Work Text:
If given a choice, Castiel would prefer to be prepared. He can take the occasional sudden left-turn with as much as aplomb as the next person – which is why he’s happily accepted a romantic and sexual relationship with his best friend – but when it comes the crucial, vital, biological things that are no laughing matter, yes, Castiel would much prefer to be prepared.
He and Dean have a calendar now, pinned up in the outer hall of their apartment between Dean’s bedroom and the kitchen. They’d both gone to their respective doctors months ago to adjust their regimens, and the days on the calendar were marked accordingly.
This is why Castiel is now standing in their apartment living room, cellphone in one hand and emergency backpack in the other, and trying not to panic.
He could leave Dean another voice message, but the effort would be futile. Either he’s somewhere without reception, or his phone is malfunctioning, or... Castiel would rather not contemplate the other options yet. Instead, he makes the resolution that once Dean calls to confirm where he is and that he’s all right, Castiel will not scold Dean too harshly for leaving the apartment without telling him.
Honestly. Castiel had only gone round the block to pick up something instant for dinner (not his favorite, but convenient under the circumstances) and came back to a note that Dean had forgotten something for class and would: “BRB :)”
Castiel knows, logically, that it is typical of people everywhere to be occasionally careless about their cycles. Goodness knows that he and Dean have covered each other’s backs more than once when they were just friends. That said, they’re not just friends anymore, Castiel snarls at Dean in the safety of his own head. They are responsible for each other now, and if Dean is stuck somewhere—
His cellphone is set on vibrate, and almost leaps out of Castiel’s hands when it finally, blessedly rings. “Hello?”
“Is that Castiel?”
“Yes!” Castiel exhales shakily. “Yes, this is Castiel speaking.”
“I got your number from Dean’s emergency card, you might want drop by and collect him. Stat.”
“Is he all right, Mister...?”
“Singer,” he says, and Castiel’s mind supplies the image of gruff Bobby Singer, one of Dean’s favorite professors, and who also doubles for on-site medical emergencies. Castiel would be embarrassed, except he’s reasonably sure that Dean is embarrassed enough for the both of them. “We’re in Brickman, there was a fire drill and everyone had to be accounted for. I got him isolated on Level G, you know where that is?”
“Yes, sir, I’ll be right there.”
“You better, seems the unexpected stress seems has sped up his symptoms.”
Castiel’s already moving, backpack on and keys out to lock the door behind him. “I apologize, sir, we’re not usually this careless.”
“It’s all right, son,” Singer says. “It happens when it happens, biology don’t always follow a schedule. Whoa, watch it there, you could—”
Castiel’s in a full sprint when he hears rustling, Singer’s muffled curses, and then Dean’s far deeper voice: “Cas? That you, Cas?”
“You had me worried, you assbutt,” Castiel snaps. “Why didn’t you answer your phone?”
“Dropped it getting out of the building.” Dean pauses, his breath heavy over the speakers. Castiel clutches at the phone, realizing that it was probably a mistake to talk to him when they’re not within visual range.
It’s funny. For most of Castiel’s life, he’d preferred dealing with biological needs rather than social ones. The rules of the body have always been easier to handle than the rules of social conduct. His body has wants and he addresses them easily, for those wants to do not change. They certainly don’t vary wildly the way social expectations do from person to person to friendship to relationships.
Perhaps it’s only right that Dean’s the one who’s come along and thrown all those notions to the wind.
Because being with Dean? Is easy. Dean is funny and vibrant, passionate and loyal, and they’ve only been friends for under two years but being with Dean is easier than any relationship Castiel’s ever had. It cannot be something as simple as an overlap of interests, or tastes, or views towards life. Spending time with Dean is the opposite of stressful; Castiel does it willingly, happily. Even during times like right now, when Castiel would like to inflict bodily harm upon Dean for his foolishness, Castiel would still rather be frustrated with Dean while in his presence than not.
So perhaps it’s fitting that while they may complement each other easily within the realm of emotional needs, sex is not as straightforward. This is new for Castiel for whom previously: either his body wanted it, and he got it, or his body did not, and he didn’t.
But now there’s Dean to consider. Dean, who is wired differently from Castiel, who expresses his wants in different ways, who craves things both in and out of his cycle that Castiel doesn’t understand but wants badly to accommodate.
“Describe the room to me,” Castiel says into the phone. He sprints across the road, apologizing when he has to cut across a cyclist. “Dean? Tell me about your day. I heard there was a fire drill?”
“Does it matter?” Dean growls. “You’re not here.”
Castiel can’t help the sharp, “That’s not my fault, now is it,” that he blurts out.
“Singer won’t let me come to you—”
“Let me guess, you turned down his offer to give you a stabilizer.” Castiel sighs at the dismissive sound Dean makes, and swerves past a group of laughing students in his path. “Dean, that’s just irresponsible. Singer is only looking out for your welfare.”
“I don’t want a fucking… Actually, yes, I do want a fucking, heh.”
“You couldn’t just take it and come home to me?”
“And fuck up our schedule even more? No way, man, you and me are gonna sync up.”
Dean has a point amidst his protests, for getting their cycles in alignment has turned out to be something of a challenge. Castiel’s heard that compatible partners get there easily within two or three cycles, but Dean won’t stand for comparisons to what is ‘typical’. Dean’s bull-headed that way, refusing to listen to his doctor’s criticism of Castiel’s long-term use of suppressants.
Castiel doesn’t mind, and had told Dean as such. They might never sync up but that’d be okay, because there’s more to being together than the blood tides of their bodies. Dean had agreed on that point but declared that he was going to see it happen anyway, no matter what.
The worst part is that Castiel adores him even more for that.
“I’d track you down, Cas,” Dean says in his ear. “I’d track you anywhere.”
“Yes, of course.” Castiel tries to sound flippant but Dean’s words go straight to his chest, settling hot and heavy between his ribs. Dean really means that, though heaven knows Castiel doesn’t know what he’d done in this life or any other to deserve something like this. “I know that, and you know that. But Singer doesn’t, and he’s acting accordingly.”
“He locked the door, Cas,” Dean whines. “I could be with you right now.”
“I’m running across campus.”
“And I’d take you right where you’re standing, you know I – hey, hey! Wait, I’m just—” There’s more muffled yelling, Singer having had enough and taking back his phone. Castiel would laugh at what sounds like Dean’s squawk of indignation, but he saves his strength for the final jog into Brickman.
“Just get here,” Singer barks.
“I almost am, sir,” Castiel replies. He’s being truthful, even, and only needs to make it down the hallway, round the corner into the consultation office, and past a poker-faced lady at the front desk who points him to one of the doors.
The room beyond is small and utilitarian. At the far wall Singer is standing guard over Dean, who has miserably curled himself up in a chair. Well, he had curled himself up in a chair, but as soon as he sees Castiel his whole face lights up in a way that steals Castiel’s breath, and then Dean’s effectively leaping across the room.
“Hey!” Singer barks, but Castiel waves him back.
“It’s all right.” Castiel knows he should be annoyed by the way that Dean’s wrapped around him, fingers clawing at Castiel’s shirt and nose nuzzling his ear, but it’s nice. Dean’s attention is a treasure, and surely no one could blame Castiel for being greedy sometimes. “I believe I can take it from here.”
“Good.” Singer eyeballs Dean, who’s got a leg up around Castiel’s hip and rubbing firmly. “You need anything?”
Dean mutters, “I need Cas’ ass around my—”
“We’re good!” Castiel exclaims. “I’ve brought everything we need. Just give us, uh, twenty minutes?”
“Twenty minutes?” Dean protests. “No way, Cas, I’m gonna drill you for longer than—”
“I’ll be outside,” Singer says. “Someone’ll check on you in an hour.”
Castiel smiles gratefully at Singer as he closes the door, reminding himself that Singer’s probably seen this hundreds of times and will not give Dean a hard time about it later.
“Dean.” Castiel puts a hand on Dean’s chest, pushing him firmly away. Now that they’re alone Castiel allows himself to relish the scent of Dean’s arousal, curling hot and heavy in the air. Dean’s eyes are dark, feather-thin streaks of red in the pupils that betray the fire under his skin.
Castiel’s seen his fair share of alphas in their ruts, certainly. He’s never been propositioned by any of them, though, since their enhanced sense of smell draws their attention to interested partners and renders Castiel effectively invisible. Before Dean, he’d certainly never been involved with an alpha during their rut.
Whatever perceptions he may have had about it before, none of them match his current determination to see this one right.
“Dean,” Castiel says firmly, and Dean’s hands fall away.
They exchange a look of surprise. Dean licks his lips and smiles, his relief mirroring Castiel’s own. Dean’s still tense and breathing heavily, but there’s no sign of the aggression he’d displayed the last two ruts they’d been through together.
Castiel clenches his hands to stop himself from reaching out for Dean. This is good. Dean is reacting positively despite the kink in their plans, which means that he recognizes Castiel’s willingness and readiness. Alphas get upset if they don’t have a claim, or if the status of a claim is uncertain, but the way that Dean’s watching Castiel steadily makes it clear that there’s no such doubt here.
Confidence makes Castiel stand up a little straighter. “Dean, take your clothes off. Right now.”
Dean’s grin is all teeth. “Yeah?”
“We’ve already deviated from our plan, so you need to undress and lie down.” Castiel points to the consultation bed. “Then I’m going to ride you and you’re going to come inside me, but only enough so that we can go home immediately afterward. Is that agreeable with you?”
Dean isn’t listening, though. He’s apparently snagged on to that first request, i.e. clothes are to be taken off, and is pawing frantically at his uncooperative belt. Motor coordination goes sometimes during a rut, so Castiel uses the opportunity to open his backpack. He’s got a towel in there, which he uses to line the bed, and then takes out lubricant and a condom.
“What’s that for?” Dean’s not talking about the lubricant. “Your implant not working?”
“You’re not going to knot me.” Castiel pauses the unbuckling of his pants and snaps his fingers in the air until Dean’s eyes come back up to focus on Castiel’s face. “I said you’re not going to knot me. We’ll do that at home, where we can be comfortable.”
“But—”
“It’s either that, or I walk out right now.” Castiel crosses his arms firmly, ignoring Dean’s growl. “This is a compromise, Dean.”
“I’ll chase you,” Dean says.
“You do realize that the chase harkens back to an archaic ritual of tormenting alphas so that they would be too exhausted to perform?”
“I’ll be able to perform!” Dean shoves his pants down in what it supposed to be a dramatic gesture, but it just makes Castiel bite his lip in an effort to keep his frown on. Dean’s cock is thick and ready, precome beading at the tip, and there’s no way Dean will be able to run with that waving in the air. Still, there’s something to be said for the way Dean says, “I’ll throw you down and take you wherever I catch you.”
Castiel knows this is meant to be sexy. Dean is a sexual being, and Castiel has learned more about dirty talk about the past few months than he thought he’d ever need to know in a lifetime. Yet Castiel finds himself shaking helplessly with laughter, control slipping away because Dean is ridiculous and wonderful and wants him.
If it were anyone else, Castiel knows, they would be offended by this reaction.
“Jesus, Cas,” Dean breathes, narrowing the space between them to nothing by cupping Castiel’s face to kiss him. Dean’s erection smears wetly against Castiel’s still-clothed stomach, a filthy mirror to the hard, open-mouth kisses Dean feeds him. Dean’s hands are everywhere, roaming and grabbing at Castiel’s body, hunger in the way Dean pants hotly against Castiel’s skin.
Castiel follows Dean’s lead, opening his mouth and pressing up against Dean’s chest. Dean’s desire fills his nostrils and Castiel relishes it, basks it, takes everything Dean wants to give him. Dean growls when Castiel pulls away, but Castiel’s only tilting his head to offer his neck. Dean makes tight, gleeful sound, and trails his teeth down the length of it. “Fine, whatever, where’s that condom.”
“Excellent choice.”
They end up on the bed, just like Castiel said they would.
Castiel’s got Dean on his back, t-shirt shoved up only enough so that Castiel can play with Dean’s nipples. Dean’s skin, already glorious on the most mundane of days, is flushed with the heat of anticipation. His feet and hands are twitching restlessly, and Castiel sympathetically remembers what it feels like to be in heat, to have every muscle in your body scream with impatience.
“Just a little bit more,” Castiel promises, tossing his pants aside. The shirt can stay on, no sense wasting time when Dean’s already straining to stay still, keeping his body flat on the bed instead of taking what it wants. Castiel moves swiftly in putting the condom on – the bed squeaks when Dean tightens his grip on the frame – and then climbs on top of him.
“You prepped yourself?” Dean’s eyes are bleary from the effort he’s exerting, sweat trickling down his chin and over the tip of his nose. Even then, he still manages a petulant pout. “Without me?”
“You can watch me another time. Or maybe not, you’re terrible at restraining yourself.” Castel reaches behind himself for one last push of lubricant inside, and then aligns the head of Dean’s cock against his opening. “Take a deep breath.” Castiel waits until Dean does as told, and then bears down.
The stretch and burn is familiar by now, so Castiel focuses on Dean, soothing his hands over Dean’s stomach and chest. Dean’s eyes have glazed over and his mouth has fallen open wordlessly, but he’s still perfectly supine, taking the sheathing of Castiel’s body until he’s finally settled on Dean’s lap.
And Dean says he’s not the patient type.
“You’re doing wonderfully, Dean.” Castiel leans down to kiss Dean’s chest and nose his nipples. “How does it feel?”
“Want,” Dean says tightly. “Cas, want—”
Castiel takes a deep breath and gets a good grip on the bedframe. They’ve even got little handholds there, how convenient. “Go ahead, Dean.”
They’d talked about this before, many times. Dean had tried to hide his shock the first time they’d had sex outside of Castiel’s heat, and then tried to hide his embarrassment at said initial reaction. While in heat, Castiel’s body knows what it has to do and reacts to stimulation the way it should. Outside of it is an entirely different ballgame, but Dean – amazing, enthusiastic, patient Dean – has risen up to the challenge, working tirelessly to find the hidden tricks of Castiel’s body.
Castiel knows it can’t be easy. Dean is generous in and out of bed, and Castiel understands his discomfort with what looks to him like an unbalanced situation.
“We’re not gonna rut until we figure this out,” Dean had said. “I’m not gonna take you while you are… when you’re not ready.”
“I’ll never be completely ready,” Castiel had replied. “But you’ve adjusted to my needs, and I will adjust to yours. You have to trust me when I say that I want you.”
It’d taken some effort to warm Dean up to the idea, but it’s effort well-spent. They’d practiced, explored, and eventually found a kind of contentment in each other despite Castiel’s difficulty in finding arousal. Dean had even ridden Castiel a couple of times to show him how it’s done, and goodness knows Castiel hadn’t had use for that position until Dean came into his life.
Those demonstrations are certainly coming into use now. Castiel knows how to brace his knees and hands on this foreign bed, and how to adjust his weight while Dean shoves upwards to drive his cock deep into Castiel’s body.
“Yes, come on,” Castiel chants, rolling his hips to meet Dean’s thrusts upwards. “Yes, take it, take it.”
Dean’s a wild thing underneath Castiel, some kind of god in human trapping as he follows the demands of his flesh. He snarls, bucks, yells; the green of his eyes all but gone as he gives over to the hunger. Castiel’s chest tightens at the desperation in Dean’s face. He must be burning, the snap of their bodies obscenely loud as Dean races for the relief of an orgasm Castiel must give him.
“Is this good, Dean, is this good?” Castiel breathes. Dean is beyond words, but he’d assured Castiel that he can still hear while he’s in the high of the rut. “Am I tight? Am I hot?”
Castiel clenches rhythmically around Dean’s cock, working it the way he knows Dean likes. The shaft feels even thicker than normal, stiff and rigid inside him while Castiel bounces as quickly as his thighs allow, urged on by Dean’s moans.
Sudden pressure against Castiel’s prostate makes him gasp. Castiel falters, his rhythm lost, but Dean rams his hips up doggedly, the next couple successive thrusts brushing that spot inside Castiel dead-on. “Oh.”
A low, primal sound spills from Dean’s lips. It’s a mark of pleasure, Castiel guesses, because that would match the grin currently spread across Dean’s face.
“You like that?” Castiel says breathlessly. They’ve both stopped moving, and Dean’s dark eyes are focused unblinkingly on Castiel’s face. That’s Dean looking at him, except where it isn’t, except where it’s some feral, secret part of Dean that only Castiel is allowed to see. Castiel licks his lips and carefully rocks his body, the slip of Dean’s cock out and back in a familiar ache in his ass. “Does that please you?”
Dean’s smile widens, and there’s a clicking noise at the back of his throat that sounds like an acknowledgement. His hands curl into the meat of Castiel’s waist, locking him there.
“All of this is for you.” Castiel archs his back, and Dean purrs happily at offering. “All of me.” He rolls his hips, shuddering when arousal pools low in his stomach and stiffening his cock. They’d both hoped for this, though they’d agreed that if it didn’t happen, they’d just find a way around it.
Dean’s smile softens, and reaches up to cup the side of Castiel’s face. The touch is absurdly gentle, and Castiel starts in surprise. He’s seized with sudden tenderness for this impossible best friend who’d all but fallen into Castiel’s life out of nowhere, who’d taken all of Castiel’s idiosyncrasies with ease and laughter, who’s allowed Castiel to share in this most intimate of moments.
“I adore you.” Castiel turns to kiss the pulse of Dean’s wrist. Dean makes a garbled, questioning sound, and Castiel responds by nipping the flesh of Dean’s thumb. He huffs with delight when Dean drags that same thumb lewdly across Castiel’s lower lip. “I will tell you again later but… I really do.”
Dean cards that hand through Castiel’s hair and, when he tugs gently, Castiel moves forward with it, the motion shifting the dick inside him. “Ah.” Pleasure twists and curls under Castiel’s skin, making him tighten around the intrusion.
Slowly but steadily a different kind of ache is replacing the one of earlier. Perhaps Dean’s fever has finally called its response from Castiel’s body, perhaps all the sex they’ve been having outside of their cycles has finally taught Castiel’s body how to react. They will dissect it later, because right now, Castiel is going to make Dean come.
“Get it,” Castiel orders. He pulls up a little, and that’s definitely the slick of his own lubrication helping the way now. Dean knows it, too, for his nostrils flare when he inhales deeply. Castiel leans in, looking straight in Dean’s eye. “Dean, get it right now. Let go.”
Castiel really does have to hang on now, Dean’s powerful thrusts rattling Castiel’s whole body. Each bounce upwards has its counterpoint of Castiel’s landing on Dean’s lap, and soon there is no counting them. There’s just the groan of the bed and smack of skin on skin as they fuck, rut, screw each other with abandon.
Dean manages to get one hand around Castiel’s dick, but what actually makes him come is Dean’s other hand on the back of his neck. Dean’s palm had been resting there, but as Castiel approaches climax the fingers suddenly clamp down, nails digging in to the flesh, and a responding instinct in Castiel recognizes it for what it is – the prelude to Dean’s teeth claiming him in that exact same spot later – and Castiel’s coming.
The orgasm is sharp as it wracks through Castiel’s body. It’s not overwhelming the way it is during his heats, but neither does it have the clarity of sex during their default states. This one’s different – focused, harsh, like it’s being dragged out of him. Castiel crumples forward somewhere in the middle of it, curved over Dean’s body and panting as Dean keeps fucking him through it.
Dean’s grip on Castiel’s neck tightens, and then it’s Dean’s turn. He snarls when he comes, hips slamming up and almost knocking Castiel clear off the bed. Castiel grabs Dean’s shoulders to help brace him through it, nuzzling Dean’s collarbone as he trembles through his release.
“Very good, Dean.” Castiel waits until Dean’s slowed down before drawing back. “Is that better?”
Dean groggily murmurs an approval.
“That should do it for now.” Castiel pulls away, taking advantage of Dean’s slow response time to climb off him. Dean’s cock slips free wetly, the knot denied its catch for the moment, sadly. Dean whines and reaches for him, but Castiel ignores his hands, focused instead on removing and disposing the condom. Bless this convenient room with its sink and biological waste bin, really.
“Cas.” Dean struggles shakily to get up. His face is still flushed but his eyes are calmer. “Cas, come back.”
The backpack is still on the floor. Castiel finds the bottle easily, spraying himself and – ignoring his partner’s protesting groan – spraying Dean as well. “That should be enough to last until we get home. Get up. Up with you, up.”
“I’m up!” Dean sways upright, grimacing. “Ugh.”
“Is the edge off?”
Dean grabs the towel Castiel tosses at him, and dabs at his cock gingerly. “If by ‘off’ you mean ‘cruelly denied’, then yes. Oh man, I liked this shirt.”
“Sorry, did I come on it?” Castiel pulls out the clothes his backpack, spraying them for good measure before passing them to Dean.
“Holy wow,” Dean says in surprise, “you brought all this shit and clothes? You must really love me.”
“I’d love you even more if you’d get dressed.” Castiel bends down to gather up their used clothes, but goes still when there’s no immediately reply. He looks up, and there’s a soft, surprised expression on Dean’s face.
“Yeah?” Dean says, the hesitation in his voice making something in Castiel’s chest twist. Dean might blame the hormones for it later, but even if that happens, Castiel will just reply that the presence of hormones doesn’t make it any less real.
“Yes.” Castiel starts to rise up but Dean shakes his head, a hand out to stop Castiel’s approach.
“Don’t touch me.” Dean swallows thickly. “If we’re gonna get out of here, don’t – just don’t touch me. Not yet.”
“Okay.” Castiel settles for smiling at Dean, whose own smile is getting a little wobbly. “Give me your shirt, I’ll pack it up. Then we’ll get dressed and go home, all right?”
They manage to clean up, soiled clothes and towels wrapped up in plastic before being pushed deep into Castiel’s backpack. Dean’s scent has eased up, too, thanks to his initial release and Castiel’s body spray. It’d be best if they had a shower – anyone who sees them in their current state would know immediately what’s just happened – but that’d have to wait for later. Right now they only need to be decent enough to be let out in public.
Singer lets them go, thankfully, though Dean almost squanders their good fortune by quipping, “Thanks, Bobby! What’d I say about the beds, right? Industrial strength!”
Castiel shoots Singer an apologetic look before grabbing the edge of Dean’s shirt and hauling him out.
Outside the building, the sun is up and the breeze is welcoming. Dean manages even steps down their route back home, and once they reach the head of the quad he tilts his head back to a deep breath. Castiel mimics him, finding the fresh air pleasant and Dean’s simmering arousal underneath even more so.
“Hey, Cas?” Dean clears his throat. “Did I hurt you?”
“Not enough, no.”
Dean snorts. He starts to reach for Castiel but thinks better of it and shoves his hands into his pockets. “You know what I mean.”
“Dean.” Castiel gives him a stern look. “You didn’t even hurt me the last time.” He laughs when Dean shudders at the memory of how they’d fulfilled his previous ruts with a fleshlight. Sure, Castiel had been the one holding the item so that they could still scent and hold each other while Dean let go, but Dean’s not comfortable using substitutive toys unless they’re the kind that go inside someone. “I’m fine, I promise.”
“Would’ve been better if we could’ve done it at home,” Dean says wistfully. “Geez, I even got you to come. I know, I know, that shouldn’t matter. It’s just… it’s just nice, you know?”
“This is nice, Dean,” Castiel says, pitching his voice low. Other students mill about around them, and though none of them are giving them more than a second look, this is for Dean’s ears only. “Being with you like this is nice. I don’t care whether we’re undressed or not.”
Dean goes quiet, and they walk together in companionable silence. From the corner of Castiel’s eye he can see Dean’s arms shift restlessly.
After a while, Dean asks, “What are the chances someone tackling me before we get home?”
Castiel cocks his head curiously. “Why would someone tackle you?”
“Because I’ll be running.”
“Oh, no.” Castiel looks up at Dean in horror. “No, Dean.”
“Your smell is all over me.” A slow smile blooms across Dean’s face. “People will know I got a mate. Hell, people will see me chase my mate, ‘cause you’ll be running right in front.”
Castiel flicks his eyes down meaningfully. “You’re still partially hard.”
“Yeah, like that’s gonna stop me from reaching my omega.”
Castiel exhales shakily, hissing a soft, “Damn you,” that has Dean snickering.
There’s no denying it anymore: Castiel is helpless. Dean’s rearranged him from the inside out, taught him things about himself he’d never have guessed, opened himself up for Castiel’s scrutiny in ways that should be terrifying. The only thing Castiel can hope for is that Dean gets his fair share of this happiness, because for all that the world is a complicated place, Castiel still believes that good things should happen to good people.
Dean deserves all the good things in the universe.
“What will you do if you catch me before we got home?” Castiel asks. “Because I’m not keen about getting ravished in public.”
“Nah,” Dean says easily, “I’ll just throw you over my shoulder and carry you the rest of the way.”
“And throw out your back?”
“You’re not that fat, Cas.”
Castiel gasps and shoves at Dean. The responding laugh is, well. Orgasms are pleasant but Castiel could feast on Dean’s laughter for the rest of his life, easily.
“All right,” Castiel says.
“What?”
“All right.” Castiel sweeps his eyes over the rest of their route. There’s light traffic out, nothing unusual for this time of day, and they’ve already passed the main crossroad. “Chase me.”
Dean’s eyes widen. “What, like right now?”
“Right now.”
They’re both in good shape. Head-to-head Castiel’s the better sprinter, but Dean has excellent stamina, along with the boost that comes from his current heightened alpha state.
Castiel’s not above taking any advantage he can, though.
He glances over at Dean, who’s having an internal struggle on whether to believe what Castiel just said, but that’s changed when Castiel cants his ass towards Dean – presenting himself – and pats it. He feels awkward doing it (Dean’s better at this sort of display), but the handful of seconds that come from Dean’s falling over in shock is enough of a headstart.
So Castiel takes it, and breaks into a run.
There’s muffled cursing behind him, followed by a mock-outraged, “I’m gonna get you for that!”
Castiel doesn’t laugh because he needs to conserve his breath, but it’s tempting.