skidmo_fic: (dean/castiel)
[personal profile] skidmo_fic
Title: One Tiny Glimpse
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Dean/Castiel (Supernatural)
Word Count: 1593
Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me...sadly
Warnings: Adult content. Angst.
Feedback: yes, please.
Summary: “Don’t angels ever…play?”
A/N: My first ever SPN fic. We’ll see how this goes.

They’re sitting shoulder to shoulder on Dean’s hotel bed watching TV. Dean tosses a piece of popcorn at him, just to see what he’ll do, and it bounces off Castiel’s nose. Castiel frowns and looks at him, confused.

“Why did you do that?”

Dean shrugs. “Just messing around.”

“I do not understand.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Dean mutters.

“Is this a problem?”

Dean frowns. It’s not a problem, not really. “No…just…don’t angels ever…play?”

Castiel frowns as well, face almost mimicking Dean’s. “Play?”

“Yeah. Mess around. Have fun.”

Castiel seems to be thinking about this. “No.”

Dean just looks at him, still frowning, and gets off the bed. “C’mon,” he says, picking up his jacket and heading for the door. He doesn’t check to see if Castiel is following, because he knows he will be.

He walks down the street to a video arcade, stepping into the dark building and taking a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dimness. He spent hundreds of hours in places like this, when he was a kid, when he was young, a thousand lifetimes ago. He pulls a twenty out of his wallet and feeds it into the change machine, getting a bag full of quarters in return. Castiel follows him over to one of the machines and Dean pops several quarters into the slot, setting the bag on the floor. Holding Castiel by the shoulders, Dean lines him up in front of the screen and puts one of Castiel’s hands on the controller.

“This little yellow guy is you. Eat the pellets, stay away from the ghosts. If you die, pop in a couple more quarters and try again.”

“And where will you be?”

Dean grins. “Getting provisions.”

By the time Dean comes back, arms full of junk food and sodas, Castiel has worked through nearly all the quarters.

“I do not understand the purpose of this.”

“Of course you don’t,” Dean mutters. Then, a little louder, “The purpose is to win. Challenge yourself. Have fun. Get the high score. Whatever.”

Castiel frowns. “I do not think I am having fun.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re losing. You’ll get better, and then it’ll be fun.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yeah, I’m certain.” He hands Castiel a Coke and a Snickers bar. “Eat these. I’ll go get more quarters.”


Three hours later, they’re back in the hotel. Castiel made it to level fifteen on his last try, and Dean hadn’t quite been able to talk him into trying Dance Dance Revolution.

They’re watching TV again, and after their third episode of Lingo, Castiel says, “I believe I had…fun.”

Dean smirks. “Good. You got better.”

Castiel nods. “Is this an…urge humans have? To have fun?”

“Yeah,” Dean says. “I mean…kinda. What’s the point of life if it’s boring?”

Castiel considers this. “I do not know.”

“You didn’t have to answer that.”

“I am sorry.”

Dean shrugs it off.

After a long pause, Castiel says, “What other urges do humans have?”

Dean laughs. “Where do I start?”

“Start with the most pressing.”

Dean refrains from pointing out again that Castiel wasn’t meant to answer that question. “Well…there’s hunger.”

Castiel nods. “I have felt that. This body requires food and drink.”

“Yeah, but…that’s just a need. I’m talking like…you’d kill for a big, greasy slice of pepperoni goodness.”

“I would not kill for pepperoni.”

“Do you have to take everything so literal?” Dean asks, shaking his head.

“How else should I take it?”

“Never mind. We’ll work on expressions later.”

Castiel nods seriously, as though these lessons will be an important part of his life in the future. “Tell me about the next most pressing.”

Dean sighs. “I don’t know, man. I don’t classify them.”

“You have mentioned hunger. I have noticed you eat a great deal.”

“Hey, I like food, okay?” Dean can feel himself getting defensive and forces himself to stop.

“You also enjoy drink. And women.”

“That bother you?” Dean all but growls.

“It…confuses me.” Castiel tilts his head, regarding Dean curiously, like a display in a museum. “Why do you desire these things?”

“Helps me relax.”

“The drink or the women?”

“Both,” Dean says. Then, “The booze mostly. The women…are for something else.”

“For what?” He’s still looking at Dean with that curious expression.

“People need to be touched,” Dean says, because he can’t figure out how to explain to an angel that sometimes he just needs to fuck.

“Do you not touch Sam?”

Dean chokes on the stale piece of popcorn he’d picked up from the coverlet. “It’s a different kind of touching.”

“I see,” Castiel says. “Lust.”

“Sometimes,” Dean says. “Sometimes just…” He frowns deeply, and nearly stops himself when he realizes this is a conversation he’d never have with anyone but Castiel. “Sometimes it’s just a need to touch and be wanted.”

Castiel nods and falls silent.

The program changes to Family Feud, and they sit for a long while, not really watching but not saying anything either.

Castiel turns onto his side and lays his head on Dean’s shoulder, a hand on Dean’s hip. Everything in Dean tells him to pull away, not to give Castiel the wrong idea, but he wonders if maybe it’s been too long since Castiel’s body (He can’t think of it as the Vessel. That makes this all kinds of wrong.) has been touched, so he shifts and hooks an arm over Castiel’s shoulder, down his back.

Dean’s seen this episode before. The number one answer is peanut butter.

Castiel’s thumb finds the sliver of skin on Dean’s hip between his shirt and jeans and it slides slowly across it. Dean doesn’t look at him, concentrating on the warmth of Castiel’s touch, the weight of Castiel’s body against his.

Family Feud slides into Password and Castiel’s hand begins to explore further, running first all along the waistband of Dean’s jeans and then down further, over his groin. It’s curious, not lust-driven, and Dean isn’t even hard yet.

The password is fugitive.

Dean thumbs open the button of his jeans and slides the zipper down, watching the screen as the contestant guesses robber then criminal then murderer. He gently takes Castiel’s hand and slides it into his jeans, over his shorts, pressing it against his cock and showing Castiel how to palm it, to rub his hand along the length as it fills with blood.

The new password is hunger.

Castiel begins to take the initiative. He pulls down the elastic of Dean’s boxers and wraps his warm hand around Dean’s cock, stroking him slowly. Dean pushes into his hand, and he glances down for just a second to see Castiel’s face. His eyes are trained on Dean’s cock with a sort of curious detachment, and as the clear liquid begins to seep from the slit, Castiel dips his head to lick it up, smacking his lips as he does, as though judging the taste. Dean doesn’t close his eyes. He never does unless he has to. Seems every time he does he ends up back in the darkness, feeling himself become a monster all over again.

The last password is happiness

Dean wraps his hand around Castiel’s, tightening it, getting Castiel to move faster, harder. Castiel learns quickly. He tugs hard on Dean’s cock, thumb sliding over the head, fist tight. Dean pulls his shirt up above his stomach, not to encourage Castiel’s touch but to keep him from staining it when he comes. On the screen the woman guesses contentment, joy, ecstasy.

“Happiness, you stupid bitch,” Dean mutters then moans softly as he comes.

Castiel watches it in fascination, still tugging on Dean’s cock until Dean has to shove his hand away.

He doesn’t kiss Castiel, doesn’t cuddle him. That’s for women. This…this is just a way to scratch an itch.

But he’s never been the sort to leave someone hanging, so he slowly pushes Castiel onto his back and opens his trousers, sliding a hand inside and taking Castiel’s cock into a tight grip.

Dean fucks to feel alive. It’s more than the comfort of a warm body next to his, more than the validation of getting a woman to fall into his bed, more than the brief moment where he can stop thinking, stop hunting, stop wanting anything other than what he has.

But he hasn’t done this since he came back, and somehow it’s different here. It’s not like the countless times he’s gotten his rocks off while Sammy sat patiently in the Impala. (Would Sam wait outside while he fucked Castiel? Or would he freak out and refuse to leave?) (The Winchester boys: one fucks a demon, the other an angel, and if you’d told Dean that three years ago, he’d have sworn you had it backwards.)

He can’t help looking up at Castiel’s face. He wants to know what an angel looks like when he comes.

It’s beautiful. Castiel’s face hides nothing, he holds nothing back, and Dean wishes he could remember the first time he came, probably in a hotel room just like this. He wonders if his face ever looked that open, that beautiful.

When Castiel finishes, Dean reaches over to the bedside table and pulls a couple of Kleenexes from the box, wiping up both their stomachs and tossing the tissue away. Castiel settles in at his side, and though Dean tries to fight it, he’s asleep in seconds, drifting off to the sound of applause on whatever game show is on now.

His dreams of hell seem so much worse now he’s had a tiny glimpse of heaven.

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July 2012

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