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trinityofoneONE WEEK! In the same amount of time it takes someone to die from that video in The Ring, we will have a new episode! Awesome!
Previous ficlets here.
Title: Nonnegotiable Affections
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Dean/Castiel
Spoilers: All of S4, plus my take on a specific spoiler for S5. You know, the goofy one. That one.
Length: ~1,900 words
Summary: Written for the “First Date” prompt in![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
deancastiel's Roll the Dice challenge. Dean moistens his lips. “I think it's time we make Cas a man.”
Nonnegotiable Affections
“I think a celebration is in order,” Dean says.
He's grinning. Since Cas came back, he hasn't really stopped. “What are you thinking of?” Sam asks warily.
“Well.” Dean moistens his lips. “I think it's time we make Cas a man.”
Sam does not have the facial flexibility to convey his full horror. “What?”
Dean dismisses his brother's worries with a shake of his head. “You know, like when we turned thirteen. Dad's 'special present.'”
Sam frowns. “When I turned thirteen, Dad stuck a bow on his second-favorite Beretta and left it next to my Frosted Mini-Wheats.”
“Actually, the bow was me.” Dean falters a little. “You mean he didn't take you to a…?”
The penny drops. “No! Jesus Christ, Dean!”
“Oh, Sammy.” Dean gives his brother a pitying pat on the back. “That explains so much.”
“Yeah, it explains why I'm not disgusting.”
Dean laughs. He's grinning again. He can't seem to stop. “Hold down the fort, will you?”
Sam mutters something about how pathetic it will be if they lose the fight against Heaven and Hell due to incapacitating STDs. But Dean's spotted Cas leaning against the Impala on the other side of the parking lot; he doesn't hear him.
Castiel's been feeling a little bit directionless since his return, so when he asks Dean, “Where are we going?” and Dean says, “An establishment of ill repute”-elaborating with relish-“A whorehouse, Cas!” Castiel's response is simply, “Okay.” He is not only alone but trapped in this body, and even if he weren't, he'd follow Dean almost anywhere.
Dean makes all the arrangements once they're inside the rather nondescript building, including the selection of a girl for him: she's got blonde hair (dyed) and she looks…tired, but she smiles at him nonetheless and leads him out of the foyer and toward one of a set of identical blue doors. This part Castiel is less sure about. Dean's disappeared across the hall, following a giggling girl in a schoolgirl skirt and pigtails, leaving Castiel alone with a stranger.
“What do you like?” she asks.
He answers honestly. “I don't know.”
The door is closed, Dean several walls away. “Let's find out,” the girl says.
It's not until Dean's in the room with the girl that he remembers that the last time he did anything like this was a couple of days before his deal was up: desperate to get laid-one last time, just one last time!-and utterly lacking the composure or finesse to go about it his usual way. It makes him hesitate, fingers suddenly clumsy as he trails them up the girl's thigh and under her skirt; he's almost kind of relieved when the knock sounds.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” the girl he's with snaps as another girl-Cas' girl, he realizes-barges in without any further warning.
“Well, excuse me,” the blonde says. “His friend's asking for him. Insisted.”
Both girls are staring at him now. Dean did not come to a whorehouse to be judged. He forces a grin, different from the smile he's been carrying around the last few days, and laughs. “Nerves,” he confides: “Up until recently he used to be a priest.”
“That's hot,” says his girl with a flat, Paris Hilton-esque intonation; it makes her significantly less so in his estimation.
“I'll just see if he wants to do some last Hail Marys,” Dean says, and ducks back across the hall, the blonde following.
Cas is sitting on the bed, resurrected suit and tie looking rumpled. More so than usual, even. He brightens, though, straightens up as Dean enters the room. “Cas, you okay?”
The angel makes a helpless, human gesture with his shoulders. “I don't know what to do.”
“Just do what comes naturally, buddy.”
Cas' eyes flicker to the blonde, who is twirling her hair disinterestedly and watching the hour tick away. “Dean, I hardly think I need to elucidate the many ways in which none of this is natural for me.”
Dean chews his lip for a moment, then steps closer. “We can leave if you want,” he says quietly. He wouldn't even be that disappointed, he realizes.
But Cas shakes his head. “I want- There are so many aspects of human life I wish to know about, to experience.”
Dean nods; that had been his-perhaps somewhat clumsily executed-idea.
“Maybe,” Cas' tongue flicks out and moistens his lips. “Maybe if you showed me…?”
“Threesome's extra,” the girl interrupts, all business.
Her objections kills any Dean might've come up with. “Fine, whatever. Anyway,” he says, turning, keeping half an eye on her and half on Cas, “this isn't a threesome, it's a demonstration.”
The girl's expression says, So demonstrate already!
Dean does. He pulls her to him, tilting their bodies so Cas can still see, watch as Dean's hands gently explore and get to know her curves. Watch him kiss her-a more subtle, sensuous, teasing kiss than Dean would usually waste on a whore, on someone to whom it means nothing. But Dean wants Cas to know how good it can all be. So he steps backward toward the bed and pulls the girl onto his lap. He can feel Cas' presence, right over his shoulder-as if he were perched there. The thought makes Dean laugh. “What's so funny?” asks the girl.
Dean shakes his head. “Private joke.”
The girl sighs and pulls off her top.
She has great tits, Dean has to say: so great he is momentarily distracted. Then he remembers why he is here, and suddenly he wants nothing more than to share these great tits with Castiel. He reaches behind himself and finds Cas' hand without having to glance back. Cas' fingers are slim and dry. Dean tugs them up, guiding them to wrap and cup around the girl's breast, positioning the thumb so it can gently tease the nipple. The girl arches into their hands, emitting an obedient moan, but Dean barely hears over the sudden quickening of his own heart. His blood roars in his ears and his cock presses with sudden eagerness against the girl's ass. His fingers and Cas' are still twined together, growing warm against the girl's bare skin.
“Getting the idea?” Dean manages, voice hoarse.
Cas sounds even rougher. “I…think so, yes.”
Dean's afraid to look at him, afraid to move at all. Paralyzed, he imagines for a moment that they might sit here like this for the rest of the hour: the girl in Dean's lap; Dean's hand holding Castiel's against the girl's breast. The sheer ridiculousness of it forces him into action: awkwardly, he drops Cas' hand and sort of roll/shift/dumps the girl from his lap onto Castiel's. The girl lets out a grunt-Dean's going to have to leave a really big tip-and Dean catches Cas' eyes going wide. He looks…uncomfortable. Not so much like he is lost in earthly human bliss, which had kind of been what Dean had been going for here.
Cas' empty hand-the one Dean dropped, the one he let go of-flails for a moment, as if unsure where it wants to rest. The girl, clearly a consummate professional, solves the problem by leaning forward and sucking Cas' fluttering fingers into her mouth. Her other hand has seized upon his tie, and she's tugging at his neck and grinding down on his lap and Dean's mouth has gone completely dry. “Um,” he says eventually-it takes him several tries-“I'll just-back across now-”
He's not going, though. He's standing in the doorway, unmovable as a mountain, blood burning in his veins. The girl is topless, her skirt hitched up, her panties tugged down. She's sucking on Cas' fingers, rubbing her pussy against his very obvious erection, and what he says-what he gasps out with his face flushed and his eyes all wide and dark-is simply, “Dean.”
He moves faster than he can think, which is probably a good thing, considering. One second he's by the door, looking back, and then he may have actually tapped the girl on the shoulder and said, “Cutting in, thanks.” And now he's got Castiel; he's got Cas and he's bearing him back onto the bed, falling with him in a messy sprawl, tugging his tie loose and ripping open his shirt, desperate for skin. Cas makes an absolutely broken sound and grips him so tight, kissing him just like Dean showed him: kissing him like he means it.
It's possible Dean had more finesse when he actually was thirteen, but he doesn't care; he just wants to touch Castiel, press flesh to flesh with the freakin' miracle in front of him, his angel who died for him, who came back, who came back. And Castiel, below him, can't stop mumbling his name in between noises he's never had cause to make before: shaky little gasps and moans that escalate and erupt when Dean's fumbling fingers finally manage to free his cock and line the both of them up together, moving in tandem, racing each other to something glorious.
Dean collapses with Cas still pulsing, warm and human, onto his hand. He buries his face against Cas' neck; that was so fucking intense he doesn't even know what to do with it. He feels Cas' hand moving back up his body, slightly jerky and slow, before it comes to rest with infinite care on his cheek. Dean raises his head to look at him, and the expression on Cas' face- Dean is grinning again, a smile he feels in his whole body, racing like electricity all the way down to his toes.
“See?” he says. “You're a natural.”
Across the room, their lady of negotiable affections coughs, spoiling the moment somewhat.
A few minutes later, they're stumbling back out onto the street, holding each other up, blushing, breathless. Dean's neglected schoolgirl had been sitting in the lobby when they walked out, reading a magazine and looking bored; Dean had pressed himself tight against Cas, feeling this close to actual hysterics. Fortunately, the Impala's not far, and they collapse against it, Cas turning to him, one hand still clutching at the sleeve of Dean's coat.
“So I am to take this to mean that it is customary for two male humans to pay two female humans for the privilege of watching them, the aforementioned male humans, have sexual relations with each other?”
Dean summons all his strength and just barely refrains from losing it. “Don't get cocky,” he says. “You're doing well with the sex, but smartassery is an advanced course. It requires study. And, um, tutoring.”
“Private lessons, one assumes.”
Dean nods seriously. He could keep this up, but he'd rather just work his fingers into Castiel's hair, pull him to him, and kiss him some more.
So he does.
The motel room door swings open. “How were your 'dates'?” Sam asks, not looking up but making air quotes that Dean will no doubt find a way to make fun of him for later. “Manage to make a man out of Cas?”
Dean pats his brother on the shoulder before walking over to the bed and stretching out with a contented sigh. “Yeah, you know what,” he says, and there's something in his tone that does make Sam stop, makes him sit up straight and look. “I think I can safely say that Cas is man enough for me.”
Previous ficlets here.
Title: Nonnegotiable Affections
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Dean/Castiel
Spoilers: All of S4, plus my take on a specific spoiler for S5. You know, the goofy one. That one.
Length: ~1,900 words
Summary: Written for the “First Date” prompt in
deancastiel's Roll the Dice challenge. Dean moistens his lips. “I think it's time we make Cas a man.”Nonnegotiable Affections
“I think a celebration is in order,” Dean says.
He's grinning. Since Cas came back, he hasn't really stopped. “What are you thinking of?” Sam asks warily.
“Well.” Dean moistens his lips. “I think it's time we make Cas a man.”
Sam does not have the facial flexibility to convey his full horror. “What?”
Dean dismisses his brother's worries with a shake of his head. “You know, like when we turned thirteen. Dad's 'special present.'”
Sam frowns. “When I turned thirteen, Dad stuck a bow on his second-favorite Beretta and left it next to my Frosted Mini-Wheats.”
“Actually, the bow was me.” Dean falters a little. “You mean he didn't take you to a…?”
The penny drops. “No! Jesus Christ, Dean!”
“Oh, Sammy.” Dean gives his brother a pitying pat on the back. “That explains so much.”
“Yeah, it explains why I'm not disgusting.”
Dean laughs. He's grinning again. He can't seem to stop. “Hold down the fort, will you?”
Sam mutters something about how pathetic it will be if they lose the fight against Heaven and Hell due to incapacitating STDs. But Dean's spotted Cas leaning against the Impala on the other side of the parking lot; he doesn't hear him.
Castiel's been feeling a little bit directionless since his return, so when he asks Dean, “Where are we going?” and Dean says, “An establishment of ill repute”-elaborating with relish-“A whorehouse, Cas!” Castiel's response is simply, “Okay.” He is not only alone but trapped in this body, and even if he weren't, he'd follow Dean almost anywhere.
Dean makes all the arrangements once they're inside the rather nondescript building, including the selection of a girl for him: she's got blonde hair (dyed) and she looks…tired, but she smiles at him nonetheless and leads him out of the foyer and toward one of a set of identical blue doors. This part Castiel is less sure about. Dean's disappeared across the hall, following a giggling girl in a schoolgirl skirt and pigtails, leaving Castiel alone with a stranger.
“What do you like?” she asks.
He answers honestly. “I don't know.”
The door is closed, Dean several walls away. “Let's find out,” the girl says.
It's not until Dean's in the room with the girl that he remembers that the last time he did anything like this was a couple of days before his deal was up: desperate to get laid-one last time, just one last time!-and utterly lacking the composure or finesse to go about it his usual way. It makes him hesitate, fingers suddenly clumsy as he trails them up the girl's thigh and under her skirt; he's almost kind of relieved when the knock sounds.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” the girl he's with snaps as another girl-Cas' girl, he realizes-barges in without any further warning.
“Well, excuse me,” the blonde says. “His friend's asking for him. Insisted.”
Both girls are staring at him now. Dean did not come to a whorehouse to be judged. He forces a grin, different from the smile he's been carrying around the last few days, and laughs. “Nerves,” he confides: “Up until recently he used to be a priest.”
“That's hot,” says his girl with a flat, Paris Hilton-esque intonation; it makes her significantly less so in his estimation.
“I'll just see if he wants to do some last Hail Marys,” Dean says, and ducks back across the hall, the blonde following.
Cas is sitting on the bed, resurrected suit and tie looking rumpled. More so than usual, even. He brightens, though, straightens up as Dean enters the room. “Cas, you okay?”
The angel makes a helpless, human gesture with his shoulders. “I don't know what to do.”
“Just do what comes naturally, buddy.”
Cas' eyes flicker to the blonde, who is twirling her hair disinterestedly and watching the hour tick away. “Dean, I hardly think I need to elucidate the many ways in which none of this is natural for me.”
Dean chews his lip for a moment, then steps closer. “We can leave if you want,” he says quietly. He wouldn't even be that disappointed, he realizes.
But Cas shakes his head. “I want- There are so many aspects of human life I wish to know about, to experience.”
Dean nods; that had been his-perhaps somewhat clumsily executed-idea.
“Maybe,” Cas' tongue flicks out and moistens his lips. “Maybe if you showed me…?”
“Threesome's extra,” the girl interrupts, all business.
Her objections kills any Dean might've come up with. “Fine, whatever. Anyway,” he says, turning, keeping half an eye on her and half on Cas, “this isn't a threesome, it's a demonstration.”
The girl's expression says, So demonstrate already!
Dean does. He pulls her to him, tilting their bodies so Cas can still see, watch as Dean's hands gently explore and get to know her curves. Watch him kiss her-a more subtle, sensuous, teasing kiss than Dean would usually waste on a whore, on someone to whom it means nothing. But Dean wants Cas to know how good it can all be. So he steps backward toward the bed and pulls the girl onto his lap. He can feel Cas' presence, right over his shoulder-as if he were perched there. The thought makes Dean laugh. “What's so funny?” asks the girl.
Dean shakes his head. “Private joke.”
The girl sighs and pulls off her top.
She has great tits, Dean has to say: so great he is momentarily distracted. Then he remembers why he is here, and suddenly he wants nothing more than to share these great tits with Castiel. He reaches behind himself and finds Cas' hand without having to glance back. Cas' fingers are slim and dry. Dean tugs them up, guiding them to wrap and cup around the girl's breast, positioning the thumb so it can gently tease the nipple. The girl arches into their hands, emitting an obedient moan, but Dean barely hears over the sudden quickening of his own heart. His blood roars in his ears and his cock presses with sudden eagerness against the girl's ass. His fingers and Cas' are still twined together, growing warm against the girl's bare skin.
“Getting the idea?” Dean manages, voice hoarse.
Cas sounds even rougher. “I…think so, yes.”
Dean's afraid to look at him, afraid to move at all. Paralyzed, he imagines for a moment that they might sit here like this for the rest of the hour: the girl in Dean's lap; Dean's hand holding Castiel's against the girl's breast. The sheer ridiculousness of it forces him into action: awkwardly, he drops Cas' hand and sort of roll/shift/dumps the girl from his lap onto Castiel's. The girl lets out a grunt-Dean's going to have to leave a really big tip-and Dean catches Cas' eyes going wide. He looks…uncomfortable. Not so much like he is lost in earthly human bliss, which had kind of been what Dean had been going for here.
Cas' empty hand-the one Dean dropped, the one he let go of-flails for a moment, as if unsure where it wants to rest. The girl, clearly a consummate professional, solves the problem by leaning forward and sucking Cas' fluttering fingers into her mouth. Her other hand has seized upon his tie, and she's tugging at his neck and grinding down on his lap and Dean's mouth has gone completely dry. “Um,” he says eventually-it takes him several tries-“I'll just-back across now-”
He's not going, though. He's standing in the doorway, unmovable as a mountain, blood burning in his veins. The girl is topless, her skirt hitched up, her panties tugged down. She's sucking on Cas' fingers, rubbing her pussy against his very obvious erection, and what he says-what he gasps out with his face flushed and his eyes all wide and dark-is simply, “Dean.”
He moves faster than he can think, which is probably a good thing, considering. One second he's by the door, looking back, and then he may have actually tapped the girl on the shoulder and said, “Cutting in, thanks.” And now he's got Castiel; he's got Cas and he's bearing him back onto the bed, falling with him in a messy sprawl, tugging his tie loose and ripping open his shirt, desperate for skin. Cas makes an absolutely broken sound and grips him so tight, kissing him just like Dean showed him: kissing him like he means it.
It's possible Dean had more finesse when he actually was thirteen, but he doesn't care; he just wants to touch Castiel, press flesh to flesh with the freakin' miracle in front of him, his angel who died for him, who came back, who came back. And Castiel, below him, can't stop mumbling his name in between noises he's never had cause to make before: shaky little gasps and moans that escalate and erupt when Dean's fumbling fingers finally manage to free his cock and line the both of them up together, moving in tandem, racing each other to something glorious.
Dean collapses with Cas still pulsing, warm and human, onto his hand. He buries his face against Cas' neck; that was so fucking intense he doesn't even know what to do with it. He feels Cas' hand moving back up his body, slightly jerky and slow, before it comes to rest with infinite care on his cheek. Dean raises his head to look at him, and the expression on Cas' face- Dean is grinning again, a smile he feels in his whole body, racing like electricity all the way down to his toes.
“See?” he says. “You're a natural.”
Across the room, their lady of negotiable affections coughs, spoiling the moment somewhat.
A few minutes later, they're stumbling back out onto the street, holding each other up, blushing, breathless. Dean's neglected schoolgirl had been sitting in the lobby when they walked out, reading a magazine and looking bored; Dean had pressed himself tight against Cas, feeling this close to actual hysterics. Fortunately, the Impala's not far, and they collapse against it, Cas turning to him, one hand still clutching at the sleeve of Dean's coat.
“So I am to take this to mean that it is customary for two male humans to pay two female humans for the privilege of watching them, the aforementioned male humans, have sexual relations with each other?”
Dean summons all his strength and just barely refrains from losing it. “Don't get cocky,” he says. “You're doing well with the sex, but smartassery is an advanced course. It requires study. And, um, tutoring.”
“Private lessons, one assumes.”
Dean nods seriously. He could keep this up, but he'd rather just work his fingers into Castiel's hair, pull him to him, and kiss him some more.
So he does.
The motel room door swings open. “How were your 'dates'?” Sam asks, not looking up but making air quotes that Dean will no doubt find a way to make fun of him for later. “Manage to make a man out of Cas?”
Dean pats his brother on the shoulder before walking over to the bed and stretching out with a contented sigh. “Yeah, you know what,” he says, and there's something in his tone that does make Sam stop, makes him sit up straight and look. “I think I can safely say that Cas is man enough for me.”
