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Dean groans at the punch that lands right under his ribs. He jerks back, wrists burning where they're getting shafted by the rope tying them above his head. He's mostly hanging from the ceiling. His feet barely touch the ground, forcing him to either stand on his tiptoes or put his weight on his wrists. With the way his calves are cramping from the effort, he's not sure which is worse.
Dean sighs in relief when his captor walks out of the room. That demon has been torturing them for close to two hours now. He's an amateur. Dean has seen way worse, but he still relishes a break in his torment.
He can't rest though. They need to get out of here. He takes a moment to observe their surroundings. It's all gray walls and cement ground, with a thick metal door. No windows. Fuck.
He's so not in the mood to spend the night here.
"FYI, this is all your fault," Dean says as soon as he's caught his breath enough to speak.
Castiel's head, which was hanging in exhaustion, lifts just so he can glare at him. The ex-angel is in the same predicament as him, hanging shirtless from the ceiling. Even covered in a mixture of blood and sweat, his chest is very distracting. Dean is so used to seeing him covered in his suit and trench coat that he can't help but feel weird at seeing him so…naked. Dean has no idea how a guy that never takes off his coat can be so tan. Does he use his angel power? Hell, it doesn't even look like he has tan lines.
The thought brings Dean's eyes to the place where Cas' pants are hanging low, showing off his sharp hips. Dean gulps as his eyes follow the thick vein along the dip of Cas' right hip to where it disappears under the line of his pants. Those look like they're barely hanging on; like one shake of those sinful hips would make them drop right away.
Sinful hips?
Shit, Dean, get a grip!
The hunter has to physically shake his head to bring his attention back to the moment. When he looks up, there's a deep line between the angel's eyebrows as he glares at him.
"I don't know what FYI means," he says, so serious that it makes Dean scoff.
There is blood dripping from a cut at Cas' hairline. It runs along his left cheek and follows the line of his sharp jaw before running along his neck and pooling in the dip of his clavicle. This shouldn't be so hot.
"Are you okay?" Dean asks, when he notices just how much blood there is.
"This barely hurts," Cas dismisses, looking up at where he is trying to wriggle his hands out of the ties above his head. He pauses to glide a worried frown along Dean's own injuries. He probably doesn't look much better than Cas. "You?"
"Tis but a scratch," Dean says, imitating the rough voice Cas just used. He's not surprised when the angel doesn't get the joke. He is, however, surprised when Cas' arms suddenly fall to his front, released from the thick rope that was holding them. "How the hell did you do that?" Dean gapes, watching with wide eyes as Cas uses his teeth to finish untying his hands.
The angel tilts his head. "It wasn't very difficult," he says with a robotic tone, a caricature of how he used to talk when they met. Dean knows him enough to recognize the glint in his eyes and the way one corner of his lips slightly raises, proving that his friend is mocking him.
Dean rolls his eyes with a frustrated grunt, "Shut up and do me."
"As you wish," Cas says, his eyes passing on Dean from his toes to the hands above his head.
Dean's not sure why he blushes. Cas' chest is suddenly right in front of his face as the man reaches up to untie him, which doesn't help matters. He's so close that Dean can smell the blood and sweat on his skin. He's so close that Dean could lick it. Fuck.
"Really?" Dean says, voice strangled and needing a distraction. "Princess bride over Monty Python?"
"It's a classic."
Dean groans in pain as Cas slowly guides his sore arms down. His hands are firm around his biceps, massaging the tense muscles as Dean grimaces. It feels nice. Way too nice. Dean pushes him away, stepping back and rolling his shoulders instead. Since Cas is stubborn and a worrier, he still catches one of his forearms to inspect his wrist. It's been rubbed raw, skin angry red and purple.
"I wish I was still able to take away your pain," Castiel says, a light finger passing over the mark. Dean shivers at the touch.
A noise from outside the metal door makes him jump. They've been standing there, looking at each other like two idiots when they should have been searching for weapons.
"Buddy, that's the last of our problems right now," Dean says as he looks around. Luckily, their torturer has left his instruments right there for the taking. Dean passes a hammer to his friend, choosing a knife for himself.
What follows is messy and kinda gross, because that kind of weapon can't kill demons, only slow them down enough that they can run away. There are way too many demons for them to fight their way out of the building, but they can already hear shots and screams coming from outside. Help is coming, they just need to survive long enough for them to arrive.
"There are too many of them," Dean yells as he takes his bloody knife out of the neck of a demon possessing a fifty year old woman. His whole body is burning with exhaustion, yet the number of enemies is only increasing as the minutes pass.
Cas doesn't look much better. He's sweating so much that his hair is sticking to his forehead, breath raged as he repeatedly hits demons with his hammer. The shots are still audible, getting closer, but still too far away.
As soon as the demons they're currently fighting are on the ground, they can hear footsteps running toward them, more enemies coming. Dean grabs Cas' arm, pulling the angel as he starts running the other way.
They don't have the breath to run fast, let alone far, so Dean makes a rash decision. He opens a door marked as a closet and shoves Cas inside, closing the door behind them and locking it.
"What are y-" Cas' protest finishes in a mumble as Dean pushes his hand against his mouth.
The angel's eyes grow wide in surprise, before squinting in discontent. Dean releases his mouth, pushing a finger against his own. Cas gets the message. He keeps silent as they listen to a blur of steps passing on the other side of the door.
As the sound gets farther away, they both release the breath they were holding.
Only when he can feel the warm flow of air on his face does Dean realize how close they're actually standing. He instinctively tries to step back, only to bump into a shelf, making two plastic bottles fall to the ground in a sound that seems way too loud.
Cas grabs his hips, pulling him closer to prevent another accident as they both listen for the sound of steps returning. They're holding their breath, barely daring to move. When nothing comes, they both exhale in unisson again. Somehow, they're even closer than before, naked chests brushing against one another.
Dean wants to step back again, uncomfortable at their sudden proximity, but they can still hear the enemies further down the corridor, too close to risk another noise.
Somehow his hands have landed on Cas' shoulders, the angel's hands still on his naked hips. Dean blushes, glad for the near black of the room, as he fumbles to put them elsewhere. Sensing his discomfort, Cas releases his hips. He tries to put his hands in a less intimate place, but there is just no space.
Somehow they end up in the reverse position of what they were a few seconds ago, with Dean's hands on Cas' hips, and Cas' hand on his shoulders, his forearms bent between them.
It's worse.
Because now Dean can feel the roundness of Cas' hips in his palms, the sharp edge of his bones under his knuckles and the warmth of his skin against his. Cas' arms between them force their chest apart, but with no room to shuffle their feet, it only brings their waists closer.
Cas' feet are between his, their thighs pressed together, and damn, it was safer outside, fighting hordes of demons than in here, facing things Dean has spent decades avoiding.
Cas feels tense in front of him. The warmth of the room is stifling, their skins still sticky and getting stickier, their breaths still as raged despite the fact they've stopped fighting minutes ago.
"I-," Cas starts to say, wriggling his upper body, visibly uncomfortable with the way his arms are awkwardly bent between their chests. "Can I-," he starts to ask, pushing his shoulders back to slide his arms lower.
Dean's eyes bulge out when Cas' hand is suddenly trapped between their groins, the back of his hand pressing against him. It only lasts for a couple of seconds and Dean prays that the angel couldn't feel the reactiveness of his cock.
"There?" Cas asks, voice sounding even hoarser than usual.
Dean inhales, senses on fire as he detects the press of Cas' hand on the small of his back, fingers just brushing the top of his ass. Cas tries to slide them higher, only for his knuckles to hit the shelf digging in Dean's back, making it wobble with another noise.
Cas tenses in front of him, fingers reflexively pressing into Dean's flesh as he listens out for a second. "Sorry," he finally says, his hands purposely relaxing around him.
Dean's not sure what to say, his own thumb pressing into the dip of the other man's hip. He has the furtive thought that he must be pressing on the tantalizing vein from earlier. Maybe that's why he can feel Cas' frantic heartbeats like this. Or is it just his? He brushes his thumb around, feels the soft bump of the vein and follows it for an inch. He can definitely feel Cas' blood pump in there. Fuck, he can feel so much.
He only realizes his thumb is stroking the thin skin when Cas inhales shakily against him.
Shit.
"We-," Dean clears his throat, mouth dry as he whispers, "We should stay hidden until the cavalry gets here."
Cas raises his head, chin brushing along the side of Dean's jaw, "It's safer."
Dean gulps, shuffling his feet. It makes the slight fuzz of hair on Cas' chest tickle his nipples. He can feel them instantly hardening. Damn his traitorous perky nipples! He wishes it was the only thing hardening.
"Fuck, Cas, is it?" he can't help but ask, breathless.
He feels like he can feel every single millimeter of skin touching Cas, like it's beating at the frantic rhythm of their hearts. He doesn't know what to do, feels like every time he tries to keep a little distance between them, it only brings them closer.
"I guess it depends what you think the danger is."
Dean shivers when one of Cas fingers brushes against one of the dimples on the small of his back. It circles it lightly, again and again in an interminable caress, before pressing firmly into it and fuck, this shouldn't feel so erotic.
They're gross and sweaty and hurt and they are literal monsters from hell on the other side of that door, yet all Dean can think about is how Cas' hands are finally on his skin, how right it feels, how crazy a simple touch is driving him.
He's nearly rock hard from a single finger brushing an innocent part of his body. There is no way Cas missed the way he shivered or the whimper that passed his lips.
"You," Dean gasps, as the tips of Cas' fingers slip lower, just under the line of his pants, where the round of his ass starts. "You're the most dangerous thing I've ever met."
Dean can't really see Cas' face in the darkness. Only a dull ray of light is coming from under the door. He can barely distinguish the contour of Cas' jaw and a slight reflection in his eyes. Yet he still feels the intensity of his blue stare on him as Castiel uses the hand higher on his back to pull Dean close; close enough that their chest fully touches now; close enough that Castiel can have no doubt about how much Dean desires him in that instant.
The noise the angel makes still marks his surprise, a choked out groan as their groins press flush against one another. Cas isn't as hard, but he's definitely getting there. Dean can feel his member filling right against him. He teasingly pushes his hips a little more firmly, until their cocks are nestled against one another through their pants.
Cas makes a punched out noise and drops his forehead on Dean's shoulder. His nose is buried in the bent of his neck, his hair tickling the underside of his jaw. Dean can't help but breathe him in. After hours of torture and adrenaline, he should smell awful, yet Dean drinks him in. Sweat and blood feel right for them. Above that, there is a distinct smell of honey and ozone, a musk that is entirely Cas. And fuck, if Dean could bottle that up…
His hands are squeezing hard around Cas' hips, guiding him to rotate his hips slowly against him. Every movement is a delight and a torture at the same time. They both know this is neither the time nor place, yet they can't stop. They've spent too long wondering about the other's reciprocating desire to step away from it now that it's right there.
With a final groan of surrender, Dean slips his hand between them. There is barely any space and he struggles with the buttons of their pants. Cas doesn't move, making small desperate noises against his skin every time his hand brushes against the member pushing behind the zipper.
"Shhh, it's okay, I've got you," Dean whispers in reassurance as he finally releases the button and slides down the zipper. Cas whines as the pressure against his hard cock releases, only to be replaced by a warm hand plunging into his underwear. Dean swears at the teeth closing around the skin of his shoulders as Cas burrows another delightful noise against him.
The angle is awkward, there is not enough space for him to properly stroke Cas, but God, does he try his best, squeezing, pulling and brushing against the wet head.
"Fuck, my arm is cramping. Let me," Dean says, ignoring the noise of protest Cas lets out when he releases him to focus on opening his own pants.
One of Cas' hands on the small of his back pushes him closer, making the task even more complicated, but the feeling of Cas' wet cockhead smearing precum along his stomach more than makes up for it. As soon as his pants are open, Cas' hands slips down and under, grabbing his ass and squeezing it so hard that Dean has to bite his lips not to cry out. Cas pulls him closer, nearly crushing Dean's hand between them; Dean brings it back to the other man's hips to hold him steady as he presses against him.
The first contact of their bare cocks makes them groan louder than is prudent. Dean wishes he could take hold of Cas' cheeks, that he could bring his face closer and swallow all those noises that Cas can't seem to keep in. There is no space though, and Cas is still resolutely hiding his face in the crook of his neck, leaving bites and saliva on the skin there as he pants against his skin.
Dean wishes so many things, wants to touch and kiss and see, but it's not possible right now. All he gets is this and, oh God, isn't it already too much. Their bodies are pressed so close that their dicks rub between their stomachs in a mess of uncontrolled thrusts and precum.
Castiel's hands are still massaging the firm globe of his ass, pulling in counterpart to the way Dean guides him with his hips. It's frantic and a little violent, their lower bodies crashing together again and again. Dean readjusts his stance and suddenly their balls are slapping together and fuck, how can this be so frustrating and perfect at the same time.
Cas' hands slide a little lower and for a second Dean thinks that he'll lift him, that he'll get to twist his legs around Cas' waist, to feel him even closer. Except Cas aborts his movement, probably realizing that there isn't enough space for this, that it would destroy every shelf and alerts every enemy around of their presence. Fuck, but for a second Dean craves it anyway.
Instead, Cas' hands squeeze his ass again, spreading it in a way that makes Dean's knees nearly buckle. With this new hold, the tip of Cas' fingers brush against his hole. Dean's never had anything in there beside a couple of his own fingers, yet he suddenly feels so freaking empty. His hole is clenching, begging Cas' fingers to get closer. Like hearing the call, Cas' index finger brushes over it timidly, feeling the way the pucker squeezes and releases under the tip of his finger, trying to suck him in.
"Dean," Cas whines in a voice so wrecked that it doesn't even sound like his anymore.
Dean clenches his teeth, pushing back just that tiny bit against his finger. "Do it."
He's bracing himself against the intrusion when Cas suddenly raises his head. He doesn't even stop to acknowledge the way he headbutts Dean's chin, mouth landing somewhere between Dean's eye and his ear as he fumbles in the dark in search of his mouth. When his lips finally land in the right place, they meet the birth of a smile, swallowing it.
It's brutal. They're drinking each other in, more than kissing, yet it's still perfect. Their hips jerks against one another, the slide getting wetter and wetter until Cas' teeth latch onto Dean's bottom lip and he realizes the other man is coming.
It's messy, leaving both their chests tainted. He can feel how drench his own member is, feels Cas' cum dribbling down his shaft and along his balls. Somehow, that's what pushes him over the edge too. Being marked by Cas' pleasure, by Cas' desire for him.
Cas' tongue laps up his moan as he paints the angel with his own desire. He pushes against the finger still resting against his entrance, making Castiel feel the way he's pulsing inside and out. Cas seems to get it, pressing back enough to feel better, but not enough to breach. Not here, not like that.
As Cas rests his forehead against his, as their breaths mix together in the darkness, their chest brushing against each other with each intake, their hearts beating in unison, it feels like more than a stolen moment in a closet. It feels like a beginning. Like a promise.