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CASTIEL
Darkness surrounded Castiel.
From the passenger seat of the Impala, Castiel watched as the road unrolled before him in the bright triangle of light from the headlights and disappeared into the blackness behind them. Sam was in the driver’s seat, the sound of a mellifluous voice detailing the horrific details of a crime scene filling the cab. They had been driving for hours, heading back to the Bunker after dealing with a case in Tennessee.
Castiel glanced down at the adapter stuck into the cigarette lighter that was transmitting the podcast from Sam’s phone to the Impala’s speakers, and then looked at Sam.
“Dean would not be pleased if he saw that,” he remarked to Sam.
“Yeah, well, what Dean doesn’t know won’t hurt ‘im,” Sam muttered. He glanced at Castiel. “I’ll take it out before he wakes up,” he conceded, and Castiel nodded, turning to look over his shoulder.
Dean was stretched out on the backseat, arms wrapped around himself, snoring lightly, completely oblivious to their conversation. He had admitted defeat a few hours ago, finally conceding that the headache from having his head slammed against a concrete pillar was affecting him more than he had let on, agreeing to rest in the backseat for a while. Castiel had been slightly disgruntled when Dean had tossed the keys to Sam, hurt that Dean didn’t trust him to drive the Impala, but he caught the fond look on Sam’s face as he’d laid his hands on the steering wheel, and remembered that as much as the Impala was Dean’s, the car was an important part of Sam’s history as well, and settled back in the passenger seat. He could let Sam have this moment.
A sign flashed past, the words glowing in the Impala’s headlights, and Sam huffed a soft laugh.
Castiel looked at him curiously, and Sam, obviously feeling Castiel’s gaze turned to look at him and shook his head.
“It’s nothing,” Sam said, but the smile on his face said otherwise. Glancing back to see that Castiel was still looking at him, Sam rolled his eyes. “It’s—the sign said ‘Eureka Springs’ and it reminded me of a case we had there a couple of years ago.”
Castiel frowned. “What case?” He didn’t remember working any cases in Arkansas.
“Oh, you—” Sam stopped and shot a guilty look at Castiel. “You were, um…You were tracking down Kelly,” he said. “It was a witch. Got pretty hairy there for a while. They, uh, cursed Dean and he started losing his memory.”
Castiel sat up straight in his seat, alarmed. “What?”
“It’s okay,” Sam reassured Castiel, holding one hand out to forestall Castiel’s questions. “I mean, it wasn’t, but we called Rowena, and she fixed it. But that’s, that’s not what I was thinking about. There was this bar Dean went to before the witch cursed him. They had a mechanical bull. ‘Larry’. Apparently he was amazing on it.” Sam laughed. “He was so mad that he’d ridden it and couldn’t remember. Wanted us to go back to the bar so he could have another go.”
“A mechanical bull?” Castiel asked, uncertain what Sam meant. A memory suddenly appeared; not one of Castiel’s but one implanted by Metatron. “Like Urban Cowboy?”
“Uh,” Sam shot an incredulous look at Castiel. “Yeah, I guess.”
Castiel nodded in understanding and settled back into his seat, pushing down the surge of anger at learning that Dean had been in trouble and Sam had called Rowena and not him. Rationally, he understood: who better to solve a problem caused by witchcraft than a witch, but the idea that Dean had been hurt, had been in danger, and Castiel hadn’t known—it rankled.
However, it was also many years ago, and, as humans said, it was a large amount of water under a very wide bridge. Nothing would come of Castiel continuing to dwell on it. Instead, he turned his attention to the other interesting tidbit of information Sam had passed on: Larry the mechanical bull.
Castiel was very familiar with Dean’s love of all things cowboys. Having watched the rise and fall of the American Wild West, Castiel was unable to see the appeal, but Dean had a regard for cowboys that could be considered worship. Castiel remembered Dean’s excitement when Castiel had been preparing to send him and Sam back to early 19th century Wyoming, and the giddiness and glee that he had had in the “wild west” themed hotel in Kansas a few years ago had been…quite something to witness, as was the level of Dean’s knowledge about the colonial history of America that he displayed when they watched Dean’s favorite cowboy movies. It was not surprising, then, that Dean’s fascination for all things cowboys would extend to participating in the activities partaken by cowboys themselves, such as bull riding. Or, more accurately, riding mechanical facsimiles of bulls.
Castiel took another look into the backseat. Dean’s birthday was fast approaching, and while Castiel was still learning how to properly commemorate the anniversaries of people’s births (Claire still reminded him now and then of the ‘epic failure’ that was the stuffed feline that he had purchased for her), he knew that Dean deserved to be celebrated. Dean made a big deal of Sam's birthday, and Jack’s, but never received the same in return, and Castiel was determined to change this. He had been pondering how best to celebrate Dean’s birthday—Claire had made several very inappropriate suggestions that made Castiel blush, while Sam had suggested several gift ideas which, while practical, did not quite fit the celebratory parameters Castiel was using. Google had informed him that experiences were a much more meaningful gift than physical objects, because the memory of the experience often lasted longer than an object itself.
Castiel’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of creaking leather and grunting as Dean woke up and slowly pushed himself into a seated position. Out of the corner of his eye, Castiel saw Sam reach out and pull the adaptor out of the cigarette lighter, slipping it into his jacket pocket. “He-ey, if it isn’t Sleeping Beauty,” Sam said.
“Bite me,” muttered Dean, rubbing at his head, and Castiel wished he could reach over and ease Dean’s pain. Instead, he passed Dean a bottle of water, which Dean took with a mumbled “thanks”. “Where ‘re we?”
“Just entered Oklahoma,” Sam said. “I’m good to drive for a bit longer if you want to get more sleep.”
Dean stretched, Castiel wincing at the cracks and pops that issued from Dean’s body. “Nah, I’m good. Pull into the next truck stop, we can grab some food, fill Baby up before we keep going.”
“Dean, we don’t have to—” Sam started to say, but Dean ignored him, turning to Castiel instead. “How you doing, Cas? You good?”
“I was not the one thrown across the warehouse,” Castiel said.
“No, but don’t think I didn’t notice the way you were holdin’ your arm. You okay?”
Sam’s head whipped around to stare at Cas, eyes wide with shock. “Cas, you didn’t say that you—”
“I’m fine,” Cas said. “Nothing that a few painkillers and some rest won’t cure.”
“Didja take any?” Dean pressed. “‘Cause they don’t do you any good in the bottle.”
Castiel rolled his eyes, but silently accepted the bottle of extra-strength aspirin, popping two of the tablets into his mouth and then swapping the bottle for the water that Dean was holding out. Dean, he noticed, took two of the aspirin as well, which indicated that perhaps he wasn’t as good as he proclaimed to be.
“Okay,” Dean said, wincing as he sat back and rested his head against the back of the seat. “When we get back to the Bunker we need to….”
Castiel let the familiar sound of Dean and Sam’s voices flow over him as he returned to his thoughts. He had his own plans for when they returned to the Bunker, and he was eager to get started.
DEAN
“Cas, where are we goin’?” Dean complained again.
He looked over at Cas, who was sitting serenely in the passenger seat of the Impala, watching the countryside flash past them in the Impala’s headlights.
It was Dean’s birthday, and so far, it had been a good one. Cas had woken him with some truly spectacular morning sex (Dean’s favourite, right after afternoon sex and night sex and shower sex and—okay, he was a big fan of all the sex, especially the sex with Cas). There had been presents, and pie, and some of Dean’s favorite people had dropped in to visit, but otherwise Cas and Sam had told him that today was his day, and he could do whatever he wanted.
He’d been looking forward to burgers and beers and a movie in the Dean cave when Cas had texted him and told him to get dressed and meet him in the garage. When Dean had changed into his nicer jeans and a slightly fancier button-down and headed down to the garage, Cas had been waiting for him in the Impala, simply telling Dean to drive and that he would provide directions. Dean had assumed that Cas had some birthday surprise in mind, and had willingly agreed, curious as to what Cas had planned.
But they’d been driving for hours, and Cas hadn’t said anything about stopping yet. Dean knew they were heading east, and if he had to guess, he’d say they were heading for Kansas City. Cas had been tight-lipped, refusing to answer and changing the subject every time Dean asked, so eventually Dean gave up and sat back to enjoy the drive. He didn’t often get to drive just for the sake of driving: too often they were racing towards or away from danger, the clock counting down against them. But this: just him and his car, some great tunes and a gorgeous companion…Dean could deal with not knowing where he was going, so long as he got to go like this...
“Take the exit,” Cas said suddenly, and Dean smoothly crossed lanes, steering Baby towards the exit Cas indicated. Cas shifted in his seat and pulled out his phone, his eyes darting between whatever he was squinting at on the illuminated screen and the signs around him, obviously following directions.
“Y’know, if you tell me where we’re going, I can probably find it,” he offered casually. He smirked at the feeling of one of Cas’ glares drilling into the side of his head and turned to throw Cas a grin.
Call rolled his eyes and looked down at his phone. “There,” he said triumphantly. “Turn left.
Dean did as he was told. As he drove he glanced from side to side, taking in the tall office buildings the Impala was rolling past, wondering where the hell Cas was taking them.
“Pull in here,” Cas instructed, and Dean guided Baby into an open parking lot, eyes scanning the layout before finding a spot on the edge of the lot, away from the other cars.
“Okay, now–?” Dean asked, but Cas was already climbing out of the Impala and heading around to her trunk, and Dean scrambled to follow. Cas held out his hand for the keys, and Dean automatically handed them over, watching as Cas popped the trunk and pulled out a large plastic shopping bag.
“What’s in the bag, Cas?” Dean asked, and Cas shook his head, holding the keys back out for Dean to take. Dean accepted the keys and slipped them into his jacket pocket, then took the hand that Castiel was still holding out to him. With a smile, Castiel started leading him out of the garage and down the street.
“Big Sky,” Dean read the illuminated sign hanging off the front of the unassuming red brick building. As they approached the front doors, Dean saw the ironwork letters above them and he faltered.
“Cas,” he said, staring in disbelief, confusion and growing excitement. “Did you—?”
With a pleased smile, Cas pushed at the door and held it open for Dean, and Dean felt his mouth drop open.
It was a cowboy bar.
Antlers were hanging from the roof, there were cowboy hats and bull skulls and Texas flags decorating the walls, and country music playing loudly over the speakers. When they followed the tiny blonde woman in ass-less chaps and tiny red panties who had met them at the door to their table, Dean stumbled to a shocked halt.
“No fucking way,” he breathed.
Their booth was right next to a large square area, surrounded by a wooden fence, with a padded floor and, right smack in the middle, a mechanical bull.
He vaguely heard the hostess ask something about drinks, but Dean’s attention was on the bull. There was an older guy on it at the moment, struggling to stay seated as the bull bucked and spun, eventually sliding off the back and falling in a heap to the cheers of the group standing by the far railing, watching him.
He felt the touch of a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll be right back,” he heard Cas say, and Dean gave him a distracted wave, drinking in the sights around him. This was, by far, the coolest bar that Dean had been in. He kinda wished Cas’d told him where they were going, so he could’ve dressed for the occasion.
A waitress—this one brunette but also wearing a very tight, very revealing outfit —dropped off two beers and a bowl of chicken wings, and Dean looked around to see if he could see where Cas had gone.
He caught sight of a tall figure in a black cowboy hat easing their way through the crowd and watched their progress, lusting slightly over the hat, wishing again that he had brought his own. His mouth dropped open when the crowd parted and the figure was revealed and walked towards Dean, stopping right in front of him.
“What the fuck, Cas?” Dean said, trying to remember to swallow so he wouldn’t drool at the sight of Cas.
When they had entered the bar, Cas had been wearing a sports jacket and those plain black sensible dress boots he always wore. Now, though, Cas was standing in front of him, black cowboy hat tilted over one eye, looking like something out of one of Dean’s wet dreams. The sports jacket was gone, revealing the tight white button-down shirt with the collar open and the sleeves rolled up, showing off Cas’ strong forearms. Loosely tied around the open collar of his shirt was a black bolo tie, and poking out from under the denim jeans that hugged Cas’ thighs like a second skin were a pair of cowboy boots.
Dean had had enough trouble controlling himself when they'd had that case back in Tombstone—fuck, wasn't that a thrill, going to the real Tombstone?—and Cas had worn that cheap cowboy had Dean had bought at the hotel gift shop. Looking at him now, dressed head to toe in cowboy chic, Dean was torn between staring at Cas for the rest of the night and ripping all those clothes off him with his teeth, showing Cas exactly how good Dean thought he looked, how much he appreciated the effort that Cas had gone to, doing all this for Dean.
“C’mere,” Dean said, hauling the former angel towards him and kissing him deeply. He could feel Cas smiling against his lips and pulled away, fingers stroking gently over the bolo tie before he let Cas go.
“Damn,” Dean said with a low whistle. “Kinda wish I’d–”
He broke off when Cas held out the plastic shopping bag he was holding.
“No. You didn’t.”
Grabbing the bag out of Cas' hands, Dean peered inside and whooped with delight. Amongst Cas’ discarded clothes and shoes were Dean’s cowboy boots.
“Cas. You angel,” Dean crowed, spinning on his seat to reach his boots, quickly unlacing them and tugging them off and shoving his feet into his cowboy boots. “Now that’s what I’m talking about!”
Bemused, Cas slid onto the bench seat opposite Dean and picked up one of the beers.
“Happy birthday, Dean,” he said warmly, holding the bottle out, and Dean happily took the other beer and clinked his bottle against Cas’.
“Dean.”
“Huh?” Dean dragged his eyes away from the squealing blonde woman who had just been thrown from the mechanical bull to look at Cas, who was looking at him in bemused exasperation. “You say somethin’?”
“Only for the last few minutes,” Cas said. “Would you like to attempt to ride it?”
Hell, yeah, Dean wanted to ride it. Sam had told him about his apparently legendary exploits on Larry the bull a few years ago in Arkansas, and it was one of the many regrets of Dean’s life that Sam wouldn’t let him go back to the bar and give it another go once he’d regained his memory.
Cas nodded his head in the direction of the operator. “Go on,” he encouraged, and Dean wasted no time in downing the last of his beer and sliding out of the booth.
The bull ride was popular; Dean had to wait a few minutes before the operator indicated that he could make his way into the arena. “Good luck,” he said in a bored voice, and Dean flashed him a cocky grin.
“Won’t need it,” he said, awkwardly walking over the padded floor and jumping astride the bull, grabbing hold of the leather strap attached to the “neck” of the bull and giving the operator a nod.
Slowly the bull started to move, bucking and rearing and spinning, the movements random enough that Dean couldn’t discern a pattern or predict what the bull was going to do next. He raised his free arm in the air, channelling his inner Travolta and letting the movement counteract the motion of the bull underneath him. The rest of the world faded away: there was nothing but him and the mechanical beast, moving together as one.
As the bull began to slow, and then stop, the world suddenly snapped back into focus and Dean could hear the crowd in the bar whistling and cheering. Dean lay back on the bull, closing his eyes and letting the sound wash over him as he caught his breath. When he was certain that he would be able to get off the bull without embarrassing himself, he dismounted, his legs a little shaky, and made his way out and back around to Cas, feeling a stupid grin on his face and not caring one bit. Cas was watching him with unrestrained heat in his eyes, and caught Dean up in a filthy kiss as soon as he was close enough, his body pressed hard against Dean’s, and Dean could feel the beginning of Cas’ arousal against his hip.
Dean pulled away when he heard someone wolf whistle and looked at Cas, who was staring at Dean with wide, lust-blown eyes.
“You liked that, huh?” Dean asked, letting his hips roll gently against Cas’, and watched as Cas’ eyes fluttered closed.
“You want a go?” Dean asked, hocking his thumb over his shoulder.
Cas shook his head. “I don’t believe that I would be anywhere near as successful as you,” he said regretfully.
They were interrupted by the appearance of their waitress, who was holding a tray with two of the best-looking burgers that Dean had ever seen, and the two men sprang apart and hastily slid into their booth, making space for her to set the plates on the table in front of them.
“There you go,” she said, and then gave Dean an approving smile. “Nice work,” she said, and Dean wasn’t entirely sure whether she was talking about the bull ride or his kiss with Cas, but he gave her a wink and a ‘thank you, sweetheart,” regardless because either way, fuck yes it was nice work.
The burgers were just as good as they looked, and Dean settled in, enjoying the food, the beer, the bar and Cas’ company. They talked about everything and nothing, occasionally turning to watch the next victim of the bull ride get thrown to the ground.
The night wore on and when the bull ride operator signalled ‘last ride', Dean had an idea. He threw down his napkin and slid out of the booth.
“Dean?” Cas asked, brow furrowed.
“One sec,” he told Cas, and made his way around to the operator. A few words and a slipped twenty later, and Dean made his way back to the table.
“C’mon,” he told Cas, slipping out of his shirt until he was just in his plain undershirt and holding out his hand, grabbing Cas’ cowboy hat off the end of the table with the other.
“Dean, what did you do?” Cas asked suspiciously even as he took Dean’s hand and allowed him to lead Cas around the bar and towards the bull.
“Do you trust me?” Dean asked.
“Yes,” Cas said immediately.
“Then get on,” Dean said, setting the hat on Cas’ head and slapping a hand on the back of the bull.
Cas’ scramble onto the back of the machine wasn’t elegant, but he got up there, and Dean easily swung himself into the saddle right behind him. He reached around Cas—plastering his chest along Cas’ back—and picked up the small leather strap
“Hold on, Huckleberry,” he whispered in Cas’ ear, handing him the strap.
As soon as Cas’ hand wrapped around the strap, the bull started to move, and Dean tightened his thighs, bracing himself as Cas slid back into him, surprised by the unexpected movement. It didn’t last long: Dean felt Cas immediately adjust to the movement, his hips tilting and tucking, his thighs squeezing the sides of the bull as he rose and fell with the motion of the machine.
Dean molded himself against Cas, letting his body follow Cas’ lead, the two of them moving in unison as the bull slowly rose and fell and spun. He wondered that he’d ever thought of Cas being stiff or having a stick up his ass: Cas moved like liquid, his back arching and his hips rolling sinuously, riding the bull like it was an extension of his body, and fuck if that didn’t make turn Dean on, arousal starting to burn deep and low inside.
When he was certain Cas wasn’t going to slide off the back of the bull, Dean reached up and grabbed the rope he’d noticed tied to the rafters above, pulling himself up and hanging above the bull. When the bull had turned one eighty degrees underneath him, Dean dropped back down on the bull, now sitting in front of Cas, his legs hooked over Cas’ thighs.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Dean whispered, reaching out to pop a few more of the buttons on Cas’ shirt open, revealing a swathe of golden skin that Dean forced himself not to lean over and taste.
“Dean, what are you doing?” Cas asked, and Dean took hold of the crown of Cas’ cowboy hat, lifting it off Cas’ head and placing it on his own. Tugging on the collar of his shirt, Dean drew Cas closer.
“Just hold on tight and enjoy the ride,” Dean whispered in his ear, and he felt Cas shiver against him, and grinned, pleased that he wasn’t the only one affected.
He caught Cas’ arms up and draped them over his shoulder, then wrapped one arm around Cas’ waist and pulled him closer, holding him more firmly against Dean as the bull moved underneath them. Cas’ crotch now brushed against Dean’s with every roll of his hips, and Dean could feel himself reacting to Cas moving in front of him, the rub of denim over denim making the down-low heat in his groin burn white-hot.
He dropped his forehead against Cas’, watching Cas’ hips move against him. He could feel one of Cas’ hands splayed across the back of his shoulder, holding Dean close, holding himself steady even as his other arms slipped off Dean’s shoulder and moved back and forth, providing extra balance for the two of them.
“So fucking hot, Cas,” Dean whispered.
The machine tilted upwards, as though the bull had reared up, and Dean ran a hand down Cas’ chest, marvelling at the strength of the muscle under his hand before gently pushing Cas until he was laying flat along the back of the bull.
Cas’ hands flew to Dean’s arms, grabbing at Dean to stop himself from falling until he realized what Dean was doing, and then reached up behind his head. He gripped the edge of the bull, holding tight, and Dean rose above Cas, riding him as much as he was riding the bull. He shamelessly ground into Cas, not caring that they were in public, and groaned as he felt that Cas was just as hard in his jeans as Dean was.
“Look at you,” Dean said in admiration. “Could ride you like this all night. Whaddya say? Should we give ‘em a show?”
Cas smacked him lightly on the thigh in response, glaring at Dean, and Dean laughed, grabbing Cas by the bolo tie and pulling him back up into a seated position.
Dean had no idea how long they’d been on the bull—all he knew was the motion of the machine, the feeling of Cas against him, the smell of Cas around him—but he figured they would be nearing the end of their allotted time soon, so he grabbed hold of the rope above them again and held on to it as he took the cowboy hat off his head and replaced it on Cas’. Dean reached around to adjust the hat so it was sitting perfectly on Cas’ head, and then let his fingers run down Cas’ cheek, his thumb brushing over Cas’ bottom lip.
“Love you,” he whispered, and Cas beamed at him from under the brim of his hat as he undulated under Dean, the rise and fall of the bull so extreme that Cas was almost horizontal under him. Pulling himself up, Dean let the bull spin, walking his way along its back and then dropping back down behind Cas, immediately rolling his hips so Cas could feel the hard length of his cock against his ass.
The sound of a bell ringing pierced Dean’s consciousness and the sights and sounds around them suddenly came roaring back: Dean heard whistles and cheers and clapping from the people still in the bar, saw that several phones were held up and lights flashed as video and photos were taken, no doubt to be shared on the internet within the next couple of minutes.
Breathing heavily, Dean dropped his forehead against the back of Cas’ neck and chuckled as the bull slowly came to a standstill.
“Car. Now,” Cas growled.
“Right behind you, sweetheart,” Dean gasped out, and together they staggered out of the arena, hips turned and hands strategically placed to hide the bulges in their jeans. They swung past their booth to grab the bag and their jackets and to drop a wad of bills on the table, and then hurried out the door.
Dean fumbled with the keys, struggling to get them out of the jacket folded over his arm, Cas plastered along his back and pressing kisses to his neck not helping one bit. He managed to extricate the keys from their leather prison and unlocked the door then turned, grabbing Cas and spinning them so that Cas was pinned to the side of the car, reaching up to knock the hat from Cas’ head and grabbing Cas’ face between his hands, kissing him urgently. Cas grabbed him back, hands sliding into Dean’s hair and twisting the short strands tightly, making Dean moan into Cas’ mouth.
Needing to be doing more than just kissing, Dean dropped one hand from Cas’ face and reached past him, hand flailing for the door handle. By some kind of miracle he found it, and pulled the door open.
“In,” he ordered, and Cas all but fell into the backseat, scrambling backwards along the leather seat as Dean climbed in after him, letting the door slam shut behind him as he crawled up the length of Cas’ body before dropping his weight down on top of him, his lips latching on to the side of Cas’ neck and sucking hard while his hips rolled and rutted against Cas’.
“Dean,” Cas gasped. Strong hands gripped him tight and then shoved, and suddenly Dean found himself sitting on the backseat, Cas looming over him, tearing at Dean’s clothes.
“Off,” he grunted, tugging at Dean’s t-shirt, and Dean obliged, lifting his arms and letting Cas drag it over his head and throw it into the darkness before tackling the buttons of Cas’ shirt. Cas slapped his hands away, impatient, and Dean held his hands up in surrender.
“Okay, okay,” he said, going for his belt instead, making fast work of the buckle. Cas was faster: no sooner had Dean popped the button on the fly than Cas was yanking at his jeans, pulling them unceremoniously down his hips, dragging Dean’s boxers as well until he was naked, jeans and boxers down around his ankles. As Cas pushed his own jeans and boxers down, his erection springing free right in Dean’s face, Dean dug the toe of one boot above the heel of the other, trying to kick the boot off. He looked up at Cas and licked along the length of Cas’ shaft, flicking his tongue over the slit and tasting the salty pre-come already beading at the tip as he reached down to tug the boot off, freeing one leg from the tangle of denim and cotton.
Cas groaned, and suddenly the world spun, and Dean found himself sitting astride Cas, not dissimilar to how they had been sitting on the back of the bull, only this time it wasn’t the hard, denim-encased bulge rubbing against Dean’s crotch, but Cas’ rock hard cock sliding against his own aching dick.
“Lick,” Cas demanded, holding his hand up to Dean’s face, and Dean locked eyes with Cas as he took Cas’ hand in both of his and brought it to his mouth, licking a long, wet stripe up the length of Cas’ palm to the tip of his fingers. Cas’ eyes flashed, and then he tugged his hand out of Dean’s hold and wrapped it around Dean’s cock, stroking firmly.
“Oh, fuck, Cas,” Dean gritted out, closing his eyes against the sensation. He felt his hips moving, fucking into Cas’ hand, and he wrapped a hand around the back of Cas’ head and drew him into a kiss, slipping his tongue past Cas’ soft lips and licking into his mouth, his tongue moving in tandem with his hips.
Cas’ hand suddenly left his cock and Dean made a noise of disappointment in the back of his throat, breaking their kiss to see what Cas was doing. Cas was pouring lube into his hand—where the fuck had he got lube from?—and Dean watched, mesmerized as Cas slicked his hand up and down his own cock, letting out a noise of his own at the sensation of his hand moving up and down his shaft.
Dean was still loose from the bout of birthday sex they’d had this morning, so he didn’t hesitate when Cas took hold of his hips, lifting him so he rose on his knees above Cas’ cock, immediately sinking down until his ass was seated in Cas’ lap, both of them groaning at the sensation.
They stayed like that for a moment, both of them savoring the connection of their bodies, and then Cas wrapped an arm around Dean, holding him tightly, and began to move.
Dean could only gasp and moan as Cas rocked and rolled under him, his hips mimicking the motion of the mechanical bull, his cock rubbing over unerringly over Dean’s prostate. The arm around him locked Dean firmly in place, and Dean could do nothing but hold on and allow Cas to fuck into him, his cock rutting along Cas’ stomach, smearing pre-come along Cas’ abs.
“Do you know what you were doing to me?” Cas said, his voice a low growl. “Watching you ride that bull, knowing what it felt like when you moved like that with me, then feeling you pressed against me, moving with me —”
“Trust me, I—oh, fuck—you were doin’ the same to me. You were so fucking beautiful up there, Cas, you’ve no idea.”
“I had some idea,” Cas said, loosening his hold on Dean. Dean immediately straightened up, picking up on Cas’ motion, rising up on his knees and sinking back down, riding Cas slowly as Cas started stroking his cock. “I could feel how hard you were getting.”
“Only for you, sweetheart,” Dean gasped, and with a broken cry Cas captured Dean’s lips in a desperate kiss, fingers fisting in Dean’s hair and holding him tight as Cas drank him down deeply.
The heat burning inside had grown into a wildfire, threatening to consume Dean. “Not gonna last much longer,” Dean gasped, dragging his lips away from Cas’. He’d been on a knife’s edge all night, and finally getting Cas' hands on him and cock inside him was sending him over.
Cas’ hand left Dean’s hair and held on to one of his hips, squeezing hard enough that Dean was sure there were going to be more bruises littering his skin in the morning, urging Dean to move faster, thrusting into him harder even as his fist moved faster over Dean’s cock.
“Come, Dean,” he gasped.
Cas shifted slightly under Dean, a small movement of his hips that changed the angle of Cas’ cock inside Dean, that slammed his cock against Dean’s prostate with every roll and thrust. One, two, three rolls of Cas’ hips, long fingers twisting and squeezing around the crown of his cock and Dean was gone, the liquid fire inside washing over Dean, dragging him under. He shouted Cas’ name, and heard Cas cry out in Enochian as he followed Dean under, spilling inside Dean even as Dean painted Cas’s chest and stomach with his seed.
Dean dropped his head against Cas’ forehead, panting. Under him, he could feel Cas’ chest heaving, his breath hot against Dean’s overheated face.
“Best. Birthday. Ever,” he gasped out, and heard Cas chuckle breathlessly.
They breathed together, hands aimlessly stroking sweat-soaked skin until their hearts stopped pounding and the rise and fall of their chests slowed. When Dean finally felt like he wasn’t going to die an orgasm-induced death (but what a way to go, huh?) he lifted his chin and pressed a soft kiss against Cas’ lips, and they traded soft kisses until Dean sat back, eyeing the mess between them distastefully.
“Only bad thing about sex in the backseat,” he said. “Clean up’s a bitch.”
“There should be a pack of wet wipes under the seat,” Cas told him.
“Always prepared, aren’t you, Cas?” Dean said admiringly. He rose up on his knees, wincing at the feeling of Cas sliding out of him, and climbed off Cas’ lap, reaching down and patting his hand around under the front seat to see if he could find the wet wipes.
“Ah ha!” he cried triumphantly, straightening up, holding the packet aloft. He ripped it open and pulled a few wipes out, wiping at his ass and thighs, then shuffled back into his boxers and jeans, chuckling as he realized that he still had one boot on. “Okay, this is gonna be cold,” he warned Cas, pulling out a few more wipes and gently wiping at the mess on Cas’ chest and stomach. Cas flinched, sucking in a breath at the feeling of the cold, wet towel on his skin, but held still and allowed Dean to clean him up.
When Cas was clean, Dean let him get dressed while he found somewhere to dispose of the soiled wipes (finally stuffing them into a wad of napkins he’d found in the glove box and warning himself not to forget to throw them out) and then dragged his t-shirt and other cowboy boot back on before collapsing onto the backseat next to Cas.
“Hey,” he said, rolling his head along the back of the seat until he was looking at Cas. Cas did the same, and Dean smiled as blue eyes met his. “Thank you,” he said. “I wasn’t…this is the best birthday I’ve ever had. So, thank you.”
“You deserve it,” Cas said earnestly. “You deserve so many good things, and I will spend the rest of my existence trying to give them to you.”
“Shit, Cas, you can’t just say things like that,” Dean said, closing his eyes and turning away from Cas, his heart simultaneously melting and seizing up, the old reflex of not believing he was worthy of good things kicking in.
“I can say things like that,” Cas said, reaching a hand over and drawing Dean’s gaze back to his with featherlight fingers on Dean’s cheek. “And I will, whether you believe it or not. Maybe until you believe it, and even then, I will say it.”
Pinned in place by serious blue eyes, Dean could only nod, and Cas nodded in return, pleased with Dean’s response.
Wanting desperately to change the subject, Dean coughed. “So, uh, what’s the plan? We sleeping here tonight? Cause I gotta tell you, I don’t think I can make the drive back to the Bunker tonight.”
Cas shook his head. “I booked a room at a nearby hotel,” he said. “You only have to make it three blocks.”
“I can do that,” Dean said and leaned in to Cas for one final kiss. “Alright. Let’s get this show on the road.”
Twisting around, Dean popped the back door open and climbed out, shivering slightly as the cold January air hit his skin, Cas doing the same on the other side. As he slammed the door shut and began to walk around the back of the car, heading for the driver’s side, his foot kicked something, and Dean bent down to pick it up.
“Huh,” he laughed, realizing that he’d found Cas’ cowboy hat. “Can’t forget this,” he called, holding the hat up so that Cas could see it. Cas looked at the hat, head tilted curiously, as though trying to remember how the hat had ended up outside the car. He reached for the hat, but Dean snatched it out of his reach, instead dropping it onto Cas’ head and knocking the brim into place. “There,” he said, gathering Cas close to him, heedless of the shivers running over his skin. “You looked good in that,” he murmured to Cas.
“I will have to remember that for another time,” Cas murmured back, and Dean licked his lips, his eyes dropping to Cas’ mouth, then he remembered that they had a hotel room, with a (hopefully large) bed waiting for them just a few blocks away.
“Alright, Huckleberry, get in the damn car,” he said, pulling himself away, and slapping Cas on the ass as he passed him, heading for the driver’s seat. “Sooner we get to that hotel room, sooner I get to see you in nothin’ but that hat.”
“Perhaps a shower first,” Cas said, sliding into the front seat and picking dolefully at the shirt sticking to his damp skin.
Turning the engine over and listening to her purr, Dean reconsidered.
“Fine. Shower, then hat.”
Cas nodded in agreement, and with a pleased grin, Dean drove the Impala out of the parking lot and down the street, and thought about what a fucking great day he’d had.
It had started with mind-blowing sex, a cowboy bar, a mechanical bull, more mind-blowing sex, and was ending on the promise of Cas in nothing but a cowboy hat in a hotel room.
Best. Birthday. Ever.