Together We Ratify the Silence [Part 5] :: DCBB (original) (raw)

The flight to L.A. only lasts five-and-a-half hours, but it feels significantly longer. There’s a crick in Castiel’s neck by the time they land, and his legs are uncomfortably stiff. As he makes his way through the crowd gathered around the baggage claim, he feels grateful his essentials for the weekend fit into the single duffle bag he carried on the plane.

Anna is easy to spot in the arrival area, her red hair fanning behind her as she rushes toward him.

“Cas!” The smile on her face is bright and wide, and she throws her arms across his neck as soon as he’s within reach. “You look good,” she observes once they pull apart, her smile even brighter. He’s gained back most of the weight he lost while overseas, and his sleep’s been getting increasingly better, though most nights are still rough. It’s been a long time since his sister has looked at him with anything but concern, and Castiel is immensely glad for the change.

He finds himself mirroring her smile, excited for the weekend ahead. “I missed you.” It’s been almost a year since her visit to New York, and he welcomes the opportunity to spend time with his sister.

“Yeah, me too,” she returns, snatching the duffle bag from his hands and walking away. “Now come on, you sap,” she calls behind her shoulder, heading toward the parking lot. “We’ve got a reservation to make.”

“I wish you’d quit that filthy habit,” Anna says when Castiel pulls out a pack of Marlboro Reds from his pocket, her lip curling unhappily. They’re sitting out on her porch, enjoying the warm L.A. weather and iced tea.

“I will, eventually,” Castiel intones. He’s been promising Anna as much for years, but they both know it’s as likely to stick as a New Year’s resolution. By conventional standards, he’s not a heavy smoker, but it’s very much an ingrained habit rather than an occasional indulgence. He doesn’t normally engage in the activity in front of his sister—God knows she has enough reasons to be concerned about him—but his nerves are frayed tonight and he needs the nicotine fix.

“Cas, are you alright?” she asks as he systematically tears his napkin to shreds. “You seem...unsettled.”

Castiel opens his mouth to respond, but his lips are dry and no words come out, so he puts a cigarette between them instead. He digs the fingers of his other hand into the meat of his thigh. “I got a job offer from CNN,” he manages to say around his cigarette, the words scratching at the back of his throat. Working his Zippo proves incredibly difficult with shaking hands, but a determined flick of his thumb finally gets the flame going. A long, gratifying drag of nicotine gives him the strength to continue. “They want me to anchor a show focusing on international relations and foreign affairs. I’d still get to be out in the field, but I’d also be spending much of the time in the studio in Manhattan.”

“And?” his sister inquires cautiously, eyebrows raised. Castiel has received a number of contracted job offers throughout his career—though none as lucrative as the current one—and has turned them all down, choosing instead to remain in his freelance position. Anna has no reason to believe anything will be different this time around.

“I’m thinking about taking it,” he confesses guiltily, staring at the burning cigarette between his fingers.

“Cas, that’s great!” Anna exclaims, and Castiel wishes he were able to muster the same level of enthusiasm.

The mere idea of such a position is foreign and intimidating, so different than anything else he’s done. Castiel has spent the majority of his adult life travelling from one war-torn location to another, and he has absolutely no clue how to function in a different environment. He’s managed to, somehow, in the past eleven months; but even that was accomplished with the belief that it was a temporary arrangement.

When he looks up, her eyes are on him, hopeful and relieved, the beginning of a smile stretching her lips. It’s hard to imagine what she must have gone through all these years, worrying about his safety but not being able to do anything about it. Had their situation been reversed, Castiel doesn’t know how he’d handle it; he’s not certain he would have been able to.

*

With the last box unloaded into the living room, Castiel takes a moment to admire the new space he’s meant to call home. It’s smaller than his previous apartment in Manhattan, but it’s homier and warmer. The daily commute from Brooklyn to Manhattan will be a long one, no doubt, but Castiel hopes it will be worth it. He can imagine himself making memories here, growing comfortable and content in a way he never could have before.

“You’ve done good here, Cas,” Dean comments as he looks around, his words echoing in the apartment. Castiel hopes very much that Dean will be part of the new memories he will form here, that his voice will always carry between these walls.

“Yeah, Cas,” Sam confirms, clapping him on the shoulder. “Now, where do you want all of the furniture?”

Castiel had elected to sell his apartment completely furnished, needing a fresh start. Sam and Dean help him move the new furniture around until he’s satisfied with the final result.

“I’d better get going,” Sam says after they’ve finished setting up the bedroom. “I have to head into the office for a couple hours.”

Both Dean and Cas nod in response. “Cas and I can handle it,” Dean says. Castiel hasn’t bought much for the living-room, so they only have a couch, coffee table, and a couple of bookcases to rearrange. “You go save the trees, Sammy.”

“Jerk,” Sam mutters, punching his brother’s bicep.

“Thank you for your assistance, Sam,” Castiel says sincerely, extending his hand.

Instead of shaking his hand, Sam pulls Castiel in for a hug. Surprised, it takes him a minute to reciprocate, but eventually he wraps his arms around Sam’s broad back. “I’m happy for you, Cas,” Sam says when they break apart. “Oh, and Sarah asked me to tell you she expects a dinner invitation sooner rather than later.”

Castiel feels the corners of his mouth twitch, overcome with a sudden surge of affection for these people he’s lucky enough to call his friends. “You know you’re both always welcome here, Sam.”

After setting up the living-room, Dean and Cas park on the new couch and crack open a beer.

“So,” Dean starts, brushing the neck of his bottle with his fingers. “You feel good about this?”

“I do,” Castiel responds, the immediacy and sincerity of the statement surprising him. What he feels is excitement, he realizes, and it’s an emotion he hasn’t experienced in far too long.

“I gotta say,” Dean looks around the apartment, assessing, and somehow it makes Castiel feel bare, “Your old place was nice, but this suits you way better.”

Castiel turns his head to look at Dean, their eyes locking over the beer bottles. He’s hyper-aware of their close vicinity, of Dean’s denim-clad thigh rubbing against his. He can feel the same crackle of electricity that powers the room whenever they’re together, running all the way down to his spine and making his body warm. Dean looks at him like Castiel has the ability to see inside of him, and though Dean is terrified, he allows it anyway. On his part, Castiel feels a multitude of overwhelming emotions when he’s in close proximity to Dean, the most vigorous of which is longing; he yearns to reach out and touch, craves Dean’s lips and mouth and hands and every inch of him. Every time Castiel looks into those green eyes, he’s learning to feel all over again, a tide that quickly amasses into a vortex, pulling him under.

It’s a desperate, terrifying yearning, but Dean is right there. Dean is right here, and all Castiel has to do is reach out. The decision is his, and he doesn’t think he could ever forgive himself if he runs from this.

It can be different this time, he reminds himself, Pamela’s words ringing in his ears. I don’t have to make the same mistakes.

Castiel reaches out, placing his trembling hand on top of Dean’s where it’s resting on his thigh. It’s a tentative touch, their fingers barely grazing, but it’s enough to make Castiel’s stomach lurch pleasantly.

“Cas?” Dean asks, eyes searching, voice carrying a note of surprise.

“Yes, Dean?” Castiel keeps his hand where it is, not letting his eyes leave Dean’s.

A smile breaks on Dean’s face, curving his gorgeous mouth in a slanted angle. It’s the most beautiful thing Castiel’s seen, and he wonders why it took him so long to get here. Had he known he could make Dean do that, he’s certain he would’ve found the courage much sooner. “Nothin’,” Dean says, and turns his hand over in Cas’, interlacing their fingers.

Body buzzing with anticipation, Castiel swallows audibly. This is it—he’s going to take a leap, and he’s going to let himself feel the fall. Leaning in, he places a kiss on Dean’s mouth, a dry press of lips. He pulls back to gauge Dean’s reaction, feels Dean’s fingers tighten in his before he pulls Castiel back into his space, slotting their mouths back together. This kiss is different and more heated, with Dean’s tongue parting Castiel’s lips, licking at the roof of his mouth when access is granted.

“Cas,” Dean pants when they break for air, “Are you sure about this?”

“Yes, Dean,” he assures, using their linked hands to pull Dean along as he gets up. They end up pressed together, chests touching and breaths mingling. Castiel is overwhelmed by Dean’s scent: a dark aroma of leather and wood, instantly addicting; he wants to immerse himself in it. “Are you?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Dean gasps, nuzzling his nose against Castiel’s neck, mouth opening to tease at the sensitive skin. He's talking about more than this one moment, Castiel realizes, heart hammering in his chest. “A thousand times yes.”

Castiel backs them into the nearest wall, fitting his body against Dean’s, urgent and starved. Their mouths open wide to explore, tongues battling and teeth pulling on lips. Castiel throws his head back as Dean’s lips and teeth scrape along his jawline, stopping to bite and nibble on his chin, tonguing the cleft. It’s been too long since he’s been touched like this, but it’s Dean’s touch he’s desperate for, Dean who is setting his body on fire.

He lets out a moan when Dean flips their position, backing Castiel against the wall, erection pressing against his hip. The sound seems to spur Dean on and he ruts against Castiel’s leg, hands grabbing the back of his thighs and moving up until they reach his ass. Dean kneads the muscle before grabbing on to it and lifting up, prompting Castiel to wrap his legs around his waist. The position aligns their hard cocks perfectly, Dean thrusting up while Castiel pushes down on his hips. Dean attaches his lips to the hollow of Castiel’s throat, licking into the divot before urgently undoing the top two buttons of Cas’ shirt with his teeth. He wastes no time fitting his mouth against Castiel’s clavicle, closing his teeth around the bone.

“Dean, Dean,” Castiel moans against the sting of the bite, hands fisting in the back of Dean’s t-shirt. He’s already drunk off of Dean, but it’s not nearly enough. “Bedroom.”

Dean tightens his grip on Castiel’s ass, securing his hold before carrying him down the hall. They don’t stop kissing until they reach the bedroom, and it’s by sheer luck and impressive coordination that they don’t tumble into anything on their way there. Dean drops Castiel on the queen-sized bed, climbing on top of him and immediately reconnecting their mouths, like he can’t stand to be apart. The fit of Dean’s lips against Castiel’s is perfect, and he strokes his tongue against the roof of Dean’s mouth, the inside of his cheeks, the straight rail of his teeth. They’ll both have stubble burn by tomorrow, he’s certain, but it’s beyond worth it. Castiel moans when Dean’s hands undo his belt buckle, thumb catching against his erection when he pulls down the zipper. He thrusts up to try and chase it, craving friction, but Dean uses the opportunity to pull his jeans down his legs, dropping them on the floor.

The expression on his face is awed when he looks into Castiel’s eyes. “Is this really happening?” he asks, thumbs rubbing small circles around Castiel’s hipbones, where his t-shirt has ridden up his stomach.

Castiel licks his lips, watching Dean’s eyes darken as he follows the course of his tongue. “If you want it to,” he responds simply, voice husky with arousal. To make it clear just how much Castiel wants it, he lifts his hips off the bed, desperate for Dean’s hand on him.

“God, yes,” Dean says before crawling down Castiel’s body, pushing his t-shirt higher up to kiss along his stomach. When the fabric pools around Castiel’s armpits, he lifts his arms up, allowing Dean to remove it. Once the shirt is on the floor, Dean presses himself snuggly against Castiel, his denim-clad erection rough against Castiel’s skin, rubbing painfully against his thin boxer briefs.

“Dean,” Castiel keens, letting out a particularly throaty moan when Dean’s teeth latch on to his left pectoral. He grabs a fistful of Dean’s hair, forcefully pulling him away. “This is hardly fair,” he points out, gesturing to his unclothed state and Dean’s fully-dressed one.

Smirking, Dean grabs the hem of his shirt, discarding it to reveal a smooth, toned chest and stomach. Castiel groans and all but attacks, closing his mouth around a nipple and biting, soothing the sting with the swirl of his tongue. Judging by the pornographic sound that leaves Dean’s mouth, he’s found a sensitive spot, and Castiel smiles against Dean’s chest.

“Fuck, Cas,” he pants, running his hand down Castiel’s back, catching against the ridges of his spine. He sneaks his hand into the back of Castiel’s boxers, kneading his cheeks, thumb running down his crack and catching against his hole.

“Dean!” Castiel cries, overwhelmed with sensation. Dean gives him that beautiful, self-satisfied smirk before he pulls the boxers down, licking the base of his cock until he reaches the purple head, gathering the trace of pre-come with his thumb.

“How do you like it, Cas?” he asks as he fists Cas’ cock in a snug grip. Castiel squirms under the touch, and it takes all of his willpower not to just mewl and beg Dean to jerk him off.

“Rough,” he manages to respond, putting his hand on top of Dean’s and guiding it to a quick, tight pull on his shaft. “I like it rough.”

A shiver makes its way through Dean’s body, and he closes his eyes. “Shit, Cas. The things you do to me.”

“Show me,” Castiel demands, thrusting up into Dean’s hand. Dean takes his free hand, surprising Castiel when he places it on his chest, right over his thundering heart. This is what he does to Dean, Castiel realizes, lips splitting on a smile. “Are you always this much of a sap, Winchester?”

Dean shakes his head, the smile on his face unlike any Castiel has seen, fond and tender. “It’s lots of firsts with you, Novak.”

They stare at each other for a long moment, their laboured breaths loud in the room. Dean’s hand squeezes Castiel’s cock, brushing against the head in the upstroke. Just like that, the urgency is dialed back up, Castiel’s body taut with tension, desperate for Dean’s touch.

“Take off the rest of your clothes,” Castiel urges, hands going to Dean’s belt buckle, satisfied when he hears the clank of metal.

“Fuck, you always this bossy, Novak?” is Dean’s response. Judging by the solid erection pressing against the heel of Castiel’s hand, he doesn’t find the idea unappealing.

“I’ve wanted this for a while,” Castiel says, throwing Dean’s belt to the other side of the room. They can worry about it in the morning. “I need you now, Dean. Are you going to make me wait much longer?”

A shiver works its way through Dean’s body. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, removing his hand from around Castiel to discard his jeans and boxers.

“Good,” Castiel says, wrapping a hand around his dick and giving it a lazy stroke. “Then hurry up, or I’ll have to finish what you started by myself.”

Dean’s eyes widen as he takes in the sight, licking his lips. “Fuck, we are so getting back to that another time,” he promises.

With that, he fits himself against Castiel, head to toe, chests slotting perfectly and erections rubbing together. The skin-on-skin contact is dizzyingly satisfying, and Castiel’s mouth opens on a silent moan as he arches his back off the bed, trying to get closer to Dean, melt onto his skin.

They rut against each other, cocks sliding together, precome easing the way. Dean fits his hand against both of them, bringing them impossibly closer, the combined pleasure of his snug grip and the friction from their rubbing erections almost maddening. Cas wraps his leg around the small of Dean’s back, pressing their bodies even tighter, digging his nails into the muscles between Dean’s shoulders.

“Wanna see you come, Cas,” Dean whispers as he strokes them, flicking his wrist so the heel of his palm catches against the sensitive heads. Castiel hisses when Dean’s hand pumps faster and harder, setting a rough rhythm that pushes all of the right buttons. Dean attaches his lips to Castiel’s neck, nibbling on the skin and using his tongue to soothe the sting before reaching his ear. He rolls the lobe between his teeth, gently biting down on the cartilage before speaking. “Wanna see you fall apart, want to feel your come all over my hand.”

The words send even more blood to Castiel’s groin, his cock impossibly hard, the head almost purple. He lets out a throaty moan Dean he continues stroking, letting his hands slip from his shoulders to the small of his back, cupping the round globes of Dean’s ass and kneading the soft flesh. Dean’s rhythm falters and his mouth opens on a moan. Encouraged, Castiel allows his hand to slip further, thumb dragging against the crack until he reaches the furled collection of muscles.

“Fuck, Cas!”

“So much better,” Castiel murmurs, delirious with pleasure as Dean brings his free hand to tug on his balls, index finger lightly teasing the perineum. “So much better than I imagined.”

“You thought about this?” Dean asks, eyes growing darker and hungrier. “Did you touch yourself and think of me, Cas?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Castiel chants and cants his hips. He’s so close, so close, and he desperately wants to come. “Thought about you just like this, touching me, surrounding me.”

“I thought about you, too, Cas,” Dean admits, his hand slowing down much to Cas’ frustration. “I fingered myself open last night, thinking about you, wishing it was your fingers and tongue and cock in my ass, ramming into me. It was so good Cas, so good... I came so hard just thinking about you, Cas. But I bet the real thing would be better, bet you’d fuck me even better than I can imagine.”

Castiel’s eyes widen at the confession, the arousal making him shiver. He lets his thumb explore around Dean’s hole, feeling how puffy it is, loose enough for him to fit just the tip of his finger in. Dean must have been rough and desperate, and Castiel shudders at the thought. Maybe next time Dean will let him open him up, watch his fingers stretch his hole, drive him crazy until Dean is begging for his cock.

“I like it rough, too,” Dean whispers directly into his ear, and that’s all it takes for Castiel to lose any semblance of control, arching off the bed. His vision whites out, ears ringing as he orgasms for what feels like an eternity, striping both of their chests and Dean’s hand with his come.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean pants while Castiel’s still trying to catch his breath, body pleasantly loose and pilant. “You’re so fucking hot like this.” He brings his hand up to his lips, tongue lapping up the drops of come caught between the webs of his fingers. Castiel groans as he watches, spent cock giving a hopeful twitch. He grabs Dean’s hips and flips them around, ignoring Dean’s surprised expression as he lands on his back. Castiel wastes no time crawling down his body, positioning himself between Dean’s legs, inhaling the musky scent. His cock is thick and engorged, and Castiel fits his hand around the base, letting his tongue trail the vein on the underside. Dean mewls above him, hips pistoning off the bed as his hand fits itself on top of Castiel’s head, pulling at the hair. Castiel pins Dean’s hips with his free hand before he lets his lips stretch around the head of his cock, relaxing his throat as he sinks further down. Dean is coiled impossibly tight, his taste musky and salty.

“Cas, Cas, Cas!” Dean chants. Castiel hollows his cheeks and sucks, loving the weight and taste of Dean’s cock on his tongue. “Cas, I’m so close!” It only takes a few bobbing motions before Dean’s hips arch off the bed, baring his neck as he throws his head back against the pillow, coming down Castiel’s throat. Castiel laps it all up, working him through the aftershocks, licking him clean.

“Shit,” Dean pants, out of breath. “C’mere,” he demands, reaching for Cas.

Cas obliges, making his way back up the bed. As soon as he’s in reach, Dean pulls him on top of him, claiming his lips in a ferocious kiss. They open for each other immediately, the taste of their combined come passing back and forth between their tongues. It’s incredibly intimate and erotic, leaving them breathless when they separate.

Castiel looks down at their stomachs, where his come is quickly drying and sticking to the skin. “I think we’re due for a shower,” he exclaims as he hops off the bed, extending his hand to Dean expectantly.

The shower isn’t particularly big, and it’s a tight fit for two grown men. Dean wastes no time pressing Castiel against the cold shower tiles, lips mapping the column of his throat until they reach Castiel’s mouth. The kiss they share is leisurely and open-mouthed, with none of the urgency that catalyzed them only minutes ago. Instead, it’s a purposeful exploration, wet and unhurried. Castiel buries his hand in Dean’s hair as they kiss, the other one sliding down his strong back. This is completely uncharted territory for the both of them, so much they’ve yet to discover about each other’s bodies despite the other ways in which they’ve shared intimacy. It fills Castiel with excitement, and no small amount of fear.

Steam quickly gathers around them, the staccato rhythm of beating water accompanying the sound of their kissing. They make out until the water turns lukewarm, and Castiel turns around to reach for the washcloth. Dean plasters himself against his back, gently biting on the top knob of his spine before taking the washcloth from Castiel’s hands. He starts at Castiel’s shoulders, rubbing down the back of his arms before moving to his back. Strong thumbs press along the wings of his shoulderblades, releasing tension Castiel hadn’t even been aware of. Dean’s hands are gentle as he works, their movement reverent, tracing Castiel’s skin as if it’s something precious. The intimacy of it makes Castiel’s head spin, heart thundering in his chest.

When they finish washing up, Castiel turns the water off, pipes giving a lazy creak in protest.

“Cas.” The gravity in Dean’s voice alarms Castiel, making his hands falter on the water taps. “Do you… Do you think we can make this thing work?”

Castiel turns around to face Dean, watching beads of water sluice from his hair, catching on the vulnerable curve of his eyelashes. The bathroom is cold without the comforting cascade of warm water, goosebumps rising on their arms.

“I mean… we’re both pretty fucked up.”

It’s the truth, and Castiel suspects it will be, to some extent, for a very long time—maybe even for the rest of their lives. They’ve both screwed up important relationships because of it, and there is no guarantee they can avoid making the same mistakes; the ghosts that haunt them have not been laid to rest, not completely, and they may still frequent their lives.

“I don’t know,” Castiel says honestly, meeting Dean’s green eyes. There’s a fear there that mirrors Castiel’s own, but there’s also hope, small and hesitant to come through. He takes Dean’s hand in his own, admiring the long lines of his fingers before kissing the roughened skin of his knuckles. “All I’m certain of is that I want us to. I want to be with you. Maybe that can be enough.”

“Yeah,” says Dean, squeezing Castiel’s fingers. “Maybe.”

*

There is only one box Castiel has yet to unpack. He hasn’t looked at it in years, choosing instead to let it sit at the back of his closet, collecting dust with the rest of the skeletons he chose to hide. It feels important that he sort it, now, confront the daunting task he’s avoided. His hands tremble as he opens the cardboard, careful, like he’s disassembling a bomb that might go off at any moment.

The first thing he takes out is a worn copy of The Brothers Karamazov, his mother’s favourite book. He flips through the well-worn pages, tracing his fingers along the dark ink. She loved the book intensely, a passion she passed on to Castiel, and he recalls the late night discussions they’d had about free will and faith when he was in high-school and first read the novel. Despite the pang in his heart, he smiles at the memory, tracing the novel’s cover before putting it aside. It’s time it finds itself on his bookshelf.

The framed picture he pulls out is distantly familiar, having hung in his mother’s living-room until her death. Picking it up along with the book, Castiel gets up and makes his way to his well-stocked bookcase. He slots Dostoevsky’s novel on the top shelf, right between his other favourites. He places the picture next to it, stepping back to admire it. His mother has her hand wrapped around his father’s waist, the smile on her face bright and happy. Castiel is sat on his father’s shoulders, shyly hiding into his neck while his father holds his ankles to keep him from falling off. Anna is standing between their parents, her grin wide and revealing two missing front teeth. The verdant trees in the background make Castiel think they’re in a park, and he wishes he could remember the day, cling to the image. He can’t be sure, but he thinks the smile on his father’s face is genuine, unruly hair ruffled by the breeze and eyes crinkling in the corners.

He backs away and plops back on the ground, sorting through the rest of the items in the box. There are photo albums detailing years of their lives, more books and records, mementos from his parents’ lives. The last item he pulls out is another, smaller box, and his breath hitches as he recognizes what it is. He’s even more careful when he opens the small package, pulling out the Leica M6 Classic encased within. The 35mm camera is light in his hands, and he turns it over to admire before putting it back.

The camera was a Christmas gift his mother purchased for his father just weeks before his death, unaware of the fact he wouldn’t live to celebrate it with them. There are film cartridges and a manual in the box, and Castiel reaches for it with shaking hands. He flips open the booklet, glancing over the instructions when a drop lands on the page. Confused, he lifts his hand to his cheek to find it streaked wet, suddenly aware of the moisture building in his eyes. He puts the manual aside and covers his face with his hands, trying to gain control of his emotions. His body doesn’t cooperate, seized with the forceful sob that shakes him to his core, felt all the way down his spine. You have to let yourself feel things. He can’t stop the eruption that wreaks him, sobbing into his hands for the family that has been taken away from him, the father he never got to know but wanted desperately to impress, the mother who never got to know her son because he was so preoccupied trying to fill in for a ghost. The worst of it is that neither of them will get to see the person he’s becoming, now.

He sits on the floor and sobs for what feels like hours, the tremors overtaking his body violent and exhausting. It’s the first time he’s cried like this, the first time he can recall crying in years; the gate he’s kept all of his grief locked in is broken, nothing left but rusty, wrecked metal.

When he manages to peel himself off the floor, Castiel walks into the kitchen and drinks two tall glasses of water, gripping the counter for support. The shaking has barely subsided, and his legs feel liquid trying to support his weight. He pulls out his cellphone from his jeans pocket, speed dialing Anna.

“Anna,” he says as soon as she picks up, his voice cracked and pleading.

“Cas, what’s wrong?” she asks, instantly on alert.

“Nothing,” he says, wondering how he can explain himself. “I just... I need you to do something for me.”

“What is it?”

“I need you to tell me about dad,” he pleads, voice cracking on the last word, tears threatening to spill. “I need you to tell me what you remember, all right? Can you do that?”

There’s silence on the other end, and Castiel can imagine his sister’s confusion. Perhaps he shouldn’t have called her this distraught, but she’s the only person that can give him what he needs right now. “Please.”

“He used to read Dr. Seuss to us when he was home,” she relays, her voice quiet but determined. “He said no-one was ever too old to appreciate a good children’s book. That if you read them carefully enough, they’ll teach you everything you need to know.”

Castiel closes his eyes, letting the new tears spill down his face. They’re quieter, now, less overwhelming. “Tell me more.”

And Anna does.

*

Hours pass in the space of minutes, the light evening breeze making Castiel shiver in his thin t-shirt. The Leica is a perfect fit in his hand, lightweight and convenient. He’s been out since the morning, stopping to take pictures every few steps: buildings and structures, people and families, a myriad of interesting stories told with a single snapshot. He hasn’t taken pictures like this since college, hasn’t taken the time to enjoy the simple act of capturing a moment, encapsulating it in memory and history. All that he’s photographed in the past decade is devastation, cruelty and death; he’s forgotten there’s anything beyond that, forgotten there’s a whole world out there waiting to be captured by his lens.

He’s cold by the time he takes the subway home, but more content and satisfied than he ever remembers feeling. He stops to take a few more photos on the walk home from the station, finding interest in the mundane and extraordinary.

As he reaches his apartment building, Castiel’s surprised to see Dean waiting outside, sitting on the stoop. He’s looking down at the ground, face illuminated by the streetlight, and Castiel uses the opportunity to take his picture. At the sound of the shutter, Dean looks up, nose scrunched up in confusion. Castiel beams at him as he walks over.

“Did you just take my picture?” Dean asks when Castiel reaches him.

“Maybe,” he says with a smile, lifting his shoulder.

Dean looks down at the camera in Castiel’s hand. He hooks a finger inside the collar of Castiel’s t-shirt, pulling him forward until their mouths meet. Castiel melts into the kiss immediately, opening his mouth to Dean’s tongue, enjoying the pilant way their lips move together, easy and familiar.

“What are you doing here?” he asks when they pull apart, digging out his keys to open the front door to the building.

“Wanted to see you,” Dean says simply as he follows him to the elevator. “That okay?”

“Of course, Dean,” Cas says with a smile, pressing the button to his floor.

They ride in silence, stealing glances at each other every few seconds. The doors ding open and they walk silently to Castiel’s apartment. Dean plasters himself to Castiel’s back when he tries to fit the key in the lock, kissing the back of his nape and sucking on the top knob of his spine.

“Dean,” Cas whines, hand fumbling with the key as the other one holds on to his camera.

“Yeah?” Dean asks cheekily, voice breathy against Castiel’s ear.

Castiel manages to get the door open, rushing inside his apartment with Dean laughing behind him. He puts the Leica down in its box on the bookcase before charging over to Dean.

“You are insufferable,” he chides as he kisses the corner of Dean’s mouth, words packing absolutely no heat. Dean’s hands automatically go to his waist. “Is that what you came here for?”

It’s meant to be a tease, so he’s surprised when Dean’s expression turns serious. “I just wanted to see you,” he says, rubbing the points of Castiel’s hipbones. “This is just a plus.”

Castiel rolls his eyes fondly. “God, you’re such a sap, Winchester.”

“And you’re one sarcastic bastard, Novak,” Dean retorts with a smile.

“Mhm, maybe,” Castiel acknowledges, pushing Dean into the armchair in his living room and straddling his lap. He bends down to lick at his neck, speaking directly into his ear, “But I think you like me sarcastic. And bossy, if I remember correctly.”

Dean flushes at the comment, and Castiel grins in satisfaction. He goes back to kissing Dean, happy to lose himself in the wetness of his mouth, the satisfied, small _hmm_s he lets out when their tongues tangle up. When he feels Dean’s erection pressing against his ass, Cas hops off his lap, grinning when Dean lets out a questioning, disappointed grunt.

“What the hell, Cas?” Dean demands, reaching over to try and get Cas back to him. Cas just grins and keep walking backward, putting a safe distance between them.

“Patience, Dean,” he chides, reaching for the hem of his t-shirt and pulling it off his chest, discarding it on the floor. Dean’s mouth goes dry and he swallows audibly, watching the proceedings. Castiel revels in Dean’s attention, loving the heated look in his eyes as he takes in his bare chest. He unbuttons his jeans, the sound of the zipper loud in the room as he pulls it down and lets the denim pool at his ankles.

“Cas, come here,” Dean whines, sounding like a child on the verge of a tantrum. He shifts in his seat, his erection clearly getting uncomfortable.

“Patience,” Castiel repeats, this time hooking a finger in the elastic waistband of his boxers, letting it trail across. Dean honest-to-God growls, palming his crotch. Castiel tries his best not to let it show how much the sight affects him, shimmying out of his underwear. He sighs in relief as his erection is let free, giving it a cursory stroke. He feels vulnerable and liberated as he stands in front of Dean, completely naked and unmasked.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean pants, eyes raking over Castiel’s body, as if unsure where to start, before landing on his cock. Unable to deny either of them any longer, Castiel closes the space between them, straddling Dean’s lap. Dean’s clothes chafe against his skin, the denim pulling against his bare thighs and ass. There’s something exciting about it, and though Castiel loves Dean’s naked body, he decides he wants it just like that: Dean’s clothed body against his bare one, fucking into him with just his cock revealed.

“I want you inside me, Dean,” he murmurs into Dean’s ear, grinding his ass against the solid erection. “Want you to fuck me and make me come. You got that?”

Dean nods frantically. “Fuck yes. I can totally do that.”

“Good,” Castiel says, removing himself from Dean’s lap and retreating down the hall. He smiles when he hears Dean’s incredulous cry. “Lube, Dean!” he calls behind him, hurrying to his room. He practically tears his nightstand open, rummaging until he finds the lube and a condom. As soon as he’s back in the living-room, he climbs back onto Dean’s lap, attaching his lips to his neck. Dean looks like he’s two second away from dying from blue balls.

“Fuck, Cas, stop teasing—” Castiel shuts him up with a kiss, fucking his tongue into that glorious mouth. Once Dean is kissed breathless, Castiel latches on to his bared throat once again, enjoying the prickly sensation of stubble against his lips. He kisses up to Dean’s jaw, nibbling at the bolt before speaking into his ear.

“Hold me open,” he demands, voice low and urgent. Teasing is well and good, but he needs to get fucked sometime this century. The expression on Dean’s face remains confused for a moment, but his hands catch up quickly, kneading Castiel’s ass before parting the cheeks.

Castiel slicks his fingers with lube, wasting no time in getting them where he wants, pressing against his rim. He massages around it for a few minutes, willing his muscles to relax, and the first finger slips in with little difficulty. He meets Dean’s eyes as he works the digit in and out of his body, moving his hand so that the knuckles bump against Dean’s crotch while he works himself open. When the desire for more burns through his body, Castiel adds a second finger, biting his lip as the muscle stretches to accommodate it. Before long, he’s scissoring both fingers, moving them around until he finds his prostate. Delirious with pleasure, Castiel practically humps his lower half against Dean. It’s only when he feels an added pressure against his hole that Castiel realizes he closed his eyes. Dean’s lubed finger meets the other two inside Castiel’s body, and Castiel is so overwhelmed with the pleasure and intimacy of it he’s afraid he might come then and there.

“Fuck, so tight,” Dean says as his finger circles inside of Castiel. “You’re gonna feel so good, Cas, I already know it.”

Instead of answering, Castiel pulls his fingers out, feeling strangely empty now that only Dean’s finger remains inside of him. He makes quick work of Dean’s belt buckle and zipper, pulling the jeans halfway down his thighs along with his boxers. It’s just enough for his cock to peek through, hard and swollen with blood. Perfect.

Castiel repositions himself in the tight space, bracketing Dean’s outer thighs with his knees. He lifts his hips up and sinks down on Dean’s cock, muscle stretching until he’s impossibly full. He shudders against the initial discomfort, Dean’s hand stroking soothingly against his back. Castiel lets his forehead rest against Dean’s shoulder, adjusting to the fullness inside of him. Once he’s ready, Castiel lifts his hips up and sinks back down, fucking himself on Dean’s cock. They establish a rough, quick rhythm, Dean thrusting up while Castiel thrusts back down, both frenzied and desperate.

“Dean!” Castiel cries as Dean repeatedly hits his prostate, ramming into it and making him see stars. The sensations intensify when Dean’s teeth clutch onto his nipple, biting and sucking on the hard bud until it’s raw and red.

Castiel comes with a sharp, loud cry, trying to milk every second of the blinding orgasm. He can feel it all the way down his spine, seizing his entire body in rapture. When he comes to, he studies the blissed expression on Dean’s face: mouth open, eyes closed, head thrown back against the back of the armchair. Castiel increases his pace as he bounces on his cock, desperate to wring an orgasm out of him. Dean’s own thrusts falter, hips losing coordination as he teeters on the edge of release. When he finally lets go, it’s with his mouth open in a silent cry.

Castiel brings his hand to Dean’s cheek, reverent as he admires the way Dean’s hair sticks to his forehead and his flushed skin. This gorgeous man chose Castiel, and he doesn’t think he can ever get over the shock of that. “You’re beautiful.”

Dean opens his eyes, tired but smiling. He’s still panting when he speaks. “Now who’s the sap, Novak?”

Castiel punches him in the arm. “Fuck you.”

“Mhm, give me a moment,” says Dean. “My refractory period isn’t what it used to be.”

*

Castiel’s fingers fumble with his tie, nerves making it impossible to complete the knot. He examines his reflection in the mirror, tugging at his unruly hair. He’s chosen a simple, white oxford under a navy suit jacket, the tie a deep purple colour. The outfit is completed with faded jeans and dark sneakers; it’s not like the camera is going to pick up on those particular items of clothing, shooting only from the waist up, so he might as well be comfortable.

“Nervous?” Dean’s voice startles him, and Castiel turns to see him leaning against the doorway, wearing his police uniform.

“A little,” Castiel admits, going back to fiddling with his tie. He’s still uncertain about the whole thing; though he negotiated to have full control over the contents of his news program, he’s still unaccustomed to the idea. He’s a little uneasy with the idea of a studio, but he knows he’ll still get to report from the field. The initial contract is only for two years, so at worst this job can end as a bad, temporary experiment. It’s a risk, in a way, but Castiel is willing to take it.

“Don’t be,” says Dean, walking over to pull him into his arms. His embrace is instantly calming, and Castiel exhales against his neck, feeling the solid planes of his back. Dean lets go and stares at his collar, laughing at the state of his tie. He pulls the fabric between his fingers, repositioning it across Castiel’s neck and making quick work of the knot. When he’s done, there’s a snug, proper Windsor knot at the base of Castiel’s throat. He smiles as he rubs the silk of the tie between his fingers. “You’ll be okay, Cas.”

And for the first time, Castiel believes that he will be.