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"Dean, that was needlessly reckless," Cas says, following Dean into the motel room with a scowl. "You could have been badly hurt."

"But I wasn't," Dean says, laughing. He's only had a couple beers at the bar, but he's still high on adrenaline from the almost-fight. He leans against the wall, breathing deep. "Shit, that was fun."

"There were three large men," Cas reprimands.

"You think I couldn't take three dudes?" Dean says in mock offense. "Hell, Sammy n' me once took out seven."

"Yes, but you needn't have provoked them."

"Anyway," Dean says airily, "I got an angel on my shoulder, right?"

Cas stares at him for a moment, and then Dean finds himself spun around and pressed against the wall, and a firm hand smacks his ass hard, once on each side.

Dean is silent for a moment while his brain catches up, then --

"Dude, did you just spank me?"

"Yes," Cas says, stepping away. "Is that not the appropriate discipline for misbehaving? I've been researching."

Dean opens his mouth to say no, thank you very much, you do not "discipline" your friends, you do not spank your friends, but instead what comes out is a hoarse "Uh, yeah. It's, uh, a human thing."

When he turns around Cas of course is sitting there cool as anything, already bathed in the glow of the laptop screen. Dean knows his face is bright red, and decides not to think about how he's half-hard in his jeans, unsure whether to bless or curse Cas' utter unflappability.

"OK. Uh, gonna shower," he says, and Cas nods without looking up.


Dean's being childish. He's not stupid, he knows he's being childish, but he's bored.

They're back at the bunker, but Sam and Kevin disappeared for a few days to go frolic through some bigshot university library in Denver. There aren't any cases on the table so he's sprawled in his boxers watching shitty daytime TV, and Cas is inexplicably planted on the couch next to him.

"You don't have to babysit me," Dean says again, and even he can hear the petulance in his voice. "Don't you have some heavenly mission to go flap around on?"

"No," Cas says flatly. "And I know the mood you're in, Dean. If left to your own devices, you'd be at the bar in an hour and drunk in two, either antagonizing men or picking up women."

"Hey, sometimes I antagonize women and pick up men," Dean retorts, and Cas rolls his eyes. "And so you are babysitting me."

"I would not 'babysit' you if you did not act like a child," Cas says, and Dean pointedly ignores the note of warning in his tone.

"Uh, pretty sure if drinking and sex is acting like a child, you've got some warped perspectives," he points out -- reasonably, he thinks -- then flicks another piece of popcorn at Cas' face.

Cas turns just as it finishes its trajectory, hitting him right between the eyes before falling to his lap.

Dean can't help doubling over laughing, but at least this time he's half-expecting it when Cas shoves him face-first against the wall, and he manages to throw a smirk over his shoulder.

"Wow, Cas, I'm flattered, but if you wanted to bend me over, you -- ow!" he yelps, flinching as Cas' hand connects with his ass without a layer of denim in between. "Dude, that hurt!" He tries to squirm free, but Cas has his wrists locked in a death grip in one strong hand.

"I've told you," he says calmly, punctuating his words with sharp slaps, "if you want to behave like a childish brat, I will treat you as one."

"What are you -- ow! -- my fucking -- shit! -- governess?" Dean gasps, writhing under the onslaught.

"I believe the phrase 'I brought you into this world and I can take you back out' is both popular and relevant," Cas says, spanking him relentlessly.

Dean grits his teeth, painfully aware that his considerable strength is laughable under the angel's, but after a particularly hard blow on an already tender spot he lets out a whine.

"OK, OK," he groans, and the blows slow down, though they don't stop.

"Yes?" Cas prompts.

"I'm sorry, OK? I'll -- I'll stop."

Cas smacks him again. "What will you stop?"

"Fuck! -- Bein' -- bein' a dick."

Cas sighs and resumes spanking him. "What you are doing is not being a dick, Dean. It's being a naughty little boy. Now, what will you stop?"

Dean groans, and the way his hips jerk has little to do with the blows raining down on his ass.

"Fine," he finally says with gritted teeth and flushed cheeks. "I'll stop being a -- a naughty little boy."

Cas smacks him one last time and pats his sore ass. "Good boy," he says, and Dean suddenly realizes that he's completely hard, and the thin cotton boxers aren't going to do anything to hide it.

Then Cas leans in, twisting a hand in Dean's hair to pull his head back. "Next time," he says in a threatening gravel, "your ass will be naked when I spank it." His voice is slightly unsteady and Dean's knees almost give out, because holy shit, he thinks, is Cas getting off on this too?

He leans his damp forehead against the cool wood wall, breathing deeply. By the time he's collected himself enough to turn around without further humiliation, Cas is back in his spot on the couch, flipping idly through nature documentaries.


After several weeks, Dean's almost forgotten the incidents, and Cas' subsequent threat. OK, maybe he hasn't forgotten, and if he's jerked off once or twice to the memory of Cas' voice in his ear and the burn in his ass and face as he sat back down on the couch, well, a guy needs some variety in his spank bank.

But Cas has gone back to his unpredictable flitting in and out of the bunker, and Sam and Kevin came back with their arms full of research notes and nerdgasms, and Dean just hasn't had much time to brood about it too much. And so it isn't long before Dean's convinced himself that he'd imagined the hint of heat in Cas' voice, because come on, he tells himself, it's not like an angel of the freaking Lord is going to get turned on by something like that, at least not with him, and they're probably just, like, heavenly disciplinarians by nature anyway.

And when Dean's brain provides echoes of Cas' voice at the worst times, usually when the angel is standing right next to him -- next time, it reverberates, your ass will be naked when I spank it -- he helpfully tells it to shut the fuck up.

Next time, his brain repeats smugly, and Dean has to picture Bobby naked jello wrestling for a solid five minutes before he can concentrate on the stupid fucking chupacabra they're looking at down in Texas.

And so when Dean finds himself out with Cas at a bar he figures he's safe, in the first place because Sam's there, and even Kevin, who's frowning at his Jack and Coke like it's a particularly tricky bit of translation, and in the second place because it's not like Cas has any intention of following through on his threat.

He can feel Cas' eyes on him as he turns on the Dean Winchester charm, knockin' down pool balls with a flourish and flashing a smouldering smile towards interested parties. Cas stays at the bar with Sam and Kevin -- and Kevin, Dean notes with pride, has actually managed to choke down two-thirds of his drink -- but Dean knows he's watching him, hustling and flirting and provoking.

It isn't until Dean finds himself backed up against a table, twirling a pool cue and quirking a cocky eyebrow at a burly dude who still seems unsure if he wants to fight or fuck, that Cas finally appears at his side.

"We're leaving, Dean," he says.

"Whoa, Cas," Dean says, laughing, "not even gonna buy me a drink, huh?"

The other guy opens his mouth, but shuts it with a snap at a glance from Cas, and then suddenly Dean is back in his room in the bunker with Cas sitting on the bed and glaring at him disapprovingly.

"Jesus, Cas!" Dean growls, breathless and slightly angry. "First place, you can't fuckin' do that in public! Second place, what the hell, dude? We were at a bar, I don't see you pickin' on Sammy!"

He spins and starts to stomp away, but Cas caught him by his wrist.

"If you behaved like Sam, I wouldn't 'pick on' you either," he hisses. "But I did not raise you from Perdition and piece you back together to watch you destroy yourself again."

Dean scowls, but a thread of guilt twines through the anger, as well as undeniable stirrings of arousal under Cas' shimmering stare. He shifts, and eventually bows his head.

"Take off your clothes," Cas finally says, letting go of his hand, and Dean's head jerks up.

"What --?"

"Take off your clothes," Cas repeats in a deep growl. "Or did you forget what I said before?"

Dean stares at him but Cas just looks back, impassive. He knows he should just fucking leave -- and he knows Cas would let him, if he did. He opens his mouth to inform the angel that this little game has gone on long enough, thank you, but somehow instead he finds his hands pushing off his flannel and peeling off his shirt.

Finally he toes off his boots and strips off his jeans, stumbling slightly, until he's standing in his boxers, and the push of his dick against the fabric only deepens the flush on his cheeks.

Cas raises his eyebrows and Dean flinches, because no fucking way, but again his fingers seem to move of their own accord, pushing at the waistband, until he's standing naked, hard and blushing.

His only consolation is that Cas is looking, his eyes tracking up and down Dean's body, and -- oh, yes, definitely lingering on his cock, and Dean cringes as he lets out a whimper.

"Over my knees," Cas says at last, and Dean puts his foot down, because he's Dean fucking Winchester, he's not about to --

-- and then he remembers that Castiel is an angel of the fucking Lord, and suddenly he feels about three years old.

Without a word he crawls onto the bed and over Cas' lap, and he's vindictively gratified to hear a sharp intake of breath when he presents his ass.

"Dean…" Cas says, and for the first time there's a sudden note of uncertainty in his voice. Dean turns his head to glare at him, his eyes sparking challenge, and Cas visibly swallows.

"What, Cas?" Dean bites out. "This what you get off on? Pushing me over your lap and then doin' nothin' about it, huh?"

Cas' eyes darken, and Dean just starts to wonder how he can backpedal when the first blow lands on his naked ass, and he gasps.

Cas digs his fingernails into the flesh of one cheek, and wrenches Dean's head back with the other hand. "I dragged you out of Hell and I can throw you back in," he hisses into his ear. "You should show me some respect."

Dean whines, and he's all too aware that it's at least as much because of Cas' breath hot on his skin as because of the burning pain being applied to his backside.

"Cas," he gasps, "Cas, fuck," and every time his hips jerk, his dick grinds between Cas' thighs, and distantly Dean thinks there's no way he's going to survive this, because if Cas takes his sweet time he's going to come in the angel's goddamn lap.

Cas does take his time, of course, with one hand planted in the small of Dean's back and the other methodically turning Dean's ass a hot cherry red, and there's no way Cas doesn't notice that Dean's basically humping him at this point.

"Cas, please," Dean begs, not even remotely sure what he's begging for. Hazily he registers Cas shifting his position over his lap and closing his thighs slightly, and suddenly there's a lot more friction on his cock as his hips jerk with the rhythm of the spanking.

Then the blows abruptly cease, and for a moment Dean wonders if maybe there is a god after all, and he'll be able to run to the bathroom and jerk off in the shower before he loses his last shred of dignity.

Instead he hears a wet sound, and before he can twist around enough to look up his sore cheeks are being spread slightly, and a slick fingertip is pressing gently at his hole.

"What the -- Jesus -- fuck," he chokes, his hand scrabbling to grasp at Cas' shin, but then Cas resumes his attentions. Only now every time his hips jerk with each smack, not only does his cock drag against the fabric of Cas' slacks, but he's fucking himself back on the angel's fingertip, one infinitesimal shudder at a time.

Dean gives up on any hope of self-control. Cas doesn't vary his rhythm, and within three or four blows he's crying out, hand locked around Cas' ankle, coming hard in pools on the floor and long streaks down his pant leg.

It isn't even until his breathing starts to slow that he realizes that Cas has stopped spanking him, instead rubbing soft circles on his back. Humiliation begins to burn in his cheeks, and he rolls off of Cas' lap without a word, ignoring the pain in his ass, and fumbles on the floor for his boxers.

Cas stops him with a hand on his arm and he jerks it away, but reluctantly drags his eyes to Cas' face, gritting his teeth against the expression of unflappable smugness he's sure to find there.

To his shock, it's Cas whose eyes are wide and scared, with deep spots of color glowing in his cheeks, and he doesn't seem to know what to do with his hands.

"I," he says, and stops. "You," he tries again, then clears his throat. "I shouldn't have done that," he finally whispers. "I -- you're so beautiful, and I, I wanted -- I'm so sorry, Dean…"

He twists his hands in his lap, and as Dean automatically tracks the motion with his eyes, he realizes that Castiel is absolutely, undeniably, impressively hard, and his eyes shoot back up to Cas' face.

"Wait. You… you want me?"

Cas tilts his head, looking up at Dean through his eyelashes. "Is it customary to have another adult naked in one's lap if you don't desire them?"

Dean can't help but snicker. "Jesus, Cas, you coulda, y'know, said something, instead of turnin' my ass raw."

Cas' flush deepens further. "No, no," he says hastily, and he's as flustered as Dean's ever seen him. "I didn't -- I didn't realize it would affect me so strongly. And before, you, you seemed to like it, and I didn't know I liked it so much, and… so," he finishes lamely.

Dean stares at him for a long moment, then bursts out laughing. "I think it's obvious I liked it," he admits, waving at the shine of come drying on the floor. "But Jesus Christ, Cas, next time you try to seduce someone, there are easier ways to go about it."

"I don't want to seduce anyone else," Cas mumbles, glancing at his knees.

Dean takes a moment to process that. "You mean -- you --"

"You must know how I feel about you," Cas finally says, still not looking up.

"Uh, I know you feel that I'm an childish, reckless, irresponsible asshat," Dean points out.

Cas snorts softly. "Yes, you are," he says. "Which is only a tiny fraction of the reasons that I love you."

"You…?" Dean says, and Cas finally meets his eyes.

Dean scrambles up, and gingerly plants himself back in Cas' lap, only now he sits up straight and wraps a hand in Cas' tie.

"Feel like we're kinda doin' this backwards," he mumbles, tugging Cas forward until their mouths finally meet in a hot clumsy kiss.

Cas lets out a high, needy whine, and suddenly Dean's not quite so embarrassed about the noises he was making a few minutes ago.

They break apart, gasping, and Cas tilts their foreheads together as Dean begins unbuttoning his shirt. "I guess we're making it up as we go."