tip of his tongue.

Dean clears his throat. "Think we're getting a bit off-track, fellas. Cas and I are stuck playing a married couple at a single’s resort, remember?"

"In my defense," says Sam. "You could have checked out the resort, too, Dean."

And okay, yeah, that's fair. Dean could have done the legwork, especially since it turns out that Sam hadn't been needling him about Cas after all—he'd genuinely thought Dean might be uncomfortable playing gay. Which is ridiculous. But admitting to that comes dangerously close to admitting why he had left the hotel arrangements to Sam, and Dean's not about to do that with Cas in the room. 

Instead, he changes the subject. "Well, what's done is done, so now let's manage the fallout."

Cas swallows the last bite of his burger. "What do you suggest?" 

"Well." Dean spreads his hands. "How do you feel about hunting a unicorn?" 

He receives twin glowers of confusion. 

"We're hunting an incubus, Dean," Cas says slowly, as if Dean has lost his marbles, "not a unicorn."

Dean can't help his snort of laughter. "Okay, yeah, I didn't think you'd know what I was talking about, Cas. But c'mon Sammy, you don't know either?"

He's amused to find himself on the receiving end of Sam's most long-suffering look. "Why don't you enlighten us?"

"We're looking for a third," Dean answers plainly. "A married couple trolling for threesomes."

“Really?” says Sam. “Isn’t that a little skeevy?”

“Hey, don’t judge.” Dean smirks at his brother. For all he’s been known to indulge a time or two in the past, Sam is remarkably predictable when it comes to talk about casual sex, especially where it involves Dean. “As long as everyone’s a consenting adult, there’s nothing skeevy about having a little fun. Cas?”

“I think it’s a good idea,” says Cas, a pleasant surprise, though now Dean is wondering whether Cas would be into something like a threesome. 

Bad thoughts, Dean. Bad thoughts.  

“It gives us a good reason to be talking to many different men,” Cas continues, “as well as frequently checking in with each other, while still maintaining our cover.”

Dean shoots a smug look at Sam, who rolls his eyes, but for lack of any better ideas, concedes. They spend the next hour hashing out the final details of how they’ll pull this off, and then Dean and Cas take their leave, headed back to the resort and their investigation, leaving Sam to the dubious comforts of the Tropicobana Motel.

As they back out of the parking lot, Dean rests a hand on the seatback, behind Cas’s neck. “Thanks, buddy,” he says, “for having my back in there.”

“Of course, Dean.” Cas is smiling behind the shades he wears against the Florida sun. “Always.”

~

Chapter Text

It's stupid to be disappointed.

When they had settled on the marriage ruse, Dean had expected certain things: candlelit dinners, holding hands while they walked on the beach, maybe spinning Cas around a dancefloor with the moves that were Dean’s carefully guarded secret. And sure, those things would all be in service of finding their monster, but there was no reason he couldn't take a secret pleasure in getting a taste of what he longed for. Dean had been prepared to hoard those moments away, next to his heart, a week's worth to carry him through the rest of his life.

But it seems moments for romance, genuine or otherwise, are going to be few and far between. This place may be designed for singles to meet, but those singles are here to get laid, not start a relationship.

Take the restaurant they're in. While there are a few smaller tables lining the sides of the room, most patrons are sitting at long, shared tables, crowded together and drinking and flirting with no regard for the fact that they were strangers before they sat down. 

The whole place makes Dean want to squirm. It's got an industrial chic vibe, combined with highly polished reclaimed wood, a sort of faux old-timey factory look that nevertheless screams of how much money went into it. The food is a series of small plates, which, yes, is delicious, but also is finicky and pretentious and makes Dean long for a simple burger. And don't get him started on the overpriced cocktail list. He’s not opposed to a good Mai Tai on a beach vacation, but the ingredients in these sound more like things Rowena would use in her magic than anything that should be drunk. Luckily, a word in his server's ear had been enough to get him a beer he recognized.

He lifts his bottle of Cosmic Cowboy to his lips and takes a swig, glancing around. No one else looks out of place.

Maybe Sam had a point when he'd suggested Dean would be uncomfortable here, even if it wasn't for the reasons Sam had meant. Dean's queer experiences have been limited to truck stops and the back rooms of dive bars, quick and dirty trysts with fellow hunters or blue-collar guys who share the same language, who can read a wealth of meaning into the way a guy stands too close or looks too long. He's slept with guys, sure, but this casually open scene is new to him, and these slick, polished looking men seem to come from a whole different world than he does. 

Well, he pushes his discomfort away. Dean Winchester is nothing if not adaptive.

Cas is looking around the room, no doubt already on the lookout for their monster. He'd retained enough of his keen hearing when he fell that he can still piece through the threads of conversations around them for anything suspicious. Dean, on the other hand, can't hear anything beyond the next two seats, the pounding beat from the resort's adjoining dance club drowning out everything else. Dean had caught a glimpse of writhing bodies on their way past—definitely not the sort of dancing he'd been picturing doing with Cas.

With instincts honed by years of hunting, Dean feels eyes on him, and turns slowly until he finds the source. There, at one of the smaller tables, a trio of men are eyeing him, openly appreciative. The boldest of them makes a blatant show of raking his eyes up and down Dean's body and biting seductively at his bottom lip. In the past, Dean's always been flustered when attractive men flirted with him, but whether it's their cover, or that Cas is sitting right there, or the fact that though the man is objectively good looking, Dean's simply not interested in him, this time it doesn't happen. Instead, he sends the guy his most charming wink, laying the groundwork, before turning back to his tiny plate.

To his chagrin, Cas has struck up a conversation with the honey-blond guy sitting on his other side. He's doing surprisingly well with the flirting, his hand resting lightly on the guy's well-muscled arm—displayed to advantage by the tank top he wears. Dean wonders if he and Cas should have changed up their wardrobes after finding out what kind of place this is. His car-washing shorts are still in Baby's trunk; maybe he should make a point of retrieving them the next chance he gets.

Beside him, Cas laughs at something Mr. Muscles says. Dean feels that deep chuckle more than he hears it, and his heart gives an involuntary dip. It's for the case, he assures himself, but he still wants that laugh directed at him.

Before Dean can fall too deeply into maudlin thoughts, he feels a hand settle warmly on his shoulder, and half turns to see the guy who was flirting with him from across the room.

"Hey there," the guy says. "I couldn't help but notice you." He slides into the recently vacated seat to Dean's left, close enough that his thigh brushes Dean's.

"Well, hello yourself." Dean drops into his most charming persona, his voice low and teasing. "Your friends won't miss you?"

The dude laughs as if Dean had said something funny, his perfectly straight teeth on display. "Oh, no. They're not gonna hold me back from getting to know the best looking guy in the place."

"I'm awfully flattered," Dean drawls, taking the opportunity to let his left hand—the one wearing the ring—brush casually against the guy's arm. Nothing happens, except that the guy leans closer. Not their monster, then. "You're not half bad yourself." He grins slow.

"How about you?" The dude slides a finger down the length of Dean's forearm. "Your friend there gonna mind if you disappear with me for a while?" He nods towards Cas.

He moves fast , Dean thinks, though objectively, he knows that he could move just as fast in his younger days, when a quick hookup was his only goal. But he doesn't actually want to hook up with this guy now, and he doubts he's going to get any useful information out of him. Time for the next step in this careful tap dance.

"Actually," he says, a note of pride he doesn't intend but can't escape in his voice, "that's my husband, Christos"—no harm in checking if his new friend reacts to the name. He doesn't, though his eyes do widen at the word husband. Dean slides smoothly on, "We're looking for someone to have a little fun with, together. Tonight, we're just scoping the scene out. But if you're interested, come find us in the next few days, see if Ca—Christos likes you as much as I do." From the way the guy has visibly closed off, Dean gets the sense that that's not gonna happen, which is just how he wants it, though he's annoyed to find that a part of him is offended on Cas's behalf.

You're being irrational, Dean. You can't be jealous when guys are attracted to Cas and then offended when they're not. His internal voice sounds uncomfortably like his brother. Do you want to talk about your feelings?

Dean imagines flipping his brother off. It makes him feel better. He nods and smiles and keeps up his charming exterior while the guy makes his excuses and slips away to return to his friends, then turns back to Cas. The blond guy Cas was flirting with is now half in the lap of the guy on his other side, and Cas is calmly sipping his drink.

Cas's attention is seemingly on the room at large, but as soon as Dean turns his way, he meets his eyes over the lip of his beer bottle. Holding Dean's gaze, Cas takes one last swallow, that shouldn't be nearly as sexy as it is. Dean swallows reflexively in response.

Cas sets the now-empty bottle down, a last bit of foam sliding back down the glass to settle in the bottom. He smiles at Dean with his eyes, in that way that always makes Dean feel warm, and leans close. "Are we done here? Ready to head to bed? It's been a long day."

After returning from Sam's motel, they'd spent what remained of the day exploring the resort, familiarizing themselves with all the places where the incubus might be meeting victims. There are plenty of late-night activities at Araucaria, not just the nightclub. In particular, Dean is looking forward to checking out the karaoke bar. Theoretically, their incubus could be treating any one of those places as its hunting ground. But chances are they won't be solving the case tonight, and especially so if they're tired. Sleep is sounding good, and they can pick up the hunt in the morning, when they're fresh.

"Oh yeah, I'd like to go to bed with you," Dean says, leaning heavily on the suggestive look and tone, for the benefit of anyone who might be listening. 

For half a second, Dean could swear that Cas's breath hitches, lids dropping over bedroom eyes. Damn . He had no idea that human Cas was such a good actor. Dean stands, a little too abruptly, but no one seems to notice.

Cas rises to his feet, much more gracefully than Dean, and takes his hand, lacing their fingers warmly together. "Come on," he says. "Let's go to bed."

~

 

The bed is a king. Wide enough to stretch out on, wide enough to avoid touching, wide enough, no doubt, to accommodate all kinds of vigorous, athletic, acrobatic sex.

Dean slams the brakes on that train of thought.

He’d thought he’d been prepared. He’d spent the days since Sam first found the case psyching himself up to share a bed with Cas, to sleep with him just inches away, to see his face across the pillows and not throw caution to the wind.

He is not prepared.

Cas, it appears, does not own pyjama pants.

“They get tangled around my legs,” Cas says, tugging on the leg of the thin cotton boxers that are going to be the only thing protecting his modesty from any roving Dean’s hands might do in his sleep.

Dean clenches his fists tight, as if to preempt any nocturnal wandering. He keeps his eyes averted. “Come on, aren’t you going to wear a shirt, at least?” 

Cas, sheet already in hand as he prepares to slip into bed, pauses, regarding Dean quizzically. Dean makes a face, sure his complaining tone is belied by the redness of his face.

“You’re uncomfortable,” Cas concludes. He lets the sheet drop and returns to where his duffle bag sits on the sideboard. As he rifles through it, he asks over his shoulder, “If we were really married, would you still want me to wear a shirt to bed?” 

Of course not, says Dean’s brain. Mercifully, his mouth is still obeying him, because he says, “But we’re not.” It doesn’t come out half as mournful as he feels about that fact. Despite himself, his eyes catch and hold on the spot where Cas’s waistband dips low on his ass.

Cas pulls a grey t-shirt over his head, covering up the tempting skin, then turns to face him. “But if we were?” he prods. There’s a faded AC/DC logo on the front of the shirt, and the neck is stretched out, exposing Cas’s collarbone. Dean’s been wondering where that shirt went.

“If we were married, you could wear whatever you damn well wanted,” he says and immediately regrets the snap in his voice, but really, a man can only handle so much. “But we’re not, so it’s a moot point.”

"If we were really married," Cas says, sounding exasperated, "I would sleep naked."

"I " Dean opens and closes his mouth fruitlessly, trying desperately not to admit the new mental images trying to flood his mind.

"I sleep naked, usually." Cas's explanation is not helping matters. "The boxers are for your comfort." And with that, he slips into bed, rolling onto his side and burying a yawn in his hand. "Get in bed, Dean"

Dean does, with alacrity. He turns away from Cas, bringing his knees up, the better to shield any untoward reaction his body might have. He hears Cas reach out and switch off the light, then settle back on his pillow. Silence stretches awkward between them for long minutes, until Dean finally clears his throat in the darkness. "'Night, Cas."

Cas hums. "Goodnight, Dean. Sleep well."

~

 

Dean does not expect to sleep well, his first night sharing a bed with Cas, Cas so close and still untouchable, and yet, somehow, he does. 

He wakes around dawn, the pink rays of sunrise off the ocean, slipping their fingers around the edge of the gauzy curtains—a rare experience now that they've cut down on hunting and Dean wakes most days in the darkened bunker. There's a pleasant weight on his chest and something tickling his chin, and it takes him a moment to realize that Cas has moved in his sleep and is using Dean's chest as a pillow. 

He should be uncomfortable about it, should be freaking out at the unexpected closeness when all he wants is to get closer still, but it's early, and he's sleepy, and really, asleep or not, Cas seems to have initiated this impromptu cuddling, so Dean has no reason to feel guilty. Cas feels good, solid and human against his side. It can't hurt to enjoy this while it lasts, Dean thinks. He breathes in deep.

He sleeps.

When he wakes again, the sun is fully up and Cas is emerging from the bathroom, hair still damp, followed by a trace of steam. Dean gets one look at what he's wearing and his brain short circuits.

"Coffee?" Cas asks, somehow oblivious to Dean's distress, strolling over to the coffee maker, which he must have set before his shower. He turns his back to Dean and pours him a cup, while Dean fights the urge to whimper at the way those shorts—Dean's car-washing shorts, to be exact—cling to Cas’s thick, muscular thighs.

Cas turns back to Dean, who's surely still staring, wide-eyed, and hands him a steaming cup. Dean takes it automatically and brings it to his lips, taking a sip. Cas always prepares Dean's coffee just the way Dean likes it, a fact that usually brings a swell of warmth to Dean's chest.

Finally, he finds his voice. "Where, uh—where'd you get the shorts, Cas?"

Cas fingers the raw edge of the cutoff denim, drawing Dean's eyes inexorably to his thighs again. "These are yours, I believe. I noticed a number of the other guests wearing something similar when we arrived yesterday, so I retrieved them from the trunk when we got back from Sam's motel, yesterday. Would you prefer to wear them yourself? I can change." His hand journeys tentatively to the button and hovers there, apparently ready to pop it and drop trou here and now, if Dean insists.

"No," Dean chokes out. "That's okay. They're yours now. You can keep 'em." 

"Are you sure?" Cas frowns. "These weren't a gift."

"Well, they are now." After all, there's no way Dean's gonna be putting them on again after this without sporting some major wood.

Cas's smile is gratification enough. "Thank you, Dean."

"Yeah," Dean grunts. "Course." Then, because his mouth is a traitor, he goes on, "Besides, you wearing those? Is gonna be one hell of an advantage in this investigation. You're the hottest guy in the joint. Trust me, everyone's gonna want to talk to you. You'll be beating witnesses off with a stick."

"Of course I trust you, Dean," Cas murmurs, which isn't really the takeaway Dean was going for there, but the pleased little smile Cas wears as they get ready for the day and all the way to the line for the breakfast buffet is well-worth any embarrassment Dean might feel.

After a breakfast where both Dean and Cas skip over the healthy options like egg white omelets and kale smoothies in favour of a mountain of bacon on Dean's part and honey French toast on Cas's, by mutual agreement, they wander down to the beach, staking out a spot under a wide sun-umbrella that gives them a good vantage point for watching the other guests. A little way down, there's a jet-ski rental stand that Dean eyes with longing. That would take them further away from their investigation, though, so he lets it go.

Since flirting is the name of the game, Dean greets a few groups of guys who make their way down to his and Cas's part of the beach, and draws them into conversation. Cas holds up his end of the gambit well, his occasional awkwardness coming across as endearing—or maybe that's just Dean. Despite working their way around to the weird aging incidents, they fail to gather any useful information; all of the guys they talk to arrived after the latest case and only one or two of them are even aware that something happened at all. Strategic dropping of Cas's fake name doesn't get them anywhere either, nor do any "flirtatious" brushes of the rings on their left hands against exposed skin.

At least Dean was right about the effect Cas's shorts would have—though that's not much of a comfort as he watches man after man openly ogling Cas. It takes a conscious effort to remember that Dan Ponderosa wants other men to find his husband hot, wants to find someone, or many someones, to go to bed with both of them.

The real kicker is when some young twink, probably barely old enough to drink, perches on the arm of Cas's chair and purrs something that begins with the words, "Ooh, Daddy ."

Investigation or no, Dean can't deal with that.

"Hey, Christos," he says instead, nudging Cas with his elbow when his fake husband takes too long to register what's supposed to be his name. "Beach volleyball over there. You want to play?" It's a reasonable excuse, he tells himself. The volleyball players are guys they haven't met yet, and surely there are ways to manufacture accidental ring-to-skin contact.

By the alacrity with which Cas rises to join him, he's happy for the excuse.

"I most certainly do not resemble that young man's father," he mutters in Dean's ear, once they're out of earshot of his disappointed fans. 

Dean snorts his agreement. "Hey fellas," he calls to the volleyball players. "Care for two more?"

~

 

Despite their lack of experience, Dean and Cas are both in good shape for men over forty (or forty billion, in Cas's case), and they hold their own for a few rounds of beach volleyball before begging off and deciding to return to their hotel room to shower off sand and sweat before lunch. 

As they make their way up the stretch of white, sugar-fine sand towards their rooms, Dean's eye is caught by the most violently purple speedo he's ever seen. "Wow," he remarks to Cas. "Think that thing actually helps him pick up?"

"What thing?" Cas asks. "Who?" 

"Okay, be subtle," Dean says. "Look for the guy in the purple speedo." He indicates the right direction with a jerk of his chin, and Cas follows his gaze, lips pursed in a frown as he tries to make out what Dean is seeing.

"I don't see him," he says at last, and Dean boggles, because that swimsuit is hard to miss.

"Seriously? He's right over there." He nudges Cas, subtly trying to turn his gaze in the right direction.

Cas goes easily enough, but whatever squinting he does, it somehow doesn't do the trick. He turns back to Dean with a shrug and a shake of his head, and Dean watches the guy melt into the crowd.

"Well, you've missed him now," he says, "but I'm telling you, man, that speedo was something else."

"I'll take your word for it." Cas's voice is dry as dust, and damn, Dean loves this asshole so much.

He lets Cas take the first shower when they get back to the room, hovering by the sliding door to avoid getting sand on the freshly made-up bed. He takes his turn next, scrubbing the grit off thoroughly—turns out there's more than one way to get sand in uncomfortable places.

He emerges to find Cas on the phone—Dean's phone, if he's not mistaken. 

Cas gives him a little wave. "Here he is, Sam. I'll put you on speaker."

"Hey, Sammy." Dean rubs a towel vigorously over his hair. "What's up?"

"Just checking in," Sam says. "I interviewed one of our vics this morning, learned a few things. How about you guys, any luck so far?"

"I think Cas could've gotten lucky a couple times already, if he wanted," Dean says, and can almost hear Sam's bitchface over the line. Certainly, he can see Cas's eyeroll, and that's the reaction he was going for. "But no, no leads here, yet."

"Tell us what you learned, Sam," says Cas. "Maybe it will give us a direction to start with."

"Well, I think we can rule out the question of where the boyfriends were," Sam says. "These were single guys having one-night stands. That makes things simpler and harder."

"No kidding," agrees Dean. "What else?"

"He said it was the best sex of his life."

Cas hums. "That supports the incubus theory."

"He also said he thinks he might have been on drugs, though he can't remember taking anything. But I guess party drugs are kind of a thing there. And he described the guy he hooked up with, the night the aging happened. Said he was a tall guy, maybe six feet, slim, black hair, blue eyes, kind of a pointed face. The hottest guy he'd ever seen, he said. Tattoos. Leather pants, though he probably doesn't wear those all the time. I guess the incubus could still be shape-shifting, but if he’s a stranger to these guys, he might not need to."

"Black hair, blue eyes, pointy face, tattoos," Dean repeats. It’s something to go on, at least. "We'll scout around, see if anyone matches that description, and keep an eye on anyone who does."

"Thanks," says Sam. "I'm looking into medical records this afternoon, then I've lined up another interview tomorrow. I'll check in with you after that, unless something comes up first."

"Sounds good," Dean agrees. "We'll talk to you then."

"Take care, Sam," Cas chimes in.

"Enjoy the resort, Cas." 

Sam hangs up, and Dean slips into the bathroom to hang up his wet towel. When he returns, he flashes a grin at Cas. "What do you say? Want to go find lunch?"

~

 

They opt to eat in another of the resort's restaurants, this one serving a wide variety of seafood on a large open-air patio. While one of the most gratifying things about human Cas is his vocal appreciation of and preference for Dean's cooking, he's also always open to trying new things, and he loves his ceviche.

Dean orders the Cuban-style sea bass and a bottle of Texan Star, and as he wolfs down the delicious meal, he hooks his ankle around Cas's under the table. Whatever, they're supposed to be married. He's keeping an eye on their surroundings, but mostly he's content in this moment, with good food, good beer, sunshine, and Cas.

It feels kind of like a date. Dean allows himself to savour the thought.

As luck would have it, they find their target on the way out of the restaurant. They've just stepped into the cool, air-conditioned interior hallway, when Cas nudges Dean in the side.

Dean's distracted, his eye caught by a guy whose unbuttoned shirt displays an enormous amethyst navel piercing. He wonders if he should point him out to Cas or if it will be a repeat of the purple speedo incident. At Cas's nudge, he turns away, dismissing the dude as unimportant.

"That man fits Sam's description," Cas murmurs sotto voce , tilting his head towards a handful of men who have just emerged from the elevator bank leading to a tower block of rooms.

Dean follows his gaze, and immediately knows which one Cas means. With windswept black hair and ocean blue eyes above a wicked grin, he fits Sam's description to a T and is incredibly hot besides. His arms and legs, exposed by his tight tank top and short swim trunks are covered in intricate floral tattoos, plus one with the Virgin Mary done up as a drag queen.

"Interesting choice if he is our demon," Dean murmurs in Cas's ear, close enough that the short strands of Cas's hair tickle his lips. Strangely, Cas seems to shiver minutely. "Now that we've found him, where do we think he's going?"

The answer turns out to be the pool deck. Needing to blend in, but not wanting to lose him, Cas settles down nearby to keep an eye on him while Dean heads to their hotel room to change into swim trunks, then heads back to tap Cas out to do the same.

"Anything fishy?" he asks low before Cas makes his getaway.

"Only that he's split off from his friends to talk to other men," Cas says. Indeed, the two men who were with him before are making out on one of the lounge chairs, while their mark has found his way into a gregarious knot of guys hanging out by the bar. "Which seems to be what most people are here for." He shrugs. "I did hear his friend call him Vance."

"Good work, buddy." Dean pats him on the shoulder. It's this new thing he's trying, letting his loved ones know when they've done good. Cas deserves to know. "Go find something you can swim in and come meet me out here. I'm gonna see what I can learn straight from the horse's mouth."

He gives Cas one more pat on the shoulder as he sends him onwards, lingering a moment to watch him walk away. When a pair of cocky-looking twenty-somethings cut off his view, Dean finally tears his eyes away and, giving himself a little shake, gets in character and ambles over towards Vance and his friends.

"Hey there, fellas."

With Dean’s looks and the charm he's been honing his entire life, it's not hard to integrate himself into the group. Making it seem unintentional, he slowly gravitates towards Vance, catching his eye with an interested smirk

It works. Vance returns the look with an appreciative look in his eye, and this time, Dean makes no secret of the fact that he's approaching him.

"Is it hot out here,” he asks, letting a wicked grin play around his lips, “or is it just you?”

To his credit, the guy laughs, seemingly genuine. "Well, it is Florida. I'm Vance, and you are gorgeous." Dean raises an eyebrow. This guy doesn't beat around the bush.

Smoothly, he reciprocates. "Dan. You caught my eye as soon as I saw you."

Vance flashes perfect white teeth. "Well, I'm glad you came over here."

Dean flirts his heart out, but if Vance is their incubus, he doesn't let anything incriminating slip. He doesn't react when Dean lets his ring graze his arm, or when he drops Cas's fake name, which should let him off the hook, but there’s always the chance that he's stronger than other incubi, able to resist the effects. He's the best lead they have, so Dean's not writing him off as a suspect just yet.

He does sing the praises of the hotel's gym and Dean learns that he plans to attend the resort's weekly drag show this evening. 

He also makes no secret of his attraction to Dean, moving ever closer to his space, and laying a hand on Dean's arm. At one point, Dean looks up, across the pool deck and catches Cas watching them, an indecipherable look on his face. When Vance is temporarily distracted by another guy, who slings a familiar arm around his shoulder, Dean shoots Cas a wink.

The thing is, for all of Vance's flirting, he doesn't seem to be in any rush to move things further along. He also seems just as happy to flirt with anyone else who turns their attention his way, simply enjoying the game on its own merits. Eventually, deciding that he's not going to glean anything else from him right now, Dean makes an excuse to drift away, leaving Vance cheerfully occupied with a pair of tall Brazilian guys who are taking turns making him laugh.

Dean finds his way back to Cas's side and, with nothing else to do for the case, manages to coax him into the pool, where they can lounge together in the cool water, observing their mark from beneath their sunglasses. It's pleasant, just the kind of thing Dean's always wanted to do on a vacation. 

"This is the life, hey Cas?" He sneaks a look at Cas from under the edge of his sunglasses and finds him looking back, a smile in his eyes.

They spend the rest of the afternoon like that, and after dinner, head to the show. They keep an eye on Vance, but he doesn't pick up, heading back to his hotel room alone, except for his two friends who'd been hooking up earlier. Dean and Cas trail them from a distance and watch the friends disappear into one room, before Vance opens the next door along while stifling a yawn and lets it close behind him.

Dean and Cas exchange a look. 

"Guess we're off the hook for tonight," Dean says after the door closes with a click. "What now?"

As if Vance's yawn was contagious, Cas stifles a yawn of his own. "Let's go to bed, Dean."

Despite knowing better, Dean's heart skips a beat.

~

 

Somehow, the second night is worse. After getting through the first night in bed together with nothing more embarrassing happening than Cas cuddling up to Dean in his sleep something Dean was one hundred percent innocent of Dean figures tonight will be more of the same.

It's not.

Maybe it's the memory of Cas in Dean's car-washing shorts or maybe it's the way Cas moves while unconsciously snuggling up to Dean's side, but something puts Dean's body and brain into overdrive, and his dreams are a hot, disjointed jumble, largely featuring Cas's magnificent thighs and all the things Dean wants to do to them.

Dean wakes up achingly hard.

Because it's just his luck, Cas is plastered over him again, still lightly snoring away. His leg is precariously close to Dean's erection. Dean closes his eyes, pressing his head back against his pillow, counting to ten and willing his body to calm down. It doesn't, but Cas does murmur something unintelligible and shifts slightly, bringing his knee out of the danger zone.

It would be weird to offer a prayer of thanks to Jack for that, so Dean doesn't. He does take advantage of it to slowly, oh-so-carefully, ease himself out from under Cas. He slides free and watches a frown crease Cas's sleeping face, before he reaches out for Dean's abandoned pillow, pulling it close to his chest.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Dean escapes to the bathroom.

Ignoring the jacuzzi tub that’s staring at him accusingly, Dean takes his time adjusting the shower to just the right temperature, before he finally steps under the spray.

He sighs.

Dean stands in the shower, letting the warm water sluice over his shoulders as he relaxes into it. His erection has calmed without the temptation of Cas half-naked beside him, but he's still half hard. He considers touching himself, coaxing his dick back to hardness and to a leisurely orgasm, but he's only just wrapped a hand around himself when the bathroom door swings open. 

He drops his dick like it burned him.

"Hello Dean." Cas's voice is scratchy and sleep-roughened, and he's obviously still tired enough that boundaries like not walking in on a guy in the shower have escaped him. That, or it's one of those human rules that he's deemed unnecessary and subsequently discarded. 

Through the thin, white shower curtain, Dean can see Cas's silhouette as he stretches up on his toes, arms above his head, back arched, and then back down again.

"Uh, hey Cas," Dean says, throat scratching over the words. "Need something?"

"Oh" Cas stifles a yawn with the back of his hand "no. I just thought we could discuss our plan for the day." 

Dean has no idea what to do with himself, but there's no way he can just relax and wash his hair with Cas standing right there. Instead, he stands frozen under the spray and watches Cas's silhouette sneak a hand under his t-shirt to scratch his stomach.

Dean is hopeless. Even that motion turns him on. He angles his body so that his erection is hopefully not showing in silhouette.

"Cas," he says. "Buddy. Can this wait until I'm not buck naked?"

That, at least, seems to get Cas's attention, wake him up, something. There's a long, awkward pause before Cas mumbles, "Of course. My apologies, Dean. I'll just…" He backs towards the doorknob. "...go."

The door opens and closes behind him, and Dean is left staring at his traitorous dick. 

"Oh, fuck off, you," he mutters.

~

 

Half an hour later, they’re sitting across from each other before a wide window, plates piled high with food.

They're up early enough that Dean had decided they could chance breakfast before they get on with the business of tailing Vance. One tidbit Dean had managed to glean yesterday is that their possible incubus likes to use the resort's gym in the mornings, and if Dean is going to have to work out to keep their cover, he's going to load up on good food first.

Cas has opted for a sweet breakfast again, but that doesn't stop him from snagging a strip of bacon off Dean's plate with his fingers and popping it in his mouth.

Dean lets him. "You know this is a buffet, right? You could have gotten your own bacon."

Cas just fixes him with a look that says, Don't be an idiot, Dean, stubbornly chewing all the while, and a grin spreads across Dean's lips.

"This is how you treat your husband, huh?"

Cas swallows his bite. "That was adequate," he concludes, "but you make it better."

Dean shakes his head, still grinning. "Not sure you can really go wrong with bacon, Cas."

"Everything tastes better when you make it," Cas insists, and a bubble of light rises in Dean’s chest. 

If that's as close to a love confession as Dean's ever going to hear from Cas, well, he'll take it.

~

 

The gym is, unsurprisingly, far more modern than the bunker's. Dean's not even sure what half the machines are meant to do. Vance is already there, though, doing bench presses with his face dangerously close to his spotter's crotch or maybe that's the goal.

Dean and Cas set up on a pair of treadmills. It's a smart move the treadmills face a wall-length mirror, allowing them a view of everything Vance does without it ever appearing like they're watching him but Dean doesn't like to run unless something's chasing him. Still, he disguises his grumbles and resolutely keeps his eyes on the reflection of the room, rather than letting them stray to the tempting sight of Cas's thighs. To anyone watching, it just looks like he and Cas are doing what everyone else is here to do ogling a roomful of attractive, sweating men.

"It's weird," Dean confesses to Cas later, when they're back in their room, changing out of their workout wear. He feels curiously compelled to speak.

They hadn't gleaned much new information, despite getting in a rather full workout, while Vance used what seemed like every machine in the gym and flirted with every guy. That's the trouble with their strategy. Vance is a gregarious guy, but he's apparently into everybody, and doesn't seem to have singled any targets out. He’s still the best lead they have, though, so their afternoon is going to be once again spent on the pool deck, where they heard him make plans to meet at least four other men.

"What's weird?" Cas asks, reaching under his shirt to put on a new coat of deodorant. It's such an insignificant, human action, but even that makes Dean want to reach out and touch.

"This place," Dean says. "I've never really been anywhere where guys could just openly check each other out like this, without having to pretend and hope the other guy understands the game. It's these guys can just say what they mean to each other and probably get a hookup out of it. Hell, I don't think I've ever outright told a guy what I wanted, even when we did get around to fucking." He rubs a hand over his face, and Cas comes up to him, lays a hand warm and solid on this bicep.

"It must be daunting. But, Dean, you've lived your life in the way that makes sense for you, and you're not wrong for doing so. There's more than one way to speak your truth."

And somehow, Cas has cut to the heart of the matter. Dean lets himself absorb the reassurance.

But, he resolves, someday he will figure out how to speak his truth out loud. Cas deserves it.

Maybe not today, though.

They leave the room together, and as they do, Dean's eye is caught by a guy in a lavender shirt who is shaking his hair loose from a man-bun.

"Hey," he nudges Cas with an elbow, as much to distract both of them from the earlier conversation as anything else. "Look at that guy. Think he could give Sam’s hair a run for its money?”

Dutifully Cas follows Dean's gaze, but he shakes his head. "I don't see him."

"Right over there." Dean uses his finger to point, as unobtrusively as he can. Cas squints in that direction, but somehow still comes up short.

"I can't tell where you're pointing, Dean." Cas's voice is exasperated. And maybe that's fair; this is like the third time Dean's tried to point out someone completely unrelated to their hunt to him. To anyone looking, Cas is the very picture of a long-suffering husband and Dean loves him so much it's absurd.

"I'm trying to be discreet," Dean shoots back. "Are you sure you don't need glasses?" There's a thing he hasn't thought about until now, but maybe it's something he should have been worried about, Cas falling prey to human weaknesses like imperfect sight. "He's right—never mind he's gone."

"I don't need glasses.” Cas rolls his dubiously-functioning eyes fondly. “Maybe he wasn't as interesting as you thought."

"Pfft," retorts Dean, without thinking. "You're interesting."

As retorts go, it’s not great.

Cas slips on a pair of sunglasses, but Dean can tell he's laughing at him behind them. It makes the embarrassment at his stupid comeback worth it.

~

Chapter Text

Dean's phone rings while he's lounging on a deck chair. He has sunglasses shading his eyes so it's not so obvious that he's keeping an eye on Vance where he's engaged in an awfully touchy-feely game of Marco Polo with a few other unnecessarily good-looking men. 

Nothing suspicious is happening, and Dean lets his attention drift over to the swim up bar, where Cas is fetching them drinks. Dean's hand tightens on the arm of his chair as he watches the bartender lean towards Cas with a flirty grin on his face. Worse, Cas angles his body closer over the bar as well, reciprocating, and Dean fights the urge to gnash his teeth, or storm over there to separate Cas from the creep. They're supposed to be in an open marriage, he reminds himself.

Hell, they’re not really married at all. It’s a depressing thought.

Cas says something to the bartender, then turns in Dean's direction, sending him a dorky little wave. Goddammit, how is Dean supposed to deal with this? Flirty bartender raises an intrigued eyebrow, and before Dean can think about this being his reaction to their cover story, his phone rings, vibrating sharply in the pocket of his swim trunks.

Fishing it out with one hand, he swipes across the screen to pick up. 

"Talk to me." He raises the phone to his ear.

"Dean," says Sam. "Is Cas there too?"

"He's busy spreading our cover story, but I've got eyes on him. What's up?" The bartender seems to have abandoned his flirting to actually make their drinks, but from his vantage point, Dean has a perfect view of the way Cas leans against the bar, unknowingly sexy, and the new man who's chatting him up. Cas smiles, and Dean can practically see the way his eyes crinkle from here.

"I spoke to our second victim today," Sam says. "Dylan Weston. He's the first documented case. He seems to be handling it pretty well, though he complained he can't eat spicy foods anymore."

"Yeah, that's a real kick in the pants," Dean commiserates. For good food, he's willing to power through the heartburn, but it's hard not to miss being a young man who could eat anything with no issue.

"Anyway," Sam says, "He described the guy he hooked up with. Same deal—best sex of his life, there might have been party drugs involved, except he doesn't remember taking anything, and he woke up alone and decades older. But the guy he described was blonde and buff, with green eyes."

"So nothing like the other guy," Dean surmises. "I guess we know what that means."

"Our monster's changing its shape after all."

Dean hums into the phone, eyes flicking over Vance and his friends, then continues on to Cas, who has accepted their drinks—a pair of ridiculous, fruity concoctions, by the looks of it, but is still chatting with the bartender. 

"Guess this means I can stop trailing Mr. tall, dark and blue-eyed."

"Yeah, but do you really want to stop trailing Cas?" 

Dean can all but hear his brother's smirk over the phone, and he regrets saying anything to him ever. 

"Shut up, Sam." He grits his teeth. "He's headed this way." He watches as Cas detaches himself from the unfairly attractive bartender, and heads in Dean’s direction, studiously balancing the two drinks to prevent them from spilling.

"I'll let you go, then," Sam says. "Wouldn't want to infringe on you two lovebirds on your honeymoon."

"Oh, fuck off."

Sam hangs up with a kissy noise and a laugh. Dean shakes his head. It's good to hear his brother being more carefree, now that they're finally starting to really believe that they’ve unburdened themselves from Chuck's plan, but what Dean wouldn't give not to have handed Sam that particular bit of ammunition.

He slips his phone into the pocket of his shorts and looks up, meeting Cas's eyes. Cas's eyes crinkle in that way that makes Dean feel like he's smiling just for him, as he neatly sidesteps a guy who's leaning back in the pool, elbows on the edge.

Who knew Dean Winchester would someday go soft over eye crinkles? 

"Hello, Dean." Cas pitches his voice low enough to be heard under the general din. The lounge chairs to either side of Dean have been claimed while Cas was off fetching drinks, so he perches on the edge of Dean's. "Was that Sam?"

"Mm-hm." Dean accepts the drink Cas hands him, and in deference to their ruse, slips an arm around Cas's waist. He's sun-warmed and solid and feels ridiculously good in Dean's arms. "Thanks for the drink. I'll fill you in later," he adds, sotto voce.

~

 

After Dean finds a private minute to fill Cas in on what Sam had learned, they spend the rest of the day keeping an eye out for anything suspicious to no avail. After dinner, they choose to check out the hotel's Overlook Bar, where, according to the full notes Sam had sent them, victim numero uno had met his incubus. There's live music playing tonight, with a sound like pure sex. It seems like the perfect atmosphere for the demon to strike again, so they stay through several sets. They don't observe anything suspicious, though, so they finally head back to their room in the wee hours of the morning, no further ahead than before.

They emerge from their room in the late morning to find a hubbub by the main building. As they pass the pool area on the way from their room, they see a worker hanging a closed sign on the door of the sauna. A few men clamour around him for answers, but he keeps tight-lipped, no doubt ordered to keep the problem quiet by his employer.

Orders or not, some part of the story seems to have gotten out, judging by the fast-paced flurry of whispers. Dean’s considering the best person to ask to get a coherent story, when Cas spies someone in the crowd and takes off. Dean hurries after him.

He pulls up short when he realizes who it is. Cas is greeting the flirty bartender from yesterday with what Dean judges to be far too much familiarity for their brief acquaintance. Dean can feel a scowl start to pull at his eyebrows, but he schools his face into his most charming smile as Cas glances over his shoulder at him and reaches back, taking Dean’s hand and pulling him in.

“Jacob, I want you to meet my husband, De—an.” He stumbles briefly over the fake name, before correcting himself. “Dan, this is Jacob, one of the bartenders here. We had a nice conversation yesterday, while I was getting our drinks.”

Dean thinks back to the flirtatious interactions he’d witnessed. “I remember. You looked like you were having a good time. Nice to meet you, man.”

“Likewise.” Jacob shakes his hand, and Dean notes that his grip is firm and his hand large and strong. He’s got a great smile, too, in a handsome, tanned face, damn him, sincere and just slightly crooked in a way that no doubt draws all sorts in to him. Truth be told, if it weren’t for Cas, he would be exactly Dean’s type. “Especially if half the things Christos told me about you are true.”

Between Jacob’s slow wink at Dean, and the hand he rests on Cas’s shoulder, it’s hard to say which of them he’s flirting with harder. Or maybe it’s both of them. That is what they’re supposed to be here for, after all.

“He sang your praises too,” Dean flirts back, “And I can see why.” He nods his head in the direction of the commotion. “You seem like a well-informed guy. Any idea what’s going on here?”

“Ah.” Jacob’s face goes serious as his mouth twists into a grimace. “I’m not really supposed to say anything to guests...” He seems genuinely troubled, and that more than the flirting endears him to Dean.

“So it’s about the guys who are waking up old,” Dean fills in.

Tension drops out of Jacob’s shoulders, seemingly reassured that someone else knows. “You’ve heard about it.” He glances at Cas. “Both of you?”

“We sure have,” Dean agrees. “Which means you don’t have to keep quiet with us.”

"I appreciate it." Jacob's smile is genuine, if still a bit strained at the edges. "It's just so weird. I've never heard of anything like it. And last night there was another one."

"I’d heard it was mostly happening to guys who were sleeping," Dean says. "Did something happen in the sauna this time?" Does that change things?

Jacob shrugs. "As far as I know, the guy was asleep when it happened, like all the others, but the sauna was the last place he was before heading back to his room last night. Apparently, he hooked up with a man he met in there, but no one can find that guy to find out if he's okay. They're disinfecting the sauna, just to be on the safe side."

"A wise idea," Cas says, so gravely that Dean almost believes that a good scrub and polish could make a difference when they're up against a sex demon.

"I wish I could tell you more," Jacob says. "But that’s all I know.” He lets out a troubled breath. “It doesn't feel right, keeping the guests in the dark like this.” 

Dean respects that. He’s starting to understand why Cas was drawn to the guy, and it has nothing to do with his flirting, but with the character that lies underneath. Maybe it is worth getting to know Jacob better.

"Well, thank you for telling us what you do know," Cas says in that disarming, earnest way of his.

"Why don't you tell us a bit about yourself instead?" Dean suggests, subtly steering him and Cas away from the crowd.

~

 

“So, what do you make of Jacob?” Dean asks, when he and Cas are alone together again. After they'd changed the subject away from the case, they'd stayed chatting with Jacob until it was time for his shift at the bar to start, their conversation ranging over music, his reasons for working at Araucaria, even Dean and Cas's carefully edited backstory. Jacob, it turns out, is friendly, wickedly funny in an understated way that reminds Dean of Cas, and sincere. Despite his initial misgivings, Dean had found himself genuinely liking the guy.

“Think he’s the real deal?" he checks anyway. "No black eyes when you gave him the fake name?”

Dean’s sprawled out on his back on the plush white comforter covering their giant bed. Cas perches on the mattress near his hip. He hums in thought, chewing at his lower lip, and Dean resists the urge to offer to bite it for him.

“I don’t believe he’s our culprit,” Cas says at last. "And I do believe he's genuine in his interest in you."

"His interest in me?" Dean slides his eyes over to Cas. "I think you mean his interest in you."

"Me?" Cas looks faintly surprised. "I thought—when I first met him, I pointed you out and told him our cover story. He expressed an interest in meeting you."

"Well, maybe he's interested in both of us. We're a good looking couple, aren't we?" Dean winks at Cas, feeling a strange flutter in his chest. "Think we should talk to him again?" he asks. 

Cas's eyes widen in a way that Dean doesn't fully understand, at least not right away. "If you want," he says, sounding tentative. "I do like him."

"Wait." Dean catches on, or thinks he does. He pushes himself upright. "I meant, do you think we can get more information out of him? Are you saying you want to, what? Hook up with him, for real?"

"If you want," Cas repeats.

"You're saying you'd be down for a threesome." Dean can’t believe the words that are coming out of his mouth. "With Jacob. And me."

Cas meets his eyes head on. "Yes."

Dean gulps.

"Would you?" The certainty has already dropped out of Cas's voice, and Dean's not okay with that. Cas of all people should be able to ask for and get what he wants.

Would Dean be down for that threesome? It's true that Jacob is very attractive, and Dean does like him too. And then there's Cas. Of course Dean wants to sleep with Cas, but he also wants so much more, things that he’s been longing for for years. Is he willing to take what he can get, just to satisfy Cas's curiosity, or whatever it is Cas is hoping to get out of this?

Who is Dean kidding? Of course he is.

"Sure, man," he says, heart in his throat. "Sounds like a good time."

There's a fifty-fifty chance this will blow up in his face.

~

Chapter 4

Notes:

Sharp-eyed readers might recognize Jacob the bartender as Jacob, Dean's hunter friend from my last Pinefest fic,

Chapter Text

One of the vics claims to have met his hook-up at The Belt, the resort's karaoke bar, so Dean suggests that they make that their evening's expedition. The fact that he secretly enjoys karaoke has nothing to do with it—whatever he may have done while living it up with Crowley as a demon, he's hardly bold enough to get up onto a stage in front of Cas and reveal the fact that actually, he can sing. Besides which, they're working. This is hardly the time for Dean to indulge his rockstar fantasies.

It turns out, he needn't have worried. Cas, somehow, sees right through him.

"You should sing something," he says, leaning over their tall table and pitching his voice to be heard beneath the enthusiastic rendition of Don’t Stop Me Now being sung by a young Latino man bearing an uncanny resemblance to Tyler Posey.

Dean feels his face colour and rubs a hand on the back of his neck. "I dunno, Cas. The case…"

"It will help our cover," Cas cuts in. Dean's not sure if he's serious, or if he can sense Dean's hidden desires—though if he can, that opens a whole other can of worms. "It would be more conspicuous if neither of us sings."

Dean gives him the side-eye, but Cas simply continues to regard him with that unruffled look. Plus, if he’s completely honest, Dean really does want to get up on that stage.

"Alright, alright," he concedes, with more of a huff than he feels. 

From the hint of a smile Cas wears, he suspects Cas sees right through him.

"But you have to pick the song," Dean adds.

Cas has already nodded and is on his feet and across the room, adding Dean to the list before it fully hits Dean that he might have screwed himself.

"So," he asks, when Cas returns, having made a detour for fresh beers, "how bad is it?" He accepts the offered bottle with thanks, taking a long sip. "What did you pick for me?"

"Oh," says Cas, glancing away. "I just asked the DJ to help me pick a song for my husband. He seemed eager to help. I hope it will be okay." 

His forehead is starting to crease, so Dean lays a steadying hand on his shoulder. 

"I'm sure it will be fine," he assures Cas. Sure he might end up singing some sappy love song, but it's nothing he can't handle, he’s sure. He settles in to wait for his turn.

He realizes how wrong he is from the first strains of his song. He'd allowed Cas to urge him onstage when his name was called, and now he's staring down at the opening lyrics. A beat behind, he remembers to open his mouth.

"—love myself
I want you to love me
When I feel down
I want you above me…"

The Divinyls certainly aren't shy in their lyrics, and feeling the eyes of the room on him, Dean forgets his inhibitions and leans into the performance. By the time he reaches the second chorus, he's belting it out, moving his hips, running a hand sensually down his own body.

"I don't want anybody else."

He meets Cas's eyes, surprised to find them dark and intent and focused on him, and practically purrs out the next line.

"When I think about you, I touch myself."

Cas has no idea how true that is, but Dean watches his tongue dart out to wet his lips.

"Oh, I don't want anybody else
Oh no, oh no, oh no, yeah."

Emboldened, he holds eye contact with Cas for the rest of the song, and when it ends, jumps off the stage, making a beeline for him. There's something heavy in the air, something intoxicating in the way Cas holds his gaze, and he's up in Cas's space before he quite remembers crossing the room, their mouths hovering, mere inches from each other. At this moment, he doesn’t remember what he was waiting for.

Someone stumbles hard into Dean's back, knocking him off-balance. He whirls to face his assailant, and an exceptionally drunk man grabs his shoulder for stability.

"Sorry, dude," the guy slurs, giving Dean's back a clumsy pat. "Hey, you killed it up there."

Another man, slightly less drunk, catches his arm and slings it over his shoulder. "C'mon, Nate, let's get you back to your room." To Dean, he adds, "You've got a great voice." With that, he helps his stumbling friend out of the bar, drunken strains of "Ooh, I touch myself" competing with Like a Virgin from the stage.

Dean turns back to Cas, but the moment is broken.

"You did very well, Dean," Cas says, his eyes warm now, instead of burning into Dean's. Maybe Dean had imagined the desire he'd seen there. Wishful thinking. "You're very talented you know."

"Pfft," Dean waves him off. "I can't believe you made me sing about touching myself in front of all these people. You owe me a beer, buddy."

"Of course, Dea—dear." Cas notices that a group of newcomers has taken up the table beside them, and corrects himself at the last moment.

They're back to playing their parts then. Which means they should get back to the case. Like he’s been doing all his life, Dean squashes everything else down, scanning the room for anything suspicious, while Cas makes another trip to the bar.

~

 

The next day goes much the same as the rest of their hunt. After breakfast, they hit the gym at Cas's request, then split their time between the beach and the pool, since those seem to be the most popular daytime spots. By now, Dean is almost at the point where he can look at Cas in swim trunks and not lose his mind.

Almost. He distracts himself by observing the people around him, but no one's behaving in any way suspicious. Everyone's just here to have a good time.

Jacob's on shift at the bar, and Dean and Cas both take turns fetching drinks and chatting with him. He's just as likeable as Dean remembers, his friendly smile flashing against tanned skin as he enthuses with Dean over his favourite Swayze movies.

"Hold on," he says as someone down the bar waves for his attention. He leaves Dean there while he takes the new patron’s order and begins mixing up a complicated looking cocktail.

Dean leans against the bar while he waits, eyes scanning for and finding Cas, who's lounging on some sort of inflatable mattress in the pool. Catching Dean looking at him he lowers his sunglasses, eyes crinkling at the corners—Dean needs to get a grip if he’s so gone over eye crinkles of all things—and gives a dorky little wave. Dean's heart swells in his chest.

Cas in the pool by thevioletcaptain

"Hey there." Jacob reappears while Dean is distracted. He follows Dean's line of sight and sees Cas looking back. "You know, you're one lucky bastard," he says, shaking his head. "But then"—he eyes Dean appreciatively—"so is he."

"Smooth." Dean chuckles over a sip of his beer.

There is answering laughter in Jacob's warm brown eyes. "Well, I try." 

There's a beat of silence, punctuated by a whoop and a splash coming from the far end of the pool. Jacob flicks his eyes over to Cas on his raft and back to Dean, and seems to come to a decision.

"Listen, I don't want to keep you from Christos any longer, but my shift's done in an hour. I was hoping I could meet you guys somewhere private and we could...talk."

"Uh," Dean flounders. He turns his head frantically to look back at Cas, who is still looking cool and unruffled as a particularly sexy cucumber. Dean remembers Cas expressing interest in a threesome with Jacob—and by extension with Dean. 

If Cas wants that experience, who is Dean to get in the way? 

Dean looks back at Jacob, tries to project nothing but cocky interest. "Yeah, of course, man. Room one-fifteen. Just over there. Come find us."

He drops a final wink in Jacob's direction and heads back to Cas, wondering just how he's going to give him the news.

Somehow, he manages, avoiding Cas's too bright, surprised gaze, and the sight of his softly parted lips, the whole time. To distract himself, Dean scans the crowd and changes the subject at the first opportunity to draw Cas's attention to a guy wearing a purple t-shirt with a dog on it, just like one Sam used to own, who’s making his way up from the beach.

"Now that's suspicious," he jokes, ignoring the swarm of bees that have made their home in his stomach. "Think he's our guy?"

Cas squints in the direction Dean is pointing, but shakes his head with a grimace. "I'm sorry, Dean. I missed him."

~

 

Dean's not sure what he expects, but Jacob doesn't make any immediate move to initiate sex. Instead, he suggests they order room service, pointing out the best things on the menu and recommending a few things that aren't, but that "the kitchen'll be happy to make, if I let them know I'm the one who's asking.”

The conversation stays light while they wait for the food to arrive and then while they eat, though Jacob does seem to become increasingly edgy as time goes on. Dean feels the same.

When the meal is done and the dishes set outside the door to be cleared away, Jacob does get serious, but what he says is not what Dean's expecting.

"The thing is," Jacob admits, sitting forward on the couch, "I can't stop thinking about those guys who are getting old overnight. It doesn't make sense. There isn't a virus that does that."

Cas makes a sympathetic noise, adjusting to the new topic faster than Dean.

"It just feels unnatural," Jacob goes on, forehead creased in genuine concern, and Dean makes a decision. He catches Cas's eye and a moment of silent communication passes between them before he gets the nod to go ahead. 

"What if we told you it really was unnatural?" Dean asks, watching Jacob’s face carefully. "And that we're here to sort it out?"

"What do you mean?"

Dean gives Jacob the rundown on the supernatural and about hunting. He seems to take it in stride.

"Well," he says. "That certainly explains a few things I've seen in my life. So, you’re telling me you think that what's happening here is because of some kind of creature, too?"

"We believe we're dealing with an incubus," Cas says.

"A sex demon," Dean elaborates. "It's our working theory."

"Huh." Jacob takes a moment to absorb this information, then gets to the real questions. "So, are Dan and Christos even your real names?"

Dean and Cas exchange a glance, and Dean answers, "Nah. I'm Dean and this is Cas."

A grin spreads over Jacob’s lips. "Well, nice to meet you Dean and Cas. Are you really a married couple?"

Another glance. Cas answers this time. "We're not." And hearing that hurts more than Dean would like to admit. "That was due to an unfortunate misunderstanding about the nature of this resort."

Despite himself, Dean huffs a laugh.

Jacob glances from one to the other. "But you are both attracted to men?"

"Yes," Cas confirms, before Dean can even open his mouth. Dean raises an eyebrow at him.

"Look," Jacob says. "I believe in being straightforward. Relationships aren't so much my thing, but sometimes in this job I meet someone I click with, and when I do, I like when we can have a good time together. I like you and I'm attracted to you—both of you. So, married couple or not, would the two of you be interested in going to bed together—the three of us?"

It's the moment of truth. Dean glances at Cas, tries to read him. He can’t, but—"I'm down if Cas is."

Now that it seems this might be actually happening, Cas, who up until now has been calmer and more collected than Dean whenever this possibility has come up, looks at Dean with wide eyes, but speaks in a firm voice when he says, "Yes, I would be interested."

Jacob really does have a fantastic smile, warm and inviting. "I was hoping you would say that."

There’s a lengthy pause.

"So." Dean clears his throat. "How do we get this party started?"

"Well first," says Jacob, rising to his feet, "why don't you both come over here?"

They do, crossing the room until all three of them are sharing air.

They’re really doing this.

"Good." Jacob reaches out and catches one of Cas's hands. "I'm going to kiss you now, Cas."

Cas nods and Jacob lifts a hand to his jaw, tugging him in. He fits his mouth to Cas's, and Dean watches in a confused mix of hunger and jealousy and tenderness as Jacob kisses Cas, deep, deeper.

When they part, Cas is breathless, his parted mouth pink and damp and begging for Dean to kiss it. Instead, Dean lets Jacob pull him in in turn, tastes his mouth, nips at his lips, gives as good as he gets. Jacob's body is firm against his, and he can feel the heat of Cas hovering close to his side.

They end the kiss and step back slightly, Jacob's mouth tipping up at one corner. "I picked well. You two are fantastic kissers." He looks from one to the other, speculation on his face. "Have you ever kissed each other?"

"Uh…" Dean rubs a hand over his mouth. "No, never," he says as Cas answers, "We haven't."

Jacob's gaze is shrewd. "You should."

"Uh," says Dean. "Okay. Cas?" He starts to lift a hand between them, freezes with it in midair.

"Yes," says Cas, stepping in. His cheek fits perfectly where Dean's hand hovers in midair, and he rests his own hand on Dean's upper arm where it burns like a brand. Before he can lose his nerve, Dean strokes his thumb over Cas's skin and leans in to kiss him.

Kissing Jacob was very, very good, but kissing Cas is like nothing Dean has ever felt. It's like a rushing river and like coming home, all-encompassingly familiar and startlingly new all at once. Somewhere, Jacob makes a noise of appreciation, and Dean remembers that he and Cas aren't alone in the room.

A firm body presses up against his back and warm hands slide under his t-shirt. Dean hums into the kiss and presses back against Jacob. When he parts from Cas's mouth, it's to trail kisses down the side of his jaw, pausing to suck a mark just below his ear, while Cas's mouth finds Jacob's over Dean's shoulder, the three of them pressed together chest to hip.

A Night With Jacob by thevioletcaptain

Jacob releases Cas's mouth and gets a hand in Dean's hair, turning his head so they can kiss again. Cas takes his cue from Dean's earlier actions and gets his mouth on Dean's throat, drawing a heady noise out of him, as he hauls Cas closer with a hand on his firm ass. They make out like that for long minutes, trading off who is kissing who. Dean leaves a few impressive marks over Cas's throat and down to his collarbone, and he suspects that Cas has done the same to him. He relishes it. 

The hard line of Cas's erection presses against Dean's own, and Jacob's against his backside, and Dean feels the temperature in the room skyrocket.

"Shirts," he pants, putting a few inches between each of them. He gets his hands on Cas's hem, peels it over his head, then goes easily as Jacob does the same to him. He turns to get his hands on Jacob's shirt, but Cas is already there, removing it, so instead he presses against Cas's back, takes the chance to drop kisses over Cas's strong shoulders and back.

When Jacob's shirt flutters to the floor, Cas lets his head fall back against Dean's shoulder. Jacob runs a hand over Cas's chest, admiring, and tweaks a tight, brown nipple, surprising a sharp noise from his throat.

Jacob grins, and slides the hand down to cup Cas through his shorts. He squeezes lightly as Dean nips at a newly formed hickey he'd just sucked into the base of Cas's throat. "I'd really like to get my mouth on you, if you're into that." 

Dean feels Cas's shudder all through his own body. "D'you want that? Have you ever had a blowjob before, Cas?" As far as he knows, Cas's sexual experience is limited to whatever he did with that bitch of a reaper and any exploration he's done in the privacy of his own room, but who really knows? Cas could have realms of secret experience he's just never told Dean about.

Dean lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding when Cas shakes his head no. He registers Jacob's faint look of surprise, but this is hardly the time to explain about angels and billion-year-old virgins, especially not when Cas answers in that tone, "But I would like to."

"God, you're fantastic," Jacob half growls. He pops the button on his own jeans, and steps out of them, lowering himself to his knees. "Dean, do you want to do the honours?"

Dean's hands fumble only slightly as they brush over the hot, hard line of Cas's dick while he undoes the button and lowers Cas's zipper. Unconsciously, he grinds his own trapped, aching erection against Cas's ass, feels Cas's groan echo through him, and then he's lowering Cas's shorts and boxers together, watching over his shoulder as his dick springs free, red and already glistening at the tip. Dean licks his lips and catches Jacob's eyes as he does the same.

Jacob fishes a strip of condoms out of his jeans pocket, separates one and tears open the packet. Deftly, he rolls the condom down Cas's length in one smooth move.

Dean watches, hungry and wanting, as Jacob ducks his head and takes the tip of Cas in his mouth. Jacob slides down his length, taking as much as he can, then hollows his cheeks and sucks. Dean braces Cas as his knees nearly buckle. Jacob repeats the move, enjoying Cas's reactions, and Dean's dick throbs in his jeans as Cas presses back against it.

"Mmm," Jacob slides off Cas with a pop. "You know, I bet he'd like your fingers, too."

The moan Cas lets out at that is low and dark. "Yes, Dean, please."

There's no denying him. Dean isn’t even going to try.

"There's a bottle of lube in my bag." Jacob indicates the bag he'd left by the door when he came in, and Dean nods, presses a swift kiss to Cas's shoulder. 

"Be right back, buddy."

Each step away from Cas is a step too far, and Dean can't help glancing over his shoulder to watch the look of bliss on Cas's face as Jacob keeps him on edge with his hand. He rifles hurriedly through the bag, snatching up his prize, and is coating his fingers with clear, slick liquid before he's finished crossing the room again and slotting himself in behind Cas.

His breath catching, Dean trails a lubed finger between Cas's cheeks, finding his hole and rubbing teasingly against it.

"Yes, Dean, inside me." 

Dean never thought he would hear those words.

Cas automatically widens his stance, giving Dean more room to work. Jacob swallows Cas down and Dean kisses up the column of his neck, a wealth of emotion in each one, before pressing his finger slowly and inexorably inside. Cas lets out a wounded noise and rocks back against him and Dean's heart leaps in his chest.

Dean gets lost in the slide of his finger inside Cas's heat, in the roll of Cas's body—torn between pressing forward into Jacob's mouth and back onto Dean's finger—in the noises that are torn helplessly from Cas's throat. Jacob groans around Cas's cock, and Dean knows that a litany of curses and praise are falling from his own lips. Somewhere along the way, he's added a second finger. Now, he adds a third.

Cas cries out and bucks forward, Dean presses against his prostate, Jacob sucks hard, and that's all she wrote. If it weren't for Dean's free arm wrapped around him, Cas would have doubled over as he comes, filling the condom and rocking between Dean's hand and Jacob's mouth in aborted little thrusts as they work him through it. 

At last, Cas slumps bonelessly back against Dean, as Jacob pulls off his cock, a thin, shining trail of saliva connecting him momentarily to Cas before it breaks.

While Cas pants in Dean's arms and Dean tries not to think too hard about his own dick trapped in his jeans and undoubtedly leaking precome, Jacob strips the condom off Cas and climbs to his feet, tying it off. Jacob's still visibly hard inside his tight boxers and after he discards the condom into the trash he strips those off, leaving them on the floor as he pads, unselfconsciously naked over to his bag and emerges with a pack of wet wipes. 

He rejoins them and hands one to Cas, as Dean sets him back up on his feet. Cas takes it gratefully, cleaning his spent cock and turns to look at Dean from under his lashes. "Aren't you going to take off your jeans?"

Cas’s big hand comes up to cup Dean's aching cock and Dean groans, pressing into it. 

"Yeah," he manages. "Yeah, I am." He takes a wipe from Jacob and cleans off his fingers.

After that, it's quick work to shed his jeans and underwear, and then he's standing there naked, feeling more naked still under Cas's unwavering gaze. 

Jacob is looking at him too, appreciation in his eyes. "Fuck, you both have such gorgeous cocks. How'd you feel about getting that inside of me?"

Dean looks away from Cas, to Jacob, still feeling heat in his cheeks, but now on more steady ground. This is sex. Sex, he can do. "We can definitely do that. But first, I think I want to get your cock in my mouth." He wonders if he's ever stated his desire for another man in such plain terms before. 

He doesn't think he has.

Jacob makes an approving noise. "You have great ideas. How about we move this to the bed?" 

They do, Jacob settling on his back in the middle with Cas stretched out along his side, while Dean fits himself between Jacob's legs. He eyes the hard, condom-clad cock in front of him and flicks out his tongue, watching Jacob hum and stretch in enjoyment.

Dean likes this part. He's good at it. And he hasn't had a chance to do it in a long time. He lowers his mouth over the head of Jacob's cock, hollows his cheeks, goes down in one smooth glide. It’s uncomplicated, different from the surge of emotion he feels whenever he remembers that he’s in bed with Cas. Dean likes the stretch of his lips, the way a cock twitches in his mouth, the way Jacob tenses to keep his hips from thrusting. Dean smiles around his mouthful.

He doesn't particularly care for the taste of latex, but he's never been with someone to whom he'd feel safe doing it bare. Maybe if Cas wants to do this alone sometime, his mind supplies and Dean brushes the thought gently aside, not ready to examine it right now. 

When Dean flicks his eyes upwards, he sees that Cas and Jacob are kissing, long and lush, but he's no longer feeling a twinge of jealousy, just joy that he's allowed to share this with Cas. He redoubles his efforts and soon feels Cas's hand nudge itself between Jacob's legs, rolling his balls, brushing against Dean's stretched lips. Dean pulls off of Jacob's cock, mouths over his balls and Cas's fingers, earns sighs from both of them.

Cas's hand disappears and Dean swallows Jacob's cock again, and then Cas's hand is back, now slick with lube as he seeks out Jacob's hole. The two of them work as one, as in sync as they are in a fight, their reward the enjoyment they're clearly drawing out of their new friend.

At last, Jacob nudges them away. "Don't want to go off before the main event." While he catches his breath and gets himself back under control, Dean takes the opportunity to roll Cas onto his back and suck bruises into his inner thighs.

"Fuuu-uuuuck," Jacob breathes, watching. He sits up on his knees and shuffles them around until Dean is the one on his back. Cas is pressed up against his side, his cock hard again and pressing against Dean's hip, the tip leaving a damp smear of precome. Dean mourns when he moves it away to make room for Jacob to straddle Dean, but then Cas's hand is on Dean's dick, rolling on a condom and holding it steady for Jacob to lower himself onto it.

Dean's breath is punched out of him. Cas's hand disappears, but then Dean is engulfed in tight heat, and somehow Cas's mouth is on his chest, licking over his nipples, tracing down the ladder of his ribs, finding his way back up to mark Dean's skin. Dean's head tips back into the pillows, one hand on Jacob's hip as he rocks on top of Dean's cock, swivelling his hips expertly, the other clenching onto whatever part of Cas he can find. 

He gets a hand in Cas's hair, pulls his mouth to his, kisses him, pouring in all the love he feels. Does he want Cas to recognise it? He's not sure, but right now, he can't get enough of Cas's mouth, Cas's taste, Cas's hands on him.

Jacob sets a steady rhythm—which Dean meets—his breath coming hard and fast, and Dean groans into Cas's mouth. Jacob wraps a hand around himself, jerking his cock.

"I can—" Dean starts, but Jacob shakes his head.

"I like to do it," he says—pants—but leans down to kiss first Dean, then Cas, deep and wet. Dean gets a better grip on his hip and thrusts upwards, and Jacob's back arches, his head tipping back. His hand flies over his cock and Dean and Cas both watch the head disappear and reappear in his fist.

"Dean," Cas says when their eyes meet—begs, really. "Dean, touch me."

"Yeah," Dean gasps. "Yeah, Cas." The angle is awkward, but he gets his hand around Cas's cock. It feels like it was made to fit in Dean's hand, glides easy as he strokes him, so slick with precome that no lube is necessary. Cas groans, his hips rocking helplessly, his mouth finding Dean's again.

"Oh, fuck," Jacob curses at the sight, and then warm come is splattering onto Dean's stomach as Jacob jerks his way through his orgasm. "Oh my god." 

He pants as he comes down, shudders as he lifts himself off Dean, oversensitive. He lowers himself to the bed on Dean's other side, propping himself up on an elbow, content now to watch.

Cas rolls closer to Dean, his hand seeking out Dean's cock and stripping off the condom. "I want to see you come," he breathes into Dean's mouth as his hand takes up a stroking motion in counterpoint to what Dean is doing to him, his mouth finding Dean's again.

They kiss long and lush, jerking each other off, as Dean moves closer and closer to the precipice. 

At last, he nudges Cas back from his mouth. It takes him a moment to catch his breath, but then he does. "If you want to watch…" he manages, and watches Cas's eyes go wide, his red, kiss-bitten lips parting in an O. It only takes another two strokes of Cas's hand, and then Dean is spilling over his fingers, hot and white. Cas watches mesmerised, before turning his gaze back to Dean's face.

"Fuck, Cas." Dean doesn't stop stroking, doesn't look away from Cas, doesn't miss a moment until Cas's face goes slack with bliss, his body tenses, and heat spills over Dean's fingers, painting his bare skin. 

"Holy fuck, Cas." Somehow, his clean hand has ended up in Cas's hair, soothing, almost petting. Somehow, they have both ended up flat on their backs beside each other, catching their breath as the ceiling stops spinning above them. Their eyes slide towards each other and meet, no words passing between them.

As Dean comes down, Jacob moves into his field of vision, packet of wipes in hand. "Wet wipe?"

Dean takes one gratefully, wiping himself down. At his side, Cas does the same. "Wow. That was...wow." Dean's still at a loss for words, but he stretches and grins.

Jacob chuckles. "I agree. You two are both fucking amazing." A yawn cracks his face. Ruefully, he says, "I guess you wore me right out."

"I think we're all worn out." Dean laughs and pats the bed beside him. "You want to stay and catch a few Zs?" As the afterglow fades back, he's starting to question himself, whether the feeling between him and Cas extends outside of the sex they just had. He's not going to object to a longer reprieve before he's alone with Cas again.

Jacob pauses, boxers and jeans in hand. "Sure, if you don't mind."

"Of course not," Cas assures him. "You're welcome to stay." 

Is he reluctant to be alone with Dean now, too, Dean wonders?

"In that case, thanks." Jacob pulls on the boxers but sets the jeans aside. "I'll probably let myself out early—I have some errands to run before my shift tomorrow—but I had a great time." He presses a warm kiss to each of their mouths in turn.

Soon enough, the three of them are cuddled up in the enormous bed, moonlight shining in through the glass. Despite everything that should be on his mind, despite Cas’s still-naked body pressed all along his, Dean drops off to sleep within minutes of the lamp switching off.

~

Chapter Text

Jacob is gone when Dean wakes up, but Cas is still there, sprawled bare-ass naked and face down on the rumpled white hotel sheets, snoring into his pillow. With his dark hair in disarray and the bruises Dean had sucked into his thighs just showing with the way his legs are splayed, Cas looks thoroughly debauched and heart-achingly human.

If he were certain of his welcome, Dean would crawl between his thighs now, start at the corner of Cas's rugged jaw where his face is pressed into the pillow and work his way down, teasing with lips and tongue over the arch of his neck, the planes of his shoulders, the dip of his spine. He would see if he could reach that delectable, biteable ass before Cas stirred awake, and when he did, when Cas was blinking sleepy, aroused blue eyes at him, Dean would roll him over and swallow him down, giving Cas a blowjob that would push all memories of the one from Jacob the night before from his mind.

But Dean isn't certain. In retrospect, last night has such a strange, dreamlike feel. They'd both been up for it—Dean wouldn't have proceeded if Cas had been reluctant in any way—but that hardly means that Cas is up for a repeat performance, especially one without a handsome new friend to serve as a buffer between him and Dean.

And besides, they still have an incubus to catch—or a succubus; Dean's still not sure if they should make the distinction between the two, and he doubts Sam's been asking the victims whether they pitch or catch. Even if, by some miracle, Cas wanted to spend the day in bed with Dean, they have a job to do.

Reluctantly, Dean extracts himself from beneath the sheets, moving carefully so as not to disturb Cas. 

Dean's naked too, he realizes belatedly as he gives himself a full body stretch, then reaches down to scratch at an itchy spot of dried come that they'd missed in their cleanup last night. Dean wrinkles his nose.

In the bathroom, he watches his reflection as he brushes his teeth, taking note of the hickeys ringing his collarbone. He presses a thumb into one, perversely pleased that all of them came from Cas, just as all the marks Cas bears came from Dean; though it hadn’t been explicitly discussed, Jacob had shown no interest in either giving or receiving marks.

Satisfied, Dean rinses and spits, just as steam begins rising from the shower that he’s had heating behind him, now the perfect temperature. He steps under the spray, letting it soothe muscles he hasn't used in a while. When was the last time he'd had a one-night stand? he wonders.

As Dean lathers his body, his mind conjures the sound of the door opening, the curtain sliding open, Cas joining him, sleepwarm and pliant or hungry and determined or smirking like he knows exactly what will bring Dean to his knees.

Each version is equally appealing, and each version tempts Dean to rub one out to the imagined pleasure of steamy kisses and slippery, heated skin. He gets as far as wrapping a hand around his rapidly hardening cock, a low groan slipping unbidden through his lips, before he remembers that Cas is just on the other side of the wall, possibly waking any second and horrified in the light of day by what they'd done.

Or maybe wanting another go and disappointed you didn't wait for him, a long buried, optimistic part of Dean's brain supplies.

Dean rolls his eyes at himself. It's not going to do him any good to get his hopes up, especially not without gauging Cas’s reaction first. With reluctance, he takes his hand off himself and twists the handle back to cold.

When Dean emerges, towel wrapped around his waist, Cas is sitting up in bed, his raised knees the only thing giving him a semblance of modesty. Dean averts his gaze from what's between Cas's legs, but that puts him directly in the line of fire for Cas's inscrutable blue gaze.

Dean's not ready to dissect the meaning in that, so he turns away, digging through his duffle bag for just the right set of clothes, as he jokes, "So, it's safe to say Jacob wasn't our incubus. Both of us are still our devastatingly handsome selves."

Even without turning around, Dean can feel Cas's immediate frown. "Are you saying last night happened so we could test if Jacob was our monster?"

Dammit. That’s not what he meant at all. "Of course not." With a frown of his own, Dean turns back to Cas, forgetting about their nudity in his seriousness. "That would be hella shady, and I would never do that to you."

But you'd do it to yourself, Cas doesn't say, and maybe Dean would've in his younger years, made himself into bait, but he's trying to be better about unnecessarily putting himself in the line of fire these days. Cas’s eyes go soft, almost sad.

Neither of them gets a chance to say anything more, though, because at that moment, a roar of "What the fuck!?" echoes from next door. Still clutching his towel around his waist, Dean hurries to the sliding glass door and sticks his head outside, while Cas scrambles to pull on boxers behind him.

"Jet? Jet, open up." A man in his twenties knocks on the glass next door. The door to the next room beyond stands open, presumably where he came from. "Are you okay? I heard you shout."

Abruptly the door slides open, and another man steps out, this one looking several decades older than his friend, not to mention on the verge of hysterics. "Do I look okay?" he demands, voice rising sharply. "What the hell happened to me?"

~

 

Dean and Cas don't get a chance to talk about the night before for the rest of the day.

"Get some pants on," Cas murmurs into Dean's ear, "I'll handle this," and then he's squeezing past Dean, out the door, wearing nothing but boxers, bedhead, and a scattering of Dean's hickeys across his chest. 

Dean has no idea what Cas thinks he's doing, but moves to obey anyway. By the time he's pulling up the zipper of his fly and reaching for a t-shirt, the door is sliding back open and Cas is stepping inside, followed by the old-young man and his friend.

"Dan," he says, using Dean's fake name as Dean pops the t-shirt over his head, "These are Jet and Ian. Jet's had a scare, so I invited them to come sit down in here and calm down." To Jet and Ian, he adds, "This is my husband, Dan." He crosses the room to Dean, who, acting on instinct, slips an arm around Cas's waist and presses a kiss to his cheek. 

He watches a quiet pleasure suffuse Cas's face, but this isn't the time to examine those feelings further. Instead, Dean gets into character, cheerfully telling his fake husband, "Get some clothes on, you exhibitionist, we have guests." To the younger men, he gestures to the couch with a friendly smile. "Make yourselves at home." 

They sit gratefully, the one wearing an older man's face slumping deep into the cushions. The other watches him with a helpless, worried look painted across his features.

Dean perches backwards on one of the chairs from the table. He glances over at Cas, who is rummaging through his bag for a shirt. "So," he says to Jet, "do you want to talk about what happened?"

In the guise of kind neighbours, they manage to get as much information as they can out of the victim, and guide him gently through his panic. They don't learn a whole lot that's new, his story matching those of the previous vics. This time, he'd met the incubus at the Overlook Bar that Dean and Cas had investigated on their third night. 

When they've done all they can, they give him the contact information for the CDC agent investigating the cases of accelerated aging at Araucaria—Sam. Luckily, Jet and Ian are still so discombobulated by what's happened that they don't question why hotel guests Dan and Christos Ponderosa have that number in the first place.

"Thanks," Ian says, steering his friend towards the door with a hand on his spine. "I'll take care of him and call the agent. You've been very kind."

He looks at his friend in a way Dean recognizes—the way Dean looks at Cas.

"Anytime," Dean says hoarsely.

The glass door slides open and shut behind the pair. Dean and Cas are left looking at each other.

"This case is very frustrating," Cas says at last. "We have no way of predicting where the creature will seek out his victim next."

"You're telling me," Dean groans. "Find one horny demon in a resort full of regular horny guys. You'll know because he's looking for a one-night stand." He scrubs a hand over his face. 

As futile as it feels, they have no better information to go on, so they spend the rest of the day circulating through the resort's various amenities, keeping an eye out for anything suspicious or out of the ordinary. Sam calls in the late afternoon to update them on his conversation with Ian and Jet.

"And I've been in touch with all the victims again to ask about getting a hair sample," Sam adds. "I told them it's for lab analysis. Rowena thinks we may be able to put together a spell to reverse the aging.”

“Rowena, huh?” Dean wiggles his eyebrows, though he knows Sam can’t see him. Sam had been down after Eileen had broken things off to get her life back in order on her own terms, but since Rowena’s triumphant return to the earthly plane, he seems to have perked up again. Certainly, Rowena and Sam have been in touch an awful lot—enough that Dean’s almost certain there’s something there. He’s less bothered by the budding relationship than he might have expected. “You been mixing up some magic with her?” He puts all his innuendo into the word magic.

Sam doesn’t take the bait. It'll still take some work,” he continues, ignoring Dean, “but hopefully we can give them those years of their lives back."

"That's wonderful, Sam," says Cas over Dean's shoulder.

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean agrees, relenting on the teasing. "Rowena will make a witch of you yet."

"Probably," Sam agrees with an easy chuckle. 

As much crap as Dean likes to give Sam from time to time, it's good to hear his brother so at ease with himself.

"You guys should consider checking out the dance club tonight," Sam says, focus back on the case. "The incubus seems to change up it's hunting ground, and it hasn't struck there in a while."

"Great," Dean groans. "What do they play? House? Eurodance? Dubstep?"

Sam's self-assurance isn't so great to hear when he's laughing at Dean.

~

 

It feels incongruous to be in a dance club of all places after the excitement of the morning, surrounded by scantily clad men who seem completely oblivious to the mysterious aging that has stuck yet another of their number. 

“Maybe they’re just trying to make the most of their vacation,” Cas murmurs in Dean’s ear. They’re pressed together, grinding to the pounding bass, and it’s enough to make Dean feel ready to combust, but they need to sell their presence here.

The plan is to dance together for a few songs, observing the crowd as best they can, and then to split up and find new dance partners, see if they can catch their incubus in the act, since so far they’ve had no luck identifying potential suspects. After a few songs, Cas will fetch them both drinks so they can regroup and exchange notes. 

For now, though, Dean tightens his grip on Cas’s dangerous hipbones, tugging him even closer. The music is terrible, but the fact that he can feel a distinct hardness where Cas’s groin presses against his is almost enough to sell him on it. 

But he can’t let himself get lost in the beat and the feel of Cas, not when he has a job to do. Dean’s eyes scan the crowd, over men who are dancing and flirting and drinking under the flashing lights, over men making out in dark corners, but nothing pings his radar as unusual or demonic. Everyone here seems to be here for the same reason: to have a good time.

The song ends and Cas edges away from him, leaving Dean disappointed and aching. Cas pitches his voice low so Dean can hear it beneath the noise and says, “I’m going to head up to the balcony first to see if I notice anything up there.”

Dean nods, forcing himself back into the mindset of the case. “Sounds good. I’ll circulate down here, see if I can find a few people to dance with.”

“Be careful.” With that, Cas leans forward and drops a kiss on the corner of Dean’s mouth that leaves him reeling, before melting off into the crowd.

What does it mean? But now is not the time to wonder. Dean shakes himself and lets his eyes do a lazy sweep of the room until he catches the gaze of someone who is looking in his direction with interest. Bingo. He pastes on a crooked, charming smile and, without breaking eye contact, crosses the room.

“Care to dance?”

His new dance partner is attractive in a polished kind of way, but he has nothing on Cas, and shows no sign of being their monster, so Dean finishes out the song and moves on. He dances next with a handsome man whose dark skin contrasts with his brilliant white smile, then with a blond twink who reminds him uncomfortably of Jack. 

When he needs a breather—he’s in his forties and dancing all night uses completely different muscles than hunting; give him a break—he finds a spot leaning against a wall, where he has a good view of most of the ground floor, including the neon lit bar that spans the opposite wall. From this distance, he sees a familiar dark head of hair descend the stairs from the balcony and approach the bar—Cas. It must be almost time for them to meet up and check in. 

There’s a crowd around the bar, though, so Cas’ll still be a while. In the meantime—

“Hey,” he greets a guy in tight jeans and a violently purple shirt who seems to be doing the same thing as him, a couple feet to his left. “How’s your night going?”

The guy blinks at him. He has light-coloured, sleepy-looking eyes in a slightly pointy face. “Oh,” he says, “you saw me.”

Huh. Current position notwithstanding, nothing about the guy gave the impression that he was much of a wallflower. “Of course I did, good looking guy like you.” Dean drops him a wink. He’s not really Dean’s type, but not at all unattractive either, and flirting has been getting him results all night. 

The guy seems to relax, interest showing in his raised eyebrow as he leans in a little closer. “It’s going better now,” he practically purrs.

“Have you been to Araucaria before?” Dean asks, dialing it back a bit. It’s a careful dance, flirting for information without actually committing to a hook-up with someone who moves quickly. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Cas speak to a bartender, before a group of dancers move into his line of vision, obscuring his view.

“Sure,” the guy grins. “It’s my favourite place to meet men.” He bites his lip in a way that’s probably incredibly enticing to anyone who isn’t entirely hung up on their ex-angel best friend. “So, are you here with friends, or on vacation all alone?” He moves even closer as he speaks.

“Actually,” Dean says, spying Cas approaching across the dancefloor, “there’s someone I’d like you to meet. He’s headed over here right now.”

“Ah,” says the guy. "Exc use me." With that, he hurries off, melting into the dancing crowd, leaving Dean blinking after him as Cas weaves around a pair of men who are grinding together and appears at Dean's elbow.

"Well, that was weird," Dean remarks, slipping an arm around Cas's waist as if it's meant to be there —plausible deniability says that it’s all part of the ruse, even though now Dean knows what it feels like to really hold Cas in his arms, and he wants to do it again and again.

"Hm?" Cas tilts his head towards Dean's, and though Dean knows it's to hear better, it feels affectionate. "What was weird?"

Dean resists the urge to nuzzle his nose against Cas's face, like the lovesick sap he is. "The guy I was just talking to. He seemed surprised that I noticed him, though no one wears that much body glitter if they're not trying to be noticed. Then, when I started to mention you—hadn’t even got to the marriage thing yet—he took off out of here like the place was on fire."

"That does sound strange," Cas agrees. "I didn't see him, or I could let you know if I observed anything else."

"You didn't see him? You were looking right at us. Maybe you really do need those glasses."

"Dean”—Cas’s face goes serious—”I was looking at you standing here alone." 

Huh. There's no way nearsightedness could explain that.

"It's not the first time I've seen a guy you haven't this week," Dean says slowly, putting the pieces together. "So the question is, why would I be able to see something that you can't?"

The answer comes to him with a flash of memory.

Dean swears .

~

Chapter Text

Sam doesn't pick up his phone when it rings, so Dean hangs up in frustration and shoots off a quick text, feet carrying him back and forth in front of the glass door of their room. Cas watches him from the bed, looking as if he wants to say something.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks at last.

Dean grimaces. He isn’t looking forward to the ribbing he’s sure to get over his last encounter of this sort—Sam hadn’t exactly been sensitive about it at the time. Though, he reminds himself, Sam hadn’t exactly had a soul then, either, and this is Cas. Cas, with his gentle gaze. Cas, with his understanding. He’s not going to make fun of Dean. 

“It’s fairies,” he says simply. “Not a succubus or incubus. Fairies. Or a fairy, at least.”

“A fairy,” Cas repeats. “And you can see them?”

“Yeah. Had an encounter with them years ago, back when you were fighting your war against Raphael.” Dean rubs a hand over the back of his neck. This is the part he doesn’t want to get into, but he does anyway, fighting through the embarrassment to tell Cas all of it—the “alien” encounter, the tiny lady with her nipples, the leprechaun. He even admits what he hadn't to Sam, at the time or since—

He had told Sam he had fought off the glowing douchebags with guns and knives, and he had, when he’d realized that they weren’t interested in letting him go, but before that had happened, he'd allowed curiosity to get the better of him. First, there had been a trippy but extremely satisfying “encounter” with the "alien" leader.

("Dean?" Sam had asked. "Did you service Oberon, King of the Fairies?")

Cas listens sympathetically and pats the bed beside him when Dean finally winds to a close. “Come sit down.”

With a soft groan, Dean sinks down onto the mattress beside him, unable to quite meet Cas’s gaze.

A soft hand lands on his thigh. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about.” Cas’s voice is low and earnest. “There’s nothing wrong with giving in to desire, Dean, even if the circumstances are not ideal.”

“Yeah?” Dean asks, turning his head slightly towards his friend. His voice comes out with a creak.

In lieu of an answer, Cas raises his other hand to Dean’s cheek, turning his head to face him fully. Dean has a long moment to stare into the blue depths of his gaze, so close, and then Cas is closing the gap, his lips pressing and parting against Dean’s, soft as a sigh, and Dean is tumbling into it, taking Cas’s invitation, his own hands rising to tangle in Cas’s hair as they kiss.

Dean’s phone rings.

Disappointed, he starts to pull away, but Cas makes a noise in his throat and draws him back in. Their lips meet again, once, twice, three times before they finally remember themselves enough to separate.

Unable to tear his eyes away from Cas’s damp, reddened mouth, Dean fishes unseeingly for his shrilling phone and swipes to answer.

“Sorry,” Sam says. “I was on the phone with Rowena. I just got your text. What’s up?” 

“It’s a fairy,” Dean tells him, just like he told Cas. He fills Sam in on everything, switching the phone over to speaker so that Cas can chime in, too.  

"Dammit," says Sam at last. "I was so sure it was an incubus. I don't have any fairy lore on hand, but I'll see what I can dig up. In the meantime, remember, sugar or salt, and iron."

~

 

It's already well after midnight, and it seems unlikely that the fairy continued his hunt—if that's what it was—after the shock of Dean seeing him and then scaring him off with the mention of Cas. They're not going to catch him tonight.

Instead, they undress for bed, neither of them bothering to retreat to the bathroom for privacy. In fact, when Dean looks up from pulling his shirt off over his head, he finds Cas watching him openly. Dean lets his t-shirt fall to the floor and watches him back, something weighty passing between their gazes.

Dean knows. Knows there's something there. Knows that something's shifted. Knows they need to talk about it. But he doesn't have the words, not quite yet. Not tonight.

"Cas," he says instead, helpless.

Cas's mouth tips up on one side, eyes soft. "Come to bed, Dean. We have a fairy to catch in the morning."

Dean goes, soft. He finishes changing, crosses the room on bare feet, slips under the covers with Cas already warm beneath them. They gravitate together, and Dean still doesn't know exactly what's happening here, but it feels good, curling towards Cas on their pillows, knees brushing, fingers resting a mere hairsbreadth apart.

They don't speak, tonight. But despite this thing between them, despite the memories of what they did in this bed, despite the hunt, the fight, that is waiting for them in the morning, sleep finds Dean with more ease than usual. He dreams that he is hit with a truth spell, and all he feels is relief.

~

 

Their plan for tracking the fairy down isn't particularly sophisticated. Armed with iron knives hidden beneath their clothes, Dean and Cas go about their day more or less as usual, though Dean does swipe a couple generous handfuls of sugar packets during breakfast and Cas swipes the salt shaker with a deft bit of sleight of hand. The whole time, Dean keeps up a running commentary under his breath of everyone he sees, and Cas lets him know with a tiny nod or a flick of his eyes that, yes, he sees them too.

Since Dean's previous sightings of their culprit have been random, rather than staking out any one location and making themselves stationary, they stroll around the resort grounds, trying to look like they're simply checking out the other guests. Dean keeps a particular eye out for anyone in purple—the one trait connecting each of the guises he'd seen the fairy wear—but doesn't leave it at that. Who's to say that it isn't trying to throw them off the scent, after all?

From time to time, Cas’s phone chirps with an incoming text, and he’ll duck his head to type out an answer to Sam.

They hit the jackpot shortly after noon, when Dean spies a dude in a cropped purple tank top that puts his pierced belly button on full display. He's lounging against a palm tree, watching a circle of muscular, shirtless guys rubbing sunscreen on each other's backs.

"You see him?" Dean asks. "Against that tree?"

Cas gives a minute shake of his head. "No, nothing."

Dean grins. "Then that's our guy. Come on."

They keep up a casual-seeming saunter, but as they approach, Crop-Top looks over, eyes widening as he recognizes Dean. He straightens up, and trying to look unaffected, begins walking off, just a little too quickly to be entirely natural. In response, Dean lengthens his stride. Cas, taking his cues from Dean, does too, a beat later.

Conveniently, their fairy is heading for a grove of palm trees and tall tropical plants that shelters a couple benches from view from the rest of the beach. At night, it's a popular spot to make out with a fresh conquest, but during the day it doesn't hold much excitement. The fairy disappears behind a bush and into the grove, and Dean picks up his pace to follow him.

When Dean emerges into the grove, it takes him only a fraction of the second to take in the surroundings and the lack of other people. Crop-Top is watching him warily from across the grove. 

Dean feels Cas arrive behind his shoulder and sees the fairy tense to take off at a run. Before he can make his escape, Dean rips the top off a packet of sugar and flings it towards the fairy, white grains scattering across the fine white sand.

The fairy freezes, eyes darting between Dean and the nearly invisible grains.

Dean clicks his tongue, chiding. "Better get counting."

"Damn you!" Unable to help himself, the fairy falls to his knees, scrabbling in the sand for the sugar.

Sand or no sand, one little sugar packet isn't going to hold him for long, so Dean nods over his shoulder. "Cas."

"Of course, Dean." Cas steps forward, unscrewing the cap of his stolen salt shaker, and stops in front of the sugar packet Dean threw—a decent gauge for where the fairy is. Very deliberately, he tips the shaker and lets the salt pour out in a glittering stream onto the sand. 

The fairy snarls from his place on the sand and Dean squats down, bracing his elbows on his thighs.

The Palm Grove by thevioletcaptain

He lets a smile spread across his face that's half-friendly, half-dangerous. "Looks like you're gonna be here awhile. So, how about you make yourself visible to my friend and answer some questions."

To emphasize his point, he slides the iron knife out from beneath the waistband of his jeans.

The fairy pauses in his counting, swallowing as he evaluates the new threat. Nevertheless, he gathers his composure. "Humans." He huffs. "Always so quick to get down to business. No conversation first."

Dean snorts. "And give you a chance to play word games with us? No thanks."

"Fine." The fairy's bottom lip sticks out in an almost bratty pout that might be appealing to another type of guy, but doesn't do much for Dean.

A moment later, Cas confirms. "I can see him now."

"Oh yeah?" The fairy makes an exaggerated kissy face in Cas's direction. "You like what you see?"

Cas is unmoved. "You're not my type."

A sly look crosses the fairy's face. "No, I suppose I'm not, am I? But, baby, I can change." As he says so, something seems to ripple and shift in his face, his lips becoming fuller, his eyes greener, freckles dusting his skin. Dean has an uncomfortable moment of recognition—this glamour is Crop Top's guess at what a younger Dean had looked like. 

The fairy bats his eyes at Cas, runs the tip of his tongue over his lips. "How about now?" 

Cas merely glowers. "Stop wasting our time."

The fairy huffs again. "You're no fun."

Dean gestures with his knife.

"Both of you, so serious." Crop Top lets out a putupon sigh. "I didn't do anything wrong, you know. So, I hooked up with a few guys? So has everyone else here. Why so quick to judge?"

"Sure, just like everyone else here." Dean rolls his eyes. "Except you're the only one draining decades off their lives."

"Oh, that ." The fairy waves his hand dismissively.  

"Yeah, that ." Dean regards him with a flat look. "Care to tell us what that's about? Why've you been sexy-Rip Van Winkle-ing these guys? What does a fairy need with human life force, anyway?"

"Okay, first of all"—the fairy raises one finger in the air—"I haven't been draining anyone's life force, thanks. I've been gifting them a new experience, a transcendental experience—"

"Yeah, yeah." Dean waves him along. "You're good at sex, we get it. Why the aging?"

"I've been taking them to my realm." Crop Top gives a shrug, nonchalant. "The time dilation's just...a side-effect."

"A side-effect," Dean repeats, tone flat. 

"Of the best sex of their lives. Which is what I promised them."

Over his shoulder, Dean hears Cas's phone beep with an incoming text. He chances a glance and sees Cas typing a response. "Sam," he mouths when Dean raises a questioning eyebrow.

Dean smiles grimly, turns back to the fairy.

"The best sex of their lives," he says. "And you think it was worth it? Worth giving up twenty or thirty years? Do you think they'd have agreed to it, if they'd known?"

"I don't know." There's something sharp about the fairy's smile, inhuman, a little feral. "Why don't you ask your friend? After all, he gave up eternal life on the chance that he might get his dick wet with you."

"Hey," Dean barks on reflex, but he's unable to avoid looking back at Cas, a question on his tongue.

Cas glowers at the fairy. "I made my choices. Your sexual partners weren't given the choice. Human life is precious in its brevity, but there's nothing good in making it shorter."

The fairy snickers. "I see I've been tried and found guilty already. So. What are you going to do with me? You can't keep me counting grains forever. Going to run me through with your iron knives? Terrify everyone here who just wanted a nice vacation somewhere they could be themselves?"

"Much simpler than that, actually," a new voice speaks, as Sam emerges from behind the hibiscus bushes, duffle bag in hand. He takes a look at the fairy's guise, still an approximation of a young Dean, and gives a shudder. "Wow. That's disturbing."

"Tell me about it," Dean grumbles.

From inside his bag, Sam withdraws a bowl, a pouch, and a flask. "One of the benefits of having a three-hundred-year-old witch on speed dial," he says, dumping the contents of the pouch into the bowl and uncapping the flask. "She knows her banishments and bindings. I just need some of the creature's hair."

"Gladly." Cas steps forward and yanks—none too gently—a few hairs from the fairy's head. He returns them to Sam, who sprinkles them in the bowl.

"Thanks, Cas. This should send him back to his realm and keep him there, unable to interact with our plane."

"Oh, come on," the fairy bitches. "So I like having sex with humans. They're so alive, so visceral . Is that a crime?"

Dean shrugs. "It sounds more than fair to me. After all, we could just kill you."

From the look on Cas's face, he's still considering it.

Sam does the honours, slowly tipping the flask and letting its contents pour into the bowl. He stirs widdershins, once, twice, three times, and chants something that would no doubt sound better in Rowena's lilting accent.

In the end, it's anti-climactic. One moment, the fairy is there, grudgingly counting grains of salt, and the next he's gone, leaving only the purple crop top behind.

"What do you think, Cas?" Dean asks, holding up the scrap of fabric with his best blue steel. "Could I pull this off?"

He's surprised by the laughter on Cas’s face and the blatant interest in his eyes.

~

Chapter 7

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Somehow, the confrontation and banishment ritual failed to attract any undue attention, which means that for once the Winchesters don't need to hightail it out of town after wrapping up the case.

"Y'know," Dean says. "We do have two more days left on our reservation. We might as well enjoy them. Have a real vacation. Sam, you should check yourself into a better hotel, too, someplace on the beach."

"Actually"—Sam pulls a rueful face—"in order to come help you, I kind of had to…check in here. I'm in the east tower block." He holds up his arm to display the wristband now wrapped around it.

The look on Sam's face is so comical that Dean throws back his head and laughs. "Well," he says, seeing a bunch of guys who have stopped in their tracks, interest clear on their faces, upon noticing his giant baby brother. "I can tell you're gonna be real popular here."

"Dean." Cas's reprimand lacks any heat and Dean turns his grin on him.

"So, now that we're properly on vacation, what do you want to do first?"

“Whatever you want to do,” Cas says, so promptly that Dean doesn’t doubt that that’s true.

Probably Cas is expecting him to choose something like renting jet-skis—and Dean does fully intend to do so while they’re here—but for right now…“Actually, I kinda wanted to check out the spa.” He ignores the incredulous look Sam gives him to ask, “What do you say, Cas? Want to get pampered?” Dammit, they deserve nice things.

Cas’s look is softer than the question merits, as if he’d heard Dean’s thoughts as well. “That sounds wonderful.”

Sam still looks like he's on the verge of saying something, so Dean takes defensive action. He winks, broad and cheesy at Cas, and says, drawing out the innuendo, "Hey, maybe we can get facials. We're in the right place for it."

He sees the moment it hits Sam, and smirks.

Cas gives him a narrow-eyed look of disapproval, but Dean's pretty sure he can see amusement lurking just under the surface, so he's not too worried.

Cas is more polite than Dean. "Would you like to join us, Sam?"

Nevertheless, he doesn't look overly disappointed when Sam turns him down. 

"No, that's alright, thanks. I think I'll find out where to get one of those kale smoothies I've seen and head back to my room. Now that the fairy is banished, Rowena and I can focus on reversing the aging. It should be simple now we know that it was caused by dimensional displacement. But, uh, you two have fun."

"Nerd," Dean teases affectionately.

"Yeah, yeah," Sam dismisses him with a laugh. "Go enjoy your pampering, princess."

"I will," Dean says, catching Cas's wrist in his hand and raising the other in a wave.

Sometime later, after he's been steamed, massaged, pedicured, and just generally molded into a pile of comfortable jelly, Dean glances over at Cas beside him. Like Dean, Cas is wearing a robe and a face mask of weird green clay. Like Dean, a towel is wrapped turban-style over his hair. He looks ridiculous and contented and ridiculously human, and Dean knows.

I'm going to tell him, he thinks and begins to formulate a plan.

~

 

In the end, Dean doesn't need to do anything to put his plan into action. It’s Cas who suggests they go back to the karaoke bar that evening. 

“Sam is unlikely to be subject to unwanted attention there,” he says.

"Especially if they hear him sing," Dean jokes, but he gets the sneaking suspicion that the suggestion is as much for Dean’s enjoyment as Sam’s comfort, and his heart feels unreasonably warm.

They arrive during the ending strains of Heartbreaker and snag a table about halfway back from the stage.

"I don't know about you fellas," Dean announces, "but I plan on singing." He ignores Sam's exaggerated groan in favour of Cas's beaming smile. "I'm gonna go get my name on the list and snag us some beers. Sit tight." He raps his knuckles once on the table for luck and hurries off before he can second guess himself.

He gets his name on the list, and his song choice. It may not be the typical karaoke choice, but it feels fitting. That done, he detours to the bar.

It's on his way back to their table, three beers in hand, that Dean nearly collides with a warm body. 

"Sorry, man," he says, stepping back. Luckily, none of the beers have spilled.

"No worries." It's Jacob, who goes in for a hug without shame. "Hey, Dean. It's good to run into you."

"Yeah, you too." Dean finds he genuinely means it. As much as he and Cas still have things to address about what had happened and where they stand, the encounter the other night had been awesome, and Dean owes Jacob a debt of gratitude for getting him that far with Cas at all. "What's up?" he asks. "You working in this bar too?"

"Nah." Jacob lifts his own beer to his lips and takes a sip. "It's my night off, but I love karaoke, so I like to come here. I'm meeting my friend Juan in a bit."

Jacob's grin really does make his handsome face even more attractive. If it weren't for Cas, Dean would definitely be considering another go in the sheets, but as much fun as it was, Dean's pretty sure any next steps are for him and Cas to take, just the two of them. 

"How about you?" Jacob asks. He drops his voice. "How's your hunt going? Is that tall guy at your table a suspect?"

Dean chuckles. "Nah, that's my brother. He checked in today to help us wrap things up. It was some asshole fairy, if you can believe it, but it's all taken care of now."

"A fairy," Jacob repeats. "Those are real?"

"Sure," Dean agrees easily. "Most things are, except Bigfoot. Closest you're gonna get to that is my brother. Come on over, I'll introduce you. Cas'll be glad to see you too."

He's right. Cas's eyes find Dean first, and his face seems to light up—a good sign—and then Dean says, "Hey, look who I found," and Cas's smile widens, becomes that crooked, awkward smile Dean adores as he rises from the table to meet Jacob's easy embrace.

"Jacob, this is my brother, Sam," Dean introduces when they part. "Sammy, this is Jacob. He knows the score."

Sam's eyes dart from Jacob to Dean to Cas and he gives a little cough. "You, uh, you told him…?"

"Sure," Dean says with an easy shrug, as if they let civilians in on their secrets all the time. "He's cool."

"Honesty seemed like the best policy, given the circumstances," Cas offers helpfully.

"Given the…" Sam repeats under his breath, something like suspicion in his eyes, but then he gives himself a little shake, letting it go. "So, uh, Jacob, how did you meet my brother and Cas?"

They chit chat pleasantly through the next few songs, until Jacob spies his friend through the crowd. "It was good meeting you, Sam," he excuses himself. To Dean and Cas, he adds, "If you're staying a little longer, don't be strangers."

He disappears with a wave, and Dean lifts his beer to his lips. But whatever reprieve he thought he had from Sam's suspicions seems to be over, because as soon as Jacob is out of earshot, Sam leans in and hisses, "Oh my god, did you hook up with him? What about Cas? Did you really abandon him to—?"

Dean clears his throat, not meeting his brother's eyes, but it's Cas's pinkening face and his muttered "You remember our cover story" that gives them away.

Sam looks from one to the other. "Are you telling me you hooked up with him together?! What—"

Before Sam can say anything more, Dean's fake name is called, and he makes his escape, bounding up on stage.

The music starts and he sings.

"If the sun refused to shine,
I would still be loving you."

He'd been surprised that they'd had his first choice of song, had several backup choices picked on that likelihood. It's not at all a typical karaoke song, but he's chosen it anyway because, more than anything else, it says what he wants to say. He'd put it on Cas's mixtape for the same reason, but this time, he'll make sure Cas gets the message.

"And so today my world—it smiles,
Your hand in mine, we walk the miles,
Thanks to you it will be done,
For you to me are the only one."

He holds Cas's gaze through the crowd, sings only to him, wills him to understand, to know that this is Dean's truth. Their truth.

"If the sun refused to shine,
I would still be loving you.
Mountains crumble to the sea,
There will still be you and me."

As the music fades, Dean's heart is in his throat, his eyes still holding Cas.

It seems that Cas gets the message, because as soon as Dean hops off the stage, Cas is surging through the crowd, eyes locked on Dean. As soon as he's close enough, he grabs him by the collar of his shirt and hauls him into a messy kiss.

Dean's startlement lasts only a moment before he's kissing back, just as deep and hungry as Cas. When they pull apart, chests heaving, Dean loops his hands around the back of Cas's neck, keeping him close.

"Didn't know I was that good a singer. Earned myself a groupie." Dean teases with a grin. 

The look Cas fixes on him is fond but exasperated. "You know you sing very well, when you're not pretending otherwise. But I didn't kiss you for your voice."

"No?" Dean smooths one of his thumbs over the skin behind Cas's ear, searching his gaze with his own.

"Did you mean it?" Cas asks, sounding suddenly shy. "The song?"

Oh. Oh.

"Yeah," Dean says, voice cracking slightly. "Of course. Cas…you know I'm not great at saying things with words, but you've gotta know, right? That I love you?"

Cas, there's no other word for it, melts. His eyes go soft and shiny, his mouth slackens into a shape halfway between a smile and an O of surprise. He looks almost beatific. He looks beautiful. 

Dean has no choice but to kiss him again.

When they part this time, Cas's eyes flutter open and gaze into Dean's. "Just so we're clear," he says, voice more gravelly than usual, "I love you too."

That merits more kissing, but an off-key warble interrupts them, reminding Dean that they're still in the middle of the karaoke bar. "Want to get out of here?" he asks.

It's Cas who remembers that they're not here alone. "What about Sam?" he asks.

Dean glances back at their table, where Sam sits alone with a beer, eyes politely fixed on the bad singer on stage, very deliberately avoiding looking towards the space where Dean and Cas have been doing their best to make up for the last twelve years’ worth of missed kisses.

"Aw, Sammy's a big boy," Dean says. "We'll let him know we're going, and he can decide if he wants to stick around or if this isn't his scene."

Cas doesn't put up a fight, agreeing with flattering alacrity, as if he's as eager to get Dean back to their room and their bed as Dean is him. Dean takes his hand and tugs him gently in the direction of their table.

"Heya, Sammy," he greets his brother, leaning against the back of the high-top chair. "Just so you know, Cas and I are gonna get out of here, celebrate the fact that we're in love and all that." 

He gives Cas's hand a squeeze as Sam's eyes widen.

"That's, uh—congratulations, guys." 

"Thank you, Sam." Cas sidles up closer, presses against Dean's side. "Are you ready to go, Dean?"

"Yeah, buddy." And because Dean can't resist putting that look on his brother's face, he adds. "Let's go do the horizontal tango."

The way Sam's face twists in dismay is a thing of beauty.

~

 

They walk just a little too fast on their way back to their room, press just a little too close, the opposite of inconspicuous. Anyone looking at them would be able to tell exactly what they're planning on doing. 

Dean doesn't care. He's got Cas's hand tangled in his, the same restrained eagerness in every line of Cas's body as he has in his own. It's a giddy feeling, knowing Cas wants him as much as he wants Cas.

They barely get their door closed behind them, before Cas is framing Dean's face in his hands and kissing him again for all he's worth, pressing him up against the glass. Dean kisses back just as hungrily, getting a hand in Cas's hair and a handful of his ass with the other one, pulling Cas against him. 

Cas makes a muffled noise into Dean's mouth and rocks his hips, his already hard cock evident where it presses against Dean. Dean is rapidly hardening, too, and he nips at Cas's lip while urging his hips into a rhythm.

"Dean," Cas half-pants, half-growls, pulling out of the kiss to bury his face in Dean's shoulder. "I want you to fuck me."

Fuck. Dean's hips stutter hard at that, his cock leaping at the vulgar request coming out of Cas's mouth.

" Hell fucking yes ," he growls, tugging Cas's mouth back up to with the hand buried in Cas's hair. He kisses him quick and hard, then gives Cas a little push backwards towards the bed. "Clothes."

As Cas tugs his t-shirt over his head, Dean finds the presence of mind to yank the gauzy layer of the curtains closed. It's only a modicum of privacy, but better than nothing. He turns back to see Cas with his hand on the button of his jeans, already looking disheveled and debauched. It's all Dean can do to keep from falling to his knees before Cas, so he doesn't stop himself, pushing Cas's hands away to unfasten his jeans himself, working them and his underwear down Cas's sinful thighs, letting his cock spring free and leave a smear of precome across Dean's cheek. Dean groans and buries his face in the crease of Cas's groin, breathing deep of the musky, human smell of Cas to center himself. 

When he sits back, Cas is watching him wide-eyed, an almost stunned look painted across his face, like he can't quite believe Dean is really his, that he really gets to have this. Dean understands. He feels the same about Cas.

"Hey." He drops a kiss on one hipbone, begins gently working Cas's pants and underwear further down his legs. "I love you." He taps one foot. "Lift up." 

Bracing a hand on Dean's shoulder for balance, Cas lifts first one foot, then the other, so that Dean can remove his shoes and his jeans. Dean tosses the jeans off to a corner and sits back on his heels to admire Cas, naked before him.

"You're everything I've ever wanted," he murmurs and watches a shudder run through Cas's body.

Dean shucks his shirt over his head to parts unknown, and getting a grip on the backs of Cas's thighs, leans in and takes Cas in his mouth.

"Dean." It sounds like 'I love you.' " Dean ," Cas repeats, and it sounds like he's praying. 

Dean hums his approval around the cock filling his mouth, savours the salty taste of precome, the aborted little thrusts Cas can't help but make. Making Cas feel good has become the whole of his being. He pulls off, slides his tongue around the head while Cas chokes on a moan, then plunges back down. When he hollows his cheeks and sucks, Cas's knees nearly buckle.

Dean steadies him with his grip and pulls back, fully this time. Cas's face is flushed, his eyes shining, his bottom lip red where he's bitten into it.

Dean gets to his feet, a trickier manoeuver than it should be, thanks to his own rock-hard cock demanding his attention in his jeans. He kisses Cas once, lets him taste himself, and urges, "Let's get on the bed."

Cas goes, pulling himself backwards over the snowy white bedclothes, while Dean shoves his own pants down and kicks them away along with his boots. He reaches for the hand Cas stretches out to him and crawls after him onto the bed.

They kiss again for long minutes, sinking into the plush bedding as Dean attempts to pour all the love he feels for Cas in through his mouth. It feels like a miracle to have Cas pressed against him like this, tangled together skin-to-skin with nothing between them except the love that has always been there. What has Dean done that he gets to have this?

When the heat builds between them again, Dean sits back at last, but not before fishing the lube that Jacob had left behind two nights ago, that's been sitting there ever since, off the nightstand. Holding Cas's gaze, he slicks up his fingers and moves them between Cas's legs, as he bends to take Cas's cock in his mouth once again. 

The first press of Dean's fingertip to Cas's hole has him arching off the bed, and he spreads his legs wider to give Dean room to work. Cas is incredibly hot and tight inside, pressing back on Dean's finger like he's been doing this for years and demanding more. He doesn't need any help to relax, it seems, but that doesn't stop Dean from sliding in a second finger and scissoring them apart, just so he can watch Cas's face when he feels that stretch. He's rewarded by the way Cas's eyes roll back and his cock releases another spurt of precome on Dean's tongue, so he does it again.

"Please." Cas pushes himself up on his elbows, chest heaving and eyes wild. "Please, Dean. I need you inside me."

Christ. Who is Dean to ignore a plea like that? Not when his own cock is hard enough to hammer nails, not when Cas is looking at him like that. Hastily, he pulls his fingers out and wipes them on the bedding while Cas lets out a moan at the sudden emptiness. It's the work of a moment to squirt fresh lube into his hand and slick up his cock, and then Dean is lining himself up with Cas's entrance and pushing forward.

The noise Cas makes when Dean enters him will live in Dean's dreams for the rest of his life. 

Cas's head drops back into the pillows and Dean follows him down, seeking out his mouth and kissing him deep as his body adjusts to the overwhelming sensation. 

If he'd thought Cas felt good around his fingers, it's nothing on the way he squeezes hot around Dean's cock. If Dean were a younger man, he'd have been gone the second he pressed inside him.

"Cas," he mumbles against Cas's lips. " Cas." He doesn't have any other words.

When he finally gets his bearings and begins to move, it's like transcending to another dimension. Cas's hands are on his shoulders, his hips rolling up to meet Dean's, his mouth hungry and worshipful against Dean's own, and Dean strives to worship Cas with his body in return.

"I've wanted you so long," he pants, and Cas nods with his face pressed against Dean's shoulder.

"You're the most perfect"—Cas bites off a groan as Dean finds his prostate—"the most loving man I've ever met." He gasps as Dean does it again, and his hand seeks out Dean's face, cupping his cheek, so that Dean is forced to look into his eyes. "I love you," he says between gasps and Dean's hips stutter sharply as he tips over the edge, face going stunned and slack as he gazes into Cas's eyes the whole time.

When he becomes oversensitive, Dean pulls out, landing with his weight on Cas. While Dean is recovering, Cas wiggles a hand between them to take hold of his own cock, but Dean quickly catches on. Sitting up, Dean bats Cas's hand away and takes over, stroking Cas and lavishing his hipbones with kisses and nips. When Cas groans and pushes his cock harder into the tunnel of Dean's fist, Dean slips the fingers of his other hand into Cas's hole, unerringly finding his prostate and pressing. 

"C'mon, buddy," he croons, drawing Cas ever closer to the edge with his hands. "Let me see you come for me. Come for me, Cas."

Cas does, body bowing, the expression on his face sublime, as he coats Dean's hand in his release. Dean strokes him through it, let's Cas reach for him with clumsy hands and draw him back to his mouth, kisses him and kisses him and kisses him, until all that is left is to collapse beside each other on the dishevelled sheets, still breathing heavily and smiling uncontrollably, their hands linked.

Dean tugs Cas closer and he moves with him, draping himself along Dean's left side. They're sticky and sweaty and disgusting, but Dean doesn't care. He's got the love he never thought he'd have, right here, and he has no intention of ever letting it go again.

"Mmm." He smiles into Cas's hair. "If I'd known this is what would happen if I told you how I felt, I would have done it years ago." He smooths a hand down Cas's back, feels him snuggle closer against him. "I love you, Cas," he says again, for the sheer joy of it.

Cas hums against his skin. "And I, you, Dean."

~

 

For two days, they make the most of their vacation—a real vacation, including jet skis, but also burying their toes in the sand. Dean has the added bonus he'd never expected, of getting to keep his arm around Cas, or his hand in his. He gets to go to bed with him at night, hold him close, kiss him. It's damn near perfect.

As Dean predicted, Sam is a big hit at Araucaria. Dean delights in watching his little big brother flail trying to deflect attention without admitting he's straight. Cas nudges him more than once, with a murmured "Be nice," but Dean's pretty sure Cas is at least a little amused as well.

They leave the resort on Monday morning, after one last expedition to the breakfast buffet. Sam, who joins them from his own room, raves over his smoothie and egg white frittata, while Dean and Cas load their plates up with the usual breakfast meats and sweets. Cas opts for Belgian waffles loaded with whipped cream and feeds Dean a bite from his plate. Dean accepts with a smug smile in his long-suffering brother's direction.

Sam shakes his head. "I'm so glad I don't have to drive back with you two."

"Hey," Dean says, "I'm not complaining. Maybe we'll try out road head. Whaddya say, Cas?" 

Now Cas fixes Dean with a look as long-suffering as Sam's. It makes Dean feel positively gleeful. "Absolutely not, Dean. That's far too dangerous."

Dean laughs. "Don't worry, I'm just messing around. The looks on your faces—" He shakes his head grinning. In reality, he's looking forward to the drive alone with Cas for much simpler reasons—listening to their mixtape, holding his hand, maybe feeling Cas's head rest on his shoulder as Baby eats up miles and miles of road. He can't think of anything better.

After one last sweep of their room, Dean and Cas turn in their keycards and carry their duffle bags back out to the Impala.

"Hey, Baby." Dean lays a hand on sun-warmed metal. "Miss me?" 

Cas watches indulgently as Dean gives Baby one last pat before opening up the trunk and tossing his back inside. He holds out his hands for Cas's, and Cas passes it over.

"C'mon," Dean says. "Let's drive."

It's hot in the car from the Florida heat, so Dean cranks down his window first thing and Cas does the same. Dean sticks the key in the ignition but pauses before turning it. He glances down at his left hand, fingering the ring with his right.

"Guess we don't need to keep wearing these," he says, but makes no move to take it off. He rubs his finger over the smooth metal and glances at Cas out of the corner of his eye.

Cas is examining his own ring, his eyes soft. "If you don't mind," he says, "I think I'd like to keep mine." He raises his eyes to meet Dean's.

"Yeah?" Dean swallows.

"Yes," Cas says. 

Dean glances down at his ring again, feels his lips curving upwards. "Then I guess I'd better keep wearing mine, too, huh?" He gives the metal an affectionate stroke. "You know, by hunter standards, this makes us as good as married." He raises his head to meet Cas's gaze again.

"Good." Cas's voice is decisive and his eyes are warm. Dean tugs him in for a slow, lush kiss.

When their lips part, Cas settles in close beside him, their shoulders touching, and Dean turns the key.

~

Notes:

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