Same alternate universe as Zombie Apocalypse, What Zombie Apocalypse? No substance. Just porn.
Cas likes to take classes in the morning. Dean likes to be awake when he returns.
This fic is for one of my favorite people, olivelavonne, because she is awesome and deserves nice things like hot porn. ♥ And because she texted me about this 'verse during a weak moment. Hope you like the final result!
Many thanks to ginnith.
Dean's lounging on his bed in boxers and a t-shirt when Cas gets back from his morning class, mouth quirking to the side in amusement and, Dean thinks, maybe fondness when he sees Dean lying there. "Hey, Cas," Dean says, propping himself up on his elbows. He’s been waiting for Cas to get back since he woke up.
"Good morning, Dean," Cas answers, closing the door to their room behind him.
He's wearing khakis today. Khakis and a white Oxford under a blue sweater vest. Sure, the sweater vest does amazing things to his eyes, but Cas still looks like a scrawny, pocket-protector wearing dork. Dean knows he's not. Not at all. Underneath those layers, Dean knows Cas is lithe and slim, not scrawny. And Cas may be a dork, but he's also pretty cool and he puts up with Dean—even if he sighs a lot—and he gives fucking fantastic head.
"C'mere," Dean says, gesturing Cas over with a tip of his head.
One of Cas' eyebrows joins his quirking mouth. "Come here," he repeats. "Hmmm." But he drops his bag next to his desk and crosses the floor. (Dean's been trying to keep things a little bit cleaner, ever since he tripped over...something...trying to get to Cas' naked skin.)
Dean watches him come closer, eyes following as Cas reaches the side of his bed and places a knee on the mattress. The next thing Dean knows, Cas is lifting his other leg over Dean's and Cas' knees are on either side of Dean's hips, his ass against Dean's thighs.
"Was this where you meant, Dean?" Cas' eyes are stupidly blue in the morning light coming through the window. Stupidly blue and wide in that innocent way Cas jokingly pulls on him now. At least, Dean thinks it's jokingly. Part of the time, anyway.
Like now. He knows Cas is joking because a) Cas isn't that stupid and b) Cas' hands are on his chest, fingers brushing against his nipples. Dean feels them tighten.
"Mmm," Dean hums. "Not exactly where I was thinking, but pretty close." And then he's balancing his weight on one hand to lean up farther, reaching for Cas with the other to pull him down, leaving chaste pecks of kisses on Cas' lips once, twice, three times before licking into Cas' mouth, running tongue over lips and teeth.
Cas' fingers press harder against Dean's skin through his shirt and Cas moans, kissing Dean back for all he's worth. Cas likes to kiss, Dean's found. He likes to kiss a lot. Dean is okay with this.
Dean pushes back at Cas, urging him away so he can sit up before returning to Cas' mouth. Cas sucks on his bottom lip, nips at it and soothes it with his tongue. Maneuvers Dean where he wants him with both hands on Dean's face, fingers slipping into the hair behind Dean's ears.
Dean wraps his arms around Cas' middle, pulls him tight against him until he can feel Cas' cock hard against his stomach, Cas' ass against his own cock. Sliding his hand down Cas' back, Dean works his hand under the sweater vest to the shirt beneath, starts tugging it from the waistband of Cas' pants, pausing only to palm Cas' ass, to squeeze it and press fingers along the seam that falls along his crack, pressing in to rub against Cas through the layers.
Cas grinds against him in response, groaning and pulling away to pant against Dean's mouth. Dean takes that as his cue to pull Cas' thigh forward with his other hand, hitching him closer.
"Dean," Cas breathes, eyes dark, mouth plump.
Dean grins and licks at Cas' jaw, mouths at his Adam's apple. "What?"
He squeezes Cas' ass again. "I think that can be arranged."
Cas pulls at him by his hair, tipping his head back to kiss him again, slick and messy, before letting Dean go to sit back on his heels. He’s working his shirts up his torso when Dean pauses him, hand on his side, thumb brushing his ribs.
“Wait,” he says, and Cas tilts his head at him, curious. Dean pulls Cas’ arm toward him, flicks the buttons on his cuff undone, repeats the same on the other. Cas tends to forget. It’s something that sticks in Dean’s mind now, though, and as much fun as it is to watch Cas flail hopelessly with his clothing, frown forming between his brows, the road to full frontal is much faster this way.
Cas smiles at him and pulls both shirts up and over his head, hair ending up even more of a mess than usual. “Thanks,” he says, tossing them on the floor.
“Oh, no problem. Gotta give a guy a hand now and then, right?” Dean says, thumbing one of Cas’ nipples.
Shuddering against him, Cas moves his hips in a slow circle. Dean swallows a gasp. “Of course,” Cas says. “Your motives are purely altruistic.”
Dean doesn’t bother answering that, his mouth too busy on Cas’ as Cas’ fingers pull at Dean’s shirt until Dean lifts his arms over his head, pulling back far enough for Cas to liberate him. The shirt follows Cas’ to the floor.
“How do you wanna do this?” Dean asks.
“Like this.” Cas pushes Dean back against his covers, unbuttoning his khakis and lowering the zipper before swinging his leg back over Dean to stand. He toes off his shoes and hooks his thumbs beneath the waistband of his underwear, pulling them down with his pants. Socks gone, too; Dean’s always impressed with how quickly Cas can make clothing disappear.
Cas straightens and Dean takes the opportunity to enjoy the view; the smooth line of Cas’ shoulders, the planes of his chest, the jut of his hip bones perfect for Dean’s hands. His cock, hard and wet at the tip.
Dean licks his lips. Maybe later Cas will let Dean blow him.
“Dean,” Cas says, and Dean looks up from where Cas has wrapped a hand around the base of his cock. “Get rid of the boxers.”
It’s a voice Dean can’t refuse, not anymore. Not if it means orgasms in his future. He lifts his hips and slides his boxers off, kicking them away from the bed. They barely miss Cas where he’s getting a bottle of lube from the corner of Dean’s desk.
Dean smirks and settles back against the bed.
Cas moves, lingering over him on his knees, hand tight and too brief around Dean’s cock before he pops open the lube and pours some on his fingers. “Hold this,” he says, and Dean obeys, taking it from him and watching in something close to awe as Cas reaches behind himself.
One of these days they’re going to do this so Dean can watch Cas finger himself open.
Instead, Dean gets lube on his own fingers, reaching out to stroke Cas with them. Cas’ eyes close in pleasure and concentration, but they pop open when Dean slides his hand around Cas’ back to meet Cas’ fingers where they’re stretching his ass.
Dean works a finger in beside Cas’, follows it with another as Cas rocks back against them, feels how tight and hot Cas is and wants nothing more than to bury himself there. Twisting his fingers, Dean watches Cas bite his lip, his lashes fluttering as he moves his hand away to wrap around his cock.
“Now, Dean,” he says, eyes just this edge of wild.
Dean removes his fingers from Cas’ ass, grabbing a condom on his nightstand and ripping the foil open with his teeth. Rolling it down his dick, Dean shudders at the sensation and gives himself a squeeze before moving to pour lube across the head. Cas stops him, though, taking the bottle from him and getting some in the palm of his hand, slicking Dean up himself with his fucking perfect grip.
And then Cas is shuffling forward on his knees, lifting up and holding Dean’s cock steady as he lowers himself on it. He pauses once, just as the head slips in, bottom lip caught between his teeth, and it’s all Dean can do not to thrust upward. His patience is rewarded a moment later—it always is—as Cas relaxes around him and takes him all the way in, Dean’s balls pressing against Cas’ ass.
Everything becomes blurred after that, a series of sensations, of sights and sounds. Cas’ ass gripping him tight as Cas moves above him, Dean rocking his hips below. The length of Cas’ throat when his head falls back, mouth an open O of pleasure as he rises and falls. Cas’ cock velvety-smooth and rock-hard in Dean’s hand, his fingers twining with Dean’s when he joins him there.
Cas’ eyes dark and hot and burning when he opens them and comes across Dean’s chest with a rough-throated yell and Dean’s name on his lips, his skin practically glowing.
He removes their hands from his cock, bringing them up to his mouth, and Dean watches slack-jawed and breathless as Cas’ pink tongue darts out, licking at their fingers and the come that’s landed there.
Dean thrusts into him, feels Cas’ weight against him and the way his muscles clench around him, and tumbles over the edge with a groan.
It’s his fingers in Cas’ mouth that bring him back from his post-orgasmic haze. He blinks up at Cas, who looks innocently back down at him, head tilted to the side. That look would almost work, if it weren’t for the fact that Cas is naked and, oh yeah, Dean’s cock is still in his ass.
He should do something about that. Pull out and get rid of the condom. But he doesn’t want to move. Dean wants nothing more than to roll Cas over and stay in bed all day. In fact…
“Do you have class later?”
Cas nips the pad of his index finger. “Yes.”
Dean runs his free hand up Cas’ thigh, stopping when he can press his fingers against the curve of Cas’ hip, tuck his thumb against the base of Cas’ dick. “Skip it.”
“You are a very bad influence, Dean Winchester,” Cas says. His voice is serious, almost stern, but he’s smiling.
Dean shrugs and grins. He can’t argue with that.
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