Archive of Our Own

“I still can’t believe you got these tickets!” Dean yells over the crowd, barely able to hear himself.

Charlie beams at him and she must be able to read lips or something, because she leans in closer and yells back, “I told you! Dorothy’s cousin is friends with the drummer!”

Looking back at the stage where his favorite band, The Astral Planes, is playing, Dean scopes out the drummer and nods. “Yeah, that tracks!”

They laugh, and Charlie leans in again. “So, best best friend, right?”

Dean bobs his head enthusiastically, tugging her into a one-armed hug, his beer balanced precariously in the other hand. “Absolute best! Best friend ever!”

He releases her and they both start belting out the lyrics as the song shifts into the chorus. The crowd around them swells as everyone sings along, guys and girls alike—Dean included—staring up at the dreamy lead singer, a mystery man who goes by the moniker, ‘The Angel’.

They used to play tons of local shows when Dean was in college, and after the first time he saw them, he was hooked. Plus, he might’ve had a bit of a hard-on for The Angel, but like, who wouldn’t? Nearly ten years later and he’s almost completely unchanged—same gorgeous voice, messy dark hair, blue eyes ringed with way too much black liner, but it just works on him. Plus, he’s about six feet of sweaty, solid muscle—fucking sex personified—and Dean is weak.

When Dean heard they were doing a one-night-only pop-up charity show for the local youth LGBTQ group, he knew he had to get tickets, but they sold out before he could get his hands on one. Charlie, being the aforementioned best best friend ever, managed to snag them a pair, courtesy of her girlfriend’s cousin, apparently.

She out of anyone knows how much the band means to Dean, how integral their music was to his personal sexuality journey, and he nearly cried when she told him they were coming tonight.

So now, standing here in this tiny, overcrowded venue, singing along to his old favorite band and staring at the man that awakened him to a part of himself he’d been repressing for two decades, well, he can’t help but feel like he’s on cloud nine.

*

Dean’s dragging ass this morning—he and Charlie were out way too late for a school night, but hell if he was gonna miss a once-in-a-lifetime show just because he has a job. He can handle being overtired for a day or three.

Slumping into his chair and rubbing his eyes, Dean takes a moment to attempt to gather himself. There’s not much to gather currently, though, so he taps his mouse a couple of times to wake up his computer, noticing the magazine’s logo on the login screen has been updated to a jarringly bright rainbow color scheme.

Riiiight. It’s June.

“Rise and shine, Dean-o!” The grating voice of his demon of an editor rings in his ears, startling him out of his I’m-so-too-old-to-stay-up-so-late coma, and Dean nearly fumbles his coffee mug.

“Meg.” He acknowledges, punching in his password.

She stops and leans on his cubicle wall. “You look like warmed up shit, Winchester.”

Dean waves a hand. “All good. Just coming to terms with my age, nothing to worry about.”

Meg snorts and pats the top of the grey fabric wall twice before moving away. “So long as your early senility doesn’t affect your ability to meet your deadlines, I don’t really care.”

Rolling his eyes at her retreating form, Dean opens his email to see what fresh hell she’s sent his way today.

*

>> Dude, I still can’t believe how good that show was!

Dean reads Charlie’s mid-morning message with a grin—he can hear the pep in her voice even across the digital medium.

<< I told you! Would I ever steer you wrong, Bradbury?

He’d only turned her onto the band in the past year-ish, so to say he was surprised when she turned up with tickets would be an understatement.

>> Yes. ;)

Dean snorts.

<< Not in matters of taste though, c’mon.

Charlie just shoots him back double finger guns and Dean rolls his eyes, turning back to his computer.

*

Despite several refills of his travel mug, Dean’s still sluggish when lunch rolls around. He’s no less tired and extremely jittery, but the show put him in too good of a mood to be anything but elated today.

Even Meg harping at him in their morning stand-up meeting couldn’t put a damper on him.

He’s debating just getting more coffee or going out for some actual food when an office door to his left opens up.

And out walks Cas.

Dean’s heart does a pathetic little pitter-patter in his chest at the sight of him, all adorably dorky with his thick-rimmed glasses and sweater vest, yet simultaneously hot as fuck with that messy-but-cool dark hair that Dean just wants to run his fingers through, and oh, those bright blue eyes that he could get lost in for hours…

“Dean!”

Jolting in his chair, Dean smacks his knee on his desk and winces, looking up while rubbing it to see Ed and Harry hanging over the side of his cube, looking terrifyingly chipper for noon on a Thursday.

“Sorry, what?” Dean rubs his knee, trying to catch the thread of whatever the two of them are yammering about, but he notices Cas glancing in his general direction and a half-smile gracing those gorgeous lips.

Fuck it.

“Sorry, guys. Just need a minute.”

Feeling some sort of brave—maybe it’s the lingering high of last night’s show, maybe it’s the tiny rainbows he can see dotting the fabric of Castiel’s bowtie, or heck, maybe he’s just had way too much goddamn coffee, who knows—Dean grabs his empty mug and hurries to catch up with Cas, who’s clearly on his way to the staff break room.

It feels like a stroke of serendipity that Cas is even here today—he’s a freelance photojournalist so he’s often on location rather than stuck behind a desk. There’s not much of a pattern to when he comes to the office—not that Dean’s tried to figure one out, of course. He seems to only come in when they’re close to publication, or if he needs to use one of the less portable pieces of office equipment.

Dean nearly walks right into him as they reach the doorway at the same time, but he plays it off—he hopes—with a smile.

“Cas, hey. How are you?”

They step inside the—blessedly empty—room and Cas heads towards the coffee machine, body angled towards Dean as he fixes himself a cup.

“A little tired today, but mostly good. How are you, Dean?”

And fuck, the way his name rolls off Cas’s tongue, that rich, deep—though sorta scratchy-sounding today—voice of his rumbling right through Dean’s chest. Mmm, it’s all he can do to not bite his lip in response.

Shaking himself, Dean quirks a grin. “Same, yeah, tired but good.”

Moving closer, Dean reaches for one of the carafes and fills his own mug, grabbing a couple of sugar packets and stepping past Cas to get the milk from the fridge. He offers it to Cas after he finishes and Cas accepts.

They complete their coffee rituals in a comfortable silence, and Cas looks like he’s about to leave, so Dean takes a deep breath.

Now or never, Winchester.

“Hey, Cas?

Castiel turns back to look at him. “Something on your mind, Dean?”

“Uh, yeah, actually I wanted to ask you, um…”

Blue eyes meet his, a soft smile still curving his mouth upwards. “Yes?”

Dean swallows his anxiety as best he can. He’s wanted to ask Cas out since the minute he laid eyes on hi, which would be about six months or so ago when Dean started this job, but he’s always been so fucking nervous about it.

Cas is just a guy though, what’s to be nervous about? Oh, right, he just happens to be a walking, talking, wet dream that checks all of Dean’s boxes, that’s all.

“Would you wanna get a drink sometime? I mean with me? Together?” Dean exhales. Okay, could’ve been smoother, but at least those were all sentences.

Cas eyes drop to his hands and his head tilts adorably, almost shyly. Looking back up at Dean, he smiles. “I’d love to, Dean. Are you free this weekend?”

Not having thought he’d even get this far, Dean blanks for a moment. He recovers quickly, thank fuck, and he nods.

“Yeah, this weekend is good.”

Cas smiles again and holds out his hand, palm up. “May I see your phone?”

Dean hesitates for a second, hoping Charlie hasn’t sent him any stupid shit, but he’s relieved when he unlocks the device and sees the screen free of any new messages. Handing it over, he watches Cas tapping away for a minute and then he hears a swooping tone, indicating a message sent. Cas’s phone dings in his pocket.

“There, we have each other’s number now.”

Dean grins at that, a little too widely probably, but hey, what the hell? He’s had an insane crush on this guy for months, so he’s a little light-headed at having found the balls to even ask him out, nevermind actually being successful.

“Awesome, okay. I’ll text you later and we can find a time?”

“Sounds great.” Cas moves like he’s going to hand Dean’s phone back over when a new message chimes its arrival. He looks down at the device in his hand and flushes slightly, before sticking the phone out towards Dean.

“Apologies, I didn’t mean to read that.” He looks a little embarrassed.

Dean cringes inwardly. It can only be Charlie, but he can’t help but wonder what she said to make Cas look like that.

“Ah, no problem, man.” He looks down at his phone, confirming it is a message from Charlie. “She’s excitable but mostly harmless.”

Shooting him another smile, this one a bit strained-looking, Cas backs towards the door.

“Looking forward to our drink.”

Cas exits the room, leaving Dean alone with his racing heart. He leans on the counter, trying to breathe through some of the residual jitters. Opening his phone for a distraction, he sees Cas’s name in the messages list and his heart does another weak little flip-flop.

Shaking his head at himself, he thumbs over to Charlie’s message, preparing to see something truly lewd, but he frowns when he reads the message preview—which is all that would’ve shown in the notification—“I get why you’re so into The Angel now, he’s dreamy…”

Pretty tame, really. He’d go so far as to say it’s PG, so why the face? Maybe Cas thinks it’s some weird code name or something? Or, oh! Maybe Cas doesn’t know the band? A little frisson of excitement pings through Dean at that thought—he’d love to add Cas’s name to his list of Astral Planes converts.

*

True to his word, Dean texts Cas later that night, though the afternoon is littered with shy smiles and not-too-awkward conversations at the copier and coffee machine—really, no different than how they’ve interacted before, come to think of it, but Dean’s always felt too dazed around Cas to gauge the other man’s reactions.

They make plans for Saturday night—Cas is going to be out of town for most of tomorrow shooting for an article for their Pride publication, and he said he didn’t want to risk running late, which makes Dean feel a little gooey inside. He’s sure Cas is probably just being polite, but the idea that he wants to give Dean his undivided attention is doing things.

Dean texts Charlie on Friday to tell her he finally grew a pair and asked Cas out—she, of course, has heard all about his pathetic crush for the last six months or so.

She sends him back an enthusiastic reply.

>> Get it, Handmaiden!

Saturday rolls around and Dean is nervous. They’re just going to a quiet-ish bar downtown—Cas’s suggestion, but Dean’s been there plenty. It’s a cozy place, often busy but usually quiet enough to have a conversation, which both elates and terrifies Dean.

Because yeah awesome, Cas wants to talk and get to know each other? Score. But that means Dean has to figure out how to string together quite a few more sentences in front of the man.

He changes his clothes too many times, finally settling on a pair of dark jeans with a deep green button-down, the sleeves cuffed to his elbows. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s the polar opposite of his usual work outfits of khakis and a polo.

They agreed to meet at seven-thirty, but even though Dean arrives a few minutes early, Cas has already beat him there. He’s sitting at a corner table, facing the door, and when Dean scans the room, he finds those blue eyes already glued to him.

Making his way over and trying not to trip on anything, hyper-aware of being watched, Dean almost sighs with relief when he reaches the table unscathed. He’s honestly not normally clumsy, but Cas just brings out the absolute idiot in him, somehow. Cas stands when he gets there and steps closer to give Dean a surprising but very welcome hug, his soft greeting hot against Dean’s ear.

“Hello, Dean.”

God, he smells good. And he looks good, too. There’s a distinct lack of sweater vest or bow tie, but the deep blue vee-neck pullover and the ever-present black-framed glasses are doing plenty, and—okay, Dean needs to chill.

Cas sits back down and Dean slides onto the bench seat, sort of a curved couch situation, settling himself just around the corner from Cas before taking a breath and smiling.

“Hey, Cas.” He flicks his eyes over Cas with intention. “You look nice.”

Glancing down at himself like he’s seeing his clothes for the first time, Cas looks back up with a smile. “Thank you, Dean. So do you.”

Dean tries to fight the blush that’s creeping up his neck and he clears his throat, looking around the bar as he stalls for something to say.

Thankfully, a very expedient waiter shows up at their table and saves him. Cas takes his time listening attentively to the drink specials and then orders a Manhattan instead. Dean goes for a whiskey, neat, and then they’re alone again.

“—I was surprised—”

“—So do you—”

They both start to speak at once and stop abruptly, laughing. Dean waves his hand, grinning. “Go ahead.”

The waiter is back with their drinks just then and they clink glasses softly before taking a sip. Cas sets his drink on a coaster and looks back up at Dean, eyes bright.

“I was just saying, I was surprised—but very happy—that you asked me out tonight. Truthfully, I would’ve asked you out long before now but I wasn’t sure if you were interested.” He almost looks nervous to admit as much and something about Cas’s openness settles the fucking bat wings that have been flapping inside Dean for the last forty-eight hours.

Dean edges just a hair closer, but enough that Cas sees it. “Yeah, no, I’m definitely interested. Sorry it took me so long to ask though. You just, um… you get me a little tongue-tied, y’know?”

Cas actually looks amazed at this, and his eyes rake over Dean in a very different way than they were a moment ago. Dean takes another sip of his whiskey nervously.

“Dean, I…” he stops and shakes his head, smiling brightly. “No, nevermind, it’s nothing—how long have you been working in journalism?”

Confused by the abrupt change in topic and fully thrown off by the wattage of Cas’s smile, Dean is momentarily speechless. “Oh, uh, since college actually,” he manages to respond, finding his footing. “I got into it when my friend Charlie—the one who was texting me the other day—roped me into helping her with the school paper, and then I dunno, I just kinda kept doing it.” He shrugs. “What about you?”

Cas tells him how he always intended to do more nature photography than anything else, and while it’s still his true love, it wasn’t really paying the bills. He and Meg are apparently friends from way back when—and okay, but how? Dean literally can’t picture it—and when the magazine was starting out, she hired him on as staff photographer with the understanding that his role would evolve to where he is now.

They order another round and the waiter brings those along with a complimentary ‘small bites’ plate, as he calls it. Dean wonders how strongly they’re giving off first-date vibes, because he is extremely grateful to get a couple of crackers into his whiskey-filled stomach—he was way too nervous beforehand to eat much of anything.

Conversation is flowing easily now, as they talk about work and hobbies, friends and family. They discover a mutual passionate love for a long-since off-the-air sci-fi TV show and spend a good few minutes cracking each other up with stupid memes about it.

The waiter swings by again and just as Dean is about to agree to a third whiskey, ’cause why not?—the night is young, the Ubers are plentiful—Cas puts his hand over Dean’s and asks the waiter for a moment.

Dean glances down at their hands, feeling a bit dizzy at the rush of warmth he’s getting just from their fingers touching like this, and he looks up at Cas in question. Only Cas is looking at him with the same expression he was wearing earlier in the night, and Dean suddenly feels like prey, in the best way.

“I have a small confession.” Cas’s lips turn up in a slightly devious smile and Dean can’t help but lean in, intrigued.

“Oh, yeah? What about?” He flips his hand over underneath Cas’s, slotting their fingers together, watching Cas’s face shift at the contact.

“Well, when I suggested this bar, it wasn’t because it’s my favorite—though, I do like it very much, it’s a nice place,” Cas interrupts himself to glance around.

Dean squeezes his hand to redirect his attention. “But?”

Cas looks back at Dean and grins. “But… please forgive me if I’m being too forward, but I chose it because I live just around the corner and I thought maybe if things went well, you might like to come back to my apartment?”

Trying not to appear as eager nor as floored as he currently feels, Dean grins back. “Oh really? And are they going well? Things, I mean?” Dean’s scooted about as close to Cas as he’s going to get on this couch without climbing into his lap here in the bar, and the heat of their pressed-together bodies is threatening to make him combust.

Reaching out with his free hand, Cas trails his fingertips over Dean’s bare forearm, his nails dragging softly. “I think they are, yes.” His voice is slightly husky and Dean’s a breath away from saying something completely stupid, so instead of speaking, he leans in to kiss Cas.

Only, the bastard meets him halfway, a hand on Dean’s neck pulling him close. The kiss goes from zero to sixty extremely fast, the first chaste bump of their lips left in the rearview for the sake of a more lingual exploration.

Kissing Cas is whiskey-flavored and intense, the touch of him searing, and Dean can barely hold back the moan that tumbles out of him when Cas slips his tongue inside, tasting Dean.

They’re getting progressively deeper into the kiss, hands sliding and bodies pressing closer, when a loud burst of laughter across the room reminds them that they are still, in fact, in public, and they break apart, smiling stupidly at each other.

“Yeah, okay, we should…” Dean mutters, putting a couple of inches between them and running a hand over his mouth while looking around for their waiter.

“Agreed, yes.” Cas nods, cheeks a bit pink, sitting back and straightening himself up as well, downing the last sip of his drink.

The waiter appears as if summoned—though Dean suspects he saw enough to know they weren’t planning to be at the table for much longer—and he hands over the bill. Dean nearly has to manhandle it away from Cas as he shoves his card in the folio and passes it back before Cas can grab it.

“Hey, no, I invited you out. I’m paying.”

Cas squints—adorably—at him but agrees. “Fine, then I’ll get next.”

Over-the-fucking-moon delighted that Cas is already thinking about seeing each other again, especially when tonight looks to be just beginning, Dean can’t quite wipe the smile off his face.

The waiter brings back his card and receipt, and after scribbling a generous tip, Dean gets up and grabs Cas’s hand, tugging him out of the bar and back out into the warm summer evening air.

Dean’s just about to ask which direction Cas lives in, when suddenly he’s being kissed again. His hands go up to cup Cas’s face automatically, stepping closer when Cas grabs him by the hips. Dean kisses back eagerly, their mouths sliding together easily.

Cas pulls back, breathing heavily and he laughs when Dean follows his lean, angling for another kiss.

Kissing Dean once more, Cas holds out his hand. “Come on, it’s not far, and it’s much more comfortable than a street corner.”

Dean grabs the proffered hand in his own. “Hard to argue with that, really.”

*

It hadn’t been an exaggeration when Cas said he was just about a five minute walk away, but they succeed in stretching it out to ten, their journey delayed every time they stop to make out some more.

Castiel fumbles his door keys twice, owing mostly to the fact that Dean is pressed up against him from behind, fingers skimming along his hips, catching at the skin under his sweater and pressing hot kisses against the back of his neck.

He manages the door finally, and then they’re inside. Cas is on Dean instantly, hands sliding under his shirt and cupping his ass. Dean gasps as Cas bites at his lower lip, soothing over it with a kiss, mouth dragging down his neck.

They bump up against a wall in the front hallway and Dean lets his head fall back as Cas sucks at his pulse point, hoping to god he’s leaving a mark. He wants visual proof tomorrow that this isn’t all a fucking fever dream.

“Fuck, Cas, holy shit—” Dean groans, hips bucking forward in search of contact and friction, grabbing Cas by the shoulders and pulling him up for another kiss, earning a pleased growl from Cas.

They break apart a moment later, panting, as Cas leads them down the hall and presumably towards a bed. At least, that’s where Dean’s hoping they’re headed.

“I’d give you a tour but I’m a little preoccupied at the moment.” Cas grits out, body shivering under Dean’s touch as he rucks Cas’s blue sweater up. Dean slides his palms up Cas’s back, nails skimming down his shoulder blades, smiling against his mouth when Cas gasps out.

“I’m sure it’s a nice place, Cas, but I can honestly say I don’t give a shit about your open plan layout right now, y’know?” Dean tugs the sweater up and over Cas’s head, knocking his glasses slightly askew. He drops the shirt and rights the glasses on Cas’s face, leaning in to kiss his nose gently.

Cas is quiet for a moment, then he smiles.

“...what?” Dean asks, watching as Cas starts undoing the buttons on his shirt.

Shrugging, Cas looks back at him and leans in for a kiss. He stops short, their lips just brushing and says, “Just, you’re cute.”

Dean wrinkles his nose at this, stealing the offered kiss. “Cute, huh?”

Buttons undone, Cas pushes the shirt off Dean’s shoulders, exposing his torso. “Yes. You’re a great many things, and currently I’d put fucking exquisite at the top of the list, but yes, cute.”

Cas licks over Dean’s nipple before he’s able to formulate any kind of response to that, and so he just lets out a garbled, “show you cute”, grabbing Cas and hauling him close, lining up their hips and pinning him against the nearest wall.

Dean rolls his hips into Cas, both of them groaning at the pressure of their hard dicks rubbing against each other. He slides a hand up into Cas’s messy, gorgeous hair and has to remember to breathe because his hair is so unexpectedly soft. He cups Cas’s head and pushes closer, mouthing along his jaw and neck while dragging his nails over his scalp.

Cas grabs Dean by the jaw and kisses him before pushing off the wall and reaching for Dean’s pants. Walking backwards and pulling Dean along as he undoes Dean’s belt, Cas slides it from the loops and drops it to the floor. Reaching for his own waistband, he removes his belt in similar fashion, watching with an impish grin as Dean follows him, eyes on the prize.

They’ve apparently reached the bedroom, because Dean finds himself being spun around and pushed down onto a bed, his pants and socks stripped off expediently—he vaguely recalls losing his shoes somewhere down the hall.

The room is darker than the hallway was, so Dean can’t see Cas as easily in here, but he hears the sound of a zipper and the soft fwump of fabric hitting the floor. The mattress dips and then Cas is hovering above him, both of them clad only in obscenely tented boxers.

Leaning in, Cas nudges their noses together, kissing Dean softly.

“Hi.”

Dean smiles, pressing kisses against Cas’s mouth and jaw and neck, letting his hands wander over Cas’s bare skin, mapping chest and limbs with his fingertips. “Hey, Cas.”

Hooking a foot around Cas’s leg, Dean pulls him down, taking the weight of Cas’s body onto his own, the feeling such a delicious grounding pressure, and they both let out a little moan as their cocks brush against each other, hard as nails.

Cas rolls his hips and Dean meets him, their bodies coming together in rhythm. Dean surges forward to kiss Cas, tongues matching the slow rocking of their hips.

Rolling them sideways, Cas reaches to palm Dean’s ass, fingers kneading round cheeks. He turns his head, his mouth right up against Dean’s ear.

”Can I fuck you?”

Dean isn’t foolish enough to try to suppress the sound that request pulls out of him. He nods emphatically, any part of him trying to play at cool now good and dead.

“Mhm, yes, yeah. Please, Cas.”

Cas kisses him again. “Cute and polite, hmm?”

Dean opens his mouth to respond but Cas just presses a finger against his lips. “You are, believe me.” He places a kiss where his finger was and rolls away, removing his boxers as he rummages through his nightstand.

He rolls back and slips a few fingers under the waistband of Dean’s underwear.

”Off, please.”

Dean obliges, tapping his lips when he settles back down next to Cas.

“A kiss for being polite, is that what this is?” Cas smiles at him in amusement.

Laughing, Dean nods. “Mhm, if I’m gonna endure being called things like ‘cute’ and fucking ‘polite’, I’d better at least be getting kisses.”

Cas does kiss him, distracting him as he lifts Dean’s right leg up and over his own, Dean’s stomach flipping with anticipation as his ass is spread wide.

“What about something nicer than kisses?” Cas teases, dragging his dry fingers firmly along Dean’s perineum and pressing a knuckle gently against the softly furled skin beyond.

Dean nearly whimpers, his head falling forward to Cas’s shoulder.

“I want you to, Cas. So bad.”

Cas reaches for the lube he retrieved from his nightstand, uncapping it and pouring some out. He reaches down between them, following the same path as before, his fingers slippery against Dean’s hole, dipping in occasionally but mostly just massaging the ring of muscle.

Dean’s rocking against his hand by the time he eases a finger inside and the pressure has Dean jerking forward, their bare cocks sliding against each other, slick with precome.

“Cas, please…” Dean groans against Cas’s clavicle, nipping at the skin and dropping little kisses after each bite.

Pulling his hand away, Cas pushes in a second finger and twists them gently, encouraging Dean to relax. He curls his fingers and strokes, searching for Dean’s prostate and grinning when he hears a sharp, pleased inhale. Cas continues to rub the sensitive spot inside, pressing gentle kisses to Dean’s lips and swallowing up all his breathy whimpers.

“Please, fuck me sweetheart, I need you—” Dean pants, grinding down on Cas’s hand, fingers pumping in and out easily.

Shaking his head, Cas adds another finger. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Dean reaches up to cup Cas’s jaw, kissing him soundly. “Promise you won’t. I can take it.”

He fucks his tongue into Cas’s mouth at the same pace as Cas is fingering his ass and Castiel crumbles, breaking away with a groan. “God, you’re something else, huh?”

Dean just grins at Cas and watches as he fumbles for a condom before passing it to Dean. “Put it on me.”

Dean does as he’s told, hand lingering teasingly along Cas’s length before he’s swatted away with a laugh. Coating himself generously with lube, Cas wipes the remaining slick over Dean’s hole and lines himself up, the head popping easily past Dean’s rim.

“Fuck, yes—” Dean chokes out, back arching.

Cas pushes inside, the warmth of Dean like a fucking vise around his cock.

”God, you’re tight.” Cas breathes out, sliding in slowly, much too slowly for Dean.

Dean shifts his leg higher over Cas’s waist, canting his hips, changing the angle enough that Cas slips in the rest of the way and they both gasp.

“Unhh—fuck, you’re big.” Dean utters breathlessly, gently rocking his hips against Cas as he lets his body acclimate.

Pressing their foreheads together, Cas nods. “I wasn’t trying to brag, I just really don’t want to hurt you.”

Dean laughs, kissing the skin closest to his lips—Cas’s cheek, he thinks, it’s rough like stubble. “Yeah, yeah. Told you though, I can take it.”

Rolling his hips in tiny thrusting motions, Cas groans his agreement. “Yeah, you certainly can. Taking my cock so well, Dean.”

Shivering at the sound of those words in Cas’s dark-honey voice, Dean winds himself further around Cas, arm curving up and around his back to grab his shoulder, leveraging himself to grind down on Cas’s length.

“Fuck, I’ve never felt so fucking full.” Dean whines and Cas laughs softly, nudging his hips upward, moving in frustratingly short strokes.

“Babe, please, you gotta move—” That’s as far as Dean gets before Cas pulls out and thrusts back in, the head of his cock zinging perfectly over Dean’s prostate.

Dean whimpers, head thrown back as Cas starts fucking him for real. He feels brainless, all his attention and focus drilled down to the point of contact between their bodies.

He’s not sure what all Cas can see in the dark, because he can’t see much and it just occurred to him that Cas took off his glasses at some point, but whatever Cas may be lacking in eyesight, the fucker seems to be making up for in mind-reading, because he knows exactly what to say and how to move.

Every time Dean moans Cas’s name, he gets a sloppy kiss and a harder thrust, every sigh gets his ass grabbed and a rolling of hips, and when he bites down on Cas’s shoulder after a particularly deep pound of Cas inside him, he finds himself shoved onto his back, his right leg now hooked over Cas’s shoulder.

Cas wraps a hand around Dean’s knee, the other grabbing his hip and thrusting into him mercilessly. His face is half in shadow and the spill of moonlight over his shoulder makes him look ethereal, like this sex angel that fell to earth for one purpose, and fucking Dean is it.

Bracing himself on the headboard, Dean gives back as good as he’s getting, or well, he tries to—Cas is real fucking good at giving.

“Cas—I’m—“ Dean can barely get the words out, the heat of arousal swirling and pooling in his abdomen, lighting up his whole body.

“Shit, yes. Do it, fucking come for me, Dean.” Cas’s voice is nearly a growl, thick with lust.

Cas tightens his grip on Dean’s hip and pulls him closer, angling his thrusts so he’s impaling Dean’s prostate and that pushes Dean over the edge.

He comes hard, crying out as he shoots all over himself, cum spurting hot up his stomach and chest. Dean feels like his body is unspooling, unraveling whatever he was before and turning into something new, like something Cas has fashioned out of the pieces of him.

The divine being that is Cas folds over Dean, the moon now haloing him from behind, and he moans as he comes inside Dean, filling the condom between them. He sinks heavily onto Dean, weight resting solidly in the cradle of Dean’s hips, both of them breathless and giddy.

Dean’s got his arms up and around Cas and he’s kissing every bit of skin he has access to as they come down, their bodies sated. He only considers after the fact how intimate his actions are, how openly loving, but Cas lifts his head and the look on his face is full of something so sweet, it immediately dispels any self-conscious doubts from Dean’s mind.

Cas rolls off him after a few minutes with a soft groan, twisting away to dispose of the condom and returning with a few tissues to help Dean clean up.

Dean, who’s currently a bit too blissed out for much coherent thought, his skin still thrumming with the sensation of holding Cas. He jolts a bit when the tissues drag over his stomach, turning to Cas with a slightly dopey smile on his lips.

“Cas, that was just… wow. You’re incredible.” Tipping his face up, Dean angles for a kiss, smiling again when he gets several.

“And here I half-expected a thank you, you were on such a polite roll earlier, so many ‘please, Cas’s coming from those pretty lips.” Cas teases, dodging a half-hearted swipe and pulling Dean in to kiss him again, deeply.

It leaves Dean feeling boneless, and fuck, he couldn’t have imagined the night going this well if he’d tried. Pressing closer, he kisses back, trying to convey how happy he is in this moment.

Reaching up, Cas cups Dean’s jaw, thumb gliding over his lips.

“Stay?” Cas murmurs, and Dean agrees without hesitation.

Cas shifts the bedding around till he manages to free the blanket, pulling it up and over them and then motions Dean closer.

Dean molds himself to Castiel, sinking into a soft and sleepy afterglow, comfortable under the warmth of the blanket. Cas wraps his arms around Dean and everything just feels so easy all of a sudden, like this could be theirs every day if they wanted.

He may not be a prime example of emotional vulnerability, but Dean’s not exactly as stunted as his friends like to tease him about being, so throwing caution to the wind, he kisses Cas on the neck and mumbles, “I haven’t felt like this in such a long time.”

Even in the darkness of the bedroom, Dean can see how brightly Cas smiles in response.

*

Morning comes slow and lazy, and Dean wakes up warm and comfortable and… alone. He sits up in Cas’s bed, taking in the room in the morning light. It’s nice, lived in and cozy, with lots of things Dean would normally love to poke around at, but currently he’s more interested in finding their owner.

His clothes are folded on a stool next to the window, so Dean slips them back on and wanders out of the bedroom.

With a vague memory of the apartment layout from his stumbled introduction last night, Dean makes his way towards the kitchen, the smell of coffee guiding his nose.

A wise decision, he finds, because coffee leads him to Cas. He’s standing at the counter in nothing but a pair of drawstring pants, watching the machine brew with an adorable, sleep-rumpled expression on his face, glasses sliding from their perch on his nose. Dean sidles up behind Cas and wraps his arms around his bare torso, kissing his shoulder.

“Dean,” Cas twists in his arms, smiling against Dean’s mouth as he kisses him back.

“Morning, Cas.” Dean strokes his thumb over Cas’s hipbone, trying to take in every inch of the view now that Cas is illuminated by the light of day, wishing just a little that they got to have this moment while still under the covers.

As if he can read Dean’s mind, Cas kisses him softly. “Good morning, Dean. I’m sorry I left you in bed, I was planning to come back with coffee.”

Dean hums, smiling. “Well, coffee’s good in either place,” he responds, catching Cas’s lips in another kiss. “Just like you, I imagine.”

He finds himself pushed up against the kitchen island, as Cas demonstrates just how good he can be.

They end up having to brew another pot of coffee, the first one gone completely cold before either of them remember why they were in the kitchen in the first place.

*

Cas may have skipped the home tour on Saturday, but by Sunday evening, Dean has gotten a full and thorough introduction to all the rooms of Cas’s apartment. They even cash in on Cas’s offer of ‘next time’ when they decide to ignore the looming specter of Monday and order some take-out for dinner, prolonging their time together by another night.

They don’t see each other again till Tuesday, and since that’s in the office, it feels a little different, bumping into each other in the breakroom and having to keep their clothes on instead of fucking against the fridge. The polite distance dissolves pretty quickly though, when Cas locks the door of his office and fucks Dean hard and quick over his desk, stuffing his fingers in Dean’s mouth to stifle his moans.

*

Needless to say, things with Cas are going great. It’s only been a few weeks, and yeah, they’re still in that I-can’t-get-enough-of-this-person phase, but god, does it feel good.

They’ve spent nearly every night together since their first date, at least when possible. Each time Dean has the pleasure of waking up wrapped in Castiel’s arms, it feels like there are much-too-soon declarations trying to tumble out of his mouth, and he’s shocked at how badly he wants to set them free.

But fuck, Cas is just so unabashedly into Dean. Not that he ever seemed like the type for mind games, but it’s pretty normal for people to play their feelings close to the chest, at least at first.

Not Cas. If he likes something, he says so, and he really likes Dean. The feeling is decidedly mutual and Dean hasn’t felt this fucking happy in so long he almost feels like he wandered into some alternate dimension.

It’s just… it’s so fun, it’s so easy, and for once in his life Dean’s letting himself have something good without worrying about the other shoe dropping.

Naturally, it’s at a party at Charlie’s house where everything goes tits over ass, figuratively speaking.

*

When Dean casually mentions the invite to Cas, he responds that he’s delighted to meet anyone who matters to Dean, and well, how’s Dean supposed to feel normal about that?

Charlie’s house is across town, an old Victorian she rents with Dorothy. It’s got plenty of indoor space and a huge backyard, so typically it’s the go-to option for any kind of bash hosted by their group of friends.

Tonight is just a summer evening gathering, some drinks and grilled food and good people, no special occasion required.

Dean’s surprisingly not nervous to introduce Cas to his friends—he and Cas have been so in each other’s pockets the last few weeks that it feels like they’ve been seeing each other much longer than they have, so he isn’t worried Cas won’t like his friends or vice versa. No, he actually thinks they’ll all get along like a house on fire, so honestly, he’s kinda excited to see it happen.

There’s a good-sized crowd already going by the time they arrive—all the usual suspects and then some. A select group of Charlie’s coworkers are gathered in the living room, chatting with some of their mutual friends from college, and Dean even sees a handful of Charlie and Dorothy’s neighbors that they’ve gotten friendly with over the years milling about the rooms.

Charlie’s in the kitchen stirring some suspiciously pink punch with her back to them when they walk in, so Dean sneaks up and grabs her in a hug, ladle splashing back into the bowl of mystery liquid as she jumps in surprise.

“De-an! What the heck!” She turns to hug him back tightly before giving him a quick punch to the shoulder. “Haven’t seen you in what, a month now?”

Dean grins sheepishly. “Uh, yeah, ‘bout that long, probably. I’d apologize, but I’m not really sorry.” He laughs as she swats at him.

Just then, the music shuffle skips to the next song, and it’s The Astral Planes, of course. Charlie and he have both been binge-listening since the show and texting at length about the queer symbolism in the lyrics.

“Ah, nice playlist, Charles.” He turns to Cas and waves a finger in the air, gesturing to the music. “I’ve been meaning to ask if you know this band? They’re my favorite from when we were in school, helped me through a lot back in the day. Charlie and I just saw them like, a month ago, for this awesome one-night-only thing. They’re still completely amazing.”

Cas looks at him quizzically, opening his mouth and then closing it again, as though he has no idea what to say.

“What? Do you not like them? Because I’ll have you know…” Dean trails off when he sees the look on Charlie’s face.

She’s staring at Cas like she can’t quite believe her eyes. Her gaze slides to Dean, and then back to Cas again, looking him over.

“Dean… how did you guys say you met?” She asks slowly.

Her question diverts Dean from her weird reaction and he turns to Cas with a smile, slipping an arm around his waist and pulling him in for a quick peck. “At work, actually. Been seeing each other around the office for a few months and, I dunno, I just finally grew a pair and asked him out.”

Cas kisses him back but he seems distracted, and he’s looking at Charlie with a little bit of unease, Dean notices.

“Guys? What’s going on?”

Before anyone can answer, Dorothy’s voice rings out, interrupting them.

“Castiel??”

Dean looks over to see Dorothy standing in the doorway, looking a little puzzled, and Cas stiffens slightly in his arms.

Glancing between them, Dean’s brow furrows in confusion. “You guys know each other?”

Dorothy looks at Charlie questioningly and then back to Cas, nodding slowly. “Yeah? Castiel is in the band with my cousin’s friend, Ash. That’s how I got you guys tickets, remember?”

Dean freezes, trying to understand what’s being said to him. He turns to look at Cas, only to find Cas is staring at Dorothy with a funny look on his face.

Everything catches up to Dean in a rush, and he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. “Wait, you’re The Angel??”

Cas looks at Dean in surprise, grabbing the hand from around his waist to hold in his own. “I thought you knew?”

Dean shakes his head in response, gaping at Cas.

Charlie makes a strangled-sounding noise, drawing their attention.

“Dean,” She chastises, hands on her hips in classic are-you-kidding-me Charlie pose. “How did you not know?”

“I…” Dean looks between them all and offers a weak smile, feeling a little foolish. “I dunno? I just… didn’t? I mean, Cas…” Dean turns to face Cas fully, eyes raking down his body. “You don’t even look like the same guy?”

“Take off your glasses.” Dorothy’s moved closer, standing next to Charlie with an identical expression of exasperation on her face as she watches Dean and Cas interact.

“What?” Cas turns to look at the women currently staring them down.

“You heard me.” She sticks out her hand expectantly.

With a sigh, Cas releases Dean’s hand and takes off his glasses, placing them in her outstretched palm. Dorothy hands the eyewear over to Charlie and steps closer, reaching up towards Cas’s hair, pausing before she touches him. “May I?”

Cas just nods, and Dorothy slides her fingers into the dark locks, fluffing and mussing his hair up, adjusting for a moment till she’s satisfied.

“Okay, that’ll do.” She turns to Dean again. “Sorry, you’ll have to use your imagination for the eyeliner, Dean, but I believe in you.”

Dean frowns at her but then shifts his gaze to Cas and his mouth drops open. “Holy shit, I… you really are him.”

It’s with a little shrug and a half-smile that Cas responds. “Um, guilty as charged, I think?”

Looking around, Dean sees all three of them staring at him, and he suddenly feels a bit hot under the collar. He clears his throat and takes a step backwards. “Uh, I… I’ll be right back. I just need a second.” Before anyone can react, Dean darts towards the screen door, ignoring the voices behind him. He steps out into the yard and takes a deep breath, relieved the outdoor space is still relatively empty.

All of two minutes go by before he hears the door open and Dean looks up to see Cas standing on the back steps, watching him. He’s fixed his hair and put his glasses back on, but Dean can’t quite unsee what he’s been shown.

“Hey, Cas.”

Cas walks over to him, something hesitant in his movements, and Dean hates it immediately. “Hi, Dean. Are you okay?”

Dean reaches for him, loops his fingers in the front of Cas’s jeans and pulls him close. “Yeah, ‘course I am, just needed a second to breathe, and maybe not feel so fucking embarassed.”

Cas shakes his head softly, sliding his hands up Dean’s chest and fiddling with a button on his shirt. “So, you’re not mad?”

“Mad? Fuck, no. It’s not every day a guy finds out he’s accidentally dating his sexual awakening though, y’know?”

Cas’s head snaps up at this, his mouth forming an ‘O’ of surprise that slips quickly into a mischievous smirk. “Well, that’s flattering. But, to be completely honest, I thought you knew and you just weren’t sure how to bring it up.”

Dean cocks his head, staring at Cas as a memory slides into place. “That’s why you made that face at Charlie’s message, back when we swapped numbers?”

Nodding, Cas gives him a shy smile. “Yes, and I thought you knew who I was—well, I mean, I thought you knew that I’m ‘The Angel’, so I felt bad seeing the message, since you were clearly talking about me.”

Dean snorts. “Believe me, I had no idea we were talking about you. If I had…”

“...you’d what?”

Scuffing a hand at the back of his neck, Dean lets out a nervous laugh, feeling himself blushing. “I’d probably never’ve asked you out, for one. Kinda ironic actually, ‘cause half the reason I even did have the guts to ask was how good the show had me feeling. Your music’s always given me the courage to be okay with myself as I am, but I’d forgotten what a rush it was to see you guys live, and what can I say, I was still feeling myself the next day.”

The confession pulls a smile out of Cas, a wide one that splits his face and makes him look so different, so happy, and shit, Dean is in so fucking deep.

Thumbing over Cas’s jaw, Dean kisses him softly, tongue slipping teasingly into his mouth, just to steal a taste. He leans back and looks at Cas, smiling as he taps the frame of his glasses.

“I’m also realizing I’ve never really seen you without these before tonight. You’re always awake before me.”

Cas shrugs, failing at nonchalance and Dean clocks it. “You been hiding your secret identity from me, sweetheart?” He leans in to kiss at Cas’s neck, mouthing over the delicate skin at the bolt of his jaw.

“No?” Comes the answer, and Dean can’t help but laugh, straightening up.

“Mhm, okay. Well, I’ll pretend I believe you, and just because I’m so nice, I’ll even let you make it up to me.”

Smiling, Cas leans in for another kiss, mumbling against Dean’s lips. “And how will I be doing that?”

Dean lets himself be filled up by Cas’s touch and his words and his very presence, lets this giddy, floaty, head-over-fucking-heels-in-love feeling buoy him for a moment.

Breaking the kiss to meet Cas’s eyes, Dean winks as he responds. “I’ll have to work out the specifics, of course,” Cas nods seriously at this, eyes dancing as he repeats, “of course,” and Dean smacks his ass teasingly.

“But how do you feel about makeup in the bedroom? Say, some black eyeliner, maybe?”

Cas pushes him against the picnic table and steps between his legs, grinning wickedly.

“Mmm, I don’t usually like to mix my personal life and my public persona, but you know, I think I can make an exception just this once, for such a cute fan.”