Archive of Our Own

Surgery day.

The day Dean has been waiting for. He’s been saving for over a decade at this point — one of the only things he’s ever been consistent at besides his weekly shot — and with the news that top surgery would now be covered by his insurance from the firehouse, he knew that it was now or never, so he went through the process to get the appointment — evaluations, letters, the whole circus. He’s had the day circled on his calendar ever since he made the appointment, but now that the day had finally come, he found himself drowning in nerves that were threatening to blot out the bright sun of the situation. What if something went wrong? What if there were complications with aftercare? How would he even get home from the hospital?

All questions racing in his mind were paused in their tracks the second that his roommate, Cas, walked up to his room with a knock.

“Who is it?” he asked sarcastically.

“Who could it possibly be besides me, Dean?” Cas called from the hall, clearly not having understood.

“Whatever, sour-ass, what is it?” Dean bit. Dean was usually pretty anal about his personal space and privacy — and you would be too if you grew up sharing the couch of whatever one-bedroom or motel room your dad could afford at the time with your little brother. Even though he’d grown used to Cas over the last several years living together, he still prickled around the man for various shameful reasons — reasons that made it easier to be an asshole to him than it would be to cop to the softness he felt toward Cas, something he shouldn't feel for his roommate who, though tolerant and supportive, likely had no real interest in Dean, at least none that would fulfill Dean’s desires. Most gay guys were turned off by ‘girl parts’, Dean's self-hating brain reminded him. Gettin’ some of ‘em lopped off today, Dean reminded his fuckass brain. 'Maybe then he’ll like me,' his brain added pathetically.

“I just wanted to make sure you were awake. I know it’s against the rules, but I come bearing coffee.”

The fight left Dean with a sigh and he softened. Even though he was supposed to fast, he figured a cup of coffee couldn't hurt, especially when prepared by a friend. “Come on in,” he allowed. “What’s the occasion?”

“Are you being obtuse on purpose this morning? It’s your big day.”

Dean didn't want to make a big deal about it, hence why he hadn't invited anybody to come along — not like he really had anybody to invite along. So what if it was technically a huge life milestone? There wasn't anyone in his life that he thought owed him enough to ask to show up, so he figured he’d just go it alone. The only reason Cas knew was ‘cause he lived with Dean, and with one glance at the earnest look on his roommate’s face, he was already regretting having told him. “It's no big deal, don't gotta work yourself up about it,” he dismissed around a sip of coffee.

“I would say it’s a rather big deal, actually. You’re undergoing a major surgery, Dean. Speaking of, we have to leave in two hours if we’re going to make it to Nashville on time.”

“‘We’?” he asked, confused. He was doing this alone as far as he was concerned.

Cas looked at him equally as confused. “Yes, we. How else did you think you were going to get home?”

“I was gonna figure it out.”

“Of course you were. But now you don't have to, I’ve figured it out for you. I'll be going with you and taking you home.”

“Like hell you will,” he bit. He didn't need the guy he was obsessed with to see him all groggy and nasty post-op.

“If you won't accept help when it’s offered, I'll force it.”

Remembering the time he got sick and Cas forced him to accept care, the time that made Dean fall in love with him in the first place, he obliged, despite knowing it would only make his desperate crush worse. “Fuck you. Fine. What about work? I'm gonna be outta commish for like at least a month, man.”

“I already put in for FMLA. I may have had to lie and say you and I were engaged, but I got the time off work.”

“You — you what?”

“I took leave from the animal hospital so I could be there for your recovery.”

“Yeah, I got that part. You told your job we were engaged?”

“Yes, to get off work. Is there a problem?”

“Is there a prob— Cas, we're not engaged!”

“They don't need to know that. Now get up and go enjoy your last normal shower for a while.” Dean gave him another look of confusion. “Have you not read the aftercare instructions from your doctor? You won’t be able to lift your arms for at least six weeks. It seems you and I will have a daily date with the detachable shower head for the foreseeable future.”

Dean felt himself turn red. He hadn't really thought that far, honestly. Doing shit alone his whole life, he figured he’d just rachet something together to fulfill his aftercare needs. Relying on Cas, letting himself be vulnerable like that… he didn't think he could stomach it. “I’ll be fine without your grabby ass hands all over me, thanks.”

“For now,” Cas said ominously. “When you’re out of it and in pain, I believe you’ll be more willing to accept my help.”

Shows what the fuck Cas knew about him. If he really knew Dean, he would know that Dean won't accept help because he can't — doesn't know how to. Growing up as the eldest daughter of a widowed marine meant he was Mom from the moment she died. He taught himself to tie his own shoes specifically so he could show Sammy, as he’d done with all other acquired life skills since. Even when John died and Dean officially transitioned, he still filled the Mom role for Sam. He even filled the Mom role for Cas, whose own mother had kicked him out at eighteen for being gay. He folded Cas’s laundry, cooked him meals, listened to him talk — that’s why Dean couldn't accept his help; he knew it was wrong for a mother to be cared for by her child as long as she could do it herself. And Dean could certainly figure out a way to do it himself. “Love being underestimated first thing in the morning, we should really do this more often,” he bit again. “Actin’ like I'm some fuckin' baby that can't take care of my damn self.”

“I'll really treat you like a baby if you keep acting immature like one by rejecting help. Shut up and accept that I’m going to be here for you whether you like it or not.”

Dean couldn't accept it right away. “I'll think about it.”

“You have very little time to do so. Get up and get ready, you can complain about the inevitability of the situation once we're on the road,” Cas urged, seemingly not willing to take no for an answer.

“Whatever, get outta my ass and I'll get ready.”

Cas dismissed him with hands raised in surrender, heading toward the door. Then, “I'll beat you to the bathroom!” he shouted as he ran down the hall.

“You bastard, you're not getting in there first, you just said this is my last normal shower!”

“If you want your last normal shower to be hot, I suggest you get the lead out!” Cas called back.

Dean quickly shucked his sleepwear as he dashed naked to the bathroom, soon-to-be-gone tits a’swingin’, all so he could beat Cas to the shower. Once there, he locked the door behind him and started the shower. Under its hot spray, he looked down at his body one last time. This form would be leaving him soon, replaced by another better suited to how he felt. In the solitude of the shower, Dean allowed himself a single solitary chick-flick moment and thought for a bit about his body. This was the only thing in the entire world that had ever been his, the thing that carried him day in day out, the only thing he never had to share unless he wanted to. It had served him well thus far, but now there were a pair of appendages that needed to get lopped off before he could move on with his life. “Angelina, Jennifer - see you ladies in the afterlife ‘cuz today’s your last day,” he said to his boobs.

He washed himself as quickly as he could while still enjoying it, given that it would be his last normal one for a while as Cas had reminded him. Out of the shower, he dried himself off and went through his morning routine, washing his face and brushing his teeth. Luckily his short hair dried quickly, so all it needed was a vigorous ruffle of the towel before it was on its way to looking how Dean normally wore it. He wrapped the towel around himself and headed back to his bedroom, passing Cas in the hall on his way. “Left some hot water in there for ya, big guy,” he teased as he made it through his own door. Shutting it behind himself, he went about getting dressed. He wore a button down, knowing he wouldn't be able to lift his arms above his head after today. He chose to forgo putting on his dick today since he was changing into a hospital gown anyway and instead left his jock in his underwear drawer and just pulled on his boxers and sweatpants. He looked ridiculous, but sweatpants were much comfier than his jeans. Once he was ready, he headed out to the living room to wait for Cas.

T-20 until they would be leaving for Nashville. Dean felt like he was going to shit himself from nerves, but he busied himself on his phone to try to distract from his thoughts of doom. Soon enough, Cas came down the hall, looking every bit like the man Dean wanted to climb, hair still a bit damp from his shower. Dean could barely look at him, so he looked away. “Finally ready to go, slow-ass?” Dean teased.

“Very ready, stubborn-ass,” Cas teased back.

“I’m drivin’ the way there, you can’t stop me.”

Cas held his hands up in another surrender. “Far be it from me to get between a man and his machine.”

Dean kinda liked the idea of having Cas between him and Baby, maybe with Cas’s back pressed against her hood while Dean took him apart from atop him — a lofty thought that would’ve had him hard were his dick not soft silicon and currently detached. “Damn right. Let’s get goin’ then,” he said, grabbing his keys and wallet. Cas followed after him and locked the door behind the two of them, then they made their descent down the outer staircase of their apartment toward where Dean had Baby parked.

Once they got on the road and the music had been playing for a while, Dean let a little softness show. Only a little. “Thanks,” he said over the music, hoping Cas wouldn’t hear him.

Cas didn’t do him the favor of pretending not to hear. “You’re very welcome. And thank you, too.”

“The hell for?”

“For having enough trust in me to let me come.”

Dean snickered. Lust? — Oh, yeah. Trust? — Debatable. Trust wasn’t something he gave very often, but it felt… easier when it was Cas. “Didn’t really gimme much choice, asshole.”

“If you would've stood your ground —”

“— Your ass still woulda found a way to worm yourself in. So I figured, why fight?”

“Good to know I’m here unwanted.”

“That’s not — whatever,” he said instead of correcting him. To say he wanted Cas there would be too much. “Glad you’re here,” he admitted, hoping that would suffice without betraying his feelings.

“Glad to be here.”

Dean turned up the music.

Finding parking near the surgery center in Brentwood, just south of Nashville, was a bitch and a fuckin’ half. Getting checked in was a blur. Hearing his proper name get called out still had a glint to it even after having heard it for over a decade at this point, still had that new-car scent wrapped around the single syllable that always left him feeling a little electric. He stood to meet the nurse that had called him and Cas stood too, wrapping an arm around Dean to pull him into a hug. “Good luck,” his friend breathed gruffly into his neck.

“Thanks. Catch ya on the flip side,” he affirmed with a firm pat to Cas’s back.

He met the nurse in the doorway then followed her lead into his waiting room where, once the door was closed on him, he shucked the clothes he came in and donned the gown that had been left for him. After a while, nurses came back in and Dean signed more final paperwork before they stuck him with an IV. When it came time to drag him out to the OR, they administered a drug and made Dean count backward from 100. He made it to 91 before everything went black.

When Dean woke up, it was with the frantic, gut-wrenching anxiety that he’d overslept and missed his appointment. He sprang up and looked around for his phone so he could check the time and found that he was very much in a hospital bed. The first person he saw was a nurse, the same nurse as the one who had called his name back that first time, who said, “Hey, good to see you’re up! I’ll go grab your boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” he asked, still confused by the drugs, but she had already turned and headed down the hall.

Less than a minute passed before his friend was striding up to him, engulfing him in as gentle of a hug as he could. On the pull-back, Cas’s hand ghosted over Dean’s face for a fraction of a second and Dean wished he would’ve held him there firmly so he could lean into it, needing the comfort right now. But there would be plenty of time for Dean to be pitifully vulnerable in the coming weeks, he didn’t need to melt right here and now. “Good to see you,” his friend remarked.

“Back atcha, big guy.”

After they’d had their moment, the nurse called their attention her way so she could go over aftercare instructions with Cas specifically: “You’ll need to empty his drains every twelve hours and record it in this log,” she explained, handing him a thin packet. “We’re gonna have you monitor that for two weeks. It’ll start to taper off as time goes on, so if you have a dry day toward the end, don’t be worried. No direct exposure to water, be very intentional when bathing, you’ll have to help him. Make sure he doesn’t lift anything heavier than five pounds and he can’t raise his arms either.” She then went through the list of meds he’d be on and the intervals at which they had to be taken, some every six hours, others every eight.

“No shit, I'm on gabapentin? The fuck am I, a cat?” Dean sloshed, remembering the name from Cas’s endless rambles of his job as a vet tech.

“We use it for people too, my friend,” the nurse answered with a light laugh.

Dean watched as Cas diligently took notes on his phone of everything the nurse said. It came at Dean like word salad, still slightly dazed from the drugs. He was glad to have Cas there and so interrupted the nurse to tell him so. “I’m so fuckin’ glad you’re here,” he doted thoughtlessly.

“Y’all are too sweet,” the nurse remarked. “Anyways, that binder stays on ‘til we get those drains out in two weeks, capiche?”

Dean responded, “Capiche.” She then handed a plastic contraption to Cas. “The hell’s that doo-hickey?”

“This doo-hickey, my friend, is what you’re gonna be using to pump up those lungs,” she explained, then turned to Cas to continue. “He’s gonna be binding all day every day except for bath time, so this is to help with his breathing. He has to inhale to get the little ball to move up the tube and, well, there’s instructions — here,” she said, passing Cas another paper that added to his growing stack. “Alrighty, well, I’ll letcha get dressed then. Take care!”

Dean, still seated and a little loopy from sedation, nodded in faint acknowledgement as the nurse closed the curtain behind her. The next thing he felt was Cas’s eyes on him and next came his hands, then Dean was looking Cas in the eyes and couldn’t remember a time he was happier to see him, so he told him. “Happy to see you, man,” he doted once again, having forgotten that he’d already expressed that sentiment.

“I’m happy to see you too, Dean, now let’s get you dressed,” he encouraged. They first addressed his pants, pulling the sweats on one leg at a time with Cas only having to heave Dean up off the bed once so he could hike the pants up over his ass. He then helped Dean gently shimmy into the button down he’d arrived in. Once he was decent, Cas helped Dean to his feet. “What’s the first thing you want to do, Dean?”

“My first act as a tittiless man needs to be scarfin’ down a Baconator. There’s a Wendy’s a few blocks from here, take me to ‘er, chauffeur!”

“I figured you'd be starving. To Wendy's we go.”

With a strong arm looped around Dean's back and under his arm, Cas helped him walk down the hall to check out, then down the elevator and out the front door they went together. Baby was a sight for sore eyes when they approached her, even though he was reminded that he wouldn't be driving her, he'd be giving up that control to Cas. Cas had to know how important Baby was to him, had to know he had to treat her right. “If you put a scratch on ‘er, I’m gonna whoop your ass,” he threatened loosely.

“Oh no, I'm absolutely terrified of the sedated pitbull wrapped in ace bandages,” Cas deadpanned. “Can you see me quaking?”

“Fuck you,” he grumbled as Cas helped him into the passenger seat. He buckled Dean in then shut the door on him and rounded Baby’s sleek body to slide in next to Dean and start her up. Then, with the grace of a very careful elderly woman, Cas pulled them out and onto the road, en route to the local Wendy’s. Dean couldn't stop looking at his profile the entire time. Dean was used to being in the driver’s seat, the one in control, but now he had no choice but to give it up to Cas — awkward yet charming, weird yet stupidly pretty Cas.

Upon arrival at Wendy's, Dean needed to piss out the coffee he’d drunk before surgery and despite Cas offering to help him, Dean stubbornly decided to go it alone. He was fine at first, able to stumble into the little bathroom and sit his ass down on his own — problems only arose when he made the move to get up off the toilet seat to pull on his pants and his legs quickly turned to jelly, bringing him to the floor in a pathetic, butt-naked crumple. “Fuck,” he groaned. “Cas?”

“Yes?”

“Need you.”

“Did you lock the door?”

“Yes.”

“Can you unlock it?”

Dean groaned again. “Comin’,” he said as he crawled bare-assed over to the door to undo the lock then he shuffled away from it so Cas could come in. His friend found him in a pathetic puddle on the floor, but he did him the favor of not looking at him with any pity. Instead, his face was detached, duty-driven — assuming the caregiver role. And it was just that to him, a role, one that he would get to stop playing once Dean was healed, meanwhile Dean feared he’d never stop being seen as a mother to his crush, it wasn't a role he could easily shuck.

Action-Cas helped Dean back up to his feet and directed Dean’s arms to fall around his neck so he could use Cas to hold himself up while Cas pulled his pants up. Once he was redressed, Cas helped him hobble over to the sink then stood behind him, firm and sturdy, as Dean washed his hands. Dean allowed himself to lean back into the tight embrace, letting it feel like more than it really was, just this once, then together, they walked back out into the lobby of the Wendy’s. Cas helped Dean into a seat at a two-top and made a note in the steel trap of his mind of Dean’s exact order specifications and Dean couldn't help but feel lucky that he had a friend willing to help him out like this.

His hunter-gatherer soon returned with a burger-shaped bounty and Dean was about ready to get back on his knees and suck the guy off in appreciation. Instead, he fixed his too-empty mouth around his Baconator while Cas ate his own, following his usual tradition of ordering whatever Dean did. Dean found it charming where others might find it odd. Dean made exaggerated sounds of pleasure as he tore up his burger in pursuit of making Cas laugh. He got a smile and counted that as a win.

After getting something in his stomach, finding his land legs was a little easier, and try as he might to shuck Cas’s possessive hands, his friend remained steadfast in his pursuit of physically keeping Dean upright, and after a while, he gave in and leaned into the offered crutch. It secretly felt insanely good to have his friend manhandling him toward the Impala, but he kept up his resistant front so as to not betray those feelings.

In accordance with Baby’s cardinal house rule, Cas got to pick the music for the drive to the pharmacy where they would pick up Dean’s prescribed meds, then from the pharmacy back north to their apartment. Bending this golden rule, Cas slipped from the inner pocket of his jacket the mixtape Dean had given him years ago and carded it into the tape deck. Dean’s Top 13 Zepp Traxx carried them home and Dean’s drug-foggy brain fell more and more hopelessly in love with his roommate for having even kept the damn thing, let alone keep it on his person and play it for him.

Dean didn’t remember falling asleep, but all at once, he was awake again in the parking spot behind their shared apartment.

“Wait for me, I’ll get you out then I’m helping you up those stairs.”

“I can do it,” he protested uselessly.

“Need I remind you that you fell getting off the toilet earlier?”

“Need I punch you in the dick?”

“Wait there, my damsel in distress. I shall sweep you off your feet,” Cas teased dramatically as he exited the car, nudging the door shut behind him. A moment later, Dean’s door was open and Cas was once again mothering around him by unbuckling for him, then he once again wound a strong arm around Dean’s back and helped hoist him up and out of the Impala. Together, the pair walked through the gate, down the paved path, then up the stairs. Once again, it felt good in a way that could only be entirely wrong to have Cas manhandle him the way he was doing, much less when Cas started doting on him in his own way. “Time for bed. Your muscle relaxers will make it difficult for you to stay awake, and it’s close enough to a normal bedtime that you shouldn’t have to fight it. I’ll wake you up when it’s time for meds.”

“Whatever, Mom,” Dean grumbled, still needing to keep up the act.

He let Cas help him into bed then Cas fussed around him a little, plugging his phone in for him, turning off his lamp, covering him with the blanket. It had been a long ass time since Dean had let himself be cared for like this, and despite his instincts to fight against it, he felt himself sinking helplessly into the waters toward Cas’s siren call, fully unable to stop himself from treading towards it.

Dean’s first few days were a blur of waking up only to take meds or eat or do his breathing exercises or have his drains emptied, floating in and out of consciousness as the muscle relaxers did their job.

In the morning, Dean would be nudged awake by a warm hand, fed meds chased with Gatorade like some fucked up baby bird, then coaxed back to sleep by Cas petting him as one would a jungle cat. Dean found himself wanting something closer to a housepet’s treatment, but that would be for analyzing later when he actually had time to ponder it that wasn’t during the staggered bouts of consciousness that were too few and far between to get anything substantial done in that arena.

One night, Cas was emptying Dean’s drains while Dean watched, drugged up and lovestruck, as his friend gently yet efficiently coaxed all the fluid that had accumulated in the tube down into the bulb at the end, then he poured the sum into the measuring cup provided by the hospital so he could record the amount drained. He did it all without skipping a beat, without making a face or a sound.

Goddamn, Dean loved him.

“That shit don’t gross you the fuck out?”

“I see all kinds of things with the animals at work.”

“Yeah, but that’s animal juices, this is person juice.”

“It doesn’t bother me when it’s you.”

Dean could feel himself blush and damned his body for betraying him. “Gayass,” he teased, deflecting.

“Very,” Cas quipped as he forced all residual air out of the first drain before closing it then moving on to the next one. Once that one, too, had been emptied, measured, and recorded, Cas reattached both squeezed-dry bulbs to Dean’s hospital-issued binder. “Sleep tonight, we’ll take a bath tomorrow. Morning or night?”

Dean heard the internal alarm bells go off at the suggestion of ‘we’. Cas had already seen his ass in the bathroom, but knowing that over the course of his healing, he’d be showing the rest of himself to Cas, made him feel something adjacent to apprehension, something he couldn’t quite articulate, even to himself. Better get it over with sooner rather than later so they could get over the ‘being naked together’ hurdle, a hurdle that you sometimes had to overcome with your boy best friend. Totally normal. “Morning.”

“Alright then. I’ll see you at 4 am for meds and breakfast if you want it, then I’ll help you in the bath.”

“Sounds like a plan. Now beat it, if you’re comin’ to bug me at 4, I gotta get a headstart on my beauty sleep.”

Cas nodded and took his leave with a “Goodnight, Dean” left behind on his way out the door.

That night, images of Cas tenderly bathing him the next morning danced in his head, mixed with images of turning in his spot in the tub to massage his lips into Cas’s.

As promised, Cas woke him up early the following morning for a round of meds. Then, having the culinary skills of a divorced father, Cas made them scrambled eggs and toast for breakfast accompanied by a pot of black coffee that they took turns draining.

“How’s the pain?” Cas asked after a sip from his mug.

“Could be worse. Meds are doin’ their job.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“Think you could take me out for a smoke?”

“Not a chance in hell as long as you’re binding and taking a respiratory suppressant.”

“What about when I’m not binding then, huh?”

“You’re only allowed out of the binder when you’re bathing.”

“Then I guess you’re crackin’ open the bathroom window while we’re in the bath, ‘cuz I’m fiendin’ for a smoke. It’s the only way you’re gettin’ my ass in the tub with you.”

“Must you make everything difficult like a toddler?”

It was Dean’s first time being on the receiving end of this kind of care — sue him if he was having a little fun with it. Testing the boundaries. “Would you expect anything less?”

“I suppose to do so would be an error on my part. Fine. You may have one — exactly one — cigarette while we’re in the bath.”

Dean couldn’t help the coy smile. He’d won. “Now we’re talkin’.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And yet you’re choosin’ to ‘suffer’ me.”

“You’re right, I don’t know what I was thinking being the only person in your life that you bothered to tell about this. Completely my mistake,” Cas deadpanned.

“Hey, if you’re not happy with your digs, there’s the door, pal,” Dean half-teased, part of him still silently concerned about Cas’s wanting-to-be-here status.

“Don’t worry your insufferable head. I’m honored to be here,” he admitted a little too earnestly for Dean’s comfort.

“Overkill,” Dean chided, blushing though he tried to hide it.

“Grab your stuff and meet me in the bathroom. Time to hose your stinking ass down.”

“Nice bedside manner, Doc.”

“Time to hose your stinking ass down please?”

“That’s worse. Back off, I’m goin’.”

Cas left to go to the bathroom where Dean soon heard running water and Dean grabbed his pack and lighter for his singular permitted smoke break of the day. Contraband in hand, Dean joined his friend in the bathroom to find the man hunched over the edge of the bathtub, one hand under the flow and one hand on the dials, adjusting until he got it just right.

“Worried I’m gonna melt if you don’t get it perfect?”

Cas startled. “You were quiet.”

“You knew I was comin’ scaredy-pants. Give it a rest, water’s water.”

Cas listened, ‘giving it a rest’ by decidedly abandoning the dials and plugging the drain, committing to that temperature, hoping it would be good enough for his charge. The two men watched while the tub filled, too many unsaid words floating between them to choose from, so Dean stayed silent. Soon the tub was just over a quarter full and Cas cut it off then stood, drying his hands on the towel hanging on the sinkside rack.

“It’s, um, time for me to help you get undressed.”

“You first,” Dean challenged.

“Is this another caveat to getting you in the tub?”

“If havin’ that as a reason helps you sleep better, then yeah.”

“Okay, fine, I’ll go first,” he said, fingering the hem of his shirt. Dean watched, impotent, as Cas undressed himself. Layer by layer, the object of his obsession was laid bare before him, practically begging Dean’s eyes to drink their fill. And drink they did, intoxicating Dean’s mind with the liquor of Cas’s exposed form.

“You — uh, nice,” he stuttered stupidly, immediately regretting it. ‘Nice’? You see your best friend’s dick for the first time and all you can say is ‘nice’? he mentally berated himself.

“Thank you,” Cas said in return, not doing Dean the kindness of pretending he didn’t hear it, but also not doing him the unkindness of saying something that might compound his faux pas. “Your turn now. Allow me,” he ordered, nipping Dean’s attempt at independence in the bud.

Dean held his hands up in surrender, not high enough to get scolded, and allowed himself to be undressed by the man he was hopelessly in love with. His flannel came off first, button by button. Dean’s breath hitched when Cas’s strong, warm hands gently pushed the shirt from his shoulders and his eyes fluttered shut, brain imagining such a move in a different context, one where they were there of free will instead of necessity, one where Cas wanted Dean in the same way Dean wanted Cas.

Dean kept his eyes closed as Cas gingerly separated the velcro of his recovery binder, unwilling to open them lest his fantasy die. Plus, he wasn’t sure he wanted to see what he looked like under the binder just yet. The final hold of the velcro was broken and Cas slowly peeled the elastic vice from Dean’s chest. Immediately, he felt the relief of two lungs full to capacity of air, no longer compressed. “Damn, that feels fuckin’ good,” Dean sighed, eyes still closed.

“It looks good.”

“You mean it?”

“Open your eyes. Look for yourself.”

At once, Dean opened his eyes and looked down at his new body for the first time.

Flat.

Flat for miles.

It had been over a decade of binding, squishing, squeezing, taping. Hunching, twisting, straining, cracking his back. Binding for too long. Binding improperly. Making his own binders in the beginning that fucked up his back beyond repair. And now —

— Now it was all gone. The dysphoria, that familiar, unbidden bedfellow, that nagging reminder of what he was “supposed” to be, what his body was “supposed” to look like, what his body was “supposed” to do — it wasn’t there anymore, at least not strongly enough to be detectable. Just gone, just like that. His new body was covered in tape and glue, it was raw and ugly, but it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever fucking seen. He felt himself tear up a little and tried to suck it all back in, unsuccessfully. A tear slipped out and he felt like a bitch, but damn it, he was so fucking happy he didn’t know what else to do with himself but cry.

“Cas. Cas, this is me. Like, for real. No take-backs.”

“I know. I’m so happy for you, Dean.”

“It looks like shit,” he chuckled wetly, sucking back in the snot that the tears brought with them as they fell. “Like I got fuckin’ run over or somethin’.”

“It’s beautiful in its own way, Dean.”

Dean didn’t know what to do with that, so instead he deflected and breathlessly laughed, “I fucking reek.”

“I know that, too. Let me get your pants off so we can get you in the water.”

“Sure you can handle bein’ that close to snatch?”

“Is it going to bite me or something? Because if not, I don’t understand the insinuation.”

“Well, ya know, the whole you-bein-gay thing. Kinda clashes, dontcha think?”

“Firstly, as if it matters at all in this context, I don’t care what parts a man has, just that he’s a man. It’s very simple. However, this is bath time, so that rule doesn’t even apply. Don’t flatter yourself. Secondly, as long as your ‘snatch’, as you so lovingly call it, promises not to take a pound of flesh from my hand with the razor-sharp teeth it apparently has, I’d like to help you out of your pants now. Thirdly, since you can reach that part yourself, the only one scrubbing under your hood today will be you. Hopefully that assuages your fears of my getting bitten by your feral cat.”

Dean didn’t know how to respond to all that information, so instead he just held his hands up in surrender and let Cas pull his pants down, bringing his crush to his knees before him to help Dean’s feet out of the cuffs of the legs of his sweatpants and Dean couldn’t help but imagine him about six inches closer with a face full of bush. Cas dumped everything but the binder into the bathroom hamper to be washed later, then grabbed two towels out of the bathroom closet for them, and set them on the closed toilet for after their bath.

Cas stepped into the bath first then Dean allowed Cas to assist him over the tub wall even though he could do it on his own just fine. Cas sat first, then coaxed Dean down across from him, his long bowlegs tangling with Cas’s as he sank down facing him. The two of them were far too big to be doing this, but there was no other practical way to do this that wouldn’t make Dean feel like a toddler. No other reason, obviously.

The pair sat like that for a moment, maybe getting used to the water, maybe getting used to each other, the way their legs tangled in the middle, brushed against sensitive parts. Being a pain in the ass was one of Dean’s love languages, and since he was desperately in love with Cas, Dean reminded him of his demands. “I believe I was promised a smoke during this hour of rec time, guard,” he teased.

Cas rolled his eyes in his long-suffering way then, in accordance with their agreement, grabbed Dean’s pack and lighter from the bathside table and offered them to Dean. Dean, ever the asshole, didn’t move to grab either of them. Couldn’t make it that easy. Instead, he put on the pitiful puppy act. “Dunno if I can reach… my hand all the way up to my mouth, ya see… might needja to do it for me…”

Cas looked at him with murder in his eyes and a fond smile on his lips, just the combination that twisted Dean up inside. Like an owner giving in to his pup’s demands, Cas pulled a cig from the pack and held it out for Dean butt-first between two fingers, letting Dean know that Cas was wise to his game. That didn’t make playing any less fun, though. Dean leaned forward and wrapped his lips around the butt of the cigarette then batted his big, pleading eyes up at his caretaker who then dutifully flicked the lighter and held it to the end for Dean. Dean inhaled deeply, relishing in the way he was able to breathe freely without the restraint of his binder, thinking about how, once he recovered, it would be like this all the time. He’d never have to sacrifice his back for his chest again.

Dean smoked while Cas wettened one of the rags he’d set on the bath’s edge then lathered it with the bar of soap from the soap tray. Dean once again closed his eyes so he could preserve the feeling, untainted, of Cas breaking the concrete ground around his heart by gently pressing the sudsed cloth to Dean’s shoulder — a safe, neutral zone from which to start. Dean inhaled as Cas dragged the rag in circles along his collarbones then exhaled as he moved down his arms and under them gently, then Dean dared to open his eyes to watch Cas wash his new chest, taking care not to spread any of the soapy wet onto the medical tape that was holding him together. It was so soft, so tender, so loving — Dean felt like he could get sick off of how sweet Cas was being to him.

Fuck. Dean loved him.

Cas ordered Dean to rotate. Dean obeyed, turning himself within the confines of the bath until his back was presented to Cas. Cas gently scrubbed down it, over the grooves and valleys the ridges of the binder left in the skin of his back. Once Dean’s top half had been properly soaped up, Cas handed him the rag so he could do his own bottom half, preserving Dean’s last remaining shred of dignity despite the fact that his every atom was singing to throw dignity to the wind along with caution and ask Cas to do it for him. For what reason? To what end? Dean didn’t know. Maybe he didn’t want to know.

Regardless, he stood. Washed his bottom half while Cas pretended not to watch how the soap caught in his pubic hair. “You wanna take a picture? It’ll last longer,” he chided, projecting.

“I didn’t mean to — it’s not —” Cas stammered.

“S’fine. Ain’t much to see. Anyways, your turn,” Dean insisted as he sat back down, rinsing the soap from his bottom half.

“Not so fast. I need to get the rest of the soap off of you. Rag, please.”

Dean handed him the washcloth then watched him rinse all the soap from it, wring it out, then soak it in water once again. Cas then followed the path he’d previously laid with suds, collecting them all then rinsing, collecting then rinsing, gently and accurately. It made Dean feel as fragile and vulnerable as one of those ducks rescued from an oil spill, a helpless little thing in some lady’s sink getting his feathers washed out with Dawn dish soap. Cas had him feeling unarmored, unmoored, unhinged. It fucked him up how soft Cas was being with him. It was almost too much. Two animals were alive and well inside of him: one wanted to buck back, say he could do this shit himself somehow, wanted to get up and leave and kill the moment; the other wanted to give in to every weak, pathetic impulse brought to mind via the butterflies Cas put in his stomach and lean into the tenderness. Every instinct said to buck back, to get up and leave, but there he remained, far more scared of leaving than he was of staying, far too pitifully in love to reject his friend’s offered care.

With nothing he else he could do about it, he smoked, hoping the soot would coat his insides and suffocate those goddamn butterflies so he could get a fucking grip. As it turns out from his limited research, it takes more than one cigarette for one to ‘get a fucking grip’, or at least that’s what he found to be true by the time it had all turned to ash.

Eventually, respite came for Dean’s overworked heartstrings in the form of Cas dropping the washcloth into the water a final time and leaving it there. Just as he was about to relax now that the hard part of having Cas’s hand all over him was over, Cas reminded him, “I need to wash your hair now.”

Fucking great.

Cas stood and turned to unhook the detachable shower head from its perch, then adjusted the water until it was warm again, letting the hose of the shower dangle as it sprayed targetlessly. “Turn around for me and lean back. I’ll hold you,” Cas promised. Dean did as he was told and rotated in his spot with about as much grace as a turtle stuck on its back, but eventually, his back was to Cas, his eyes were closed, and he was leaning back against Cas’s firm hold, trusting him. “Tilt your head back for me,” he encouraged, Dean soon listening, “that's good, just like that,” he then praised, warming Dean's insides anew, waking those godforsaken butterflies that the smoke had just laid to rest. Fuck.

Eyes still closed, Dean soon felt the warm waterfall of the shower wetten the top of his head, drenching his hair. Luckily, that part was over soon and he was allowed to sit upright once again. Dean then heard the snap of a shampoo bottle opening behind him, then the spurt of air as Cas squirted some into his hand. Then, all at once, those strong, coveted hands were in Dean’s hair, massaging the soap into the strands with deft fingers. Dean’s throat gave birth to a low hum of profound satisfaction, a product of instinct instead of impulse, one that was impossible to quieten. Dean couldn't remember a time that getting his hair washed felt so fucking good, but then again, he couldn't remember the last time he’d had somebody else wash his hair. “Feels good,” he admitted quietly, treading close to dangerous territory.

“Would you like me to keep going?”

Yes, please, the desperate animal inside him cried. “No,” his mouth lied, “you don’t have to. I think I’m good.”

All too soon, it was over — per his own stupid ass mouth’s spoken wishes. Eyes still closed, Dean followed Cas’s noticeably more detached instruction to lean and tilt his head back, then the spray of the shower returned to wash away Cas’s ephemeral love and care. A flicker of the two returned in a moment as Cas lathered his hair in conditioner, massaging that in as well, drawing Dean deeper and deeper under his spell, his own pathetic hums the soundtrack of his descent. Love and care were once again rinsed out of his hair, and then, just like that, it was over. There was no longer an excuse to have Cas’s eyes and hands and attention on him.

From behind him, he heard Cas go through the motions of his own and, want as he might to turn and ogle him, he knew better, and so kept his back turned, not wanting to take what hadn't been given, even if what was being taken was only a simple glance. The water shifted as Cas stood up and Dean watched in mind’s eye as he washed his bottom half as if he were putting on a show for Dean. Maybe in the fantasy world of his mind, he was.

After Cas had finished washing and rinsing his own hair, he pulled up the plug to drain the bath then stood to help Dean to his feet. Cas refused to let Dean lift a finger as he dried him from head to toe, patting over his chest area so lightly Dean barely felt it, but it got the job done. Then it came time for Cas to redress Dean’s chest for the first time. He didn’t have to do anything to the incisions yet, only having to apply clean gauze where necessary. He instructed Dean to hold each pad down while he began to wrap the binder around him, making sure when he fastened it that it was snug enough to do its job but not so snug that it snuffed out Dean’s ability to breathe. Upon assessment once the task was completed, Dean found Cas’s redressing abilities to be impressive and the fact that his friend was as competent a caretaker as he was only stoked the fire growing in the floor of Dean’s being. He knew that fire would have to be extinguished somehow before it consumed him completely, but he didn’t know how.

Only further compounding Dean’s crisis, the pair of them, now dry, walked down the hall, still naked save for the towels around their waists, to Dean’s room so that Cas could dress him. Another flannel came out of the closet (thank fuck he had so many of them) and Cas tossed it on the bed then he pulled open the top drawer of Dean’s dresser to grab clean underwear, then dipped into his pajamas for another pair of comfy pants that weren’t the pair Dean had been rotting in since he got home. On his knees, Cas helped Dean step into his underwear and pulled it up for him then repeated the process with the Scooby Doo patterned pajama pants he’d pulled out.

“There,” Cas said, standing back, “job well done. Now you no longer stink. Well, not as badly,” he teased.

“Hey, you’re one to talk, you weren’t exactly powder-fresh this morning either, dick.”

“You say that as if you don’t like it,” Cas teased again.

That hit just a little too close to home, bringing the taste of word vomit to the back of Dean’s throat, as if the words describing his feelings would flow out of him like the contents of his stomach. “Your nasty ass body odor? Big pass,” he deflected, lying through his goddamn teeth. The truth was that he couldn’t get enough of what Cas smelled like, he’d kill to get a rental property in Armpit City so he could spend every night with his nose nuzzled into him there, surrounded on all sides by the scent of him, and —

— And what was that about getting a fucking grip? Yeah, he needed to do that.

Cas was seemingly feeling merciful and so didn’t tease him further, though Dean was kinda hoping he would just so he could see what it would be like to let things go further. Maybe if they ever started actually talking to one another, they’d talk themselves into one or the other’s bed and finally end this dance around eggshells that they’d been doing on their tiptoes for years now.

If the following days were anything to go by, it seemed that Dean wouldn’t be having any such luck of bringing this ballet to a halt. They followed a strict, regimented routine set by Cas around Dean’s med schedule, the combination of which made it hard to stay awake and lucid most of the time, meaning that all he dreamed about was Cas and when he was awake, all he saw was the damn guy since he was mostly bedridden, meaning Dean was going fucking crazy.

Stir crazy, crazy with desire, off-his-hormones crazy. All of it, all at once, all of it overlapping. Wake up. Meds. Eat some kind of meal while half asleep. Allow his crush to disrobe him, but only for baths or to change, allow him to touch him everywhere, but only through the veil of the washcloth, allow him to listen to his rambles about his new body, but only because he was stealth in all other aspects of life and had nobody else to talk to about this. The more they touched and talked, the more Dean yearned, the more his body called out for Cas to complete it, to fill in the missing pieces.

The worst part? Cas knew. He knew that Cas knew. He had to know, there was no possible way he couldn’t. As sure as Cas had eyes, he could see what he did to Dean, what his presence alone did to him, let alone his love and care, even if the two were only passersby in the grand scheme of things, two precious gems that Dean only had temporary access to. Soon enough, he’d be healed enough and those rare stones would be put back in their lockbox for someone who truly deserved them. Dean just hoped that when the time came that they went to their new owner, he wouldn’t be around to witness it.

A side effect of surgery was having to be off his hormones for several weeks prior and post, meaning that Dean was now rockin’ au natural, meaning that the morning of his one-week-post-op-aversary, he of course woke to blood in his underwear. He cursed and groaned as he heaved himself up out of bed to deal with it. Gravity encouraged more out of him, testing the absorbency of his boxer briefs. How he hadn’t thought to consider this side effect of going off T, he didn’t know, but what he did know was that he was now reaping the fool’s reward of having to sit on the toilet so as to not completely bleed through his shorts.

“Cas? You up?” he called desperately out into the ether of their shared apartment.

A door opening. Footsteps from down the hall, stopping just outside the bathroom door, then, “I’m here, what’s wrong?”

“Aunt Flow’s payin’ me a visit. Need tampons.”

“You don’t have any?”

“Whaddya want from me, huh? My cat’s been dry for over a decade, dude, so no, I didn’t think to buy tampons. Fuckin’ sue me.”

“Is it bad?”

“It’s like a murder scene, man.”

“Stay put, I’ll run to the store.”

“You’re gonna leave me here?”

“How would you like for me to conjure up a tampon? Would you like me to check and see if I have any up my ass?”

“Fine, go, thank you. I guess I’ll wait here. Could you, uh, bring me my phone? Just kinda slide it under the door, that way you won’t witness the massacre.”

“I’ve literally had a dog projectile squirt bloody diarrhea all over the backseat of my van when I was a mobile vet tech. Nothing coming from between your legs could possibly be any worse than that.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, alright, you made your point. Just bring me my phone.”

Footsteps retreating, pausing, then returning. Two pointless knocks came, and following the formality, Dean allowed him entry. Here he was, at his very fucking lowest, hunched over on the toilet, all for his crush to see — very likely killing whatever remote chance Dean ever had of Cas wanting him in the way Dean wanted to be wanted. He knew in some cases he was needed, but he was so fucking sick of being needed. He wanted to be wanted. Wanted to be wanted by Cas. But Cas only saw him as something weak that needed to be nursed back to health. That’s all this was, all it could ever be. Cas handed him his phone without looking, in a pointless, fruitless effort to preserve Dean’s already evaporated dignity. Dean accepted it. Cas turned on his heels without another word and closed the door behind him, leaving Dean in a sad pile on the toilet, feeling like he was truly at his lowest.

After he’d used about half a roll of toilet paper wiping himself clean of blood, Dean kept himself occupied one way or another on his phone while he waited for his knight in shining armor to return with his bounty of cotton ponies for him to ride. That time soon came. It came with the faint sound of keys at the front door, followed by footsteps of increasing volume as they approached the door to the bathroom. Another pointless pair of knocks, another pointless permission granted. When Cas handed Dean the box of supers, their fingers brushed. Dean thanked him from his shameful toilet crouch, then once his crush was on the other side of the door, he inserted his tampon, discarded the waste, and got up, only to find that both his legs had fallen asleep from him just sitting there. Great. He shook the tingles out as he washed his hands, then retreated to his bedroom, now his shame cave, where he would rot alone for the rest of the day with only intermittent breaks in the self-imposed solitude when Cas came in to do his rounds.

Over the next week, Dean’s drains got lighter and lighter, as did his period, luckily, and by the time his two-week check-up came around, the left side had been completely dry for the last couple of days, giving both men the impression that Dean was healing as he should be. Still unable to drive himself, Dean allowed Cas behind Baby’s wheel once again and together they went back down to the surgery center in Brentwood to get his drains removed.

Dean led Cas into the office and checked himself in at the front desk, then the pair of them found seats in the general waiting area. When Dean was called back, he didn’t expect Cas to get up when he did and follow him.

He turned to Cas. “You can chill here if you want, you don’t have to go back there with me.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to be there for you in case they have more information about your aftercare.”

Dean warmed again. He could barely stand how sweet Cas was being to him. “No skin off my ass, c’mon,” he said, trying to brush off how moved he was by Cas’s interest and care. The pair of them followed the nurse back to the exam room where Dean climbed up onto the exam table and Cas sat in one of the chairs along the wall, clutching Dean’s drain log in his hand.

The nurse took Dean’s vitals, making pleasant conversation as she did. “So, how’re we feelin’ today, Dean?”

“Feelin’ good. You?”

“I’m alright, thank you. Let’s see… your vitals are lookin’ good, so we’re stayin’ in good shape, love to see it. How’ve your drains been lookin’?”

Dean looked over at Cas and the nurse’s eyes followed. “Oh, gotcha, must be a boyfriend question. Could I see the log, darlin’?” she asked, turning to Cas.

“We’re not —” Dean started.

“Here you go,” Cas said, not attempting to correct her as he handed over the little packet he’d been diligently filling out the last two weeks. “His right side was still draining as of last night, but his left side has been dry for a few days.”

“Perfectly normal, sometimes one side will heal just a bit faster than the other, no biggie. Let’s see… yep, looks like both sides have been tapering off, we love to see it, looks like we’re ready for these drains to come out! I’m gonna go grab us a friend to help, then we’ll yank those suckers for ya. Could I getcha to take that shirt off for me while I go get her?”

“Sure, yeah,” Dean confirmed.

“Great! Be back in a jiff.”

The moment the door was closed, Dean began unbuttoning his shirt, no longer as self conscious now that Cas had seen him naked about a dozen times at this point. What he didn’t expect was for Cas to get up and bat his hands away to take over control of the undressing.

“I can do it myself,” he protested uselessly as Cas got down to the last button of his flannel.

“I know,” Cas confirmed, “but I wanted to do it.”

Dean wanted to ask why, but he was scared of the answer, so he left it alone and let Cas push the shirt off his shoulders, their eyes locked together. Before Dean could even consider the silent weight of the moment, their original nurse returned with another to help, so Cas retreated to his seat along the wall. Together, the nurses got to work unwrapping Dean, undoing all the dressing that Cas had become well-practiced at. “Lookin’ good! Let’s get these drains outta ya,” she said, adjusting her gloves.

Dean had expected it to feel weird, but his chest was still so numb that there was no sensation when the first drain, the one on the right, was removed. Nothing went wrong until the second one was removed, obviously taking a clot along with it, because then the hole left behind in Dean’s body was squirting out about a week’s worth of built up fluid that began pooling on the floor as it oozed out. “Whoa, we got a teapot situation over here!” one nurse called to the other. Dean couldn’t stop looking at the liquid squirting out of him, more and more adding to the dribble as the first nurse massaged the left side of his chest, encouraging it all out of him.

Once it was all out of him, the two nurses left momentarily to go grab towels and Dean looked up from his weeping chest hole to find his friend, skin pallid and eyes distant, looking like he was about to lose his breakfast. “Cas? You good, man?”

“Look away,” was all Cas could say before he was out of his seat and running over to the biohazard trash can, flipping the lid, and hurling into it. Dean then did his friend the solid of looking away, but he couldn't avoid hearing the retching. He heard Cas spit one final time into the red-lined trash bin then take a heaving breath.

“Thought ya could handle gross stuff,” Dean teased.

“I suppose I underestimated my ability to handle people juices,” Cas explained as he took his seat, just as the nurses returned with towels. Dean let himself be patted around, soaking up all that had leaked out of him and onto the floor beside the exam table.

“Sorry ‘bout this,” he said to them, feeling embarrassed.

“It’s no problem, darlin’, it happens!” the first nurse promised.

Once his bodily fluid had been mopped up by the towels, the second nurse left the room with them in a red hazard bag and the first nurse assessed Dean’s chest.

“How ‘bout we get that tape off, then I can show hubby here how to do scar care.”

Dean was about to protest once again that they weren't together, but it was useless at this point, so he just went along with it.

The nurse slowly and gently removed the tape from his incisions. “Lookin’ great, my friend! Hubby, how boutcha come on over, I’ll show you what to do.”

Cas, accepting his role as ‘hubby’, got up and joined the nurse at Dean’s side.

“‘Kay, so you’re gonna use scar cream, we recommend Mederma, and twice a day, you’re gonna massage along his incisions like this,” she said mimicking the motions with her hand hovering just above Dean’s body. “It might hurt him, but you need to be firm to prevent bulking along the incisions. It should take about ten, maybe fifteen minutes total if you're thorough. Go it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Alrighty!” she said to Cas in confirmation. Then to Dean, “Looks like you're in good hands, my friend!” And then to both of them, “So, we’re still not lifting anything heavy, still no arms above the head until at least six weeks, so you got four more to go. Massaging twice a day, still getting help with bathing and being careful around the incisions still while doing so. Any questions for me?” Neither man had any questions, so they both shook their heads. “Alright, good deal!” she said, collecting his soiled binder and throwing it in the biohazard can. “No more binding, Dean, how’s that feel?”

“Damn good,” he admitted.

“Damn right!” the nurse agreed, superseding Dean’s excitement. “Love that for you. Well, you can go ahead and get dressed and we'll see you again at six weeks!”

Dean nodded and the nurse left, giving Dean a moment to get his shirt back on. Cas insisted on helping with this as well, and Dean just let him at this point. With his shirt back on, the pair walked out of the room and back toward the front desk where Dean made his next appointment, then they walked back out to the car. “You sure you're good to drive, Exorcist?”

“It wasn't that bad.”

“You were hurling like you had a demon in there,” Dean teased.

“I'm fine to drive,” Cas promised, pulling out the keys to unlock Baby as they approached her. Dean decided he’d have to trust him and so slid into the passenger seat. “How are you feeling? You're the one who was just a ‘teapot’.”

“I'm fuckin' awesome, man. You know this is the first time I've felt a shirt touch my bare chest without feeling dysphoric in like… well, ever.”

“I'm incredibly happy for you, Dean,” Cas said with a gentle pat to Dean’s thigh before the hand was removed and set back on the steering wheel as they pulled away from the surgery center. Dean mourned its loss and fantasized about its permanent installation the entire drive back north to their apartment.

After a stop at a pharmacy to pick up the medicated scar ointment, the men were finally home. Another dose of his muscle relaxers had Dean taking a nap on the couch, sleeping through lunch, then come mid-afternoon, he was awake again, searching for something to make for dinner before ultimately ordering pizza for delivery, not feeling like cooking and not wanting to force Cas to do it in his stead. The two men shared the couch watching shitty reruns while they ate together, all the while Dean thought about how he’d have Cas’s hands on him again soon, even if only briefly.

Soon, that time came. They’d switched from reruns to watching VHSes from Dean’s expansive collection at some point in the night, carrying them well into the evening. Before bed, the two stripped in the bathroom and Cas once again washed Dean then himself, driving Dean crazy with desire that only built and built the more time he spent in Cas’s heated proximity. After they were both dry, they pulled on clean clothes then both retreated to Dean's room.

“Lie down, I'll massage your scars,” Cas insisted.

“She was just showin’ you ‘cuz she thought we were together. I can do it myself.”

“Dean,” in that firm voice was all Cas needed to say before Dean was huffing and giving up and laying down on the bed. Cas grabbed the scar cream they'd gotten and doled some out onto two of his fingers, then began to rub Dean's scars.

“OW, FUCK!” Dean called out, twisting away from Cas. “Goddamn, that shit fuckin' hurts!”

“I know, but I have to do it.”

“I know.”

“And you have to try to sit still.”

“I can try.”

Cas nodded and tried again.

“MOTHERFUCKER!” Dean shouted, instinctively turning away again.

“Dean, you have to let me do this.”

“It fuckin’ hurts!”

“I know. But you can't keep moving away from me.”

“It's gonna keep happening. Get on me.”

“Get on you?”

“You're gonna hafta hold me down.”

Cas nodded then hesitantly climbed onto Dean, straddling him. Dean was in Heaven and Hell all at once, one foot in either. “Hands at your sides,” Cas instructed. Dean listened and Cas scooted further up Dean’s body to trap Dean's lower arms under his legs, then began massaging Dean’s scars once again. Dean thrashed under Cas and cursed him the fuck out, but Cas didn't give up, didn't stop taking care of him. Dean twisted his eyes shut, gripped the sheets as Cas rubbed him. When he was done with both sides, Cas released Dean’s arms and wiped his fingers on his pants. “Dean, are you okay?”

“M’fuckin’ fine, get offa me,” he ordered, despite quite desperately wanting to stay underneath Cas forever. Cas regrettably got up, taking the scar cream with him. Dean wanted him to stay, wanted to beg him to stay in bed with him, but he knew better.

Cas turned to leave, and just as Dean had resigned himself to another silent night of regret alone, Cas turned back around. “Your chest looks beautiful, Dean,” he said, as if it were a normal thing for one friend to say to another.

Even though Dean hadn't been socialized as a man his whole life, he still knew that saying shit like that broke the rules. But then again, a lot of what they did broke the rules, so he just accepted it. “Thanks.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he repeated, wishing it didn't mean goodbye. Cas left his room with so much unsaid between them that Dean could feel every unspoken word weighing down on him like layers of cement.

In the morning, Cas was back to torture him physically and emotionally by once again straddling him and massaging his scars. This session drew tears to his eyes, tears that Cas swiped away with his clean hand as he continued rubbing Dean. “Shh,” he cooed, “that's a good boy, this side is almost over and then we're done. Keep taking it so well,” he praised, making Dean's skin boil from the way it heated him inside and out. That was it, just about all Dean could take. He was about to fucking explode. He bucked up and flipped them so Cas was pinned beneath him. “Can't say shit like that, Cas,” he bit, hiding love behind anger.

“What do you mean?”

“Callin’ me ‘beautiful’ last night, callin’ me a ‘good boy’ just now, you can't — you can't just do that. It’s not fair.”

“But you are beautiful and you are a good boy. I tell you those things because you deserve to hear them.”

“Just cut it out, alright? It's bad enough I gotta have your hands all over me, it's too much havin’ your voice stuck in my head too.”

“I didn't know you found my hands and voice so repulsive.”

“It's the opposite, actually, and that's the fuckin' problem!”

“Dean?”

“Shut up,” he demanded, cutting off whatever was going to be said next with a hopeless kiss, fully expecting to be shoved away, not at all anticipating it when Cas started kissing him back. Dean's eyebrows drew up into his hairline in shock and he immediately pulled back. “What the fuck are you doing?!”

“I'm kissing you back, I thought that was obvious,” Cas supplied, dumbfounded.

“Yeah, I got that much, but why?”

“Because you kissed me and I like you. Was I not supposed to?”

“But—you're gay!”

“And you're a man. I like kissing men.”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“There are no buts about it, Dean,” he said, taking advantage of Dean’s stunned shock to flip them back over, taking control back as he kissed Dean this time.

Dean kissed back, hands rising up from the bed to grab Cas’s hips so he could have something to hold onto while getting kissed within an inch of his life. “Not fair,” he breathed against Cas’s lips.

“You keep saying that. What's not fair, Dean?”

“You still got your shirt on.”

“My deepest apologies,” Cas deadpanned, pulling back to tug his shirt off over his head. “Is this better for you?”

“Much better,” Dean confirmed. “C’mere.”

Cas got closer and Dean wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and pulled him in for another kiss that deepened as the two men ground against each other. Dean could feel himself grow hard, felt the center of himself wetten as Cas rubbed his own arousal down against the bulge Dean’s packer created, his state only worsening as they fell further into each other. “Mouth on me, please, Cas,” Dean begged.

Cas pulled away and trailed kisses down Dean’s neck and brand new chest, then further down his quivering torso until he was met with the bulge of Dean's packer, mouthing over it teasingly. Cas then pulled Dean's boxers down and, making blown-out eye contact with Dean's own lust-blackened eyes, sucked the tip of Dean’s packer into his mouth.

“You're fuckin' gross,” Dean chided even though it was incredibly fucking erotic to watch Cas suck on his fake dick. “It’s covered in, like, boxer lint and pubic hair, dude.” Cas hummed dismissively and sucked the rest of Dean’s packer into his mouth, showing Dean what he could do. “Fuck, Cas,” Dean breathed. “So pretty, can't wait to see what you look like with a mouth full of my real dick,” Dean praised while pushing his luck a little, seeing how far he could get.

Cas pulled up off Dean's packer, removed some lint from his tongue, then, with a look seeking permission and a nod of Dean’s head, he pulled Dean’s jock down, pulling his fake cock away to reveal his real one waiting expectantly beneath his bed of pubic hair. Dean freed one leg from the jock’s elastic hold and hiked it up, spreading himself open for Cas. Cas’s eyes met Dean’s, trailed down his torso, then went wide at the sight between Dean's legs.

“New to this kind of equipment?” Dean teased.

“I'm a quick study and good at following instructions, don’t worry about me.”

“Lucky you, then, ‘cuz I like bein’ bossy.”

“Oh, I’m well aware. Go on, then,” he encouraged, pressing a kiss to Dean’s inner thighs.

“‘Kay, so I kinda just really want you to suck me off.”

“Easy enough,” Cas said with a final kiss to Dean’s thigh. He then used his thumb to expose Dean’s growth and dove in, sucking it into his mouth.

Immediately, Dean’s nerves were alight, going from zero to one thousand in a second, leaving him a babbling mess. “Fuck, Cas! Yeah, like that sweetheart — God!” he cried as Cas introduced his tongue, sucking then twirling it around Dean’s stiff growth. Dean was quickly melting into a puddle from Cas’s mouth, his friend’s name a constant on his own. Eyes locked on the scene between his legs, he whimpered at the sight — the guy he’d had a crush on for years at this point had his mouth on him, it seemed almost too good to be true.

Dean’s hips canted up, rubbing himself against Cas’s open mouth. Cas’s nails dug into Dean’s thighs where he held them, the pain adding to the pleasure. Gradually, the sensation became so much that he found himself teetering on the edge, but he didn’t want this to be over so soon. “God, Cas, you can stop if you want, gonna come if you keep sucking me like tha— Cas!” he called out when Cas started sucking him harder. Dean’s thighs clamped around Cas’s head and Cas wrapped possessive hands around either, locking in and holding on for the ride, letting Dean know that he was supposed to come in Cas’s mouth.

Dean moved his hands from the sheets to Cas’s hair and held him there, then began rocking his hips up and down again, feeding himself to Cas, who ate like a man starving. Dean watched as long as he could take before he had to look away. “God, how the fuck are you real?” he asked hoarsely. Cas hummed around Dean’s cock, inspiring another buck upwards, and Cas didn’t let up, didn’t stop sucking him even as he finally came with a gush and another cry of Cas’s name.

“Fuck, Cas, okay — you can stop. C’mere, kiss me,” he demanded.

Cas pulled off Dean’s cock to say, “Not done eating,” then his tongue was inside Dean’s dripping cunt, lapping up all that had gushed from him. The sound of it was obscene, as was the view.

When that, too, became too much, he yanked Cas off him by the hair at the back of his neck. “You’re done, come kiss me,” he ordered, desperate to have his mouth on Cas’s once again.

Cas gave in, wiping his mouth on Dean’s inner thigh before rejoining him at the head of the bed, locking their lips together. It had been a long time since Dean had tasted himself on another’s lips and the fact that Cas was so proud about it made him feel even wetter.

“Fuck me,” was Dean's next desperately barked order, making his desire plain, already grabbing at the waistband of Cas’s sweatpants. He shoved them down over the swell of his friend’s ass, exposing him; Dean’s eyes went wide at the size of him. He’d seen it countless times during their baths together, but seeing him hard was something entirely other. Cas then pulled Dean’s own jock and boxers the rest of the way off then lined himself up to Dean’s wet cunt.

Cas hesitated, frustrating Dean. “Are you sure, Dean?”

Dean reached down between his legs and grabbed ahold of Cas, tugging him closer until the head of him parted Dean’s folds. “Please, Cas,” he begged.

Dean watched, satisfied, as a shudder shook through his friend at the sensation, then all air was punched out of him when Cas finally slid fully inside him, slamming their hips together.

“God, Cas!”

“Dean,” Cas groaned in turn. “How do you feel — are you okay?”

“M’fine, you're just — fuckin' big — it's a lot, but it's good, God, it's so good, Cas,” he panted.

“Dean, breathe, breathe for me, deep breaths,” he encouraged. Dean sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly, relaxing his body. Cas rubbed Dean’s hip with his thumb. “You're so good Dean, doing so well.”

“More, Cas, please,” he begged, needing more praise and more cock. “Keep goin'.”

Cas pulled back, almost slipping out of him completely, then all at once Dean was full again with a swift thrust that punched cartoon stars and hearts out of his ears in his mind’s eye. “So good, Dean, the way your body hugs mine…”

Dean closed his eyes for a moment and imagined the scene of them from above, Cas fucking into his weakened yet willing body, both of them finding home within the other. While Cas drove him into the mattress, he was careful around Dean’s vulnerable chest. Dean’s nerves in his nipples were still numb from surgery, so he couldn't feel when Cas attached his mouth to one of them, but God, could he see it — he felt himself getting wetter at the sight, if that were even possible.

“Can't feel it, baby, but you're sure pretty while you're doin’ it,” Dean praised. Cas pulled away from his numb chest and attached his mouth instead to Dean’s sensitive neck and began biting and sucking there and — oh. “Oh—fuck, Cas! Just like that, sweetheart, mark me up,” he begged desperately. Cas listened, nipping and licking and sucking while Dean called out his name and begged for more, more, more — until suddenly, he was coming again, unannounced, clenching around Cas.

“That’s it, Dean, such a good boy… come again on my cock, keep coming,” he encouraged.

Head thrown back and legs shaking, Dean’s orgasm shook through him, heightened by the constant stimulation to his g-spot, by the size of the cock spearing him. It felt like Cas was remaking him, rearranging his atoms as well as his guts, into something entirely different than what he was before this moment. He was no longer interested in before, only in now and later. He begged hoarsely for Cas to keep going, keep using him, and Cas did as he was told, ever the people pleaser. “Switch if you get close,” Dean warned. He was surer than shit that he liked Cas — hell, he was pretty sure he loved the guy — just not enough to have one of his unexpected buns in the oven.

“You sure? I could just pull out.”

“Don't even think about it,” Dean bit with a dangerous smile.

Cas did as he was told and switched, using the wet from Dean’s weeping cunt to encourage his cock in past Dean’s tight rim. Dean fisted the sheets and arched up off the bed as he was stuffed fuller than he ever thought possible.

“Fuck, Cas, that's it — couldn't give up this feeling, not for anything,” he babbled, “Keep fucking me, please, God,” he practically sobbed. Cas, attentive as always, didn't stop even for a moment. Dean let himself get lost in the reliable rhythm of Cas’s rutting, feeling deliciously full.

“Close, Dean—”

“Come in me, lemme see that pretty face when you do, sweetheart,” Dean encouraged.

Cas canopied Dean with his body, still not pressing in as he yearned to for fear he’d hurt Dean’s tender chest. Dean could tell Cas was holding back and he couldn’t stand it, couldn’t have it.

“Lemme do the work, baby, lay back,” he cooed, encouraging Cas to flip over. He did, sitting up on the mattress, dick standing at the ready, leaking for Dean. All for me, he thought to himself, then repeated aloud, lost in the heat of the moment. “This is all for me, right, sweetheart?” he asked as he situated himself in the nest of Cas’s lap and grabbed his length from behind him, not caring how possessive it sounded.

He hadn’t anything to worry about, it seemed, because Cas was there to match his energy. “All for you, Dean. Take whatever you want.”

Dean nuzzled into Cas’s neck, breathing in his scent to ground himself as he reached back and lined Cas up with his ass. They exchanged shaky exhales as Dean’s body accepted Cas inside once again, and once he adjusted, he began to move, trying to build back up to where they were moments earlier.

Strong hands gripped his hips, fingernails digging into soft flesh as Dean rode him. Somewhere in all the friction, Cas’s thumb found the sensitive bead of Dean’s cockhead and rubbed the pad of his thumb against it, making Dean double over in Cas’s lap. “Not fair, s’my job to get you off.”

“I want to see you lose it one more time. You’re very handsome when you come.”

“Then keep goin’ just like that. Wanna race?”

“I want every moment with you to last as long as possible, actually.”

“Gayass,” Dean teased. “Help me out, fuck up while I fuck down.” Cas listened and fell into Dean’s desired rhythm. “That’s it — Cas, fuck, so fuckin’ big.”

“Too much?”

“Nah, sweetheart, perfect amount,” he reassured, speeding up his bouncing on Cas while Cas continued rubbing his sensitive growth.

Dean could feel tears welling in his eyes from how much it all was, could feel them start to fall. “Cas, so much, please,” he begged desperately.

“Come on me again, Dean. I know you can do it, my good boy,” he praised, gathering more of Dean’s gushing wet with his thumb to slicken his movements on Dean’s cock anew.

Dean was fully sobbing by the time his third orgasm shook through him, tears falling freely.

“You’re so pretty when you cry, Dean. Makes me want to come inside you even more,” Cas taunted.

Dean wouldn’t let Cas tire him out, speeding up on him, trying to milk the orgasm out of him.

“Dean—fuck!” Cas cried out as he came deep inside him, clutching at the soft flesh of his hips for something to hold onto while Dean rode him through it.

“That’s it, sweetheart, all mine,” he promised, clenching his ass around Cas’s length as the last of his orgasm wracked through him. Finally filled with the desired warmth, Dean gradually slowed then stilled, finally collapsing into Cas who held him tight at the waist, still avoiding Dean’s chest.

“Poor thing, you’re all worn out,” Cas cooed, shifting into his self-appointed role as caretaker.

“Should try to knock two more outta you, see how you like it,” he bit in return.

“How are your incisions? Did the, um, did our activity do anything to —”

“No, you didn’t fuck my scars open. Don’t flatter yourself, big guy.”

Cas gave him a devilish smile that softened the longer he looked at Dean until it had morphed completely into something opposite, something incredibly fond, so sweet Dean could feel it in his fillings.

“Why’re ya lookin’ at me like that?” Dean asked, still skewered in Cas’s lap.

“Because you’re awfully pretty to look at.”

“Gayass.”

“Very gay. Specifically and especially for you, just to be clear,” Cas reassured.

Dean could stand his words anymore and so captured Cas’s mouth in another firm kiss, packed full of meaning. “Pretty gay for you too, I guess,” Dean teased.

“I would hope so, seeing as I’m still inside you.”

Dean huffed a light laugh like a sigh and kissed Cas again, still seated on him. Eventually, the pair did separate, then Cas pulled Dean up out of bed to head to the shower so they could start this, their first of many days officially together.

Dean was officially six months post-op, to the day.

Gone were the days of squirming in pain as his lover held him down and massaged his scars, of careful showers where he couldn't wash his own hair, of not being allowed to lay on his front. His scars were healing nicely, in his lover's opinion at least.

And that was another thing — he and his lover had been together for almost as long, just a couple weeks shy. Cas had promised him a surprise for the occasion to celebrate both milestones.

Everything was a surprise, Cas kept quiet about his plans. He even did all the packing so as to not let Dean in on his plans. The only hint Dean got was the morning of the weekend they’d planned to spend together — he was washing the dishes in the sink while watching Cas pack the car through the window above the sink when he saw Cas load a tent into the trunk. It made him curious.

Minutes later, Cas’s footsteps were coming up the stairs outside their apartment, then the front door opened and a couple moments later, his boyfriend’s arms were snaking around his waist, his firm body pressed into the back of Dean’s, dotting kisses along the back of Dean’s neck. “Almost done?” Cas asked, voice low in Dean’s ear.

“Just a couple more forks to scrub.”

“Everything’s ready in the car.”

“Do I get to know where we’re goin’ yet?”

“You’ll see,” he said with another kiss. “You’ll need to come downstairs with me to find out.”

Dean washed the last remaining utensils in the sink, rinsed, and put them on the rack, then turned in his lover’s embrace to catch his lips. Cas held him so tenderly that Dean felt like a prize. “So what, you’re just gonna gimme directions and I gotta follow blindly?”

“That is the case, yes.”

Dean kissed him again and again. He didn’t even care about the lack of control over the situation, he trusted Cas. He kissed him once more just for good measure. “Beatcha down to the car.”

Cas kissed him again then quickly turned to start the race. Dean still had to shuck his dish gloves and grab his keys, wallet, and shoes, so of course, Cas won the game, waiting around for Dean, leant against the passenger side door. Dean sidled up to him, pressing him back into Baby’s frame with another kiss of appreciation for having planned a whole weekend for him.

In the car, Dean was behind the wheel with Cas’s hand as a permanent installation on his thigh just as he had dreamt of all those months ago, thinking about the weight of their milestone. Six months in the grand scheme of things wasn’t long, but compared to the years spent pining, it felt like a grand feat that the both of them had accomplished together.

Dean drove south, following Cas’s instructions over the dim hum of a classic rock station. It was about forty minutes before Dean got an inkling as to where they were going: he started seeing signs for Barren River State Park and he smiled. They were going camping. Dean’s heart warmed at the prospect and he couldn’t wait to get there.

Cas directed him down a road off the highway that led to the visitor’s entrance to the state park, where they parked and Cas led them to the front desk where they checked in. They were given a parking pass for their car with a number that matched the campsite Cas had reserved for them. As the couple made their way back to the car to head to the campsite, Dean asked, “You really planned all this shit for me?”

“You haven’t even seen the real surprise yet,” his boyfriend teased.

They slid back into Baby and followed the signs down to the area of reserved campsites, found theirs, and parked. From the trunk, Cas pulled the tent he’d packed and set it down in the flat grassy area of their site.

The next half hour was spent bickering with each other as they put the tent together: “I toldja this piece goes here, Cas!”, “What would you know? I’m the one with the instructions!” Eventually, their shelter for the night was erected and the two were on their backs in the grass, panting heavily from exertion.

They unpacked the car once they had the tent up. Inside the tent, Cas pulled two pairs of swim trunks from the duffel of clothes he’d packed. Dean looked at him in awe. “What’s this for?”

“I’m taking you swimming.”

Dean felt like he was about to cry like a fuckin’ baby.

Dean had grown up with an affinity for the water and abandoned that love when his body started changing in ways he didn’t approve of in his early teen years. He hadn’t gone swimming in over a decade.

“Really?”

“As soon as you get your new trunks on,” Cas said, handing over a pair. They had hotdogs all over them, making Dean smile fondly. He happily stripped in front of Cas and pulled the new trunks on, watching as Cas did the same, mouth watering all the while — the pair Cas stuffed himself into were plain black with a 4-inch inseam, leaving very little to Dean’s imagination.

Yeah, he was gonna be riding that shit the second they got back to the tent.

The couple grabbed the two towels and beach blanket Cas had packed, slipped their shoes back on, and made their way to the lakeside beach on the state park’s property. They found a sunny spot to sit in and laid their blanket down, shucking their shoes off and using them to hold the blanket down to the ground.

Then it was a race to the water.

Dean got a headstart and Cas quickly joined him, one beelining after the other past other beachgoers, eventually tumbling into the inviting maw of the lake together. The water welcomed Dean home, caressing his now-healed chest. Opening his eyes under the water, Dean caught Cas looking at him, at his new body. Dean swam over to him and grabbed ahold of him, pulling him in for a closed, underwater kiss. It felt for the first time in a while like he was actually breathing despite holding his breath. He felt euphoric.

Dean and his lover soon breached the surface with their heads, gasping for air, then dipped back underneath to chase after each other. Dean let himself lean into the childlike wonder this gesture from Cas inspired in him. He convinced his boyfriend to play mermaids with him, chasing each other further from the shore with legs held together in make-believe tails. Dean was giddy like a fuckin’ kid again, and all because of his lover’s thoughtfulness.

They swam like that for hours, the time barely passing. They only noticed any had passed at all when the sun started to dim and they heard the whistle of the on-site lifeguard ushering everyone out of the water for the day. The couple shared one last rebellious underwater kiss, then made their way to the shore.

Dean and Cas walked back up the beach toward their blanket where they dried off, then exhaustedly collapsed onto their blanket, one atop the other, Dean letting the fading sun kiss his bare chest for the first time in over a decade. They cuddled like that under the dimming sky until another whistle came for visitors to clear the beach. Then, they heaved themselves up off the ground and began the walk back to their campsite.

Still in nothing but their trunks with towels draped around their necks, the two men cracked open a couple beers and went about setting up a campfire in the little stone pit that was provided at their campsite, gathering wood from the area around them to feed it so that they could cook the hotdogs Cas had packed for them in the cooler. As soon as the fire was going, Dean leaned into it to light one of his smokes then brought it to his lips, offering one to Cas, though he was rebuffed. Cas wanted Dean’s. Dean shared it with his stubborn lover and Cas listened dutifully as Dean rambled on about work at the firehouse while they began cooking. Dean talked about how work had been easier now that he wasn’t binding, how he was up for a raise, talked about the new guys — one of ‘em a younger kid named Jack who Dean immediately clocked as being trans like him. “Yeah, he’s a scrawny thing, but he wants to do the job, I’m thinkin’ of takin’ him under my wing,” Dean explained over the fire.

“I think that could be very good for you, Dean,” Cas assured.

The two men dressed and downed their dogs, washed down with beer after beer in the spirit of celebration. After dinner, Cas brought out supplies for s’mores and Dean fell in love with him just a little more. Maybe he’d tell him that tonight if he was brave enough.

Dean toasted a marshmallow for Cas and vice versa, then they made each other a s’more, then another and another, all washed down with more beer until their stomachs were full and their brains were happily warm and slightly hazy. Once the fire was nothing more than flickering coals inside its stone corral, the two men retired to their tent for the night.

Cas unrolled the sleeping bag and Dean grabbed the pillow Cas had packed, then he shoved Cas down onto their little makeshift bed, capturing his lips in a kiss packed full of meaning, full of the love that Dean intended to confess to him that night. On top of Cas, Dean shimmied out of his swim trunks then helped Cas out of his own. He’d been so rarin’ to go all day that he didn’t need the fingers that Cas introduced to open him up, but he welcomed them all the same.

Dean folded himself over Cas’s body and whimpered in his ear while those strong hands fingered him open, began grinding back into the hand that filled him. “So eager, Dean,” Cas commented playfully.

“Can’t help it, ‘specially when you did all this shit for me.”

“I’d do anything for you, Dean.”

“Then fuck me,” he pled.

Cas removed his fingers from Dean’s dripping opening, used some of Dean’s wet to lube himself up. Dean helped him along, batting his hands away so he could reach down and line him up. Dean sank down on him, his body blossoming around the now-familiar size of him. “That’s it, Dean, take me, all of me,” Cas breathed.

Dean leaned into Cas’s neck and began nipping and kissing as he made slow, deliberate love to him. Gone was the fervor of what Dean sought at first — a quick fuck — now replaced by something softer. Cas didn’t let that go unnoticed. “You were so frantic about it just moments ago,” he mused as Dean rode him.

“Realized that maybe I want every moment with you to last as long as possible, too,” he said, parroting Cas’s own words from all that time ago.

“Feeling sentimental?”

“Fuckin’ sue me,” he bit in admission. “If you wanna keep taunting, I could speed it up.”

“I wouldn’t dare. Take me at your own pace, Dean, I’m happily along for the ride.”

Dean took that as his cue to worship Cas’s body for as long as he’d be allowed. As he ground his body down against Cas’s, he pressed his lips everywhere they could reach. When those lips encircled one of Cas’s nipples, when his teeth bit down, the man below him bucked up into him, jostling him.

Dean was satisfied with the effect he was having on his lover, and so kept going, still fucking him, slow and deliberate. Hands gripped his hips, nails digging into the skin. Cas’s head was thrown back, giving Dean easier access to his neck where he sucked possessive lovebites as he slid up and down Cas’s cock.

“Close, Dean,” Cas eventually warned, but Dean was prepared; as soon as he and Cas got together, he’d gotten on birth control so he’d never have to feel Cas pull out again. Tonight would be their first night where Dean would give himself like this to Cas.

“Come in me, sweetheart. Wanna feel you.”

“But—”

“On the pill. Fuckin’ come in me, Cas,” he begged, speeding up on Cas’s cock.

Cas groaned Dean’s name and bucked up into him as he came, and Dean relished in the feeling. He continued riding his boyfriend as he came down, not stopping once.

“Dean, so much—”

“S’gonna be a lot, baby, ‘cuz you’re gonna come in me again, got it?”

“Don’t know if I can, Dean,” Cas breathed.

“You can, baby, you can do it,” he encouraged, clenching around his boyfriend. “I’ll letcha play with my cock while I ride another one outta you.”

One of Cas’s desperate hands eagerly abandoned the sleeping bag that he'd been holding onto for dear life and attached itself to Dean’s growth. Gathering some of Dean’s wet, Cas used a thumb to pleasure him, causing Dean to groan and whimper as he fucked himself on Cas. Cas’s name was a constant, gruff syllable on Dean’s lips as he sped up, converting their lovemaking into the heated fuck it had started out as.

From the ground below, Cas bucked up as Dean fucked down, the two meeting each other in the middle. It wasn’t long before Dean was coming on him, crying out Cas’s name a final time as he did, clenching around him. That seemed to have been enough to coax another less powerful orgasm out of the man he loved, the smallest amount shooting up into him.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean breathed against Cas’s mouth as they united in a messy kiss, more teeth than anything, sharing each other’s air. “So good to me.”

“You deserve it, you deserve everything good, Dean.”

“Cas?”

“Yes?”

Dean pulled away from Cas’s neck to look him in the eyes. He could do this.

“I love you.”

“I know,” Cas replied. “I’ve known for a while. I was just wondering when you would come to that conclusion yourself.”

Dean smiled, glad Cas knew he needed the seriousness sucked out of the situation so it wouldn’t feel as heavy. “Yeah? How come you didn’t say anything then, huh, big guy?”

“Because I knew that you would come to your senses and say something eventually.”

“So?”

“So what?”

“So… are you gonna say it back, or…”

Cas immediately flipped them, still nestled inside Dean, and pressed a kiss into him that Dean only further melted into. “Of course I love you, Dean. Though I’m sure you’ve always known that as well.”

And Cas was right. Some part of him always hoped, if not knew, that Cas loved him. It was obvious the entire time, but he just… couldn’t let himself believe it for the longest. Until six months ago, until now.

That night, they fell asleep in each other’s arms within the warm confines of the sleeping bag, sharing the singular pillow that Cas had packed.

In the morning when they went to check out, they were notified that, due to several noise complaints from the surrounding campsites, they were being asked to never return to the state park. Cas was embarrassed, but Dean was full of pride knowing he’d kept the whole park up by professing exactly who the fuck he belonged to, proud to be Cas’s man.