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It’s been about a month and a half since Sam’s acceptance letter came in, and Dean’s happy for him. Really, he is. He’s proud of his little brother, because Dean was never that into school—he did well, but not that well, and he didn’t care to advance in academia.
The reason why Dean’s unhappy has nothing to do with Sam getting into an awesome law school. He’s unhappy because Sam’s gonna be halfway across the country. Dad’s already moved pretty much permanently to Orlando, and now Sam’s getting ready to go to Stanford—and it doesn’t help that Sam also got accepted into some special internship program that’s gonna need him to move his ass over there at the beginning of summer, almost three months before the start of the school year.
And Dean’s still gonna be here, in this pointlessly huge house. He knows, logically, that Dad and Sam aren’t running from Dean, that Dean himself isn’t the problem, but he can’t help but feel that they’d rather be elsewhere, with other people. Because he’s always gonna be the one who’s left here while Dad and Sam spread out to either side of the fucking country.
Cas’s voice interrupts his stream of thoughts. “You’re doing that annoying brooding thing again. What’s on your mind?”
“Nothing.”
Cas sighs, and then the television turns off.
“Hey, I was watching that,” Dean protests.
“No, you weren’t,” Cas answers, putting the remote control down and turning to face Dean. “What’s bothering you?”
“Nothing,” Dean insists, reaching for the remote.
But Cas swats his hand out of the way, grabs the remote and puts it on the armrest of the couch farther from Dean. “No, hey,” he says. “You’ve had that terrible sour look on your face for the past two weeks, and I haven’t said anything because I’ve been waiting for you to say something, but that’s clearly not gonna happen, so we’re gonna talk about this.”
Dean pushes off the couch and gets to his feet. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
Before Dean can take a step, Cas’s hand is wrapped around his wrist. And then Cas is standing, shifting to block Dean’s path. Cas’s blue eyes are fiery, and Dean turns away.
“Stop it, Cas. I’m fine.”
Cas huffs, not bothering to hide his frustration. “I call bullshit. You’re definitely not fine, so I’m gonna ask you again: what’s bothering you?”
“And I’m gonna tell you that I’m fine.”
“Dean, Cas!”
That’s Sam’s voice, coming from downstairs. “Yeah?” Dean shouts back.
“I’m heading out, ‘kay? Don’t wait up!”
“Staying the night at Jess’s?” Dean asks.
“Yep!”
Dean smirks. “Use protection!”
“Fuck you!”
The front door slams shut, ending the conversation.
“It’s about Sam,” Cas says, and Dean really shouldn’t be so surprised that he knows—Cas has always been freakily perceptive when it comes to Dean.
Dean sighs, surrenders. “Fine. You’re not allowed to laugh at me.”
“I would never.”
“That’s a lie.”
“Just get on with it,” Cas says.
“I’m not ready for Sam to leave.”
Cas nods. “I thought it might be about that.”
Dean rolls his eyes. “Then why’d you bother asking? We don’t need to talk about this.”
“No, we don’t,” Cas agrees, and Dean enjoys about a millisecond of relief before Cas continues, “but you and Sam should.”
“What? No, we shouldn’t,” Dean says.
“Sam should know how you feel about this.”
Dean shakes his head. “Can we not do this?”
“It isn’t that difficult,” Cas says, and when Dean tries to pull away, Cas’s grip tightens on his wrist. “All you have to say is that you’ll miss him when he’s gone, or you wish he could go to a closer school.”
“Damn it, Cas, I’m trying to be supportive, okay?” Dean says, shoving Cas’s hand off his arm and walking away. He takes a few steps toward the door, hoping to escape—
But Cas moves too quickly, slams a hand on the door to hold it shut just as Dean gets a hand on the doorknob. “Yeah well, you’re allowed to have your own opinion and be supportive at the same time,” Cas says.
Dean turns to face him, annoyed. “Look, I—”
“You’re allowed to tell Sam that you’d rather have him here, that you wish he could say. That’s just how you feel about the situation.”
“I’m not gonna guilt-trip him into staying, Cas.”
“That isn’t—how is that guilt-tripping? That is you expressing your opinion like an adult, and I’m sure Sam would appreciate it, because you hardly ever actually talk to him about the things that matter. As it is, you’ve made it sound like you fucking want him to leave, Dean.”
“Shut up, okay? We’re done here.”
“No. Not until you get your head outta your ass and talk to your brother.”
“Why does it even matter to you, huh? It’s not like any of this is your problem.”
“Uh huh, right. It’s not my problem. Except you know that it is, because I’m the sorry son of a bitch that has to listen to you moaning on and on about—”
“Hey!” Dean bristles. “I’m not moaning—”
“May as well be. And don’t tell me you haven’t been mopey the past two weeks about this, because I’ve been paying attention.”
“I wouldn’t have said a thing if you hadn’t—”
“It doesn’t matter what you have or haven’t said, Dean! It’s in your actions, your facial expressions, everything. You sit there and frown all the time. You’ve been even more short-tempered than usual, and that’s saying something. You zone out while people are talking. I don’t even know if your head’s in it when we’re fucking!”
“Oh, that is it!” Dean snarls, grabbing Cas by the shoulders and spinning them, slamming Cas into the door hard enough for it to rattle in the frame.
Cas’s eyes fly wide open for just a moment, startled, but then the angry look settles back over his face, the lines of his eyebrows, and he opens his mouth to continue. Oh no, you don’t, Dean thinks, and surges forward, smashing their mouths together.
“No—Dean—I don’t—mmph!”
Dean prides himself on being able to kiss Cas senseless, but Cas isn’t going down easy right now—he pushes at Dean’s chest, bites at Dean’s lips and tongue to stop him. But Dean knows Cas, knows that Cas would never actually hurt him, so he goes for it, traps both of Cas’s wrists in one hand and uses the other to grip Cas’s face, holding Cas’s jaw open and just taking.
Cas, for his part, does his best to fight Dean off. Dean can feel Cas’s arms straining downward, trying to free themselves from Dean’s grasp. Cas wriggles and squirms between Dean and the door, but that only means that he’s pressing against Dean in different ways, and Dean doesn’t bother hiding his erection when he starts to get hard—that’s the whole point of this, anyway. He presses forward with his lower body, rocks his hips against Cas’s, and isn’t all that surprised to feel Cas getting hard, too.
He pulls his head back slightly, mouths his way along Cas’s jaw to his neck, biting none-too-gently at the stubbled flesh, and Cas groans, continues his struggling. He jerks his head to the side, hard and abrupt, and manages to dislodge Dean’s hand.
“Dean, fucking—stop trying to distract me! We’re not doing this right now!” Cas barks, and he sounds furious.
“You think my head’s not in it, huh?” Dean growls, pulling back so that he can see Cas’s face—and yeah, those stupidly beautiful sapphire eyes are filled with anger. “I’ll show you.”
“You’re not even making sense!”
“Do I look like I care?”
The conversation proves to be enough of a distraction for Cas to wriggle one of his ridiculously skinny wrists free, because the next thing Dean knows, a fist is connecting with his face with surprising force, and he staggers back a step.
“Not right now,” Cas is snarling.
But Dean sees red, grabs at Cas before he can leave the room. They grapple with each other for a moment, but Dean eventually manages to pin Cas again, this time with his face pressed to the wall.
“Is this really gonna make you feel better? Proving yourself like this? What you need is to talk to Sam, Dean,” Cas says, voice ridiculously steady all of a sudden, and Dean just can’t have that, not when he’s feeling the way he is—hot and aching and crazy.
“What I need right now is a nice, tight ass to bury my cock in. You up for that?” he purrs, leaning close. Cas shudders a little under his touch, and Dean knows Cas, knows that this is the good kind of shudder. He chuckles, low and dark. “You want that, Cas?” Dean says, voice barely louder than a whisper.
“I want you to talk to Sam about—”
“What the hell, Cas!” Dean explodes, because no matter how much he loves his little brother, Sam is the last person he wants to think about when he’s about to fuck. He hooks his fingers into the collar of Cas’s shirt, hauling him back and toward his bedroom.
“What—Dean—” Cas says, flailing as he’s dragged along, forced to walk backwards.
“Will you shut up?” Dean says angrily when they reach his room. He finally lets go of Cas and rummages through his drawer, looking for a tie and a belt, and Cas doesn’t even try to get away, just stands there and glares at Dean.
“If you would be reasonable and just admit that you and Sam—”
Cas doesn’t get any further than that because Dean stuffs a wadded-up tie into his mouth, gagging him. Before Cas can pull the gag out, Dean snatches his hands, holding them together. Cas’s eyes are wide, but Dean reads no fear in them. Only anger, mixed with healthy portions of curiosity and arousal. And hell yeah, he can work with that.
Instead of pushing Cas to the bed, Dean releases his hands and turns to shove him face-first against the wall, keeping him there with a firm hand pressed between his shoulder blades. Cas reaches again for the makeshift gag, but Dean catches his hands, pulls them behind his back and cinches them together with his belt.
“Mmf!” Cas protests, shifting back, but Dean doesn’t let up, presses his hand between Cas’s shoulder blades again. He leans forward and licks up the long column of Cas’s neck, biting down when he reaches the bolt of his jaw.
“You think I could take you, just like this?” he breathes into Cas’s ear, letting his other hand trail down along Cas’s side to his hip. “You still wet enough from this morning?”
Cas shudders, and when Dean presses his hips forward, Cas lets out a quiet moan, rolls his ass back against him.
“Hmm, I’ll take that as a yes,” Dean mutters into the base of Cas’s neck, tongue slipping out to taste the sweat-salty skin. He grasps Cas by the hips and pulls him back, grinding them together slow and filthy, teasing himself just because he can, because Cas can’t do anything to stop him, and that’s way hotter than he ever would’ve thought it would be.
Cas makes a frustrated sound, spreads his legs wider, and Dean grins, does the opposite of what Cas wants and holds completely still. He reaches around and presses the heel of his hand against Cas’s groin, rubs against the hardness he can feel there.
“Mm!” Cas says, shifting back and forth, like he can’t decide whether he wants to grind back against Dean or press forward into his hand, and Dean doesn’t know what’s coming over him, except that it’s unstoppable and good. He slips his thumbs under the waistband of Cas’s sweats and pulls them down, and fuck, Cas is bare under them—it’s like he wanted this to happen.
Dean’s mind shorts a little at the thought that Cas was just sitting on his couch, commando, and he thrusts his hips forward once. “You want this?” he growls. Cas doesn’t even hesitate before nodding, and Dean leans forward to bite at Cas’s jaw again. “Slut,” he whispers.
Cas tenses up, lets out a strangled sound, and Dean’s tried dirty talk before with other partners and never liked it, but he does like the flush that he sees rising on Cas’s cheek, so he tries again.
“Feeling desperate, Cas? Want me to fill you up?” His fingers find Cas’s hole, and it’s not wet, but when Dean slides his index finger inside, Cas’s walls are slick, still slightly loose, and Dean groans, adds another finger and uses his other hand to pull down his own pants and underwear. “God, Cas. You’re still wet from this morning, but it’s just not enough for your slutty little hole, is it?”
Cas whines, presses back onto Dean’s fingers and cants his hips up, like he’s begging for it the only way he can, and Dean knows this is too soon, knows that he should be prepping Cas some more, probably searching for some more lube, but he just can’t wait. And part of him wants Cas to feel it, wants Cas to hurt because Dean hurts, and god, he just wants someone to hurt with him.
Dean withdraws his fingers, grins when Cas whimpers, and places his hands on Cas’s ass, spreads his cheeks so he can look at his hole, soft and open. But Dean’s had enough of his own teasing, so he steps forward, nudges the head of his cock against Cas’s opening. Cas moans at the contact and tries to grind back, makes an impatient sound when Dean doesn’t move immediately.
But then Dean is guiding his cock into that opening, and fuck, Cas is so tight around him, clenches even tighter when Dean’s cock brushes against his prostate. Dean presses in steadily until he bottoms out, hips flush against Cas’s backside, and this, this silken heat, is bliss.
He holds still for a moment longer, just enjoying the connection, before drawing back and snapping his hips forward, hard. Cas yelps and tenses around him, his hole tightening like it doesn’t want Dean to pull out, wants Dean to stay buried up in there as long as possible. But Dean doesn’t stay still, builds up a punishing rhythm, pumping hard and fast into Cas, savoring the muffled cries that the gag can’t hold back.
“Oh, fuck, yes,” he hisses between thrusts, lifting one of his hands to press against the back of Cas’s neck.
Cas turns his head to let Dean shove him into the wall without breaking his nose, and god, yeah, Cas is so perfect, so submissive—mine, mine, all mine, Dean’s mind feverishly supplies. Dean’s got him in a position where he’s got pretty much no leverage, but he clenches around Dean whenever he’s hilted inside him, and fuck, Dean’s not gonna last.
“You feelin’ it yet, Cas?” he manages, plunging in and staying there, right up against where he knows Cas’s prostate is. And he knows he’s got the right spot, because Cas is rigid, whining pitifully at the stimulation in the way that he does when he’s really fucking close. “Think you can come like this?” he leans in close to murmur, and he barely even knows what he’s saying, just that he has to talk. “Maybe I won’t even have to move. What do you think, hm? Think I can talk an orgasm right outta you?”
Dean leans back a bit, looks down at Cas’s hands, held together by Dean’s belt.
“God,” he says. “Just look at you, all tied up and helpless and taking my cock ‘cause you’ve got no other choice.” He runs a finger along Cas’s stretched rim, feels how the muscle jumps under his touch, and adds, “So fucking sensitive, it’s no wonder you always wanna be stuffed full. How does it feel when my come leaks outta you, hmm? Do you like it?”
A small voice in Dean’s head is asking him what the fuck he’s doing, what he’s saying, but Cas moans, loud and clear, and that voice can just go to hell ‘cause Dean will do almost anything for Cas to make that fucking criminal noise again. Cas tries to shove back against Dean, but Dean’s already balls-deep, and he’s not about to move anytime soon.
“You like feeling all sloppy and wet down there? You like being reminded that I get to fill you up, that I get to coat your insides with come? Maybe we should get a plug, that way I can fill you up for real, let you carry a little reminder of me inside you all day—in your classes, in office hours, students will ask you for help, and they’ll have no idea how filthy you are, filled to the brim with my come and lovin’ every second of it.”
Cas shudders, and then his hole spasms around Dean, and he’s crying out his release. Dean reaches a hand around to work him through it, even as he starts moving again, because now that Cas has climaxed, Dean can let loose, go fucking wild.
He only lasts a few more thrusts before he’s coming, slowing his hips as he spurts.
Spent, he lets himself slump forward, pressing Cas into the wall. He kisses Cas’s neck, braces his hands against the wall, and waits to catch his breath.
When he feels like he can stand up straight without getting dizzy, Dean backs up, pulls out, and watches as a rush of come leaks out of Cas, running down the insides of his thighs. Then his eyes flick up, and now that he’s coming down from the high, guilt smashes into him like a freight train—Cas has a bruise between his shoulder blades, has finger-shaped marks on his neck from when Dean shoved him into the wall, and Dean must’ve been rougher than he’d meant to be.
Except that—he wasn’t. He remembers wanting Cas to feel the pain, and what the hell was he thinking?
Cas’s wrists are still bound together, and he can see red marks around them, clearly from pulling against the restraints, and Dean hadn’t even asked before binding and gagging him.
Suddenly, he feels sick.
Then Cas is turning his head to look over his shoulder at Dean. He jerks his head down with intent, and Dean numbly undoes the belt, lets it drop to the ground. Cas turns around to face Dean and steps away from the wall, rubbing his wrists.
“Cas, I—” Dean starts, voice a little shaky, but he can’t continue. What is he supposed to say? Sorry? How can sorry be enough? They hadn’t talked about this ahead of time—hell, Dean’s never even been into that chains-and-whips BDSM stuff. What’s gotten into him?
But Cas doesn’t even ungag himself before stepping forward and putting his arms around Dean’s middle, and what did Dean ever do to deserve this trust?
Dean feels Cas’s arm behind him, reaching up to pull the tie out of his mouth. “You still have three weeks with him,” Cas says, and Dean’s eyes widen, because is he seriously thinking about Dean’s problem with Sam right now? “Just… talk to him. Okay? Make the most of the time you’ve got left before he goes off for that internship.”
Dean sighs, head dropping down to rest on Cas’s shoulder. “Yeah. Yeah, okay, fine. I…” guilt seems to clog his throat, and he coughs once and starts to back off. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“Hey,” Cas interrupts, grabbing Dean’s wrist before he can pull away, “it’s fine. I… rather enjoyed it.”
It takes a second for the words to register, and then Dean’s lips curl into a smirk even as he huffs a sigh of relief—seriously, he must have been a saint in his last life or something. “Yeah?” he breathes into Cas’s ear, not missing the way Cas leans toward his mouth, “Good to know.”
A light knock on the door makes Castiel look up. “Hello, Sam. What can I do for you?” Sam isn’t in any of the classes Castiel is TA-ing for this semester, so Castiel isn’t sure what he wants.
“You, uh.” Sam stops, smiles. “Thanks, man.”
Castiel returns the smile, pleased that Dean did as he was told. “You’re welcome.”
“Seriously, though. I’ve been waiting to have that conversation since I got the acceptance letter. How’d you even—never mind, it doesn’t matter. Just, thanks. I appreciate it.”
“It was the least I could do.”
“You know, I… I was worried about what Dean would do without me or Dad around. I mean, it’s not that he doesn’t have friends. He’s just not good at being alone. But he’s got you, so I’m not so worried anymore.”
“Well. I’m glad my presence is reassuring.”
Sam frowns suddenly. “Are you okay, though?”
Castiel nods. “Of course.”
“Are you ever gonna tell him?”
“Not if I can help it.”
Sam isn’t happy with this response, but Castiel knows that Sam will never approve of the way that Castiel’s been suppressing his emotions. He’s just thankful that Sam has agreed not to tell Dean about it.
“I appreciate your discretion,” Castiel says.
Sam shakes his head. “Yeah, it’s your decision. Your emotions, your decision. I just think—”
“I know what you think, Sam. Thank you for your concern, but it’s unnecessary.”
“All right, well. I just wanted to stop by and say thanks. And invite you to dinner, if you’ve got time. Jess is cooking, and she wants an unbiased opinion.”
“Tonight?”
“Yeah, tonight.”
“Dean and I were planning to—”
“Oh, Dean knows already,” Sam interrupts. “He’s coming, too.”
Castiel smiles. “What time, then?”
“Six thirty, if that works for you.”
“It’s fine. Should I bring anything?” Castiel asks.
“No. You never let us bring anything when you’re making dinner, so same rules apply.”
“Very well.”
Castiel hears footsteps approaching from down the hall, and then a hand appears from behind Sam to tap on his shoulder. Sam jerks, startled, and turns.
“Sorry!” the kid—he looks familiar, but Castiel can’t remember his name, shit—says.
“Oh, it’s fine,” Sam’s saying as Castiel runs through names in his head. Barry, Baron, Brandon…? “It’s your office hours right now, isn’t it?” Sam asks, and Castiel nods. “For which class?”
“Ethics Concerning Ancient Artifacts,” Castiel answers.
“Oh,” Sam says, smiling. He turns to the kid—Braden?—to say, “I took that class with Cas last semester. He’s the best.”
Castiel shakes his head. “As much as I’d like to take credit for your performance, we both know it was all you, Sam.”
Sam opens his mouth, no doubt to say something self-deprecating and humble, but the kid—Brady! Yes, that’s his name—speaks first. “Sam? As in Sam Winchester?”
Sam blinks, surprised. “Err… yeah. What—”
“Professor Masters won’t shut up about you,” Brady says, tilting his head back slightly to stare up at Sam. “She says you’re the only student she’s ever given perfect marks to.”
Sam’s blushing a little now. “You know, I owe it all to Cas,” he says, and Castiel shakes his head. “It’s true,” Sam insists. “Listen to everything he says, and you’ll do great.”
“Thanks for the tip. I’ll definitely do that,” Brady says. “You’re graduating this semester right?” Sam nods, and Brady asks, “What’re you doing afterwards?”
Castiel clears his throat. “Brady, I assume you’re here with a question?”
“Right,” Brady says, nodding. “I’ll see you around, Sam.”
“Yeah, see you.”
As Brady enters Castiel’s office, Sam mouths a quick ‘thank you’ to Castiel, who smiles in response. “See you tonight, Sam,” he says.
“Yep. Bye, Cas.”
Sam walks away, and Brady asks, “What’s tonight?”
“None of your business,” Castiel says with a smile. “Now, what can I do for you?”