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spn fic: Wet
Title: Wet
Pairing: Castiel/Dean
Rating: NC17
Words: ~1,500
Summary: Cas is wet and naked in there, miles of warm skin Dean has never seen.
Notes: For![[personal profile]](https://www.tumblr.com/favicon.ico)
sweetladyjustice, who was having a crap day. Beware accidental voyeurism and shower sex.
[AO3]
Wet
Dean hears it just as he reaches the shower room: slow, breathless sounds, soft under the dull hum of the water. He snorts quietly, rolling his eyes, ready to rib Sam for not leaving a sock on the door -- thanks for the warning, asshole -- but then he remembers he saw Sam in the library about ten minutes ago, hunched over a huge stack of books, reading a scroll about demon possession written in Aramaic like the gigantic dork he is.
Which means --
"Oh, oh."
-- Cas.
Dean pauses, clutching at the towel wrapped around his waist as a restless heat crawls up the back of his neck, prickles at the corners of his jaw. He hadn't expected this; it's the middle of the afternoon, and Cas usually showers at night. He needs sleep now that he's no longer an angel, but he sometimes has trouble doing it, says the hot water helps him relax.
Cas moans again, louder this time, the noise catching in the back of his throat, and Dean bites his lip, tries to ignore the way his dick twitches under his towel. He should -- yeah. He should go, leave Cas to it. Cas is his best friend in the world outside of Sam, and best friends -- don't. They just don't.
Another moan, needy and low, hollowed a little by the tiles, and Dean can't stop himself from ducking his head through the door, something dirty hot coiling into his gut as he adjusts his towel and leans his shoulder into the jamb. This is terrible -- he is terrible -- but Cas is wet and naked in there, miles of warm skin Dean has never seen, and Cas is touching himself, rubbing one of his huge hands all over his dick. One quick peek will be enough to fuel Dean's spank bank for the rest of his life.
The showers are set up like an old-time locker room, just a long, tiled wall dotted with shower heads. Cas is using the third one from the door, his wet hair stuck to his forehead and his skin flushed pink with the heat, and his body is angled slightly, just enough that Dean can see everything, the spread of Cas' legs and the perfect line of his spine, the shape of his ass and the heavy jut of his dick, the rivulets of water running down his chest, the way the muscles in his thighs tense and flex as he fucks into his hand. He's working himself hard and fast, twisting his wrist as he pulls up, dragging his thumb over the head before stroking back down, and Dean wants to tell him to slow down, enjoy it, let me, just let me --
He needs to go. Cas is beautiful like this, his eyes closed, his mouth falling open as he thumbs at his nipple, but Dean has been watching him too long, never should've looked in the first place. Dean's dick is so hard it hurts, aching as it brushes against his towel, and the longer he stands there the worse he feels, shame heavy in his gut, sour at the back of his throat.
"Dean."
Dean freezes, unable to breathe, his heart hammering as he tries to form an apology big enough to cover this level of assholery, sorry I was watching you beat off in the shower like a creeper. Cas is going to hate him. Cas is going to yell at him and punch him in the face, and he'll probably want to move out of the bunker, not that Dean would blame him, not when --
"Oh -- oh, Dean."
It's a sex noise, throaty and raw, ragged around the edges, and it digs at something underneath Dean's skin, at the anxious, jittery heat waiting at the base of his spine. When he looks over again he realizes that Cas still has no idea he's there; Cas is still touching himself, leaning into the spray now, his free hand braced on the tiles and his wet hair hanging in his eyes, moaning each time he rolls his hips, each time he pushes his dick into his fist.
Oh. Oh.
Dean should -- he doesn't know anymore. Half of him wants to go hide in his room, because that would be easier to facing up to this shit, to how badly he wants Cas, how thinking about just kissing Cas makes his mouth dry, but the other half wants to join Cas under the water, wants to nudge Cas back against the wall and touch him everywhere, wrap one hand around Cas' dick and push the other into Cas' hair, chase the water running over Cas' skin with his tongue. Cas' thighs are starting to shake, a slow tremor winding up from his knees; he's probably close, and Dean wants to see it, watch Cas' dick pulse and twitch as he comes, feel it in his hand.
He drops his towel in the doorway, then walks into the shower room, his heart hammering again, his blood humming in his ears. His breathing seems loud, as does the wet slip of his feet against the tile floor, but Cas must not notice it; when Dean rests his hands on Cas' hips, Cas startles so badly he nearly jumps out of his skin.
"What -- "
"Shh."
Cas makes a rough, quick noise, full of panic. "Dean."
"I heard you."
"I'm sorry."
"No." Dean leans in closer, brushing his mouth over the back of Cas' neck. "I want this, want you."
Cas sucks in a sharp breath, shifts like he's going to pull away, and the rejection hits Dean like a gunshot, hard enough that he feels it everywhere at once, in the middle of his chest and at the backs of his knees, at the base of his skull, the soles of his feet. He starts to ease off, his stomach in so many knots he thinks he might puke, but then Cas sighs and turns his head a little, his forehead bumping Dean's cheek, and he reaches back and catches Dean's wrist, tugging Dean's hand between his legs.
"Fuck," Dean says, biting kisses up the side of Cas' neck, nosing at the warm, damp skin behind Cas' ear. He presses in close, his dick riding against the curve of Cas' ass, and Christ, there's an image he doesn't need, working Cas open with his fingers, maybe his tongue, scraping his teeth over Cas' shoulder as he sinks inside Cas' body -- if he thinks about that too long this will be over before it starts. Cas turns his head a little more, dragging is mouth over Dean's jaw, and Dean touches everything he can reach, palming the strong line of Cas' thigh, stroking his thumb up where it creases into his hip, brushing Cas' balls with the heel of his hand, teasing his fingers through the wiry hair at the base of Cas' dick.
Cas makes a tight, frustrated noise, curls his hand at the back of Dean's head. "Dean." His eyes slide closed, and he bites Dean's neck, just below the ear. "I was so close, and you -- please."
Dean wraps his hand around Cas' dick, giving it a few long, slow strokes, heat flaring in his gut at the way Cas chokes out his name, at the way Cas pushes back against him, at the way Cas' fingers thread through his hair. The water is starting to run cold, but Cas' skin is still warm, still flushed pink across his shoulders and down the center of his chest. Dean skims his other hand over Cas' ass, tucking it between Cas' legs, teasing his fingers over Cas' hole, and Cas comes, beautifully, his back arching, his hand shaking, clenching into a fist against the tiles.
Dean touches Cas through it, touches him until he's gasping and squirming, murmuring, "Dean, too much, it's too much," as he pulls at Dean's wrist, and Dean can't wait to get Cas into a bed, to spread Cas out and run his hands over everything, kiss him everywhere, find out how he tastes. His orgasm swells up like a wave, heat in his gut and pressure at the foot of his spine, a slow throb just behind his balls; he feels like a teenager, ready to tumble over the edge just from thinking about fucking, and then Cas turns in his arms, runs a sticky-wet hand up the length of his dick, smiling as Dean comes, kissing him hard.
The water is freezing now; Cas shivers, and Dean fumbles along the wall until he finds the taps. He slides his other hand over Cas' jaw, rubbing his thumb at the corner of Cas' mouth as he leans in for another kiss. And another. And another.
"Come on," he says finally, tugging Cas away from the wall.
"Where?"
"To bed."
"Dean." Cas makes the squinty face Dean secretly found adorable when Cas was still an angel. "It's the middle of the afternoon."
"And?" Dean asks, and kisses him again.
Pairing: Castiel/Dean
Rating: NC17
Words: ~1,500
Summary: Cas is wet and naked in there, miles of warm skin Dean has never seen.
Notes: For
[AO3]
Dean hears it just as he reaches the shower room: slow, breathless sounds, soft under the dull hum of the water. He snorts quietly, rolling his eyes, ready to rib Sam for not leaving a sock on the door -- thanks for the warning, asshole -- but then he remembers he saw Sam in the library about ten minutes ago, hunched over a huge stack of books, reading a scroll about demon possession written in Aramaic like the gigantic dork he is.
Which means --
"Oh, oh."
-- Cas.
Dean pauses, clutching at the towel wrapped around his waist as a restless heat crawls up the back of his neck, prickles at the corners of his jaw. He hadn't expected this; it's the middle of the afternoon, and Cas usually showers at night. He needs sleep now that he's no longer an angel, but he sometimes has trouble doing it, says the hot water helps him relax.
Cas moans again, louder this time, the noise catching in the back of his throat, and Dean bites his lip, tries to ignore the way his dick twitches under his towel. He should -- yeah. He should go, leave Cas to it. Cas is his best friend in the world outside of Sam, and best friends -- don't. They just don't.
Another moan, needy and low, hollowed a little by the tiles, and Dean can't stop himself from ducking his head through the door, something dirty hot coiling into his gut as he adjusts his towel and leans his shoulder into the jamb. This is terrible -- he is terrible -- but Cas is wet and naked in there, miles of warm skin Dean has never seen, and Cas is touching himself, rubbing one of his huge hands all over his dick. One quick peek will be enough to fuel Dean's spank bank for the rest of his life.
The showers are set up like an old-time locker room, just a long, tiled wall dotted with shower heads. Cas is using the third one from the door, his wet hair stuck to his forehead and his skin flushed pink with the heat, and his body is angled slightly, just enough that Dean can see everything, the spread of Cas' legs and the perfect line of his spine, the shape of his ass and the heavy jut of his dick, the rivulets of water running down his chest, the way the muscles in his thighs tense and flex as he fucks into his hand. He's working himself hard and fast, twisting his wrist as he pulls up, dragging his thumb over the head before stroking back down, and Dean wants to tell him to slow down, enjoy it, let me, just let me --
He needs to go. Cas is beautiful like this, his eyes closed, his mouth falling open as he thumbs at his nipple, but Dean has been watching him too long, never should've looked in the first place. Dean's dick is so hard it hurts, aching as it brushes against his towel, and the longer he stands there the worse he feels, shame heavy in his gut, sour at the back of his throat.
"Dean."
Dean freezes, unable to breathe, his heart hammering as he tries to form an apology big enough to cover this level of assholery, sorry I was watching you beat off in the shower like a creeper. Cas is going to hate him. Cas is going to yell at him and punch him in the face, and he'll probably want to move out of the bunker, not that Dean would blame him, not when --
"Oh -- oh, Dean."
It's a sex noise, throaty and raw, ragged around the edges, and it digs at something underneath Dean's skin, at the anxious, jittery heat waiting at the base of his spine. When he looks over again he realizes that Cas still has no idea he's there; Cas is still touching himself, leaning into the spray now, his free hand braced on the tiles and his wet hair hanging in his eyes, moaning each time he rolls his hips, each time he pushes his dick into his fist.
Oh. Oh.
Dean should -- he doesn't know anymore. Half of him wants to go hide in his room, because that would be easier to facing up to this shit, to how badly he wants Cas, how thinking about just kissing Cas makes his mouth dry, but the other half wants to join Cas under the water, wants to nudge Cas back against the wall and touch him everywhere, wrap one hand around Cas' dick and push the other into Cas' hair, chase the water running over Cas' skin with his tongue. Cas' thighs are starting to shake, a slow tremor winding up from his knees; he's probably close, and Dean wants to see it, watch Cas' dick pulse and twitch as he comes, feel it in his hand.
He drops his towel in the doorway, then walks into the shower room, his heart hammering again, his blood humming in his ears. His breathing seems loud, as does the wet slip of his feet against the tile floor, but Cas must not notice it; when Dean rests his hands on Cas' hips, Cas startles so badly he nearly jumps out of his skin.
"What -- "
"Shh."
Cas makes a rough, quick noise, full of panic. "Dean."
"I heard you."
"I'm sorry."
"No." Dean leans in closer, brushing his mouth over the back of Cas' neck. "I want this, want you."
Cas sucks in a sharp breath, shifts like he's going to pull away, and the rejection hits Dean like a gunshot, hard enough that he feels it everywhere at once, in the middle of his chest and at the backs of his knees, at the base of his skull, the soles of his feet. He starts to ease off, his stomach in so many knots he thinks he might puke, but then Cas sighs and turns his head a little, his forehead bumping Dean's cheek, and he reaches back and catches Dean's wrist, tugging Dean's hand between his legs.
"Fuck," Dean says, biting kisses up the side of Cas' neck, nosing at the warm, damp skin behind Cas' ear. He presses in close, his dick riding against the curve of Cas' ass, and Christ, there's an image he doesn't need, working Cas open with his fingers, maybe his tongue, scraping his teeth over Cas' shoulder as he sinks inside Cas' body -- if he thinks about that too long this will be over before it starts. Cas turns his head a little more, dragging is mouth over Dean's jaw, and Dean touches everything he can reach, palming the strong line of Cas' thigh, stroking his thumb up where it creases into his hip, brushing Cas' balls with the heel of his hand, teasing his fingers through the wiry hair at the base of Cas' dick.
Cas makes a tight, frustrated noise, curls his hand at the back of Dean's head. "Dean." His eyes slide closed, and he bites Dean's neck, just below the ear. "I was so close, and you -- please."
Dean wraps his hand around Cas' dick, giving it a few long, slow strokes, heat flaring in his gut at the way Cas chokes out his name, at the way Cas pushes back against him, at the way Cas' fingers thread through his hair. The water is starting to run cold, but Cas' skin is still warm, still flushed pink across his shoulders and down the center of his chest. Dean skims his other hand over Cas' ass, tucking it between Cas' legs, teasing his fingers over Cas' hole, and Cas comes, beautifully, his back arching, his hand shaking, clenching into a fist against the tiles.
Dean touches Cas through it, touches him until he's gasping and squirming, murmuring, "Dean, too much, it's too much," as he pulls at Dean's wrist, and Dean can't wait to get Cas into a bed, to spread Cas out and run his hands over everything, kiss him everywhere, find out how he tastes. His orgasm swells up like a wave, heat in his gut and pressure at the foot of his spine, a slow throb just behind his balls; he feels like a teenager, ready to tumble over the edge just from thinking about fucking, and then Cas turns in his arms, runs a sticky-wet hand up the length of his dick, smiling as Dean comes, kissing him hard.
The water is freezing now; Cas shivers, and Dean fumbles along the wall until he finds the taps. He slides his other hand over Cas' jaw, rubbing his thumb at the corner of Cas' mouth as he leans in for another kiss. And another. And another.
"Come on," he says finally, tugging Cas away from the wall.
"Where?"
"To bed."
"Dean." Cas makes the squinty face Dean secretly found adorable when Cas was still an angel. "It's the middle of the afternoon."
"And?" Dean asks, and kisses him again.