Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Benny, give me one more,” Castiel hears from the other end of the bar. The voice is a little rough with age but still has a pleasant whiskey-on-the-rocks sound, even if the guy in question is shaking his empty beer bottle and not an empty tumbler. 

“You got it, Chief,” the bartender–Benny, apparently–murmurs as he uncaps another Margiekuegel and sets it in front of the man. “You gonna drive back up the mountain anytime soon?”

“I’ll hang around enough to keep your hair on, don’t worry,” the man grumbles into his white beard.

“I appreciate it, brother,” Benny chuckles, gesturing at his balding head. “I ain’t got enough left up there to risk it.”

Castiel sighs, thinking what a bust this mountain town has been. Despite it seeming charming at first glance, this tiny town in western South Dakota was just dull, with no stories to hear or interesting people to talk to. And now, just an old bartender talking to an even older patron about the dangers of drinking and driving. The few fun ones have either gotten too drunk to play any more pool or paired off and made their way to locations unknown, leaving Castiel to decide where he would be moving on to next. Also, his phone is dead and he doesn’t feel like digging out his charger from the huge pack of all his worldly possessions between his knees and finding an outlet to use. 

Castiel himself is also drinking a beer, and slowly. Just enough to have a pleasant buzz but not enough to be drunk. A learned behavior for someone who spends basically all their time in unsecured locations. You can dull your senses but you need to always have some of your wits about you. 

He picks at the chipped black nail polish on his thumb. The bottle of polish is also wedged somewhere deep in his pack and he’s just about to reach down to grab the more accessible black Sharpie from the front pocket to fill in the missing spots when he hears the stool next to him screech back a few inches.

The old man from the end of the bar is standing there, looking at Castiel with piercing green eyes, sharp and sparkling like emeralds from a face lined with wrinkles and framed by snowy white hair and a mostly white beard. His lips are luscious and full and formed into a wry smile.

“This seat taken?” he asks hopefully. His demeanor is completely unexpected. Older white guys usually are more of the MAGA-type and tend to sneer at a 30 year old with blue hair and tattoos, thinking he’s going to corrupt their grandchildren.

“Uhh,” Castiel flails, “it’s yours,” he finishes lamely. This guy is easily sixty but has that silver fox thing going on. Now that he’s closer, Castiel can see that he is not some frail old man, the dude’s got a solid body under that flannel…and t-shirt…and henley. It is a cold night and old people do tend to get chilled easier than younger people so maybe that’s why he’s wearing so many layers. Maybe he’s got long underwear on under those boot cut jeans. 

But picturing this man in his underwear, even the long variety, doesn’t tamp down the attraction that Castiel feels in his gut. The draw. Maybe he’s had one too many, if this geezer is doing it for him. Maybe it’s the kindness in his eyes, or the hopefulness in his tone. Castiel’s only ever needed a few frilly words to be convinced to count ceiling tiles.

The old man settles onto the stool with a little groan, similar to the sound that Castiel’s grandpa would make when he picked him up as a little boy and it twinged his back.

“So, what brings you to town?” the old man starts up conversationally. 

“Are you going to tell me that my kind don’t belong here?” Kind eyes or not, this line of questioning is nothing new to Castiel.

The man chuckles and holds both hands up.

“Hey, pal, just making conversation. I’m Dean, by the way. Dean Winchester.” He takes his right hand and holds it out to shake, leaving the left still in the air, eyebrows up and face open in a show of peace.

Tentatively, Castiel reaches over and gives him a firm handshake. Dean’s hands are a little cold and his skin is a little weathered but it’s like soft, worn leather. Like the suede bomber jacket Castiel rocked in the 90’s and thought he was the coolest little shit on the block.

“I’m Castiel.” he says, still totally confused as to how this interaction is going to go, but he’s finally, blessedly intrigued. 

“Is that a fact?” Dean chuckles. “Well, the Angel of Temperance, enjoying a cold one. That’s ironic.”

“How did you know that?” Castiel is taken aback at this beflanneled man pulling out an obscure reference to his angelic namesake. 

“Psh,” Dean says mildly, rolling his eyes and taking another slug from his beer. “I read. Don’t let the get up fool you, I’m a learned man.”

“Are you now?” Castiel asks. “So what has you out here, looking like a lumberjack? Chopping wood to make paper for more books?” 

Dean’s green eyes sparkle when he laughs.

“Something like that. You’re a weird little guy, you know that?”

Castiel looks down at himself, wondering where Dean got “little” from anywhere in his physical appearance. He gestures to his leather jacket, the arms straining on his biceps, his worn, black jeans that can barely contain his thighs, his almost six foot frame folded onto the stool, his large, shit-kicking boots resting on the brace, and his long, dexterous fingers engulfing his bottle of beer.

“Little?” Castiel asks, quirking an eyebrow.

Dean, it seems, had also been following the same route with his own eyes but seemed to stop on Castiel’s thighs. He notices Dean swallowing a little roughly before he quickly looks back up.

“You’re right, not so little” Dean says, allowing a rough chuckle to escape before swinging back a little more fully towards the bartop. “But I reserve the right to call anyone half my age ‘little,’” he counters. “I’ve earned it.”

“As long as you don’t call me ‘whippersnapper,’ we’ll be okay,” Castiel gives him a small smile.

Dean nods his assent and Castiel gets a little lost in his eyes. He can see that Dean must have been a stunner back in his day, and hasn’t lost that trait in the slightest, just a little harder to see without looking closely. The eye contact lingers a little too long. 

Dean breaks it first. He clears his throat.

“So, a nomad, huh?” He asks, gesturing towards Castiel’s pack.

“Of sorts,” Castiel assents, still not giving him much.

“A rare hunter-gatherer in our settled lands,” Dean muses.

“I’ve never had much need for bread, anyway, no need to settle down to grow the wheat,” Castiel says, settling into a conversation of metaphors and allusions. Truths instead of the truth, that’s where he is most comfortable.  

Except Dean pulls up short.

“Ah, but that’s not why humans settled.” he says.

“It’s not?” Castiel muses, “That’s what I was always taught.”

“It’s a common misconception. Well, it technically is the current prevailing school of thought but there's growing evidence of the ‘Beer Before Bread Theory,’ so hopefully it will trickle down to school kids soon enough.”

Castiel quirks his head to the side. “What’s the Beer Before Bread Theory?”

Dean perks up and is immediately more animated and, if it’s possible, even more attractive.

“It’s a hypothesis that posits that the desire for beer may have prompted the domestication of key crops, which led to the Neolithic Revolution–permanent human settlements mostly in what's commonly known as the Fertile Crescent–as well as other places around the world.”

“Ooo, Fertile Crescent,” Castiel chuckles. “I just heard that in Mrs. Everly’s voice from 10th grade.”

“Hey, kid, Mrs. Everly ain’t got nothing on me,” Dean quips, eyes dancing. “Think about it. There are more hardships in settling in one place, especially when your entire species is already nomadic and isolated. It increases disease, you have to deal with human waste, you make yourself more vulnerable to attack. Why change the status quo? Would you do it for this?” He grabs the bowl of Chex Mix that’s been sitting between them and picks out a rye chip. “How about this?” he asks, holding up his cold beer. “I know which I would do it for,” Dean says, taking a swig.

“Makes sense,” Castiel allows.

“There is evidence of gatherings that involved huge casks of most likely beer and that grain was first cultivated to make beer. Bread was an afterthought. Same in Central America. The ancestral grass that was cultivated into modern corn was terrible for making tortillas, but great for making beer. Why did they give teosinte the chance to turn into the corn we know today? Because they were already using it in mass quantities to make beer.”

“I feel like I should be taking notes,” Castiel chuckles.

Deans face colors and Castiel immediately feels like an asshole. This gorgeous, grizzled man just revealed one of his passions. And what did Castiel do? He pulled a move that was better suited for the school bully that used to torment him every day for lunch money.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t be boring you with this crap,” Dean shrugs and makes to get up off his stool.

Lucky for Castiel, he takes a minute to pop his back, so he has time to stop him.

“No!” Castiel nearly shouts. He dials it back. “No. Please, this is very interesting.”

Castiel’s outburst has caught the attention of the bartender, who comes back in with a bucket of ice. 

“Is the professor pestering you, young man?” Benny asks with a grin.

“Professor?” Castiel asks, turning to Dean. “That explains it.”

“Retired professor,” Dean shoots at Benny. “And he brought it up.”

“Oh lord, don’t say either of the b-words in front of our professor over here, cher,” Benny crows. “He will talk your ear off.”

“Hey, fuck off Benny,” Dean shoots back. He has a face of bravado, but his sparkle is markedly dimmed. Castiel is getting irritated on Dean’s behalf and feels like a heel now that Benny has decided to pile on.

“Funny enough, I am always up for getting my ear talked off,” Castiel chides and then turns to Dean, putting a literal cold shoulder towards the bartender. “And a retired professor? What field?”

Dean sips his beer before answering. “Sociology. Used to teach.”

Castiel is such a sucker for a complex mind, this only serves to make Dean even hotter. If only he weren’t twice his age. But, Castiel did decide to travel the country and learn from its citizenry. And he has way too willing a specimen in front of him.

“Alright,” Benny acquiesces, thoroughly dismissed, but gets one more shot in as he walks away. “I can tell when my help isn't wanted. Just don’t come crying to me when he is in the middle of lecturing you about the twin evils of distillation and isolation.”

***

“So, professor,” Castiel says with his gravel-deep voice and a smirk on his lips, “Pretend I’m a student in one of your lecture halls and…educate me.”

Dean rolls his eyes to hide the way he almost shivers at the way Castiel calls him “professor.” The guy is decades younger than him but decidedly a full grown man, and, if he’s not mistaken, flirting with him. Dean needs to not flirt back–too much, anyway. There’s no harm in a little banter, but he needs to just keep it surface-level. He doesn’t want to actually go for it and see the disgust–or even pity–in this young guy’s eyes when he rejects him for being too old. When he was in his prime, he’d look up at him from under his lashes, lick his lips and the guy would be eating out of his hand. But those days are long gone.

Castiel had used a fresh beer to coax Dean to a table a little way away from the bar, up against a wall near the desolate dartboard. After Benny had interrupted them, it was nice to know that Castiel still wanted to talk to him and didn’t want Benny to butt in again. He got lonely up in that cabin by himself, and he’d have to find a new watering hole if Benny was going to let jealousy run off anyone Dean found remotely interesting to talk to. Benny had his chance. 

“You don’t have time for an old coot like me to ramble on,” Dean demures. He got another beer out of the deal anyway, even further pushing out his time that he can safely drive. But he’s not going to be patronized by a cute boy.

“I’ve got nowhere to be,” Castiel explains, peeling the label off his beer with those distracting fingers. “I stick around when I’m interested, move on when I’m not.” Castiel does actually look up at him through his lashes, like he stole a page out of Dean’s playbook. Still. There’s no way this guy actually likes him.

“And are you?” Dean smirks. “Interested?”

And here he just told himself that he wasn’t going to flirt too much with the guy. This guy is half his age, and would never in a million years be interested in him like that. But, so few people drift through town, and people his age seem to be dropping like flies anyway. Scrolling his social media feels more like scanning the obits anymore. He’ll just dial it back and keep it light and maybe he’ll escape the night with his dignity intact and, he thinks–his eyes drawn again to one of Castiel’s thick thighs, sprawled to the side of the table, the chain attached to his belt glinting in the light–with his spank bank filled to the brim.

“Very much so,” Castiel practically purrs, and then pulls his own bottom lip between his teeth while looking at Dean like he’s dinner. The blue in his eyes and the blue in hair match in the most pleasing way to Dean’s eyes. And the smudge of almost worn off eyeliner is way hotter than it would ever be on a woman. Dean swallows. At the risk of being accused of being a pervy old man at some proposition that’s on the tip of his tongue, a small bright spot of hope blooms in his chest with Castiel’s intense reaction.

“You don’t want to hear how I used to start my lectures on this subject,” Dean muses. “You should have seen me, back in my prime. I was a looker. I made every student–man or woman–squirm in their seats with that one.”

“Well now you have to tell me, professor,” Castiel encourages. “And, for the record, you’re still quite a looker.” He gives Dean a wink that utilizes half of his face, which convinces Dean that, yeah, the guy’s just fucking with him. 

“Yeah you can just quit that,” Dean laughs. And now that the pressure is off from this actually going anywhere, Dean can just relax and really have some fun. “Alright, okay.”

Dean pushes his chair back slightly, slouching a little and spreading his legs. He used to start every semester like that, pretending like he didn’t practice this in a mirror. But sex sells and his classes were always packed to the brim. He clears his throat and puts on a nonchalant air.

“People like to eat Twinkies and do shots of Jägermeister. And people like to have sex.”

Castiel’s dark eyebrows shoot into his blue hairline at that one, which is exactly the look that his students would have when he said that on the first day. All of the beginning-of-class rustling and settling would stop and he’d have every eye in the lecture hall on him.

“Junk food is an evolutionary mismatch. For most of our evolutionary history, acquiring food was a problem, especially sweet things, and fatty proteins were a patchy resource. So you get a lot of it all at once and then you get nothing for a long time. So when people encountered it, they would gorge on it all at once. As an adaptive trait, it’s not something that people in our part of the world need to worry about, but in the world as a whole, there are still many groups of people who need that adaptive trait to survive. Therefore we haven’t evolved out of our sweet tooth.”

“Hmmm.. makes sense.” Castiel leans forward in his chair, resting his stubbled cheek on his hand. “Personally, I’d prefer to leave Twinkies to their nuclear fallout shelters. Give me a big slice of pie and I’m happy.”

“A man of discerning taste, I can’t resist pie.”

“What’s your favorite type?” 

“I make a mean apple pie,” Dean smiles. “Yours?” Castiel waits a beat.

“I love a cream pie,” Castiel smolders while Dean chokes on his beer. The fucker must have waited until Dean took a drink on purpose. “Boston Cream Pie, of course. I’m from New England so it reminds me of home,” Castiel explains, not fooling Dean at all with his feigned innocence.

“Speaking of creampies, let’s get back to the ‘people like to have sex’ part of your lecture.”

“Ah, yes, of course,” Dean straightens in his chair, squirming a little in his seat. “The orgasm is the best thing that can happen to you. The pinnacle of human pleasure.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

“Sex feels good. Really, really good. There's the touching and the feeling of each other, my hands everywhere, tracing every inch of their body,” At this, Dean can practically see Castiel’s eyes darken with lust. “The two of us moving together, pressing and pulling... Grinding.”

This, of course, wasn’t in his lecture script. That would be completely unprofessional. But, hey, it’s been a long time since Dean has had someone willing to play the game and, by God, he was going to have some fun. Castiel, for his part, looks like someone has put itching powder in his pants, the way he is squirming in his seat. Dean notices his hands are squirming too, and Castiel grabs a paper napkin from the table to keep them steadier.

“Then you hit that sweet spot,” Dean continues, looking right into Castiel’s eyes and noticing that his breathing is slightly labored. “And everything just builds and builds and builds until it all just…”

Dean makes a small exploding sound with his mouth and Castiel crumples the napkin in his fist. They are both breathing a little heavier than a barroom conversation requires and are back to staring at each other with intensity. 

“So,” Dean tries to get back on track and ignore his voice cracking on that one syllable, “why do we get so much pleasure from sex? Because of evolution.”

“We evolved orgasms?”

“Think of evolution in terms of punishments and rewards. Evolution is reserving its biggest carrot for the behavior that it wants to reward the most–reproduction. The adaptive target of the orgasm is reproductive sex. But humans have discovered how to get around the targeted behavior via masturbation or other, creative means. Humans have hijacked the brain and figured out how to trigger a reward circuit they shouldn’t be getting. Evolution probably hates this, but it’s a relatively low cost behavior. Because, at the end of the day, there are lots of people having reproductive sex out there. Somewhere. No one’s gonna bother us about the way we get our orgasms.”

“In a perfect world, at least,” Castiel muses with an eye roll.

“No doubt,” Dean chuckles. 

“Now when it comes to alcohol, the prevailing theory is that it’s another brain hijack to ping the pleasure centers of our brain. Or they theorize that it’s an evolutionary mismatch where, for example, a taste for alcohol allowed us to consume liquid in a safe form when drinking water may have been dangerous. But I don’t think any of these theories explain the evolutionary reasoning for alcohol.”

“Why not?” Castiel asks, tipping his head to the side with a curious look. He does, at least, seem to be genuinely interested in the topic.

“Because alcohol is ancient, costly and dangerous. As long as we’ve had writing, people have been complaining about alcohol. But in ancient Sumer, it’s estimated that half of the grain production went to producing beer. So they’re taking half of their food and turning it into liquid neuro-toxins that can cause social disruption and dependencies. From a biomedical perspective, there is no upside to alcohol. If this is an evolutionary mistake, it’s an incredibly costly evolutionary mistake. Unlike orgasms and twinkies, alcohol can actually make you go blind. It doesn’t make any sense that there wouldn’t be some kind of pressure to fix this, if all it is, is a cost.”

“Millions of years ago, when the Earth cooled off, food sources changed, and this primate ancestor started to explore life on the ground, primates started eating not only fruit picked from trees, but also the fallen fruits below. And fallen fruits, when they're exposed to bacteria in the environment that convert sugars to alcohols, will begin to accumulate ethanol. If you were the ancestor without a new mutation called ADH4, the ethanol would quickly build up in your blood and you'd get inebriated much faster. You'd be a cheap date. The problem is that it would result in making them more easily get sick—or drunk—off fruit, enough so that they couldn't defend their territory and seek out food. Primates with the new mutation could get more food and the gene was selected for in the human and chimpanzee lineage. There are people to this day who are allergic to alcohol and have a gene that gives them very severe symptoms if consumed. If evolution wanted alcohol gone because of the enormous cost, it would mutate all of our genes to deplete ADH4.”

Castiel is gazing at Dean with reverence and a small smile on his face. 

“What?” Dean asks, realizing he’s been rambling for quite a while.

“Nothing,” Castiel shakes his head and looks across the bar. “I just, I travel the country and roam around, looking for interesting people to talk to. I thought this town was a bust.” He darts his eyes over to Dean without turning his head. “But you,” he says, now swiveling his head to match his eyes, “you’re fascinating. Looking at you, I would have never thought there was so much inside your mind.” 

“Thank you?” Dean laughs, wondering if he realized that he basically said “You’re not as dumb as you look.” He decides to just tell the younger man about his social faux pas. “A little bit of a back-handed compliment.”

“No, I don’t mean it that way!” Castiel scoots up in his chair and gesticulates, trying to convey earnestness. “I just… I just wanna lick your fucking brain.”

“If that was an explanation, I don’t get it.” Dean laughs.

“I’m just saying–albeit poorly–that your intelligence is fucking hot and it makes me want to jump your bones.”

Dean’s stomach tightens at the prospect of this gorgeous younger man finding him attractive.

“Tell me more,” Castiel insists, honest-to-god putting his elbows onto the table, chin onto both fists and leaning in intently. Dean laughs with almost giddy relief, feeling like the belle of the ball. “If evolution doesn’t want alcohol consumption to work itself out of society, there must be a benefit to it, it must serve a larger purpose?”

“Yes, exactly.” Dean agrees.

“So what, to your mind, is the larger benefit?”

“Alright, so. We are primates, right?” Dean starts. He’s not used to laying this all out without a whiteboard behind him to scrawl on, but he refrains from scribbling on a napkin or anything.

“Right,” Castiel affirms, urging him on.

“We are primates, but as humans, we cooperate more like social insects. Our nearest primate relatives, chimpanzees, live in small scale communities and cooperate primarily with relatives or people they know and are very suspicious and hostile towards outsiders. But humans, we cooperate on a scale and intensity that’s more like social insects. So how do you get primates to operate on that scale? There’s going to be friction, and alcohol–or other substances–helps to lubricate the gears of cooperation. Ritual, societal customs and religion also help, but those are often used hand-in-glove with alcohol.”

“Like bacchanalia,” Castiel interjects.

Dean nods. “Among others. My theory is that alcohol was one of the primary cultural technologies that transformed homo sapiens from nomadic, isolated tribes to organized settlements and being able to work more broadly with strangers.”

“ Your theory? So this is more than just a passing interest,” Castiel susses out.

“Yeah, It’s my current field of focus,” Dean ducks his head.

“I thought you were retired?” Castiel asks, leaning back again in his chair.

“I am, but when you get older…you gotta keep the mind spry. Use it or lose it, yannow?”

“Sounds like it.”

“Plus, I’ve been offered a book deal so I’m working on that,” Dean mutters.

“A book deal? Very impressive, professor,” Castiel smiles. Dean offers him a shy smile back. He’s pretty proud of his book deal. 

“So, you were saying?” Castiel, seemingly genuinely interested. “Alcohol as a cultural technology? As the cultural technology?”

“Ah, yes,” Dean continues. “So why would humans want to cooperate with outsiders? Have you ever heard of a prisoner’s dilemma?”

“Is that the one where they shouldn’t pick up the soap they dropped?” Castiel asks, color high in his cheekbones as he chuckles with slightly tipsy mirth.

“Not quite,” Dean chuckles. “The prisoner's dilemma presents a situation where two people must each choose between cooperating with the other or not. The highest reward is for cooperating, but there’s a risk that you could lose everything if the other person doesn’t hold up their end of the deal.”

“As a wanderer, I often come upon choices like those.”

“I’ll bet you do. So the most rational thing you can do is to not cooperate. It’s the only scenario where you’re guaranteed to walk away with at least what you started with. But we don’t do that. We aren’t rational actors, we are emotional. Love and honor and trust are irrational, but there’s, of course, rationality in it on a long-term evolutionary scale. But I digress.  Every day, humans decide to trust each other. And alcohol aids that in many historical and cultural ways.”

“How so?” Castiel asks.

“Alcohol is a complicated substance. It has a lot of different effects on our body/brain system. But one of the important ones is depressing the function of the prefrontal cortex. The part of our brain that helps us focus, get to work on time…delay gratification. And traditional alcohol depresses all of that gradually, predictably and with proven half life. Alcohol also enhances cooperation and trust.”

“Yeah, I could see that,” Castiel interjects.

“We solve these prisoner’s dilemmas by trusting each other. One of the ways you pull that off is through cultural technologies like religion. We create alternate families…some would say ersatz but I don’t appreciate the connotation of it being lesser. Some of the family I’ve found is damned better than any I was given through blood.”

“A-fucking-men,” Castiel agrees, tipping his beer toward Dean.

“Of course, some people are able to fake a genuine emotional display. But in order to lie, cheat and calculate, you need your prefrontal cortex. To lie, it’s difficult. You have to hold in your mind what is true and also what is false that you’re telling your mark. You have to keep your true emotions hidden that may reveal your true intentions and you have to manufacture emotions to aid in your persuasion. All of that happens in the prefrontal cortex. You need it in good working order to deceive.”

“Okay but what if the other person is drunk and easily fooled?”

“Interestingly enough, when your prefrontal cortex is in top shape, we aren’t actually as good at detecting lies. When we are actively looking for lies, most people look for the wrong things. But when you’re relaxed and a little clouded by alcohol, you can tell a little easier who is and isn’t lying. So when potentially hostile humans meet, they shake hands. Like we did earlier tonight. We showed each other that we weren’t holding a weapon in our dominant hands. When people shake hands, they are physically disarming themselves. When people share a drink with someone, they are cognitively disarming themselves. They are putting themselves at risk with a slower response time, they are making it harder for themselves to lie, and they are sharpening their tools for lie detection.”

“A pretty brilliant way to meet a potential lover,” Castiel says, looking up from his eyelashes, with the strong air of implication. “Maybe that’s why so many first dates involve alcohol.” He uses his bottle to clink onto the side of Dean’s empty one.

“For sure,” Dean can’t help but grin. “That’s one of the many reasons that alcohol plays a part in romantic partnering. Alcohol is also stress reduction, an aphrodisiac, makes you lose your inhibitions, and actually physically makes you looser. Drunk drivers don’t actually get as physically injured in car wrecks because they aren’t anticipating the impact like a sober driver does.”

The lights flicker above and Dean blinks towards the bar. Benny is standing at the wall, toggling the switch up and down.

“Closing up, cher,” Benny calls to Dean. “If you want to keep drinking, I have the game taped. You could crash at my place.”

Dean’s ears get hot at the same time that Castiel turns rigid. The familiarity and ease that Benny is talking to him is not lost on Dean. Someone is jealous.

“Well,” Castiel sighs. “I guess that’s a wrap on this town.” He stands and holds out a hand for Dean to shake. Dean takes his warm hand.

“Wait–” Dean says, holding his hand a little longer than he should.

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel says, pulling his hand out of Dean’s grasp gently and bending down to reach for his pack. “It’s been a real pleasure talking to you. I’ll be sure to get a copy of your book when it comes out. I’ll watch for it.”

“You don’t have to go,” Dean says, feeling this opportunity bleed out of him, this balloon of hope bursting. He doesn’t want to go home with Benny and have the guy get too drunk and too handsy and try to rekindle this–whatever those few weeks were. And he doesn’t appreciate Benny trying to pull this shit in front of Castiel. But Castiel is already on his way out the door, pack on his shoulders and into the snowy night.

***

The snow crunches under Castiel’s feet and he curses that he cares more about looking cool in his leather jacket than he cares about his warmth. He just doesn’t think about it until it’s the middle of the night. But he’s pretty sure there was a motel down the road somewhere, so he just needs to hustle, which will warm him up anyway, and he will be in a toasty motel room in no time.

He tries not to let the melancholy overtake him. He really liked Dean and thought he was sexy as hell, but he must have something going on with the bartender, the way the barkeep’s eyes tracked him as he left the bar. Yeah, Castiel was turned on but the older guy was probably just lonely, missing the lecture halls and rapt attention of students long since graduated. It was nothing but a fun conversation, he told himself as he trudged along the plowed road, hitching his pack higher and shaking his head.

At long last, he rounded a bend and the motel was in sight. He looked up and dread pooled in his gut. There, in bright flickering neon was a “NO VACANCY” sign mocking him from up the hill. 

“Fuck,” he hissed, wondering if he could at least sit in the office and warm up while looking for a room somewhere else. Maybe he would splurge on an Uber, even though his funds were running low after buying beer for Dean and himself just to keep the guy talking. His mind immediately takes him back to the disappointment he felt as he was leaving and he just wants to curl up somewhere warm and sleep his misery off.

He sighs and is about to keep walking uphill when he sees headlights illuminate the trees in front of him. Around the bend, a boxy brown and white Jeep comes trudging up the hill on huge knobby tires, meant for rougher terrain than this paved road.

The Jeep pulls up next to Castiel and slows. A window is cranked down laboriously and Castiel can first see a recently familiar mop of snowy white hair. When he sees bright green eyes next, he can’t help but smile.

“No vacancy, huh?” Dean asks, nodding his head toward the motel sign.

“No room in the inn, I’d better find a manger, I guess.” Castiel chuckles wryly.

“I’m sure you can find better than that,” Dean muses, throwing his Jeep in park and cutting the engine. “Handsome fella like yourself? I’m sure you get a lot of offers.”

“Yes, but offers typically come with strings,” Castiel allows. “It’s better to just rely on yourself, you know?”

Dean steps out of the Jeep, looking warm in his canvas jacket and black gloves. He crowds right up into Castiel’s space, the air between them foggy with their mingled breaths.

“Remember what I told you about a prisoner’s dilemma? Well, here’s another one, right here. We can both walk away, spend the night alone, no harm no foul. Our dignity intact and our riches secure. Or we can spend it together, make a great night out of it, and leave the better for it. But the risk we take, being strangers. You could steal from me, I could, say, lock you up in a basement or something. Is it worth it? Trusting each–”

Dean’s question is cut off as Castiel takes his face between his frigid hands and hammers their mouths together. Dean let out a surprised grunt. Before Castiel can panic at reading the situation wrong (honestly, how could it be? But his traitorous brain is always telling him there is a chance), Dean’s lips are sliding open and his hands are in Castiel’s hair, urging him closer.

The kiss is brief but powerful, and when it ends, there are mere centimeters between them. Dean’s eyes are dancing around Castiel’s face with a smile. He grabs Castiel by the front of his jacket and whirls him around to slam him against the side of his Jeep to kiss him deeply. Castiel can’t tell who licked into whose mouth first, but their tongues are now massaging each other and they are completely surrounded by the fog of their heaving breaths.

Dean pulls back, breaking the kiss. “A tongue ring, huh?” he smiles.

“Yep,” Castiel confirms and starts kissing Dean’s neck.

“I thought it would be cold but it’s warm, interesting,” Dean muses and then hisses when Castiel nips at a carotid. 

“It will probably get cold if I stay out here long enough,” Castiel jokes. 

“Get in,” Dean rasps as he breaks free, voice husky. He yanks the pack off of Castiel’s shoulders and tosses it into the back seat.

Castiel trots to the passenger side and climbs in and immediately meets Dean over the middle console. Their lips crash into each other over and over while small moans and sharp intakes of breath fill the cabin. Their hands are exploring, Castiel pushing back Dean’s jacket hurriedly to palm at his chest and run his fingers over Dean’s nipples. Finally, they pull apart.

“Drive,” croaks Castiel, breath heaving.

Dean fires up the Jeep and throws it into gear with the long shift stick in the foot well. Castiel assesses the situation. The shift is well out of his way if he leans over the flat center console.

He gets up on his knees and leans over, sucking on Dean’s earlobe. Dean hums in pleasure and then jumps a little at Castiel’s hand at his crotch, digging for his zipper. 

“Well, hey there,” he says as he pulls his eyes away and back onto the road.

Castiel ignores what is either a protest or an invitation and continues to explore, releasing his ear and ducking down into Dean’s lap. He pops the button on Dean’s jeans and gets the zipper down all the way. He breathes onto his hand for a second before reaching into Dean’s pants and pulling out his cock. Even so, Dean flinches. His flesh feels so warm that Castiel’s hand must be fairly cold in comparison.

Dean is half hard and cut, his dick framed by salt and pepper hair, neatly trimmed. Castiel leans over and sucks just the head into his mouth, suckling and tonguing at the slit. He flattens his tongue so that the ball of his tongue ring is a teasing pressure on Dean’s frenulum and Castiel knows from experience that it will drive the man wild.

“Jesus Christ,” Dean moans from above him and Castiel hums in response. He can feel Dean hardening in his mouth, which is the biggest turn on in the world for Castiel. He sucks down the shaft completely so he can feel his cock grow to bursting in his mouth. He reaches his hand back into Dean’s pants to cup his balls and reaches the pads of his fingers even further back to massage his taint.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Dean moans, shifting his hips upward in his seat. “ Shit. ” Dean takes one hand off the wheel to run his hand through Castiels’ blue hair, tugging a little. Castiel begins to bob on his cock with fervor, relaxing his throat and letting a rhythm settle. 

It isn’t until Dean makes a turn up an incline that they hit the first large bump on the mountain road and Castiel ends up gagging on Dean’s cock. He pulls up slightly and has to stop to cough. He feels like he needs to turn in his dick-sucking merit badge for that one, but he’s going to blame extenuating circumstances.

“Are you okay?” Dean chuckles, still completely winded from Castiel’s treatment. “Maybe it’s best you stop that…for now. We’re almost there.”

Castiel spends the rest of the bumpy ride vacillating between palming his own dick through his pants and clutching the bar attached to the panel in front of him whenever they hit a particularly jarring bump. Dean, having tucked himself back in, was driving the Jeep up the–frankly, alarming–incline of the mountain with a sexy amount of competence.

At long last, Dean pulled into a gravel driveway that shortly opened up to a small clearing with a cozy-looking log cabin sat in the middle. There was a barn off to the side and a small pond beyond it. There were stacks and stacks of firewood piled on the side of the house and a smaller stack on the porch, next to two wooden rocking chairs.

Dean pulls up next to the barn and jumps out before Castiel can pounce again. He rounds the Jeep and yanks Castiel’s door open. 

“Come on,” he commands, fisting his hands in Castiel's shirt and pulling him out of the car.

Castiel follows him stiff-legged into the cold, looking at the cabin that has a warm, inviting glow.

“Nice place,” he murmurs as Dean fumbles with his keys. Castiel is unapologetically grinding on him by the time Dean gets the door unlocked, and it takes barely a blink before he finds himself on the other side of the door, pressed tight against it, Dean sucking on his bottom lip. Castiel grabs Dean’s ass and pulls them closer together, feeling the length of Dean’s hard cock along his thigh.

“I need you so fucking bad,” Dean barks out after releasing Castiel’s lip and diving for his neck. He shoves at the leather jacket on Castiel’s shoulders. 

“Yes, please,” Castiel replies and sheds his top layer onto the floor. Dean also takes a moment to take off his canvas jacket.

“Bedroom,” Dean rasps, and he grabs Castiel’s hand and turns to pull him through the living room. There is an overstuffed leather sofa in front of a banked fire in the fireplace. There are books everywhere. Built-in bookshelves line the walls and there are stacks of books on the end table next to the sofa and some opened and spread out with notes on the coffee table. Castiel fights the urge to just shove Dean onto the sofa, but he lets himself be led away into a slightly cooler part of the house. 

***

The bedroom is also cozy and inviting, honey oak wood on the walls and in the furniture, a huge bed with a fluffy brown comforter and a buffalo plaid throw at the foot of the bed. Dean wastes no time and pulls Castiel to stand next to the bed.

Dean grabs a pillow from the bed and throws it to Castiel’s feet.

“My knees can’t handle the wood floor anymore,” he chuckles as he kneels his creaking knees onto the pillow.

“We can lie on the bed,” Castiel says with concern, but Dean is shaking his head.

“Nah,” he smiles, rubbing Castiel’s stomach under his shirt, “This is my favorite part.”

Dean reaches for the fly of Castiel’s jeans as the younger man strips his own shirt off.

“Christ,” Dean mutters as he takes in the ink along Castiel’s torso. His body is a tantalizing sketchbook of tattoos against his tanned skin. He’s got honest-to-god enochian writing across his ribs, a dragon curling around his left hip bone, God and Adam’s hands from The Creation of Adam to the left of his belly button. A script of “Holy the lone juggernaut” is on his right pec, just above a small mole 9 o’clock to his nipple.  The largest tattoo is a glowing blue eyeball with wings coming out of it over his diaphragm. Dean laughs when he sees it.

“Makes sense,” he says, running his fingers over it, half expecting it to feel differently than normal skin because the colors are so vibrant. When it just feels like normal skin, he kisses it tenderly, making Castiel’s stomach muscles tighten, “That you would have enochian writing and a biblically accurate angel on you.”

“Yeah,” Castiel chuckles, “but my tattoo artist talked me out of putting it on my ass.”

“I would have kissed it if it were there too,” Dean smirks, licking down Castiel’s torso and peeling his jeans down to his thighs as he goes. Dean kisses onto the front of Castiel’s dark gray boxer briefs and stops to mouth along the length of his hard cock. He’s kissing and licking and suddenly he stops.

“Really?” he marvels. “A Prince Albert?”

Castiel shrugs as Dean reaches into his boxer briefs to pull out his cock to stare at the curved piercing with a silver ball protruding out of the head. He thumbs at the other ball on the underside of the head and Castiel hisses.

“Sensitive,” he chuckles.

“God, I need this inside of me,” Dean marvels.

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Castiel says, pulling at Dean to get him up.

“No, not yet,” Dean shakes his head, staying where he is. “I’m not finished here yet.”

Dean grips Castiel’s cock by the base and leans in to place a rather chaste kiss onto the head, his lips lingering on the piercing. The sharp tang of precum on his tongue, the kiss turns messy, his plush lips opening to suckle and taking the opportunity to lave around the head in a swirl. His tongue curls around the piercing and he sucks hard.

Castiel folds in on himself at the sensation with a strangled “Fuck!” punched out of him. “Your fucking mouth, ” he rasps.

Dean hums and takes him down to the root, nestling his nose into the short trimmed bush at the base of Castiel’s cock. He stays there for a long moment, breathing in the musky scent of him and letting his throat grow accustomed to the intrusion. It’s been a while. He pulls off and goes back in, humming and slurping as he expertly bobs up and down. Meanwhile, he works Castiel’s jeans and boxers past his knees and starts massaging his balls, tugging ever so slightly intermittently. Castiel sways his hips into the heat of Dean’s mouth and Dean moans in pleasure. He slides his hands back to the globes of Castiel’s ass and pulls him in further. He pulls off with a gasp.

“Fuck my mouth,” he pleads. “I can take it.”

“If you’re sure,” Castiel breathes.

“I told you, this is my favorite part,” Dean assures him.

Castiel does. And Dean is in heaven. His throat relaxed, saliva pooling in his mouth, Castiel starts tentatively thrusting into his throat. Dean’s hands again pull him even further until he gags and then moans. Then he encourages a faster rhythm. It’s starting to get sloppy, drool dripping off of Castiel’s cock, mixed with his precum, slicking the way past Dean’s lips and down his throat.

Dean grabs Castiel’s hands that were loose on Dean’ shoulders and moves them to his hair, squeezing his hands and prompting him to tug slightly on the snowy white locks.

“You like that?” Castiel rasps, pulling Dean by the hair onto his cock. Dean nods his head vigorously while choking on Castiel’s cock. Tears collect in the corner of his eyes and he forces himself not to gag but swallows repeatedly while Castiel gasps above him.

Finally, Castiel releases his grip and guides Dean’s head back while he sucks in air through his nose. Dean pulls off and rasps, “Again.” and slips back onto Castiel’s cock.

Castiel repeats his former actions, this time the tears spilling over and running down the sides of Dean’s face. He starts to gag but holds on, knowing his throat is stimulating Castiel’s cock in a way that will drive the man wild. 

They continue this way a few more times until Dean can feel Castiel’s balls draw up and his cock becomes impossibly more rigid in his mouth. Dean pulls off and rests his head on Castiel’s thigh, smiling dreamily and taking large gulps of air.

“Can’t have you coming too soon,” he pants, looking up at Castiel who is rubbing his hands over his face.

“Fuck, you’re too good at that,” he marvels at Dean.

Dean sits back on his heels to pick at Castiel’s shoelaces, smiling.

“I’ve had years of practice,” he chuckles, sitting on the edge of the bed. “If you keep at it, you’ll be just as good as me by the time you’re my age.”

Castiel laughs. “I’ll work on it as much as I have the opportunity, I promise.”

Dean gets Castiel’s boots unlaced and Castiel uses his opposite foot to kick them off. Dean pulls at his jeans and boxer briefs until he is gloriously naked. Dean, on the other hand, is still clothed in multiple layers. He stands and looks at Castiel on his bed like he’s on death row and his last meal is steak.

“I feel a little underdressed, here,” Castiel muses. “Join me?”

Dean has other ideas, though. He pushes Castiel back onto the bed and attacks his thighs, bending over him, licking, sucking, biting , leaving a trail of saliva and heading towards his balls. He sucks one into his mouth gently and swirls his tongue around, shoving Castiel’s thighs further apart. Castiel moans and throws his arm over his eyes, chest heaving. Once Dean moves to the other, he is massaging Castiel’s hole with a dry finger. Suddenly, Dean gets his hands under Castiel’s thighs and pushes them towards his torso, bending the younger man in half and exposing his hole. Dean dives in like a man possessed, using the tip of his tongue to tease around his rim and then using the flat of his tongue to lick a broad stripe over Castiel’s hole and up past his taint and over his sack, up to the tip of his cock. Castiel’s legs have lowered slightly with his move and Dean rests his cheek onto his knee and smiles down at the man.

“I just can’t get enough of the taste of you,” he marvels.

“I’m not complaining,” Castiel wheezes. “Your mouth is incredible.”

Dean pushes his legs back again and tongues his hole again, this time putting his lips around his rim and sucking , driving Castiel insane. He spears his tongue inside and sloppily makes out with his hole.

***

“Jesus fuck!” Castiel cries. “Enough!”

Dean surfaces and Castiel grabs onto his face.

“If I don’t get my fucking hands and mouth on some of your skin right now I’m going to go crazy,” he practically growls. He attacks Dean’s mouth with fervor and it’s a gnash of tongues and lips and teeth, while Dean crawls onto the bed over Castiel. Castiel makes a determined noise and flips their positions, now straddling Dean. He grinds his hard cock onto Dean’s clothed one and reaches for the shoulders of his flannel. He gets that off and then goes for his t-shirt. 

“You have far too many layers,” he grumbles.

“It’s cold in the mountains,” Dean defends, but he assists in shedding the rest of his clothes.

Castiel finally gets to his skin and sees that he has a tattoo of his own on his left pec, a pentagram with flames around it. Castiel dives in, kissing and licking his tattoo and down to his nipple, which makes Dean hiss.

“God, yeah, sweetheart,” he groans, holding the back of Castiel’s head in place.

Castiel feels Dean’s nipple pebble under his tongue and he uses his teeth to ever-so-slightly nibble on it, making Dean buck his hips up in pleasure.

Castiel moves over to the other nipple and repeats the process. He reaches down to undo Dean’s jeans, and moves off the man so he can remove the jeans, his boxers and shimmy off his boots in one big tangled mess onto the floor.

Castiel wastes no time in licking a stripe from the base of Dean’s cock to the tip and swallowing it down. He starts bobbing up and down, using the saliva that’s dripping down Dean’s cock to jack whatever he can’t fit. After a few minutes he pulls off.

“Lube,” he rasps, his deep voice even more wrecked.

Dean indicates the nightstand and Castiel rolls over to pull it open. It has an assortment of toys and lubricants. Castiel quirks an eyebrow at Dean.

“It’s also lonely in the mountains,” Dean grins. 

“Hey, I’m not judging, I’m envious. There’s not enough room in my pack for all this,” Castiel chuckles.

He grabs a purple bottle and returns to Dean, kneeling at his side and grabbing his cock and licking the pearl of precum off of it. He mouths down the side of it while flicking open the bottle and squeezing some lube onto his fingers. Dean’s thighs fall apart when Castiel reaches behind his balls. Castiel rubs small circles around Dean’s hole, getting firmer and firmer. Dean pulls Castiel into a deep kiss and he lays on his side, propped up on an elbow, one hand circling Dean’s rim. He finally dips a finger into Dean’s hole and Dean moans into Castiel’s mouth at the breech. He starts up a rhythm of circling his hole and then dipping into it. Circle, circle, dip, circle, circle, dip. Dean’s hips are making small movements in time with his rhythm. Each dip is getting a little deeper and pulling on Dean’s rim.

“God, that feels so good,” Dean groans. “More.”

So Castiel withdraws his fingers for just long enough to grab some more lube and then resumes circling, but with two fingers this time. And this time, when he dips in with two fingers, he shoves in deep, as far as his long fingers can go. Then he eases them back out and circles Dean’s hole again. After a few more rounds of this, Dean is just panting in his mouth.

“Fuck,” Dean moans.

Castiel adds another finger, no longer circling but just full on thrusting and spreading his fingers as much as he can to stretch out Dean’s rim. He makes sure to tag Dean’s prostate intermittently so he can hear the man gasp in his mouth.

“More?” Castiel teases, bending down to suck at Dean’s nipple.

“Gimme another,” Dean wheezes, clenching his eyes shut and throwing his head back.

Castiel sits up, drizzles some lube directly onto his thrusting hand, tucks his pinky in and there’s four of his fingers drilling Dean’s hole.

Dean starts making these delicious little “uh, uh, uh” sounds in time with Castiel’s thrusts and he can’t help but to suck the head of Dean’s cock into his mouth. It’s soaked with precum and Castiel moves his lips down the shaft to get it all.

“Fucking Christ, man,” Dean cries. “I can’t take it anymore, you’ve got to fuck me before I have a fucking heart attack.”

Castiel chuckles and moves up Dean’s body to kiss him while he withdraws his fingers gently. 

***

Castiel settles on top of Dean, their cocks knocking together a few times, both sticky with saliva and precum and the sensation is tantalizing. Castiel’s arms are on either side of his head and he bends down for a quick kiss before lifting himself and settling between Dean’s knees.

Castiel’s hand scrambles for the discarded bottle of lube but Dean feels it at his own hip so he grabs it and hands it to the younger man. Castiel sits back on his heels and drizzles lube on his cock. Then he leans forward and pulls Dean’s legs onto his shoulders, exposing Dean’s hole. Gripping his hard cock at the base, he begins circling his cock around Dean’s rim, just like he did with his fingers. Dean can feel the hard balls of his piercing massaging his rim and it’s like nothing he’s ever felt before, just the right amount of firmness and combination of textures. The soft, spongy head of Castiel’s cock mixed with these two warm, slick metal balls sliding around his rim makes him want to bite something. He settles for biting his own fist and writhing in the sheets. After a few circles Castiel dips in. Just the head of his cock and then it’s back to circling. The familiar rhythm starts up. Circle, circle, dip, circle, circle, dip. Each time it’s just the head of his cock and each time it pops out and the piercing catches his rim with a delightful zing in his gut..

“You motherfucking tease, what the hell,” Dean gasps out, writhing and trying to force Castiel inside of him.

“Alright, alright,” Castiel soothes, and he pushes in with determination.

In one long, smooth slide, Castiel doesn’t stop until his hips are flush with Dean’s thighs. He’s buried to the hilt and pauses to let Dean’ adjust, turning his head to kiss and lick at Dean’s knee on his shoulder. Dean grabs the base of his own cock to stop himself from coming right then.

“Okay,” Dean breathes out after a moment. He takes a large, deep breath. “Okay, you can move now.”

That’s all Castiel needs to hear. He pulls almost all the way out, slowly but steadily. And then, he looks into Dean’s lust blown eyes, and rolls his hips inward, filling the vacated spot completely with one fluid movement. Dean contracts around him like a vise when he feels Castiel’s piercing drag over his prostate. 

“Holy mother of fuck,” Dean cries out, taking every one of Castiel’s long, deep thrusts. Castiel builds up a rhythm that gets faster and harder until it starts to falter. Dean is so incredibly close to coming he’s almost drooling.

Suddenly Castiel pulls out and uses one arm to hold Dean’s knees back to fully expose his hole to the air. With the other hand he holds his cock and jacks it twice before he cries out and Dean can feel Castiel coming directly onto his hole.

Castiel is gulping for air, rubbing the sensitive head of the cock again around Dean’s messy hole, smearing his cum around. Still in that same maddeningly tantalizing rhythm as before. Circle, circle, dip. Circle, circle, dip. Dean's eyes are rolling back in his head with the sensation. Then, still mostly hard, he pushes back in, cum slicking the way in a most delicious slide. He allows Dean’s legs to fall to either side of him and he settles on top of him, kissing him deeply while trying to catch his breath.

He starts thrusting shallowly, making himself almost cross-eyed with over stimulation, and reaches between them to grab Dean’s cock that has been steadily blurting out precum onto his own belly.

Castiel uses the precum to roughly jack Dean, until Dean is clenching around Castiel’s softening cock. Dean’s cock is getting more rigid until he finally surges up and captures Castiel’s mouth once more while coming between them and all over Castiel’s hand. He cries out in ecstacy into Castiel’s mouth as the younger man teases several aftershocks out of him. Finally, Castiel releases him and eases himself out of Dean’s wrecked hole.

“Not bad for a whippersnapper,” Dean muses breathlessly towards the ceiling as Castiel collapses next to him. Castiel fully belly laughs. 

“Fuck, that was incredible.” Castiel is still catching his breath when Dean looks over at him.

“Stay?” Dean asks. Castiel just nods.

***

Castiel wakes the next morning, pleasantly sore all over but warm inside the flannel sheets and two heavy blankets. The man nestled up next to him is the main source of heat. Dean had gotten up the night before to clean up and put on some thin linen pajama pants while Castiel opted to borrow a pair of his boxer briefs and basically pass out. Their legs are tangled together and Dean’s warm breath is tickling Castiel’s shoulder. He nuzzles in closer to Dean and tucks his head under his chin. He starts kissing at his neck and collarbones until he starts to stir.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Castiel hears him whisper above him, voice thick with sleep. Castiel falls back to sleep in the crook of Dean’s neck.

The next time he wakes, the bed is decidedly colder. He is alone in the bedroom but he hears dishes clinking and sounds of life coming from behind the closed door. He gets up, uses the bathroom and squirts some toothpaste into his mouth before pulling on his shirt from last night and walking out in just that and the borrowed boxer briefs.

Dean is standing at the stove, flipping blueberry pancakes and humming to “Ramble On” playing quietly from a speaker on his counter. He had put on a plain white undershirt and looked adorable with his light blue striped pajama pants and bare feet.

“Morning,” Castiel rumbles out in his deep morning voice.

Dean turns his head and smiles, the deep lines around his eyes getting deeper.

“There he is,” Dean calls. “Just in time for breakfast. Coffee?”

“Yes, please,” Castiel moans. “You didn’t have to make me breakfast.” 

“Ehhh I was gonna eat anyway, don’t worry about it.” Dean waves him off.

They enjoy a quiet breakfast at the table after Dean plates it up for them. The two men keep giving each other shy glances and small smiles as they chew.

Once Dean’s plate is empty, he sweeps it up and heads to the sink.

“So,” he starts, facing the counter. “Where are you headed to next?”

His voice sounds a little strained and a little distant. Castiel chews carefully and swallows. 

“I’m not really sure yet,” he tells the older man. “But I can get out of your hair in less than an hour.”

Truthfully, Castiel doesn’t want to leave yet. He’s having a great time with Dean and he feels like he’s got so many more things to discover from him. In just a few hours he had learned so much about a subject that he’d never really considered. But, he doesn’t want to cramp the man’s style. He clearly lives the mountain solitude life.

“Hey, don’t leave on my account, Cas,” Dean says, turning around and leaning against the countertop. “It’s kind of nice to have someone else to cook for.”

Castiel gets up from his seat and crowds into Dean’s space.

“I can stick around a while,” He says softly, slipping his hands around to Dean’s back. “Like I told you last night, I stick around when I’m interested, move on when I’m not.” He kisses Dean softly on the lips, closing his eyes as he pulls back and smiles. “And I find you very interesting.”

Dean quirks a smile.

“Oh, I’m sorry, you thought I said interesting?” He chuckles. “No, I said that I was into resting.”

Castiel groans at the dumb joke and hits his forehead very softly onto Dean’s chest.

“Just for that, I’m making you top for the next round,” he laughs and kisses him again.

“So do you remember what I said about the prisoner’s dilemma?” Dean asks.

“Sure,” Castiel assents. “The reasoning that you’re better off walking away than taking chances on another person, essentially.”

“More or less,” Dean agrees. “Did you know that research about the prisoner’s dilemma suggests that the strategy changes if you are ever going to see the person again.”

Castiel hums in interest but is running his dry lips softly over Dean’s jaw.

“A one-off prisoner’s dilemma is a situation in which you are unlikely to play with the other player ever again, and therefore the lack of pressure of not having to face them in the future may influence your action,” Dean explains. “An iterative prisoner’s dilemma is a situation in which you play a game with the same player many times, even if it isn’t the exact same situation every time. And in those cases, the incentive for cooperating increases greatly since most people want to have positive interactions with people they know they are going to see often.”

Castiel starts kissing a soft spot behind Dean’s ear and Dean grinds slightly into Castiel.

“And do you want to play the game with the same player?” He breathes into Dean’s ear. “Many…times?”

“God, yes,” Dean groans as Castiel licks the ridge of his ear. “If that means I’ll get to see you again.”

Castiel lowers himself to his knees in front of Dean and runs his fingers along the waistband of his pajama pants.

“I don’t have anywhere I’d rather be than right here,” Castiel says, looking up at him through his lashes and squeezing his hardening cock through his thin pants. “And I have loads more to learn.”

The End